Guillermo de la Cruz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
breedscontempt) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
far_beyond2022-03-14 04:37 pm
breedscontempt) wrote in far_beyond2022-03-14 04:37 pm
you're dead and out of this world (open)
Who:Guillermo and you!
What: A grumpy bodyguard/familiar/vampire hunter getting the lay of the land.
When: During the time surrounding the Vole Incident
Where: Throughout the station
Warnings: Incidental self-harm; talk of blood, extreme codependency, suicide-by-vampire-siring, basically this guy's kinda fucked in the head.
a. now your hope and compassion is gone
The first thing Guillermo does, once he determines that he's safe, is emit a bloodcurdling scream into his pillow. The room is far larger than his little nook under the stairs in Staten Island, that he'd come to consider cozy after twelve years. This is cold. Sterile. There isn't a hint of life to it, unlike the house - which is hilarious, considering that the house he had lived in was largely populated by the undead.
Then he punches the wall until his knuckles bleed, taking out his frustration with the last several hours on the metal bulkhead. Fuck! Fucking......fucking guy!
The next time he sees Laszlo Cravensworth, he decides, he is going to beat the shit out of him. This Q guy would have to do in the meantime.
He sits down on the bed again, musses up his hair in frustration, and lets out another angry yell, which turns into a choked sob. It isn't fair. It isn't fair!
Guillermo's not sure if he's crying tears of rage or frustration or sorrow. Maybe all three. He's been making quite a ruckus, though, and probably attracted some attention if anyone was around. The walls and doors are thick, but not totally soundproof.
b. when you smile and it tears your face
Everything is fine. Everything is fine, dammit. He's not howling and clawing at the inside of his skull and beating on the walls screaming and crying for his Master. He definitely doesn't feel an almost physical ache in his gut caused by being impossibly far from his chosen family and the man he'd follow right to the gates of Hell itself and to, ultimately and gleefully, his own death. Guillermo has a lot of experience plastering on a fake smile and hiding what he's really up to. He'd be a pretty poor familiar if he couldn't.
He's made his way to Quark's, and, with absolutely zero respect for the fact that this is not supposed to be a serve-yourself joint (oh, who was gonna take his order, the fucking waiters? WHAT WAITERS?!), he's poking around for something both interesting and recognizable to drink.
And then...ding ding ding.
He turns to the nearest person. "Do you think bloodwine has real blood in it?"
c. run fast don't stand in the sun
"¡Mierda!"
The shout comes from inside a Jeffries tube, which Guillermo scoots out of backwards, kicking vigorously at several voles that have decided to attach themselves to his pant legs. "Shit! Get off!" He manages to kick one away, and it pounces at him. Lightning-quick, and probably very unexpectedly for a guy of his physique, he rolls upright, and the vole falls down dead, a wooden stake driven through it. They're primarily for vampires, but stab anything hard enough with one, and it's gonna die.
He pulls it out of the corpse, makes a disgusted noise, and wipes the blood off on the hem of his trenchcoat. "Hope there's a laundromat around here."
d. they have no use for your song
[Wildcard! You know what to do.]
What: A grumpy bodyguard/familiar/vampire hunter getting the lay of the land.
When: During the time surrounding the Vole Incident
Where: Throughout the station
Warnings: Incidental self-harm; talk of blood, extreme codependency, suicide-by-vampire-siring, basically this guy's kinda fucked in the head.
a. now your hope and compassion is gone
The first thing Guillermo does, once he determines that he's safe, is emit a bloodcurdling scream into his pillow. The room is far larger than his little nook under the stairs in Staten Island, that he'd come to consider cozy after twelve years. This is cold. Sterile. There isn't a hint of life to it, unlike the house - which is hilarious, considering that the house he had lived in was largely populated by the undead.
Then he punches the wall until his knuckles bleed, taking out his frustration with the last several hours on the metal bulkhead. Fuck! Fucking......fucking guy!
The next time he sees Laszlo Cravensworth, he decides, he is going to beat the shit out of him. This Q guy would have to do in the meantime.
He sits down on the bed again, musses up his hair in frustration, and lets out another angry yell, which turns into a choked sob. It isn't fair. It isn't fair!
Guillermo's not sure if he's crying tears of rage or frustration or sorrow. Maybe all three. He's been making quite a ruckus, though, and probably attracted some attention if anyone was around. The walls and doors are thick, but not totally soundproof.
b. when you smile and it tears your face
Everything is fine. Everything is fine, dammit. He's not howling and clawing at the inside of his skull and beating on the walls screaming and crying for his Master. He definitely doesn't feel an almost physical ache in his gut caused by being impossibly far from his chosen family and the man he'd follow right to the gates of Hell itself and to, ultimately and gleefully, his own death. Guillermo has a lot of experience plastering on a fake smile and hiding what he's really up to. He'd be a pretty poor familiar if he couldn't.
He's made his way to Quark's, and, with absolutely zero respect for the fact that this is not supposed to be a serve-yourself joint (oh, who was gonna take his order, the fucking waiters? WHAT WAITERS?!), he's poking around for something both interesting and recognizable to drink.
And then...ding ding ding.
He turns to the nearest person. "Do you think bloodwine has real blood in it?"
c. run fast don't stand in the sun
"¡Mierda!"
The shout comes from inside a Jeffries tube, which Guillermo scoots out of backwards, kicking vigorously at several voles that have decided to attach themselves to his pant legs. "Shit! Get off!" He manages to kick one away, and it pounces at him. Lightning-quick, and probably very unexpectedly for a guy of his physique, he rolls upright, and the vole falls down dead, a wooden stake driven through it. They're primarily for vampires, but stab anything hard enough with one, and it's gonna die.
He pulls it out of the corpse, makes a disgusted noise, and wipes the blood off on the hem of his trenchcoat. "Hope there's a laundromat around here."
d. they have no use for your song
[Wildcard! You know what to do.]
B
She smiled at the question, "I mean, I'm pretty sure it does, it's a Klingon drink and they are kinda violent."
Based on the specific holosuite programming at least.
i had looked this up while doing a mariner tag before, god bless r/daystrominstitute
Chinga, it's like drinking pure isopropyl. There's a metallic tang to it - that's got to be the blood part of the bloodwine - but the alcohol content is off the charts. This is meant less to be like drinking the blood of your enemies and more like getting you extremely fucked up extremely quickly. Did Klingons have two livers or something? He seemed to recall from his reading that they had two hearts.
He tries to smile through it, but his face is giving away how absolutely disgusting it is. "It's great," he says, and coughs.
pfft
"Oh, is it?" she quipped, taking another sip of her own drink, "Can you taste the blood? Is it salty? Metallic?"
no subject
He gingerly puts the glass down. He'll have more of that later. Just. Not right now. Because he feels like he's going to throw up.
"What, uh, what, uh, what are you drinking?"
no subject
"A Dirty Shirley," she replied. Not old enough to drink where's she's from, but they are on a freaking space station in the far future, so she doesn't really care.
"Do you want one?"
no subject
no subject
She slides off the stool, heading around the counter to grab the soda water, grenadine (that she had made in the weird machine), and some cherries (which she had also made in the replicators). Then the vodka-like stuff, but like, it was mostly flavorless with a small bite, so even if it wasn't vodka...she's pretty sure it's vodka.
She shook it all together with ice and poured it into a glass, holding it out to him.
"It's pretty good, kinda sweet. Hopefully better for you than the Bloodwine."
C! As promised, so delivered~
Even without the vole, though that didn't help. While she had no particular love for the creatures themselves, she did have an Oath to uphold...
Perhaps it was for the best that she arrived too late and missed the fight itself.
"Think I can give you a hand with that," he'd hear - a young woman, not quite out of her teens yet, voice even despite the blood around. She had seemingly no weapon on her, but she at least had no qualms wearing the uniform - or altering it, if the state of the pants (slightly frayed, with extra pockets) was any indication.
"Won't even charge for it, since there's not much point. Disposing the body might take longer, even."
no subject
"Good thing you're not charging, I left my wallet back home," he says. In his suitcase. Shit. Shit.
no subject
She holds out a hand. "I can even cut out the 'needing a laundromat' bit, if you meant that seriously."
Or even if he didn't. Y'know.
Look, it's not like she should expect washing machines on a space station to look like they do back home in the first place...!no subject
no subject
"No, though this isn't that. It's something I've done at home when there isn't time for the usual methods."
Sometimes this sort of this was just necessary on an errantry, if only to feel more hygienic in one's own skin. Or rather, clothes.
She held out a hand. "Just need to hold it for a couple seconds. Think I recognize the kind of fabric, but just in case, the confirmation'll help."