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lilac-and-lemon-whumps · 2 years

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Whatever I Decide

@themerrywhumpofmay Day 7: “Relax” Comfort | Branded | Trembling

Micah leaves his room for the first time.

Part 1 | Masterlist

Cw: it as a pronoun, vampire whumper/dubious caretaker, human whumpee, fear of punishment, references to scars and forced eating, allusions to past whump (asphyxiation, whips)

Diego was hungry.

It wasn’t too bad yet, though he knew it would only grow the longer he waited. Faria had invited him out to feed at one of the local BOT bars—blood-on-tap, some new generational fad that sounded a little too hipster for Diego’s tastes. Whether he wanted to spend the evening drinking mildly stale blood or not (“Ethically sourced,” Jonah, Faria’s partner, would laugh), and was leaning much further toward not anyway, Diego couldn’t leave the house unattended yet.

While he had no idea what exactly he was going to do with the pet he didn’t ask for but was given by the state regardless, he didn’t want to see the poor thing hurt itself or, Crowley forbid, find a way to escape and only get itself killed in the end. The paperwork would be a nightmare.

A knock on his door reminded Diego of the second reason he couldn’t go out tonight and instead had to favor one of his blood packs from the fridge.

“Mr. Silva?” The representative from the pet center stood at his door, package in hand. She handed it over along with a slip for him to sign off on before nodding in thanks and retreating back to her car. Diego didn’t bother to close the door but simply sighed and unwrapped the package where he stood in the entryway.

So. The moment of truth.

The bubble wrap crinkled when he pulled out the item. He quickly glossed over the chain, looking for any identification.

Annnnnd there it was.

“—Chow?”

Diego frowned. The collar he held was stained a dark red, soft yet firm leather with a little pendant hanging from the center in the shape of a bone. It was on this pendant that the word “Chow” lay, engraved silver that must have cost his sister a pretty peso for. It looked more like something one would put around a dog’s neck, but then again, Diego knew his share of friends and colleagues who treated their pets just the same.

Diego was tempted to call Faria. In the past couple of weeks, she’d become his sort of confidant when trying to figure out how to handle the strange creature. Until today, Diego had no name to call it by, and not for lack of trying. The human refused to tell him its name, and if it reacted any other way than the usual blanching and curling in on itself when Diego asked, Diego would have had half a mind to punish it for being so stubborn.

But…Chow? What a stupid name for a pet. Gabi may have had refined tasted in other outlets of her life, but apparently that did not extend to naming her things.

“Perfect,” Diego muttered. When the state representative called to say they’d salvaged a few more of Gabi’s belongings in the remains of her car, one item that looked to be nothing other than a pet’s collar, Diego had been almost excited. He would take any information on the pet, seeing as his sister left nearly squat for him to figure out when it came to maintaining the human she’d had for the past however many years.

Even the human’s documentation was nowhere to be found. If he were stupid, Diego would have pried more into it. All human pets are supposed to come with a standard buyer’s contract, blood type, name and age if applicable, etc. The representative’s suggested Gabi had probably just misplaced the documents when alive. It was a polite out for the much more likely reality that Gabi had purchased the human illegally.

As closest kin, Diego immediately earned possession of Gabi’s belongings. Which, of course, included the human.

Even in death, his sister was making Diego’s life complicated.

Micah had been studying the skin of his wrists when the door to the enclosure swung open. He didn’t hear the sound of a key, but before he could wonder if it had been unlocked all along, his new owner walked in, a familiar object hanging from his left hand.

Micah froze.

“You’re awake,” his owner said in lieu of greeting. His eyes followed Micah’s to the object in his hand. “Oh. You recognize this, don’t you?”

Micah looked between the collar—his collar, the red one that Miss Silva would put on him for their public outings. Sometimes, most times, she’d tighten it until he could barely breathe and he had to lay his head on her knee when he thought he’d pass out—to Mr. Diego’s face. Was he angry? Jealous, knowing the collar was a reminder that Micah used to belong to someone else? How did he get ahold of it?

Mr. Diego approached until his legs hit the side of the bed. He dangled the collar in front of Micah’s face, who could only watch as the collar’s silver bone with the damning inscription swung back and forth like a ticking clock.

“Chow.” Mr. Diego slowly drew out the word. “Is that your name? The one you refuse to tell me?”

Mr. Diego didn’t sound mad, but his words were enough to send Micah’s heart racing. Ever since Micah had been forced to disobey and eat what Mr. Diego gave him, Micah was waiting to be punished. Miss Silva favored the whip and her nails, but the unknowing of what Micah’s new owner would do was worse.

And the other day, Micah had been so sure Mr. Diego was going to—to feed from him. Micah had awoken at some unknown time, wrists sore and bleeding from the old ties his owner had been using. When Mr. Diego had taken Micah’s wrists and brought them to his mouth, so, so close to those fangs that haunted Micah’s worst fears, his new owner had simply licked the wounds until the cuts and scratches healed.

Micah knew, rationally, how vampire saliva and venom could work. And while Micah had been a good dog with Miss Silva, who never drank from him or drained him dry like the other bad animals she’d have shipped in, she also never licked Micah’s wounds closed. A punishment was a punishment, after all.

If Micah was being punished for eating, or for the few times he’d spoken, he had no idea when that would be. But now, maybe he was catching on. Mr. Diego had found his old collar. Surely he was going to put it on Micah, perhaps see how tight it could go until the dark swallowed Micah once again.

(Six notches. That’s how many Micah could take.)

(Micah knew that as much as Miss Silva had.)

“You’d think I put you in a freezer with how pale you are,” Mr. Diego murmured. He set the collar down on the bed’s side table. Micah tried not to look surprised. “I need to ask you some questions. If you’re not going to speak, I need you to at least nod or shake your head. Can you do that for me?”

It was a trick question. It had to be. Pets were too stupid to communicate with their owners. But if Mr. Diego was asking him to…surely the punishment for following an impossible order would be lighter than disobeying?

Slowly, and feeling like he might throw if he had anything of substance in his stomach, Micah moved his head up, then down.

“Oh, good boy,” Mr. Diego’s eyes lit up. Micah started. “Just like that. I’m going to free your hands, and then we’re going to go in the main room and talk. Or, I’ll talk. Nod for me again if you understand.”

Main room? Micah was leaving his enclosure? Distantly, he felt himself nod for his owner, but the uncertainty threatened to drown everything out.

Calm down, he told himself. You deserve any punishment he decides.

“I should’ve tried asking this way the first time.” Mr. Diego unlatched the new leash that had come in for Micah. Micah much preferred these over the old ties, which had cut into his skin every time he moved wrong in his sleep. These new ones were much softer, and had enough give for Micah to move his arms where he liked rather than be strung out like a doll.

Once Micah’s hands were free, Mr. Diego picked up the collar again. As much as Micah tried, he couldn’t hide his sharp inhale quick enough to not draw Mr. Diego’s attention.

“Let me guess,” his owner mused, waving the red leather. “You don’t like this, do you?”

Another trick question. It didn’t matter what Micah liked. If his owner wanted to collar him, then Micah should be honored to be so cared for. Now that Miss Silva was—not here—Micah was Mr. Diego’s to do with as he pleased. Micah’s wants and likes had nothing to do with it.

“What did I say?” Mr. Diego tsked. With his free hand, he ran his thumb over Micah’s lips, drawing down to his chin. Maneuvering Micah’s head himself, he moved Micah’s head side to side, then up and down in a faux nod. “Nod for me, or shake your head. I do not enjoy repeating myself.”

Micah waited a beat before realizing what his owner intended. Pressing his lips tight together so not to accidentally make a sound, Micah slowly shook his head and waited to be slapped for his insolence.

But nothing came. Micah hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until he felt the pad of Mr. Diego’s finger tapping at the side of his temples in a silent command.

“Why,” his owner said quietly, “are you so afraid of me?”

Micah blinked. And then, because he had no idea what else to do, he nodded.

Mr. Diego scoffed but he didn’t say anything more. Nor did he fasten the collar around Micah’s neck, or slap him for taking so many liberties, or tell Micah to get into position. Instead, he looped the collar around his wrist and, before Micah could think to react, picked Micah up in his arms.

* To say the human tensed would be putting it mildly. The pet—Chow? Such a stupid name—went from soft skin to solid stone in Diego’s hold the second he had the human wrapped in it. A very frightened, shaking stone, that is.

“Shhh, you’re okay,” Diego soothed. He placed one hand on the small of its back and rubbed gently as he made his way out of the human’s quarters and back into the main area of the ranch house. What surprised him the most wasn’t necessarily how small it was, because he could easily tell that just by looking. It was how light it was, even for a human.

Not for the first time, Diego worried about the pet’s eating habits.

He set the human on the couch beside him, and for a moment the pet stayed wrapped around him before it realized it was being put down. “There you are. Just get comfortable. I’ll say this now, because I’ve been told I need to be as clear as possible with you: you’re not in trouble—uh, Chow.” Despite the assurance, the human still made a face before quickly hiding the expression. Diego latched on to the information. Diego was slowly but surely learning what set off the human, so he wasn’t too surprised at how it tensed when Diego’s shoulder brushed its as he sat down. But it did finally nod, and Diego did not miss how its eyes quickly flit around the lit room, taking in the new space.

Probably, Diego realized, it was the first time it had seen a fully lit room since Gabi’s old house. He never bothered turning on the lamp in the human’s space.

“First order of business then. I want a name to call you by. Do you want me to call you Chow? Is that your name?”

The human wouldn’t meet his eyes. The silence stretched. Just when Diego was about to give up and move to the next question, mentally making a note to start a tally count for infractions, the human surprised him.

“My name is-is whatever you dec-decide, Sir.”

There it was again. His pet could talk. But despite this seeming accomplishment, it immediately shrank into itself after speaking, shoulders bowed as if to fend from attack.

Diego wasn’t stupid. The signs were all there since the moment he received the pet. The scars on its legs when they had to change its clothes. The two wounds on its back Faria had to stitch up. The way it cowered like a kicked dog, how it looked ill upon speaking, why it never ate by its own choice.

He remembered his friend’s words when they’d last spoken over the phone. Fair. Diego had quickly cut her off, not wanting to hear slander about Gabi no matter how hard of feelings they left off on before her death.

But looking at the broken, very much malnourished form of this pet, blue veins more visible than its sunken eyes, Diego had to swallow back a surprising rush of sympathy for the human. Diego had never been cruel for the sake of being such. He was a reasonable man, who approached the world as logically as he knew how. Logic told him humans were below them, to be used as nourishment or, at times, as pets for the very cherished. Logic told him humans were weak, unnaturally short and thin boned, common for prey animals.

What logic did not tell Diego, however, was the depth to which this human must have been treated to be so damn afraid all the time. It looked like the wind could put up a better fight than this pet. Even the humans in their colonies did not act this way before their superiors. Obedient, yes. Deferential, yes. But…but this? Abject terror and utterly irrational behavior…

For a species that was so determined to hide from harm and stay alive, it made no logical sense to deny food and willingly resist speaking when, by all accounts, it would be easier for both of them to not do so.

“I like it when you speak,” Diego told it. “Will you tell me why you always stop yourself?”

That was obviously not the right thing to say. Its wrist wounds from the other night were all healed, but it scratched at the invisible marks as if they still bothered him. Its upper teeth bit so hard into its lower lips Diego almost expected to smell blood soon.

Diego was much too old to react like a child who’d turn feral at their first taste of human blood. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle his reactions around a bleeding human—he very much well could. It was just, well. Even in its current state, the human was admittedly adorable. And who could resist tasting a sweet face like that when it was just so ready to take?

The human did not seem to share Diego’s happy thoughts. It was pale and looking a bit green as if it’d been at sea too long. What wiry muscles it still had were coiled so hard Diego wondered if it was in pain by that alone.

“Relax, sweetheart.” Acting more on instinct than anything, Diego pulled the pet into his arms again, doing whatever he could to soothe it. Again, it tensed. Again, it froze, waiting for something.

And then, after almost a minute of Diego waiting a patiently as he could (Faria would never let him live it down if she saw), Diego smelled the tell-tale signs of salt before he felt the drops hit his chest.

“You cry so sweetly,” Diego sighed, not unkindly, and completely unsure if that was a proper thing to tell a pet. He remembered Faria’s advice over the phone: treat it like a child. Speak gently to it. Tell it explicitly what it's allowed and not allowed to do. “But you’re allowed to make noise, little one. You’re allowed to speak, if you wish. I would like you to speak, if that means anything.”

Diego took inventory of the human while he had it so close. It’d been over two weeks since he got the poor thing, but he hadn’t truly studied it since those first two days when the pet had been drugged out of its mind for transportation. It’s hair was a bit matted, what once was probably curly dark locks tangled and grown out beyond what was healthy. He’d probably have to cut it, and most definitely wash it at the very least. To be honest, Diego had been avoiding the issue of bathing and had settled on wiping it down with soap every few days while it tried not to struggle. If the pet freaked out about food, what would it do if Diego tried to strip it?

“I’m…I’m s-sorry.”

The little hiccup of noise from where the pet had its face curled into Diego’s chest immediately drew Diego from his thoughts. He didn’t dare move, not wanting to give the pet any more reason to startle. Not for the first time Diego wished he were Faria, who could comfort any human with the slightest word. He just wanted a name, damn it.

But despite his own impatience, he couldn’t be annoyed for long. Diego wasn’t sure what it said about the human who, despite its obvious terror of him, had burrowed itself so sweetly into Diego’s arms as if Diego could protect it from the very thing it feared.

“Why are you apologizing?” Diego asked.

“‘Dogs aren’t suh-supposed to talk, sir.” Its voice was muffled where it spoke into Diego’s chest, one hand clenched tight into Diego’s button down. He was definitely going to have to dry clean it.

Diego focused on the matter at hand. “If I wanted you sorry, I’d let you know. Whatever rules Ga—whatever rules you were once told do not apply here.” Diego wasn’t sure how much the pet knew about its new state. Did it know that Gabi was his sister? Most likely not. Diego had avoided communicating too much with pet despite having two weeks to bring it up to speed.

In Diego’s defense, he had been terribly busy sorting out the funeral situation and deciding on Gabi’s belongings, whether to donate, keep, or trash the ridiculous hoard of material items she’d collected over the past seventy years. On top of that, Diego had to move his office work remotely while he figured out what he would do with the pet. Keep it? Sell it? Get a few weeks worth of his own fresh blood before ridding himself of the whole ordeal? The human’s food that it barely even ate was expensive, after all.

“Here, you are allowed to speak. In fact, that is a rule. You will speak when I ask you a question,” Diego settled on telling the human. “Understood?”

Diego could practically feel the human’s hesitation, as if sensing a trick. “...Yes, sir?” it finally breathed. It was more a question than an assurance, but Diego would let it slide for now.

He finally wondered aloud the thought that had been creeping up. “Was food another rule? Is that why you refuse to eat?”

No answer now, at least not aloud. What was that, a second infraction? Third? Diego mentally noted it for later, before hearing a small sniffle and then the quietest, Yes, sir, he’d ever heard.

Huh. Diego thought about the last time he’d seen his sister, what, ten years ago? What had she been thinking, getting a pet and hardly allowing it to eat? It was common knowlege that prey creatures had to rely on food much more often than their superiors. Where Diego could go days, maybe a week if he really pushed himself, without feeding, humans needed to at least once a day, two or three for maximum energy.

Besides. How did Gabi feed off a pet who looked this deprived of...of everything? Surely she didn’t keep it just to have it around.

“You are allowed to eat here. And speak. I need you healthy and honest, little one. How else am I going to get any use out of you?” Diego rubbed the pet’s shoulders as another wave of silent tears overcame it. Good hell, Diego wanted to sigh.

“Your old owner’s rules mean nothing here, alright? It’s like you said:

“It’s whatever I decide.”

Taglist: @mylifeisonthebookshelf @thecyrulik @deluxewhump @melancholy-in-the-morning @pumpkin-spice-whump @cicatrix-energy @nicolepascaline @whumpy-writings

#yes this is a whole day late i do apologize it's been a busy weekend #vampire whump #whump #dubious caretaker #I really wanted to incorporate branding because I have a set scene in mind #But its too early into the story to add yet so ill have to wait for later #parts to look forward to: Micah finally gets a bath #Diego punishes Micah #to feed or not to feed from Micah #Branding!#Diego learns Micah’s name #Backstory on Micah with Gabi (miss silva)#fear of punishment #all of the previously stated are not in any set order I will get to each of them when I do (or whatever seem to be requested more lol)#Diego and Micah #the merry whump of may #forced eating mention #collar mention

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