theydrewfirstblood | [PUMPKIN HOLLOW] INBOX

What happens to John in that moment...he's not sure he'll ever be able to explain it.

He doesn't quite relax, but it's like something in him tries to yield, to give way--it's actually a nice feeling that has him breathing deeper, easier. It's intense enough that the man who emerges from his coop and speaks, he almost seems familiar, almost makes sense, almost...

...and that's where something in his head starts to scream again. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

John blinks, wraps that feeling around him--and only then does he really see it.

Armed, but waiting. Whatever just happened, this guy had to be responsible--almost like hypnosis or something. Hell, the look of him: too lean, too pale, too strange and asking for shelter in the daylight?

Trapped in the dark, voices screaming above him, no light no hope no relief from the walls and the dark and the smell...

John sheaths his knife and regards the--okay, if only in his own head he's gonna say it, vampire--with a little less suspicion.

"Coop's okay for tonight, I'll bring the chickens in." he finally replies. "But next time? Use the barn...once it's done, I mean. I'm...building a new barn, it's gonna have a couple empty stalls. Once it's finished, you can stay there whenever you want. All I ask's that you don't hurt my animals--and if you hunt to survive? Feel free to go after anything that might come after my chickens. Except wolves--they're off limits."

Despite the sharpness, the thinly-veiled monstrosity of his features, his expression seems to soften, relief washing over him. No longer cornered, it becomes clear that this maybe-vampire still has quite a bit of humanity to him, as his vulnerabilities let themselves peek out.

"Thank you. I... won't be any more of a bother than I need to be."

Seeing that shift in his expression makes John smile a little, a mixture of relief and genuine goodwill. So, maybe that much of the mythos is true that not all vampires are all monster?...

"Long as you're not scaring my chickens, you're not bothering anyone." John assures him.

BUK BUKBUKBUK BUK! BAAAAK!

John glances over his shoulder and down at Co, scratching the ground behind him.

"Watch your mouth, missy, he's not gonna hurt you. Be nice to guests."

...buk buk buk. buk buk buk BUK!

"Yeah, yeah, stick it in the Suggestion Box." he snickers, turning back to the vampire.

"Coop's all yours for the day. I'll come check on you if you need anything...y'know, get hungry or whatever. If, uh...I'm assuming you drink blood? If it doesn't have to be from a beating heart, I can bring you a couple fresh rabbits in the late afternoon."

There's a flash of a scowl, a moment of hesitation, and a glare as if to say "how dare you accuse me of being a vampire." But he's not as self-destructively prideful as he once was.

"It... has to be fresh, I'm afraid. The source of my suffering does not wish for me to be able to resolve my affliction so easily, and I haven't been able to feed discretely. I'm not about to risk transmitting my condition, but until I find the right herbs to cleanse the bite..."

"I'll bring you a live hare then." John assures him. "With something to wrap it in--I'll burn the carcass for safety's sake."

He thinks, then shrugs.

"Frankly, though? I don't think anything can trump dysentery." he mutters, remembering what he went through to deliberately contract it during his escape in Vietnam.

"Not even vampirism."

"Living with the condition isn't the worst of it. It's the part about my soul belonging to a malevolent god that wants to see me suffer that irks me." He tries to laugh at his little attempt at humor through understatement, but he doesn't sound especially amused.

That takes John aback a little--and he hates that it doesn't surprise him more. He considers it a blessing that faith isn't something he lost because of the war, like he saw in some--but he's definitely come to question a lot of it.

He understands and believes in evil, he's seen too much of it--but that's what the Devil is. A god that's malevolent, an evil god? That's hard to get his head around, and it's...it just feels wrong.

Especially knowing there's someone out there like Serranai...

"Gods may have power over us, but your soul doesn't belong to anyone you don't want it to."

He doesn't mean to say it, it just...sort of falls out of his mouth. But now that it's there, he's not taking it back.

"If that idea bugs you, someone else having hold of your soul? Your soul's still yours, buddy. Keep fightin' for it...and if you need a hand along the way? I got your six."

He chuckles, darkly and mirthlessly.

"I wouldn't mind the help, but you need to understand. The gods are always vying for claim over souls. Some are more merciful than others, but their desire for custody over mortal animus is limitless. My... affliction marks my soul as claimed by the slaver god. I may have it now, and for as long as I live, but I can't live forever. I either find a way to shake my condition, or I find a more palatable god who will give my soul safe harbor. But I don't delude myself into thinking that there is any real mercy in this world, at least not among the gods."

In mortals, he has found compassion, despite all his doubts. Particularly in himself, where he least expected it to be.

Unbidden, but not unsurprising, the mention of this slaver god brings to mind old Sunday School stories about angels and Lucifer. Where his pride stemmed from, how God so loved humans...how free will made humans special because angels didn't really have it.

John would call mercy a human thing...but he's seen enough to know how little of it there really is, at least on purpose. Then again--that's why he tries a little harder than most to have it.

He feels a tap on his shoe, and looks down to find Co braving the threat of their visitor to check on him. In spite of himself, he smiles.

"If there was no mercy in the gods," John replies, thinking of Serranai and Co in the same breath, "I don't think either one of us would be here. Might not be much, but it is there. And it's just as rare in humans--you could've hurt my animals but you didn't. That shows mercy--and if the lore about your kind that I know from my world is true? That's a big step in the right direction towards beating this thing."

"I have no intention of giving in to the bestial urges that vampires are known for. But... well, if there is any mercy in the gods of my home, I have not seen it. My family's own patron spirit is silent."

Not just his family's patron, Xarxes, either, but the spirit he has long thought of as his own. Hermaeus Mora, the keeper of secrets and scholar-partner of Xarxes the Scribe, inscrutable and ever-present, has not seen fit to answer his pleas with so much as a whisper.

"There are others here. Maybe they could help." he muses, Serranai still in his thoughts as he says it. "I know it sounds crazy, but..."

He can't quite hide a smile, thinking of his picnic in the woods with Serranai.

"...one of 'em tried to help me. And if she thinks she can save me? I think she really does care."

There's a long pause.

"The claim on my soul is strong. Do you really think this spirit of yours would be willing enough to fight for it?" His emberglow eyes are staring daggers into John.

"...I think if she'll fight for me, she'll fight for anyone."

It's simple, it's honest--and it's so true it hurts a little. Because the care she's shown him...

He trusts her to have his back. He's trusted her to guide him to help when she can't be there, and she hasn't steered him wrong yet.

Nodding to himself a little, he meets those glowing eyes head on.

"Serranai. She'll help you--and if you don't feel comfortable asking, I will. I, uh--I been making offerings once a month. I'll leave something on your behalf."

"Would you, now?" There's something odd about his smile. It's hard to tell if his expression is cynical, or just surprised.

"Very well, then. Give your appeals to your goddess. And I'll be willing to offer her whatever services she requests, if she decides it's actually worth helping out a wretch like me."

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cw: mentions of war-related self harm, gross diseases

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cw: slavery mention

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