iterumrp | Open: Don't be scared we'll make it work

Leon also starts to make dropping in at The Outlaw in the evenings part of his routine after working at the Bullet Hole.

Tonight is no different. He ends up at the far end of the bar, by the light that's broken. He likes this seat, it offers a level of seclusion. With a little gesture, his usual gets set in front of him, a triple of whatever their cheapest whiskey is, neat.

He'd been a little unsure what he wanted to eat but the guy beside him seems to have something good.

"Is it any good?"

Michael had noticed Leon a time or two before, he tended to keep to himself for the most part. Now that he had a hoodie bought with his winnings, he wore it out of the Coliseum when he worked. Hearing the voice, he finished the tender before taking a drink and wiping his mouth.

"They are pretty good, yes. You can judge a bar's standard by how good their chicken tenders are. A solid 8 out of 10." He spoke in that same Grecian accent from the network when they spoke. This was why his video was off, and worse, his sunglasses were up in his messy hair, so those red eyes were visible. It was kinda dark in here, even if he had excellent night vision. He didn't want to be the douchebag wearing sunglasses in doors all the time.

Now that he's actually looked from the stranger's food to him, he can see there's something wrong with the color of his skin, his hand moving to his gun as the stranger wipes his mouth, fully expecting the gaping maw of an undead zombie to turn toward him and lunge. Instead, Michael speaks. It's enough to make Leon hesitate, despite getting a look at his eyes. His breathing is a practiced even, focused, calm while his pulse is racing.

He catches something about chicken tenders and has to force himself to replay the conversation through his head again, his hand relaxing away from his gun.

That accent is familiar though.

"Have we spoken before?" He reaches for his drink, Michael might notice the faintest tremble as he does, fighting to ignore the flood of memories his momentary panic had just dredged up.

One of the perks of being vampire-ish, was also a huge downfall, he could hear every heart being in this bar. He certainly heard Leon's pulse speed up. Yet, after years of practice, he kept his face from showing it.

Though he had not noticed the hand going for the gun, but even if he had, he wouldn't be too worried. He had a bad habit of not staying dead. He'd been shot more than a few times in the past. "I think we may have," He spoke, noticing that tremor but still keeping that same relaxed tone. "Maybe on the network a few days ago. My name's Michael Morbius." Then he motioned to the plate with those sharp nails. "Want a tender to try?"

The goal was to help Leon see he wasn't a threat. At least, so long as he kept drinking the substitute blood. If he ever goes too long, well. A thread he'd be. He doesn't want that. This is a third chance at a new life here.

Leon would like to think he's pretty used to the burn of whiskey but the cheap stuff he's been buying here is like fire as it sears down his throat, making him grimace. On his first paycheck, he's absolutely going to start buying better alcohol. It'd likely save his head in the morning as well.

"That's where. You were looking into the city, too. You're... like me," He hates the label of 'Chosen'.

The nails distract him again as he mumbles a quiet 'Leon' in case he hadn't given it the first time. His gaze lingers on his hands, his nails, the strange skintone, before moving to the chicken tender. It looks considerably less appetizing now.

"No, I'm good. ... What are you?" He's not even sure if he'd meant to say it out loud but it's there now. Maybe a bit rude but he can't think of another way to phrase it. At least he hadn't said 'what the hell are you' like he'd actually been thinking.

Michael couldn't help but study Leon a bit now, turning away was never wise until he knew if he was next to friend or foe. Even if he was still trying to put off a relaxed air.

"Yes, I spoke to a few that day." When Leon gave his name low, Michael nodded. Showing he heard it. "A pleasure, Leon." Even if they were at a bit of a standstill, it was no less true. "Yes, we are alike in that way."

The tenders ignored for now. "Right too it, then." he spoke like an old hand at this, though he wasn't bothered. The openness of it was refreshing. "I am kind of a vampire." He could go very scientific with it, but he knew just the bare bones helped the most. "I am not dead, I am very much alive." He turned that pale wrist Leon's way as if to offer to let him test his pulse.

Again, not worried about being hurt. "A science experiment went very wrong, and this is what it did to me. I am not a danger though, so long as I drink the blood substitute the city has I am perfectly safe to be around." He knew he was a danger if he got hungry, he wouldn't lie there. He had his childhood best friend, and his ex-fiance's blood on his hands. There was no lying.

Leon gives him an unapologetic shrug, "I'd prefer to know what I'm dealing with."

He squints slightly, curious, apprehensive, but mostly trying to fit Michael into something he could understand. He'd seen a lot of shit, a lot of really messed up shit, but no one that had been claiming to be a vampire yet.

Michael presents his wrist to him but Leon doesn't immediately move, eyes flickering down to look at it before going right back to staring Michael down, watching him like he expects him to attack suddenly, ready to move at the first hint of trouble. Despite the din of the bar, Leon seems hyperfocused, on high alert and ready to spring into action should Michael force his hand. Michael's relaxed demeanor seemingly not doing anything to ease Leon's concern.

"What kind of science experiment?" The mention of the substitute blood that the City supplies him earns Michael the slightest twitch of a raised eyebrow. Leon reads between the lines though, "And if you don't have blood? Sorry, blood substitute."

As before, he kept that same energy, only he took his hand back and sat back to cross his arms over his chest. "I can not fault you for that. It is smart in most situations." This one too, as much as Michael would hate to admit it. The living vampire could see that Leon was ready for him to attack, but he had no plans too attack.

"I was born with a rare blood disease that was killing me. I spent years looking for a cure, cured quite a few things along the way, but never what I had." He explained, uncrossing an arm long enough to rub the bridge of his nose. "The last shot, I had, didn't work as the tests predicted. And what you see before you is what happened. I became a living vampire, there is nothing mythical about me." He explained, he hated when people pulled crosses on him. And he loved garlic.

He should have been better about his phrasing. The city didn't provide him with it. Michael had to work to buy it, but that was why he was fighting at the arena. "What any hungry creature would do. As much as I hate to say it. But I am working, and can keep buying plenty to keep myself in check. I do not ever aim to be a danger to anyone. I am a scientist, I am meant to help."

Leon's eyes narrow. He knows this story, he's heard it before. But it isn't, not quite, not unless Michael is leaving out some key details.

"You didn't know what the side effects would be? Or you didn't care?" He'd heard Michael just fine
He just needs to be sure. It's an important distinction. Leon had dealt with too many people who have willingly become monsters at this point.

"What any hungry creature would do? Which is what?" Yeah, it definitely seems to Leon like Michael is dancing around a few of the grittier details, "Because I know what hungry humans do and it's not that worrying. What happens if the city decides it'd like to see what would happen if there was no blood available to purchase? Is there a backup plan?"

This was not shaping up to be what he expected, which honestly. His bad, he should have expected it. Now, his tenders are cold and he's still not certain if this guy will swing on him or somehow have a stake. Those don't work, but they still hurt like nothing else.

"We didn't know. They never appeared in any of the trial runs. Had I known this would be my fate, I would have chosen to die." He spoke very honestly. Michael could still taste the blood of his best friend on his lips. That was on him. He wanted to be better. "When I realized what I had become, I tried to end myself, but nothing has taken."

He probably needs therapy, but. Who had time for that? Not him. "I would lose control until I have fed. It is not a pretty picture, but I will not lie. As of now, I have no backup plan, but I do know a person or two who might be willing if that were to happen. If my stocks ran low, and the city ran out, I would have hours to ask for help before it happened. I do not wish to have any more blood on my hands." He wouldn't deny that there was already blood there.

"'We'? Were you working with a team? For a company?" Leon prods a little gentler. His suspicions were quickly giving way to sympathy. Unfortunately, he'd seen things like this too, though usually the person slipped further away from humanity and began to turn into something mindless. He nods to Michael like he gets it. Most people... people who weren't actually monsters, they begged for death because they didn't want to hurt anyone. Out of morbid curiosity, Leon can't help but wonder what he'd tried; rocket launchers at point blank range and massive explosions were pretty effective in his experience.

His expression hardens when Michael admits what Leon had suspected.

"But you have control the rest of the time? It's only if you're hungry?" He chews uneasily on the inside of his lip, and it's with a good amount of reluctance that he continues, "If it means potentially keeping other people safe... you can add me to that list."

"No, I was doing independent research after I gained prize money for my work in blood-borne illnesses. My former partner, Emil Nikos and I, were the only ones working on this. Even my fiancé had no idea what we were doing." He sounded a little down when he mentioned Nikos, pushing his plate away, no longer hungry for his human side. A downside of his condition. He still needed human food and drink too.

Finally, he looked over when Leon expression hardened. "Absolutely, it is only the bloodlust that hinders my control. I detest a lack of control in myself, so I fight it." He finally held his hand back out to Leon. "We have a deal, Leon. So long as you are comfortable with it, and the need ever arises. Though, I must ask. Have you experienced something like this before? You seem very on edge." Not that anyone seemed comfortable with it, something about Leon's reaction had him thinking he's missed something. A missing puzzle peice of sorts.

Of course, he wasn't comfortable with it. He barely wanted to shake his hand. But if it meant Michael could maintain control and thus wouldn't hurt anyone, Leon had no reservations. The muscles in his jaw go tight but he takes Michael's hand and shakes it. He's not sure what he'd expected, but it's surprisingly human feeling.

"Sort of. They aren't -weren't- exactly like you. At first, you sounded a lot like a -we call them BOWs- bio organic weapons, people infected by various viruses that turn them into..." He sort of half motions at Michael, "They usually don't look as human as you still do, but it depends on the strain of the virus. And most of them aren't in control anymore."

The living part of being a living vampire meant he stayed very much alive. He has a pulse, breathes, eats, and stays warm. Shaking Leon's hand in return, he took his hand back after and crossed his arms over his chest, listening.

"Nothing is exactly like me." Be it ego or sorrow, who knew. "...Oh, no." His eyes widening as he listened. He couldn't even be offended, he understood all too well. "Control is not always easy, my friend, the hunger is quite the driving force. Also, I can appear more monstrous as the hunger grows, so I do get your concerns. Tell me, how did this come to be? With a name like that, it sounds like it was on purpose. Were you able to stop it?"

His mind running with questions and concerns.

"How do you think it happened? Someone in a lab had some great idea about how to create something that could be dropped behind enemy lines and devastate enemy forces," How little they'd changed from using catapults to send people who had died of the plague over castle walls.

Were you able to stop it? Leon's eyes get glassy at the question but it's gone half a second later as he blinks the memories away, lips pressed tightly together.

"It's not an 'it' anymore, not singular. There's lots of strains, new ones every month it seems. New unhinged groups ready to develop and use them.

I don't... I don't know if there's any going back to how the world was before," He forces a very bitter smile and shrugs like it doesn't bother him when it clearly does, and simply raises his hand to get the bartender's attention to signal that he needs another drink.

"I have met scientists like that. And even if it sounds hypocritical, those kind always get what they deserve. A few have had me kidnapped to try to replicate my curse as a drug to sell to the highest bidder. Luckily, it has never come to fruition, but I can only imagine how terrible this must be in your world."

He knew he probably deserved his curse for meddling with his own DNA. A desperate man wanting to live to his wedding day. Instead, now he was an unmarried monster, still learning from his mistakes.

That glassy look told him more than words could have. "How are people surviving with this much? That sounds like it would overtake the population." He had theories forming, but none were good. "Most likely not, but it's still always worth fighting, Mr. Kennedy." Seeing Leon motion for another, he added. "Let me cover that."

Leon starts to open his mouth to say something but seems to think better of it and clenches his teeth instead. Where he's from, these people don't exist in a vacuum. In his case, the government was also heavily involved.

"Yeah, some are selling to the highest bidder where I'm from too. I guess that's people's first thought regardless of world - how do I make a buck."

He doesn't continue until his shot arrives and he looks over at Michael, "You really don't have to."

But, if he insists, Leon isn't in much of a mood to argue, he just downs the drink.

"Depends on the incident. So far they've been contained... and there's seldom any survivors. Sometimes they fall to the virus, sometimes they fall to the 'cleanup'," Always worth fighting? He's nodding with conviction but internally he has his doubts.

"Sadly, yes. That is human nature, they do not think of the ones they hurt until they hurt someone they care about." He knew that one intimately well. He'd always remember the taste of Emil Nikos blood, the blood of his best friend and first victim. It was what tried to keep him on the straight and narrow.

"Please, let me." He insisted, it made him feel better. "Tonight seems a night for drowning sorrows and pain, and I have recently won a battle at the Coliseum. Money isn't an issue. Those I can trust are, though, and I have a feeling you may become one of those, Leon." He admitted. He trusted too easily, and it often got him hurt, but he always hoped he could be better.

"That sounds terrible, the horrors of biological terrorism. I am sorry to hear your world is like this."

"In my experience, they tend to just turn into monsters themselves."

He looks at the shot as it's set in front of him but ends up sighing and giving him a nod that shifts into something of a rueful smirk, "Alright, fine. But if you make this a habit, I'm going to end up thinking you're just hoping my blood alcohol level will be high enough to make me palatable when the time comes."

He raises an eyebrow doubtfully at Michael's assessment but maybe he's right. And maybe when it came to one another, they'd both be able to break their revolving door of trusting too easily only to get burned and do it again.

"Yeah, well... it's a living, I guess," He says, bitterness creeping into his voice despite him trying for sarcasm, "Hey, thanks. For the drink."

Open: Don't be scared we'll make it work

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cw; mention of suicide attempt(s)

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