Out for (your) blood [open to multiple]

[erratic_hematic]

It's New York, but it's not the one you're used to. Grand Central Terminal is covered in grime and everywhere else is covered in graffiti. It's 1974, and everything is dirtier.

Most of the people here don't seem to take notice of anything but what they're doing and where they're going. They move by quickly, or lounge across benches, turning their heads to ignore passersby. Sometimes they seem even to lack faces altogether. Every sound seems muted somehow. It's impossible to be noticed. There's a crowd, but no ones cares, and no one sees. No one, except one man.

It takes a while for you to notice, but the man is watching you. The man is following you.


[ooc: the first of spike's weird dreams! This is Spike pre-soul, alone in New York, and hungry. He's going to eat you. Good luck with that. Feel free to be anywhere in the subway system- train or terminal. ALSO suffice to say, there will be violence and blood herein.]

Comments

[rae_of_sun]

She quirks an eyebrow when he pronounces her name 'funny.' Granted, 70s-grunge-Sunshine doesn't yet have the pot/kettle excuse to disapprove, but she also doesn't need it. She could take offense over whatever she wants and say it's in character. Watch your step, 70s-grunge-Spike.

But her lips quirk into a faint smile when he leans in to kiss her. That's more like it. They can just skip the play acting and get right down to doing something inappropriate in a closet. "Spike, huh?" she murmurs as she cards her fingers through his hair. "And you think my name's funny." Hey, if he's gonna set it up, she's knocking it down.

No hard feelings, though. She gives his hair a gentle tug, encouraging him to lift his head so she can kiss him properly. Gods, he's even kissing differently; that is some commitment to the role. Sunshine pulls back, faintly surprised, then casts an unenthusiastic look around the station. Again with the grotty. He owes her for this. When they get back to the apartments, they're having a talk.

"I guess we should," she says, getting to her feet and pulling Spike up after her. Her phone gets stuffed into her back pocket. "Any ideas?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

[erratic_hematic]

"I know a place." He slips his hand around her waist and nods away from the crowd. He saunters slowly, with his head tipped down towards her and a thin smile at his lips.

"You do this a lot? Wander off with strange men?" He's leading her further than he needs to. They pass a maintenance closet or two that would probably serve for what she thinks is happening here, but not for what he has in mind. If she screams, he doesn't want anyone to come running.

[rae_of_sun]

Does he, now? Maybe that's code for 'I found an out-of-the-way closet and made it significantly less gross than the rest of this place,' which would earn him some bonus points. With that hope in mind, she doesn't have any problem letting him lead her well away from the crowd. Honestly, it's kind of a relief. Maybe they can strike a nice balance between 'public enough to potentially get caught' and 'private enough that they're not actually bothering anyone.'

She's not entirely sure what to make of that question, though. Like, is 70s-grunge-Spike asking, or is actual Spike trying to suss out her sexual history, here? And is 70s-grunge-Sunshine prone to this kind of thing? She must be, right? Gods, roleplay is complicated. This is why she needs some carthaginian forewarning. "Not often." That might have been too defensive. "Only if the guy's… intriguing enough." There, that's better, right?

Her phone buzzes again. Shut up, phone.

[erratic_hematic]

"Glad I made the cut," he answers sarcastically while he lets his hand drift down from her waist onto her ass. They're not far now from the place he has in mind.

It's not a closet at all, but a little side room that might once have been a small office, or maybe a lost and found. The discarded items hanging around could indicate either purpose. It's barely wide enough for the old tanker desk and chair pushed against one wall, and the other wall behind the door is filled with stacks of boxes. Each box has a name, written in an incongruously fancy script - they're mostly women's names. Rebecca, Annalise, Buffy, and so on. They're dusty, like most of the room. The only thing that isn't dusty is the desk, and he pushes her towards it, then clicks the lock shut behind them.

There's a speaker in here too, but now it's not playing classical or jazz. It's playing The Beatles. As he walks back and presses her against the desk, he hears 'help, i need someone. help, not just anyone...', but he's not paying attention to that. He grips at her hips and grinds against her before dipping his head back to her neck. Back to the pulse point.

[rae_of_sun]

Oh, come on. Sunshine breaks character long enough to give him an 'are you shitting me' look, because she's doing her best with the zero warning she was given for any of this carthaginian weirdness. She's been a goddamn trouper, okay. There's no need for him to get all snide.

Her phone buzzes again as he leads her into a room that is suitably out of the way but shows absolutely no signs of being especially tidied, and she digs it out of her back pocket even as he backs her up against the desk. Any dubious charm this scenario held for her is draining pretty fast, and Spike is distracted by her neck - typical - so maybe he won't notice if she takes a quick peek at whoever the hell is texting her so much. Eliot, maybe?

There are two texts. They're not from Eliot. They're from Con. She inhales sharply, feeling a rush of bewildered pleasure that Con is here, Con is texting her, that means she can reach him! But then she actually reads them:

Sunshine.

I believe you are inviting more than you know.

What does he… what?

"Spike." Roleplay time is over. This needs to be addressed. Sunshine pushes against his shoulder with her free hand. "C'mon, stop it."

just horrible things from here on. assault, violence

[erratic_hematic]

When she tries to push him back, he only solidifies his position.

"Mm. Sorry, no." He reaches up and grabs her wrist and pins it back. Next, the other hand. He grabs the electronic thing from her and drops it to the floor, then covers it with his boot and steps, cracking plastic and glass under his heel. "No changing your mind now."

Help me get my feet back on the ground
Won't you please, please help me

Both wrists held back in on hand, he uses his other to brush her hair aside. He's flush against her body when he leans in and presses his face against her temple. He inhales her scent there, then yanks at her hair to expose her neck. God, it's like...sugar. Honey. This is going to be fucking orgasmic when he finally breaks skin. He moans and presses a delicate kiss just under her jaw. "Why does your blood smell so sweet?"

I know that I just need you like I've never done before

He pulls back far enough to look her in the eye, but it won't be the face she's expecting to see. His teeth are on display, sharp and deadly, and his browline ridged and inhuman. He smiles. "You're going to spoil my appetite. Mother always did chide me for eating my desserts first."

yuuuuup

[rae_of_sun]

Her initial, sluggish, stupid reaction is an indignant, "Hey!" as he snaps her phone under his heel. What in the carthaginian hell is wrong with him? She tries to jerk her hands free; the first attempt is cursory, still half-expecting him to break whatever fucking character he's playing and let her go, the second and third are increasingly desperate when he doesn't. "Let go of me!"

He doesn't. He presses against her, pulling her hair aside with an aggressive, painful tug, and he's--he's moaning over her blood, and this can't be happening, he can't--he can't possibly think she'd want this.

He pulls back, and she has all of one second to hope he's backing off before she sees what he's become, that awful kali Other face he hasn't shown her since day one, and that's when she fully realizes that this has absolutely nothing to do with what she might want. Her wants aren't even a carthaginian afterthought.

She tries to jerk away, a full-body effort not driven by conscious thought. Terrified. Furious. "You asshole!"

[erratic_hematic]

Spike growls when she tries to pull away from him. "C'mon, cupcake, you got yourself into this." He pushes her towards him, then pulls back at her wrists hard enough to slam her into the desk. The hand in her hair yanks back again and he lowers his mouth to her neck.

He bites.

"Fuck!" Something burnt him. He steps back, releasing her long enough to touch his fingers to his lips. The blood tastes amazing. It's not the blood. It'd been her. "What did you do?"

[rae_of_sun]

Sunshine lets out a wordless cry of pain when Spike slams her wrists against the desk, but her throat seizes, cutting off all sound, when she feels his teeth sink into her neck. He can't--he wouldn't. Her brain flatlines, unable or unwilling to comprehend what is happening to her.

But her wards are still functioning, and they don't care if she's there to direct them or not.

Her necklace-scar flares to life with a flash of gold and a keening hum that rings in her ears like the sudden smack of a tuning fork. It's been waiting for the excuse to zing this vampire in particular and it does so with a will. He recoils, and her limbs are free, and she scrambles back onto the desk, putting all of three feet between herself and Spike before her back hits the wall and she's trapped, cornered. She raises her hand to her neck, whimpering when her fingers come away wet and slick.

Why is this happening?

"Leave me alone," she says - begs, really. "Just leave." There are only two ways this can end if he doesn't, and they're both too horrible for her to bear. "I--I'll kill you, Spike, William," she amends out of pure desperation, because maybe her knowing his real name will make a goddamn bit of difference. "I s-swear…" she trails off, teeth chattering, looking miserable and pathetic and not in the least bit deadly.

[erratic_hematic]

"You bitch!" He takes a step forward before he's halted by William. He pauses a moment. But no. There's no way she could know. It was a lucky guess. Or he said something. He's not going to let in interfere with a good meal.

He grabs her arm and pulls hard, forcing her off of the desk and across the room into the pile of old boxes. Boxes fall around her, spilling contents full of photographs, a hair brush, a silk shawl, a fountain pen and a bottle of ink that shatters when it hits the concrete floor- remnants of far too many time periods to be sitting in a lost and found at Grand Central.

His ears are ringing when he advances on her again, but he's determined. She's going to pay for that little trick of hers.

[rae_of_sun]

It doesn't work, of course it doesn't work, and Sunshine lets out a sob when he steps forward again. She doesn't want to die. She doesn't want to kill him. And those are the only two awful kali choices he's giving her. Why? is still rattling around her skull, uselessly, because it doesn't matter why. She doesn't have the luxury of getting to the bottom of this. Spike is making sure of that.

He hurls her across the room into a pile of boxes, random objects and dusty cardboard falling around her, and she gasps for air, hands held up defensively.

Someone is saying 'please no please no' in an unbroken stream, like a mantra. It must be her.

Then he's on top of her again, her palms pressed against his chest, no no no no no, she doesn't want to do this, she doesn't want to do this--!

What choice does she have?

Her hand turns of its own volition. Gently, almost, like opening a door. Then her wrist flexes, and her fingers sink into his chest as if his skin is no more than tissue paper, finding his heart. She can feel it, the organ resting solid and still in the palm of her hand. All she has to do is tug.

She can't.

"Please," she says, ragged and broken, looking up at him as best she can with her vision blurred by tears.

[erratic_hematic]

No no no no, he's not supposed to die like this. He knows that. This isn't supposed to happen. Her hand is in his chest. Around his heart. The decision is made in a fraction of a second, and by the time he's moved backward, it's too late to undo. She's holding his heart. She's still-

He slumps back onto his heels, holding a hand to the hole in his chest. He feels dizzy, like he's losing consciousness, but he can't stop focusing on her face. On his own heart. There's...something. Something that he should know, but he can't quite place it. There's no time, but it feels so important.

His face falls back to it's more human configuration and he dips his head to spit out blood onto the floor. "You stole my heart." He laughs, suddenly, deliriously. "Always thought that'd..." he groans and looks back up at her, smiling through bloody teeth. "Always thought that'd kill me. Never thought it'd be so literal."

The heart turns black first, then crumbles like burnt paper. He watches it fall from her hands while he feels the same thing happening to him. From the inside out, he dries and burns until there's nothing left but ash.