sixwordstories | (no subject)

Daimon's in pain, lonely and desperately in need of a distraction.

"I regenerate?"

Not an option here.

"Not entirely what I meant." I shouldn't be doing this. Not while I'm not thinking straight. "Course, it'd only be a quick-fix."

"I don't understand." She frowns, blind eyes looking past him.

OK, Daimon, this is your chance to not be an idiot.

I'm sorry. Never mind. Are you sure you're all right?

Meditation can be of some help in controlling physical cravings.

It's been... a rough week. *faint smile*

Yeah...*his voice is strained* Yeah, that's...been true for a lot of people. I'm sorry.

I'm Daimon. I didn't mean to--confuse you, earlier.

I can't let my need for a distraction make an ass out of me.

*reaches out a hand to touch his face, to map him out with touch in a way she can't otherwise* Mina Harker.

*it suddenly dawns on her what he may have been offering -- she visibly startles!*

*Daimon's skin is slightly warmer than normal; he has a well-trimmed beard and his eyes are a little sunken. He doesn't move under her hand, as if somewhat used to the treatment.*

...gotta be an alias. Well anyway. Play it cool.

*little sigh* Hullo, Mrs. Harker. Sorry to meet you when we're both having a bad night, but, no helping it.

Don't tempt me like that, Daimon. Please. *faint smile*

Perhaps I can offer a glass of this excellent red..? And a sympathetic ear.

I'm sorry. I...didn't know how bad off you were. Among the people I keep company with...well, it's not that uncommon an offer when a teammate's really messed up.

That and I just wanted to feel something besides rotten. But that's not something to impose.

Thanks, but...I'm on painkillers. Bad combination unless I want to force one out of my system. *a chair creaks as his large frame settles into it*

As for the rest, it is overload. Too many people need help, too many threats, too much to do. Meditation helps some with that as well, but I've barely had a free minute. Give me a few days to sort it out, I'll be all right.

I don't feed. I never have.

I can empathize with the sense of too much responsibility. *faint laugh* Rest here. I'll watch over you.

Right. Sorry. I am so very glad I didn't push the issue.

Thanks. I uh...normally things aren't like this with me. I can handle most oddities. But this time...the person being threatened is close to me.

I can empathize with that. *smiles very slightly, as though she's almost forgotten how*

Rest, now. You'll be safe.

Thank you.

Good company.

Hello, stranger.

Hello, my dear. I trust you're not missing me too much while I keep myself busy with work?

Which one are you again?

You surely pierce me deeper than any silver bullet could...

I used to be a deadeye shot, did I ever tell you that? Before all this. Marksman-good.

How are you, darling?

Really? Strangely I have no hard time believing you.

Tired. Restless. Ready for the moon. And you?

Tired. Restless. I've been sleeping dreadfully. Ready to run away with you to Germany to see you in the wild.

Perhaps a little tipsy.

I have a plane ticket for you, actually, to arrive on the seventh.

Ah. And has anything inspired this?

[wryly] Thank you, sugar-daddy.

I've been out of sorts lately. Since leaving you in the States, actually, things have been terrible. My son died. Last night, my dreams were just... intense.

I --

I'm feeling lost and old and frustrated, and I'm halfway through a bottle of wine and just maudlin.

Wait, wait.

Your son died?

Mina...

Yes. My son. My Quincey. He --

He should have died seventy years ago. He didn't. Last weekend, though--

I need another glass of wine. Hold that thought?

Mina.

Five minutes ago, I had no idea you even had a child. Now I find out he not only died recently, but he was inhuman?

You don't need another glass of wine, you need to talk to me.

Jonathan and I had a son. A beautiful baby boy. He was deeply intelligent, compassionate... gentle. A confirmed pacifist. His best friend died at Ypres and so he enlisted --

I told him not to. That wars came and went and that he was too precious. He didn't listen!

Oh god...

I am so sorry. Mina, I'm so very sorry...

You saved him, didn't you?

*softly* Yes. His wounds had gone septic. He -- he was dying. It was the December after my Jonathan had died in the March.

It was horrible and selfish of me. But I couldn't lose him, too. I cut myself and bled into his transfusion. The next moonrise, he awoke--

And he wasn't my Quincey anymore.