pineslog | there is no spf in the world strong enough to be out pre-7pm

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there is no spf in the world strong enough to be out pre-7pm

Who: Dio Brando + you; Enrico Pucci
Where: The trek to & from the hospital; his shared home with Pucci
When: March 13th @ ~9pm or so; ~12am or later
What: Dio needs a refill on his blood supply; (most likely confusing) late night chats with Pucci
Warnings: Blood-drinking; will update as needed.

open.

[He is already a bit tired of having to make this trek, what with the winter weather still lingering in some capacity. He's also well-aware that he could simply order Pucci to fetch his blood supply for him, and he would do so without question. But when it comes down to it, Dio would much rather contend with the unpleasant climate of this little town over remaining completely cooped up inside. It's also only the second time he's made the trek so far . . . ]

[. . . But he is rather tired of this trek, and does not look forward to it next month. The thought occurs to him to simply abandon this cooler right here and now, and find something fresher to consume, but he knows himself to be smarter and far less impulsive than that. He needs to be patient for now. There will come a time, he knows it, when he might feed freely.]

[So, for now, Dio makes the journey to the hospital with both cooler and thermos well after the sun has set. He's polite enough to the few willing to be outside at this hour, the temperature dropping appreciably without the warmth of the sun, but he doesn't seem to possess a particular interest in lingering outside or slowing his pace much. When Dio reaches the hospital, he approaches the nurse's station, and places both cooler and thermos on the desk. The nurse appears to have been expecting him, smiling warmly at him as she takes both items, and assures him it will be just a moment and he can have a seat.]

[He doesn't take a seat. Instead, Dio leans against a nearby wall, arms folded and with bended knee to rest the sole of a boot against the wall behind him. He has no desire to sit and mingle with those in the waiting room, but he observes them silently as he waits. Once the nurse returns and calls to him with a polite Mr Brando, he collects his now heavier cooler and full thermos. He opens the thermos to drink on the way back, and those with sensitive noses will most certainly smell blood in the air.]

closed - pucci.

[Initially, he had thought of obtaining a separate refrigerating unit for storing his blood — it's not as though they lacked the space for it and would allow some evasion of any potential houseguests — but Pucci will never fill the fridge entirely, and it's the right temperature. So, it is into the fridge the blood goes once Dio returns home, and the cooler is left on the counter to be emptied of its remaining ice at a more reasonable hour. Or, well, a more reasonable hour for humans. As for the thermos, Dio's already downed the last drop, and takes the time to wash it out quietly before placing it atop the fridge once more to its proper place.]

[It is then that Dio retreats further into the house to the keeping room with a glass of wine and a book. A fire is lit to serve as the only light in the room, and Dio settles on the couch to read. One hand holds his glass by the bowl, idly swirling the liquid every so often before taking another sip, while the other props his book up and turns the pages. He's slouched in his seat, oriented toward the opposite end of the couch with a leg partially on the cushion beside him.]

I didn't wake you, did I?

[It's isn't sound or scent that alerts Dio to Pucci's presence. He's too absorbed in his reading, and the close proximity he has to the fireplace prevents him from noticing any of that without truly concentrating. Although he does not lift his gaze from his book, it's the movement behind the couch in his peripheral vision that catches his attention.]

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[Pucci is . . . he has a routine, now.]

[There's no reason for it, but at the same time there's so much reason for it. He doesn't need to wake up so early. It's just past two in the morning now, and he has nothing so pressing he needs to do that means he should be awake.]

[Except.]

[He's tried sleeping through the night and only being awake during the day. It feels wrong. It feels empty--as natural as it is to his body, and as used as he is to sleeping promptly at ten and waking promptly at six most mornings (as used to it as he feels, but is he really?), now waking when Dio goes to sleep is an improper thing.]

[He can't explain it. That's just how it is.]

[So he goes to sleep in the late afternoon and gets up a couple of hours after midnight, lately. It's a relief, as much as his body sometimes objects. He wants to see him. The more the memories trickle in, the more he wants to see him.]

No. You didn't. I woke myself.

[There wasn't an alarm. He's just disciplined. And--maybe part of him heard Dio come in. Even he couldn't say.]

Do . . . you mind? If I sit.

[I woke myself.]

[Dio doesn't turn his head to look at Pucci, but his gaze slides from the pages of his book over in his direction out of the corner of his eye. It's becoming a . . . habit. The first few nights, Dio spent mostly on his own, and was content with it. He's never particularly required company, certainly not constant, and even with some of his own curiosity about this man — the gaps in his memory too great to completely bridge an explanation behind I love you as I love God — he found the space from him agreeable at first. He imagines Pucci did, too.]

[But Pucci started staying up a little later each night. And then it was not so much that he was staying up later, but that he was spending more time around Dio intentionally. And Dio . . . Well, he hasn't been looking forward to the time with Pucci. He's learned to tolerate the mild discomfort though, and it seems nearly negligible at this point. That's a better way of thinking of it. He's learned to tolerate it, so now he doesn't mind it. Not particularly anyway.]

[Dio's gaze drops back to his book as he makes a wordless gesture for Pucci to have a seat. He doesn't shift or curl his leg in closer to create extra space on the couch for Pucci. He doesn't anticipate that Pucci will complain, but even if he were to, Dio's claimed this space as his own and he won't simply concede it without it being his initial thought to.]

[He doesn't complain. Of course he doesn't. All he feels is gratitude--the same sort of blessing he used to feel (does feel?) when he finds himself feeling close to God, like he's standing in the warmth of the bright sun, even in the middle of winter or the dark of the night.]

[Every time Dio accepts his presence, he feels this. Every time Dio speaks to him--it's foolish, he knows. But Dio's voice reminds him of the memories that trickle in and wrap around his mind in his sleep and in waking. His voice is to be found in the good memories, and lives as a tantalizing alternative to the bad memories. Dio is everywhere.]

[Everything. The Alpha and the Omega--and so on.]

[Pucci enters the room, now he has his permission. He pauses on the way in to look idly through the bookshelf nearest his eye level and pull something out, more to have something to do with his hands and something to look through than to actually read it. By the time he's settled on the opposite end of the couch with it in his lap, legs crossed, he's already forgotten the title. His eyes fix, gentle and curious, on Dio.]

A productive evening?

[He's aware of Pucci in the room. Acutely. Even without lifting his eyes once more from his book, even as he tries to forge on ahead with his reading over splitting his attention between the words on the page and Pucci's movement throughout the room, he's aware. He feels Pucci's eyes on him and turns the page because he should be through with it and onto the next already.]

Mm. I should have enough to last the month.

[It's vile form of sustenance, and he blatantly resents having to subsist in this way. His first day, he'd been too hungry to care about the taste, and gorged himself. But now? Now, he's already come to loathe the taste of cold blood. It always has a bitter aftertaste of plastic to it that he finds unpleasant, and he allows as much time as he can between feedings to avoid it. Thinking about it is enough to bring the taste to the back of his tongue, and his lips purse for a brief second before he washes it away with a sip of wine.]

[Ah. There it is again.]

[This isn't the first time Pucci has noticed Dio's distaste for the blood he has to drink. It's funny; for a while, Pucci was torn between assuming it was blood in general that upset him and being very sure that that wasn't the case. He thinks he understands it, now. The blood is congealed, coppery, bitter. It must be.]

[Even if he hadn't curiously tasted a bit of it lingering on the rim of one of the bags, it would be a safe assumption to make. But he knows, now.]

[He hesitates, but only for a moment. Then:]

You really hate it, don't you.

[It's. Not exactly a question.]

[Dio lowers his glass smoothly, but his eyes break from the page at the non-question. It's not brief eye contact, and there's a wariness there. He's not certain where Pucci intends to go with this, and he holds Pucci's gaze with the intention of trying to suss that out. Of course, he finds nothing but sincerity there which is equal parts satisfying and grating.]

[His gaze moves back to his book.]

If I was injured or starving, I wouldn't turn it away, but no. [He turns another page.] I'm not particularly fond of it.

[Pucci makes a noise of understanding. It makes sense. It seems wrong, though. Dio shouldn't have to deal with that--with anything but the best of things. The flickering bits of memory he's recovered have gilt and shadow associated with Dio, dust and dinginess with the rest of the world. This is all wrong.]

Do you believe there to be alternatives? [A beat. He clarifies.] Sustainable alternatives. Given the circumstances.

[A sustainable alternative is a tall ask for this place. It may have a proclivity for secrets, but it abhors violence of any kind. Never mind that the population appears . . . limited given that although no one seems to ever leave, so few arrive.]

I won't lower myself to feed on animals, and I have no desire to draw attention to myself yet, Enrico.

I apologize for being unclear. That isn't what I meant.

[He glances sideways at Dio, his expression calm, without an ounce of challenge to it.]

I was thinking more about volunteers.

[There's a moment where it might seem as though Dio does not follow Pucci's logic, but it is more skepticism than confusion that gives him reason to pause. For the first time since Pucci entered the room, Dio lowers his book, open pages resting against his chest.]

How likely do you think it is that I would find enough volunteers to satisfy my appetite?

[ hunger and boredom do things to an oni. she is too weak, too soft without a source of power, to fight off the humans, should she turn on them and they retaliate, and no one in that miserable building she shares with lancer can cook. eating all the humans would deny her the opportunity to eat more sweets in the future, but she is still bored, and still hungry, so there's only one thing to do. provide for herself. even out here in the cold, the woods are a bounty full of animals with beating hearts, even if that damn human with the star and the hat finds her moments after she brings down the deer. not even enough time to cook it, just bundling her up into his "car" thing, deer and all, and depositing her on the main drag back into town. rude! but she does have a meal, now. her magic is enough to burn and flame and cook it, but first she must take it home to pick the best part to eat.

cackling, ibaraki hoists the carcass over her shoulders and sets off towards her lair, only paying a little bit of attention to the human walking down the road in front of her. the sidewalk is cold on her bare feet, and she hurries as best she can, until the wind shifts. even with the overpowering smell of her own prize, the smell of human blood is unique, and decadent, and is coming from the small giant ahead.

GUESS WHAT SHE'S GOING TO BE ANNOYING, and picks up her pace until she draws even with the man, taking two steps for each one of his, the antlers of her dead deer bouncing with the motion. ]

An injured sheep without a shepherd! And so far from the lights, so late... [ that's still vaguely threatening, even coming from a tiny girl. ] Have you no fear of wolves, human?

[Although it is still plainly a fresh kill, already Dio can smell the signs of rot on the carcass that this small girl carries. He does not crinkle his nose, but the look he gives her out of the corner of his eye is one of disdain. Her comments do little to improve it. Dio does not take well to being threatened or accusations of humanity of any kind.]

If you were one to truly observe what's in front of you, you would find no sheep or human here. [He turns his head to give her a once-over.] And if you think killing a docile creature like that gives you the right to call yourself a wolf, you are mistaken. You'll need to do far better than that.

[ she hears his words, and registers the insult just fine, but the weird part is trying to parse together where she knows that voice from. there's the recollection of a shouting voice "IT WAS ME" during that great candy heist. she doesn't care what he says about her, only because she's satisfied with the situation, more or less, but how amusing... she laughs, an airy sound in the night air, at odds with everything about the two of them walking along. ]

An oni must eat, and a wolf does not look for challenges, only food. [ there's a momentary pause, a short inhale as she watches him with bright eyes, even in the darkness. under the smell of her own kill, and the blood which is so clearly not his own, she can tell — its like the other berserker, the one red horn loves so. but the voice? where is that from....

hold up. ] Ah — but I know your voice. The sun Rider, who called himself his god. Where is your pyramid, Rider?

[Oni doesn't mean anything to Dio, and catches his attention mildly. Nothing is a threat to him -- he's far too powerful for anything to ever pose a true threat -- but the unknown still does not sit well with him. He arches an eyebrow when she calls him a sun Rider. He could not be further from that, and scoffs.]

You have me mistaken for someone else. I answer to no god, [he says, spitting the word like it is the vilest thing he's ever tasted.]

[ she trails along next to this giant man, unworried by his tone or the way he spits venom with his words, but scowls all the same. she does not like puzzles like this. ]

I know his voice, and it is yours, not-rider-not-human! I have heard it with my own ears!

[ and to prove her point, her skin shifts, warping with her clothes until the person walking next to dio is no longer a tiny, fine boned girl, but a much taller man, with golden eyes and copper skin. when she — he? — speaks, it is with that bastard koyasu's voice. ]

If you are not the King of Kings, who are you?

[ even with this new form, the dead deer has not changed, still hanging limply over her shoulders. ]

Edited (IM GOOD AT HTML... AND NOTICING IF I HAVE THE RIGHT LINK,F UCK) 2017-03-21 20:09 (UTC)

[King of Kings is something he has heard before in reference to himself, but this is far from an ideal time to reflect upon it. Dio looks her over instead, and brushes the memory aside. So, she's a shapeshifter? It's not particularly impressive, but it could perhaps have its uses if she was capable of using it effectively. He thinks of that rather than noting the sound of his own voice coming from another. It's mildly disturbing how little difference there is.]

My name is Dio, and I am the one who will rule over the world.

[Coming from anyone else, it might seem melodramatic or hyperbolic, but the way Dio speaks of it, it sounds like it's nearly his birthright.]

[ the girl-man laughs, her shape and voice shifting once again, returning her much smaller natural form. she is probably one of the few beings who would hear something like that and just roll with it. she's not even bothered by the great difference in their heights, and her teeth glint with her grin. ]

Kufufufu...! How amusing... But how do you mean to rule from this cage, golden king?

[ at least he's not kintoki... she frankly already likes this blood drinker more than she ever liked the golden boy, especially after what the did to shuten. ]

[Dio scoffs.]

I am immortal for reasons beyond my species. What makes you think this cage will hold me forever? Hm?

[He may not yet remember the century he spent at the bottom of the ocean in a coffin, but he remembers a fragment of his triumphs, and he knows how to control The World. As far as Dio's concerned, his superiority is unquestionable. He takes a long drink from his thermos.]

[ she shrugs. ]

If you are neither human, god, oni, nor Servant, I would not know what your capabilities are. Is it complacency or weakness that keeps you from acting?

[ no judgement, just curious. if he's a blood drinker, he might be like the other berserker, or red horn's assassin self... or even those gorgons, who have divinity... she just wants to understand this godless-not-human-ruler. ]

[Complacency he doesn't take much offense to because that's more a demonstration of ignorance on the part of the other than it is any true reflection of him, but weakness? Weakness is a baseless accusation, and one that strikes at his already short temper quickly.]

You know nothing of me, and yet speak as though those were the only possible reasons? Were I feeling less patient than I do tonight, this conversation would be over and your next breath would be your last.

[The line between the degree to which he feels patient versus less patient is a thin one, however, now that he's truly agitated with her.]

Raw power is something to contend with, but it is ultimately useless if it is not guided by intellect. What good does it do me to act and strike blindly?

[It's closer to midnight by the time Jiaying leaves her office on this day. There's no particular reason. Time just ran away from her. She clutches her book close to her as she wanders down the street to head home. There is something familiar about the ability to walk at this late hour without any fear of crime, but that familiarity is fleeting.

The scent of blood is something she's particularly sensitive to and it's almost distasteful to her. She stops in her tracks and turns, looking genuinely surprised when she recognizes Dio, whose name she did not ask when they first met at the hospital.]

Good evening. [she says with a slight incline of the head. It's far too late for that but it never hurts to be polite.]

[It takes a second, but after that brief second, Dio recognizes her as the woman from the hospital who was so easily irritated with the lack of direct answers from the hospital staff. Dio lowers the thermos from his mouth when he's spoken to, licking his lips. He slides the tab on his thermos to seal it again as he approaches her.]

Good evening, [he replies, reflecting back her manners.] I hope you have been well since last we spoke.

Well enough. [The answer sounds stiff but she still puts on an appearance of friendliness] I remembered my name. Thought I'd introduce myself. I'm Jiaying.

[It's an appreciable difference the way she addresses him now compared to that day in the hospital, but Dio can only guess at to its root cause. It's not particularly a mental exercise he's willing to invest much effort into, but he's working off the assumption for now that it's nothing particularly personal if she's remembering her name.]

Dio. [He cants his head to one side.] And what of your husband and child?

[The smile fades.] I'm divorced, without child. I was just confused from the accident. [The sour look on her face is hopefully enough to indicate she doesn't believe what she's saying much at all]

Are you out for a walk?

[An unhappy end then. Or it would be considered an unhappy end for most. Dio doesn't quite see it that way. It would be an inconvenience to have to look after an infant in this situation. But she seems dissatisfied with the conclusion by her expression and tone. Hm. Dio decides not to bring the conversation back around to it when she changes the subject. It's something to note, but not become invested in.]

It's good to be out of the house on occasion. [One corner of his mouth lifts in a smile.] Even if it's in the middle of the night. Yourself?

[It's something she knows she'll break the rules over if allowed to dwell on it for too long. And she'd rather not drag another person into it]

I just finished tidying up at work. [Not that she's that busy. It just occupies the time.] It's funny. I could have sworn I smelled blood.

Hm? [Both of Dio's eyebrows raise in mild surprise at first before furrowing in entirely feigned concern.] That's odd. Any idea where it might have been coming from?

You, I thought. [She tilts her head curiously, looking him over as well as she can in the dark]

But you don't look injured.

[Her eyes does linger on the canister though before flicking back up to his face.]

[Dio shakes his head a little.]

I would like to think I would know if that were the case.

Hmm. You make a good point.

[Her eyes focus on the thermos, asking innocently]

What is that?

A meal. [He's technically not lying.] Something to fend off the cold a little while I'm out here.

[She tilts her head curiously but decides to leave it at that.]

That's a good idea. With the weather as it is. Are you a tea or coffee person, Dio?

At the risk of being a stereotype, [Dio says with a light laugh,] tea.

Liking tea is hardly a stereotype. [she chuckles softly] I favor tea myself. I have some rare tea leaves in my office if you ever feel like stopping by.

That's kind of you to offer. [Not one that Dio will likely take advantage of though, at least not at a more reasonable hour one might drop by her office.] It's starting to sound as though you live at your office.

It helps me think. And it passes the time.

[Better than staying home.]

Life is rather quiet around here, isn't it?

[she stares out at the empty street ahead of them and gives her arms a light stretch.]

Far too quiet. Even in my line of work, it gets monotonous.

It seems unusual that it could or would be this quiet given how many accidents seemed to have occurred that day.

[Especially with the way it conflicts with everything that he is gradually remembering. It's not a complete split from what he remembers of this sleepy town, but it's more...intense. Something that someone ought to have noticed if that's what truly happened. It fills him with a certain amount of resentment that it appears no one had in either case.]

[She is more sure which of her memories were real once they returned to her. Likely because the hate that brewed in them felt a lot more raw and real than anything this town had provided.]

A lot to be said about how rules can quiet the masses. Did you know there's been another series of accidents this month?

Supposedly there were another series of accidents, [he modifies.]

[Dio doesn't believe it. There'd be evidence somewhere of such accidents if that were the case instead of merely the words of presumed authority figures, which is certainly not enough.]

Concealing the truth is a far more effective means of control than rules, wouldn't you say?

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there is no spf in the world strong enough to be out pre-7pm

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cw: blood-drinking mention

let's just assume that cw will only continue & get worse from here

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