🌠 ALL ALONE WITH FLESH & BONE. ⁽ ᵃᵖ ⁾

calvin has been moved to a monster multi!

calvin has been moved to a monster multi!

         It’s working. Albeit, slowly. But Seth is glad he hasn’t made a complete ass of himself. They seem grateful and that’s enough for him. He needs only a tiny reassurance to continue on the path he’s set. He can’t imagine what it’s like to feed on the dead. He’s thought about unconventional appetites. How Richie and Kisa eat, or sucking people dry. It can’t be easy, the first time. He can’t shake the sight of Richie digging into the man on the parking garage roof. How he couldn’t stop, not even with Seth yelling at him. So, it can’t be all that different for them. The hunger, the need. Not being able to stop and it has to be embarrassing. To not be considered normal. But Seth has no fucking idea what normal is anymore.

        “Sustenance, sure. But can you enjoy it? It’s just a little different than my sustenance, but not wrong.” He’s trying. Not grasping at straws, speaking from the heart for them. “French fries? Do you like curly, shoestring, seasoned? What’s your poison?” The rumble in his stomach is almost audible; he hopes it isn’t. There’s no way he should have an appetite, but it’s there. 

        Not wrong. It’s just their diet. It’s just what they need to survive, they know, but it’s never felt right because they’ve always lived among humans, have grown fond of them, have built relationships with them. That they had to feed on their corpses, in turn, is haunting, leaves them-- disgusted with what they are. It’s worse when they try to prolong their feedings because of their inner turmoil, which leads to a loss of control, and suddenly there’s blood on their hands.

        That thought makes that small smile waver for a moment, but it broadens when they hear his stomach; they’re sure they would’ve picked it up without their acute hearing.

At first, she thinks it’s Cassidy, but she saw the lanky vampire right before she left for a brisk night walk to Annville’s hanging tree. As far as she knew, there’s no goddamn way he could’ve been mortally wounded so quickly. No, this was something entirely different. Tulip figures she’s becoming a goddamn expert with the supernatural, isn’t she? 

But as she comes closer to the form, out of her own stupid curiosity, she realizes this isn’t a vampire, it’s something entirely different, something that makes her bloody go cold for a few moments. 

She’s stupid, though, always been, so she speaks up. “There’s a well close by you could drop that body in. Doubt you’d want a bunch of rednecks with pitchforks and torches hunting you down. You some kind of vampire?”

        The footfalls have them jerking abruptly, scenting the air. For as vicious a creature as they might seem, they’re not at all confrontational; a ghoul is generally a scavenger, but in their hunger they become ravenous, which leads to---- this. The familiarity of the scent clicks, attention turning toward her, and suddenly, the ghoul isn’t just a ghoul, but it’s Calvin again.

        They recognize her and it snaps them back into awareness, a few steps taken backward. It dawns on them, however, that what she’s seeing clearly isn’t out of the ordinary for her. If she’s scared, Calvin can’t discern it.

         Muzzle parting, a rumble rises in some halfhearted attempt to speak, but they can’t communicate this way. That, in itself, strikes them, grounds how inhuman they really are. Calvin decides to shift.

        Settling on all fours, the first thing that can be heard is wet sound of internal organs rearranging themselves, and with an arch of their back and a stretch of a hind leg, a hock snapping can be heard, next. It’s quick, painful, and they’re emitted sounds that are a mixture of growls and very human moans all throughout until they’re dazed, in their human shape, blood all the more visible on peach skin.

@corpsefed

            ‘  mama  said  she  met  ya  the  other  day  -––  poor ,  poor  thing.   ‘     was  there  slight  jealously  lingering  in  his  being  ??   kind  of.    more  along  the  lines  of  annoyance  if  anything.   she  just  couldn’t  find her  own  prey  ,  could  she  ??     ‘  don’t  tell  me  she  tried  to  jump  ya  ass.   ‘

                                                                     @corpsefed​​   /   liked.

though it finds the mortal world quite SLOW,          there is still a peculiar   ROMANCE   attached to cemeteries, it decides,       swaying wordlessly behind the wide,   dark trunk of a gnarled tree.               as far as it can see,     &      as far as it can feel,       there is only    ONE   other being       –      only one other LIVING being,     anyway    –      that steps carefully among tombstones,     and the violator watches them,     watches their movements through the cold, midnight fog.               it cautiously approaches the figure,        a feet or perhaps two behind them,        EXAMINING them.               ‘      what are you         –         what are you doing    ?     ’

        the scent is----... is just is. it’s not human, it’s not animal, it’s not prompting wariness or exciting them, but it’s heavily distracting and they only reason why they don’t attempt to investigate is because their stomach rumbles and it feels very much like their true nature might claw its way up their throat and out of their mouth, might prompt them to double over and lose that wavering grip on their humanity. preoccupied with that alone, footfalls don’t reach their ears, but a voice has them freezing and it’s surprising that their neck doesn’t snap with the sheer force with which they jerk their head in its direction.

        Seth can tell they aren’t okay. And it bothers him in a way he hasn’t felt in years. It’s not like they can help it. If they could, they wouldn’t be chowing down on a dead body. Seth wasn’t lying when he said he had seen some sick shit. This entire scenario was up there, but he wasn’t about to make them feel bad. At least they weren’t a snake. 

        “How does this fuck measure up?” He tries to keep his tone light. It’s a gift of his to make anything a joke, but that’s not entirely his intention here. He can see how hard it is for them and he’s giving them an out. “You should see me go to town on some fried chicken. That is much worse. It’s a crime scene, honestly.” He shrugs and hopes he’s helping, or at the very least not making things worse. They look almost ready to pass out or cry and he knows he’s not qualified to handle either. 

        There isn’t a day that goes by that they don’t wish for humanity, but it’s particularly trying when they’re reminded of what they are by their hunger. It’s why they try to gorge themselves when it comes time to feed; the longer they have something in their belly, the longer it’ll be before they have to eat again. Then there are times where they’ve waited too long, where the last thread that holds together their semblance of self control frays, falls apart. Where they’ve attacked and killed and eaten, and they wake up naked and coated in dry, flaking blood.

        The change in attitude toward the situation does help, even if it doesn’t seem to right away. Their gaze lifts, settles against the man’s own for a moment, and brows draw together at the lighthearted remark. That’s when they realize what he’s doing, and though the smile on their lips is halfhearted, rueful, it’s no less grateful for the attempt to lighten the mood.

          “Humans can be quite vile. Your only crime is against those who have already passed on. Many can’t feel it anymore, and you’ll learn how to only take those who are gone or deserve it,” Leon reassures, tucking strands of damp hair behind Calvin’s ear. He leans closer, a lack of respect for personal space is something intrinsic to his personality. It shows in how he presses in, how he gently touches, how he breathes in the smell of hotel soap on their skin. 

          “No creature is perfect, You were created in the image of perfection. Closer than any human can hope to be, yet you still long for that flawed simplicity. That makes you all the more spectacularly beautiful. Perhaps you’ve never seen yourself that way, but my eyes are better attuned to do so than yours,” he smiles softly, sliding an arm around their shoulders. 

          “If you wish to be called human, then we’ll find a way to make it so. There is no ailment that magic can’t cure,” he chuckles softly, “Though, I quite like you the way you are, Calvin. In all your brilliance and fear. You are good. You’re more than good…”

          He nudges his knuckle against Calvin’s jaw, turning them to face him properly, to look him in the eyes. 

          “Your heart is good. That makes you, by all standards, great.”

          A returned pause, an incline of his head, their foreheads brush together.

          “I am glad to hear that you favor my company. It has been a very long time since someone has done so.”

        An arm winds around their shoulders, and they just-- lean closer. They let themselves go pliant, if only slightly, against Leon, until the very moment a tender knuckle guides them to meet his gaze, and they do. They hold it and they listen, and something feels heavy in their chest.

        Touch like this doesn’t come often. They don’t let it. Having it now makes them feel starved of it, their head canting toward his hand for as long as it’s there, and when his forehead comes to rest against their own their eyes drift to a close, and they breathe.

        Leon’s scent isn’t a human scent. There’s something superficial, and then something underlying that, and all Calvin can think to attribute it to is his magic, his abilities, everything that makes him beyond a mere man and instead makes him something magnificent and powerful. For a passing moment, they wonder if other witches bear the same scent, but it’s only a brief thought that they shrug off because they don’t think any other witch’s scent would bring forth the same comfort, the same familiarity as Leon’s does.

        When they open their eyes again, they’re searching, reading in silence, and when they tilt their head it’s close enough for their breaths to mingle, a twitch of something fond at their lips. Something affectionate.

         ❝ ...I don’t see why, ❞ it’s hushed, like they don’t want to disturb this atmosphere, and there isn’t any hesitation in how they initiate touch, a hand searching for one of Leon’s own. Fingertips brush over the back of it, almost experimental, before they settle their palm on top.

        ----Silence. It lasts and it isn’t comfortable, but it’s a question that strikes them to their very core because they know the answer immediately. Yes, it’s a resounding yes. It depends on what they’ve eaten, what’s in the body, what’s been absorbed by the muscles. Depends on if they’re eating someone who’s been dead for days or months or years versus it being someone they’ve killed seconds ago.

        --------their eating is rushed, ceaseless, and they’re not pacing themselves. it’s audible, the way they’re swallowing large portions of flesh, and nearly every time jaws part there’s this prolonged rumbling that lifts from the back of their throat, hoarse and lasting while long claws snap a rip off to bring it up to eat that, as well. nothing is wasted; every part of a human being is edible, a treat in its own way, but when they shift and remember what they’ve done the weight of it might leave them winded.