Blood Ties to Heaven (closed for The Jeffinator, me & invited guests)

Morgan Heathers
Age: 21
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Just graduated early with a Master's in Psychology. She is new to Miami, there for several job interviews but feeling ill lately. She has not been able to spend more than ten minutes in the sun any time of day for a week. Bed ridden with a fever and chills, a growing nausea and sensitivity to light, sound, and really anything... she is wondering if she'll ever make it out to start her new life in a new city. The boxes in her apartment have not even been unpacked. Her fridge sits nearly empty except for last week's take-out leftovers since she's been existing the past four days on nothing but cornflakes and milk bought from the little mini-mart downstairs.

Morgan cannot stomach anything more yet she feels like she's starving. The telephone ringing at four o clock in the morning when she still hadn't had time to give out her new number startled her awake.

A gruff voice at the other end when she answered said simply, "Morgan, right?"

"Who is this?" she asked.

"I'm coming over. Someone needs to explain why you feel so badly lately." then with an abrupt click the phone call ended. She'd never learned who the caller was, how he knew her number or who she was, or that she'd been ill.

She spent the next hour alternating between searching her tiny apartment for hidden cameras and throwing up cornflakes into the toilet.

Daniel Shepard (goes by just Shepard, has also been known as Azarius)
Age: 309
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Shepard was a Fallen Angel. He had never seen Heaven, and was born centuries after the Fall, but the notion that he was descended from blood disgraced by his ancestors was made clear from the start. Being born into a community of Fallen who used their powers for criminal activities, he was witness to countless conflicts between the community members, until one night the situation descended into total chaos, and nearly everyone died -- expect for Shepard. He was rescued by another Fallen named Warren who was passing through the area.

Warren was a new recruit for the Order of the White Cross, an Associate Guardian. He had only been a member for a few months, and was on his way back to the Council after a recent training mission. Withing nothing left at the destroyed village, Shepard agreed to accompany Warren and become a Guardian as well.

Flash forward a hundred years, and Shepard and Warren are both promoted to full Guardians. Go even further to the start of World War II, and the two find themselves against a group of Wraths, Fallen who have embraced their inner demons. These Wraths were the muses in the minds behind the war, and their leader, Malorn, became the duo's greatest nemesis, even after the war was over.

In the end, Warren was killed by Malorn, who then vanished once more before Shepard could catch him. The pain of losing his best friend and brother, paired with the shame of failing to capture Malorn once more sent Shepard into a downward spiral of depression, drugs, and alcohol. He was eventually expelled from the Order and ended up in Las Vegas.

As Shepard gambled away the money he got through drug dealing in a local casino, he contemplated the last few years he had spent there in Vegas. He was constantly drinking and shooting heroin, but that was mainly due to the fact that his accelerated healing factor made it extremely difficult to stay drunk or high for long.

"Don't you think you've had enough?" said a voice behind Shepard as he sat at the blackjack table and downed another shot of whiskey. Two men dressed in suits sat down on either side of them, one of them having uttered the sentence.

"Fuck off," grumbled Shepard as he motioned for another drink. His hair was unkempt and he hadn't shaven in days. He wore old jeans and a leather jacket, and looked like a bum, but he constantly had thousands on him, so the casinos left him alone.

"Now now, Azarius, is that anyway to speak to a superior?" said one of the men. Shepard raised an eyebrow.

"Name's Shepard now. Surely the Council has better things to do than watch me drown my sorrows." he said without looking up. "Why are you here?"

"I'll get to the point then, Azarius," said the leader of the two men. "There's a girl named Morgan Heathers who just happens to be a hybrid. She has just started to come into her powers. We want you to go to Miami and watch over her. Mentor her."

Shepard scoffed. "Surely you can find some other sap to babysit some little girl."

"Yes, we can. But we are offering it to you. This is your chance for redemption, to get back in good graces with the Council."

"Not interested," said Shepard as he got up from the table and downed the new drink he was brought. As he walked away, the man spoke again.

"She's Warren's daughter, Azarius." Shepard stopped in his tracks, but did not turn around. "He impregnated a human woman, and only found out about it shortly after he died. We have been watching her ever since."

Shepard paused for a long moment, and then turned slightly. "Are you certain?"

"Completely," replied the man. "As the best friend of Warren, you are the closest thing she has to a father. You are honor-bound to help."

Shepard let out a short sigh, then replied. "I'll be in Miami by tomorrow." The men walked over and handed him a paper with her information, then left the casino.

The next day, Shepard had his things packed, waited for dark, summoned his wings, and took flight, heading towards Florida. When he landed, he checked into a hotel and then called Morgan. "Morgan, right?"

"Who is this?" she asked.

"I'm coming over. Someone needs to explain why you feel so badly lately," he replied, then hung up. After taking a minute to shave and shower, grab a bite to eat and secretly sip a drunk-and-passed-out bum, Shepard headed over to Morgan's and rang the bell.

(Sorry it took me so long, had trouble finding a good image for him)

The doorbell rang and Morgan picked up the nearest thing she could find, a rolled up newspaper. She scoffed at herself, "It's not some naughty puppy." she berated herself, fighting back another wave of nausea as the doorbell rang again.

"It's the middle of the night. I don't know why you're here but you need to get the hell out of here before I call the cops!" Morgan called through the door.

The sound of jaded laughter was the response she heard. But, the person who waited had not gone away.

Morgan was standing on the other side of the door fighting her uncertainty. She held a baseball bat in her hands and wondered if she would be fast enough to club anyone over the head with it. Doubting herself, she wondered if it mattered anymore given how sick she felt anyway. She was all alone and knew nobody in this city. Even where she was from she hardly had any good friends she could count on and her 'family' was not the type to be fawning over a sick adult. She was basically on her own, had been from the age of 16 and usually she liked it that way, less complicated...But, being ill and all, she felt differently today. She might as well let the burglar/rapist/axe murderer in and face the music. At the very least it's someone who could be there to witness her wasting away from a diet of nothing but cornflakes or witness her suddenly odd reactions to sunlight, sound, odors...

"Why can't you just tell me what you want to tell me through the door?" Morgan asked but heard a grumble from the other side of the door. This person seemed annoyed with her for her hesitancy. "What do you expect? No self respecting woman would open the door to strangers at 5 am!" she said defensively.

He remained waiting. It seemed like forever. As she looked through the peephole she could see the back of a tall man with big brown eyes, olive complected, with long hair swept back from his freshly shaven face. In another circumstance she might even think him handsome but suprising her in the middle of the night when sure she was deathly ill wasn't making too positive an impression upon Morgan now. He was smoking a cigarette and looking quite put out, almost nervous. What about her made him nervous? He was unarmed as far as she could tell. Morgan began to wonder if he perhaps wasn't a robber or rapist after all. What sort of criminal waited to be let inside like this?

Morgan stood by the latch and warned, ''I'm dying, you know. I don't know what I have but it feels really bad. I don't think I'll make it to lunchtime at this rate. I'm not a chance you want to take, buddy." she said, hoping her hopelessness sounded dangerous to this stranger.

With a sigh she opened the door slowly, looking the person over. Maybe the newspaper had been the right idea. He had something in his eyes as he took in the sight of her that did remind her of a lost puppy. Someone who'd once had lofty goals and intentions and was now not sure if he was more disappointed in the world or in himself for both conspiring against him. Then again, she knew from her studies the best sociopaths came off as trustworthy to their victims...
...She started to close it again with an excuse ready on her lips but he pushed it open with an ease she found disconcerting (He was way faster and stronger than he looked!) and forced his way inside and past her before slamming it shut with a soft apology.
Politeness? How could he be polite while breaking into her apartment?

She automatically backed away from him. Standing in her kitchen area in her pajama bottoms and a baby T, wielding a baseball bat weakly Morgan felt more than stupid facing this stranger but she didn't know how else to react to his menacing presence. "What do you want?" she asked in a small voice. "And, how do you know my name?"

Shepard grew impatient as he waited for Morgan to open the door. She was scared, which was understandable, but he didn't even want to be there in the first place, and wanted to get the show on the road. Curse my good consciense... I could walk away right now... he thought to himself as he pulled out a pack of Marbs and lit a cigarette. The feeling of the smoke in his lungs relaxed him a bit, but he was still annoyed.

When he finished his smoke, he stomped it out and turned around. Suddenly, the door opened a crack, and in one fluid motion, he slipped inside and slammed it shut, a little harder that he had anticipated. "Sorry," he uttered, overcome with the sudden vision of beauty before him. Her skin had a delicious pink touch to it, silky locks of dark red hair, and dark green eyes with bronze specks that seemed to show remarkable depth to her soul. Even her pajama bottoms looked fabulous on her. He was instantly smitten.

Shepard struggled to find his voice, still enveloped in Morgan's aura of beauty. "Don't be afraid," he finally managed to choke out. "I-I am not going to hurt you." She seemed terrified of him, but at the same time, extremely curious as to why he was there.

"What do you want?" she asked in a small voice. "And, how do you know my name?"

"I'm an old friend of your father's." he replied, trying to keep his sudden arousal hidden, trying not to stare at her like he wanted to rip her clothes off and have his way with her. Because he did. Oh boy did he. "I'm here to help you... adapt to the changes happening to you."

She obviously still didn't trust him, which he could not blame her for. Okay, how can I get her to trust me? I could show her my powers, help her see what she is, take her clothes off, lick every inch of that lovely -- NO! Keep your mind clean, man! She's your best friend's daughter! Okay, clean thoughts, clean thoughts... Hey, I bet she would look awesome in the shower, all clean and wet and slippery and -- DAMMIT!

"Listen," Shepard said after a minute, "I know you don't trust me, but if you want to get over the illness you've been feeling, to feel alive and healthy again, you've got to. You've got to put your fears aside and trust me. I'm sure you have questions. I'll answer them as best as I can."

Morgan shook her head and reached behind her to scratch at the annoying, itchy rash forming near her shoulder-blades. "I don't know my father. He...you could have Googled me to know I was an orphan. I don't have any money if you were hoping to scam..." she began, but she couldn't hold it back any longer.... She ran past the stranger to her bathroom to throw up once more. She couldn't believe she could even have anything left in her stomach to vomit.

At this point she was sure it was pointless. "I'll...never...feel...better." Morgan panted against the toilet bowl before weakly moving to flush and pulling herself up using the sink for support, her toothbrush was already out from the last time. She began to brush her teeth, tongue, mouth, vigorously with trembling hands.

He stood in the bathroom doorway watching her in an unnerving way as she brushed and gargled. She looked up at him through the bathroom mirror and for a moment she thought she saw a shadow behind him, a shadow that looked like...."No way!" Morgan whispered to herself. For a second she thought she'd seen the shadowy shape of wings folding behind him. Morgan laughed at her own crazy thoughts and knew she sounded hysterical. She was white knuckle gripping the sink-top to keep from falling. "Wings! Great, now I'm fucking hallucinating!" she complained.

It took most of the strength she had left to turn and face the stranger on her wobbly legs. She said as calmly as she could muster, "If you want to help me you'll bring me to the hospital. " But, before she could put one foot in front of the other to step toward him she felt the world spin and her whole body fell crashing to the floor hard enough to make her black out.

Morgan awoke to find she was lying someplace softer than the bathroom floor, wrapped in the arms (and wings? really? wings?) of the man who'd watched her retch her guts out. He looked sad, very sad, and a little worried. Her olive green eyes explored his face and she couldn't help but feel the same sadness wash over her. A tear fell upon her cheek and she reached up to touch his face, "What are you?" she managed to whisper weakly. Her throat felt parched. She was so hungry, so thirsty...She felt thirstier every time she touched his skin, smelled his scent....Yes, she could smell him in a way which was different from the rotting scent some of the people outside had smelled like to her days before when she was downstairs shopping. He smelled like something delicious, like her built up childhood image of the afternoon wafting of Thanksgiving dinner coming from a traditonal family's kitchen, a family she never knew, a happiness she'd never known...It made her hunger, made her thirst... "Thirsty..."Morgan rasped as her eyes began to close, opening a few minutes later to stare up into his face some more. She wished she knew what she needed. She felt like she would die in this man's arms before too long.

Shepard looked at the poor girl as he materialized his wings and pulled her into them. How could she look so vulnerable, yet so beautiful at the same time? He almost felt guilty being attracted to her, even in this state. He knew what she needed, but would she be scared? Would instinct take over? He didn't know, but he had to do something. He looked into her eyes as she opened them.

"Thirsty..." Morgan rasped as her eyes began to close, opening a few minutes later to stare up into his face some more. He couldn't delay any longer. He had to do it now.

"I'm going to help you feel better. But you've got to trust me. Can you do that?" he asked in a husky voice. She nodded slowly. He knew she wouldn't drink from his neck or arm right away, so he improvised -- biting down on his bottom lip hard, he drew blood, and then pulled her into a deep kiss, hoping the taste of his blood on her tongue would start her off, and then she'd be more willing to take some blood from a better source, such as his wrist or neck.

Morgan was shocked that the stranger came at her with his mouth bleeding, even more so that the scent of his blood was deliciously arousing to her body. She couldn't stop her head from rising toward him and felt her mouth, parched, aching for contact with him...Her gums ached too, and she tasted her own blood in her mouth...Then, she realized as her tongue thrust past her teeth and were cut by the sharp points of her incisors, that they'd elongated and sharpened as she inhaled the winged man's blood's heady scent.

Her mouth had made contact with his and she took his slippery, bleeding bottom lip between her teeth, sucking at first tentatively but then her hunger and need took over, making her grab hold of his shoulders, fiercely suckling at the blood she needed and craved so much it scared her....

...He thrust his tongue into her mouth and she kissed him, the taste of his blood now mixed with his own taste before she felt bold enough to bite down on his tongue, sucking more of his blood from there too. In just a few minutes of this activity Morgan was already feeling stronger, healthier than before, more alert and aware of everything around her than she could ever have dreamed. This was amazing!

Pulling away, she looked up into his face, wide eyed, "What am I doing?!" she asked, even as she was repulsed by her activity her eyes were searching any bit of his exposed flesh for a new place to puncture and feed off of him. "I'm...a monster!" she exclaimed, tears springing to her eyes because she knew she needed the blood and yet was truly horrified at herself for this.

ooc: echo...echo...echo...echo...