1965-02-21 - It's Not Unlike Borrowing a Cup of Sugar...okay so it really is.
Summary: After Morbius bit John and nearly dissolved in volatile fashion John goes to the one source he can for a blood donation to fix this: Cassidy
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
morbius constantine cassidy 

The upstairs floor when Cass got home still, though he cleaned up, smelled a bit like a slaughterhouse to anyone sensitive to the smell of blood and something… wrong? Chemical fire? Brimstone? Something. THere was a note on Cass' door that read:

~Cass, do not open door. See me first. Have offer for you. Need help, can barter this one - John~

Riiiiight. The day was never easy was it? John's door was open and there were, stacked one in the other and so on were 3 of those 4 containers John got Cassidy. The side of his neck had a gauze patch on the side of his neck and he was going around putting things in trash bags.

Cassidy is, oddly enough, used to the smell of things burning in the house — usually the coffee table. That poor coffee table. The smell of blood in the amount that he smells, however — that's new. Cass' brow furrows when he reaches his door and sees that there's a note on it that he shouldn't open it. Muttering something under his breath in Irish, and wandered off to John's room. "Oi! You've got a whole fuckin' lab. What're you doin' in me damn closet?"

Burning in the house isn't terribly unusual. Jesse doesn't even think twice about it while he splits off from Cass to get to his room, except to say 'smells like John's up to no good'.

The rest is weird. The smell of blood growing a bit more insistent and fresh coming from Cassidy's room when he reads that note and hauls off to yell at John.

Constantine was tired, injured, and jsut depleted of fucks from the day. He also wasn't wearing a white button up shit. It was literally all teh man wore like a detective trope or something, but lo' here he was in navy blue. John looked up to Cass and boggled at him waving a hand, "Well check the bloody note. I'm well aware of this. And… I needed dark room. Couldn't get downstairs. Soooo… Yeah I improvised." He looked down the hall at Jess collapsing from teh damn day and back to Cassidy. He hated this part but weirdly Cassidy would either tell him sure here's me conditions, or get tossed ye limey wanker. But either way he'd know and fine. "I need to borrow a pint or two. Got someone who is really in a bad way. I'm runnin light on options, mate." He took a deep breath and paused to listen. All seemed quiet a bit at least for now.

"I checked the bloody note which is why I'm in here and not in there," Cassidy points out with a gesture in the direction of the room. Cassidy squints at John. Now, on the one hand — he's not particularly thrilled about the idea of giving up his blood in general. On the other hand, he knows John wouldn't just ask lightly. "Not sure it works like that, mate.. what happened?" He does wander into the room though and plunks himself down, rolling up a sleeve. Doesn't seem that he's saying no, at any rate.

Constantine wouldn't ask lightly. That much is absolutely true. The banter between them was a nice return to normal, not that John would admit his bloodshot eyes were the tearful result of getting into a shouting match with an angel pleading aid. The expression wasn't ingrateful though, a hand reaching up to give Cass' shoulder a squeeze. That quite thanks between ornery prats. The exorcist side nodded back Cass-room-way and gently knocked on teh door. "Michael… it's John." He paused and held up a finger walking back to get a bit of a bauble to pull the mirror dimension back up to at least contain Morbius should he be flight risk. The door cracked and he went to peek inside first not keeping his face too near the door. You wnat to lose an eye? That is how you lose an eye. "Soooo remember when I said you weren't teh first and last of all odd people I met, mate? Well… Mate of mine got his with an interesting conundrum." When it seemed at least safe to opent hte door he went inside.

And then they're going back to his room, and Cassidy follows that way, glancing back at the containers and then over toward the door and he shrugs, heading back. There's a glance to John and a glance to the door and he says, "We meet tons of odd fuckin' people, John an' they're all odd." He leans up against the wall, arms crossed, waiting until John goes inside to follow.

They /are/ all odd. If it's not some dude with a relic downloaded into him, it's a possessed preacher, or the occasional angel. Weird shit. They're all weird around here.

So in that case, it should be no surprise when John finally opens the door up when things seem 'safe' there's a figure shrouded in Cassidy's blanket, huddled in the corner of the room. The blanket draped over his head until there's only the resonant glow of red from inside the darkness.

Constantine proceeded as were everything juuuust normal. He noted to Cassidy, "No bright lights. He may be suseptable to shock right now… also I have a wicked hangover." That might really be more for John than Mike. He paused a moment and quietly called the Four Corners to raise a protective barrier around the space to contain that tupperware freshness. "Dr. Michael Morbius, me mate, Cassidy. Cass… most of Michael… he's… well… more like you than Jess and we'll leave it at that." Not by way of the same means and he didn't use himself as the other metric. Odd.

"So, he's Catholic?" Cassidy asks John, raising a brow. Then he looks back over to most of Morbius wrapped up in his blanket and the red glow does give him more of a clue of what might be going on there, though of the vampires that he's met, they've all been a little different, and he knows for a fact that he's an oddity among his own kind. So he squints a bit and says, "So e's down a couple a pints and you're lookin at me? Why not a cow?"

Light streams into the room from the door and Morbius recoils inside of his cocoon; the huddled figure reeks like blood and open wounds, curling into the corner he has made his own for the time being. No noise. No screaming, no words, no chittering or hissing, the only faint sound coming from that corner of the room is that of labored breathing in the relative darkness of Cassidy's room. As he twists, a bare foot appears from underneath the corner of the blanket; pale as a corpse and slightly elongated or emaciated looking, a number of delicate bones and veins pressed up against the surface of his skin. Thick, curled toenails like a cat's claws flex as his toes press into the floor, then retract again as Michael tucks his leg close against his body once more, hiding the limb.

Constantine snerked and looked to Cassidy too amused, "Yeah somethin like that." Looking back to Morbius's gesture to explain John pulled from his back pocket a pen and notepad setting them down on the bed where Michael could get to them when he got to them if he wanted them. "Don't you go flashin ankle at me. I agreed to help." He pondered a great many things and finally he concluded, oddly, for this purpose Cassidy wasat least in teh realm of 'trustworthy in his book'. "Well the hitch is we did that and that keps him from dissolving like rice paper." He looked up from teh blanket coccoon and back to Cass, admitting the difficulty, "Apparently it's inferior vintage for the recipie. Need somethin human or better. I did keep one of those pints aside for you though." Not withstanding why John didn't offer was another story.

Cassidy eyes Morbius and then looks back to John and then both brows go up, "Holy shite. Y'mean he's dissolvin' in there?" He glances at Morbius and says "You can keep the blanket, mate." There's a grim look and a slight breath sucked in through his teeth before he shakes his head. "Well, alright then, premium grade it is." He looks at Michael, then at John again. "So… fangs? Or we gotta do this the maple syrup way? Tap'n'spigot?"

The paper and pen pushed toward him, Michael waits until John fully retreats from him before he peers between the two men near the door once again. Tightly knotted into that blanket, he struggles to extend outward, an elongated hand with a couple of burn marks on his skin, charring the pale color a decayed shade of black and reddened irritation around it. Dragging the pad of paper closer, his hand tremors as he begins to write in Greek, then pauses and tries instead in English.

*"Pleasure to meet you."*

The period takes more effort than it should and skitters across the page in a hard dash.

Uncertain how to answer that question about fangs or not, he hesitates before slowly pulling the blanket around his shoulders to show Cassidy what they're working with.

Michael Morbius is not having a good day. His black wavy hair hangs lank around his face, stuck together with slicks of dried blood, making it hang awkward and messily around his shoulders. He also seems to be naked from the chest up as his shoulders are bare. Muscular and lanky, pale as a corpse and emaciated looking to the point of making is somewhat uncomfortable to look at.

The largest issue, however, seems to be that the man looks like he took a shotgun blast to his jaw or took a water balloon of holy water to the face. Skin is burned and charred in a ragged edge of evaporation, hanging in a scraggled edge of deterioration around his cheeks and beneath the burned tip of his nose. The lower half of his face is simply gone; lips are peeled up and away from his upper fangs, which are somewhat dissolved and pocketed, but present still, while his lower jaw is gone, missing only an ugly, ragged hole. His throat has dissolved, which explains the lack of sound and the odd wheezing of labored breath. Eyes glowing that resonating red, casting sickly light and shadow over his already pretty nightmare fuel face.

Constantine bit his lip and ooooh how to oice this one. "Sooo, right," said the Exorcist, "SOoo yeeees he had fangs. But no to teh lower jaw or really having much of an esophagas… pretty certain his stomach is … mostly there I think. He stopped leaking and gurgling." There was a slow nod of approval. "Bravo on that one, mate. Very proud of ya." There was a sage nod. Oh yeah, nothing of today was going anywhere near according toplan. It had to be a Tuesday. Crazy shit with vampires always happened on Tuesdays, just ask that Summers lass. He let Cass assess the situation from teh end user perspectife and pointed to a jar with a turkey baster in it. "Been feedin em like a baby bird after things went pear shapped."

The look of unabashed horror that washes over Cassidy's face when the blanket is pulled down and he sees what remains of Michael's throat and face is followed by a kind of unrepentant fascination, "Corr… what the fuck did that to you, mate? That's some serious shite there. You mistake the O positive for HCl?" He leans in, which is probably not a wise move, to try and assess the damage in his totally guileless way. Finally though he says, "Well, looks like we do this the ol' tap'n'spigot way then." He then rummages around in his things and he pulls out what might very well look like a tap. It's clearly a medical grade instrument, and without much further ado, he taps it right into his arm. The beauty of years of drug use and regeneration folks — can tap a vein without a lab tech in 0 seconds flat, no collapsed veins. He hooks in the small tube to it and passes it to John, "Put that in.. there.. somewhere." He gestures roughly to where Morbs' stomach is, "An' I'll turn on the hose." There's a little knob to twist.

Michael recoils slightly over Cassidy's expression, but he can't really blame him for it. Bracing himself, he inhales deeply through the gore clotted hole just above his breastbone, squaring his shoulders up and continuing to stare at the two men. There isn't a whole lot to do from his angle other than try to pull the blanket around his head and shoulders again, hiding away while attempting to gather up the remnants of his shattered dignity.

Morbius is watching carefully, however. The instrument familiar, he leans heavily into the corner of the room, panting quietly, holding himself together through the weariness of the vivid 'wrongness' of his condition and radiating pain while Cassidy and John work together. A trembling hand scribbles out in angular, shaky words, 'Gratitude. Gift basket.'

Smart ass.

Constantine admitted to Cassidy, "Yeaaaah funny that." Okay he admitted nothing. "Right so, we got a solid quart here andyou need more than that I'll go find someone who is a right blighter and tell them they're contributing to society" Nope, not even volunteering this one. He ran the math by now. Still he appraoched the wounded physician slowly knowing the tables could flip fast and frankly he enjoyed his limbs being in tact. There was a gratitude that was quiet and unspoken, maybe for not outing him, or the bit of forgiveness he's been afforded? Maybe it smelled funny that close. WHo really knew. "Nice and easy. Cass you n- ah, nice t'know you're sorted. So yeah. the situation's a bit cocked up but hopefully by my calculationthis should help?" He sighed and admitted, "Honestly I'm wizard with zombies and just shite on practice here with… all this. We're working off footnotes and trial and error." THough really Cass might have his own gems of insight that could be useful but John didn't pry into the man's heritage thus. He did look to his flatmate, "I owe ya a solid for this. You knew that though."

Cassidy squints over at John, but he doesn't ask, at least not for the moment. There may be questions later. "Well, dependin' on what we need, I'm gonna need a top up unless you want me t'get real cranky. But.. let's take 'er one step at a time, eh boyo?" He gives John a bit of a wink and looks over somewhat apologetically to Morbius. "Right then, let's see if we can jump start yer healin'. If you heal anythin' like I do, then hopefully this'll do the trick." He has no particular insight. He's never consumed the blood of another vampire, or tried to feed one his, not since he was turned, anyway. But hey, he also grabbed a possessed mask and popped it on his noggin', so Cass has never been one to shy away from possible disaster in the name of curiosity. Once John has the tube in place, Cass turns the knob and blood begins to flow through the tube, first at a drip, and then Cass opens it up a bit more until there's a steady flow running from his arm into Michael's stomach. He watches what's left of the man's face to look for any sudden flaming eyes, exploding brain, or signs the mangled vampire might lunge at him… or maybe just to check and see if it's working.

Michael scrawls on the notepad and taps it outward when John slowly nears, so he can read it. "Keep talking to me. Will try to stay here." The same advice to keep him present, even if he cannot immediately respond to it, Michael tries his damnedest to kep the beast at bay, reaching a wicked looking hand out toward John when he approaches with the other end of the tube. Absolutely grateful that he doesn't need to endure another jab with the turkey baster. The tube taken away as gingerly as he can manage and vanishing beneath the stolen shroud. He's disturbed Cassidy enough for one evening. He doesn't need to freak him out even more by watching the after effects of his shoving a tube into his chest.

An uncomfortable shift, the dissolved man nods to signal he's ready. It's not the baster, so it has to be better, right? Possibly. Though he is still nervous when it comes to watching that red bead travel all the way down and pour into his body. A quick flash of brilliance from his eyes makes that red more fierce and alarming for a moment before they snap shut and he curls tighter into the blanket cocoon, trying not to yank the tap right out of Cassidy's arm. Hey! Upside to no vocal chords? No pained sounds!

Constantine helped set this up and spoke… Greek? RIght «Just relax. It's not much different than one of those blasted feeding tubes… because it's a blasted feeding tube. You're a Doctor. You know what to expect here."» He looked to Cass and waited with some anticipation. It could go one of two ways: start to fix it or make the situation somehow worse from making Michael more a Vampire to his quasi-genetic kin than he was before, or recatalyse an adverse reaction withthe taint ed blood in his system. In theory this should help him purge things faster and mend what heeded. In theory. This wasn't Theory, it was Chinatown.

It's no lie that Michael's condition has disturbed Cassidy. Seeing the poor dude melted was like, uncomfortable on a personal level. He's been in arguably a worse state before, but still, it's one thing when you're in shock dealing with your own entrails all over the ground, and it's another when you're looking at someone else's. He sits still and just lets the blood drip, keeping an eye on Morbius and keeping one hand on the knob, both to turn it off at the appropriate time if needed, and perhaps to give it extra security so it isn't ripped out of his arm, and waits to see what the results are.

Yeah, Michael know he's terrifying to look at. He's not exactly normal looking to begin with, but this is rather atrocious. Nobody wants to see your heinous, gaping mouth hole, Michael. That's why he's wrapped himself in a blanket, after all. He's aware of what he looks like.

The downside to hiding is that it's hard to tell if it's working or not. Though, if any outward signs are an indication…

Holding on to the tube as if it were his life lineas it certainly isthere's a reach for the pen once more, suddenly halted as the shrouded figure curls in on itself, the outstretched hand pressing flat to the floor to catch himself. There's no more hemorrhaging, however, so that must be a good sign. Right?

Constantine sat in on the vigil and seemed to be past the horror of the situation. John was… well used to things having no skin or daemon rate of decay. What he was not past was that burining sensation in his stonach. It was guilt or acid reflux. Ugh. Both might be strong assumptions but he was left with a rare, if not subdued, sense of compassion. His hand fel to MIchael's back where the blanket was and got the pen to him. «Easy there.» Looking up to Casside he was honest in admitting, "Never quite seen this sort of response much in anything before. I'm taking it by your reaction, this is a new one to you too?" A quiet assurance followed «You alright?»

When Michael curls in on himself, Cass' grip tightens a bit on the tube that's in his arm, not slowing down the flow but just making sure that if there's a sudden jerking, he isn't spraying his own walls with blood. He keeps an eye on Michael and says sidelong to Constantine, "I've got no bloody clue what's supposed to happen here.. but I'm hopin' whatever it is.. it's .. better?" That's the best he seems able to hope for at the moment, keeping an eye on the curled up figure. Pain sucks. But nerve endings coming alive again are painful. It could be a good-ish sign. It might not.

No sound. That's the eerie part. Just the sound of breath being sucked in and out of raw skin flaps, which is pretty fucking gross while Michael continues holding on to that line, so he's not rejecting the continued help. The hand fallen on his back can feel the insanely rapid beating of his heard and his body is heaving with each breath, which John gets a front row seat to. Dropping the pen as quickly as it is pressed into his hand, Michael nods rapidly when he's asked if he's all right.

Nobody said that regenerating bone, muscle and skin would be pleasant, after all.

He can't focus to write, can't speak, so one elongated hand curls into a hilariously understated thumbs up toward Cassidy. You got it, dude.

He'll hold on for as long as Cassidy can deal with it before having two starved and wounded vampires stuck in a room together becomes a consideration. It's the up side to having absolutely no power over that spigot.

Constantine was the odd man out on that. Really could John ever pick a non dangerous and life threatening way to do anything? No because then he might get mistaken for Lamont and he won't let that happen. Nuuuununununu! The rattling around was… it was weird and unappealing. He sighed and shook his head. "We… are bloody cursed we are. Cass? There's a guart in the fridge for you and two steaks mate. There's three there and one's for Jess but I reason you're earnin mine." That was generous of him. It was a waiting game. Since Michael coudl make base gestures and specifically because he couldn't get a word in edgewise he offered obliquely, "Had I known I woulda told you not to do that. You know that yeah?" Closest thing to a John COnstantine apology.

The thumbs-up seems to be all the reassurance that Cassidy needs to keep on going, and so he leaves the tap flowing, feeling his blood slowly dripping through that hose into Michael. It's very clear after a while that he's been giving up quite a bit, because he sways slightly and he becomes noticably pale — which is unusual for him. For the most part, Cassidy does not look like a vampire — not in any way that one would expect, at any rate. Finally, after some time, he turns off the spigot and slumps back to take a breath, waiting for the tube to drain before he pulls the needle from his arm, holding pressure to it for a moment or two.

The writhing becomes less of a sudden oddity and seems to simmer, instead replaced by gnarled, consistent tension holding him into a huddled position while John keeps on talking to him. Keeping him present. Keeping BOTH of them present, considering Cass is looking pretty terrible as well at the moment. Nobody needs two grievously injured predators in their home full of haunted knick-knacks.

Michael's motions are halting, trembling with tension while he holds himself together and present, his hand reaches out to firmly grasp John by the knee (or close aproximation). Rocking back and forth as an extension of a nod. He knows. He knows this wasn't on purpose. What a fucking buzz kill.

When the flow ceases from Cassidy, their patient slowly lifts his attention up and points in the Irishman's direction. Pressing John in that direction by his shoulder. The tube produced from the huddled mass of blankets that, well, he's allowed to keep now. I bleed on it, it's mine!

Constantine surveyed the room and patted the blankie-pire on teh back. Staniding he looked to teh drawn out Cass and assured, "I'll go grab you a top off. Bonus in it for you too." He really should have tested Cass for sobriety before hand but ya know he'll work with what he's got and he seemed sadeningly alright when he waved the note at John. THIS… this John could fix for Cass too. He let the mirror drop with a ceremonial tap of his finger like it would fall apart and went off to retrieve teh remaining quart and a bag of weed for Cass.

Cassidy was actually remarkably sober and not drugged out. He and Jesse had just been out eating strange unidentifiable meats, so hey — bonus, Michael might feel oddly eel-like, or potentially cat-like depending on whatever it was that Cass had eaten recently — even he didn't know. But he didn't even have any drugs in his system and he wasn't drunk. He nods gratefully to John when he goes off to get him a top-off. For the moment, he didn't seem particularly dangerous, the tattooed vampire merely slumped where he sat, keeping an eye on Michael for signs of additional meltage or undue distress.

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