concasse | Appointments

[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

[Oct. 12th - 14th | Adstring Candy Event | Action]

[Oct. 12th - 14th | Adstring Candy Event | Action]

[Oct. 12th - 14th | Adstring Candy Event | Action]

[Oct. 12th - 14th | Adstring Candy Event | Action]

[Oct. 12th - 14th | Adstring Candy Event | Action]

[Oct. 12th - 14th | Adstring Candy Event | Action]

[Oct. 12th - 14th | Adstring Candy Event | Action]

[Oct. 12th - 14th | Adstring Candy Event | Action]