[ Something he's been thinking about, is it? Then why doesn't he share his own, instead? Camille remains, undecided between sitting up (or walking away entirely) or lying back down.
Resigned, ] It seems you would pick me apart sooner or later. [ For his... what? Amusement? Curiosity? Part of Camille believes Emerick that it was pure interest, but the Beast whispers that it is intentional, needling, the need to pluck out each last heartstring and collect it to use it against him later. Camille, hurt as he is, listens more than he knows he should.
But Emerick's vitae stirs in his old veins, the blood that once kept him alive long since replaced, and the effects of the Kiss have not entirely worn away yet. Emerick is warm, and in those sweet, fleeting moments, Camille feels warm, too. It is hard to let that go so quickly. The Beast calls him spineless even before Camille has laid back down after all.
His shoulder presses into the mattress, but Camille turns and instead lays on his back. It is easier to stare at the ceiling than Emerick. He folds his hands across his stomach, thoughtful in the way one is thoughtful as they pick meticulously at a scab; a detached sort of fascination that is as painful as it is compulsive. ]
What do you imagine is within my power to change? Perhaps knowing what I know now, I would kill myself before that little girl arrived, before she bewitched my parents into handing over their son and heir, worked into a panic that the King's men would kill their only child. At least then, they could have known what happened to me, had a body to bury.
Perhaps I would choose instead to rot in her castle, rather than go out into the world of the living. Or I would choose a different gentleman's club to visit, that I never met Amil, or Halim, that they never became clutched in Madelena's talons. Or perhaps I would have fled, or thrown myself in the sunlight a thousand different times than to live the life I have lived - such as it is. [ Camille's voice is softer than it usually is, but it is strange, too, unsteady and edged with something that calls to mind hysteria. ]
[ The guilt on Emerick's face from the jab certainly would have been proof enough for most that he was being honest, and the question was only out of some curiosity and nothing more. If the question was a betrayal to Camille, Camille's comment was a sucker punch. It stung, but it was something that Emerick was so accustomed to that he opted to let it go. The worst that Camille could do was kill him, and death wasn't permanent here, so who cared at this point. (That wasn't true, really: there were things worse than death.)
It crossed Emerick's mind that even if Camille killed him, or maimed him, or did whatever to him, he would still be loyal. He would forgive and return without condition or complaint. He knew that he would do anything for Camille without a thought. His head was muddled from the Kiss, still, despite being sharper in other ways, so it wasn’t quite hitting him just how absolutely fucked up that was. The thought did have a friction to it that he wasn’t accustomed to feeling, though. He would have to reflect upon it later.
He wanted to pull Camille close and hold him, in truth. Or at least take his hand and hold that - some small symbol of comfort. He did reach out, but hesitated. He didn't know what to do, really. He knew that he'd made Camille upset. There was a strong likelihood that he wanted as little to do with Emerick as possible, and Emerick knew that. The way Camille was speaking, though, made Emerick want to give him something real to focus on and ground himself to. His hand stopped short and came to rest on the bed between them. That he couldn't quite come to touch Camille caused a twinge of pain within his chest. ]
I’m sorry. [ It was all he could manage to say at first. Soft and gentle, but not so timid. ] Nobody deserves a life where they feel they should have killed themselves to avoid a worse fate. [ Maybe a little funny coming from the guy with scars inside his forearms, who’d not quite admitted to their origin, but he meant it. He genuinely ached at the answer, but he didn't get so lost in it like he would have before. ] You certainly didn't deserve it.
[ It occurs to Camille that Emerick was younger than he would have been, but he makes no comment. He's not sure whether Emerick remembers he divulged that detail or not.
Camille feels the shift near him, sees the movement in his peripheral vision, but Emerick never makes contact. He waits a moment, before turning his head to find the other's hand between them. Another moment, and Camille exhales, taking Emerick's hand in his own. He isn't sure if he regrets it, a sensation not quite unpleasant, not quite angry, flickering over him. ]
I'm sure I deserve it now, even if I didn't then. [ Camille's tone is conversational, even bland. He doesn't elaborate. He does pat Emerick's hand, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. His tone takes on a dry humor. ] If you meet any other vampires, I wouldn't suggest asking them that question. Most of us aren't kindred because we wanted to be - at least those that I know. [ Camille knows some stories are not so horrible as his... but he also knows some are worse. ]
[ Emerick held Camille's hand, thumb running over the back of his hand gently. It wasn't enough, he realized, but that didn't matter. There was a moment where he allowed himself to notice that he wrapped his own needs up with the dressing of wanting to help or comfort others, and even then he rarely found those needs met. It wasn't worth mentioning though, especially not now that he'd upset Camille.
He inhaled as if to speak directly after Camille said he was sure he deserved it but held his tongue a moment. He's glad he did as Camille continued but by the time Camille had finished speaking he felt more biting words on his tongue. Emerick took a slow breath and made his head slow the fuck down. He spoke again in an even tone, his voice quiet. ]
The point of the question is that there are a lot of things that happen to us that we don't want. I didn't ask my father to break my bones because I took a little too long getting him a beer, or ask him to make sure to remind me multiple times a day how worthless I was. I didn't ask my mother to slap me every time I showed an emotion other than obedience or submission. [ Emerick was tensing with anger, though the hand that held Camille's still stayed relaxed and gentle. ] I didn't ask them to have my sister and force me to give up whatever miserable life I could have had to take care of her.
[ It was the first time he'd ever mentioned he had a sister, and it was with the mention of her that his temper flared. This was the first time Emerick showed an emotion other than nervous submission or a contrived almost but not quite happiness. ]
But by your logic, I deserved all of that anyway, right? Because of all the people I killed in my work? Is that the sum of it?
[ The glare that Camille was receiving was sharp. There was so much pent-up anger behind it that was being pointed at Camille. Camille wasn't the actual target of it, but it wasn't like Emerick could ever take this back to his parents at this point. He'd kept this bottled his entire life and, well, the whole reason he self-medicated was to keep this pushed down as far as it could go so that he never had to look at it. ]
[ He notices the tension, but whether it's in Emerick's body or voice first, Camille can't tell. It's startling to hear the anger, but Camille listens passively. Detached, he considers the effect of the Kiss, the way Emerick's strange behavior has sobered him in much the same way a cold splash of water might sober a drunk.
Camille stands, but the motion is slow, fluid, one that is casual instead of in any flash of anger. He readjusts the robe he wears, and then its tie, and perches back on the edge of the bed, crossing his legs. He turns his head to meet Emerick's gaze evenly, brows lofted slightly. It wasn't the first time someone had been angry at him, even without (seeming) reason, and he certainly won't cow before Emerick, even as tied to him as he is in this miserable place. Coolly, he answers: ]
If I have done something to earn your ire, you may tell me freely. Otherwise, this all seems... misplaced.
[ The way that Camille didn't immediately disengage already allowed for Emerick's mind to catch up to his emotional reaction and the words he'd never want someone else to say resounded in his head: you're just like your father. The thought was more than enough to disrupt him, and the cool tone that Camille's voice takes on is like a (well-deserved) slap in the face. Emerick sat up, his gaze lowering from Camille as he took a breath, then he closed his eyes as the same five words kept repeating in his head, getting loud. Camille was correct that it was misplaced.
He pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache forming, though he was just trying to quiet his mind. ]
You're right, it is misplaced. [ A pause. ] I'm sorry, I've spoken out of turn. [ A dog should never growl at its master, after all.
He fell quiet for a moment, then sighed and let his hand drop into his lap. He looked back up at Camille, back in the submissive way he'd normally look at the other man. ]
That type of argument - that perhaps you deserve what happened back then for actions you've done - is so self-serving. You can't punish yourself for someone else's sadism forever. [ His voice softened, and his gaze fell again. ] But I know that grief is a lot, and I'm sorry that you've lost people that you care for. [ He meant that, genuinely, and his heart ached for Camille in a way that Emerick was sure nobody ever once felt for him, and never would. ]
[ Camille's brows remain raised. So formal. Emerick is in a rare mood tonight; Camille finds himself unsure what to make of it. ]
I wouldn't call it out of turn, [ he says easily, smoothing out his robe as though to allow Emerick some dignity by not staring at the shame he obviously felt he brought on himself. ] We are not unequal. [ He knows Emerick thinks they are, and maybe part of Camille believes that too. But Camille himself doesn't, he thinks. He likes Emerick. If anything is unbalanced between them, it is that Camille is reliant on Emerick for a food source, something which he has given the other man freedom to deny him at any time, and without the abilities here to take those reins back for himself.
His tone grows cool, but equally light. Not quite dispassionate, not quite flippant. ] Perhaps it is more accurate to say I have made up for it. [ He doesn't sound like he believes that. Camille is quiet for a moment, still watching that same impeccable spot on his robe, neither a wrinkle nor speck of dust to be found despite his apparent scrutinizing. His gaze grows distant and unfocused, one might even think fond. His voice, too, is distant. ]
Some kindred believe that vampirism is a curse from God. They think of vampirism not as the cost of our individual sins, but instead as a warning to those still living. [ Camille's lips curve into a private smile, his foot twirls idly as he plucks at the hem of his robe and smooths it back down into place. ] Having been raised Catholic, I'm not sure which are more zealous. [ He was obedient as a child, but as an adult, grew distant from the fearsome but loving God his parents and priest preached of. If there was such a God that allowed what he had been through, Camille had no interest in him save that if he ever came face to face with Them, to be able to ask what the fuck was wrong with them. But maybe he liked that idea better than the self-flagellation that he now deserved what was done to him as a child and young adult. Perhaps it was kinder, to serve as a warning for those that could still greet the sun about the dangers of darkness. ]
[ Emerick's lips parted as if he meant to argue against Camille's assertion that they were equal, but he opted not to speak. He couldn't see how they could possibly be equal. Even if Emerick was able to walk away from this arrangement, he'd be forcing someone else into this same position, or worse, and that would be on him and because of his decisions. Not to mention how unfair it would be to Camille himself, and Emerick perhaps more than liked Camille. Emerick wasn't even aware of the fact that he'd been so conditioned to serve, too: he'd spent almost his entire life at the service of others, giving away everything of himself, and he had no clue how to operate otherwise. He didn't know what it was to be his own person. Was it really that equal?
His gaze lifted back to Camille as he listened, looking ready to speak, then holding his tongue. He couldn't rightfully speak to Camille's history because he really didn't know that much about Camille. He was aware that he had known something at one time, but that was all a fuzzy haze now. The mention of God and religion made Emerick's brow furrow and a slight, bitter frown to settle on his face. Emerick could feel the biting words on his tongue: if only such a reminder existed in the hell hole I came from, or some similar thing, as well as some curse for some heartless, thoughtless, God, if such a thing even existed. The sentiments didn't make it out of him.
He, instead, was regarding Camille with a sharp stare, though it was not confrontational or even particularly aggressive. For perhaps the first time, he was trying to get an actual read on Camille. It wasn't his usual fearful glance just to see if he had Camille's disapproval, but much deeper: he was trying to actually assess what Camille was actually feeling and thinking. He was realizing how much he talked and tended to make Camille act like whatever the fuck had just happened, and that he should really just shut his mouth more. ]
And what do you think of it? [ Normally there was a long-winded explanation or circuitous meandering tacked on to a question, perhaps meant as a way to clarify what he was asking, but tonight it would not come. Emerick didn't usually ask about Camille's vampirism and he didn't particularly offer, so Emerick wasn't about to fill the air with his usual nervous rambling and he hardly wanted to fill the air with his idle anxious rambling. ]
[ Camille's idle motions slow to a stop. His take on what, Catholicism? No. They'd had that discussion, or close enough, over the network. Emerick was asking about vampirism. Camille's expression becomes strange, a smile curving his lips even as his gaze remained distant, unfocused. It was as though his subconscious is trying to cover for his absence as Camille's conscious retreats for his own safety.
He debates what to say, silence lingers. Again, he thinks that Emerick will pick at every thread of him until it has unraveled to his satisfaction. In the moment, oddly, it doesn't stir the same anger.
Camille doesn't necessarily opt for the truth, at least not whole and unfiltered, but that is what emerges, anyway. ] Six months ago I would have told you I enjoyed it. Many vampires get bored, when they've lived so long, but I was in torpor for so much of it the world still seems new, fresh. My food comes to me, and they thank me for it, pay me for it, ask for the privilege to be fed on again. I can go wherever I like with the right look or word. I had my hand in kindred politics and the politics of the city, and the mayor in my bed.
[ Camille's expression tightens, but the same smile remains. He doesn't look up. ] Sleeping during the day was such a non-issue, when the city was alive all night. And if I made the right friends, the danger of kindred politics was alright, too. But here...?
I haven't felt this helpless in more than a century. All I am is weak. The City is too small, I can't breathe. [ Camille stops himself abruptly, and silence falls for several moments, though there's something that seems like he isn't quite finished. Finally, ] Before, there were days when I was almost stupid enough to believe that vampires are just a new evolution of predators, the top of the food chain. Now it feels as though it really is a curse.
[ He glances to Emerick from the corner of his eye, but does not turn his head. Not quite sullen, ] Is that what you wanted to know?
[ It is to Camille's benefit that they did not live back in Night City, or Deseret (assuming it was a place with the internet or some similar record that couldn't be expunged). Emerick in any other setting would have most certainly looked into Camille outside of questions, dug into things a little bit. Were it Night City he would even consider writing an article proclaiming that vampires were real! No, not just aesthetics, but actual real, live, vampires. (He'd talk himself out of it for fear of the repercussions, of course). But the fact remained that Camille had absolutely no clue how much it was in Emerick's nature to take those loose threads and pull, and the man was lucky that Emerick had managed to stay his tongue as much as he had. (And perhaps it was that Emerick was lucky, but did it really matter?)
As Camille spoke of food, Emerick gaze fell, realizing that he fell into that category. He'd always known it, and when he was alone and a little too sober his mind wandered to that fact, but there was a stark difference hearing Camille say it aloud. It gave power the almost mocking, bitter laugh that Emerick had to keep choked down when Camille dared to suggest their power was equal in this arrangement they had. This beautiful man before him had sold him an addiction that he couldn't quit, and why the hell would he want to? Emerick was already feeling a bit spicy but he could feel his resentment starting to become realized.
All that Emerick could hear was the whining of some privileged man crying over a sudden loss of power as Camille continued. By the time that Camille glanced toward Emerick, he's staring down at his right arm, thoughtfully tracing the ugly scar there with a bitter expression. There was no doubt that Camille had been through trauma, Emerick knew that, but Camille just sounded like some corpo that was fired and was bitching about how he couldn't maintain the life he had before. While it was obvious that what Camille lost was not the same, it still made Emerick's anger flare. Not wanting to speak out of turn again -- despite Camille's earlier reassurance -- was why he stayed so quiet as he thought.
The bitterness and anger tracing his feature faded as he sat in his silence and contemplation. There was hurt beneath it all. He'd always been aware of his position as food and nothing more -- not even good company -- but hearing it said out loud still stung. Emerick truly was just a means to an end, and that he thought perhaps he was anything more was foolish. He should really know his place by now. ]
More or less, [ he finally said. His voice was soft and gentle in a way that sounded like defeat. Silence hung between them as he thought on Camille's response more. ]
I admit that I cannot imagine what it's like to be in the position you are in. My entire life has been in a position of service. The only time I have ever done anything for myself I couldn't even do it correctly. [ He laughed lightly but it was such a pitiful sound. ]
...Not that it matters, [ he said very softly. He didn't care if Camille caught it or not. When he spoke again it was back to the previous tone and volume. ] I guess what I mean is that I'm sorry you're here and not back at home. It sounds like you were happier there. [ Emerick's gaze stays lowered. Camille had certainly known Emerick long enough to know that this was not everything on his mind, and that the way he was keeping his thoughts to himself was certainly not his default. ]
[ Camille finds himself unable to reason Emerick's quietude, the strange tone of his voice. It isn't sympathy - he could expect that, given their interactions thus far - this is different.
His foot begins its idle motion again, hands resting one atop the other on one knee as he regards the other man to his side. Then, he adjusts on the bed. He reaches first for Emerick's hand, the one that had been tracing his scar. He sits back then against the pillows, casually running his thumb across Emerick's knuckles. ]
So change it. [ He shrugs one shoulder, seeking to meet Emerick's gaze. ] Neither of us are where we were, and I'm not naive enough to think or say that it doesn't matter at all - but things can be different now. They are different now. You don't have to be in a position of service. [ A missing puzzle piece seems to slip into place, and he exhales softly in what is almost a chuckle. Camille releases Emerick's hand to instead slip a finger beneath his chin, not forceful but coaxing the other to look at him.
Don't say it. ] That includes to me. [ Fool. ] Which - I think we have different views on our relationship, don't you?
[ Emerick sat awash in his emotions. His indignation and anger was draining to leave only his hurt turned defeat. Whenever Camille moved there was an automatic flick of Emerick’s glance to assess if he was suddenly in danger despite knowing he wasn’t, hackles starting to raise only to lower when his mind caught up with his body’s reflex. There was no resistance when Camille took his hand and started to rub his knuckles. There was the voice at the back of his head telling him this was only a motion to placate him, to bring him back in so he didn’t leave. It wasn’t a genuine motion done out of care, but only because he still had use. And Emerick knew that he was going to give into it as he always did.
The comment to simply change it made Emerick scoff. If he could just change his entire personality and rid himself of the habits beaten into him as a child, he would have years ago. He wouldn’t be this spineless coward that only knew how to say yes. It hardly mattered how the setting had changed when this was woven into the very fiber of who he was.
Camille’s touch at Emerick’s chin was enough for Emerick to volunteer his gaze. The irritation in his expression ebbed and was replaced with an almost analytical gaze. He was still submissive but he was searching Camille in a way he hadn’t bothered with in the past. He gently took the hand beneath his chin in his own, lowering it. His gaze followed as he considered what to say, then he looked back up to Camille with the same searching expression as he spoke carefully. ]
It’s not as simple as just changing it. Living in service of others was beaten into me in such a way that my sense of self-worth is woven into it. The word “no” wasn’t an option when I was a child. Failing to meet impossible standards also wasn’t an option either. [ His gaze slid to just below Camille’s eyes for a moment. It was a more restrained reaction, an attempt to keep some shred of dignity as he readied himself for Camille’s question. Emerick’s hand absently pulled away from Camille’s as he started to nervously pick at the hair on his arm in one of his anxious ticks. His eyes met Camille’s as he started to talk again. ]
But yes, I think we see things differently. I’d be interested in how you see it.
[ Camille regards the other man quietly as Emerick studies him in turn. His poise careful, as though intentionally crafted to be enticing, to exhibit a convincing enough level of empathy or comfort. His expression holds a certain coolness to it, or perhaps he's just calm now, but there's something soft in his clear, strangely colored eyes, too. He smiles, thin and reserved, apologetic; he realizes he said the wrong thing. ] No, [ he says, and his voice is gentle. ] I don't mean to suggest it would be.
[ Once Emerick pulls away, Camille leaves it be for a moment, then- he uncurls one hand, extending it palm-up between them in a gesture of compromise. He's silent, staring somewhere between them, and if Emerick cares to study him further, it might seem as though Camille is frozen as though lost in thought, undecided on something.
The Beast snarls at him, and some tension works its way into Camille's frame. It's a breaking point, he knows. If this is troubling enough to Emerick, it could snap him out of his addiction - though Camille isn't sure how much that works here, given how dampened his other strengths are. And if Emerick said no - there was no benefit to trying to force him, not here. And, oddly, Camille knows he wouldn't want to try. He finally lifts his gaze, mouth pressed in a thin, uncomfortable line, his brows drawn pensively. Still, the corners of his mouth turn in some attempt of a smile. ]
I need you far more than you need me. There is no one else here that I feel I can trust, or who knows what I am. Any affection you feel for me will fade if you rescind your permission. [ And he does believe the other man holds an affection for him purely because of the blood bond between them.
You hold far more power than you seem to think you do. But he doesn't say quite that much. ]
[ For a short while, Camille's hand remained empty between them. Emerick was too busy nervously picking at his arm as he waited for Camille's response. The loss of his high shed away the still calm that usually accompanied Emerick's patience, finally revealing his neurosis. He almost managed to still himself as Camille spoke (still perhaps anxiously rubbing his arm, just a little), silence falling between them as Emerick considered what Camille had told him.
It was a little jarring to Emerick to consider that the relationship could be manufactured by some way. It made sense that Camille would have power that would be used to lure and keep someone like Emerick around, something to make a human more inclined to return so that Camille would have a steady supply of blood. It explained to Emerick why he wanted so much for Camille to like him at the start, and why he felt so insecure so early in their relationship. It was why Emerick was so borderline obsessed with him after that first feeding, and the next, and all the ones thereafter, coming down to something less intense with time.
Even with that, though, the idea that Emerick only cared about Camille because of whatever influence the other had didn't sit right with him. Emerick had always been an emotional person -- something that he was often bullied for -- and while he had no clue to what extent Camille's influence would extend, he could only assume that things weren't quite as powerful as perhaps Camille thought they were. The hazy bits and pieces of what happened at the bank left him with the impression that if Camille had his way he wouldn't recall any of it at all, but there it was.
Emerick gently took Camille's hand in his own, his gaze lingering on their hands as he started speaking. ]
It might be that whatever influence you have over my emotions has intensified how I feel about you, but that's not all going to go away if I were to change my mind about all of this. Maybe I won't love you as intensely as I feel that I do right now, but I would still care for you. [ This was what Emerick truly believed; whether that was correct was another matter. He didn’t have any intention on finding out. ]
I’m not going to change my mind about any of this. I don’t abandon the people I care about, so please don’t let that be what makes you nervous. [ Emerick knew that he was loyal to a fault, but he wasn’t about to admit to as much out loud. ]
[ Camille, for a rarity, finds himself stunned into silence.
Emerick can't mean that, he thinks, though he knows just as surely he would believe it back in Corvicia, backwards as it was. He stares for a time, then his gaze, too, drops to their hands.
It does make him nervous, but he has wits enough about him to not say that. What he does say, after a lengthy silence, is: ] I care for you, too. [ And he means it, genuinely - insomuch as he can believe that he cares for someone. Even still, the admission is a calculated one. Emerick is in a strange, rare mood, and Camille has already revealed too much in his mind. To placate the other seems the best play, now.
His mind circles back around - 'love' is such a strange word, for kine. It's such a strong word, for some, but others use it so freely. Camille would have wagered Emerick was part of the former group, but now... he wonders. ]
[ Admitting that he loved Camille was something that slipped out of his mouth more than it was intentionally shared. As the silence lengthened Emerick's anxiety rose until his gaze lifted to try to study Camille's expression. His hand ever so slightly tightens around Camille's: a motion to steady his own hand before it started to shake from the energy that was winding him up.
The response that Camille gives is a relief after the silence. He wasn't sure what he had expected. It was true that those may not be the exact words Emerick had been hoping to hear but they weren't as bad as his anxiety was making him think it was going to be. There was the insidious little part of him that had been taught to doubt everything that wanted to be contrary and bite back asking if that were true, why there were times that Camille seemed to act so antithetical to those words. The anger in him wanted to try to pick a fight over it but the way Camille had reacted to his anger minutes ago still lingered in his mind and it wasn't worth it. He'd gain nothing from it.
He chose to believe Camille at his word and the anxiety that kept tension in his shoulders and neck started to evaporate. He would never know if the inclination to let Camille placate him was due to the influence the other man had over him or if it was fully his choice, but he wasn't sure how much he actually cared. He still couldn't just turn away from Camille and revoke permission no matter what Camille might put him through in the future - his nature would never allow it - but Camille had always been kind to him when he didn't need to be, as honest as he could be given the circumstances, and he'd just admitted that he didn't see Emerick as just an object or means to an end. Realistically, it was more than what Emerick thought he could hope for.
Emerick smiled a little. He looked weary and worn without the high to soften his expression and give him the mask of submissive joviality. The foolish hope that almost always lived in his expression had faded so it was only in his eyes, but present it still was. ]
What do you want out of this, then? Other than the obvious, of course. [ Because he could keep on going as he was, but he was tired of putting his foot in his mouth. He was tired of saying the wrong thing. If all Camille wanted was to keep going as it was without letting things get any deeper, then that was fine, but Emerick wanted to know to stop trying to get to know him. ]
[ What did he want out of it? Silence, faithfulness, and continued companionship. The blood too, of course, but certainly he's made that obvious enough already. He scoffs quietly, though the gesture is not unkind - more wry, as though he feels Emerick is giving him too much.
Camille settles back, leaning on one hand, content to leave the other in Emerick's grasp. ] I should ask you that, instead. [ He leans his cheek on his shoulder, white hair falling across one cheek. He watches Emerick still with those pale eyes, a soft smile lingering still tinged with that same wry amusement. ] What do you want out of a relationship with an ageless, blood-drinking monster, in this strange and empty city?
[ He might guess companionship, too. Maybe protection? Emerick has not seen him fight, but he has heard of it (how much he remembers, though...). Still, all stories and fairy tales seem to consider all vampires particularly strong, or at least particularly cunning. But Camille cannot imagine Emerick wants to stay any more than Camille does, so something deep, lasting? And with a vampire using him as a delivery meal, no less- certainly not. Though — Camille is still not convinced the City is not a glitch, a malfunction of the God Machine, that this is not his true reality and will continue to be. He wonders if Emerick thinks he will ever go back to his Night City. ]
You're not a monster. [ It was mumbled more than spoken as his gaze skittered down and to the right as it always did when he was embarrassed or particularly submissive. As he did so, a blush crept into his features, likely betraying his thoughts. In truth, he was caught a little off-guard by the reversal of the question. He wasn't accustomed to being asked what it was he wanted, or what he thought. He'd even gone so far as to make the conversation about Camille to specifically avoid having to talk of his expectations.
He wanted companionship, yes, of course. To be useful, to be wanted. To be loved. The last wasn't realistic and he knew better than to expect. The fact that he wanted it was a mistake too, he knew. It's not like this could go anywhere even if Camille wanted it as well. There was a chance that he would end up being sent back home to Night City (a fate he didn't want, actually) and then what? When he finally woke up from this dream he was going to be so disappointed. ]
I, um. How things have been is fine. I just know that sometimes I speak too much and I don't want to fuck up and make you regret all of this.
[ The fact that he still made the question about Camille must have really said something about how little he valued himself when the fact he was so smitten with the man was painted across his face. ]
[ A kind sentiment, but naive. He might say he shuddered to think of what Emerick would consider a monster, but... Camille thinks he knows, at least a little. He also thinks that, if Emerick knew him better, if he were not addled by the effects of the Kiss, Camille would fall into that category too.
Camille shifts on the bed then, moving slow to straddle Emerick's lap, a knee on either side of the other's hips and one hand pressing against the other man's chest to coax him back against the pillows again, a fond amusement lingering in his expression still. Suggestive as the position is, Camille is largely making sure he is directly and unavoidably in Emerick's field of view. ] Something... casual, then? Or are you afraid of asking for what you really want?
[ Emerick's gaze turned to Camille when he shifted, landing so he could only just barely see what Camille was doing. He trusted Camille implicitly at this point, but reflex and habit died hard. He didn't flinch away as Camille got close like he might have at one time, but his blush definitely intensified as the other straddled him and encouraged him back into the pillows. He was trapped in what would be perhaps one of the most wonderful of predicaments in any other context.
He knew he could really crane his neck to one side to avoid looking at Camille and to resume his usual avoidance behavior, but he knew that even if he did, Camille would likely not let him. He stared up at the other man's face, the fond amusement in his expression, the way he was looking down at him. He found comfort in the pale eyes that looked down at him, but he knew now he couldn't really trust what he felt. He knew that there was at least some part of what he felt that was false, but he had no way of knowing where that started and where that ended other than he knew what he liked to think of it all.
He had a feeling that regardless of what he said and admitted to, Camille would find it foolish. Camille likely would think that all of his feelings weren't genuine - and maybe they weren't - on top of the fact that Camille certainly didn't feel the same way. So what did it matter what Emerick really wanted? Wanting and getting were two different things, and he'd rather not entertain some flight of fancy.
He stared up at Camille for a little too long, clearly trying to decide if he wanted to be honest and speak up or keep in his tradition of deflection. ]
Does what I really want matter? You don't feel the same way for me as I feel about you. [ Not to mention he was waiting to be told his feelings weren't real, which he hated even having to seriously entertain. He wasn't going to mention it out loud. ] What I don't want is for you to just indulge me.
[ The back-and-forth is exasperating. In taking digs at his own self-worth, Emerick is digging at Camille, too, ignoring the things Camille has confessed, and confessed honestly. Camille can't parse whether Emerick is still - for whatever reason - angry with him, or if he's still misdirecting anger from something else he has yet to share despite already apologizing once for it.
There's a petty part of him that regrets this position, the inherent intimacy in it, when he wants little more right now than to - at the very least - turn his back on Emerick. The Beast prowls beneath his skin again, both feeding on and fueling the indignation, and it only puts Camille more on edge. ]
To not indulge you? [ Camille's voice is cool, but underlined with something so taut its ready to snap. ] Fine, then. First; if it didn't matter, I wouldn't care to ask. And I've just told you I care for you, so in you saying I don't feel the same, do you imagine I'm lying, or did you lie to me? Because thus far this evening your prickly attitude has suggested not that you love me, or at the very least you're quite angry with me. So if I agree to 'not indulge you,' I ask that you at least give me a straight answer in return.
[ Emerick could feel the tension in Camille's words and he could just about feel his patience fraying. Emerick pressed back into the pillows, tension building in his body. While he genuinely didn't think Camille was going to do anything to hurt him, the reaction was so hardwired into his being that he didn't even notice.
Emerick looked as if he were about to respond, but then he closed his mouth and his gaze shifted off of Camille's face as he thought through what Camille said and how he wanted to answer. He also took a moment to simply see how he felt and take stock of his emotions and it was the first time he really noticed the resentment and anger that sat in him like a stone in his gut, causing him to lash out. He could feel guilt building in him, along with his anxiety as he absently started to pull at (and pull out) the hair on his arm. ]
The thing I am assuming is that I hold far more feelings for you than you do for me. Where I love you, you only view me as a friend, or something similar. [ He glanced back to Camille's gaze, but his gaze darted away just as quickly. ] And I want to believe you when you say you do care for me, but... [ His mouth had grown dry and he needed a second to try to remedy it, though it was to no avail. ] There's this little voice in my head that sows doubt in everything that I do, or anything positive people say to me. I do my best to not listen to it but it's incessant and unyielding.
[ More quietly: ] I don't want you to act like you have more feelings for me than you do. That little voice in my head tells me you're just placating me so I stick around. [ Emerick fell quiet. He looked ashamed, the guilt on his face clear.
He wasn't done speaking but he needed another moment to figure out how to address the rest of what Camille said. ] I'm not angry with you specifically. This is the first conversation we've had where I've been sober. I've always kept myself on weed to numb a lot of my emotions and symptoms. When we got here I had about three month's worth of cartridges, and I've finally run out. It seems like without it dampening my emotions I apparently lash out.
It hasn't been fair to you, and I've been acting like a real bastard. Again, I'm sorry that I've been acting so crass. It's... Something I'm going to be working on. [ Not that he had much of a choice.
Nervously, Emerick's gaze finally met back with Camille's. He'd been able to see the other's reactions in his peripheral vision as he'd been speaking but he was finally trying to push past his anxiety and actively hold his gaze. ]
[ Camille is quiet while Emerick speaks. He makes no motion to interrupt, the only shift in him when he reaches to cover the other's hand with his own, a wordless redirect from his anxious pulling. His expression is calm, though as he often seems, impassive.
He's quiet after Emerick's apology too, at least for a moment. Then, he leans down, slow. Their noses brush, and he kisses Emerick. It too is a slow thing, neither deep nor quite chaste. He straightens, one hand returning to the other's chest. ]
It seems a little unfair, doesn't it? If I tell you I'm being truthful, you may not believe me, and if I try to show you, you might think I'm just acting. [ Camille reaches to run the pad of his thumb across Emerick's lip, an affectionate, if sensual gesture. ] I can only tell you I care for you, and that I'm not acting just to placate you. I enjoy your company- need it, strong as the word is. [ His voice is soft, gentle, but there's a raw truth in his words. He feels like he's losing his mind here sometimes, and Emerick's companionship eases that. ] I can't give you any more. I can't make you believe me, or prove myself somehow.
[ Emerick had no clue what to expect after he fell quiet. He wasn't sure if Camille would take it in stride or tell him to get the fuck out. The calm stoicism on his face made him impossible for Emerick to read - one of many reasons he was so on edge. The last thing he expected was for Camille to lean down and kiss him. It does the paradoxical thing of both bringing him peace while also making him that much more concerned with what what was next.
He's quiet while Camille speaks. His expression suggested that he was waiting for some type of admonishment at first, but it faded as Camille continued. He reached out and let one of his hands tentatively come to rest on Camille's thigh. ]
I know, and it's not your job to. [ His thumb started to gently stroke the other's thigh. There's a pensive expression on his face as his eyes lowered once again.
Emerick didn't need a voice stress analyzer installed to know that what Camille was saying was truth. His job was sifting through so much hearsay that he had to sift through what was real and what wasn't, and he was usually pretty decent at telling when someone was lying or not. He also knew that he could believe Camille right now, and on the walk back to his own place the irrational part of his head would start casting doubt over it all. It occurred to him that he would have to simply take Camille at his word and do his best to ignore whatever malformed thoughts he had if this was going to work, as hard as that was going to be. ]
It is unfair, and I wish more than anyone else that I wasn't this way. If I could just turn it off I would. [ Which is what he had done back home with his self medication, to a certain extent. It was unlucky that he couldn't keep it up here. ] All that I know to do right now is to take you at your word and trust you aren't lying to me. [ Hastily, meeting Camille's gaze again: ] Which I know that you aren't, but when I sit with myself for too long things get muddled.
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Date: 2023-09-18 12:54 am (UTC)Resigned, ] It seems you would pick me apart sooner or later. [ For his... what? Amusement? Curiosity? Part of Camille believes Emerick that it was pure interest, but the Beast whispers that it is intentional, needling, the need to pluck out each last heartstring and collect it to use it against him later. Camille, hurt as he is, listens more than he knows he should.
But Emerick's vitae stirs in his old veins, the blood that once kept him alive long since replaced, and the effects of the Kiss have not entirely worn away yet. Emerick is warm, and in those sweet, fleeting moments, Camille feels warm, too. It is hard to let that go so quickly. The Beast calls him spineless even before Camille has laid back down after all.
His shoulder presses into the mattress, but Camille turns and instead lays on his back. It is easier to stare at the ceiling than Emerick. He folds his hands across his stomach, thoughtful in the way one is thoughtful as they pick meticulously at a scab; a detached sort of fascination that is as painful as it is compulsive. ]
What do you imagine is within my power to change? Perhaps knowing what I know now, I would kill myself before that little girl arrived, before she bewitched my parents into handing over their son and heir, worked into a panic that the King's men would kill their only child. At least then, they could have known what happened to me, had a body to bury.
Perhaps I would choose instead to rot in her castle, rather than go out into the world of the living. Or I would choose a different gentleman's club to visit, that I never met Amil, or Halim, that they never became clutched in Madelena's talons. Or perhaps I would have fled, or thrown myself in the sunlight a thousand different times than to live the life I have lived - such as it is. [ Camille's voice is softer than it usually is, but it is strange, too, unsteady and edged with something that calls to mind hysteria. ]
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Date: 2023-09-18 03:16 am (UTC)It crossed Emerick's mind that even if Camille killed him, or maimed him, or did whatever to him, he would still be loyal. He would forgive and return without condition or complaint. He knew that he would do anything for Camille without a thought. His head was muddled from the Kiss, still, despite being sharper in other ways, so it wasn’t quite hitting him just how absolutely fucked up that was. The thought did have a friction to it that he wasn’t accustomed to feeling, though. He would have to reflect upon it later.
He wanted to pull Camille close and hold him, in truth. Or at least take his hand and hold that - some small symbol of comfort. He did reach out, but hesitated. He didn't know what to do, really. He knew that he'd made Camille upset. There was a strong likelihood that he wanted as little to do with Emerick as possible, and Emerick knew that. The way Camille was speaking, though, made Emerick want to give him something real to focus on and ground himself to. His hand stopped short and came to rest on the bed between them. That he couldn't quite come to touch Camille caused a twinge of pain within his chest. ]
I’m sorry. [ It was all he could manage to say at first. Soft and gentle, but not so timid. ] Nobody deserves a life where they feel they should have killed themselves to avoid a worse fate. [ Maybe a little funny coming from the guy with scars inside his forearms, who’d not quite admitted to their origin, but he meant it. He genuinely ached at the answer, but he didn't get so lost in it like he would have before. ] You certainly didn't deserve it.
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Date: 2023-09-19 05:39 am (UTC)Camille feels the shift near him, sees the movement in his peripheral vision, but Emerick never makes contact. He waits a moment, before turning his head to find the other's hand between them. Another moment, and Camille exhales, taking Emerick's hand in his own. He isn't sure if he regrets it, a sensation not quite unpleasant, not quite angry, flickering over him. ]
I'm sure I deserve it now, even if I didn't then. [ Camille's tone is conversational, even bland. He doesn't elaborate. He does pat Emerick's hand, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. His tone takes on a dry humor. ] If you meet any other vampires, I wouldn't suggest asking them that question. Most of us aren't kindred because we wanted to be - at least those that I know. [ Camille knows some stories are not so horrible as his... but he also knows some are worse. ]
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Date: 2023-09-19 12:28 pm (UTC)He inhaled as if to speak directly after Camille said he was sure he deserved it but held his tongue a moment. He's glad he did as Camille continued but by the time Camille had finished speaking he felt more biting words on his tongue. Emerick took a slow breath and made his head slow the fuck down. He spoke again in an even tone, his voice quiet. ]
The point of the question is that there are a lot of things that happen to us that we don't want. I didn't ask my father to break my bones because I took a little too long getting him a beer, or ask him to make sure to remind me multiple times a day how worthless I was. I didn't ask my mother to slap me every time I showed an emotion other than obedience or submission. [ Emerick was tensing with anger, though the hand that held Camille's still stayed relaxed and gentle. ] I didn't ask them to have my sister and force me to give up whatever miserable life I could have had to take care of her.
[ It was the first time he'd ever mentioned he had a sister, and it was with the mention of her that his temper flared. This was the first time Emerick showed an emotion other than nervous submission or a contrived almost but not quite happiness. ]
But by your logic, I deserved all of that anyway, right? Because of all the people I killed in my work? Is that the sum of it?
[ The glare that Camille was receiving was sharp. There was so much pent-up anger behind it that was being pointed at Camille. Camille wasn't the actual target of it, but it wasn't like Emerick could ever take this back to his parents at this point. He'd kept this bottled his entire life and, well, the whole reason he self-medicated was to keep this pushed down as far as it could go so that he never had to look at it. ]
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Date: 2023-09-19 01:02 pm (UTC)Camille stands, but the motion is slow, fluid, one that is casual instead of in any flash of anger. He readjusts the robe he wears, and then its tie, and perches back on the edge of the bed, crossing his legs. He turns his head to meet Emerick's gaze evenly, brows lofted slightly. It wasn't the first time someone had been angry at him, even without (seeming) reason, and he certainly won't cow before Emerick, even as tied to him as he is in this miserable place. Coolly, he answers: ]
If I have done something to earn your ire, you may tell me freely. Otherwise, this all seems... misplaced.
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Date: 2023-09-20 03:09 am (UTC)He pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache forming, though he was just trying to quiet his mind. ]
You're right, it is misplaced. [ A pause. ] I'm sorry, I've spoken out of turn. [ A dog should never growl at its master, after all.
He fell quiet for a moment, then sighed and let his hand drop into his lap. He looked back up at Camille, back in the submissive way he'd normally look at the other man. ]
That type of argument - that perhaps you deserve what happened back then for actions you've done - is so self-serving. You can't punish yourself for someone else's sadism forever. [ His voice softened, and his gaze fell again. ] But I know that grief is a lot, and I'm sorry that you've lost people that you care for. [ He meant that, genuinely, and his heart ached for Camille in a way that Emerick was sure nobody ever once felt for him, and never would. ]
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Date: 2023-09-21 03:56 am (UTC)I wouldn't call it out of turn, [ he says easily, smoothing out his robe as though to allow Emerick some dignity by not staring at the shame he obviously felt he brought on himself. ] We are not unequal. [ He knows Emerick thinks they are, and maybe part of Camille believes that too. But Camille himself doesn't, he thinks. He likes Emerick. If anything is unbalanced between them, it is that Camille is reliant on Emerick for a food source, something which he has given the other man freedom to deny him at any time, and without the abilities here to take those reins back for himself.
His tone grows cool, but equally light. Not quite dispassionate, not quite flippant. ] Perhaps it is more accurate to say I have made up for it. [ He doesn't sound like he believes that. Camille is quiet for a moment, still watching that same impeccable spot on his robe, neither a wrinkle nor speck of dust to be found despite his apparent scrutinizing. His gaze grows distant and unfocused, one might even think fond. His voice, too, is distant. ]
Some kindred believe that vampirism is a curse from God. They think of vampirism not as the cost of our individual sins, but instead as a warning to those still living. [ Camille's lips curve into a private smile, his foot twirls idly as he plucks at the hem of his robe and smooths it back down into place. ] Having been raised Catholic, I'm not sure which are more zealous. [ He was obedient as a child, but as an adult, grew distant from the fearsome but loving God his parents and priest preached of. If there was such a God that allowed what he had been through, Camille had no interest in him save that if he ever came face to face with Them, to be able to ask what the fuck was wrong with them. But maybe he liked that idea better than the self-flagellation that he now deserved what was done to him as a child and young adult. Perhaps it was kinder, to serve as a warning for those that could still greet the sun about the dangers of darkness. ]
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Date: 2023-09-22 10:14 pm (UTC)His gaze lifted back to Camille as he listened, looking ready to speak, then holding his tongue. He couldn't rightfully speak to Camille's history because he really didn't know that much about Camille. He was aware that he had known something at one time, but that was all a fuzzy haze now. The mention of God and religion made Emerick's brow furrow and a slight, bitter frown to settle on his face. Emerick could feel the biting words on his tongue: if only such a reminder existed in the hell hole I came from, or some similar thing, as well as some curse for some heartless, thoughtless, God, if such a thing even existed. The sentiments didn't make it out of him.
He, instead, was regarding Camille with a sharp stare, though it was not confrontational or even particularly aggressive. For perhaps the first time, he was trying to get an actual read on Camille. It wasn't his usual fearful glance just to see if he had Camille's disapproval, but much deeper: he was trying to actually assess what Camille was actually feeling and thinking. He was realizing how much he talked and tended to make Camille act like whatever the fuck had just happened, and that he should really just shut his mouth more. ]
And what do you think of it? [ Normally there was a long-winded explanation or circuitous meandering tacked on to a question, perhaps meant as a way to clarify what he was asking, but tonight it would not come. Emerick didn't usually ask about Camille's vampirism and he didn't particularly offer, so Emerick wasn't about to fill the air with his usual nervous rambling and he hardly wanted to fill the air with his idle anxious rambling. ]
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Date: 2023-09-25 05:53 pm (UTC)He debates what to say, silence lingers. Again, he thinks that Emerick will pick at every thread of him until it has unraveled to his satisfaction. In the moment, oddly, it doesn't stir the same anger.
Camille doesn't necessarily opt for the truth, at least not whole and unfiltered, but that is what emerges, anyway. ] Six months ago I would have told you I enjoyed it. Many vampires get bored, when they've lived so long, but I was in torpor for so much of it the world still seems new, fresh. My food comes to me, and they thank me for it, pay me for it, ask for the privilege to be fed on again. I can go wherever I like with the right look or word. I had my hand in kindred politics and the politics of the city, and the mayor in my bed.
[ Camille's expression tightens, but the same smile remains. He doesn't look up. ] Sleeping during the day was such a non-issue, when the city was alive all night. And if I made the right friends, the danger of kindred politics was alright, too. But here...?
I haven't felt this helpless in more than a century. All I am is weak. The City is too small, I can't breathe. [ Camille stops himself abruptly, and silence falls for several moments, though there's something that seems like he isn't quite finished. Finally, ] Before, there were days when I was almost stupid enough to believe that vampires are just a new evolution of predators, the top of the food chain. Now it feels as though it really is a curse.
[ He glances to Emerick from the corner of his eye, but does not turn his head. Not quite sullen, ] Is that what you wanted to know?
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Date: 2023-09-26 04:47 am (UTC)As Camille spoke of food, Emerick gaze fell, realizing that he fell into that category. He'd always known it, and when he was alone and a little too sober his mind wandered to that fact, but there was a stark difference hearing Camille say it aloud. It gave power the almost mocking, bitter laugh that Emerick had to keep choked down when Camille dared to suggest their power was equal in this arrangement they had. This beautiful man before him had sold him an addiction that he couldn't quit, and why the hell would he want to? Emerick was already feeling a bit spicy but he could feel his resentment starting to become realized.
All that Emerick could hear was the whining of some privileged man crying over a sudden loss of power as Camille continued. By the time that Camille glanced toward Emerick, he's staring down at his right arm, thoughtfully tracing the ugly scar there with a bitter expression. There was no doubt that Camille had been through trauma, Emerick knew that, but Camille just sounded like some corpo that was fired and was bitching about how he couldn't maintain the life he had before. While it was obvious that what Camille lost was not the same, it still made Emerick's anger flare. Not wanting to speak out of turn again -- despite Camille's earlier reassurance -- was why he stayed so quiet as he thought.
The bitterness and anger tracing his feature faded as he sat in his silence and contemplation. There was hurt beneath it all. He'd always been aware of his position as food and nothing more -- not even good company -- but hearing it said out loud still stung. Emerick truly was just a means to an end, and that he thought perhaps he was anything more was foolish. He should really know his place by now. ]
More or less, [ he finally said. His voice was soft and gentle in a way that sounded like defeat. Silence hung between them as he thought on Camille's response more. ]
I admit that I cannot imagine what it's like to be in the position you are in. My entire life has been in a position of service. The only time I have ever done anything for myself I couldn't even do it correctly. [ He laughed lightly but it was such a pitiful sound. ]
...Not that it matters, [ he said very softly. He didn't care if Camille caught it or not. When he spoke again it was back to the previous tone and volume. ] I guess what I mean is that I'm sorry you're here and not back at home. It sounds like you were happier there. [ Emerick's gaze stays lowered. Camille had certainly known Emerick long enough to know that this was not everything on his mind, and that the way he was keeping his thoughts to himself was certainly not his default. ]
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Date: 2023-10-17 03:40 am (UTC)His foot begins its idle motion again, hands resting one atop the other on one knee as he regards the other man to his side. Then, he adjusts on the bed. He reaches first for Emerick's hand, the one that had been tracing his scar. He sits back then against the pillows, casually running his thumb across Emerick's knuckles. ]
So change it. [ He shrugs one shoulder, seeking to meet Emerick's gaze. ] Neither of us are where we were, and I'm not naive enough to think or say that it doesn't matter at all - but things can be different now. They are different now. You don't have to be in a position of service. [ A missing puzzle piece seems to slip into place, and he exhales softly in what is almost a chuckle. Camille releases Emerick's hand to instead slip a finger beneath his chin, not forceful but coaxing the other to look at him.
Don't say it. ] That includes to me. [ Fool. ] Which - I think we have different views on our relationship, don't you?
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Date: 2023-10-18 03:40 am (UTC)The comment to simply change it made Emerick scoff. If he could just change his entire personality and rid himself of the habits beaten into him as a child, he would have years ago. He wouldn’t be this spineless coward that only knew how to say yes. It hardly mattered how the setting had changed when this was woven into the very fiber of who he was.
Camille’s touch at Emerick’s chin was enough for Emerick to volunteer his gaze. The irritation in his expression ebbed and was replaced with an almost analytical gaze. He was still submissive but he was searching Camille in a way he hadn’t bothered with in the past. He gently took the hand beneath his chin in his own, lowering it. His gaze followed as he considered what to say, then he looked back up to Camille with the same searching expression as he spoke carefully. ]
It’s not as simple as just changing it. Living in service of others was beaten into me in such a way that my sense of self-worth is woven into it. The word “no” wasn’t an option when I was a child. Failing to meet impossible standards also wasn’t an option either. [ His gaze slid to just below Camille’s eyes for a moment. It was a more restrained reaction, an attempt to keep some shred of dignity as he readied himself for Camille’s question. Emerick’s hand absently pulled away from Camille’s as he started to nervously pick at the hair on his arm in one of his anxious ticks. His eyes met Camille’s as he started to talk again. ]
But yes, I think we see things differently. I’d be interested in how you see it.
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Date: 2023-10-18 05:14 am (UTC)[ Once Emerick pulls away, Camille leaves it be for a moment, then- he uncurls one hand, extending it palm-up between them in a gesture of compromise. He's silent, staring somewhere between them, and if Emerick cares to study him further, it might seem as though Camille is frozen as though lost in thought, undecided on something.
The Beast snarls at him, and some tension works its way into Camille's frame. It's a breaking point, he knows. If this is troubling enough to Emerick, it could snap him out of his addiction - though Camille isn't sure how much that works here, given how dampened his other strengths are. And if Emerick said no - there was no benefit to trying to force him, not here. And, oddly, Camille knows he wouldn't want to try. He finally lifts his gaze, mouth pressed in a thin, uncomfortable line, his brows drawn pensively. Still, the corners of his mouth turn in some attempt of a smile. ]
I need you far more than you need me. There is no one else here that I feel I can trust, or who knows what I am. Any affection you feel for me will fade if you rescind your permission. [ And he does believe the other man holds an affection for him purely because of the blood bond between them.
You hold far more power than you seem to think you do. But he doesn't say quite that much. ]
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Date: 2023-10-20 03:41 am (UTC)It was a little jarring to Emerick to consider that the relationship could be manufactured by some way. It made sense that Camille would have power that would be used to lure and keep someone like Emerick around, something to make a human more inclined to return so that Camille would have a steady supply of blood. It explained to Emerick why he wanted so much for Camille to like him at the start, and why he felt so insecure so early in their relationship. It was why Emerick was so borderline obsessed with him after that first feeding, and the next, and all the ones thereafter, coming down to something less intense with time.
Even with that, though, the idea that Emerick only cared about Camille because of whatever influence the other had didn't sit right with him. Emerick had always been an emotional person -- something that he was often bullied for -- and while he had no clue to what extent Camille's influence would extend, he could only assume that things weren't quite as powerful as perhaps Camille thought they were. The hazy bits and pieces of what happened at the bank left him with the impression that if Camille had his way he wouldn't recall any of it at all, but there it was.
Emerick gently took Camille's hand in his own, his gaze lingering on their hands as he started speaking. ]
It might be that whatever influence you have over my emotions has intensified how I feel about you, but that's not all going to go away if I were to change my mind about all of this. Maybe I won't love you as intensely as I feel that I do right now, but I would still care for you. [ This was what Emerick truly believed; whether that was correct was another matter. He didn’t have any intention on finding out. ]
I’m not going to change my mind about any of this. I don’t abandon the people I care about, so please don’t let that be what makes you nervous. [ Emerick knew that he was loyal to a fault, but he wasn’t about to admit to as much out loud. ]
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Date: 2023-11-04 04:45 am (UTC)Emerick can't mean that, he thinks, though he knows just as surely he would believe it back in Corvicia, backwards as it was. He stares for a time, then his gaze, too, drops to their hands.
It does make him nervous, but he has wits enough about him to not say that. What he does say, after a lengthy silence, is: ] I care for you, too. [ And he means it, genuinely - insomuch as he can believe that he cares for someone. Even still, the admission is a calculated one. Emerick is in a strange, rare mood, and Camille has already revealed too much in his mind. To placate the other seems the best play, now.
His mind circles back around - 'love' is such a strange word, for kine. It's such a strong word, for some, but others use it so freely. Camille would have wagered Emerick was part of the former group, but now... he wonders. ]
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Date: 2023-11-04 02:46 pm (UTC)The response that Camille gives is a relief after the silence. He wasn't sure what he had expected. It was true that those may not be the exact words Emerick had been hoping to hear but they weren't as bad as his anxiety was making him think it was going to be. There was the insidious little part of him that had been taught to doubt everything that wanted to be contrary and bite back asking if that were true, why there were times that Camille seemed to act so antithetical to those words. The anger in him wanted to try to pick a fight over it but the way Camille had reacted to his anger minutes ago still lingered in his mind and it wasn't worth it. He'd gain nothing from it.
He chose to believe Camille at his word and the anxiety that kept tension in his shoulders and neck started to evaporate. He would never know if the inclination to let Camille placate him was due to the influence the other man had over him or if it was fully his choice, but he wasn't sure how much he actually cared. He still couldn't just turn away from Camille and revoke permission no matter what Camille might put him through in the future - his nature would never allow it - but Camille had always been kind to him when he didn't need to be, as honest as he could be given the circumstances, and he'd just admitted that he didn't see Emerick as just an object or means to an end. Realistically, it was more than what Emerick thought he could hope for.
Emerick smiled a little. He looked weary and worn without the high to soften his expression and give him the mask of submissive joviality. The foolish hope that almost always lived in his expression had faded so it was only in his eyes, but present it still was. ]
What do you want out of this, then? Other than the obvious, of course. [ Because he could keep on going as he was, but he was tired of putting his foot in his mouth. He was tired of saying the wrong thing. If all Camille wanted was to keep going as it was without letting things get any deeper, then that was fine, but Emerick wanted to know to stop trying to get to know him. ]
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Date: 2023-11-05 03:38 am (UTC)Camille settles back, leaning on one hand, content to leave the other in Emerick's grasp. ] I should ask you that, instead. [ He leans his cheek on his shoulder, white hair falling across one cheek. He watches Emerick still with those pale eyes, a soft smile lingering still tinged with that same wry amusement. ] What do you want out of a relationship with an ageless, blood-drinking monster, in this strange and empty city?
[ He might guess companionship, too. Maybe protection? Emerick has not seen him fight, but he has heard of it (how much he remembers, though...). Still, all stories and fairy tales seem to consider all vampires particularly strong, or at least particularly cunning. But Camille cannot imagine Emerick wants to stay any more than Camille does, so something deep, lasting? And with a vampire using him as a delivery meal, no less- certainly not. Though — Camille is still not convinced the City is not a glitch, a malfunction of the God Machine, that this is not his true reality and will continue to be. He wonders if Emerick thinks he will ever go back to his Night City. ]
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Date: 2023-11-05 07:34 am (UTC)He wanted companionship, yes, of course. To be useful, to be wanted. To be loved. The last wasn't realistic and he knew better than to expect. The fact that he wanted it was a mistake too, he knew. It's not like this could go anywhere even if Camille wanted it as well. There was a chance that he would end up being sent back home to Night City (a fate he didn't want, actually) and then what? When he finally woke up from this dream he was going to be so disappointed. ]
I, um. How things have been is fine. I just know that sometimes I speak too much and I don't want to fuck up and make you regret all of this.
[ The fact that he still made the question about Camille must have really said something about how little he valued himself when the fact he was so smitten with the man was painted across his face. ]
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Date: 2023-11-06 03:14 am (UTC)Camille shifts on the bed then, moving slow to straddle Emerick's lap, a knee on either side of the other's hips and one hand pressing against the other man's chest to coax him back against the pillows again, a fond amusement lingering in his expression still. Suggestive as the position is, Camille is largely making sure he is directly and unavoidably in Emerick's field of view. ] Something... casual, then? Or are you afraid of asking for what you really want?
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Date: 2023-11-06 04:27 am (UTC)He knew he could really crane his neck to one side to avoid looking at Camille and to resume his usual avoidance behavior, but he knew that even if he did, Camille would likely not let him. He stared up at the other man's face, the fond amusement in his expression, the way he was looking down at him. He found comfort in the pale eyes that looked down at him, but he knew now he couldn't really trust what he felt. He knew that there was at least some part of what he felt that was false, but he had no way of knowing where that started and where that ended other than he knew what he liked to think of it all.
He had a feeling that regardless of what he said and admitted to, Camille would find it foolish. Camille likely would think that all of his feelings weren't genuine - and maybe they weren't - on top of the fact that Camille certainly didn't feel the same way. So what did it matter what Emerick really wanted? Wanting and getting were two different things, and he'd rather not entertain some flight of fancy.
He stared up at Camille for a little too long, clearly trying to decide if he wanted to be honest and speak up or keep in his tradition of deflection. ]
Does what I really want matter? You don't feel the same way for me as I feel about you. [ Not to mention he was waiting to be told his feelings weren't real, which he hated even having to seriously entertain. He wasn't going to mention it out loud. ] What I don't want is for you to just indulge me.
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Date: 2023-11-06 04:32 pm (UTC)There's a petty part of him that regrets this position, the inherent intimacy in it, when he wants little more right now than to - at the very least - turn his back on Emerick. The Beast prowls beneath his skin again, both feeding on and fueling the indignation, and it only puts Camille more on edge. ]
To not indulge you? [ Camille's voice is cool, but underlined with something so taut its ready to snap. ] Fine, then. First; if it didn't matter, I wouldn't care to ask. And I've just told you I care for you, so in you saying I don't feel the same, do you imagine I'm lying, or did you lie to me? Because thus far this evening your prickly attitude has suggested not that you love me, or at the very least you're quite angry with me. So if I agree to 'not indulge you,' I ask that you at least give me a straight answer in return.
lmfao til incredibly chronic weed users literally have issues with agitated irritability when sober
Date: 2023-11-06 09:14 pm (UTC)Emerick looked as if he were about to respond, but then he closed his mouth and his gaze shifted off of Camille's face as he thought through what Camille said and how he wanted to answer. He also took a moment to simply see how he felt and take stock of his emotions and it was the first time he really noticed the resentment and anger that sat in him like a stone in his gut, causing him to lash out. He could feel guilt building in him, along with his anxiety as he absently started to pull at (and pull out) the hair on his arm. ]
The thing I am assuming is that I hold far more feelings for you than you do for me. Where I love you, you only view me as a friend, or something similar. [ He glanced back to Camille's gaze, but his gaze darted away just as quickly. ] And I want to believe you when you say you do care for me, but... [ His mouth had grown dry and he needed a second to try to remedy it, though it was to no avail. ] There's this little voice in my head that sows doubt in everything that I do, or anything positive people say to me. I do my best to not listen to it but it's incessant and unyielding.
[ More quietly: ] I don't want you to act like you have more feelings for me than you do. That little voice in my head tells me you're just placating me so I stick around. [ Emerick fell quiet. He looked ashamed, the guilt on his face clear.
He wasn't done speaking but he needed another moment to figure out how to address the rest of what Camille said. ] I'm not angry with you specifically. This is the first conversation we've had where I've been sober. I've always kept myself on weed to numb a lot of my emotions and symptoms. When we got here I had about three month's worth of cartridges, and I've finally run out. It seems like without it dampening my emotions I apparently lash out.
It hasn't been fair to you, and I've been acting like a real bastard. Again, I'm sorry that I've been acting so crass. It's... Something I'm going to be working on. [ Not that he had much of a choice.
Nervously, Emerick's gaze finally met back with Camille's. He'd been able to see the other's reactions in his peripheral vision as he'd been speaking but he was finally trying to push past his anxiety and actively hold his gaze. ]
lmao yeah that tracks
Date: 2023-11-07 04:30 am (UTC)He's quiet after Emerick's apology too, at least for a moment. Then, he leans down, slow. Their noses brush, and he kisses Emerick. It too is a slow thing, neither deep nor quite chaste. He straightens, one hand returning to the other's chest. ]
It seems a little unfair, doesn't it? If I tell you I'm being truthful, you may not believe me, and if I try to show you, you might think I'm just acting. [ Camille reaches to run the pad of his thumb across Emerick's lip, an affectionate, if sensual gesture. ] I can only tell you I care for you, and that I'm not acting just to placate you. I enjoy your company- need it, strong as the word is. [ His voice is soft, gentle, but there's a raw truth in his words. He feels like he's losing his mind here sometimes, and Emerick's companionship eases that. ] I can't give you any more. I can't make you believe me, or prove myself somehow.
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Date: 2023-11-08 04:00 pm (UTC)He's quiet while Camille speaks. His expression suggested that he was waiting for some type of admonishment at first, but it faded as Camille continued. He reached out and let one of his hands tentatively come to rest on Camille's thigh. ]
I know, and it's not your job to. [ His thumb started to gently stroke the other's thigh. There's a pensive expression on his face as his eyes lowered once again.
Emerick didn't need a voice stress analyzer installed to know that what Camille was saying was truth. His job was sifting through so much hearsay that he had to sift through what was real and what wasn't, and he was usually pretty decent at telling when someone was lying or not. He also knew that he could believe Camille right now, and on the walk back to his own place the irrational part of his head would start casting doubt over it all. It occurred to him that he would have to simply take Camille at his word and do his best to ignore whatever malformed thoughts he had if this was going to work, as hard as that was going to be. ]
It is unfair, and I wish more than anyone else that I wasn't this way. If I could just turn it off I would. [ Which is what he had done back home with his self medication, to a certain extent. It was unlucky that he couldn't keep it up here. ] All that I know to do right now is to take you at your word and trust you aren't lying to me. [ Hastily, meeting Camille's gaze again: ] Which I know that you aren't, but when I sit with myself for too long things get muddled.