The drive to consume is too overwhelming to notice anything about the person he's killing— flashes he pays no mind to, they could be anything, skimming past him like spots in the distance on the highway. He gave a fuck about Louis, and that made it different. Daniel doesn't care about these people and just wants to get it overwith. That it feels good, filling him in an unearthly way, is something he can process later.
Louis' hand on him, strange, surreal. That soft voice in his head jolts him and he feels embarrassed about it for a moment, pulling away and—
Whatever he might have thought (laughing at him to put his shirt back on in '73, a mocking offer months ago) is gone, staring down at a person who he has now killed. The man - a human, a mortal, something Daniel isn't anymore - is fading away, greyish already. How much fucking blood did he have to take, to make someone lose color?
One person left, still alive. They sit there and see nothing, like a reformatted drive, blank. Daniel is more aware this time as he pushes their head back and leans down, but wishes he wasn't.
no subject
Louis' hand on him, strange, surreal. That soft voice in his head jolts him and he feels embarrassed about it for a moment, pulling away and—
Whatever he might have thought (laughing at him to put his shirt back on in '73, a mocking offer months ago) is gone, staring down at a person who he has now killed. The man - a human, a mortal, something Daniel isn't anymore - is fading away, greyish already. How much fucking blood did he have to take, to make someone lose color?
One person left, still alive. They sit there and see nothing, like a reformatted drive, blank. Daniel is more aware this time as he pushes their head back and leans down, but wishes he wasn't.