frostbitten.

The somber expression making an appearance on Jack’s face disconcerted Kaito, almost prompting him to shift nearer to the other and offer some comfort, but self-preservation had him holding back. The Wendigo had eaten—probably cleared out his freezer section too—that was without a shadow of a doubt, but that didn’t mean he was full. From the Alpha’s experience with his kind, it was impossible for them to sate their hunger. The lifestyle sounded like a version of hell Kaito was glad he didn’t have to endure—even just peckishness drove him insane until he finally managed to eat, he couldn’t imagine how intolerable Jack’s constant starvation was. “I’m sure when I’m in wolf form I’d be incredibly unattractive to you,” he reasoned, a small pause following his comment before a sharp bark of laughter rent the air and Kaito met the others eyes, a mischievous glint in his own. “Not that you find me attractive now. I wasn’t suggesting that. Just saying… you know, when we’re in our other form, we’re not appealing to other species. Or sometimes even our own. I once had a wolf tell me I was an ugly wolf. I’m not gonna lie, I was seriously offended. He said I was okay looking like this, but not as a wolf. I wanted to rip his throat out.” A derisive snort left his lips with the unsavory memory and Kaito curled his fingers around the cool bottle on the counter top, pulling it closer to his chest—if only for something to do with his hands other than balling them into fists. Some people were simply devoid of tact. “Have you since tried again to rediscover that part of yourself? You might be better able to handle it all now that you’re older. It kinda sounds like you weren’t given much of a chance… or even the right tools in your youth. Aren’t you supposed to have a lot of help with it growing up? To say you just weren’t good with magic sounds like you didn’t have the right tutelage.” It was only a theory, but one he strongly suspected to be true. If his own father had failed to teach him how to become the best Alpha possible, he might have turned out just like his brother and that would’ve been devastating for his pack—maybe even Bright Haven too. The comment about demons garnered Kaito’s attention, surprising a laugh from his throat as his elbow shot out to connect with the other man’s. “Shit, can’t say I disagree with you, but what did they do to you that made you dislike them so?” Snickering, the Alpha shook his head, wholeheartedly amused by Jack’s remark before his own response fell from his lips with a groan. “Vampires. I hate them.”

A tiny smile poked through his otherwise ( and badly hidden ) miserable expression, if only for a moment. “Probably,” he admitted, forcing a light laugh through his teeth; “but I’d still think wolves are better looking than I am. At least someone can find you graceful, or majestic... or something like that.” Part of him felt uncomfortable for being so negative, especially when it was clear that Kaito was trying to reassure him, and he quickly made to change his attitude. “But I appreciate the thought,” he said quickly, making sure his smile didn’t vanish completely. “You’re right that other species aren’t exactly... well, good looking to each other.” Personally, he found most demons to be downright repulsive, as hypocritical as he felt that was, and it wouldn’t have surprised him in the least if other supernaturals felt the same. Even so, it didn’t tend to help his confidence... as far as ugly went, he probably took the crown. He’d accepted that. “Really? What does an ugly wolf even look like?” he asked, another laugh escaping him. It was almost a surprise to hear that another werewolf was daring enough to insult an alpha—maybe it’d been before he’d taken the title? Either way, Kaito seemed like he could be intimidating... but not ugly. Then again, since wolves weren’t attractive or unattractive to him, what did he know?

Jack drew in a breath, a regretful glint in his eyes. “I... can’t, actually,” he admitted slowly, a sigh escaping him. “I’m not a warlock anymore, see... so I don’t have any ability to do magic. I lost it when I transformed.” It was one of the unfortunate prices of any wix that was changed—even the most powerful of them were forced to feel their magic ripped away from them forever. Not that he’d had much to feel to begin with. “Even if I could, well... it wasn’t that I didn’t have the right teachers. They tried everything to help me,” he continued, forcing the resentment bubbling up inside of him to remain unseen—he wasn’t going to share too much with anyone, let alone a stranger; “but nothing worked. I just was born with a lot less than usual, I guess.” He shrugged, giving off the impression that he’d gotten over the whole thing. He hadn’t. It was far more than slightly disappointing, no matter how casual he kept his appearance. It’d destroyed him. Cracking another ( slightly forced ) smile, he shook his head. “Nothing in particular. They’re just...” He trailed off, shuddering. “Have you ever actually seen one when they don’t look human? I hate to be a hypocrite, but they’re hideous.” Not that he’d ever actually admit that to their faces; demons were known to be vengeful for a reason. “Why vampires?”

Quincy wanted to burst into tears, he wanted to wrap his hands around Jack’s twig like neck and break it, he wanted to rip everything apart. He was annoyed, he felt used, and he was tired of all the arguing. “Fucking hell, there’s no skill in the way the Seeker’s army hunts. It’s all disorder because even though you guys hunt in your supposed ‘packs,’ none of you can work together. You’re all heartless and selfish bastards who couldn’t give a damn about anything you do.” The vampire had seen just how disorderly the Seekers could be, and his standpoint would never change on the fact that Seekers were nothing but ruthless animals. “You disgusting animals,” Quincy mutters, his eyes low and blood still leaking from his tightened grip.

“You just said that Seekers found this whole mess to be a game. And now you tell me that Soulmerians should feel bad for you, that you felt pain too, and loss? I can’t believe that. I will never believe that Seekers can feel the same loss as Soulmerians. At least you have a home, even if it’s with the Eye. You make me sick, you bastard,” Quincy screams out the last part, which eliciting the eyes and the whispers of some passerbys. A vein pulses in his temple, tears threatening at the edge of his ducts. He wants to kill Jackson with his own hand, watch him suffer a fate worse than death even. “Then why do you do it? To most Soulmerians it seems you had no purpose other than your own survival and gratification. Are you happy with all the destruction that has left behind?” Quincy’s eye twitches in anger, his breath heavy and quick, “Why the fuck do you feel the need to keep hunting Seekers? What’s your reason, wendigo?” Quincy releases his fist, his anger isn’t in control as it was earlier.

“I’m not a monster like you,” Quincy is short now, hurrying along to get through the time spent with Jack. Each minute is agony.

“I have control, I’m not denying what I am because I know that I still have to drink blood in one form or another. I’m just refusing to become a monster, I’m refusing to allow the stereotypes of being a killer apply to me,” Quincy’s eyes roll. He knows that the words are lies. He is a monster, or at least he was at one point in time. Just like every Seeker and every Soulmerian. “You’re just a dog on the leash of the Eye, waiting to be fed by your owner. Oh, I know wendigos, and I know just how self-serving each one of them is. You’re no different, asshole.” Quincy tightens his gaze on the wendigo, worried that anything might happen between them at this point, “So, what is your story? Why are you any different? Are you telling me you didn’t eat someone to become what you are? As I remember it, weren’t you just some wix at one point in time?”

“I know that all Seekers are incapable of loving another because that’s what every single one I’ve met has showed me,” Quincy hisses, his lips forming a dreary frown. “Fuck you, you’re not even worth the fight.”

“Oh, werewolves shed. I wouldn’t let one on the couch, that’s for sure. But a wendigo I could take anywhere,” he smirks, some confidence left in his voice. “I specifically do hate you, though… You’re annoying.”

It was clear that in spite of his cowardly stint in avoiding most of the war that Quincy had run into seekers before... although he suspected that it’d either been very, very recent or more when the war had first begun. In the beginning, the same tactics hadn’t been needed and an organized war effort was laughable—it wasn’t until the Soulmerians realized what had happened and that they needed to fight back that they’d been forced to undergo more proper combat training. After that, their enemies had been almost completely eradicated in but a few years, and their side of the war the clear victor. Unfortunately, in recent times their old training wasn’t of the same use it’d been in all out battle, and the sneaking around they had to do cut down on their organization significantly. It wouldn’t have surprised him at all to know that any remaining seeker packs were less adept than they once were, although he still didn’t believe the Soulmerians could survive.

“I’m not here to argue about battle tactics,” he snapped, a growl in his tone. “If you want to pretend that we’re all disorganized freaks, that’s fine by me. It’ll get you killed faster.” He wanted to kill Quincy himself, even, but the unfortunate fact of the matter is that he couldn’t. Committing murder, out in broad daylight, in public, wasn’t a smart decision... even if the urge to wring his neck made it seem much, much more tempting. Jack hoped he’d get the chance later on, when humans and their ridiculous laws weren’t stifling him. “I didn’t say anything about you feeling bad for me,” he snarled through his teeth; “I wouldn’t want your pity, anyway. But it’s typical of you to pretend like you’re the only ones who’ve ever suffered in life.” He shook his head, trying to shove back some of his rage—he couldn’t afford to get too testy here. There were too many people around, too many witnesses that could get caught in the crossfire. Not to mention the fact that he’d be tortured extensively for revealing their kind. “It is about survival,” he answered, a harsh laugh escaping him. “That’s all it’s ever been for me, but if you think I’m going to give you any details, you’re wrong, Quincy. I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Jack wasn’t exactly convinced that there wouldn’t be some way to use that information against him. If he kept it simple... at least nobody on the opposite side of the war could try to manipulate him with it. “All you have to know is that I have a reason, and it’s good enough for me.” That wasn’t strictly true anymore, but god, Quincy was stirring up such a rage in him that it might as well have been! “You really believe that?” he asked, a sneer curling his lip. “You really think you’re not a monster? A predator? How can you be so delusional?” Coming from a vampire, one of the more violent-minded species, it was hard to understand... but he supposed every community of supernaturals had their accidents. “You don’t know anything about wendigos if that’s all you think of them,” he snapped, grinding his teeth together. God, it was so hard not to reach out and knock the vampire’s head from his shoulders, but by come miracle, he kept himself in control. “And I definitely don’t have to tell you anything about how I became one. It doesn’t make any difference, anyway.” He visibly bristled when Quincy mentioned his former species—not that he really qualified to be called a warlock—and it took every ounce of self control he possessed not to start shouting at him right then and there.

“Sounds like you’ve just got your head too far up your ass. It’s funny how every Soulmerian likes to pretend that we’re all just horrible monsters. Does dehumanization help you fight us?” It was the way of war; one enemy devalued the lives of another. Seekers saw the Soulmerians as nothing more than something to be eradicated, an unnecessary half of their population. Soulmerians saw seekers are vicious, unfeeling drones—little more than war machines. It was almost necessary to keep the war alive. “If I’m not worth the fight, why are you even bothering? Or is this you trying to convince yourself that you’re not still a coward?” He wanted Quincy to fight him. He wanted an excuse to rip him to shreds. “The feeling’s mutual.”

A mantra resonated inside his mind with each tender brush of his lips across the rapidly fluttering pulse point beneath the plush tiers: ‘this will all end in tears.’ He could practically feel the surety in the claim, infiltrate his bones and knew it was more like an assurance than a possibility, but absolutely nothing would tear him away from Jack in that moment. Not even the knowledge that he’d be heartbroken again sooner, rather than later. He couldn’t live his life waiting for things to go South, it was time to reach for something more, to try and grasp onto even a slither of happiness; pessimism be damned. Not that he deserved the euphoria his former lover offered, but he craved it all the same. If it meant he would get to spend even just a few years with Jack, then he was willing to take all the risks that came his way. Their inevitable breakup would be more likely to kill him than a stake to the chest and that was a chance he was willing to take. His life wouldn’t be worth living anyway if he let this opportunity pass him by without so much an attempt to recapture what they’d once shared.

Jack was always a lifeline in muddy waters, a strong persistent, presence on the shoreline prepared to wade in at the first sign of a struggle and save Sabre’s life. It had always been that way until the eventual breakdown of their relationship, and even after things fell apart, the vampire still hoped to see him there sometimes, waiting in the wings to swoop down and rescue him whenever he needed saving. But once Jack was gone, Sabre could feel the palpable sense of loss and hopelessness, prevailing in his life until he finally managed to pull himself together. The loss forced him to reevaluate everything and a terrifying understanding dawned; he couldn’t remember how things had been before Jack came along. It all seemed like such a blur. The murder, the mayhem, violence and coldness right down to the depth of his soul. He was a changed man, everything had become much lighter and easier to take. The red cloud of anger prominent his entire existence dissipated enough for him to let Jack inside and accept that he had the ability to feel things so alien to him before.

Keep reading

In the back of his mind, a voice felt it necessary to remind him that things wouldn’t last. It’d only been a few short hours that they’d been reunited, and even in the case that they weren’t caught up in some strange, nostalgia-ridden fog, it was foolish to assume that things could last any longer than they had the first time. After all, what were the real differences between this night and the night they’d met? Aside from the fact that they had met before and weren’t currently in the throes of a bloody part of the war, little differed. They’d been enamored from the moment their eyes met, and trusting feelings instead of the not-so-hidden truth had been a large part of their inevitable downfall. The past dictated that two people with their natures couldn’t last without one of them eventually burning the bridges they’d fought so hard to build, and if there was anything to be learned from history it was that it loved to repeat itself. How could anyone in their right mind claim that this time would be any different? Sure, they had both promised that they wouldn’t make the same mistakes, but promises were only as tightly bound as their resolve.

When it came to Jack, that was not entirely difficult to break. His resolve to win the war, to dedicate himself to The Eye and its cause, had withered and died over the years, and it was a risk to assume his devotion to Sabre would be any different. Despite the obvious spark between them, not everything people found themselves drawn to held good intentions—whether realized or otherwise. The simple fact of the matter was that disaster was written perfectly across their situation, just as cleanly as the first time their eyes had met. An hour or two rediscovering what they’d once felt for one another didn’t change that feelings were all too easily manipulated, and all too easily changed. It was one of the unfortunate parts of relying on emotions; they were completely and totally impermanent. The unmistakable feelings of love between them tonight could quickly become the fuel for the fires of hatred in the morning, should the circumstances change—neither of them were terribly eager to acknowledge that fact. It was one of the reasons that it was so easy to predict that it could happen... after all, so many met their destinies on the road taken to avoid it, and refusing to acknowledge reality didn’t change that it existed.

“If you’re messy you’re more likely to mess up,” Quincy jeers, his fists clenching into a tighter fist. Control, control, control, he repeats the mantra in his mind, you’re not one of them, you’re stronger, more in control. “The skills of a Seeker are limited to being conceited, relying on others for their own survival, and making horribly messy hunts and kills.” For the time that he’d spent in Soulmeria with the eye rising to power, Quincy had seen just how horribly Seekers killed. They fought without formation or swift moves. They were rugged and rough and killed like they were beating a rat to death with a baseball bat. It wasn’t a pretty sight and it definitely wasn’t quite a skillful kill. Quincy thought that his skills in fighting were seemingly much more organized. He wouldn’t rush at his opponent without learning a bit of their weaknesses and strengths first. That’s why, when he did kill the occasional Seeker, he stalked behind them or started the fight in a quiet area. Quincy was less prone to a messy kill, unlike the average seeker.

Quincy’s fist squeezed tighter, his knuckles turning a brighter white than his pale, dead skin already was. He needed to take a deep breath before things got out of hand for him. He’d forgotten how much this specific Seeker could piss him off. They were a lot a like in plenty of respects, but they also knew how to hit one another’s nerves. Quincy could feel his throat becoming dry and his voice straining, “Ragtag group of refugees? Do you think you have the right to talk to us like that when it’s your army of murderers, criminals, insane, self-concerned that put us in the position of refugees in the first place. Try it out for a day. See how you like living in fear and pain and anger whenever the word ‘Seeker’ is even spoken. See how you feel when the one person you love, or if that’s even possible for you - I don’t know if you even could love anyone but yourself, being taken away from your arms and devoured right in front of you. And the worst part of it is, you’re probably going to be killed and eaten next, so you can feel a pounding in your chest of the fear knowing just how ruthless and heartless the Seekers can be. I hope you realize just the amount of damage the Seekers, that you, have caused this world. You fucking asshole.” His scoff is a little too loud, a little too winded, “I could drink from humans, or supernaturals, or anything I please. Like I said, I have self-control, which I’m exercising especially hard right about now…” Quincy refused to give himself the monstrous personality that went along with the title vampire. It was cruel and unjustified to just go around killing whoever you pleased, and that was another little voice that echoed in the back of his head.

Quincy’s eyebrow lifts slightly again, his smirk turning up, and his tone arid, “Are you sure about that? If anyone were to be caught by humans, it would probably be the large, skeletal, cannibalistic, and ravenous creatures. At least I somewhat blend in.” It was nice to blend in with humankind more than other creatures, it gave Quincy a unique advantage. The only other creature most lucky to be graced with human traits while hiding in this realm was most likely the wixes. In Soulmeria being so human-like might be a downfall in strength, but for the Soulmerians hiding on Earth it was lucky and left them less chance to be caught if they could suddenly transition into a terrifying form. “I just thought it might tire your jaw out. Is there such thing as Wendigo lock jaw? Gobbling down several humans must have some effect on you, right?” Quincy feigns concern with his lips pouting out, and head dramatically cocking to the side. “You see, being a Wendigo is all about self control at the beginning. Unless you were born one, then someone with greed and lack of patience has to consume the flesh of one of their kind to become one. You all made your choice to become the way you are. Just because you couldn’t hold out one day, or find help in time, you’d rather eat another for your own benefit and survival then respect the remains of someone else.” Quincy growls, “You made your choice in the past to eat someone out of your own self interest, and I’ve made my choice to not be some bloodlusting monster to keep several innocent people alive and well.”

“You’re on a leash, you were put on own the instant you joined the Eye.” Quincy smirks, “you don’t have to assimilate into the human lifestyle if you leave, Jack. You’d just see something other than Bright Haven, is that too scary for you to think about? Not being under the comfort of the Eye who has obviously kept you so comfortable and safe.” Quincy bites at the skin on the inside of his cheek, “You should get out more, maybe you would be so drab and pale if you went elsewhere.” Quincy nods slightly in agreement to Jack’s ability to fit in even without trying to make an effort, “But, don’t you get tired of people asking if your sick or what’s wrong with you? It’s a bit worrying to always see someone who looks like they’re fast approaching death. Hell, what can I say, I look a bit pale sometimes myself, considering I am technically in the family of the undead.” Quincy sometimes got asked about his appearance, but he would have assumed it would be much less than Jack. Wendigos could range in just looking sweaty and tired, to looking and smelling like they were rotting. Even to a vampire, it was a bit too disgusting.

“What do I know about love? That you will never truly experience it, and that I have loved and been loved by plenty of people.” Quincy bites down against his lip, his eyes rolling. He was tired of arguing and tired of Seekers. “Justice?” Quincy grits his teeth, his cheeks burning a hot red. “You know what real justice would be? Getting rid of every Seeker on the planet who ever killed a person or a creature with a family who misses them and wonders where they’ve been. You know what real JUSTICE would be?” Quincy pauses, calming his voice down from the volume it had reached, clearing his throat, “Justice, would be the Eye being brought down along with all of their sheep, and Soulmerians finally getting to go back home.” He feels blood leaking from his palm, his fist finally holding a bit too hard. Quincy doesn’t care if Jackson can smell the blood, he doesn’t even care too much for the stream of crimson running down his hand. A threat escape his lips, “You want to see just how courageous I’ve become?”

“What I’m trying to say is it’s a smaller amount of flesh than you’d ever consume. And, at least it doesn’t contain any kind of bone or large amount of muscle, tissue, and organ. And for someone of my kind, it’s incredibly hard to digest much else other than the blood itself.” Quincy looks away from Jack’s gaze, “I’m not weak if I ask for help from others. Especially in the case of food. It’s like going grocery shopping. Which you probably haven’y heard of because you’re choosing not to assimilate into humankind.”

“I think you’re mistaking grace with skill,” he remarked, trying to mask the tension roiling just beneath his skin. It seemed like it’d be all too easy to reach out and remove Quincy’s head from his shoulders, end the vermin’s life once and for all, but that’d be a nasty mistake to make in public. The humans in the area wouldn’t pay much attention to a small argument, but a murder was sure to cause some unfortunate consequences... the most pressing of them being the end of his anonymity in Bright Haven. Humans were much more inclined to punish what they’d see as wrongful death, and that wasn’t accounting for the disaster revealing himself would cause. After all, with their pitiful strength, beheading their fellows was much more difficult... and any witnesses would be sure to remember that he’d done the impossible. So, instead of taking out his growing anger on the vampire, he clenched his jaw and gathered together as much self control as he could muster. Soon, he reassured himself. Soon. “And underestimating just how much goes into creating an army. It’s more than just taking a few killers and throwing them into the war. Not that a Soulmerian would know that,” he finished, scoffing.

Their disorganization would, once again, be their downfall.

Hatred burned in Jack’s gaze, the feeling making it a point to remind him of how easy it would be to start this fight... and with the right circumstances, finish it. But even fights drew human attention and counted as enough of a crime in their culture that they’d likely try to detain him—they might not be successful, but it’d stir up more trouble than it was worth... for now. “I have every right!” he snarled, baring his too dull-teeth. “You think I don’t know what it’s like fear for my life? To feel pain and anger whenever you’re reminded of the people responsible for that? You think I don’t know what it’s like to watch my friends die, to know that you’re going to be next? To watch them, in their final moments, turn on you?” It was difficult to keep his voice low when anger felt like it was ripping him apart from the inside out, but somehow he managed—even so, it didn’t stop the venom in his tone. “You Soulmerians are all the same. You think you’re the only ones who have ever suffered,” he spat, curling his lip. “Of course I know how much damage has been done. You think we’re a bunch of children that think we’re playing a game? We know what we’re doing—and we know why.” Or at least, some of them did, for reasons that had differed from seeker to seeker. Even Jack had once been among them, though now the question had returned to haunt him; why was he invested in this war? Right now, it was people like Quincy.

But what happened after he’d left? What happened once he was curled up in his home-away-from-home, sifting through his memories and desperately trying to ignore that same question? He could only overlook his continued ( if distant ) involvement for so long. “Oh, you could? Really? That’s why you choose to waste your time sucking on cow’s blood?” he asked, his falsely innocent tone laced with hidden resentment. “Pretend it’s self control all you want, Quincy. We both know that’s not true. You’re just hiding from yourself.” Part of him was jealous that the vampire had the luxury to preach on his self-control and murder-less feeding habits; Jack couldn’t survive on anything less than human flesh. Not for long, anyway. “If you think I go running around looking like that, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought,” he snapped, bristling. He knew that, compared to a vampire, he was a much more obvious sign of the supernatural, but he refused to let humans see him. Even if anyone did see him... his lightning speed and incredible senses made sure they wouldn’t live to tell the tale. “You thought wrong,” he shot back, a bit annoyed that Quincy was so stuck on the fact that he was a wendigo. Why did it matter? They were both built to be man-eaters, regardless of the vampire’s personal morality. “You don’t know anything about being a wendigo,” he growled, curling his hands into tight fists. Control? It had nothing to do with control, and he wouldn’t stand being called weak for refusing to sit back and let himself die. “And you definitely don’t know anything about what happened to me.”

Jack grated his teeth together, his patience beginning to wear thin. How could Quincy get under his skin so easily? How could he succeed in bothering him where so many others had failed? “I’m not on a leash.” He rolled his eyes. “Has it ever crossed your mind that I don’t want to leave Bright Haven? I’m fine here. Just because you decided to leave—and then come back—doesn’t mean that everyone will.” It was ridiculous how annoying Quincy could be when it came to his unfortunate condition, and he was half tempted to lash out and punch him. “What does it matter if I’m tired of it or not? That’s life,” he said, managing to sound less bothered by his comments than he actually was. “Humans always stick their noses where they don’t belong. Another thing you picked up from them after you left town, I’m guessing.” While he’d done his best to dodge the question, it didn’t change the fact that he was tired of the constant concern he was shown. He wasn’t cursed with the worst of sickly appearances, but just because he didn’t appear to be literally rotting away didn’t change the fact that he looked close to death... and humans, apparently, were much more concerned about that than he was.

Again, he rolled his eyes. “So you’re a mind reader now? You can just tell I’m completely incapable of loving anyone?” It was an absolutely ridiculous claim, and a false one at that, but he wasn’t about to work to prove Quincy wrong. That was too stupid of a move when relations could be used against him—he wouldn’t put it past Soulmerians to lower themselves to that degree, and even if the vampire was against it, he wasn’t willing to take that risk. “What, you think seekers are the only people who do those things? I know the king liked to send out as much propaganda as possible about how Soulmeria was a perfect little paradise, but you have to be naive to think that we all lived in perfect harmony. Just because you didn’t see the violence yourself doesn’t mean it wasn’t there.” He shook his head, a sneer working its way back onto his face. “Even if you were right, there isn’t a home to go back to. Soulmeria is gone, Quincy. It’s dead. It’s not coming back. The only place you have left is Earth.” The sharp scent of blood only fueled the hatred within him, giving him a sick sense of satisfaction—clearly, he was bothering Quincy just as much as he was bothering him. Good. “Go ahead, show me.” He goaded him on a bit too eagerly, but if he was going to offer... well, he wouldn’t mind finishing the fight.

“Do you think werewolves are just as disgusting?” he asked, grimacing. “Or do you just have a problem with me, specifically?” To him, blood alone was about as satisfying as just water. He could live off of it, for a little while, but if he didn’t consume flesh and bone, he wouldn’t last very long. Vampires had the luxury of being able to keep their victims alive—wendigos, whether they liked it or not, had to kill them in order to feed. “You’re weak for denying what you actually are, not because you’re asking for help,” he replied icily, clenching his jaw. “And I know what a grocery store is. I’ve lived here long enough for that.”

– Elliot noticed how Jackson pulled the key out from under the mat in front of his door. That was good to know for future reference, not so he could break into Jackson’s place to steal anything, but just in case he wanted to be somewhere that wasn’t his house. For a feeling of safety of course. “Well, I can always try and if it doesn’t work out, we can at least say an effort was made,” he said, a bright smile pulling at his lips as he set the pizza boxes down in the kitchen. Of course this wasn’t the first time he had been to Jackson’s house and there was no doubt that it wouldn’t be the last, but there was still something that felt new about walking into his place. There was a comfort he wasn’t familiar with, and while that wasn’t a bad thing, he just couldn’t place a name to the feeling. “I was about to ask you if you wanted anything to drink, but it’s not actually my home so uh– can I help myself to some water?”

Jack cracked a small smile, although he wasn’t sure it was the thought that counted when it came to complicated technology. While he hadn’t made a ton of effort to learn about human cultures and their ways of life, including how their inventions had changed them, part of him was convinced that he couldn’t. After all, he’d only ever been the epitome of adapting when it came to physical environments, not foreign machines. “I guess so,” he said all the same, watching as Elliot set the boxes down onto his kitchen table. “Elliot, you really don’t have to ask,” he reassured him, a light laugh escaping him. “It’s just water.” Besides, Jack had already invited him over, and that meant that he had free reign to almost anything in his home—not that there was much to claim. There wasn’t anything in the fridge suitable for non-wendigos, and aside from the few obligatory machines around his home, the place was relatively empty.

The demon was still riding off her high from Jack’s feeding. She sat down a little more comfortably in front of him, still looking over his bloodied appearance. It was…. it was something else for her. To see a wendigo feed in such a frenzied manner. Shuten hummed softly before nodding lightly. “You’re welcome to come by again if you’d like… It was truly an experience watching you…” she murmured lowly.

Tapping her lips, the demon gave Jack a rather crooked smile. “Well, I did say you owed me a kiss. Isn’t it fair that I get one at least before you leave? Just for… feeding you. After all, you don’t even have to clean this mess up,” she remarked, gesturing towards the torn cages and blood splatters on the floor and walls. “Just a simple one. I won’t ask for it again.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m going hunting though, so you’ll come along. That was our agreement, yes?” Shuten reminded, her eyes flickering with something dangerous behind them. If anything, she hated nothing more than being cheated out of her deals. And she thought she gave Jack a rather generous offer, given that she was giving up a wendigo for her collection.

It was difficult to decide whether he disliked her or not. On one hand, she was extremely courteous to offer him such a generous offer, but on the other hand... he felt downright fetishized. His hunger was his own personal curse, a plight that’d been forced upon him for being too desperate, too weak, to let himself die when it’d so clearly been his time, and having her lust after it made him uncomfortable. Then again, he wasn’t used to it being desired. Most people regarded it ( and him ) with a special brand of hatred. “You’re sure? I don’t want to put you out of business,” he said, half-jokingly in spite of his deadpan tone. “I can’t really, you know, pay you.”

He swallowed, the reminder of his second agreement enough to make his stomach clench. Physical contact was difficult for him, especially when he was so clearly deprived—who was to say he wouldn’t rip her skin off the second he got too close? Did she know what she was getting into? Maybe she just didn’t care. “I did promise,” he admitted weakly, fastening his teeth into his lower lip. “You don’t want me to clean up first?” Of course she wouldn’t. With the way she’d been so obviously enthralled by his feeding, she probably preferred him covered in gore.

“That was the agreement,” he continued, nodding carefully. The glint in her eye was impossible to miss, and while he didn’t have any intention to break their so-called contract, he got the feeling that doing so wouldn’t have ended well if he were to try. “Is there a special way you wanted to contact me? Phone number, email... carrier dove?” It wasn’t a joking statement, despite the ridiculousness that humans might’ve viewed it with—he didn’t know how adept she was with technology, either. At the very least, he hoped she didn’t have anything complicated in mind.

“Not in your less appealing form, no. I imagine people would turn tail and run at the first sight of you like that… don’t imagine they’d get very far though,” he mused, bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a long drink of his beer. Jack didn’t look the type that lacked confidence, but listening to him speak, one couldn’t draw any other conclusion. “I’m just saying, man… when you’re looking like this, you’re an attractive man. I don’t know what you look like when you’re fully changed or whatever, but as you are now, you’re good looking. What, you want me to lie to you? Isn’t beauty in the eye of the beholder?” Kaito looked the other man over, contemplating their conversation thus far. He’d never met anyone in Bright Haven who didn’t carry some kind of ego and bravado, Jack was an enigma. “A warlock? I’m aware of them, but… not really what it is that they do. Not fully. I usually don’t ask when I meet others too much about their species, seems… intrusive. So you don’t have to share more if you don’t wanna…” as his words trailed off, Kaito sent a sincere smile the others way and reached across the space separating them to slap his palm down onto Jack’s thigh lightly. He was generally rather demonstrative, seeking to reassure at every single turn and figured it was all part and parcel of being the Alpha of his pack. His father was the same way when he was growing up, showing him the ropes and teaching him what it took to be a true Alpha. Always made his brother jealous and drove a wedge between the siblings. Their rivalry ran deeper than most. Shaking off the memories with a roll of his shoulders to relax his muscles, Kaito stood and reached over the bar top, stretching himself taut across the counter and grabbing two fresh beers for them before returning to his seat. “What’s the grossest or weirdest being you ever met? Ooh, or scariest.”

His response was best summed up to a grim smile, the idea that Kaito knew the specifics of what happened to most people he encountered an uncomfortable one. It wasn’t that he was necessarily ashamed of what he was, although he certainly didn’t like it, but that the great majority of those he’d met had viewed it ( and him ) with disgust. While not unwarranted, it was difficult to imagine that the werewolf wouldn’t respond in a similar fashion. “Less appealing is an understatement,” he half-joked instead, forcing himself not to immediately withdraw from the situation. He couldn’t just keep convincing himself that everyone was out to attack him for things that were out of his control. Of course, that didn’t mean always assuming otherwise—plenty of people would’ve happily seen him dead. Soulmerians included. “I... thanks, I think?” He was half tempted to make a remark that Kaito needed better taste in men, but he thought it might be rude ( or worse, whiny ) to continue to flaunt his low opinion of himself. “I appreciate the compliment, then,” he finished, flashing another smile and drowning the instinctive urge to disagree with another gulp from his bottle. “I don’t mind talking about it,” he reassured him, shrugging a shoulder. “A warlock is just what we—well, they—call men capable of using magic. They cast spells, and things like that. I was never very good at it.” Unfortunately, it wasn’t in the way that it could be corrected; low magic in the blood was a permanent hindrance. Now that he was of a different species, of course, Jack hardly thought it mattered. The ghost of a slightly more genuine ( and appreciative ) smile appeared on his face at Kaito’s reassurance, but it faded long before he returned with a fresh round of drinks. “Other than humans? Probably... demons.” He paused, thinking back to a certain few he’d met in Bright Haven. “Definitely demons.” They were one of the most widely-despised supernaturals, and while a similar plight befell his own species, he wasn’t entirely convinced it was unjustified. “You?”

“Oh, I know the numbers, but I prefer to trust skill. Seekers have always been a bit messy, a bit like you.” Quincy states, a fierce gleam in his eye. The images of blood literally flowing through the streets, the mutilation and massacring of Soulmerians, and the grotesque fights between the two sides fill Quincy’s mind. His jaw quivers a bit, shoulders tensing up even more. Just because the Seekers had the larger numbers, Quincy had seen just how many Seekers were sloppy and scattered during their kills. Some of them were just weak followers, as Quincy had stated, but there were still the strong ones mixed in - that included Jackson. It was hard to say for Quincy that the Seekers may have a higher chance at winning because it seemed like a ridiculous statement. He hated losing, he hated feeling like a failure, and most of all he hated giving up. He wanted to be brave and prove that the Soulmerians had the same power as the Seekers, if not more, even with their varied numbers. “I will rue the day that Seeker blood is spilled by the bucket-load, and I’ll be able to drink something other than animal blood,” Quincy speaks with a smirk against his lips. The words he speaks are partially a lie and partially truthful. Quincy wants to rip every Seeker in half, but he refused to kill as ruthlessly and brutally as them. He would prefer a settlement that didn’t incur the same massacring that the Soulmerians had seen. No one deserved that, not even Quincy’s worst enemy - the Seekers.

Quincy holds his hands up as if to defend himself from Jack. “Woah, the lady doth protest too much. Are you sure you haven’t at least caught one or two humans between those munching jaws of yours?” Quincy inquires teasingly, his eyebrow quirking up slightly, “You can’t tell me it doesn’t hurt somewhat to bite through someone’s bones? Especially when they’re several feet wide like a human.” Quincy was not one meant for the kill, he preferred to only drink from someone if they were willing, or taking blood from an animal whose body would go back into other foods with its meat. Even if there were billions on the planet, taking away even one human life could affect hundreds more. It seemed there was always at least one person who could love another, and it wasn’t worth it to kill one if it would hurt the other more than it was worth. Quincy had seen how badly humans hurt after one of their own had died, it was almost exactly like how Soulmerians felt towards their kin that had passed on. “I can’t help what I have to do, but at least I have the control to avoid completely killing everything I eat.” Quincy snaps back, a glare gleaming in his eyes once more. “The hunger is something we have in common, but I’m nowhere near as much as a preying monster as you.”

“Why?” There is genuine surprise lingering in his voice. Never did Quincy think that Jack would actually be asking him a question that didn’t have some kind of snark behind the words. ”Because there  is always some kind of draw here. Have you ever heard a voice in the back of your head whispering to you? That’s what Bright Haven is in mind - a little voice that forces me back.” His words are a bit bitter, more so towards the voice of Bright Haven lingering in his mind. It was practically suicide stepping into a town full of other supernaturals from Soulmeria, with the chance of anyone being a Seeker. It just didn’t seem like a natural risk worth taking. He could have avoided it, but somehow he’d ended up in a Victorian house just a few blocks away from the main part of town. It seemed silly now that’d he was back here, when there was an entire world to see and live in. He didn’t have to sit in this small town and listen to Jackson blabber away about Soulmerian losses if he didn’t want to. He could be on a beach in Hawaii reading under the sun and listening to the waves as he flipped pages in his book. “Why haven’t you left? Does the Eye really have such a tight grip on your leash that you are forced to stay inside the boundaries of Bright Haven?”

“There’s always a point to being attractive when you don’t necessarily have to look like the death you create. Shouldn’t you be blending in more anyways?” It wasn’t exactly to say that Quincy wasn’t pale or a bit more terrifying on nights where he hadn’t fed. The vampire knew just how easy it was to look like death when you brought it to others. Wendigos had it particularly hard with their looks, especially when they could potentially shed their skin, or start sweating and breaking down after not having a meal in quite a while. “Maybe someone will finally be able to love you if you’re at least somewhat alluring on the outside, even if your insides can never match.” Quincy continues to prod on the joke, looking at Jack with mockingly sweet and batting eyes.

“What do you want me to call it other than murder? Would you prefer me to call it slaughter, homicide, butchery, execution… I could go on,” He’s angry at the fact the wendigo would be able to call it anything but murder. “What can I say, I ran at the beginning,” Quincy snarls, his fangs coming out for a brief moment. Jack struck more than a few nerves with that comment. “I ran, but I’m not a time traveler, I can’t reverse what I did. However, I’ll live forever until I’m killed by a stake or silver or my head being cut off from my body. I might as well spend my time here on Earth trying to redeem myself by ridding this world of you pompous Seekers.” His fangs are visible and threatening. If only Quincy was angry enough to actually sink his teeth into the other, he might have. “I may have only killed a few Seekers, but it’s done more good for both worlds than any killing the Seekers have ever done.” Killing was meant to be second nature to vampires, but it wasn’t who Quincy was. “You will always be a sheep just because you need to rely on something or somebody else for your survival. You and the Seekers will never be anything other than trash who can’t think for themselves unless they think they’re helping themselves move on and up in the world. At least you can think highly about your own survival because no one else that you know genuinely would like 

“It’s not elegant, but at least it’s easier to clean up. I’m sure it’s much simpler to lift a dead body versus having to clean up gory messes you leave behind.” Quincy’s nose continues to scrunch in disgust, a bit of bile coming up his throat in a fit of nausea. “Oh, trust me, the intestine part is a little hard to digest, but it’s nothing but congealed blood inside.”

“Messy isn’t always the same as unskilled,” he pointed out, grimacing. There were, in fact, a large amount of seekers eager to see the blood of their enemies washing down the streets, but he wouldn’t have bet on the more merciful Soulmerians if his life depended on it. The Eye wasn’t a realm of weakness and anyone who wasn’t able to prove themselves in battle—against enemies or otherwise—was promptly made an example to others. Jack himself had worked hard to ensure that he wasn’t tormented in the same regard; to The Eye’s credit, it’d made them a formidable army. On the other hand, Soulmerians weren’t as weak as they oftentimes let on, and while he doubted very much that skill could save them, he didn’t except an easy war. Optimism was what got soldiers killed in cases like those; it was best to except the worst. Anything less was asking for a slow and painful death, or worse... there was always worse. Being captured and tormented as a prisoner of war, being dragged back to The Eye for punishment or more training, being crippled and discarded for uselessness’ sake... it went on.

A hint of a sneer found its way back onto his face, his eyes glinting with the beginning of what might’ve been hatred. Truthfully, it surprised him—he never considered himself the sort of person capable of such strong and influencing emotions. “I’d like to see your ragtag group of disorganized refugees try something like that.” Soulmerians, able to paint the streets red with their blood? An impossibility. Even someone who’d never been at the forefront of the war couldn’t possible see that in their future—then again, hope could be deluding. As could hatred. “If you really wanted to drink something other than animal blood,” he continued, curling his lip; “you’d just take what you wanted. Look around you, there’s humans everywhere, and if you’re really too soft to hunt them... well, nothing’s stopping you from biting anyone else.” Except maybe a functioning conscience, which even he didn’t quite lack. He might not have felt any remorse for preying on humans—ugly things—but in his lapse of true loyalty he’d begun to wonder about the gravity of his war-time actions. Or rather, he desperately ignored wondering about them, hoping that in time he wouldn’t feel so uncomfortable looking at the memories.

Jack’s eye twitched in annoyance—clearly he wasn’t quite as fond of Quincy’s jabbing. “I never said I hadn’t eaten them,” he said, forcing a sigh through his teeth. “I just haven’t caused anyone to hunt us down.” In all honesty it was impossible to know that, but he figured anyone hell-bent on tracking supernaturals down for his actions would target the right creature. Given that wendigos were sparse, there were only so many targets to investigate before the perpetrator was found, and had any tried ( and some to the wrong conclusions ) it wouldn’t have surprised him in the least to know that others had used the opportunity to feed. “Hurt? Not everyone has jaws as weak as yours,” he retorted, scoffing. “If it hurt to bite through a skeleton as flimsy as theirs, I wouldn’t bother hunting them down.” The bones were one of the more enjoyable parts of the human body, if only because he appreciated the crunch—it was oddly satisfying. Of course, most of the time when he was munching on skeletons he wasn’t quite as human-looking, and the strength of a full wendigo’s jaws were more than enough to handle cracking bones. Even hyenas couldn’t come close to matching it—it was doubtful anything on Earth could. “You really think I could survive without killing anyone?” he asked, his expression hardening. “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but my kind can’t just live off blood and scraps.” Not to mention the sheer volume of flesh he needed to consume. “It has nothing to do with self control. It’s unavoidable.”

Of course he didn’t understand that. Who did?

A noise almost like a laugh escaped him. “That’s the funny thing, Quincy. You are. You are every bit the predator I am—you just dedicate your life to fighting against it.” A waste, really, but he wouldn’t go around telling anyone else how to live their lives. He didn’t care to. If they wanted to be best friends with every human ( or supernatural, for that matter ) that was fine by him.  He paused as Quincy continued, frowning slightly. “I... guess I haven’t noticed.” Admittedly, the most likely reason he hadn’t noted a strange call from Bright Haven was the fact that he’d never crossed the town line. Anything hell-bent on drawing him back was meaningless when he had no desire to leave anyway. “I’m not on a leash,” he snapped, his annoyance returning as quickly as it’d seemed to fade; “I’m just not interested in assimilating.” More accurately, part of him was almost nervous to leave. What if he left and never came back? What if, once he was out in a world so different from his own, he began to forget what he was... and where he came from? Worse still, what if he liked it so much he refused to come back? “Oh, please. Nobody human would guess I’m not one of them just because I look sick,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. In fact, they seemed almost eager to ignore his presence because of it. After throwing him a variety of glances set between nervous, concerned, and disgusted, that was. Sometimes all three.

“What do you know about being loved?” he shot back, managing to maintain his disgruntled expression in spite of just how bothered the statement had made him. Thankfully, being offended didn’t last long, and the emotions quickly slipped into the background. He’d deal with them never later, once he was out of this ridiculous argument. He laughed harshly as the vampire went on, pleased to have an excuse to ignore his hard-hitting joke. “No, Quincy. Didn’t you listen to anything I said? You’d call it a game!” Jack paused, eyeing his fangs. “Of course, I’m not one of them. You know what I call it?” Baring his teeth in a smile more snarl than grin, he finished, “I call it justice.” And rightfully so, in his opinion—or so he’d once believed. Even so, as much as he’d questioned the reality of his reasons, he wouldn’t let himself appear weak in front of an enemy. Indecision, after all, was the chink in one’s armor. “You ran in the beginning because you were honest about being a coward. Now you just hide behind the delusion that you’ve changed. Guess what, Quincy? Killing a few stray seekers doesn’t prove anything. Dragging yourself back to this hell pit doesn’t prove anything. You really wanna see if you’ve got what it takes? Wait until the real war starts up again. I bet you’ll be running then,” he snarled.

Not for the first time, he scoffed. “Sure, carrying off and disposing of a body is much easier than cleaning up some stray blood and burning a few clothes. Definitely.” Personally, Jack found that his way got rid of the evidence much more quickly... though of course he didn’t expect the vampire to agree. They were both too heated to see each other’s points of view. “It’s still dead flesh and guts... you still haven’t told me how it’s different.” He fought off a grimace upon noticing his disgust. “Just because someone else went and killed it for you doesn’t make it less of a corpse. It just means you’re not as self-reliant as you like to think you are.”

maddoxblackthorn + @jacksoncarver·

Maddox was very amused about all of this. He couldn’t even help his smile as he looked between the two. “Vaguely! I know Carmen from the flower shop.” He told Jack before looking at her. “Just yet? How long’s it take to decide if you’re friends with a guy? Damn.” As if he knew how long they were talking, but his point was still there. He glanced at Jack and snorted. More affordable. “Yeah, and you pay for what you get—garbage.” But his gaze turned serious as knit his eyebrows curiously. With what the two had just told him about feeding and craigslist, Maddox took a second to understand what they were trying to get at. “Oh. Well, you’re doing it all wrong if you wanna go to fucking craigslist, first of all. Only old people go to craigslist and usually it’s to go buy something. And the website’s fucking ugly. And uh… no. The easiest way to do this is… is tinder. Or grindr, whatever you’re into, man.” Maddox said with a shrug. “Or both so you can reach a bunch of people. Maybe you’ve heard of it?” He said, looking between the two of them. “Talk up some hot people, invite ‘em over or…. go over their’s, whatever. Coax them into getting close and then just bite off a chunk of their flesh and kill ‘em. And then you’d have to cover your tracks which I suggest watching Breaking Bad because that show teaches you how to get rid of a body and then just go on to the next victim.” He snapped his fingers and extended his hand out. “Phone me.”

Carmen offered a sheepish smile, shrugging her shoulders. “Hm, depends.” She figured that was a topic for a different day since the focus was feeding Jack. Carmen again pursed her lips, trying not to laugh at the ensuing debate about what brand of phone was better. It seemed to be a thing of humans, she had gone with iPhone herself because of how sleek it looked it looked but beyond that, she wasn’t too sure. She figured Maddox was the one who would more about everything that regarded the earth realm for the mere fact that he was younger looking and probably hung out with that demographic. “Craiglist is easy though, I mean it’s almost expected and he might even find someone who is willing?” Carmen tried to defend her suggestion although it seemed it would become a mute idea. The more he spoke the more confused Carmen became, “G-grindr? Tinder? What? What are those?” Carmen asked, but the more he spoke, the more she seemed to understand what they were. “So…almost like fast food meals?” She questioned, hoping she was understanding him properly. Carmen extended the phone out to him, watching him as he began to work on the phone. She glanced over at Jack, hoping maybe he was understanding the whole concept better than her. 

Personally, Jack didn’t mind if Carmen took a thousand years to decide if they were friends or not, partially because the whole concept was still somewhat foreign to him. Sure, he’d had plenty of friends in his life, but... it’d been decades since he’d done more than nod at his coworkers when they wished him a good day or good night, depending on his shift. “What’s the difference?” he asked, confused at how either were garbage, exactly. His seemed to function relatively well for a phone, even if he couldn’t figure out what most of the buttons on it did. While he’d never owned an iPhone himself, they didn’t seem to do much differently—other than look thinner. Regardless of Maddox’s opinions on phones, he was much more confused by the different websites ( presumably ) presented to him. What in the name of hell was a Tinder, or a Grinder, and why did either of them help get him food? “Am I supposed to have heard of it?” he asked evasively, shooting a glance over at Carmen. Obviously she was just as clueless as he was. “What are they for, exactly? What am I doing to, you know, lure them in?” A voice in the back of his mind brought up the idea that it’d be similar to Carmen’s idea with Craiglist, but he figured it was best not to assume. If it wasn’t, maybe it’d be a better idea than offering up so-called favors to draw people in. “You’re sure it’s not going to get me investigated?” he continued, watching almost warily as Carmen handed Maddox his phone. What exactly was his plan?

Shuten lost track of how many times she reached sheer bliss in those frenzied moments of feeding. The demon was writhing in complete ecstasy above the cage she perched upon, her aura leaking out into the freezer. If the air wasn’t already thick with the captives’ fear and disgust and the stench of blood, it reeks of something ominous and deadly, though it was clear from the whole scenery that things were indeed, ominous and deadly.

Feeling herself coming down from her high, Shuten opened one eye, glancing over at the bloodied Jack leaning against the wall. He looked… heavenly. Everything about him drove Shuten wild, from his bloodied look to the sheer power that seemed to ripple throughout his body. The demon admired Jackson so much… he was perfect… “Anything for something as beautiful as you…” she whispered in return, slowly peeling herself off the cage, slick with fluids that one wouldn’t want to examine for any purposes.

The demon staggered over to Jackson, drunk off of her own feeding of pain and suffering, of madness and frenzy. The power surging throughout her was incredible. She kneeled down in front of Jackson, her own appearance seemingly crazed. “Tell me… how was it for you? How was it, being able to gorge yourself? Was it delicious?” Shuten whispered.

He was coated from head to toe in the blood of his feast, his stomach almost feeling that it might burst from the seams, and yet still as empty and starving as though he hadn’t so much as seen a bite to eat in months. It was always the worst part of his affliction; satisfaction was so close, and yet the moment he reached it, it was torn from his grasp and dangled just out of reach. Nothing in any world would change that, but as unfortunate as his life had become, he couldn’t deny that his frenzy had improved his condition. Now, instead of literally being on the cusp of starving to death, he was only forced to deal with a phantom feeling of the disease. 

It wasn’t perfect by any means, but such was life.

His satiation was, however, slightly impeded by his environment. The oh-so-inviting stench of death and blood and fear, the electric presence of chaos... all of it bombarded his senses and battered against a more predatory part of him. That instinctual side of him would’ve liked nothing more than to tear through the rest of the building, devouring all of its inhabitants and laying waste to anything he couldn’t stuff down his throat. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a viable option, and so instead of giving in he sat uncomfortably while he was reminded of the demon’s presence. Something about her lustful appreciation of his kills made him feel... uncomfortable. 

After a moment’s hesitation, he finally answered. “It was... good, yeah,” he said, a guarded expression working its way onto his face. “I won’t need to feed again for another week or so, I don’t think.” If he played his cards right and was able to gorge himself on animal flesh, he might even be able to sustain himself for longer. Not that it was likely, given how easily his instincts managed to take hold of him. After all, he’d only meant to eat one or two of the humans Shuten had provided... not the near dozen he’d consumed. “When did you say you wanted payment?”

“No!” Leila laughed, but then it stopped abruptly as she thought of his question. A lot of guys definitely weren’t as hygienic or organized as girls were. Then there were some weird guys that took their shoes off if they came to her house? And it was gross? “Well… that’s up for debate. You guys sweat a bunch.” She said, quickly dabbing at the area she’d just ripped the wax off with a cotton ball when he yelled in pain. She tried to keep from smiling. Like no, people in pain isn’t funny, but when it’s waxing? And a guy? Of course it was. “I’m waxing your eyebrows! Put the wax over the area that has to be removed, smooth it over, and then rip it off like a bandaid.”

It was a bit hard to focus on the conversation when he was still reeling from the fact that she’d torn part of his eyebrow off—really? that was a thing?—but to his credit he pulled himself together more quickly than he’d thought he would. Of course, it didn’t make human customs any less strange to him. “Humans are so weird,” he repeated, more to himself than to Leila. She might not have been human herself, but in all honesty he found her just as puzzling. Did she do this to every unsuspecting person she met? “Wait, why?” he asked, clearly bewildered. Her explanation made about as much sense to him as the theory of relativity. “Why does any of it have to be removed? I thought you said I had good eyebrows.”