![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
gr8muppetyodin[Follows THIS and THIS]
Blaise was holding himself up on the door jamb between his bedroom and his en suite bathroom. His eyes were closed and he rested his head against the cool iron frame of the door, trying to somehow draw on any lingering strength he had remaining in him. "Mon cherie... I'll summon Mademoiselle Rousseau for you," Jaquelynne, his assistant and personal friend, murmured, the concern evident in her helpless tone. She was standing behind him, her hand resting on his back in case he needed any help. It looked like he needed a lot of help, but he wasn't relinquishing to that yet.
"Non. Do not. I forbid you," Blaise said sharply, opening his eyes to lock her with a warning glare. But it lost its intensity as soon as it appeared and he moved sluggishly into the bathroom. "I do not what her in my presence." It indicated just how much of a rift had formed between the two mates in the wake of the events earlier in the day. But now, they just all felt like a lifetime ago to Blaise now the frenzy had diluted. He needed to feed to regain some strength, but he was too weak to face it yet. First, he had to try and rid his body of that tainted blood. It was too late to purge of it all, but he could try. Purging wasn't something he was foreign to. Vampires couldn't digest anything but blood, so when a Kindred ate food for the purpose of The Masquerade, they inevitably had to purge themselves of it at some juncture. It wasn't forgotten how ill he had felt trying to feed on Buffy's blood, but this was worse. Blaise felt just plain sick, and he hadn't felt like that in a very long time. In fact, it was likely during his Childer days, when he was still bouncing around like an excited puppy, biting into anything he could get his fangs into as he found his Kindred feet. All those years ago in his youth, he had been quite the player; exciteable, loving the company of ladies, and enjoying anything that could get his heart racing. Literally centuries later, his human self was but a distant memory. Risk was something he rarely flirted with unless he knew what he was dealing with.
( He was struggling to understand how blindsided he had been that evening... )
Word Count | 9,480
Blaise was holding himself up on the door jamb between his bedroom and his en suite bathroom. His eyes were closed and he rested his head against the cool iron frame of the door, trying to somehow draw on any lingering strength he had remaining in him. "Mon cherie... I'll summon Mademoiselle Rousseau for you," Jaquelynne, his assistant and personal friend, murmured, the concern evident in her helpless tone. She was standing behind him, her hand resting on his back in case he needed any help. It looked like he needed a lot of help, but he wasn't relinquishing to that yet.
"Non. Do not. I forbid you," Blaise said sharply, opening his eyes to lock her with a warning glare. But it lost its intensity as soon as it appeared and he moved sluggishly into the bathroom. "I do not what her in my presence." It indicated just how much of a rift had formed between the two mates in the wake of the events earlier in the day. But now, they just all felt like a lifetime ago to Blaise now the frenzy had diluted. He needed to feed to regain some strength, but he was too weak to face it yet. First, he had to try and rid his body of that tainted blood. It was too late to purge of it all, but he could try. Purging wasn't something he was foreign to. Vampires couldn't digest anything but blood, so when a Kindred ate food for the purpose of The Masquerade, they inevitably had to purge themselves of it at some juncture. It wasn't forgotten how ill he had felt trying to feed on Buffy's blood, but this was worse. Blaise felt just plain sick, and he hadn't felt like that in a very long time. In fact, it was likely during his Childer days, when he was still bouncing around like an excited puppy, biting into anything he could get his fangs into as he found his Kindred feet. All those years ago in his youth, he had been quite the player; exciteable, loving the company of ladies, and enjoying anything that could get his heart racing. Literally centuries later, his human self was but a distant memory. Risk was something he rarely flirted with unless he knew what he was dealing with.
( He was struggling to understand how blindsided he had been that evening... )
Word Count | 9,480
