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[gothicgambit]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, CELESTIA LUDENBERG. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 888.06.111.44 *** VersaillesWitch has joined 888.06.111.44 <VersaillesWitch> Say what you will, but do say it quickly. (alt anon account) <whiterabbit>

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[gothicgambit]

[That question. That is what he asks after all this? It starts small, a twitch of an almost smile, almost snarl at her lip. It curls up her throat and she giggles, but it tastes like poison and sounds just as acidic, even as it for once, turns to a horribly bitter laugh. One that she has to turn her head to the side to cover with a hand, but Atem would still see the flash of pointed teeth and forked tongue she tries so hard to hide.

After a moment she looks back at him. And her face is perfectly composed, a porcelain marvel, but her eyes are wounded with a deep sort of hurt.]

No.

[Because she is alone. Like she always has been. Like she is meant to be.]

[knifemonopoly]

I thought not.

That was why I called for a penalty game. I thought that, if you'd want to protect anyone, it would be yourself...

[He flips his cards over: four of a kind. He has all the aces.]

But I should have known that wouldn't be the case.

[gothicgambit]

I suppose you were not lying then, when you said a person's true nature was revealed by this sort of game.

[And now he can see her for what she is. A fucking loser. Her blood is rushing with the tide of that shame and it manages to make her blush with embarrassment, a rare thing.

She flips her cards as well. Nothing.]

Apologies, for such an unsatisfying game.

[knifemonopoly]

[A small heh, a wicked smile.]

It was an unsatisfying game! But I learned what I wanted to know...

[He sweeps up the cards, and the smile drops.]

...which is that you give up when you think you have nothing to fight for. And that, right now, fighting for yourself isn't enough...even though you're a person I'd protect with my life!

[He points at her.]

What you did in the past...it's affecting your present too much, Celeste. You're wagering yourself over and over on the hope that you can undo what you did at Hope's Peak -- and what you did to me. And that's a losing bet! It'll never pay off, so all you're doing is racking up debt to the house. ​You're wasting time reviewing a lost round's score, and you're not even learning from it -- it's just hurting your game.

It's getting you hurt. And I don't like that!

But you can make better bets, Celeste. Bet on the people who've shown that you matter to them. Bet on Celestia Ludenberg--

[She had better be looking at him, she'd better be paying attention, because he's not lying, and he wants her to see it...!]

--I would.

[gothicgambit]

[She is watching, so so carefully. Calling her out on her idiocy and disappointment is to be expected, but-

When he admits that he would protect her with his life, the mask cracks. It was already loosened, but there is a moment of unexpected, open-mouthed vulnerability. That's the second time he's so unabashedly admitted that he cared. He's right, her past is stacking against her and she's playing right into it. She doesn't know any other way to live.

But that's no excuse, and it's about time that someone reminded her she is Celestia fucking Ludenberg. And she doesn't give up for shit.

In a blink, she feels and looks more like herself in weeks, leaning back in her chair and watching him with a half-lidded smile. But there's an awareness in her eyes that had been so so empty before, when she was trying to fill that hole of despair with more pain.]

Hm, this is what I meant by you being of the far too noble sort, Atem.

[And the fire is back under her ass.]

But I suppose every lady deserves a noble sort-of friend.

[knifemonopoly]

[Sometimes, friendship is showing up for someone and telling them they're acting embarrassingly for losing a round, because that's what works. She got him to buck up, after reviving from the parasite; she needed the favor returned.

She looks much more like herself.]

Of course!

[She absolutely deserves to have friends. Even if they're sort-of friends. It's good to see her feeling better, it's right to see that emptiness gone.

Which means...

He didn't come into this intending to kill her, and he still doesn't. But he stands up from the table.]

But I'm still going to collect what I've won.

[There's no killing intent coming off of him: whatever he's planning, it isn't torture. There is a plan, though: whatever he's about to put her through, he hasn't explained all of it.]

[gothicgambit]

[She sighs like he's spilled something on her, but doesn't move from her reclined position in her chair.]

Obviously. I would never have let you live it down if you tried to back out for some idiotic sense of martyrdom.

[And her heartbeat is a bit fast, a bit scared. The instinctual wince before the pain, but steadier than before too. She trusts him.]

[knifemonopoly]

[He steps around the table, slow but steady, his shoes making a light tap, tap, tap on the stylish but meant-to-drain-easily flooring.]

I told you already -- I don't starve myself!

[It's true he's not starving. That much is apparent from the lack of sunken eyes or hollow cheeks. He's not out of control, and there's no predictable danger of him losing it.

But, now that he's won, and his life and pride and roommate don't hinge on the slightest twitch of his face...he's hungry. Her scent isn't as sharp as it would be if she were bleeding, but it's still there, and the closer he steps, the stronger it gets. Atem approaches with restraint, but not with indifference.

Besides, that's not -- not entirely, at least -- what this is about.]

And I take the stakes I play with very seriously.

[Mercy is a very, very rare occurrence.

He stops behind her chair.]

I'll let you remove your collar yourself. You'll need your throat exposed, to play the last game.

[...mercy might be rare but he's also not going to needlessly threaten her dignity. He agreed initially to feed to the death out of respect for her pride. Atem's creeping on her blood, but not willing to threaten her in other ways...except, perhaps, to tease.]

Unless you'd prefer I did it? You do seem to like vampire things...

[It's a tiny needle for Atem to thread, teasing lightly enough to avoid sincerely creeping, but also without breaking the tension in the room, but he does it, mostly because he's clearly not looking for an excuse to get his hands on her while playing it off as a joke. Security's one hell of a drug.]

[gothicgambit]

[When he circles around her chair, her eyes follow him at first, but she doesn't turn her head. Instead she opts to stare straight ahead. It was undignified to curl your neck around and gawk after all.

But he would see how his comment makes there be just a touch of offense, the slightest rise in her shoulders and tightening of her posture. Most of all, the fact that when she does flush, it's at the back of her neck. How appropriate for a poker player. It all makes her thoughts nearly audible - ugh, bastard.]

People who make those sorts of jokes often do so because it is already on their mind.

[And she turns then, just enough he would see a slight profile of her raised brow, the curl of her lip, and the sarcasm in her eyes. Celeste is keeping with his lead, humor balanced with cutting. She knows he isn't trying to do this for any dangerous sort of urge, other than the obvious one. Security indeed.

Her head swings back, free hand coming up to easily open the back with a practiced movement of clawed fingers. For a moment there is only the sound of the buckle unclasping, and then she speaks again once it is free.]

I do hope you won't bore me. You've talked these games up quite a bit.

[knifemonopoly]

[He laughs! It's a cutting remark, but it hits nothing vital, and his mood stays playfully predatory. One hand takes hold of her jaw, tilting it to one side -- not quick, not violent, not too strong to fight off but definitely not inviting resistance -- and the other goes to her shoulder, pulling the neck of her dress out of the way.]

Penalty games usually aren't complicated. Most often, they're either an illusion world, befitting the loser's crimes, or the natural consequences of the lose condition. They're always appropriate to the situation, and usually can't be won -- unless I make an exception.

[He leans in toward her throat, from where he stands behind her chair. She'll feel the approach, his hair brushing the side of her face, and hear his voice get closer.]

Your penalty game...is Artery Roulette!

[His mouth opens, an inch above her neck, and it's only the fact that this is a game, that he's operating in a framework he's used to staying completely controlled in, that keeps him from having to take a moment to deal with the way her blood smells this close, as he searches for where to bite, as he picks his vein. This is still a penalty game, she is still going to have to fight, and just because he's been too too too aware of her blood for the last month and a half doesn't mean he won't be professional about this. He murmurs:]

To win -- survive.

[She won't have time to respond before his mouth latches onto her throat, and two small fangs pierce her skin.]

[gothicgambit]

[Even as Atem grasps the side of her jaw, even as he exposes more and more of her throat, she doesn't even attempt to struggle. Instead, she tries to breathe slowly, in through her nose, and out through her mouth. This is, apparently, also going to be some form of game, and one she's extremely determined to win.

So of course, when the stale air supporting his voice drifts over her neck and ear, her eyes narrow at first. Roulette? What the hell was that supposed to mean? There's a swell of her heartbeat. Still, she's docile for the moment, not fighting yet, because he hasn't explained. And Celeste is ever-so deliberately choosing to trust him but...

"Survive"

That objective alone turns her determination to win, to best him, and turns it on it's head. In a moment of upset, Celeste opens her mouth to call him an asshole and of course, that is the moment that a pair of fangs sink into her neck-

So it just dissolves into a choked, pained noise instead. In a moment of instinctual defense, Celeste grits her own sharpened teeth and one of her hands fly up to dig her fingers into the back of his jacket. She stops herself before doing anything besides clutching on uselessly. Even if he's hurting her, she agreed to this, and apparently she has to survive.

She's gonna get him back for this.]

[knifemonopoly]

[His mouth pulls into a grin around the fangs. The only way to lose is for her to sink into the emptiness he saw when she walked in, and when she'd presented herself and her knife to be murdered back in May. But he feels her heart going, feels the defiance in how she grips his shoulder, and that's good.

It's fine, if she chooses to fight back, fight him off. It's fine if she chooses not to, and to pay her debt out of pride -- as long as it's pride, and not despair.

He's an asshole.

But all that higher function, and most of his coherent thoughts, slip away as her blood's drawn up into his mouth, and he swallows it. Atem's tasted a lot of different kinds of blood since he came here, and none of them are quite the same. There's human blood, mer blood, shade blood, fae blood...he knew by scent that Celeste's blood wasn't human, or even like Daniel's, which desperately clung to being as human as it could, but its taste, its consistency, confirms it. It's thick, it tastes like it's been turned over and over in a smokehouse until it's perfect, it tastes like a meal you can get drunk on.

It tastes like satisfying an urge you know you shouldn't. Like someone took the blood of something rare and endangered and made it into wine.

It's really fucking good. He lets out the last of the air in his lungs in satisfaction. No wonder he's had to work so hard to ignore it ever since she sat in the room with him while he was starving, he doesn't remember AM's blood smelling anything like this, so it's probably not a demon thing, it's a Celeste thing...

Despite that sigh, though, the hands at her jaw and shoulder don't wander, or caress, or do anything weird. This is about her, but it isn't about any part of her but her heart -- both literal and not.]

[gothicgambit]

[There's a distinctive change, in all monster's demeanor when they finally lock into actually feeding, so Celeste knows it's coming. Atem's hands don't wander. That exhale instead signals a different sort of urge entirely, and comes on the heels of his arms almost locking into place. Sudden tension runs through his muscles in a grip no human could hope to break, and even a monster would have to work for. A simple, feral instinct; uncomplicated in it's raw control.

Still, she doesn't fight him.

It would be wasted effort, her whirring brain reminding her that she has to conserve as much energy as she can, if she's supposed to survive. jerk. Celeste just keeps breathing through grit teeth. The pain is manageable, particularly for someone who's burned alive before...

And then there's a strange, warm sort of numbness. Like when a limb falls asleep, but it's starting nearest to the wound. Carried quickly by the artery, Celeste feels her head start to list more to the side, unconsciously relaxing. Her eyes are having trouble staying open, even as she's fighting them from closing.

Wh-]

cw blood, vampire feeding's wrapping up

[knifemonopoly]

[There it goes. This is where he could drain her dry, if he lost sight of himself. Atem doesn't think it's a venom or chemical -- if it were, he'd be able to extract it, take advantage of it, use it in other circumstances. But he's had no success, so it's likely a charm, or more complicated to activate than what comes from a snake's fangs. But the effect is consistent, and it's unmistakable; it's the first sign to slow down.

Atem doesn't really want to. She's relaxing now, the thrum of her heartbeat in his chest easing to a slower, soothing pulse, telling them both the insidious, tempting lie of just a little more, it'll be okay.

But that's a lie, and Atem's not too far gone, not too hungry, to realize that.

He has to stop feeding before her heartbeat flutters or gets irregular. The anemia has to be something she can recover from when the next fog rolls in...he can't take so much that she'll die first. But also...her life is valuable, and he's going to make sure she remembers what it's like to fight for it. To want to live badly enough to hold on.

He wants her to live badly enough to fight his feeding drive. So, Celeste had better make it.

It is an effort, to disengage his fangs early. Atem's jaw always locks up...pulling himself out of the euphoria of a heart beating in his chest, emotional and monstrous needs met at once, is always difficult, and the longer it takes to force his jaw to listen to him, the harder it is not to slip back into the haze and take the rest. But he does it: like a joint in one place too long that is finally forced to move, Atem's jaw unclenches, his mouth opens, and his fangs pull free. There's demon-blood in his mouth, on his tongue, and he stretches the tendons in his jaw in a movement like a yawn, pulls in a deep inhale --

--okay. He's okay. Atem is still himself, control wasn't lost, a quick mental inventory of the last few minutes reassures him of that. Next question: is Celeste okay? Or, well, as okay as Atem intended her to be.]

Cw: same lmao

[gothicgambit]

[She's really struggling to stay conscious now, her eyes are barely open. The thickness of the false lashes she wears even make it seem like they've shut, but should someone look closer they could likely see the slight slit of crimson.

Even in this near-boneless, semi-lucid state, she can feel Atem try and disengage. There's an initial pull, when he first tries, and another when he finally manages to fight his instincts off enough to actually lean away.

Its so strange. She can feel the skin separating and shifting, how his jaw almost locks and un-hooks, even the sluggish, warm beat of her own blood... but there's so little pain anymore. It's turned into just a thrumming background along with everything else. For a moment, she tries to compare it to her previous experience with Komaeda, and how frightening that was, but that thought slips through her fingers like water. She can't seem to hold onto it.

Celeste is quickly slipping away into true oblivion. The blood loss and whatever strange side effect Atem's bite produces going straight to her head and making her horribly dizzy.

She shuts her eyes fully to try and stave it off.

And cannot summon the strength to open them again.

Her breathing evens out, and there is quiet.]

[knifemonopoly]

[He crosses to the front of her chair, to get a look at her. She's breathing, and for a moment, he has to listen for her pulse -- it's always harder to hear when he's not hungry at all, but it's there. Slow, but there.

Okay. Time to get to work.

Blood gets cleaned off of skin. Sharp-smelling antiseptic goes on and around the bite, and a bandage is ripped out of its sterile package and applied to her neck. That done, her collar is pulled back over it and re-buckled.

Atem washes his own mouth out in the other room, invisible in the mirror but able to gauge when the blood's gone by the amount of pink that washes down the drain. Preparation and cleanup are a part of a lot of shadow games, so he's used to doing things like this. Even though they aren't the glamorous part, they happen behind the scenes, they need to be done...

The cards and chips are put back in the small case Atem brought them in, and it's put into a jacket pocket. He gives the room a once-over -- was there anything else? It's no good to be a bad guest...but he thinks he's got everything.

One more check of her breathing, one more moment attuned to her heartbeat, and then Atem picks Celeste up, one arm around her shoulders and the other under her knees, and carries her out of Ragnarok.

From there, he can't exactly take her with him in a travel form, so he's going to have to do this at a run: he carries Celeste at top-vampire-speed to the casino, up the elevator, all the way to Horatio's front door. He's not going to leave her outside; he'll knock and make sure she gets inside safely. Atem would look after her himself, but he's not sure that'd do her pride any favors...so, Horatio's it is.]