I hesitate to say too much over these devices. But, yes. Something has happened.
Would it be terribly inconvenient for you to meet me in the Down housing? The roommate I had a few days ago seems to have gone elsewhere so it will be private. As much as any place can be.
The housing there, the buildings that are not too far off from the public gardens that appeared a few days prior?
[ she's already stepping into the center of the living room, ensuring she has enough room in the apartment before her for what comes next. ]
Is there a space cleared in your quarters? [ she murmurs a few words under her breath to begin the incantation necessary for conjuring the portal, fingers lifting from her side. ] I shall come to you now.
It's the first time Yennefer's attempted any kind of travel via portal since her arrival, though she only has a cursory knowledge of the Down and its important locations; still, it's not as though she's made an effort to transport herself beyond the city, inherently sensing that something like that would be inclined to fail or backfire before even giving voice to an incantation.
Fortunately, this time at the very least, she doesn't encounter any difficulties, though Erik may be surprised by the portal that suddenly appears in his room, air whirling around its perimeter before Yennefer steps through it; it only remains open long enough to admit her and then closes, leaving her standing there attempting to gather her bearings.
Traveling by portal is always the sort of business that leaves one's insides uneasy, and those with weaker stomachs have been known to immediately void their contents after moving through only one. She's done it enough times now to only experience a bit of an unsettled sensation, expression briefly indicating her discomfort before she recovers.
"Now, you didn't sound urgent, necessarily, but when you say 'something happened' — what exactly is that something?" Spoken like a woman who hasn't just opened a portal between the Up and the Down and stepped through as matter-of-factly as one possibly could.
The spontaneous roar of wind swirling inside this motel room would be disturbing enough even if he could see the portal that produced it. But without his vision to show him what's going on, he's thrown into another (literally) blind panic.
He whirls on her with teeth bared, arms up and fingers extended like claws ready to slash his attacker. That is, until her unique scent catches in his flared nostrils. And her voice, calm and casual, reaches him moments after. He still looks shocked, but his lips close back around his teeth.
"How, in God's name, did you get here?"
He's looking in the direction of her heartbeat, but, she may notice, he hasn't made direct eye contact with her. And while his eyes look just as they always have, there's a distinctive lack of focus to them.
Yennefer's more surprised than perturbed at the notion that he initially means to attack her; granted, her arrival by this particular means had been somewhat unexpected (and, she realizes after the fact, completely unannounced), but being met with aggression instinctively moves her into the act of defending herself, raising a hand from her side should she need to summon a gust of wind strong enough to keep him from reaching her first.
"It was a simple portal conjuring," she explains, as if that should offer sufficient reasoning, and when it becomes clear that he's recognized her long enough to lower his offensive, she too relaxes, letting her hand fall against her skirt again — that is, until she notices he isn't looking her directly in the eye.
"Your eyesight." Her voice drops to a lower tone as her gaze searches over his face — the unfocused quality of his stare offering all the evidence she requires to conclude on what's happened to him. She doesn't venture close enough to make direct contact with him, but it is a small room and they're standing in the center of it. "When did it fail?"
"A portal? That's convenient." And terrifying, that she can do it so seemingly casually. (Of course, he couldn't observe the unease in her posture in his current state.)
"Yes. That is why I could not come to meet you. It has been this way since the second of April." Go figure, it took four days of this for him to break down and ask for help.
"I simply awoke to the blackness. There was no pain. No indication of injury."
“Only for some,” she replies breezily, thinking of Geralt in particular — who has made his dislike for traveling in that manner vocally known to her on more than one occasion, resisting it at all costs if he can help it even if it means going on horseback and making the longer journey instead. For all that he has in terms of his abilities, it does not seem to include one that withstands the discomfort of traversing through a portal.
“And what have you done, remained here all this time?” Her first thought is to consider whether he has fed recently, or whether his intent in reaching out to her involves more than merely a willingness to accept her offer but something else altogether.
“What did you do the day prior, before you woke up? Do you remember?” She’s already stepping closer to him, peering into his face in an attempt to study his pupils, which don’t seem to be reactive to any changes, even her shadow falling over his features.
"Since the first day of it, yes," he replies grudgingly.
After thoroughly embarrassing himself in front of several people on day one, he decided attempting to wait it out would be safer for his pride. It should have been fine. He fed once this week and in the past that has been enough. But the hunger is already gnawing at him again. It hasn't reached dangerous levels yet, but he knows better than to stubbornly wait until it does.
"The day prior was nothing special. I went about to explore the city as has been my habit. The only thing of note was that terribly invasive survey that came up on my device when I attempted to show it to pass into the Up. I absolutely had to fill the thing out before it would let me access anything else. As aggressive as that was, I got the feeling such events are common in this city. The guards at the crossing didn't seem surprised."
"And how many more days will you be able to withstand without feeding?" She sees no point in avoiding the subject since it may reach a point of needing to include her own involvement; barring that, any contract they decide to enter into states that she is responsible in no uncertain terms for attending to his wellbeing and seeing to his needs.
She certainly doesn't feel that sense of responsibility, but that doesn't mean she's going to neglect it altogether.
"Did you respond to it truthfully, or were there any answers you may have... embellished on?" she asks, having the uncanny feeling already that anything less than honesty may have contributed to some potential consequence.
"Ordinarily, I wouldn't need to again for seven to nine days, on account of my age. Since coming here, however, I've found my need increased inexplicably." Frustration with that is raw in his voice. How does this city have so much control over his physiology? It shouldn't be possible.
"As it stands, I could go, perhaps, one more full day before it gets dire." The hunger is there, but it's not awakened the relentless beast in him... yet.
At her second question, his expression twists into a sour pout. "They were very invasive questions. If I was vague in answering some of them, can I be blamed for wanting to preserve some privacy?"
"Their system is practically built on desire. Deceit, primarily, but also the yawning need that each of us possesses inside ourselves for something more." It's the simplest explanation she can give for why he finds himself needing to feed at much shorter intervals than would be typical for a vampire of his longevity and strength, even if the particulars of it are unknown to her.
She considers his words for another moment, and then adds: "If you were to sign a contract with me, I could bring you some blood that would satisfy, though it would only be until your sight is restored." Namely, because it would be her blood being provided, though she doesn't see any reason for him to know that.
"Given that they forced us out onto the streets in gowns made of paper, I doubt they have any concern about sparing us any notion of privacy."
His head cocks slightly to the side while he considers her words. It's the same conclusion he's come to but the way she phrases it... it's more than just sex or blood. Desire: for connection, love, belonging, all of these could apply. The city could be preying on all the many myriad of hollow spots inside a person's soul. And that is a unsettling prospect.
"I would think doing so would be part of your responsibility for making sure I'm properly seen-after." Which is why he's called her here in the first place. "But I agree it would only pertain to when I am unable to look after myself. I still mean what I said, that I don't intend to be a burden to my dominant where I can avoid it."
He makes no comment about the paper gowns, because he's still trying to live down that particular humiliation. Though, part of him is relieved to know they didn't do it only to the submissives.
Yennefer has not endured this city for long, but even based on what she's discovered or what others have divulged to her, this city seems to be focused specifically on finding methods by which to challenge them — to make it more and more difficult for them to maintain their resistance until the simplest response is through compliance. Even taking on a contract is, by some measure, part of that, but she's still not insisting on making it more complicated than it needs to be for either party involved, not when she has more important pursuits to focus her efforts on.
"I suppose it would," she replies, one brow quirking in a display of subtle amusement when he brings her attention back to the current topic at hand. "Though it may be of a benefit to us both if a replenishing supply could be kept somewhere safe, if by some chance you find yourself unable to feed at some future point."
She doesn't pose the ask about exactly what could happen were he to go without blood for too long — namely because it's likely rare that a vampire of his age would allow it to get to that level of desperation, but there is a possibility that the city could intervene in a manner that would more strongly provoke his hunger.
"Synthetic blood rations do exist here," he tells her grudgingly. Judging by the look of disgust crinkling his nose, it's not an appealing option. "It will keep me alive but I wouldn't call it satisfying."
She's right in her assumption, however, that he would drink that before he let himself get dangerously hungry. An Elder should know better than to let his beast go unchecked. Not that her other concern has not also crossed his mind. If they can blind him, drug him, what else can they do? How far could they go?
"I am still working to establish a more reliable list of contacts who are willing to donate to me. Obviously, this"--he waves a hand in front of his own face--"has slowed down that process."
Yennefer doesn't bother to disguise the brief flicker of a smile that appears on her features, mostly since he can't see it regardless, and starts idly moving around the room, partially to investigate the conditions in which he's living, her fingertips skimming across a small table that sits off to one side.
"Perhaps we can find an alternative that won't be so unappetizing for you," she murmurs, without turning around. He certainly hasn't gotten close to whining about it, but she's still somewhat amused by the fact that he has his preferences and will readily make them known, right down to that little nose scrunching.
"And what is your situation like, presently? Do you find yourself needing to feed?" He'd mentioned being capable of going one more day before requiring it, but quite frankly, she's not eager to discover the outcome of waiting that long, especially not if they'll be taking steps to contract and other priorities might shift out of her awareness in the meantime.
If he could see her amusement, it would only make him pout more out of spite. Wouldn't anyone be mad if the only food available to them happened to taste like the equivalent of cough syrup?
His head cock's subtly as she starts to move around, following the small sounds of her as she investigates his pathetic motel room. That's another good reason to take the deal. He's had all he can take of living here.
"Today I am hungry. Tomorrow I will be famished. The day after that, I will be starving." And the day after that, he will be dangerous. He doesn't say this aloud but the implications are clear.
"I need to feed now while it is only hunger. Each day past that becomes more hazardous to whoever I'm feeding from."
When she herself doesn't have the experience of being forced to sustain on anything other than one single substance, she can certainly imagine that settling for a lesser alternative would hardly be ideal. Acceptable in a pinch, but not intended as a sufficient replacement for a longer duration.
The glance she casts back in his direction reveals something intriguing, at least to her perspective — he seems to be able to track her whereabouts even without possessing any sight whatsoever, which leads her to the suspicion that his hearing is better than most. It begs another question — which other senses might be heightened to compensate for the loss of one — and she doesn't sigh so much as release a breath.
"And if I were to permit you to feed from me now, for instance, you would be capable of stopping without needing to be forced."
She doesn't pose it as a question, but closer to an understanding that she intends him to share; she's confident enough in her ability to defend herself if necessary, but her intent is that it won't come to her needing to use chaos against him.
"Yes. Without question." He is utterly confident in this, too, despite all the rest of his life falling down around his ears. He's had years to get to know his own limits.
"And despite my apparent increased frequency of need, the amount of blood per serving does not seem to have changed. I only need a bare minimum of two ounces, though I prefer to take four to eight to feel satisfied. To put that into perspective, that's roughly one to one and a half wine glasses. Barely enough to make a well-fed and hydrated person feel dizzy."
“Barely, although it might happen.” That isn’t necessarily where her concern lies, and although he’s without the advantage of his sight she wouldn’t give herself leave to underestimate him regardless. That way lies stupidity, and stupidity is what winds up costing more than one can afford.
Still, curiosity is what draws at her long enough to inquire further along these lines, in part because she wants to see how he’ll respond when she can look on his face unflinchingly, watch the expressions change when she broaches the next question.
“Where would you take it from? There must be a slight preference for one vein over another.”
"Yes, it's always a risk. No two people are alike, after all. My servant at home is unfortunately prone to that, despite my best efforts to mitigate it. But he survives still, no worse for the wear." Max... not a day here goes by that he doesn't miss that human of his. A little of the melancholy shows on his face now, stretching his mouth into a thin frown.
"Oh, naturally we all have our preferences." The frown disappears back behind a businesslike facade. Talking shop, he tells himself, is much easier. "I favor the neck. I can create an illusion that the feeding pain is just an especially rough hickey that way. Useful, especially in nervous prey."
His words provoke another question from her, but it's one she ultimately refrains from posing when there are more important matters to address. It does pique her interest, though, his offhanded remark that he has someone at home who serves him, and she can't help mulling over just how far that service extends even if the thought only lingers for a handful of moments. That said, Erik does seem to possess something that looks an awful lot like fondness, given the way his expression temporarily shifts into something more pensive, but she won't draw any attention to it when he immediately turns back to the conversation at hand.
A deep chuckle escapes her then, at his last remark, and with another step closer to him there's every possibility that her scent will become stronger, that identifying combination of sweet flower and tart berry, but she's doing it to prove a point, not ceasing in her movement until she's standing just before him.
"Do I strike you as nervous now?" Her heartbeat will be the tell, she knows, and often gives her away to Geralt even when she is attempting to remain calmer — but here there is only a subtle quickening of her pulse, nothing that would indicate a more severe stab of fear. "If you take more than what's required, I have ways of making you regret that indulgence."
Not only does her scent grow stronger with her movement, but the thump of her heart is a little louder, and the stirring of the air between them tickles his sensitive cheek almost as if he's a cat with whiskers. He makes a point, too, of drawing in a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes to complete the illusion that he's scenting the air for her.
"Not especially," is his answer, accompanied by a lazy smile as he dips his head down close to where he can hear her pulse in her throat. "I can hear your heartbeat quickening, but one might almost think it's out of excitement."
It's rare that she has the distinct impression that she's been scented, that he's drawing her into his lungs — if such organs even exist or if there's something else in his body that serves the same olfactory purpose. Geralt has made note of her distinct fragrance before, time and again, one that apparently outlasts her on the pillow long after she's gone from whatever bed they've been sharing, but Erik's movement adopts a different tenor here and for an instant, she's reminded distinctly of a predator, one not to be underestimated in spite of the fact that he's currently lacking in one of his other senses at the moment.
"Awareness, mostly," she replies, her voice lowered now that they're standing closer to one another and she doesn't see the need to declare anything loudly. His hearing could be all the more sensitive now that he doesn't have sight to wield at his disposal, but the loss of latter isn't preventing him from perceiving her, and she turns her head, bringing her face in closer to his. "What would you be willing to do for just one little taste?"
Erik would, if asked, confirm Geralt's opinion. She has an unmistakable and wildly alluring scent to her. He finds himself already looking forward to the possibility of living alongside it in her apartment, savoring the sweetness daily.
"Caution is the smart response," he says it like a compliment. It's meant to be. She'd be surprised (or maybe not) by how many people are eager to throw themselves to his jaws without a second thought.
"I think the list of what I wouldn't do might be more succinct. But the better question, I think, is what do you want me to do? I'm all ears, Yennefer. Now more than ever."
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Would it be terribly inconvenient for you to meet me in the Down housing? The roommate I had a few days ago seems to have gone elsewhere so it will be private. As much as any place can be.
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[ she's already stepping into the center of the living room, ensuring she has enough room in the apartment before her for what comes next. ]
Is there a space cleared in your quarters? [ she murmurs a few words under her breath to begin the incantation necessary for conjuring the portal, fingers lifting from her side. ] I shall come to you now.
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[He'll be glad to have an excuse to leave them. When he can.
There's obvious uncertainty in his tone when he answers, not fully understanding why she'd ask about furnishings exactly.]
There is not much in my quarters. Last I saw.
Thank you. I will await your arrival.
[He is assuming it will be a while for her to get there. Little does he know...]
flipping over to action now!
Fortunately, this time at the very least, she doesn't encounter any difficulties, though Erik may be surprised by the portal that suddenly appears in his room, air whirling around its perimeter before Yennefer steps through it; it only remains open long enough to admit her and then closes, leaving her standing there attempting to gather her bearings.
Traveling by portal is always the sort of business that leaves one's insides uneasy, and those with weaker stomachs have been known to immediately void their contents after moving through only one. She's done it enough times now to only experience a bit of an unsettled sensation, expression briefly indicating her discomfort before she recovers.
"Now, you didn't sound urgent, necessarily, but when you say 'something happened' — what exactly is that something?" Spoken like a woman who hasn't just opened a portal between the Up and the Down and stepped through as matter-of-factly as one possibly could.
o7 thank you
He whirls on her with teeth bared, arms up and fingers extended like claws ready to slash his attacker. That is, until her unique scent catches in his flared nostrils. And her voice, calm and casual, reaches him moments after. He still looks shocked, but his lips close back around his teeth.
"How, in God's name, did you get here?"
He's looking in the direction of her heartbeat, but, she may notice, he hasn't made direct eye contact with her. And while his eyes look just as they always have, there's a distinctive lack of focus to them.
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"It was a simple portal conjuring," she explains, as if that should offer sufficient reasoning, and when it becomes clear that he's recognized her long enough to lower his offensive, she too relaxes, letting her hand fall against her skirt again — that is, until she notices he isn't looking her directly in the eye.
"Your eyesight." Her voice drops to a lower tone as her gaze searches over his face — the unfocused quality of his stare offering all the evidence she requires to conclude on what's happened to him. She doesn't venture close enough to make direct contact with him, but it is a small room and they're standing in the center of it. "When did it fail?"
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"Yes. That is why I could not come to meet you. It has been this way since the second of April." Go figure, it took four days of this for him to break down and ask for help.
"I simply awoke to the blackness. There was no pain. No indication of injury."
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“And what have you done, remained here all this time?” Her first thought is to consider whether he has fed recently, or whether his intent in reaching out to her involves more than merely a willingness to accept her offer but something else altogether.
“What did you do the day prior, before you woke up? Do you remember?” She’s already stepping closer to him, peering into his face in an attempt to study his pupils, which don’t seem to be reactive to any changes, even her shadow falling over his features.
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After thoroughly embarrassing himself in front of several people on day one, he decided attempting to wait it out would be safer for his pride. It should have been fine. He fed once this week and in the past that has been enough. But the hunger is already gnawing at him again. It hasn't reached dangerous levels yet, but he knows better than to stubbornly wait until it does.
"The day prior was nothing special. I went about to explore the city as has been my habit. The only thing of note was that terribly invasive survey that came up on my device when I attempted to show it to pass into the Up. I absolutely had to fill the thing out before it would let me access anything else. As aggressive as that was, I got the feeling such events are common in this city. The guards at the crossing didn't seem surprised."
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She certainly doesn't feel that sense of responsibility, but that doesn't mean she's going to neglect it altogether.
"Did you respond to it truthfully, or were there any answers you may have... embellished on?" she asks, having the uncanny feeling already that anything less than honesty may have contributed to some potential consequence.
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"As it stands, I could go, perhaps, one more full day before it gets dire." The hunger is there, but it's not awakened the relentless beast in him... yet.
At her second question, his expression twists into a sour pout. "They were very invasive questions. If I was vague in answering some of them, can I be blamed for wanting to preserve some privacy?"
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She considers his words for another moment, and then adds: "If you were to sign a contract with me, I could bring you some blood that would satisfy, though it would only be until your sight is restored." Namely, because it would be her blood being provided, though she doesn't see any reason for him to know that.
"Given that they forced us out onto the streets in gowns made of paper, I doubt they have any concern about sparing us any notion of privacy."
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"I would think doing so would be part of your responsibility for making sure I'm properly seen-after." Which is why he's called her here in the first place. "But I agree it would only pertain to when I am unable to look after myself. I still mean what I said, that I don't intend to be a burden to my dominant where I can avoid it."
He makes no comment about the paper gowns, because he's still trying to live down that particular humiliation. Though, part of him is relieved to know they didn't do it only to the submissives.
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"I suppose it would," she replies, one brow quirking in a display of subtle amusement when he brings her attention back to the current topic at hand. "Though it may be of a benefit to us both if a replenishing supply could be kept somewhere safe, if by some chance you find yourself unable to feed at some future point."
She doesn't pose the ask about exactly what could happen were he to go without blood for too long — namely because it's likely rare that a vampire of his age would allow it to get to that level of desperation, but there is a possibility that the city could intervene in a manner that would more strongly provoke his hunger.
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She's right in her assumption, however, that he would drink that before he let himself get dangerously hungry. An Elder should know better than to let his beast go unchecked. Not that her other concern has not also crossed his mind. If they can blind him, drug him, what else can they do? How far could they go?
"I am still working to establish a more reliable list of contacts who are willing to donate to me. Obviously, this"--he waves a hand in front of his own face--"has slowed down that process."
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"Perhaps we can find an alternative that won't be so unappetizing for you," she murmurs, without turning around. He certainly hasn't gotten close to whining about it, but she's still somewhat amused by the fact that he has his preferences and will readily make them known, right down to that little nose scrunching.
"And what is your situation like, presently? Do you find yourself needing to feed?" He'd mentioned being capable of going one more day before requiring it, but quite frankly, she's not eager to discover the outcome of waiting that long, especially not if they'll be taking steps to contract and other priorities might shift out of her awareness in the meantime.
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His head cock's subtly as she starts to move around, following the small sounds of her as she investigates his pathetic motel room. That's another good reason to take the deal. He's had all he can take of living here.
"Today I am hungry. Tomorrow I will be famished. The day after that, I will be starving." And the day after that, he will be dangerous. He doesn't say this aloud but the implications are clear.
"I need to feed now while it is only hunger. Each day past that becomes more hazardous to whoever I'm feeding from."
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The glance she casts back in his direction reveals something intriguing, at least to her perspective — he seems to be able to track her whereabouts even without possessing any sight whatsoever, which leads her to the suspicion that his hearing is better than most. It begs another question — which other senses might be heightened to compensate for the loss of one — and she doesn't sigh so much as release a breath.
"And if I were to permit you to feed from me now, for instance, you would be capable of stopping without needing to be forced."
She doesn't pose it as a question, but closer to an understanding that she intends him to share; she's confident enough in her ability to defend herself if necessary, but her intent is that it won't come to her needing to use chaos against him.
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"And despite my apparent increased frequency of need, the amount of blood per serving does not seem to have changed. I only need a bare minimum of two ounces, though I prefer to take four to eight to feel satisfied. To put that into perspective, that's roughly one to one and a half wine glasses. Barely enough to make a well-fed and hydrated person feel dizzy."
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Still, curiosity is what draws at her long enough to inquire further along these lines, in part because she wants to see how he’ll respond when she can look on his face unflinchingly, watch the expressions change when she broaches the next question.
“Where would you take it from? There must be a slight preference for one vein over another.”
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"Oh, naturally we all have our preferences." The frown disappears back behind a businesslike facade. Talking shop, he tells himself, is much easier. "I favor the neck. I can create an illusion that the feeding pain is just an especially rough hickey that way. Useful, especially in nervous prey."
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A deep chuckle escapes her then, at his last remark, and with another step closer to him there's every possibility that her scent will become stronger, that identifying combination of sweet flower and tart berry, but she's doing it to prove a point, not ceasing in her movement until she's standing just before him.
"Do I strike you as nervous now?" Her heartbeat will be the tell, she knows, and often gives her away to Geralt even when she is attempting to remain calmer — but here there is only a subtle quickening of her pulse, nothing that would indicate a more severe stab of fear. "If you take more than what's required, I have ways of making you regret that indulgence."
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"Not especially," is his answer, accompanied by a lazy smile as he dips his head down close to where he can hear her pulse in her throat. "I can hear your heartbeat quickening, but one might almost think it's out of excitement."
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"Awareness, mostly," she replies, her voice lowered now that they're standing closer to one another and she doesn't see the need to declare anything loudly. His hearing could be all the more sensitive now that he doesn't have sight to wield at his disposal, but the loss of latter isn't preventing him from perceiving her, and she turns her head, bringing her face in closer to his. "What would you be willing to do for just one little taste?"
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"Caution is the smart response," he says it like a compliment. It's meant to be. She'd be surprised (or maybe not) by how many people are eager to throw themselves to his jaws without a second thought.
"I think the list of what I wouldn't do might be more succinct. But the better question, I think, is what do you want me to do? I'm all ears, Yennefer. Now more than ever."
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might be good to wind this one down
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