VARUS
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for?
what i am, or what i'm not?
what i am, or what i'm not?
“Fuck.” Varus mutters, clenching his jaw for a second as he lets it hit, shaking his head as Wessex mentions they’ve come full circle. And it’s a thought that has him not quite prepared to hear it out, not yet in the mind to understand what it all means, not with his ruined arm blaring warnings in his mind and the fact another war was looming on the horizon.
Which means they didn't win the last one.
“Oh good, just my luck.” Varus half groans, taking no time at all to step toward Wessex at the offered wrist. In a time of need like this, there’s little to be said when it comes to pleasantries before hand. They were both soldiers, he assumes, and with it came requirements, came the need to do whatever it took to survive. The benefit to this? He supposes at least they’ll both feel pretty good after, it might round off his hard edges for the moment.
His fangs sink into her wrist and the grip he has on her arm grows tighter, euphoria sparking behind his eyes as it replenishes him just enough to feel like that first sip of cold water after a long day full of manual labor. He can feel the power that thrums in it as it settles within him, a low hum of appreciation and relief vibrates through him, and when he finally has the mind to pay attention and not drain her completely, does he shakily manage to step toward her, his arm moving from her wrist to wrap around her waist and pull her in close once he’s noticed her legs shaking.
He withdraws, head tilting back a fraction as he lets the fluid replenish where he has lost it, letting the power of it refuel him. “I’m Cal, by the way.” He offers her, surprisingly breathy despite not needing air to breathe.
Which means they didn't win the last one.
“Oh good, just my luck.” Varus half groans, taking no time at all to step toward Wessex at the offered wrist. In a time of need like this, there’s little to be said when it comes to pleasantries before hand. They were both soldiers, he assumes, and with it came requirements, came the need to do whatever it took to survive. The benefit to this? He supposes at least they’ll both feel pretty good after, it might round off his hard edges for the moment.
His fangs sink into her wrist and the grip he has on her arm grows tighter, euphoria sparking behind his eyes as it replenishes him just enough to feel like that first sip of cold water after a long day full of manual labor. He can feel the power that thrums in it as it settles within him, a low hum of appreciation and relief vibrates through him, and when he finally has the mind to pay attention and not drain her completely, does he shakily manage to step toward her, his arm moving from her wrist to wrap around her waist and pull her in close once he’s noticed her legs shaking.
He withdraws, head tilting back a fraction as he lets the fluid replenish where he has lost it, letting the power of it refuel him. “I’m Cal, by the way.” He offers her, surprisingly breathy despite not needing air to breathe.
tell me mother, which should i regret?
what i became, or what i didn't?
what i became, or what i didn't?
