RP:A Sobering Satiety

Part of the Welcome To The End of Eras Arc

Summary: After a visit from Valrae and Lanlan, Kasyr and Iintahquohae discuss politics, and a potential future hunt. Inks also finally eats something.

Vailkrin Council Room

Kasyr s' still not quite sure what to feel- staring at the office door after Valrae and Lanlan had both stepped out. That they'd made progress towards the health of the city as a whole was irrefutable, and yet- he still felt negligent. Even having just arrived, he'd already allowed himself to be partly consumed by the work, to ignore the ceaseless pangs of hunger that she'd no doubt been feeling. Regardless of every burden he'd left her to manage, she'd stayed the course- even at the cost of herself. That hand that he'd placed on her arm, meant to provide her support- drifts up instead to her shoulder, so he can turn her towards him, and pull her into an awkward hug. "I am sorry I didn't notice, Stitch." There's no hint of the severity that had accompanied his first order, nor the uncomfortable stoniness that had accompanied the awkward farewells. Just a somber guilt, that only seems to compound with his actions, and leads to the hug loosening, "Do you still need anything?" His focus drifts to the empty glass of wine- his gaze then tilting up towards the ceiling of the office. "Are you alright, even?"

Iintahquohae turns to embrace Kasyr and her troubled frown diminishes a little, though it's replaced with a puzzled look at his apology. He didn't need to do that. “It isn't your fault, Kas. I was careless.” She'd dismissively say that it happens typically in situations like this, but nearly attacking Valrae wasn't something that could be dismissed. The witch was a friend, and Inks knew better than to think of feeding off of those she cared about. After giving Kasyr a reassuring pat on his back, she pulls away, and immediately steps away to get the bottle of blood wine, skipping the glass to drink straight from it. “I just need to eat some more, is all. And actually make sure I do it more often.” The first few pulls from the bottle aren't particularly pleasant, just like the glass she drank before. She preferred fresher blood, but what vampire didn't? Slipping out of the castle to find something better sounded ideal, but before she suggests it, Inks notices Kasyr's gaze upward and mirrors it with the thought that something might have grabbed his attention. Her head lowers to focus on him after his question, frowning. “Yeah, I'm alright. I feel very new to all of this, but that's normal, isn't it?” 'All of this' was a vague but loaded phrase. “I'm helping you, I think,” she hoped at least, “I think I'm helping Vailkrin, Odh might be back...” Maybe alright is the wrong word. She's juggling, balancing. Managing. And then she shrugs. “It's fine. Are you alright, Kas?”

Kasyr wants to feel reassured by Inks assurances, but, he knows better. To be that consumed that she'd forget herself entirely. He watches her draw back, and the contents of the bottle dissappear, "Right. I should- maybe organize a little hunting trip soon." It was the very least he could do, after all this, wasn't it? The ceiling doesn't offer much in the way of enlightenment, though it doesn't stop him from continuing to trace out the bits of stonework- as though some small kernel of wisdom might be found there. His frown grows slightly more pronounced at her uncertainty, though he does his best to force it away when he answers her, "You are helping. I couldn't do all of this without you. Je vous apprecie." The sense that she still felt new to it all left a slight pang of guilt at his own role in the matter. Though, what he truly wasn't expecting, was the deft redirection of his own question back to him- and it's enough that he tilts his head back down to scrutinize her, trying to find some hint of something in her expression, "You're doing fine, cherie." He can feel his tongue press to the roof of his mouth at the 'might be back', the uncertainty that accompanied his own failure to assure that particular outcome. "Figuring it out, day by day. It's- a lot. Enfin. It's just a lot to come back to, et adjust to."

Inks knows how ridiculous she must look, but figures Kasyr understands. She's found her way back to the basket of goodies Valrae brought along and is already uncorking another bottle of bloodwine and tipping it back. Hunting sounded a thousand times better than drinking like this, so much so that she paused and shot Kas a look. “Might be smart if we hunt anywhere that isn't the Dark Forest. I'm not eating drow.” Except for that one time when they took a walk in the Underdark. Maybe they wouldn't need to hunt? A thought crosses her mind as she resumes drinking. “Trintus has to have some horses they don't want,” she jokes, but she's kind of serious. They were the first thing she fed from, after all. When the Kensai assures that he's figuring it out too, she flashes a grin. “Well at least this time you aren't alone. You've got at least two competent people in your corner,” meaning Val and Lan, “and me. I'll get competent too. Promise.”

Kasyrs' expression falters again, both at the profundity of her hunger, but more than that, the self-deprecation that rests at the core of her comment. What's intended as a joke, perhaps- but which hits a little harder than he would have liked. "Don't sell yourself short, Madamoiselle. You hit the ground running, et I'd be hard-pressed to name a more difficult time to learn. " He scrutinizes her for a few moments longer, at the attentiveness that accompanied the mention of a hunt, and her own equine-oriented suggestion- at the manner in which every bottle seemed to do little to slake the thirst which had brought their earlier meeting to a halt. "I think, however, that before we do anything- we make sure your nerves aren't frayed. You need looking after, too." It's on that note that he draws his wrist up to his lips and bites through the flesh- keenly ignoring the sensation in favor of the utility it provided. "Viens ici." A request that he likely need not translate, especially as he turns his hand towards her, his thumb pressed into the wound to slow his prodigious regeneration. While it was not a solution in and of itself, it was a stop-gap he wasn't wholly unfamiliar with. "Better this, than a wineries worth of bottles."

“Does it ever get better?” Inks asks after finishing off the bottle of bloodwine. She wasn't heavily involved with Kasyr's last round as King of Vailkrin, apart from running messages and mingling with the other houses. ...Did that even count as being involved, really? Maybe if the seamstress spins it, she was helping with house relations or something instead of 'hanging out with friends'. “I'll figure it out, Kas. I'm fine,” Inks assures, but it's a half-truth. While setting the emptied bottle down somewhere, she can't help cringing at herself. Normally she fed enough, but lately she's been a disaster, as previously displayed. “Also, I don't think I need looking after...I try to be aggressively independent. Or something.” She shrugs. It isn't an outright refusal, especially when the scent of blood far stronger than Valrae's hits her nose and it dawns on her what Kasyr is offering. She may feel reluctant to grab for his wrist and drink, but she has it it up to her lips before she can stop herself. Her fangs graze his skin, prepared to bite down despite the wound he's already created. She fixes him with a look before drinking. “You have to tell me when to stop, okay?”

'Does it get better?' A loaded question if there ever was one, to the point that it actually takes the swordsman a few moments to realize she's talking about the thirst. The appetites that drove all vampires foward- which so accurately earned them the epitet 'parasite'. The mixed assurances she provides do little to assuage his concern, though, there is some small humour to be found, "I caught the aggressive part." Still, his intent is hardly to shame her, and so he redirects to the matter at hand, a wry murmur of, "I appreciate the concern." his reply. Still, she'd asked questions- and what better way to pass those moments, to numb the feeling of skin tearing, than to properly play the role of sire, " For managing the thirst? It can, with practice, and will- though, starvation, injury, passion, or excess might incite it again. The former can even lead to ferals- more beast than not." Whether or not that comment elicits some degree of concern, he'd still take that moment to ruffle her hair, "I won't let that happen to you."

Inks is of two minds while she feeds from Kasyr's wrist. Her first thought is disgust. She had a very firm policy on not letting whatever she fed off of live after sinking her fangs into them, which she blamed entirely on Shen and how he fed from her. This thought results in the seamstress's hands tightening their grip on Kasyr's forearm, despite her request to command her to stop whenever he saw fit. The second thought is, oddly, confusingly, gratitude? Has anybody ever offered this to her before? This loosens the grip of her fingers just a hair, as does his hand ruffling her hair. With her mouth full, Inks can't properly respond to him so she nods a little to acknowledge her sire's words. The word 'excess' has her wondering, just how much blood is too much? And did that amount change if a vampire fed off one of their own, let alone their sire? The thought is just as confusing as her earlier thought, and Inks decides that the only way apart from Kas commanding her to stop feeding from him was to, probably comically, pinch her nose so she couldn't smell his blood as she let go of his arm. She's quick to try tugging his sleeve down so she couldn't see where her teeth punctured flesh, nor the blood that might still bead from each bite mark. In an extra, maybe unnecessary step, she deliberately looks away from him toward one of the stained glass windows as a distraction, her fingers wiping away his blood from the corners of her lips. “Thanks. That was...good?” Are you supposed to compliment someone on how their blood tastes? This is why she preferred animals. And killing whatever she bit. “I mean – I uh. I had it once before when you turned me. It was delici- er. It was good then too.” Can she make this any less awkward.

Kasyr may have looked a tinge amused at how she seemed stuck between a certain sense of focus, and a need to reply to his impromptu lessons. That said, by virtue of a fresh form of restraint, she manages to avoid the necessity of another one- leaving the swordsman to draw his arm back, and scrutinize the manner in which the skin begins to nit back together, and the relative care she'd taken. Starved or not, she hadn't indulged in unnecessary savagery. Still, what really impressed him in this moment, was just how utterly at a loss she seemed to be in the aftermath. She was sporting an expression he wasn't entirely unfamiliar with, given the times he'd worn it- but he still can't help himself, "Well, I do try et make things memorable pour vous" He tilts his head slightly, trying to catch sight of her features- though the stained glass provides little in the way of reflections, "I suppose just let me know if things get bad enough you need help slaking your hunger, non?" She seemed better, at the very least- and he could take some degree of comfort in that. "Still, it's-" getting late? It's Vailkrin, Kas. "We should figure out the rest later, after you've had some time to sleep. To gather yourself."

Her eyes remain glued on the window even after Kasyr's wounds have healed and the scent of his blood has mostly faded away. It's out of character for her to outwardly show discomfort like this, but it's there. She even rubs at the old, faded bite marks on one side of her throat that weren't Kasyr's, but Shen's, the only other of their kind that has bitten her. That was memorable in a way that she wasn't particularly fond of. Kasyr's bite was different, but not in a way that made her stomach twist or cause her fingers to subtly tense on that side of her throat where Shen bit her. The seamstress doesn't respond right away, but when she does, she blinks confusedly at her own thoughts and turns her attention fully back on her sire. “Yeah. You're uh...” What was she agreeing to? Memorability? “Yeah, I'll let you know if I need more.” Yet again the seamstress finds herself inwardly cursing for being so irresponsible lately. When was the last time she slept? “That's a good idea...” Her gaze moves from Kasyr to the door while she debates actually going to sleep. There was still more work to do, wasn't there? “I'll rest soon. You should rest more, King Kasyr.” An amused smile appears as she breezes past him for the door, pausing briefly to playfully nudge his side with her elbow. “You have to be busier than me.”

Kasyr fidgets, a subtle tap of his toe against the ground as his empathy tries to pry- only to be focused anywhere else but here. A discomfort to be found, but largely from himself- as even a passive awareness felt invasive. It takes her elbow nudging his side to drag him back into the present, to elicit a smile that starts awkwardly, but turns genuine, albeit a bit crook "I'll take that advice when you do, Lady Azakhaer. Which es to say," With no small flourish, he bows forward, his hands both gesturing towards the door, "Apres Vous." It certainly does help that he can coax the door into opening on it's own for dramatic effect. "As for the work? Well, I at least appreciate the moments where it's you keeping me busy."