Snap, Crackle...

[Patrick]

Ymiden 5 718

Location: Scalvoris

Ymiden was here and so far things were either going to be even more promising, or damning, for Patrick depending on where things went. Admittedly he knew it was only a matter of time, before he needed to find a place to vent his dreaded curse's rage for a few trials. He could tell by now that the ring was getting to the point where the Sessfiend's rage was too powerful, too pent up in the cage that contained the wretched beast deep inside. But what could he do? Without any real secure place to 'let loose' the Fiend would hunt down more innocents, if not attempt to mark someone close to Patrick a candidate for doom and destruction.

Thus he proceeded down the street with the intent to return to his room at the Four, another brief moment spent prior at the Glass Temple since he needed direction yet again. He found nothing this time around and debated the prayer a waste of time, only because his patience with Immortals and higher powers was very short lived. Thus while he dressed lightly for the warmth that blanketed the island on this balmy Ymiden, the Rharnian felt the need to unfasten his brown vest as the collar around his white shirt looked wet. Somewhat soaked from the sweat that coated his forehead, face, and neck; he made sure to regulate his breathing as he kept walking in the direction of his tavern.

Yet even now he could feel it... Something massive and evil within him wanted to break out, to unleash all that contained anger and rage he buried deep within. No matter how many times he tried to bury it or meditate to make it all go away, he literally felt his entire physical being on the verge of what had to be a turn. Yet he couldn't. The ring on his hand prevented these events, even in it's slightly damaged state. Still that didn't stop the influence of the Fiend from seeping out into him, therefore he sought to find a means to put a stop to that as well; before it led to anything bad on his own behalf. Release...

His entire form felt heavier than usual in his walk, and for a moment his legs felt weaker as his head grew foggier. Breaths were slightly shallower now and he felt himself slip, and thus he slowed to a stop with a lean into the building he stood nearby. "No..." He muttered in pain within the confines of his mind as he felt his insides lurch a little, his expression a troubled wince as he slowly slid on his bum against the wall. "Fuck!..." This was the last thing he needed now of all times, another episode where the Manticore attempted to influence him. Only this time that influence was stronger than before, immensely stronger as though he literally was on the verge of turning.

Release!! That same menacing voice in his head demanded as he looked from the sky down to Ymiden's ring, the text of the ancient language turned from a deep red-orange glimmer; into a deep velvety red color as he felt his ears ringing. Or was that the ring? His hands shook and he felt the pressure in his head elevate quickly, as the golden ring slowly started to crack a little more before his very eyes. No. No, no, no! This couldn't be happening! It'd had only been two seasons had it not?! The Manticore had the chance to rage all of his anger out in Southguard near the end of Cylus! Could it be... that he still had residual anger after being forced to revert? Patrick had to quickly hold accountable the number of seasons he'd worn the ring, and how many times the caged monster within had been allowed freedom.

There was Zi'da and then Cylus, but near the end of Cylus the ring was cleverly put back into the Manticore's flesh... somehow. When the ring had been retrieved from Patrick's arm and placed back on his finger, it glowed orange instead of the normal yellow hues that first accompanied it. Which had to mean the Manticore still had residual rage leftover, therefore counting Cylus and Ashan... Patrick would now be three seasons strong without another incident. Because it was Ymiden now. "Fuck you!" He swore to the monster inside as he swore he felt the creature laughing within, that same obsessive craving he suppressed so deeply now back to the surface once more.

[Amaris]

Amaris was tired, but for once it was not the exhaustion he forced upon himself. No, it was the sweet exhaustion of having done something than wallow in his own self-pity. Even if it had been no more than gathering information - sparse and with many holes - from the library and a few sources they had suspected to be knowledgeable about the tribes, it was still something. And he was quite glad for it. His mind had not had much time to focus on unfavorable things, and now it worked as slowly as it would with an intense desire to sleep. It would be a dreamless night, he was sure. The smallest of smiles were on his lip at this thought.

It was as he looked up, swiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, that he spotted someone ahead of him that looked as though they were in need of help. His steps picked up somewhat, brows furrowing. Coming closer, he could make out familiar features. He'd met this man before, first in Ashan and earlier this season. For a trill, his cheeks heated as they remembered the drinking game they'd first become acquainted during, but was soon forgotten as Patrick lurched forward.

"Mr. Patrick, can you hear me?" Best establish some sign that the man was responsive. He glanced around them, spotting a place with some shade. It could have been the heat getting to him, in which case the man would need water. Amaris attempted guiding him over to the shade, hands on his shoulder to redirect his faltering gait over to the spot. "Mr. Patrick; it's Amaris. Can you sit for me? Can you tell me what's wrong?"

He would need rest. Sitting in the shade would only work for so long. The mixed blood figured they would ask where he was staying when he was more responsive and rested. Brows furrowed, they stooped down slightly to better look at him. He was unable to tell if the sweat was from the heat or a fever, and what the source of the pained expression might have been. He would need to question Patrick when he was able to answer or at least in a few bits.

[Patrick]

When she approached there was no way of hearing her words as all sound seemed drowned in a world of ringing, all his perceptive senses were pretty much dulled to a degree of helplessness. Deep down his insides felt pained but ultimately, nothing beyond that as his body still felt quite heavy... as though his energy were drained in a mere moment. When his vision proved less clouded by the white specks he could've called stars, next to him was the council lady he met at the bar... as well as at that gathering just the other trial. What was she doing here?

Patrick definitely beheld a very dazed and lost look upon seeing her, and while he felt far too incapable of heeding her insistence; he did everything he could to make sure he wasn't a burden. Clearly she determined shade the better thing for him right now, and ultimately he agreed since he felt warmer by the trill. So what exactly was happening? Was his body on the verge of a turn? Theoretically he considered that to be the case but only in a sense, the ring prevented him from turning however and that's why he felt so drained and pained at the same time. As to why this episode came on so strongly?

He surmised it had to do with the fact he'd gone without turning for three seasons, considerably, and that the ring was weakening because of this issue. Which meant he needed to vent the fiend's rage somewhere far away from here, some place he knew people like Amaris and Faith were safe from danger. After a second attempt of Amaris speaking to him, the sound a little less drowned out now compared to before, he nodded at first and quickly fell to take a hard sit down against the wall nearby. Gods he felt so drained, so caught up in a desperate need to feed on something. Immediately his eyes shifted focus on Amaris and deep down he felt something, hunger driven impulse on a bit of a larger scale in comparison. He felt as though he would've instinctively lashed out, had he not the temperament to quell that impulse with a few steady breathes.

"I..." His voice cracked dryly as he definitely had been breathing hard, what seemed to be shallow and ragged before now seemed deeper in comparison. Patrick felt his mind rush and ultimately he tried to avoid making eye contact, let alone attempt admiring any part of Amaris for safety reasons. Yet even though he looked away from her there would've been more, a subtle but significant moment in which she could easily register something wrong. Something completely and utterly wrong with this whole situation. For a moment Patrick's irides fluctuated as his eyes intensified, the hazel green hues flashing a menacing silver color as the pupils stretched into slits. Like a feral animal's eyes. After he closed his eyes and shook his head, Patrick inwardly growled at the inclinations driving his mind towards rampancy.

"Need..." Amaris didn't know though... What was he to tell her? What would she do? If Faith were here she'd outright swear against it, but then again he didn't see her here with a piece of raw meat either! Fuck! What was he to do?! Patrick's eyes opened and they were normal yet again, locked on Amaris as he looked at her pleadingly. He didn't want to ask this, he didn't want her to be caught up in his troubles either. Why? Why did keeping this a secret prove even harder than before? Almost as though his gaze begged her not to judge or tell anyone, he muttered a little more softly the last word that he dreaded to say.

"Blood."

[Amaris]

Patrick seemed able to cooperate and comply - this was good. It was as good as response as Amaris needed to at least know that he wasn't too far gone in whatever it was that was happening. Would it have been something he'd eaten? Or it was more likely to be a drink; easily spiked if one was not careful. Would he need to have some of investigation? He hoped not. He hoped, quite vehemently, that no one would be so spiteful as to tamper with Patrick's drink or put something in his food. The furrow of his brow deepened as he positioned himself in front of the man, blocking the sun and providing further shade. The heat on their skin was nothing worse than what they'd been faced with during the trial thus far.

The man started to speak, and the mixed blood found himself much more attentive. He seemed to struggle with his words. Was this a symptom, or was he just not sure? The councilor noted that he wouldn't look at him, like the man could not. He supposed the sun might have made it a problem, and angled himself once more. It was a single syllable that the man uttered. Slow and labored. And when he next looked up, Amaris had to press his nails into his palms to hold back a gasp.

Eyes - human eyes - were not supposed to look like that. He'd taken an anatomy course during his time at the university and the professor had noted mutations and abnormalities, but this did not fit the bill. Animal came to mind at the sight of Patrick's irises. Almost feline, but surely not something like a small domesticated house cat. The man continued to speak, moving on to what he needed but still deliberating. He wonder how bad this request was for the Rharnian to take his time like this. How sensitive a topic was it?

Amaris was given his answer in a single, simple word. In any other context, it might not have meant so much, but this wasn't anywhere else. He could not stop the sharp intake of breath or the widening of his eyes. He broke the gaze shared between the two to glance around, checking to be sure there was no one close enough to hear what had been uttered. The mixed blood stooped down before Patrick, but was uncertain of what to do. Did he just mean a blood transfusion? He wasn't skilled enough for that, he didn't think.

But he knew what the man meant. Or had an idea of it anyways. "Is it...a specific kind? Do you need it from someone in particular? I must apologize; I need you to elaborate." Surely this experience was no better for Patrick, and he likely didn't help the situation with his own dose of panic.

[Patrick]

He didn't like that he had to admit what he desired, let alone indulge another on his little dilemma. What he asked for would warrant a well provided explanation when he could manage, and although he didn't want to involve another in his world of troubles... right now he hadn't much choice. Besides this person had unknowingly met and survived an encounter with Syroa, something that Patrick himself had to take into account since he was there. In fact it was because of him that Syroa appeared then, just as she was the reason he was in this situation now...

"Just... something. I know it's gonna sound horrible, and..." His mind ranged once more as he winced, a shake of his head briefly occurred as he exhaled in short pained spurts. "I'll explain it afterwards." He resumed finally with a pinch at the bridge of his nose, his eyes still closed as though he suffered some sort of headache or migraine. Right now it seemed as though the only thing capable of quelling this series of tormented ailments was either flesh or blood, since those were ultimately the things he felt his body insist upon having. It was a strange sensation considering one could compare it to withdrawal, the type in which a drug addict would greatly suffer after losing their high the following Trial.

"Right now I need either blood or... just plain meat. Raw. If I don't ingest either of the two, I may-" His head bowed for a moment as though he were slipping consciousness, his breathing stopped for just a moment as he remained inactive for almost half a Bit. Finally he stirred once more with another breath of air, his head brought back up to rest against the wall as he kept his eyes closed. Gods! His lips felt so cracked and dry, the sweat across his brow somehow cold. Yet all over his body he felt hot, hotter than usual while his skin underneath ached. He knew what it was, what it had to be by now. This was the sign of a turning. Right now the Fiend insided wanted to be released from his cage, to break out even though the ring kept him contained within. Yet now it was damaged even more, and Patrick had no way of knowing how this could affect him.

"Please don't tell anyone." He begged with a raspy tone. "I never wanted to hurt anybody... Never asked for anything like this..." Evidently the gravity of his secret weighed heavily on his mind, as what little Amaris did learn already posed a great risk on his well being.

[Amaris]

The mixed blood was, quite thoroughly, disturbed. But he could not allow that to show. It didn't stop bits and pieces of this disturbance from making itself known. It would be there in his body language and the distance he had unconsciously put between himself and Patrick. The other man seemed no less pleased with situated - pained quite literally. Whatever this was, that Patrick didn't want for others to know, was probably more uncomfortable than he had words for.

"How...much do you need?" If it was just...consumption, would it be safe to say that the man didn't more than a few drops or bites? Another question was on his tongue, but Patrick froze - and seemed to stop breathing. Alarm had him straightening his back, leaning in closer. Amaris would sooner forget his own discomfort if it meant keeping this man in front of him alive. Dying - was not something he wanted to be a witness to again. But soon he was moving and asking once more that the mixed blood not tell anyone about this.

This - whatever this may be - was not something he was fully capable of dealing with. What are you supposed to do? Say 'Hello, I'd like your rarest steak' to a random cook? Or better yet - go see a butcher. I'm sure they'd love to see you in their shop staring at their wares. The mixed blood had, reasonably, been growing an aversion to meat. Ever since their encounter with a particular cannibal - one no longer around to torment them but still remember as a haunting - they'd been more partial to chicken and fish. But the voice had a bit of a point - and maybe it wasn't such a bad idea.

Amaris loathed to admit it, but it would be his only choice. He'd find to find a butcher and buy something from there. If, of course, Patrick needed more than a little bit of blood. If not, well...he had a less favorable idea. It would inconvenience no one but himself, and maybe Patrick, but he doubted the man would object to it.

[Patrick]

Disturbed was something Patrick heavily expected when he watched Amaris, he could tell from the look in her eyes that this caused a lot of discomfort. Namely because the nature of his condition, if it could be called that, put in them both in a very delicate position. One he didn't ask to place either in to be honest! However the damnable curse had never been easy to live with, and while he had started to get along and manage for a bit... evidently that proved too good to last at all. At the inquiry of how much he needed, he winced as he too felt quite uncomfortable with the situation.

How much? Gods if only he really knew! He felt so damn famished that it could take a bit, that if he wasn't careful then he'd wind up losing control; draining as much as his insatiable hunger demanded him to. But that wasn't what she needed to hear at this rate... no Amaris needed to know what Patrick needed, to make sure he didn't lose any control over his imminent predicament. Right now just something to help him manage until he got a real fix, be it that nice delicate portion of raw meat he could get from somewhere... or perhaps something fresh from the wilderness that still had a heartbeat. Deep within him a faint purr nearly surfaced with the thought, and he had to swallow hard to make sure it didn't actually come out.

"I-I don't know." He muttered wryly with his own lips turned into a scowl, clearly troubled by the thought that just surfaced in his mind. "Faith wouldn't allow me to do this... I shouldn't ask for any of this." Regret surfaced in his tone as he took deep breaths now, as he refrained from looking at Amaris any further now. He felt a great deal of shame in appearing this way before her, but also a great urge to lash out just as well. Not to her specifically, but to anything warm and living in general. Patrick still breathed slow but heavily with his cheeks puffed out, wishing that the short feisty lady was here to help now.

But no. He'd placed enough on her shoulders already! The last thing he wanted was for her to see him here, even if she needed to know what just happened. She understood well enough the deal with his ring, and if she saw it's newly obtained crack; she'd be just as concerned as well. "If I had just a little bit. Enough to keep me in control, then I should be able to manage long enough." Long enough for what though? To reach the butcher's shop and pick his next best delicacy? He didn't want to think that way, not when it ultimately felt like giving in. He wanted to fight this, to suppress the urge within. But he wasn't strong enough... not against something this incredible.

"I'm sorry." He pleaded to Amaris with a somber glance shot to her, before he closed his eyes and battered the backside of his head against the wall. Only a few times at least, while it didn't stop his urges; it slightly vented his frustration a little... albeit a bit painfully. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Already he seemed to be falling into the self loathing part of himself yet again, upset with what looked to be a moment where Amaris might have to provide him with something. He didn't want her to. Against all odds he would've rather resisted this, but already he felt his consciousness slip a little again. His mind felt hazy once more as his sense of perception dulled, as the inside of his mouth suddenly started to water when he looked at her again. "I don't know how to control it anymore."

[Amaris]

The mixed blood had to wonder how long the man had been dealing with this. Even if he wasn't with the information he was giving the other, he knew enough of his condition to do just that. And to control it for however long it had been. Amaris would say this put Patrick in a newer, better light to him, but now was not the time. Patrick likely wanted his help more than to know that the mixed blood had not thought as highly of him as one might expect.

It was not for discomfort that the councilor looked away again. A newfound skittishness had entered him as he surveyed their surroundings, eyes darting up and down the street for signs of life. People ducked in and out of doors, but for the most part seemed content to begin escaping the heat for a cool drink inside one establishment or another. They would go bits before reappearing outside and then disappearing again. That would certainly give him enough time - hopefully.

He wet his lips again as Patrick spoke. The man's eyes - Amaris must admit that while they had been nice before, they were mystifying now in their oddity. Another thing he would not let the other know, tucking hair behind his ear. Well, now. He didn't know how much he needed and Amaris couldn't rightly just spitball any ol' measurement to give - particularly not with blood. He'd prescribed things before, but certainly not blood. So how were they to do this? How were they to propose this thought even? The mixed blood took in a shaky breath, not looking at Patrick as he apologized.

Of course, there was also the matter of Faith knowing about...his predicament. How could Faith have not been able to help? Then would it have been something magical? Immortal related? Color drained from him at this. Amaris was not the most spiritual person around, but he knew enough that something involving an immortal could only be solved by an immortal. Which meant that, essentially, he would be useless in this situation. Gaze cast down now, he stared into his palm before slowly folding his fingers over, still quiet and contemplating.

"Bite down." He extended his hand to the man, eyes narrowed at anything other than him. For a trill, he remembered their truth or dare game of last season and the first dare that had been said. Any other situation would have his cheeks warming but for now he could only think of the possible pain he would be in if Patrick followed through. Amaris figured it would be easy enough to clean the wound and dress it, but he might need to visit the Order for something to numb the pain. "And you don't need to apologize. I'm sure you've bitten a fair number of people." It was a feeble attempt at a joke, but once more he was nervous that it might be taken more as an insult.

[Patrick]

Fates be damned for what he was indirectly asking out of her, for Patrick would never have wanted this to come between them. Nor would he ever wish something so severe as this curse upon his enemies, for only those inflicted with the Sessfiend curse understood the true meaning of isolation. No friends, no feelings, and of course no trust in others. All three were ideals that wrought demise and destruction, on those involved or even close in the vicinity of the Fiend's wrath upon turning. What these recent developments were however, with the immense hunger and perpetual blackouts he started to experience; had to be an effect resulting from that time in utter isolation.

Patrick had always floundered when it came to trust and closeness with others, but ever since his curse took root things gradually worsened for him. And yet here he was, now, at the mercy of another who took pity on his miserable soul. He didn't want to do as she said when he saw the extension before him, her hand presented with the intent to provide him with something substantial. But what would happen if he listened? Would he lose control? Would that aspect of him take over without him noticing? He didn't want to risk it and when he looked at the woman, bitter tears welled from his eyes as he clenched his jaw for a moment. And that joke she made? He wanted to find it funny as he knew her intent, but he just couldn't find it in himself to even chuckle.

No. He resented himself for this. The fact he not only turned into a monster, but was also slowly becoming one in human form, made him hate and scorn that damnable Immortal even more. He cursed the night he came across Syroa, and spited her for everything she's taken from him. Patrick swallowed hard as he took the wrist of her hand, his eyes locked on the slender and delicate form as she kept it balled. It was actually one of the prettier hands he'd ever found himself admiring, which only made the guilt worsen as he tried to regulate his breathing. He didn't want to fall into a sobbing mess before the woman, not if he could manage keeping that much of his struggling mentality together at least. Thus he slowly brought it closer to her with his jaw more relaxed, his mouth reluctantly agape as her coppery skin was mere centimeters away from being kissed. Only... it wouldn't be such a thing.

If he wanted this to be as quick and painless as possible, he needed to bite down hard from the get go and draw blood. Thus he bared his teeth just a little and drew his jaws to a tight shut. The moment he felt the edges of his teeth sink in, he shut his eyes tight almost as though he shared her pain. Probably because in a sense he did back when he first received this curse, and once their edges punctured the skin enough to draw blood; Patrick's entire form became rigid. He could taste Amaris in his mouth now, the rich sanguine essence which he sapped from her body; like some parasite or leech having gone without for so long. Now that the taste of iron rolled across his tongue however, his form started to relax and he breathed regular again.

Only the grip on Amaris's wrist tightened now, the longer she allowed him to drain blood from her hand.

[Amaris]

They weren't sure what was worse: the anticipation or the actual instant of Patrick breaking skin. His reluctance to follow through left them with an air of uncertainty. Like it would be a lot worse than they had originally thought, and maybe it was. A scream threatened to bubble forth from their throat as Patrick's teeth sank into the mixed blood's hand. They'd experienced worse, but it was likely how they'd approached it.

It was a burst of pain as teeth dug into flesh, cutting close to bone. It went up through his hand arm to his shoulder, a radiating pain that got worse with each passing trill. His jaw clenched so hard that it, too, began to ache; free hand curled into a fist, as well. Nails digging into his palm as he attempted to distract himself from one pain with another, the mixed blood kept their gaze away from the offending source of their...extreme discomfort.

It was only the tightening hold on their wrist that forced him to look. A scene of gore, one that he should have been used to, was what he was met with. Blood pooled around the dip of flesh and Patrick's teeth. It was as if bringing his full attention to the situation had made the pain that much worse, the strangled sounds of a sob just barely contained leaving him.

"Mr. Patrick, you're hurting me." The words were strained, spoken through grit teeth as they enclosed their free hand around Patrick's as Amaris attempted to pry him off.