Well Respected Man

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completelyworthit:

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Conrad didn’t pay much attention to Worth at first. Instincts had him licking blood off his hand before he knew what was going on. He was so hungry, and it tasted so good. He didn’t fully understand what he was doing until Worth tossed him the blood bag, and he caught it on reflex. He stared. He was holding a blood bag. A bag of blood. He had just been licking up Worth’s blood off his hand. And it had tasted amazing.

He stared at the bag a moment, visibly shaking, before he gave in to the instincts he’d awakened, and bit into the bag messily, dripping blood on himself and the nice wood floor. That would never come out. It didn’t taste as good as the stuff on his hands, but he still found his jaw locked around the bag as he slurped the contents like an obnoxious ten year old draining a juice pouch to the dregs. The shaking started up again as he neared the end, and started to regain control and realize the gravity of what he was doing.

Oh God.

OhGodohGodohGod.

Worth dug through his kit for the other bag in case Conrad was still hungry, likely as he was pretty sure he hadn’t eaten in days, and kept a close eye on him in case Connie decided to go for the much warmer bag of blood. But of course instead of attacking him Conrad just went for the big prissy fag option, and started freaking out, figured. He still had to help though, so he pulled the bag out of his kit and held it up, “Ey, calm the fuck down, yer still mostly ‘live, now d’ yeh need this one to or are yeh alrigh’?”

“Alright…? You’re… you’re asking if I’m alright when I’m standing here drinking blood?! What’s wrong with you?! This isn’t natural!” Conrad gestured widely, instantly regretting it as the bag spattered a bit more blood across the floor. His senses were heightened still, but with the blood came a clarity that made it less of a buzz and more like Chinese water torture. He could hear his kitchen clock ticking irritatingly, he could hear the radio channel of the neighbor downstairs, and he could smell the blood on Worth, which was much more appealing than the stuff from the bag, and the thought of that made him want to be sick but he couldn’t be. So instead he directed that sense of nausea at himself. He was a freak! How would he do his work, or shop, or do anything normal at all? Conrad threw the empty bag to the ground, needing to express his frustration somehow. It flopped on the floor anticlimactically.

“Oh well excuse fuckin’ me fer askin’ if yer alrigh’ after bein’ stuck with no food in yer apartment fer days wi’ no idea what the hell was goin’ on with yeh. I am such an asshole I promise never t’ care again!” Worth just rolled his eyes, here he was giving Conrad hard to steal hospital supplies out of the kindness of his heart and Conrad was just bitching about it. Fantastic, fine, if he was going to be that way.

“There ain’ a thing wrong wi’ me, yer the one actin’ like ‘m crazy when yer either jus’ crazy ‘r fuckin’ dumb if yeh ain’ noticed yer scared of fuckin’ windows, ain’ breathin’ less yeh remind yerself, and think blood is the best thing in the world, as previously stated, yer dead an’ now a vampire. Wot is so fuckin’ hard t’ understand about that? It is happenin’, can’ fix it, so there, yeh wan’ this bag to or are yeh jus’ gonna chuck it at the floor if I hand it t’ yeh”

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No. Nononono— “No! I am not dead!” Conrad snarled, before he hauled back and punched Worth as hard as he could. He barely felt the sting of knuckles connecting with bone. What he did notice, though, was the sudden, intoxicating scent of blood.

Worth hissed in pain and clutched at his nose catching some of the blood but letting quite a bit of it fall on the floor. This could be bad, he was bleeding quite a bit, Conrad could easily go after it, him. So he kept an eye on him as he rooted through his bag, after a minute he withdrew a ‘borrowed’ blood bag and held it up, trowing it at him, “Drink tha’, yeh dun’ wan’ t’ deal wi’ Lor ‘f yeh end up killin’ me”

Conrad didn’t pay much attention to Worth at first. Instincts had him licking blood off his hand before he knew what was going on. He was so hungry, and it tasted so good. He didn’t fully understand what he was doing until Worth tossed him the blood bag, and he caught it on reflex. He stared. He was holding a blood bag. A bag of blood. He had just been licking up Worth’s blood off his hand. And it had tasted amazing.

He stared at the bag a moment, visibly shaking, before he gave in to the instincts he’d awakened, and bit into the bag messily, dripping blood on himself and the nice wood floor. That would never come out. It didn’t taste as good as the stuff on his hands, but he still found his jaw locked around the bag as he slurped the contents like an obnoxious ten year old draining a juice pouch to the dregs. The shaking started up again as he neared the end, and started to regain control and realize the gravity of what he was doing.

Oh God.

OhGodohGodohGod.

Worth dug through his kit for the other bag in case Conrad was still hungry, likely as he was pretty sure he hadn’t eaten in days, and kept a close eye on him in case Connie decided to go for the much warmer bag of blood. But of course instead of attacking him Conrad just went for the big prissy fag option, and started freaking out, figured. He still had to help though, so he pulled the bag out of his kit and held it up, “Ey, calm the fuck down, yer still mostly ‘live, now d’ yeh need this one to or are yeh alrigh’?”

((So, doing my palentology homework, marine reptiles, look what we’re learning about!

Totally Accurate Representation of a Plesiosaur: 

Admit you guys love me))

hannawolfcross:

friendlyneighborhooddeliveryman:

sodoffyabuggers replied to your post: 　

((I hereby promise and solemnly swear to bug the ever living shit out of each and every one of you if you don’t respond to me. Say it with me now.))

((I solemnly swear to bug the ever living shit out of each and every one of you fuckers if you don’t respond to me.))

((I solemnly swear to bug the ever living shit out of each and every one of you fuckers if you don’t respond to me.))

((I solemnly swear to bug the ever living shit out of each and every one of you fuckers if you don’t respond to me.))

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Worth didn’t back away, though with a hungry new vampire coming towards him it might have been a good idea. Instead he just scowled and shook his head again, “Yeh really that fuckin’ dense!? Yeh ain’ breathin’ ‘less yeh remind yerself, yer covered in burns, an’ I ain’ ‘ad a chance t’ check it but yer ‘eart ain’ beatin’ neither righ’? Wot does that sound like t’ yeh?!” Worth took a step closer, still staring him down, “Sounds like yer dead an’ still walkin’ an’ actin’ like a idiot to deep in denial t’ see it, yer dead, get over it”

No. Nononono— “No! I am not dead!” Conrad snarled, before he hauled back and punched Worth as hard as he could. He barely felt the sting of knuckles connecting with bone. What he did notice, though, was the sudden, intoxicating scent of blood.

Worth hissed in pain and clutched at his nose catching some of the blood but letting quite a bit of it fall on the floor. This could be bad, he was bleeding quite a bit, Conrad could easily go after it, him. So he kept an eye on him as he rooted through his bag, after a minute he withdrew a ‘borrowed’ blood bag and held it up, trowing it at him, “Drink tha’, yeh dun’ wan’ t’ deal wi’ Lor ‘f yeh end up killin’ me”

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“Wh-what? That’s a ridiculous question. Not breathing without reminding myself. You have terrible grammar by the way,” Conrad snapped. In contradiction to his words, Conrad’s breathing hitched at being forcibly reminded that when he first woke up, he’d hadn’t been—he’d been holding his breath. Any time he noticed it was too quiet, or he was too still, he’d focus on his breathing. Focus on breathing.

“I’m not—whatever it is you’re implying, you’re wrong.” Conrad held himself a little tighter, to feel his ribcage expand and shrink with each too deliberate breath.

Worth shook his head and dug through his bag, “Yeah yeah, quit bitchin’ ‘bout m’ grammar, now come on, yeh can’ tell me yeh ain’ noticed. ‘Less yer really tha’ slow. Which yeh migh’ be, but I thought better ‘f yeh. Now when’d yer fuckin’ ‘eart stop?” he gave up digging for whatever he’d been looking for and looked up at Conrad. “Yer still in fuckin’ denial huh? Fuckin’ chris’,  d’ yeh think yeh got those burns an’ shit?”

“M-my heart—? No. No, this is crazy, and you’re crazy. People don’t walk around after their hearts stop. That’s nonsense.” Conrad crossed the room to confront Worth properly. He was wrong. He had to be. Conrad didn’t care if there were evil talking bats, or moose that turned into girls, or anything like that. He could not be dead. Or undead. Or whatever Worth was saying he was. Things like this didn’t happen to him. They just didn’t.

Worth didn’t back away, though with a hungry new vampire coming towards him it might have been a good idea. Instead he just scowled and shook his head again, “Yeh really that fuckin’ dense!? Yeh ain’ breathin’ ‘less yeh remind yerself, yer covered in burns, an’ I ain’ ‘ad a chance t’ check it but yer ‘eart ain’ beatin’ neither righ’? Wot does that sound like t’ yeh?!” Worth took a step closer, still staring him down, “Sounds like yer dead an’ still walkin’ an’ actin’ like a idiot to deep in denial t’ see it, yer dead, get over it”

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No. “Yes.” Australian accent. He’d called him Connie. It was a Worth. But which one? He didn’t think any of them knew where he lived.

“Wait, how did you get in here?” Conrad inched out of the bathroom, arms wrapped around himself.

Worth stepped closer trying to get a better look at him, “Through the door, now wot the hell’s wrong wi’ yeh? No one’s ‘eard from yeh in days, yeh sick ‘r broken ‘r somethin’? ‘brought a kit ‘f there’s still somet-” he finally caught sight of the burns, he quickly went through what possibilities he could think of, pale, generally sick looking, mysterious burns. Huh…

“How long yeh been like this Connie? All not breathey wi’out remindin’ yerself”

“Wh-what? That’s a ridiculous question. Not breathing without reminding myself. You have terrible grammar by the way,” Conrad snapped. In contradiction to his words, Conrad’s breathing hitched at being forcibly reminded that when he first woke up, he’d hadn’t been—he’d been holding his breath. Any time he noticed it was too quiet, or he was too still, he’d focus on his breathing. Focus on breathing.

“I’m not—whatever it is you’re implying, you’re wrong.” Conrad held himself a little tighter, to feel his ribcage expand and shrink with each too deliberate breath.

Worth shook his head and dug through his bag, “Yeah yeah, quit bitchin’ ‘bout m’ grammar, now come on, yeh can’ tell me yeh ain’ noticed. ‘Less yer really tha’ slow. Which yeh migh’ be, but I thought better ‘f yeh. Now when’d yer fuckin’ ‘eart stop?” he gave up digging for whatever he’d been looking for and looked up at Conrad. “Yer still in fuckin’ denial huh? Fuckin’ chris’,  d’ yeh think yeh got those burns an’ shit?”

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Conrad had hidden himself away in the bathroom, and curled up on the floor. Getting home, he had found out the hard way that for some reason, the sun hurt, and the cool tile felt good on the patches of slightly burnt skin. Beyond that, he felt like he was starving. He was starving. He hadn’t eaten in several days, but food tasted like ash in his mouth, and left him gagging. Water made him feel nauseous. He couldn’t go to the hospital; how was he supposed to explain these… these symptoms? Sure, there was that one possibility, but he refused to believe it. Vampires. Did. Not. Exist.

Conrad jerked slightly when he heard the creak of his door. He’d been meaning to oil that. And then there was that sound that haunted him when he closed his eyes: a steady thumping, sound, wet and strong. Conrad wasn’t sure why, but it made his mouth water, and his throat feel drier than ever.

Conrad jumped and sat up as he suddenly felt something in his mouth click. Oh god, they’d done it again. It had happened once or twice since he woke up. He had convinced himself the last couple times that it was all in his head, but now he could feel the… the teeth, pressing against his lips, and his tongue brushing over them each time he swallowed compulsively. Conrad covered his mouth with a hand, and stood. He inched over to the bathroom door, and cracked it open. Nighttime. Good.

“H-hello? Is some—someone there…?”

Worth looked slowly around the apartment, there was no obvious sign anything horrible had happened, nothing valuable missing or anything and no blood spatter, also no corpse, or smell of one, that was good. But there was no sign of Conrad either, that wasn’t good. There were many things that could have gone horribly wrong, he could have broken something and ended up unable to reach the phone, he could have cut himself on something and passed out, hell he could have had a heart attack and… Well, in any case he’d brought an emergency kit with some things he, ‘borrowed’, from the hospital, if Conrad was still alive he could fix it.

Worth looked up at the sound of Conrad’s voice, brought out of his thoughts, and opened up the kit, walking closer to the sound, “Yeah, that yeh Connie? Yeh still ‘live back there?”

No. “Yes.” Australian accent. He’d called him Connie. It was a Worth. But which one? He didn’t think any of them knew where he lived.

“Wait, how did you get in here?” Conrad inched out of the bathroom, arms wrapped around himself.

Worth stepped closer trying to get a better look at him, “Through the door, now wot the hell’s wrong wi’ yeh? No one’s ‘eard from yeh in days, yeh sick ‘r broken ‘r somethin’? ‘brought a kit ‘f there’s still somet-” he finally caught sight of the burns, he quickly went through what possibilities he could think of, pale, generally sick looking, mysterious burns. Huh…

“How long yeh been like this Connie? All not breathey wi’out remindin’ yerself”