'This won't ever stop being freaky,' John looked at the long crimson tendrils of blood coming out of his hand, the flesh opening harmlessly to allow the full expression of his improved blood manipulation.
He played with the length, speed and strength of the tendrils, tried to lessen the mental load required to control what essentially amounted to brand new limbs that actually needed his focus to keep existing, on top of moving them with all the dexterity of a drunk toddler.
Then he heard yet another distant moan that came out of a very curious person's mouth as they inserted a very sensitive and valuable cylinder within a tube of M&Ms filled with butter, and he lost control of the blood, making it splatter onto the grimy floor with a splash.
It now looked like a crime scene.
'Sometimes, I really hate having enhanced senses,' John fought against the urge to enact brutal atrocities on the body and mind of the man who performed the…experiment, even as he manipulated the spilt blood back onto his body, careful to separate the dirt from the vitae before taking it back, 'not good enough to hear the whole city, not broken enough to deal with sound pollution, just good enough to hear weirdos do creepy shit,'
The fact that he was a man currently absorbing blood that came out of already healed, self-sustained wounds on his hands, did not register as creepy to him.
Not at that moment, at least.
A quick look at his watch showed him that he only had about four hours of moonlight before it was time to prepare for torpor, and he became keenly aware that he finished every task for the night.
…Well, there was still some paperwork left, because there always was.
Could he really just enjoy the rest of the time despite the lurking abomination waiting for him on his desk? Perpetually expanding, ever gruelling, an unfathomable force that longed for the time and sanity of all leaders of men who had the misfortune to give a fuck?
Was he that irresponsible?
Deep down, John knew the answer.
Yes…Yes, he was.
'That's sound like tomorrow's problem,' John concluded after thinking, patting his clothes clean of the what little dust remained after his sprints, 'and tomorrow's problems are for tomorrow's me,'
With the executive decision to prioritize the upper management's morale over the current workload, John acted as any decisive man of power should, and promptly fucked off to do something more bearable than ponder bureaucracy while listening to a guy trying desperately to remove the cylinder from the M&Ms tube.
He hit the ground running, moving with a speed and grace that made all his past experiences of celerity feel like a pathetic imitation of the real thing, despite not attempting to use his maximum speed even after exiting the warehouse.
In some ways, he was actually moving slower, but so much more smoothly.
Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.
He could feel the air hitting his face and making his hair fly wildly, the turbulence and shifts in pressure with every twitch of his muscles, each step acting more like a jump, crossing streets and entire neighborhoods as nothing but a sudden gale concealed within darkness of night and the shadows of Gotham City.
The only real struggle was not absolutely shattering the ground, but that ended in failure, as he couldn't help but take a leap into the skyline, convincing himself and the world for a single glorious moment that this vampire could fly.
Then gravity remembered that it existed, and John remembered that causing potholes wasn't very nice.
He landed onto the rooftop of a residential building, higher and free from the worst of the concrete and metal echo chamber that bent and stopped the sound waves and smells, restraining most of his enhanced senses.
It was something of a hard decision, choosing whether to stay down and endure the laws of physics chaining his observation, or going onto the rooftop where he could see and hear unrestrained, but at the cost of sharing the same path as the bat and whatever little helpers he had at the moment.
Only Robin, if the word on the streets was right, Batgirl had stopped appearing long ago.
John was keenly aware of the implications.
He dashed under a water tank, letting his even greater grace and balance carry his body while he jumped to avoid causing undue damage to some poor sod's apartment, contorting then landing back on his feet.
'It's like I drank Catwoman's blood, with a bit of Spidey sprinkled in,' He smiled, despite the impossibility of obtaining the latter's vitae.
Though if he had woken up in that particular death world, he knew it would be one of the easiest things to obtain, that boy simply loved letting people beat him until near death.
John couldn't claim to know what mountains of grief, oceans of blame and rivers of shame did to someone, but he was willing to bet that he would have a much better reaction, one that was less self-destructive at the very least.
…well, less self-destructive, but more destructive in general.
'The best way to deal with your problems, is to make them someone else's problems,' John nodded, satisfied by his own reasonable mind and not at all problematic worldview, then promptly allowed the thought to fade away from his mind.
It was better to focus on the moment.
The cold biting winds and sheer captivating charm of a city built in layers, the old stone cultures and gothic arts, the industrial brutalism of the decades that followed, built under and around the art deco offices and buildings, themselves getting slowly fizzled out by the modern architecture of today.
All of that surrounded by trash, human waste and graffiti.
Eventually, much too soon perhaps, he left Parkrow and Grand Avenue, stepping out of the East End and Somerset Isle altogether, then crossed Morrison Bay into Burnley.
It was much nicer than the central island, which might explain why the Penguin decided to set up his iceberg lounge there, it also was as safe as Gotham could get without owning your own private security, given the presence of the newest GCPD building where Jimbo Gordon tried to bring justice and stability to the city.
Key word being tried.
In any case, Gotham Height looked better than even his beloved Brideshead. It looked less like a district-sized dark alley in December with strange men passing by, and more like an almost normal place in New York.
More apartment buildings in a good state, a lot less vacant houses and crackdens, more business both big and small.
John passed by, above fast food chains and gas stations that only got robbed once a month, instead of every other week.
'A major achievement,' He noted without a hint of sarcasm.
Brideshead had a literal monstrous urban legend, two confirmed vigilantes who were not much nicer than the Bat in his first angry years, and actual structures and groups dedicated to keeping the peace…and they still got more robberies and muggings.
It would change, in time, John would make sure of it.
By that point, the streets were too well lit and much too lively even so disgustingly late at night for him to even consider coming down, he was confined onto the roofs whether he liked it or not, unless he was willing to stop blitzing around.
He wasn't, but it wasn't much of a problem, a minute later he was already casually scaling an apartment complex in one of the nicest parts of Gotham Heights, making full use of his powers to jump up to the fifth floor and making it look like he was walking there.
John looked at the closed and locked window, but instead of forcing it open like a crass bastard, he simply made a small wound open on his finger with a single thought, a tendril of blood flowing out and through the cracks of the window, unlocking it before retracting.
'...does this qualify as a hentai protagonist's powers?' John paused right before opening the window, 'wait, with presence and dominate, don't I have the full package?'
Wisely deciding that wondering whether he was meant to abandon all ambitions and start living out a pornographic fantasy was neither productive nor healthy, he put yet another intrusive thought out of his head.
'Screw you Slaneesh,' He steeled his resolve, opened the window and slid into the apartment, '..though you're probably into that,'
He called it an apartment, but it was more a loft than anything, much too big for a single person and an occasional vampiric uninvited guest, furnished tastefully with the content of a magazine, items bought from a 3AM telemarketing program, and the thrown about clothes and more or less dirty laundry of someone who had no fucks left to give.
With a single cursory look, he spied the outfits for an entire week, some pink pajamas she would never admit to wearing, a skirt she owned since high school and still refused to replace, along with so many pairs of tights.
The tv was on, it always was, for she was a Gotham girl and those ones knew a dozen tricks to pretend there's always someone at home, less chances of getting robbed, or worse.
Still, he wasn't sure why it was on a German channel, perhaps Peter Petrel's singing would do a better job scaring off the muggers?
John couldn't help but smile.
It always felt good to crash into Max's house, even if it counted as breaking and entering, yet one more thing he did better than Vladdy boy.
He made himself right at home, dropping his leather jacket into the coat hanger, before looking at his clothes and the damage they sustained, and deciding he should just take a quick shower and put on some new ones instead.
Not sweating unless he wanted to didn't mean he could just ignore his hygiene, after all.
Refreshed with a towel still on his hair and an identical white shirt and black pants back on, he headed directly toward the open kitchen space, and started brewing some coffee.
One good thing about being nouveau riche, he could splurge on expensive ethically sourced beans without feeling like he just donated a liver, too bad it was only worth doing for the few human foods he could still truly appreciate.
Sure, coffee and chocolate were nice, and the occasional rare steak made things less boring, but the feeding restrictions were only slightly worse than the ban on sunlight.
Pizza now tasted like kibble to him, the kind you gave to a dog you didn't like much, and wasn't that a tragedy.
John perked up, on the very edge of his senses he could smell the scent of a particular blood approaching, one he was very familiar with. Then came the specific gait of someone who worked a dead end service job for way too long, the smell of her clothes and perfume mixed with sweat and a mix of flour and baked goods.
He closed his eyes, and then he could almost see her drawing close, less than seven hundred meters away, avoiding a hobo who could have been a problem, crossing the road just as a shitty ford truck passed by, clicking her tongue after reaching into her pocket for a pack of cigarettes that was no longer there.
Five hundred meters.
He had a bit of a harder time making sense of the layout near her apartment, he wasn't as familiar with Gotham Heights as Brideshead, but he still did not regret getting this apartment.
It was just that much safer, even compared to his own domain, where he was confined for half the day. Jim Gordon being around was an advantage he couldn't stress enough, not to mention Batman showing up here every other night to talk with the moustache twirling police officer.
Four hundred meters.
Not to mention how her coffee shop/bakery was in this district, Brideshead wasn't yet ready for that kind of extravagance, the working class people there had other concerns to address before they could even think about buying fancy if tasty treats and cupcakes.
Three hundred meters.
Making her commute from Burnley to Somerset, going down the whole East End into Brideshead proper every single day was a lot more dangerous in the long run.
Two hundred meters.
That was the sweet spot, two hundred meters, six hundred and fifty feet for the mentally ill. The range where the sound pollution and mess of scents couldn't even begin to hinder him, unless something truly outrageous was happening.
Within this area, he could all but make out her features, map out the surroundings in real time with only a minimum of focus needed.
It also told him that he needn't worry about Superman hearing him say naughty words, the way sounds and smells travelled meant that his depiction in comics was fundamentally impossible without literal magic smoothing things over.
No matter how special your ears might be, it didn't make the sound waves different.
One hundred meters.
She was just about to enter the apartment building, and the coffee was just about done. John casually poured the hot drink into two mugs, the wonderfully bitter aroma flooding the apartment.
Max went up the stairs, before regretting it by the third floor judging by the way she cracked her back and whispered something about breast reduction then taking the lift for the next two floors.
He heard the clink of her keys, saw her blood through the walls as she closed the door with her foot, turning around to lock it, double lock it, then triple lock it like a proper Gotham girl.
Only double checked each one once more, because she's awesome like that.
"Hi, honey, I'm home," She said loudly with tired mirth expecting nothing but silence, despite not wanting it to stay quiet, Peter Petrel had long since stopped singing and now there was nothing but an ad for a Bavarian supermarket on the telly.
She almost jumped when she heard him walk up to her, reaching out for the gun under her couch, before relaxing.
"Welcome back, dear," He said in a much too sweet voice, struggling not to laugh as he put the two steaming mugs into the table, "do you want coffee, a bath, or me?"
She looked at him with a deadpan, but he could feel her heart calming down from the initial surprise, and her cheeks warming under the make-up.
"This is the most disgusting thing you've ever said," Max said, crossing her arms and doing some very interesting things to her bust, "please, don't ever say it again,"
No, it would have been more disgusting if he asked her if she wanted to take a shit, but he wasn't if that reference existed in this world.
It probably didn't.
Most folks in his old earth probably didn't know it either.
However, John was nothing if not a perfect host, even if he was technically an uninvited guest.
"Oh, you're breaking my heart," He said in a wounded voice and pulled her flush against him, the blush of life giving his body some warmth to heat hers, "it's been days since we last saw each other, and this is how you greet me? How much more betrayal can I take?"
It was technically his fault if they didn't see each other often enough, but he wasn't about to mention that.
"Well, whose fault is that?" She said, but didn't pull away, only kicking aside her boots and letting him remove her jacket, "you think I haven't been lonely? My bed is cold and my brain is bursting with shit I couldn't tell Caroline without her fainting, and that's just bad for business."
Her pet heiress friend didn't build up the tolerance for random shitfuckery she otherwise would have, a much better job that didn't quite need to be profitable so long as it could launder money would do that to someone.
John smiled wider, nuzzling against her neck but not biting, he wasn't exactly lacking in blood right now.
Sometimes, even vampires wanted some wholesome crap.
"What a tragedy," He says into her skin, "I guess we'll have to fix that,"
"You think it's that easy," He could hear the raised brow in her voice.
"I made coffee," He said in return, "just the way you like,"
He felt her tense, contemplating whether her newly risen standards and upset at his absence were worth giving up for some hot, wonderful, well brewed coffee after a long day and a solid bit of night shift.
She held back a yawn, and remembered the soccer mom who spent ten whole minutes debating whether homemade organic apple pies truly were worth a premium, and the preppy kid trying to pitch them an app to manage the payments, and the absolutely freezing weather.
The coffee won, hands down.
"...that's a start," She said, pushing through John's embrace and going to lay down on the couch, grabbing the warm cup before taking a sip and humming pleasantly, "fuck, that's good,"
"I know," John said for the second time in one night, before plopping down next to her and taking his own cup, he shifted a bit when Max started leaning on him, until they reached a position of pure and utter comfy.
It was indeed good.
For the first time in the night, he allowed himself not to think about an incoming gang war, or how the power of his blood was developing, or whether or not he'd be ready to face the insane threats that would endanger his life.
He just enjoyed the moment.
"We need to hang out more," She said, pushing herself closer, too tired to care about sounding clingy.
"We do," He nodded, her hair ticking his face when she sipped the bitter goodness, "I've been busy,"
"You're always busy," She snorted, pinching him to no effect, but not questioning what kept him away so much.
He liked that about her.
She didn't ask him to bare his heart and tell her his deepest, darkest secrets. Didn't ask him to bend his world to accommodate her, didn't dig into his work and nature, only demanded her just place in it, and that he gives everything he promised.
Maybe that's why he kept coming back to her despite finding more filling blood sources? Despite their relationship giving him no real benefit, and her utter lack of ambition or desire for power making the very thought of ghouling her sound unfair and selfish.
More selfish than even he could accept.
"I'll make more time for us," He squeezed her, more carefully than usual, he didn't want his growing power to cause a nightmare scene, "things are just a bit tense right now, a lot of strong personalities to manage, and a lot of bullshit to sort through,"
Max paused before a sip, eyes going up to him, that was a lot more than he usually shared.
"Promise?" she pushed against him, once more making him consider giving her a bit of blood to deal with the back pains, if only to make her forget about those awful surgeries that defiled the dreams and hopes of man, "because I think I would be very, very happy if you pulled your head out of your ass and paid me some attention."
He wanted to say yes, but lying unnecessarily was making him feel more and more horrible in these recent nights.
"I'll do my best," He said instead, tilting his head, "is that enough?"
She pulled back, and sighed, before drowning her disappointment in the rapidly cooling mug.
"I guess it'll have to be," Max grumbled, tucking her legs under her, "you're an asshole, you know that?"
"I do," He nodded into his cup.
"One of the biggest, perpetually gaping assholes in this city," she continued.
"That's a bit of an exaggeration, but I agree with your feelings," His lips twitched.
"I'm not exaggerating, you're the absolute worst," She reached out to play with the hair on his nape, "I should make you sleep on the couch,"
"'Should' is doing a lot of heavy lifting here," John chuckled, putting his empty mug down onto the table then leaning back to enjoy her innocent but all the more pleasant touch, "....oh, and, Max?"
"Yeah?" She didn't stop playing, or watching the television.
"Why is the tv in german?" He asked, genuinely curious.
"Fuck if I know,"
That was as satisfying an answer as he could get.
. . .
Discord:
. . .
Yo! It's Hamtaro!
So we've got some nice fluff going on, do you think it'll last? Who knows? Not me! We Never lost control! You're face, to face, with the ham who sold the world.
Beyond that, remember that [Redacted] is [Redacted] all the way in [Redacted] at every level of [Redacted] and people keep trying to ignore [Redacted] like [Redacted] is no big deal.
Well [Redacted] them.
So hug your parents, drink some water, and have a nice day :)