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[three] β [spam + video]
Nov. 19th, 2014 09:45 am[Spam]
[Vampires and werewolves don't mix. Apparently they really don't mix, down to the molecular level. Isaac's bleeding black, like Scott had when the alpha pack had wounded him, when he hadn't been healing. His body's fighting back against the infection but he's missing a lot of blood and it's healing slow or maybe it's not even healing at all.
He couldn't kill her. He couldn't even fight back against her really, because dead or not, vampire or not, it was Allison. He'd seen her hurting and then he'd watched her die and it had broken something in him; he couldn't hurt her, even when the smell of death had been all over her. When she'd pulled him in - with that unnatural strength, so much stronger than she had any right to be - he couldn't make himself stop her as she sank fangs deep into his neck.
He drags himself up towards the deck without planning on going that way, not thinking he should get to the infirmary, not thinking anything, hand pressed hard against his neck like it's going to keep his blood in his body. It's like he can't breathe and he wants to see the open stars up on deck because it feels like the walls of the corridors are closing in around him. There's bloody black ooze bubbling out between his fingers and out of his nose and he's dizzy and sick. He leaves streaks of the stuff on the the railings of the stairs and where he brushed against the wall. He keeps thinking that he wasn't even there when Jerry got her. He wasn't there at all, he just trusted she'd be okay.
He failed her, again.
He gets out onto the deck and with the open sky above him he sinks to his knees, fumbles out his communicator and sends out a message.]
[Public video]
[When he talks, it's through a mouthful of black blood which runs down his chin with the words and it feels like he's numb all over except for the burning infected heat of the wound in the side of his neck, the feel of his werewolf healing fighting against the change. His eyes are gold and his face is pale. He doesn't know what to do but he has to tell them.
He's leaking black down his neck and it's running between his fingers and staining his shirt and it hurts, but his voice doesn't break or hitch. His own injury isn't important. He couldn't do anything but maybe that's just because he's not good enough. He's never been good enough. All he keeps thinking is it all happened so fast. His hands are numb and he doesn't even bother trying to filter the message.]
Scott, Allison's a vampire. He got her.
[Vampires and werewolves don't mix. Apparently they really don't mix, down to the molecular level. Isaac's bleeding black, like Scott had when the alpha pack had wounded him, when he hadn't been healing. His body's fighting back against the infection but he's missing a lot of blood and it's healing slow or maybe it's not even healing at all.
He couldn't kill her. He couldn't even fight back against her really, because dead or not, vampire or not, it was Allison. He'd seen her hurting and then he'd watched her die and it had broken something in him; he couldn't hurt her, even when the smell of death had been all over her. When she'd pulled him in - with that unnatural strength, so much stronger than she had any right to be - he couldn't make himself stop her as she sank fangs deep into his neck.
He drags himself up towards the deck without planning on going that way, not thinking he should get to the infirmary, not thinking anything, hand pressed hard against his neck like it's going to keep his blood in his body. It's like he can't breathe and he wants to see the open stars up on deck because it feels like the walls of the corridors are closing in around him. There's bloody black ooze bubbling out between his fingers and out of his nose and he's dizzy and sick. He leaves streaks of the stuff on the the railings of the stairs and where he brushed against the wall. He keeps thinking that he wasn't even there when Jerry got her. He wasn't there at all, he just trusted she'd be okay.
He failed her, again.
He gets out onto the deck and with the open sky above him he sinks to his knees, fumbles out his communicator and sends out a message.]
[Public video]
[When he talks, it's through a mouthful of black blood which runs down his chin with the words and it feels like he's numb all over except for the burning infected heat of the wound in the side of his neck, the feel of his werewolf healing fighting against the change. His eyes are gold and his face is pale. He doesn't know what to do but he has to tell them.
He's leaking black down his neck and it's running between his fingers and staining his shirt and it hurts, but his voice doesn't break or hitch. His own injury isn't important. He couldn't do anything but maybe that's just because he's not good enough. He's never been good enough. All he keeps thinking is it all happened so fast. His hands are numb and he doesn't even bother trying to filter the message.]
Scott, Allison's a vampire. He got her.