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Post by Nevan J. Blake on Jan 12, 2018 6:59:32 GMT
It had been a long time since Nevan had last slept. He didn't really need to sleep half as much now that he was a vampire, but even as a human it was normal for him to stay awake for days at a time. As a daemon that had turned to weeks at a time until his eyes were bloodshot and had dark bruises under them. He'd had so many cups of particularly strong purple tea that it was making his hands shake as he worked and he was pretty sure everyone who came into the shop could hear his thundering heart beat. Literally, in some cases. A shifter with particularly enhanced hearing had stared at him in open horror as Nevan passed him his order and sent him on his way.
Whatever, it wasn't like Daemons seemed to need to worry about overdosing on caffeine and he was too pissed off to sleep anyway. Might as well stay awake and work then sleep and think about the fact that his Mother and his Aunt had both decided he was now unfit to be their heir. He was still a witch, obviously, but he no longer had a shot at being the head of his family the same way his older cousin had lost her chance when she ran off with that fucking elf. Now his Aunt was focusing on her son ten years Nevan's junior and his mother was getting married to a Hound. It wasn't fair was what it was and it made his contempt for Ahman deep enough that he had gone out of his way to find the most irritable house cat-blue jay griffin he could and sent it with a letter telling him, curtly, that he was done with Gabriel's ring but was busy so the Daemon Lord could come into his shop because Nevan wasn't going to Ahman's house. Signed:
Go fuck yourself,
Nevan J. Blake
Not a great move but Ahman had made him a vampire and could damn well deal with his teenage daemon mood swings.
“Alright, next?” Nevan rasped and one of the thirty people waiting nervously approached with a handful of coppers. She set them on the counter, and they scattered across the wood. Nevan looked down with an arched eyebrow before he glared up at her face and she flinched. Some kind of ferret shifter, if Nevan had to guess. Only the end of her muzzle stuck out under her hood and her watery brown eyes darted around nervously.
“U-uh, I – I need . . .” she whispered nervously, “you know. A – an . . . it's -”
“A contraceptive or an abortive?” Nevan asked flatly at full volume. No one in the shop reacted because of course they didn't. Most of them were here for the same thing. Despite that, the woman flushed under her fur.
“Abortive,” she mumbled. Nevan nodded shortly and stood from his stool. A tremor ran up and down his legs and he stumbled slightly as he walked as the room momentarily swam with his head rush before he grabbed a vial of soft green liquid off one of the shelves lining the walls. Nevan returned and sat it down on the counter before he counted out three coppers and shoved the rest back to her.
“Alright, drink that whenever,” Nevan said as she reached out with a little paw to gather the vial and her pile of coppers. “Next!” Nevan called out before she had the chance to leave. He needed to get through this crowd before he make himself more tea and guarantee consciousness for another couple of hours.
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Post by Gabriel on Jan 12, 2018 9:13:14 GMT
The message that had come from Ahman, written in elegant cursive, was polite and professional. But, Gabriel thought, there was a terseness to the language he'd chosen that suggested the Eldest Daemon wasn't necessarily pleased with the behaviour of the young vampire he'd turned and now had working for him. Nothing new there, but Gabriel had also expected to be picking his ring up from Ahman, not from the apprentice directly. Ahman was probably pissed off at Nevan again, and didn't want to call the witch in to deliver the ring. Whatever was going on between them Gabriel had been asked to pick up the ring directly from Nevan's shop, and he didn't mind obliging the next time he was near the City. He'd liked Nevan well enough the first time they'd met, and he was curious to see what kind of operation the witch was running. He dealt so rarely with witches - Daemons weren't their best customers, it seemed.
In truth, Gabriel had forgotten about the ring until Ahman's letter found him via one of Ahman's servants, desperately nervous to be delivering some unknown summons to the Daemon Lord. He'd been busy, and sunlight hadn't been much of a bother with the business he'd been embroiled in. But, since he'd been reminded, the ring had suddenly become intensely interesting again. Utter freedom to ignore the sun...it seemed too good to be true. Even the Boil in high summer wouldn't be beyond his reach.
The witch's shop was busy. Bustling, in fact. Gabriel, dressed in dark pants and a pale grey v-necked shirt, and even wearing shoes for once (standing out in the City was a bad idea, and had been ever since he'd turned the current King's sister into a Daemon - he didn't avoid the place, but care had to be taken now) hung back at first, mingling with the crowd. They were a rough lot, many of them furtive and fearful. Maybe Nevan sold drugs. The cramped quarters were packed with enough interesting people and things to keep Gabriel busy browsing at the back of the throng for a while. Well, about three minutes. Patience was a virtue, sure, but Gabriel had never cared much about being virtuous.
As soon as he became bored, and tired of waiting, Gabriel's tolerance plummeted. A wave of intense fear rippled through the shop - terror, in fact, deep and primal, tapping into the emotional centres of the other shop patrons. They didn't know why they were scared but that didn't make the emotion any less powerful, and the atmosphere of uneasiness in the shop that already existed only added to the effect. As soon as the first person turned and bolted out the door - less than five seconds after the magic activated - it was a veritable stampede. Yet, even in their terror, the throng parted like water around the relaxed-looking Daemon standing near the back of the room - cognizant enough of their faculties to recognise the real danger, even subconsciously, and avoid getting too close.
Quiet fell. The door swung shut behind the last would-be patron with a thud, a bell jangling merrily as it did so. Gabriel smiled, strolling forward, now able to see Nevan behind the counter. Nevan, who looked like he hadn't slept for a month. Gabriel hoped the emotional inducement hadn't reached as far as him - the kid didn't look like his body could take much more of anything, much less a powerful sense of terror coming out of nowhere. At least the shop was peaceful, now. As far as Gabriel was concerned, it was an improvement both for himself and the harried-looking vampire.
"I hear you have a ring for me?"
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Post by Nevan J. Blake on Jan 13, 2018 6:04:13 GMT
A wave of unease seemed to creep from patron to patron and Nevan peaked around the old human-man he was helping before the fear crept onto his face. Torin shot out from under Nevan's stool and through the door behind the counter that lead to the rest of the house before the feeling reached him too.
His clients started leaving as quickly as possible and and Nevan couldn't blame them. He could have left too if the entire room hadn't decided to slide sideways and his legs hadn't gone numb. His heart had been thundering in his chest for hours now, but now it seemed to kick into overdrive. Each rapid beat felt like it was bruising his ribs – it almost felt like his heart was swelling and crushing his lungs and throat as his breathing became shallow and rapid. A hand came to his chest and he dug his fingers into the lose fabric of his sleeveless tunic, trying to focus on anything but the dark spots appearing across his vision.
But then the pressure released and he sucked in a heavy gasp of air before he set an elbow on the counter and slumped down slightly. Nevan coughed a few times before he heard a jovial greeting. His face twitched irritably, almost changing daemonicaly but he was getting better – his teeth and nails sharpened almost imperceptibly instead of extending fully into claws and fangs but he couldn't help the brilliant glow of his eyes as he raised his pointed chin to look at his newest customer.
The fact that he was the Daemon Lord was almost enough to overcome Nevan's immediate reaction of disgruntled indignation. But Gabriel wasn't the Human King, and Nevan wasn't used to what daemons thought of as respectful behavior.
“Was dat yer doing?” Nevan asked flatly. “Oi know Ahman made me make yer ring on the house but oi still need ter make a living an' most of my customers pay me.” He didn't move from his seat. He was still terribly winded and a violent tremor in his limbs made standing impossible, much less walking into the back room to collect a ring and walk back out. Oh gods was he dying? Was this how dying felt? He needed sleep something terrible – good thing he had an ungodly amount of tea just waiting to be brewed.
Nevan pressed the heel of one of his hands into his eyes and rubbed furiously before he took off his pointed hat and set it down on the counter. “Alright. Yeah. Give me a second, alright? I jist need to catch my breath.”
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Post by Gabriel on Jan 13, 2018 6:43:51 GMT
Gabriel frowned as Nevan slumped over the counter, looking for all the world like he was dying. He'd switched the magic off once that shop had cleared, but not before Nevan got a hearty dose of terror it seemed. Oops. Obviously he hadn't been aiming for Nevan but emotional manipulation was tricky in a crowd. There was bleeding, contagion, even when he actively tried to shield someone, and in all honesty he hadn't tried this time. He'd figured Nevan could tolerate a little dose of fear, but perhaps he'd been wrong. Ahman was going to be annoyed if the witch died.
Peering at him with something akin to curious, mild concern, Gabriel waited until Nevan managed to glance up at him and in that acerbic tone that so needled Ahman, told him off for scaring everyone away. That was more like it! If the witch was together enough to be snarky he probably wouldn't actually keel over.
Probably.
Gabriel might not always have let that tone slide. His responses were very dependent on his mood, though, and it just so happened he was in a good one. Better, now that it was looking like he hadn't accidentally killed the Eldest Daemon's pet witch. Whether you got a jaunty smile or your throat cut by Gabriel came down to the roll of a dice but today it went in Nevan's favour and he only grinned, shrugging one shoulder with the kind of dismissive nonchalance that would no doubt drive the Vampire crazy.
"Of course it was me. You only have yourself to blame - Ahman alluded to you insisting I come by the shop instead of delivering the ring to him yourself. What did you think I was going to do? Stand in line?" The very idea made him chuckle.
"So here I am. As requested." Gabriel's tone was jovial, a spark of ill-concealed mischief in his eyes. He was pleased Nevan wasn't dead, though. That would indeed have been poor repayment for the ring the witch had laboured over for him.
"Ahman is paying you, though, right?" Gabriel had assumed the ring was free for him because Ahman was covering the costs, not because Nevan was having to pay out of pocket. Money was a trifling annoyance in Gabriel's world - something he rarely bothered to think about, because magic had freed him from the burden of having to worry about it for the most part. He wouldn't pretend to understand the significance of it for Nevan. But, the ring was a rarity, and he figured someone in Nevan's shoes would struggle if required to make it for free. Then again, who knew what kind of arrangement Ahman had with Nevan. He hoped he wasn't about to get into a detailed conversation about contracts.
"You know, a little magically induced terror shouldn't be enough to make a young, healthy Daemon near on have a heart attack," he added.
"Have you tried, I don't know, sleeping some time?" The whole shop smelled like purple tea, the favoured beverage Litharia-wide for alertness and staying awake. Nevan, though, looked like he was busy trying to overdose, just so he could work his fingers to the bone making drugs for shifty strangers. Witches. Weird.
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Post by Nevan J. Blake on Jan 14, 2018 17:51:29 GMT
The room stopped swaying slowly, and the partial double vision reoriented into singular vision. “Ugh,” he grumbled, “yeah, yeah, dat one's on me.” Nevan made a face and rubbed his eyes gain. “But he's being a real fecking dick, sir.” He hadn't actually done anything specifically to spite Nevan this time, but it was still his fault Nevan had lost his inheritance. No need to bring his own pettiness up, though.
Nevan got to his feet at last, and he wavered slightly as he held up a finger in Gabriel's direction to indicate this would take a fucking moment before he made his way into the back room. “He pays me for the ingredients since oi wouldn't be able ter get them otherwise,” Nevan shouted from the back, “but he didn't give me enough ter actually make a profit. He has me on his payroll so oi can make him new shite, but oi spend all of it on supplies instead of, yer know, rent Oi still need regular customers.”
Where was the fucking box.
Nevan tripped over a large rack of dried flowers he usually had the coordination to avoid, and sent it flying with a crash, thud, and clatter as he fell face first onto the ground. Hey, cool, he had a direct line of sight to his bed now.
He slept in the store room, in a little alcove he had a hay stuffed mat with a wool pillow and a thin quilt with a suspicious lump under it that bolted up at the noise. Nevan barely processed the black blur that shot past him into the shop because a thought finally cut through his exhausted haze.
There was the fucking box.
Tucked safely under his pillow. Nevan scooted around a couple burnt femurs he had left lying on the floor before he scooped up the tiny wood box and stuck it in his pocket. Nevan stood up and turned to make his way back to the store front, stumbling over the bones and fallen rack with loud clatters and hissed curses that Gabriel would doubtless hear. By the time he got up front again he was haggard enough that he looked particularly inhuman – four large fangs hung past his lower lip and from under the shadow of his wide brim witch's hat his eyes burned a brilliant shade of purple like coals. The look wasn't helped by the fact that his lower left eyelid had suddenly decided to start twitching erratically.
Torin had reappeared – apparently he had been the black blur from before because he was now on top of the counter, apparently unconcerned enough about Gabriel that he had sprawled himself out across the table and had reached a single leg in the Daemon Lord's direction. “Don't mind him,” Nevan said. He took his seat again and started trying to open the delicate clasp on the box with the tips of his claws, since he was too riled up to retract them. “Stupid fecking nails,” he muttered under his breath.
He didn't look up from the box as he went on, “Oi'm young, yeah, but oi'm still a far cry from healthy.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Oi didn't sleep much as a human, an' oi can not sleep much for longer now. It's been a couple weeks, oi tink. Time starts to blur after a while.”
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Post by Gabriel on Feb 6, 2018 5:40:11 GMT
Gabriel could only raise his brows at Nevan's proclamation that Ahman was being "a real feckin' dick". He didn't doubt it, but Nevan's exasperation combined with his insistence on continuing to call Gabriel 'sir' made the statement inexplicably funny. He managed not to laugh, although an amused smile crept over his features. It even stayed in place when Nevan's description of how working for Ahman was run was kept short and sweet. It wasn't as if the Daemon Lord had even a modicum of experience in contracts, working conditions, or what to expect from your boss. For all Gabriel knew Ahman and Nevan's set-up was perfectly ordinary.
Though it couldn't be normal for someone to work themselves half to death. He wondered if it was really out of necessity, or if Nevan was just a workaholic.
Observant, though, Gabriel definitely was. He watched Nevan clatter across the room with all the grace of a drunken hippo, and wondered when the predatory, lithe movement of the Daemons would kick in for the kid. He noted the sparse quarters, and witchy paraphernalia scattered around. He idly tried to guess Nevan's age - still an adolescent, judging by the utter mess he was living in and the way he looked. He hadn't been turned for that long, after all.
Gabriel was scratching the cat behind the ear by the time Nevan returned, after wracking his memory for information on the companions witches kept. As far as he could remember they were into familiars, or just regular old animals; there was no particular reason Nevan would have a Shapeshifter hanging around him. The cat certainly seemed, well, cat-like, and friendly enough, and Gabriel had always liked cats better than most other animals. He was eyeing Nevan again, though, as the Vampire fumbled with the box. Fangs and claws out, all twitchy and on edge, strung out like a drug addict only as far as he could tell the only thing he'd had was purple tea. Madness - the kid couldn't keep living like this. Delicately, Gabriel reached out and plucked the box from Nevan's shaky, clawed hands and popped the clasp himself, tilting his head as he looked down and admired the ring.
It was exactly as Nevan had sketched for him, the specifications to his own request. Gabriel glanced back up at Nevan, obviously impressed.
"It's very good. We'll talk about it more in a minute. But first, you need to figure out living as a Daemon and you need to do it soon. You look like a strong wind could finish you off. Are you even eating? And you're a witch, still, there must be something you can brew to aid sleep. Not more purple tea." Gabriel had suspected Ahman had changed Nevan and then more or less shipped the kid off to do his bidding when asked and otherwise not be underfoot. There hadn't been a lot of tutelage in the fine art of being a Daemon after growing up Human, apparently. Gabriel knew little enough about being a Vampire, but he figured he probably knew more than Nevan if appearances were anything to go by. His expression was more quizzical than concerned, but for whatever reason Nevan intrigued him. He didn't know many witches, after all. Plus, it was a bad look for them all to change Humans and then let them stumble around being useless at general Daemon-ness until they died.
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Post by Nevan J. Blake on Mar 21, 2018 20:35:52 GMT
For the first time since he arrived, Nevan looked up at Gabriel and met his gaze properly. Well, sort of. Nevan still had to squint blearily to make up for how foggy his eyes felt.
He almost snapped that he was doing just fine but held his tongue. This was, after all, the Daemon Lord and Nevan had the distinct feeling that Gabriel could dissect him with his stare alone. “ . . . oi'm doing the best oi can,” Nevan finally said as he broke eye contact and looked down at the counter between them and rubbed one arm sheepishly. “Ter be honest oi don't know much about what oi am. Ahman hasn't shared and oi'm not going ter ask.”
Nevan squeezed his upper arm tightly for a moment, hard enough that it would bruise, before he loosened his grip and rubbed the spot self consciously. He hated Ahman, maybe not as much as he played it up but he still didn't like the old Daemon. This new lot in life was Ahman's fault, after all. He'd been changed into something he didn't want to be then left on his own to figure out what he was. To be entirely honest it was scary. Nevan would be dead before he admitted it but he was afraid of what he had become.
“Oi . . . tried ter eat food oi used ter. Loike, actual human food but anyting dat isn't meat makes me feel sick an' even after oi eat oi'm still hungry. Before all dis oi only thought vampires fed off of blood an' sex, but oi tink oi'm supposed to eat emotions? But oi don't know how ter do dat so oi jist. Haven't done dat. An' oi'm not going ter ask Ahman.” He had been stubborn as a human but as a daemon he'd grown so bull headed that he was literally letting himself slowly starve to death rather than admit to Ahman that he didn't know how to eat. That was something babies knew how to do and Nevan was an (in his opinion) brilliant witch, was not going to tell the richest grandpa on Litharia that he didn't know how to do something so simple.
“What's supposed to happen is when oi feed people feel less of whatever they're feeling, and oi mean oi can tell when people are feeling things very strongly near me.” It made his stomach growl like someone had set a plate of perfect delicacies in front of him whenever he passed by someone joyous or sobbing or in the middle of a fight. “But oi don't know how the feck oi eat it! It's not food! Do oi have to bite someone and suck out emotions instead of blood?” It wasn't as if he wasn't eating because he didn't want to! He really, truly, had no idea what he was doing.
His shoulders slumped in greater defeat as he admitted, glumly, “oi'm too hungry ter fall asleep.”
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Post by Gabriel on Mar 24, 2018 6:23:41 GMT
Ah, so Ahman hadn't bothered to teach the kid anything, as he'd guessed. Gabriel wasn't really surprised. He was sure Ahman would have condescendingly and smugly shown Nevan how to eat if the witch asked him, but Gabriel had the distinct impression Nevan would prefer to starve. Which was a problem, because for all of Gabriel's authority in insisting Nevan do something about his predicament, Gabriel didn't know how Icari ate either. Of all the Daemon types, he spent the least time with vampires, and while Gabriel was an expert on some aspects of being a Daemon the subtle biological nuances of each type weren't within his wheelhouse.
Except for the Succubi. He knew how they ate.
"Can I?" Gabriel gestured at the ring, but didn't actually wait for an answer before taking it out of the box and putting it on. Unlike the artifact he'd obtained when briefly Human, he didn't feel anything - although the ring looked good, set amongst the others adorning long slender fingers and fitting nicely with the black, white, silver and orange colour scheme he'd naturally evolved towards. The proof would be in the testing of it out in the sun, no doubt, which was where Gabriel headed without further pause after Nevan had finished irritably and a tad desperately explaining just what kind of trouble he was in. He'd been turned weeks ago. No wonder he looked like he was about to keel over. He probably was.
Gabriel might not know how Icari ate, but he figured he owed Nevan for the ring. While he privately intended to find some material payment, of some kind, in future, perhaps this could contribute to more immediate recompense. Nevan was probably baffled by the Daemon Lord striding suddenly out of his shop mid-conversation, but he wasn't gone for long. Outside, the sun-bright streets were still bustling with people. Gabriel seized one at random, plucking him from the crowd with a firm hand on his shoulder. A tall, slender man - blinking stupidly at the Daemon suddenly standing in front of him -tilted his head quizzically at Gabriel. Gabriel smiled benignly.
"Come with me, please."
"But I...."
"Hurry up!"
He was already back inside the shop. The man, not knowing quite why he listened to this sudden command from a stranger than had appeared from nowhere and just reached into his life with no explanation, trailed slowly behind him looking confused. Once inside, he realised Gabriel and Nevan were the only people in there, and he started looking distinctly nervous.
"Er, you know, I don't really know...I might just...leave?"
"Shut up and stand over there, by the counter." Gabriel waved a clawed hand, which the man watched uneasily, but inexplicably he stepped up to the counter, across from Nevan who also received an alarmed once-over. No wonder, the kid looked like a drug addict and a witch rolled into one, and with those purple eyes it was quite disconcerting.
"I..I can't really. You know. Stay. Not sure why I'm here, uh, nice to meet-"
"Shut up. Alright, Nevan, are you up for an experiment. Which emotion...uh...tastes best?" The man did indeed shut up, and by now was quivering with obvious fear. He had no idea what he'd just walked into, although he did recognise he was alone in an otherwise deserted shop with two Daemons talking absolute gibberish at him. The words 'tastes best' had him sure he was going to die, though, and the fear filled the room in response. Gabriel was prepared to change that, though, if Nevan preferred. The Human contemplated trying to make a break for it but found his feet mysteriously stuck to the floor, as if enclosed in a vice. Gabriel could have stopped him leaving hundreds of ways, true, but he supposed if the man was wriggling or walking around Nevan might have a harder time feeding, so for the moment he was telekinectally bound to the floor and absolutely terrified once he realised it.
"He's nice and scared. Will that taste alright? You could try biting him, I guess?"
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Post by Nevan J. Blake on Oct 18, 2019 5:15:25 GMT
“Uh … Bye?” Nevan stared after the daemon lord as he left the dim little shop, but even looking at sunlight made his face crinkle and he pulled his hat lower to cast his eyes in shadow. He couldn’t bloody see in sunlight, especially not from inside the dimly lit shop, so it was a surprise to him when Gabriel came back with a confused human in tow.
The same alarm the stranger felt danced across Nevan’s face, although he wasn’t half so frightened. “Wh - ah - what if he’s important?” Nevan asked weakly. He wasn’t dressed important but you never knew who was and wasn’t actually a Hound in their downtime. And Nevan really didn’t need the Hounds to have it out for him. Not that he expected the Daemon Lord to understand. You had to actually be a human - or have been one very recently and were sticking to your old lifestyle goddamnit - to understand how dangerous other humans could be without violence. A raise on rent or taxes or a few more sweeps on the street by the Hounds could really fuck him over in a bad way.
The longer the human was in the room the more Nevan’s own anxiety began to spike. In a room full of people there were only little hints of feeling from everyone but the new empathy Nevan had been cursed with meant without distraction it was hard not to feel what the stranger was feeling. For the second time that day, Nevan’s heart began to beat a little too hard. He rested a hand on his collar like that could muffle the wet thud and he ground his fangs together as a wave of light headedness made him sway in place.
Gods help him, he was hungry.
“Oi am not drinkin’ blood - do yer have any idea how filthy that stuff is?” It was tempting, if only because Nevan missed the feeling of having something that wasn’t just water in his stomach. But he was NOT going to drink the blood of some rando off the street. That was just asking to end up with syphilis or rabies or some new fun disease only Daemons could catch and Nevan doubted Gabriel would have the patience to hold the guy as Nevan took blood and ran some tests.
“Besides, if oi do need blood couldn’t jist using animal blood work?” It would be a weird ask for the butcher but frankly Nevan had asked for weirder.
“A-and if it does have ter be people blood do oi really need ter, loike, put my mouth on their skin because that’s - would yer calm down already?” Nevan finally snapped at the frightened human. He reached out and grabbed the arm that Gabriel wasn’t holding and tried to look him in the eye the way Ahman did whenever he compelled Nevan, and very firmly said, “chill.”
Nevan knew magic. His understanding of how it moved through the natural world played a role in making potions with what seemed like random ingredients. He understood how it formed within fae, too. That was how he peeled the raw energy out of their skin and blood and bones and stitched it into artifacts humans could use. What he didn’t know was Daemon magic. The only two daemons he had ever really met could manipulate emotions so Nevan assumed that was something Daemons could just sort of do.
So when a slow glaze came over the human’s expression and the fear started to shift into apathy Nevan assumed he had done just that. He had told him to feel something else and that’s what happened. He didn’t notice the slight drain of color in the man’s arm into a vaguely necrotic gray and he didn’t connect that to the loss of the worst pangs of his hunger. The man was just calm now, and Nevan’s heart didn’t so much feel like an over ripe melon about to rupture. “Tank yer,” Nevan said irritably. He pulled his hand back and propped himself against the counter again. “Oh – and, uh, don’t call the Hounds?” Nevan winced at how whiny his own voice sounded and glance nervously back at Gabriel.
“Uhhh, oi’m good wit no blood, though, tanks.”
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Post by Gabriel on Jul 5, 2020 3:28:37 GMT
Gabriel stared at Nevan, confused.
"Important?" The Daemon Lord looked his selection of Nevan's first ever meal up and down, wondering why it mattered. Did important humans have tastier emotions? He'd literally grabbed this one at random, and to be honest Nevan was already stretching Gabriel's interest in the matter. If the witch expected him to go hunting for someone more to his taste, he had another think coming.
"Oh, do you think he's going to cause you problems?" Gabriel smile a very unsettling smile. Poor Nevan. The witch had absolutely no idea who the Daemon Lord really was, did he? Gabriel had not intended to leave the man alive after Nevan was done with him, assuming the feeding wasn't fatal in the first place. Which he wasn't assuming - Nevan was starving, and if the blood drinking members of his kind could drain someone to death, perhaps the emotion-drinking ones could too.
The man was getting in an increasingly bad way as Nevan dithered. Fidgeting, sweating, and...well, Gabriel could see why it wasn't very appealing to bite the unfortunate bloke and drain him of any kind of body fluid. He wrinkled his nose and shrugged a shoulder at Nevan's opposition to drinking blood.
"I mean, I don't really see the appeal myself, but sometimes needs must?" He was ignoring the increasing twitching, but his own temper began to fray as the begging started. The Daemon Lord sighed, and was about to do something about it before Nevan intervened first, grabbing the man's arm and issuing a command.
Amazingly, it worked.
Unlike Nevan, Gabriel knew Daemon magic. He knew commanding emotions, even on an individual level like Nevan had just done, was not beginner magic. He didn't think a teenage vampire, even one who'd established some magic skill before being turned, would be anywhere near accessing an emotion-manipulation ability that worked well enough to virtually put someone in a trance. The Daemon Lord let out a low whistle, and slowly waved a clawed hand in front of the kidnapped man's face. He blinked slowly, but otherwise continued to look a bit distant...and he certainly wasn't about to piss himself with fear anymore, which given how close he was to Gabriel, was not the normal state of affairs for a human unwillingly in the Daemon Lord's power.
"Nevan, how do you feel? Appetite-wise, I mean? Even a tiny bit better?"
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