A willingly taken, yet forced torpor (now open)

[petit_prince]

It had been a long battle.
Borg was utterly delusional, believing himself some sort of robotic being, always dressed with some shiny and metallic stuff in his hands, yet he had been and still was good fun, in a city where most people talked shit, and never delivered it.
Each time he closed his eyes to rest, he would feel the pain when he awakened, and then go repay this pain with some of his own. He loved the burning sound the HW made when it landed on him. “Borg my ass, you bleed and feel pain as I do !”

His great satisfaction was that whatever happened from now on, he had dealt Borg a lot more damage than Borg had dealt him, which was what ultimately counted. Winning or losing didn’t count as much as gaining the other side’s wariness for next time. Of course, winning definitely was a plus, but he was perfectly content with the way things were going on in this fight.

Borg had slowly eaten his BP, but since he’d got into GS range, petit_prince had him in a stalemate… Borg would double GS him, draining him of some blood he would get back biting humans and fellow vampires on his way to HWing him.
Unless he decided to go the hard way and start scrolling the shit out of him, which he visibly had not thought of, petit_prince knew he’d get his fun for quite a while.

Besides the pain of the garlic, one thing bugged and exasperated petit_prince, and that was the continual stinging. HWs had always been part of the fun and pain of battle, but he hated needles, all the more than it seemed Borg injected some stuff that just was useless at first, but made him feel a little out of sorts, more as he lost blood. “Fuck! The guy is gonna make me look like one of these damned junkies. Cut the crap and fight like a vampire!”.

The other thing that bugged petit_prince in this war was that he had to save energy to kick Borg’s ass, and thus couldn’t hunt hunters anymore. He had had to let go of a handful in the month or so since the battle had started. He really missed the exhilaration of the hunt, the pain of the bolts in his body and the final climactic pounce on the hunter, the fear in their eyes and the pleasure of the feast when he ripped their throats open and drank his fill, and eventually, the pleasure of counting the coins. That was a shame, letting go of them. He’d make up for it later, when this would be over.

Actually, this went over a lot faster than he thought…
On a night, after he had gone the usual routine, he awoke to a gathering of mostly unknown faces. Before he even had the time to fight back, he was showered with Garlic, the bullies letting go of him only after he had been drained clean of his blood.

He didn’t even feel the pain of the needle, nor of the injection, but whatever Borg injected him soon turned him into a delirious fever. His senses left him, with the exception of smell and touch. Though he had already decided to take it, torpor was effectively enforced on him, since he couldn’t see, hear or talk. petit_prince was only able to smell the humans, and fortunately to kill them, as he quickly found out.

The first days were the hardest, he only half remembered them, a flash of someone guiding him somewhere, the thirst, the pain of the blindness and the fever. He remembered what he had felt when he had found out that he could still drink humans: Relief, and anger, too.
petit_prince had never been sick as a vampire, so this was some sort of novelty, a novelty he hated. Deeply.

Time passed. The feeling of heat told petit_prince when it was time to go into hiding. As he fed on humans, he felt somewhat better, the more blood he got into him, the better he felt. After some ten days, he had drunk back to 500 blood points, and started hearing back again. Though it was only muffled sound he heard, petit_prince got certain that should he drink enough blood, he’d manage to get rid of whatever crippled him.
So he drank…

[black_dragonet]

Drinking made him feel better, and each day he felt his condition bettering. Yet, the more his lucidity, or part of it came back, the more he felt ill at ease.
Something was wrong with him.
“Hah!” He snorted “talk about things I don’t know.”
Petit_prince had time to think. Time to exercise too, since the only things he could do were rest and think, or hunt humans to get and feel better.
What puzzled him, he eventually found out, was that the more he drank, the clearer he could think and hear, his senses gradually coming back to him with the blood, but the more uneasy and nauseous he felt. That was strange, and it puzzled him. He knew he would feel bad during a fortnight after being zeroed, but he should get better, eventually. Even this sickness was some novelty, but he felt he was getting his senses back, the key being blood. Eventually, he WOULD be better.

The sickening feeling grew with each pint of blood he drank. Was it something he had forgotten and should not? Was it something he had done? Petit_prince was angered at not knowing. He stumbled into a human, and in rage and frustration punched the face of the human quiet, then drank it. He knew it was useless and mean, which he ordinarily was not, well, not towards humans that is. They were useful to him, and shouldn’t be made to suffer more than was necessary. He found that this guilt he felt didn’t compare, nor add to the evil tugging he felt. “Nothing to see with guilt, then” he thought as he fumbled his way, looking for a shelter for the night.
He was so deep in his thought that he did not even react when a warm hand touched him “Oh, let me help you with getting there” guiding him inside an abandoned construction prefab building.
“Dammit! What’s wrong with me”, he yelled.
He only heard a croak, but that was a fine croaky croak. He WAS getting better. Physically, at least.

Feeling the first warmth of dawn, petit_prince closed his eyes and fell into sleep.
[a href="http://[del:blackdragonet]"]http://[del:blackdragonet][/a]

[petit_prince]

Drinking made him feel better, and each day he felt his condition bettering. Yet, the more his lucidity, or part of it came back, the more he felt ill at ease.
Something was wrong with him.
“Hah!” He snorted “talk about things I don’t know.”

petit_prince had time to think. Time to exercise too, since the only things he could do were rest and think, or hunt humans to get and feel better.
What puzzled him, he eventually found out, was that the more he drank, the clearer he could think and hear, his senses gradually coming back to him with the blood, but the more uneasy and nauseous he felt.
That was strange, and it puzzled him. He knew he would feel bad during a fortnight after being zeroed, but he should get better, eventually. Even this sickness was some novelty, but he felt he was getting his senses back, the key being blood. Eventually, he WOULD be better.

The sickening feeling grew with each pint of blood he drank. Was it something he had forgotten and should not? Was it something he had done? petit_prince was angered at not knowing. He stumbled into a human, and in rage and frustration punched the face of the human quiet, then drank it. He knew it was useless and mean, which he ordinarily was not, well, not towards humans that is. They were useful to him, and shouldn’t be made to suffer more than was necessary.
He found that this guilt he felt didn’t compare, nor add to the evil tugging he felt. “Nothing to see with guilt, then” he thought as he fumbled his way, looking for a shelter for the night.
He was so deep in his thought that he did not even react when a warm hand touched him “Oh, let me help you with getting there” guiding him inside an abandoned construction prefab building.

“Dammit! What’s wrong with me”, he yelled.
He only heard a croak, but that was a fine croaky croak. He WAS getting better. Physically, at least.

Feeling the first warmth of dawn, petit_prince closed his eyes and fell into sleep.

[petit_prince]

He woke to the sound of rain. He had always hated rain, but he hated it even more with the headaches.
Getting up, he scratched his beard and yawned. Donning his coat, he got to the door and opened it, to be greeted by the smell of damp earth.
“Fuck it!”

He was tired, had a headache… He just shut the door, laid on the floor, and went to sleep again.

[petit_prince]

Petit_prince wakes up, only to find his mind more alert than usual. The familiar headaches now gone. Grumbling and the cramped muscles, he yawns, stretches and rises. The lit street lights tell him that it is the night, as well as the sounds of the street. A strange golden flower lies by him, a name reads “Samantha Dawn”. Absentmindedly, he picks it up and smells it, taking pleasure from the faint smell of the flower. Concentrating, he sends a telepathic message “Thank you for the flower, lass, kind gals like you are a rarity these days.”
Gathering the rest of his belongings, he looks around the place where he spent the last few days. and opens the door to get out.
As the unfamiliar sight fills his eyes, he suddenly realises that all this has not only been a bad dream… He has now recovered his senses, all of them.
*shakes fist in the air* “Damn you, Borg, and whatever it is you got me sick with!”
*looks at his cell phone and checks the date* “Wow! I’ve been sick for two fucking weeks! Dammit! I grow old. I used to recover from zeroings quicker.” *grumbles* “Old age? Fuck! What’s the point in being a damn bloodsucker if I keep the fucking human’s failings?” *dodges a pigeon’s dropping*
*catches a rock and shoots it in anger at the pigeon, dropping it and grins* “Yeah, not all human’s failings, after all!”

petit_prince then smells a human taking a leak and enters a dark alleyway. The human is so busy that he does not even sense the vampire until petit_prince breaks his neck. Quite happy with himself at being able to hunt humans other than by smell and feel only, petit_prince drains him from his blood, expecting the urge he feels to subside.
To his dismay, the unease does not leave him. The urge he had felt growing during the last days of his torpor has not left him, it has only grown. A tug, something that kept him from being free, but something he couldn’t locate… He had thought it was the thirst, but it was something else. He had got over one thousand blood pints, he had drunk, it was definitely something else, and something he disliked, to the point of hatred actually. Nobody could tame or scare him. Kill him, yes, scare him or control him, no.

Hissing, petit_prince fetches a vial in his bag and turns around. “You here? Dammit, stalker, come in the open, that I could kick your ass!”.
After a while, as only silence answers, petit_prince sits and waits, putting the vial close by, and checks himself. “Okay, I’m fine. What’s this burden I’m laden with then?”
Speaking to himself, he mutters “Would someone have taken advantage of my dozing and taken me as a sire?”

As petit_prince checks on himself, the floor opens under him, his face whitening even for a vampire. “NO! NOOOOOOO! This cannot be true!” His ID card reads “your lineage runs as follows: Borg”.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” he howls at the darkness, “How dare he!, that rotten manure collector, make me sire under him! Ugh!”

petit_prince starts running towards Borg, until a mischievous smile grown on his face. “Oh! You’ll like it! You’ll free me, or you’ll feel what it is to have a nail in your ass hole…” *takes a scroll of succour and reads it*
Taking a few instants to take in his surroundings, petit_prince spots a sleeping Borg and goes to him, growling at his face “You discarded lawn mower, release me immediately, or I’ll piss on you every day until you short circuit! I’m not your childe and shall never be! *hits the metallic shoulder and yelps in pain* Ouch! Dammit!