concasse | Appointments

... The neck?

[Looking absolutely baffled]

But there's not a lot of meat there. [He rubs the aforementioned area uncertainly, giving Mihawk such a skeeved glance of disappointment] Look, I know you're no expert, but there's better places to get meat from.

[Is there a certain gland the asshole is searching for? Some stringy vein? Sanji isn't well-versed in the rules of cannibals]

[...What.

Meat? Why the hell would Mihawk need meat, he's not a freaking zombie. Did--oh for the love of god, this imbecile really thought he was going to eat him, didn't he? Like really. The silence between the two is thick and heavy, and it lasts for a good, long qhile before Mihawk snaps it two.]

You really are an ignorant child.

[HEAVING AN ENORMOUS SIGH BECAUSE HOW THE FUCK EVEN. Your idiot blood better not effect him poorly Sanji so help your good graces, if any still remain.

Mihawk opens his mouth just so and rolls his lips back over his teeth to showcase his fangs. There should be enough light, even in the gloom of night, for Sanji to see. He doesn't flaunt them, and only has his mouth open for a few seconds, but the look he gives Sanji after speaks volumes.

Vampire, cook. He's a vampire.

Mihawk needs blood, not flesh.]

[There are only two rules in this universe that have forever remained absolute:

Sanji is never too tired to flirt, and he's never too tired to get into a spat.

The moment Mihawk throws exasperation back in his face, the chef visibly flares with renewed energy, teeth gnashing and leaning forward. He almost forgets the wound still bleeding from his torso]

The fuck is that supposed to--!!

[And why the bloody hell is he showing Sanji his teeth--oh]

[Oooooooooh.

Huh that makes a lot more sense.]

[BUT YOU SAID YOU WERE GONNA EAT HIM. For shit's sake, you don't say that to a chef who deals in meats, not blood. If Sanji had known the truth, he would've given Mihawk some blood and just sent the shithead on his way.

They fought for nothing.

Mihawk has a broken rib and Sanji is bleeding from his torso for literally nothing.

FUCKIN SWORDSMEN. HE HATES YOU ALL.]

Ugh, I can't-- why didn't you say you were a vampire?! [Pulling irritably at his tie, yanking it free and exposing more of the neck, all the way down to the collarbone. He's all business now.] Fine, let's get this over with, so I can fall back into a shitty coma!

[Mihawk holds up his hand, halting Sanji's movements. This man... Well, that sure does explain why Straw Hat kept this one around. Birds of a feather and all that.]

I'd rather not consume your blood, in fact... I may become terminally ill.

[Oh you shitty fuck--]

You about stabbed me trying to get at my neck and now you're gonna pretend you're not hungry?! I can't have you prancing about in hunger pains with my crewmates walking about!

There's nothing wrong with my blood, damn it!

[He is so offended. SO OFFENDED. And it doesn't matter if it won't grant him any favors, Sanji digs his fingers in his hair and scrubs the frustration around with a howl]

All you shitty swordsmen...!! It's like you do it on purpose!!

[Lord, can this rooster crow...even while injured. Which means he's actually fine, if he can be that animated while bleeding and fatigued. He may not even need to drag his sorry carcass back home after.

Mihawk tilts his head to one side, leaning an inch or two back with closed eyes - just to let the baby have his fit - and only begins to pay attention when the silence lasts more than a second or two. Are you quite sure your finished? Really and truly?]

So you say... [But he doesn't believe that for a second.] Though considering you've frightened off any potential prey animal with your childish caterwauling, what choice do I have now? Lie still.

[...]

And be quiet.

Tch. You don't look like my captain, shithead. Stow the orders.

[Even Zoro doesn't get away with that, nor Luffy, when it comes down to it. He's not itching for another argument, but he can call back Diable Jambe in an instant if he's pissy enough.

He hears vamps are good timber.

That said, Sanji complies once his temper burns dry, and because he's just as eager to put this mess behind them. He'll let Mihawk have his drink, before taking off at Mach 2 in another direction.]

[Oh, believe him, cook, Mihawk takes no pleasure in this, either. If it wasn't necessary, he really would have wandered off already to feed on anything else. His taste runs so much better than this normally, but he has no choice, and his control is slipping. He really needs blood, and the scent of it from this man isn't helping his craving. Besides, there'll never be another opportunity like this. Mihawk has to take it and not complain.

With a resigned sigh, he steadies Sanji with a hand on his shoulder, perhaps also to keep him in place in case he gets cold feet (haha). He's already agreed to it, so there's no turning back now, for both of them. Mihawk leans in and for the time, he purposely lets his restraint slip...by a careful degree. With his mouth closing in on Sanji's neck, his monstrous side takes over, and Mihawk's fangs sink into the chef's skin. It'll definitely hurt - he's not here to be delicate, he's here to eat - but the pain will dissolve into a gross sense of wooziness as Mihawk actually begins to takes long, slow mouthfuls of the chef's blood, his own body seeming to loose its tension.

He was hungry, and it's not a pleasant thought, way back in the depths of his mind, but human blood is far more satisfying to his palette. He won't need to feed for some time after this, if he can help it. And he really is trying to keep himself in check, despite how warm and smooth the cook's blood is, but it's no easy feat to prevent a content sigh from escaping through his nose.]

[Mihawk's slow descent is unnerving in all the ways that Sanji hates: he knows exactly what it coming, that the true danger has essentially passed, but the hairs on the back of his neck still stand. The chef nearly hisses at the swordsman to get that hand off his shoulder.

-- and then he hisses for entirely different reasons, body rigid on point. Not a gentle biter, is he? (And you best believe Sanji fuckin bleaches that thought from his mind the second it's born.) His fight and flight instincts are swearing up a storm, so much that he tries to angle his head away. It just gives Mihawk more room to work with, and eventually Sanji gives up, sits still, biting harshly on his tongue.

The worst is that it doesn't hurt. Pain, Sanji can deal with in spades. The vague, uncomfortable lethargy that overtakes him as his bodily fluids are drained through his neck? Fuckin unwelcome, and he weakly hangs on the precipice of his irritation to keep him afloat. It's odd, how he's even more hyper-aware of the wound on his side, the pump of blood that will eventually slow and congeal.

If there's blood left in him by the time Mihawk finishes.

He promised the swordsman a meal; he made good on that. And as the exhaustion burns the colors his vision dark and fuzzy, Sanji gives a murmur, stirring long enough to start pushing back at Mihawk. Off, now. Or else he will pass out on the ground.]

[The push elicits a low growl from the swordsman - feral, irate, but it lass only a second before Mihawk reigns in his senses again. He fed, he should be satisfied now which is actually truthful. With fresh, warm blood in his system, and the monster inside pleased enough to allow Mihawk to take over once again, he releases Sanji and pulls away from him, licking over his lips. It was a reflex move, and he mentally kicks himself for it, but looks the cook over to make sure he's really not about to keel over and die. Mihawk had really only taken enough from the young man to calm the beast, though he's sure it's no where near full, yet. But he can't descend that far on a human.

That wound in his side really needs to be tended to. The cook's losing too much blood as it is and though it's just a flesh wound (which Mihawk must nod his head to; the chef was lucky to not be gored), he's still injured and bleeding. He can't afford to lose any more otherwise it could get serious.]

Let me see your tie. [He can at least bunch up a section of the man's coat and tie it in place against the wound, maybe even help him back home. Mihawk owes this man that much.]

[There's a splintered stump right behind Sanji, and he presses the majority of his weight into it once his neck is freed; an extra precaution against falling over.

A chill has set into his bones; he can still feel the phantom press of teeth digging into his skin. There's probably blood dribbling down his neck as well, but he can't be bothered to do more than roll his head, catching Mihawk's stare with tired eyes, and then silently following through with the request. He'd loosened the tie beforehand, to better bare his neck to the swordsman, and practiced fingers untie the knot, slipping it loose in his hand.

It's silk. What a shame, one of his favorites. The thought drifts like fog around his eyes, until he focuses long enough to push it into Mihawk's waiting hand.]

[Taking the offered item, and allowing the chef to sit (it's best that he does, actually), Mihawk survey's the damage and kneels beside the cook. He adjusts a part of Sanji's coat that isn't soaked through with blood, over the wound. It's not the best kind of makeshift gauze, but it'll have to do for the time being. At least until Mihawk delivers the cook back to his crew to get patched up properly.

As he places a flat and also dry portion of the silk tie against the covered area, as another means of stopping the flow of blood, Mihawk ties the two loose ends tightly on the other side. Not tightly enough to stop the blood flow, but just to keep the fabric in place to soak it up. Once that's done, he hefts the chef up onto his feet, taking one of his arms.]

I'll return you to your crew.

[The comment would elicit a laugh, if Sanji could manage that kind of energy; he goes for a sharp grin instead, leaning heavily against the older man. So that's three near-impossible events for today: besting a Shichibukai in battle, letting him drink his blood because he's a fuckin vampire, and then the same bastard deciding to walk him home like a cheap prom date.]

How polite of you. [Sanji wouldn't have blinked, had Mihawk left him to crawl back to the house.] Fair trade for the meal, then?

[It's dry humor wrapped around the contradictory concern Sanji's been carrying, ever since finding out Mihawk was acting out from hunger. Did the asshole get his fill? There'll be nothing to do about it once Sanji's unconscious in the solitude of his house.]

[Sanji has nothing more to worry about, Mihawk has had his fill - for now. Besides, he's not going to take the cook right to his doorstep, he's a grown ass man and should be able to make the walk home when the house comes into sight. That's as fr as Mihawk intends to take him, at least.

Draping the chef's arm over his shoulder Mihawk eyes his sword and doesn't even hesitate when he reaches out to pick it up. He will not leave it Yoru out here unattended. The burn makes him inhale sharply, but once the sword is in its holster on his back and not directly touching his skin, Mihawk breathes a little easier. Once he's got everything, he takes a step forward.

Hurry along now, princess.]

[Sanji hears that sharp inhale. His back stiffens on command, realistic expectations insisting anything that makes a Shichibukai hiss like that is bad news.

It's just the man's sword, however. Sanji glances askance, frowning a turn when the sword takes its place inside the holster, and then he eventually lets it go as another part of vampire lore. He's too damn tired to work out the full implications. The rest of his concentration is spared toward walking, instead, and gradually pulling some of his own weight with every step.

It's hard, though. His pride aside, he wasn't in any shape for a fight, and Sanji would no doubt stumble on every twig and rock without someone supporting him. When his house finally comes into sight, he's as relieved as he is anxious, and calls upon pragmatic sense to help pull him away from Mihawk's support.]

I'll take it from here. [He might lean against a tree and wait for the man to sneak off, and thus not see Sanji faceplant into the dirt (multiple times), but this is far enough]

[The hand that gripped the sword a moment ago is shaking from the pain, but Mihawk ignores it, keeping it still so the burning, tingling sensation will fade away. He says nothing during their walk back, nor anything when Sanji pushes him off. Mihawk had intended to come as far as this from the very start, so he removes the cook carefully and turns to go.

What happens now is none of his concern. He did what he said he would, and whether or not the chef plants it in the dirt or has to crawl to the front door...he doesn't particularly care in the slightest. Mihawk leaves quietly, and doesn't even spare a glance back. He's in good hands now, and his crew can care for him from here on.]

Appointments

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