1.17 Loki's Aside -D- Fasting

“Well I imagine you're privy to the tone of his thoughts.”

The green woman's sister sits, statuesque, not unlike another piece of stationary furniture in their carefully maintained and aging house. She does not respond to the question.

A bust of their grandmother sits in the foyer, a reminder of the woman who was something of a guardian angel in the family. There are many statues and other likenesses of the extensive family in their possession, but everything else is in storage and much less revered. Their grandmother set for them an example to be followed, one that the Rendall sisters follow to this very day. She was the paragon of vampiric virtues, and a keeper of the code in their assembly. A respected elder, and as close as one could compare occupations in a hidden society, also a passionate stateswoman.

“Unless his thoughts do not concern you, I had expected-”

“Shove it sis.” Moira grumbles, breaking her silence before she has to hear the criticism at the end of Lyra's statement. “I know what I've done 'wrong', and I know what you think of it. What's really going to trouble you is that I'm already considering doing it again.” She emphasizes the word wrong as if it's merely subjective: a matter of opinion.

Lyra was silent for a moment, and didn't complain about the improper tone of her sister's voice. For once. She more felt a pang of concern at the serious undertone of the statement. “Even though it didn't work?” She asks quietly.

“Well you didn't have to send someone like him to find me!”

It didn't need to be elaborate on, who that him was. The young inventor sleeping as if comatose in the adjacent room. The man who'd successfully ended Moira's most recent fast.

“You would have resisted anything less, and I fear you would have perished for that.”

“I could have killed him.”

Lyra smiled. “Yet you abstained. Why is that, I am curious? He is from out of town, a man known by none here-”

Moira is silent for a moment in a way that is pensive, and suddenly angry. Her voice is a whisper of disbelief. “You wanted me to kill him.”

The other raises a ruby eyebrow. “I wanted you to be sustained. How will you ever live out your dream if you dare not live?”

Moira, still with her chin in her hand, grinds her teeth. “It's a calculated risk. I won't be able to save the lives of people like him if I cannot resist their temptations! I have to fast, I have to know my limitations.”

Her sister finally frowns at this and Moira delights in it. She loves her older twin, but she could be impossible at times. The frown means she's ready to take her concerns seriously.

Finally Lyra rolls her eyes and takes a seat. “Very well.” Lyra states, smoothing out her skirt as she sits, crossing her legs. “Tell me. I want to understand your logic.”

Moira feels relief. “I'm tired of this. Sister, you have to know this is a great setback for me. I know you feel it's a mortal sin to abstain, that it's... self loathing and you may be right about that. But for me it's also the only answer. Every pint that I do not drink is kept for those dying at the hospital. Every person I do not drink from is another day that their own life is not shortened. I've already lived enough, haven't we both? Why are we more important, that we need to be fed first?”

“Because we are gifted with immeasurable life.” Lyra's response is automatic: she's quoting one of the virtues. “We are greater because have been given the opportunity to be. We rule, the act of which is a great service to those who cannot live to see what we do. Should we allow them as rulers in our stead-”

“All of us would fall to ruin.” Moira, in a bored tone, says the end at the same time as her sister does. “I know this, this is the assumption. But what if it's the very nature of our long lives that prevents us from taking the risks that would lead to progress?”

Lyra rolls her ankle in a circle, thoughtfully swinging her foot as she's lost in thought for a few minutes. “Hmm. I see what you mean, and I don't disagree with you that no progress can be made without taking risks,”

“That's not exactly what I said.” Moira grumbles, interrupting.

“But in the case of the other night, I- I couldn't find you at all and I knew you'd be somewhere hidden away where I could not find you, so that I could not stop you either. It was wise of me, to send someone who works in the area you were likely to hide, was it not? And, your essential type after all. An O Positive. Moira, we were fortunate. Any nutrient you were lacking in that moment was carried to you through his blood. It would have taken you much longer to recover were he otherwise, and as it is you still managed to abstain from taking as much as you actually needed. I think your actions were correct in that regard. I don't want you to break your vows either sister, but in this matter you gave me no choice.”

Moira looks horrified. “How is that? Because you didn't feel the presence of my mind you assumed that I needed- to-to-”

“I know you didn't want to drink, but you would have not been revived by a box of plasma juice!” Lyra's voice is losing its patience. “You would have died in his stead as your mind was gone from lack of fluids and loss of magic. You were closer to that edge than you believe. As it is, he is still alive, yet you aren't even grateful for that.” Lyra folds her arms over her chest, in a way that almost hugs herself. “I nearly lost my sister. Well, I am not going to apologize for working to save your life!”

Moira sits for a second in the silence that follows. That second becomes many and eventually both sisters become lost in their own thoughts.

Lyra silently rises and walks to the kitchen with her normal grace. Moira watches, tears in her eyes. She doesn't want to die, but she doesn't want to live this way. Her sister returns, with something slender and obvious in each hand.

Moira pretends to appreciate it, even as she knows there's no real alternative for now. Plasma juice is what vampires feed to their prisoners, and maybe to children who are not of age. It has the ability to sustain their lives, but not their magic, and the taste is sometimes bitter depending on the time the fruit was harvested and where it was grown. Magic inherently is drawn from certain things, the magnetic disruptions of the pull of the moon and planets, the life essence carried in living blood, in some cases even the spiritual energy of the dying, or newly born. For vampires, that life magic extracted from their victim's blood is everything to their state of living death. They need what they cannot produce on their own. Additionally there are types of blood that are more sustaining depending on the individual vampire, but that's an entirely separate issue. The plasma fruit carries very little life energy, and is not enough on it's own, though it can sustain one of their kind for weeks.

“You'll need to be full so you can speak to him, can't you sense that he's waking up?” Lyra says casually as they toast the juice. “That, and I hope you appreciate me right now, you know how I feel about this... stuff.” Lyra's eloquence fails her in moments of distress, and all she can think of now is the neighbor, who is away on vacation now but has... very delicious vitality flowing through his veins.

Moira's face freezes. “You first, then.”

“You can go first.”

“We can go at the same time...”

They toast. “To being alive.” Lyra intones.

Then, eyes closed the take drink quickly at the same time. “Ugh...” Moira groans.

“I'm proud of you though for having something.” Her sister encourages her.

“Be proud of me in two weeks when I'm fasting again. I will get it right.” Is the reply.

“Do you think, you could talk to him first?” Moira asks once they've finished their juice and their delicate conversation.

Lyra decides to leave any discussion of her sister's inevitable starvation for another time.

“Absolutely not~!” Lyra singsongs with a lighthearted smile. She is always more playful when she is full. Or happy, in this case since she knows her sister is not out trying to starve to death somewhere. “This one is your responsibility. Besides, think of the good he can do in the world if does survive the transformation and becomes one of us. Not a purebred of course, but he would have a very long life and he might be able to do great things with it.”

Moira's puppy dog eyes don't get her anywhere. “But, how can I face him?”

A mere bite on it's own was not enough to turn a person, but what she had done in the alley had been enough, and even though she had not truly felt in control of herself, she hadn't wanted to kill him and thus he was given some of her 'gift'. A gift she herself didn't really want, if she were to be completely self-aware. She wants the kind of life that can only be lived without harming others. Few share her sentiment, or her outlook, so she rarely voices it.

Lyra shrugs. “Just tell him that if he is upset regarding his situation, I can pacify some of his discomfort and remove the heaviness of the remainder of his life. He still gives off such an amazing smell, the bloom of a dying flower...”

“Never mind... I'll do it. I'll talk to him.” Moira gives in dejectedly, her cowardice overcome by her good nature. She wasn't about to let him die now, after the difficulties of getting him here somewhat unscathed in the first place. And either way... she had wronged him. She doubted there would be a way to make something like this right again, but she could try.

Seeing the hesitation in her sister's lilac eyes, Lyra offers, “I'm willing to give him a few positive thoughts about you, alright? I hope it helps.”

Moira nods mutely, and her sister walks away.

Then, for the next ten minutes, Moira stands outside the hidden door, unmoving, feeling pathetic. If it was a choice of a life for another life, it should have been her life, especially since, as Lyra keeps 'mentioning' he has a brilliant future as an inventor. If he dies from the upcoming transformation, it really will be a loss, for everyone. If he lives, he'll also require blood as nourishment and Moira's impact on the world has doubled. There are no correct answers, and she feels that her fasting up to now cannot possibly make up for the sustenance of another vampire and the blood that he would require. Could she save enough people in the medical profession to make up for this?

She doubts it.

She doubts it highly. But as Lyra keeps saying what's done is done. She's not about to kill herself over this either. Maybe if given the chance, she can help this man in some way.

Her index finger finds the trigger book, Where the Wild Things Are, and pulls it back. In this house, all the wild things were on plain display. The book was the most ironic choice to use as a trigger.

Once the door closes behind her she feels his mind stir, and hears his breathing falter. He is waking up after all.

She has third thoughts, and does NOT want to be in this room right now.

Maybe he won't wake up hating her for what she's done to him. Maybe he won't transform after all and his life won't be ruined on her account. Maybe-

He groans, stretches, notices her in his periphery. Of course he does. He hasn't felt alone once in the last several hours, days, or how long he's been here. It's all fuzzy.

Moira's magic is not strong now, but she has enough to glean the uppermost thoughts from his mind. The tone of which, as Lyra had put it, are morbid. He waits to be fed from again, or to starve to death, or to find out what in all of simnation they are keeping him alive for. He feels he is facing the end, and he couldn't care less. Nobody would mourn him.

“Go ahead.” He tells her, hands folded placidly on his stomach. Waiting.

“Go ahead with what?” Moira asks, unreasonably appalled. “I-I'm not here to- do do anything to you.” She stutters.

“Then what's the point of this?” He asks harshly. He can think of many other things he'd like to say but that one question summed everything up pretty well. The purple one is evasive and dodgy, she hasn't been in this room once, even though in Loki's mind, she is the most responsible. He wants to hear her speak, to know that she is equally as callous towards his situation as the loudmouthed green one is. He's tired of trying to figure out how afraid he should be.

He knows from what he can feel that he is still alive, he can't tell how strong his heart is, but his breathing is shallow and that same feeling that his body is made of lead is still very much a part of him. It's lessened some in his limbs, but the cold numbing feeling he'd had in that first day must have been from shock. Once that wore off he was gifted with pinpricks of pain in all places, flaring up specifically whenever he shifted his weight or moved, as if he was deprived of oxygen and also suffering the infliction of thousands of tiny stab wounds. There was nothing pleasant about the sensation.

The heaviness he feels on top of that could only equate to the feeling of fighting off an infection, or in this case, possibly succumbing to it, it was hard to tell which.

“There's not... a point. I m-made a mistake.” She says without meeting his unflinching silver gaze. His eyes haven't been his birth color in days. “I wasn't waiting for you, I promise I wasn't. If I'd known you were going to be there, well I would have gone somewhere else instead.”

“Your sister tells me that I saved your life.”

The wall Moira stares hard at has nothing of decoration on it. All gray. She can't pretend to be interested in looking there for very long. “M-my sister believes I was trying to end it. She misunderstands. But if I had known that I would fail in my fast-”

“You were fasting?” Despite trying to let her talk, Loki is interested now.

“Uh-huh. I do, from time to time. G- Granted, during the new moon I should have planned it better...”

“So, if I had not fallen, would you have completely finished me then?”

She falls silent, as if she can't answer. Lyra is giving her the benefit of doubt in it, believing that she 'abstained', but Loki and Moira know the truth, she was thrown off of him. Without the shock of that impact, she very well could have consumed enough to kill him. Humans can only lose a few liters before... well it wouldn't matter to take the rest. That much, she knows.

The fact that she cannot say she would have stopped, haunts her.

The fact that Loki says nothing for the next few minutes means he understands it.

But he's curious, and she is naturally elusive, afraid of talking. He can't remain silent for long. “I mean, specifically, do I represent something like, a day of meals to you? A week, if you give me water to drink?” There is no amusement in his voice, just the same edge of bitterness that's been in his thoughts all along, that he thought he'd been hiding.

Moira takes a slow careful breath in, and lets it our before responding. She's convinced he's going to turn. There was something about the transformation that made the thirst, the need of his blood worse. There were theories about this, that because vampires lived for an impossibly long time by the standards of other creatures, they could not be made easily without great strength of will.

“I don't intend to feed from you, I feel horrible that what happened... happened. I'm very sorry.” She says weakly. “You're only here to give you a chance to survive, I- I wasn't going to let you stay in that alley after my sister led you to me like that. You- your kind matters to me.” She admits. “Humans, you've always mattered to me.”

Loki can't allow himself to feel hope. Not with how he feels as if he can barely move. Not with the way she is pinching her nose shut, apparently to avoid having to smell him again.

And here he is, in the same grungy shirt, coated in pus and blood for at least three days if not four, he's had an occasional glass of juice to drink or crackers to eat and that's been it, but he's ironically not that hungry because he's still completely convinced his body is losing it's battle to stay alive. He's pretty sure his shirt is actually crunchy in a few places which is a dim thought in the back of his mind when he manages to look down. As if he's ever been given a mirror to asses the damage. He can only assume he looks like something that lives under a rock. Which is a fairly accurate way to describe the weight that's settled in the middle of his chest.

He can't see the veins on his face that are straining with the effort of his heart to move less around in more places, and here is a woman who seems completely caught up in her own lack of confidence or whether he'd forgive her her mistake. As if there were no greater problems at hand.

“I just need to know two things.” He interrupts her, impatient. “One, what would you say is my chance for survival and why, and Two, why did you, or she, choose me?”

He's still certain he's going to die here, she thinks. “I don't think you're going to succumb to this.” She says, as calmly as possible once finding her voice. The fact that he is calm is making her calm. “If you were going to die from blood loss it would have happened within hours. I-If you were going to die of fatigue it would have happened in the first two days, I think. I'm not an expert... I've never...”

“Killed anyone before?”

“Changed anyone.”

His breath hitches, his calmness evaporates. He tries to hide it but the sound of his faint heartbeat increasing in the enclosed space is evident to her. “So I'm going to be like you are.” He growls. He was sort of hoping he would be killed first. His mind floods with images, things he'd seen in his fever dreams as Lyra called them, things from before that when he'd experimented with the machine. Nothing can be strung together in sequence, so it leaves him feeling confused and wary. He forgets he even had a second question.

Moira's demeanor brightens, she's actually the type to try to encourage others when she isn't worried about her own fears. She still can't quite look him in the eye, the man whose life she'd stolen, but she can begin rambling on about the benefits of being like she is.

The first thing she tells him, is that there's no reason he won't be able to still be himself. The thirst is similar to hunger in that there are better and worse sources of plasma. It's sort of like an extreme example however as once one feels the pangs of thirst it cannot be easily ignored, she can only compare it when one is diabetic, and there is a drop in their insulin, where they suddenly need sugar on pain of death. It becomes a desperation. There's no reason he can't see people he cares about again, as long as the conditions are right, and he'll have a longer lifespan once the transformation is completed. All in all she paints a brightly hopeful picture, with some cautionary advice mixed in and Loki gets the sense that unlike her sister, she is good at heart. She also seems to feel incredibly guilty, so there is an element of her words that ring with regrets of her own.

He turns towards her as she speaks, willing himself past the pain of it. He tries but fails to hide the small smile that would give away the irony of his frustration as he sits for a moment on the side of the bed. For how many years had he felt like a wanderer, unable to decide a true course and now here he was with a clear direction, that it made no logical sense to follow. “I have family in Aurora Skies, My sister Erin, and her husband. Give my body, to my family, I want to be buried in the family plot at Morningside.”

“You...” Moira seems at a loss for words at this point. “You're being impossible.” She complains at last. “If I was telling you you were meant to die, would you be begging for your life? Are you just being contrary on purpose, because- because you can't trust my sister- or me...” The passion of her words faded as she came to the realization that what she was saying was true.

“I can sense somehow that you want my blood. You want it badly. The reason you can't look at me directly isn't because you're shy, it's because you're afraid of what you'll do.” He says carefully, watching her.

A part of him was hoping the words would provoke her, finally into some course of action. The fact that he has a sense of her thoughts, even though it's merely fuzzy feelings, is both intriguing and frightening to him. When she had no response he stands, ignoring the accompanying dizziness and she quickly steps forwards out of his way, her back to him. Almost as if she doesn't want to smell him up close.

Some of his questions are answered there and then, she truly seems to fear that she's going to hurt him, simply by being in the same room. For some reason this allows him to let his guard down a bit.

“I'm never going to be a father, am I?” He asks her, and for the first time she hears real emotion in his voice. Something so simple as fatherhood, seemed it was going to evade him. He knows this is a stupid question to ask her, how would she know- unless it's impossible for their- her kind- to have children in the normal way, but for some reason he felt how vulnerable she was making herself just to be in this room with him and he wanted to share in kind, an honest fear.

“Is that what you regret?” She asks him solemnly.

“It's, important to me.” he says, getting a sense of caution in her words. There's something about the way she said the word regret, but she doesn't elaborate on it. Moira... is not someone he's ready to trust just yet, but she's someone he thinks he will be able to get the truth from when it's needed. She actually seems to care about something like his regrets, of all things. The thought is too surprising for him to know what to do with. “Moira... thank you for asking.” He tells her.

Finally she turns to face him, and looks him straight in the eye. Whatever feeling of hunger or thirst he made her feel she seems to be dealing with, but her eyes shine in more than what he's come to recognize is the supernatural way. “I wish I hadn't put you in a position to lose hope that you'll one day have them. Children, I mean. That's... a noble goal. And please don't let my sister's attitude trouble you at all. She can be abrasive but that's well... she has her reasons. I'm going to do whatever I can so that you get through this, alright?”

Silently he nods. He had no idea he'd needed to hear something like that. And from the woman who assaulted him of all 'people'.

After a few silent moments she leaves, telling him she's going to come back with something to eat, that he should try to eat it. He listens to the sliding of the door on it's well oiled tracks. But for the first time he thinks, maybe there's hope for the future after all. Maybe he won't become the things he has seen. Maybe he still would be able to decide what he wanted to do, when he needed to do it, and not because of some dreams evoked in moments of terror.

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What's this, hope for Loki? In THIS blog? I can't just let him suffer all the time, can I?  >_>;

I like Loki, but that means I have to do crazy things to him to find out what makes him tick.

I made Loki's symptoms a very very light version of how sickle cell anemia is described by those dealing with it. I have a distant friend with this condition and I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

Anyways I hope this isn't going on too long for anyone as Loki posting is not Sparrow posting, but much of it I would need to write for my own benefit, to understand how to weave future events into being. There will be another two asides I think before I can make normal Sparrow post, just to prepare anyone who's waiting. I have to work up to a specific timeline where the two stories will mesh. I also had to figure out how vampires will work in my story so that's taken some time and words heh.

Moira would be a vegetarian vampire if there was such a thing in the sims.