willing flesh

“I thought most people came to a graveyard for, like, self reflection or something? Therapy? Talk to a headstone, imagine a response, and miraculously you feel better?” Although she poses her words as a question, Annabelle doesn’t really expect an answer to them. She doesn’t even know why she wandered here in the first place. The headstone of her dad is still deeper in, and she isn’t interested in one-sided conversations. “Why are you here, anyway?”

She comes off harsher than she means, especially after the woman seemed so kind. Annabelle even welcomes the touch against her skin. She realizes she’d like to hold the woman’s hand, if only to feel the presence of someone else with her, but the realization comes too late; the woman’s hand returns to her side, and Annabelle can’t bring herself to stand off the ground, another reminder that she will have to eat eventually. “Yeah…eventually…” 

Truthfully, she would rather think of Disneyland, of the cotton candy that melts on her lips or the crunchy chicken nuggets that left stains of grease on her shorts. “It’s a shame that you’ve never been before. My dad took me once. Picked me up out of school early and everything. Of course, my other dad wasn’t happy when he found out…” Her eyes drop when she realizes that even if she went to Disneyland again, she couldn’t taste their overpriced lemonade or the popcorn that had more salt than butter. “Well…the rides are fun at least. Sometimes you need to scream until your lungs hurt. It’s cathartic.”

Ever, so graceful in her movements and almost catlike in their motion, came to settle herself on the grass and dirt nearby where Annabelle rested, somehow looking as if she had been placed as statuary rather than alive. There was something about her countenance that spoke of elegance — almost royal — and she sat on battered stones and clumps of neglected crabgrass like a Queen sat upon a throne; somehow she just belonged.

Her head tilts at the questions and she dips it to one side, looking momentarily lost for words, before managing some, “I’m here because of you, I guess? I saw you — sensed you — and curiosity got the better of me. One day it’ll get me killed, but that’ll be a fun day nonetheless.”

Another pause and she plucked some of the dried grass from around her, releasing it to the wind to be carried away as she looked over at Annabelle and exhaled softly — not a sigh, per se, but literally just as if she were letting go of some thought and allowing it to dissipate — before speaking again, “You don’t need a theme park for that. Sometimes I scream into the sky in the same way, as if the void of stars and space will speak back and offer some answers to the feelings I can’t even put into words, you know?”

pretenses of friendship are not so hard for the ghoul. he’s had to learn to work well with others– sometimes those he actually does abhor. call it an occupational blessing, given the rather unruly disorganization of the Clown faction. he doesn’t pretend to know, really, how the other ghoul works– which exact faction and how she does hide her own skeletons, but the scent she carries stings his nose in admonition. though if she belonged to the very faction his father used to beg him to join– it would explain the lack of friends. “Sounds lonely.” his blunt tone, means to be offensive, but this is only due to his own insecurities. being alone was by far, one of his biggest fears and deepest anxieties for the future. he could take all the discord in the world over unwarranted solitude. 

he finally cracks a smile which follow a coupling of a signature deep chuckle. “So would that mean I’m a luxury then?” he continues to tease, “Just for the day? Like a diamond incrusted necklace or a cape made of your favorite skin.” he wonders if warmth is something a ghoul like her even considers anymore. he’s almost envious of the notion. to not crave another– seemed far easier in his mind.

though to her question he takes a deep sigh. the macbook in front of him appears to need an update– one he’s not ready to engage in. closing the screen with a touch of his fingerprint he huffs, “Annoyance has dissipated to indifference, with a mild twinge of curiosity.” he takes a pause, “What brings you here, anyways? Other than the stellar coffee.” 

Ever had become used to solitude, though she didn’t cherish it or cultivate it, it just sort of happened to her. She still craved affection, attention, and all the things that some would say you lose as a ghoul. A necessity for love and comfort should be above beings such as themselves, but in truth she needed as much as any other. Their superiority was still true, and with all the caveats of emotional needs that she was meant to ignore and instead chose to reach for... perhaps she was just odd.

“You are like...” and for a moment, Ever struggled, but not for long as the point of their conversation and the location of it meant that she had the perfect metaphor in seconds, “a good cup of coffee. Delicious and warm, if willing, but who knows how long until it goes cold or if at the bottom of the cup I’ll find a displeasing sludge that ruins the entire thing. You could also be gone in moments, depending on how I handle it, mm?”

It put as much of this on her as it did him. Ever was many things, but she didn’t often sit around pushing blame onto others. She knew she was hard to get along with sometimes, and that she had the air of someone who had lived far too long, seen far too much, and wondered at times if either were worth it anymore. It made befriending her... difficult, to say the least.

___

“Yeah, lots of people.” He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. He sweated more than he expected. Not wanting to think about why, he attributed it to the humidity. He had never gotten to enjoy a dry heat. “This guy must be pretty popular.”

In the distance, more cries and screams that made Joey’s blood run cold. He knew, now, what some ghouls would claim. A natural order of things. A dominant species culling a prey population. Wolves do it to deer, right? 

Lately, he’s been watching a two-century old film called Ringing Bell. It took forever to get the right technology for it, but now, watching the film made his stomach churn. Hearing the occasional scream made him think of it. Now, he’s not sure if he’s talking to a lamb or a wolf.

“No,” he lied. He knew one human girl, but he hadn’t gotten to her before the ghouls gobbled her up. It had taken everything to not flip his shit in that moment. He couldn’t kill the offending ghouls. Yet. “What brought you out to the party?”

There was curiosity in her eyes as they moved across Joey’s form — thoughtful and calculating — and she let the corners of her mouth twitch faintly up into a smile for a moment, “Popularity isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be.”

She knew. Her family was basically a dynasty. It had taken forever to break free of that and still some within the community would see her, ignore the fact that she had dropped the surname she’d been born with in order to carve her own — marginally less bloody and definitely less violent... to a degree — path and call her by her family name. A legacy that was fraught with death, carnage, and worst of all, a lack of understanding on how ‘culling’ works against them.

She believed wholly in Ghoul superiority, because it was just a truth on a genetic level; she was superior because she was. But it didn’t help her in the long run, nor did her eschewing the name that she’d been born with that would afford so much more power.

“I don’t know anyone either, so it’s fine.” He seemed nervous, but Ever chose to ignore that — and the sweating — in favor of conversation and, perhaps, some solidarity. There was definitely something about him that felt familiar, “I just sort of saw the throng of people and wanted to know what was going on, that’s all.”

“Isn’t there some old saying? There’s strength in numbers? Although looking at this crowd,” He sees others stumbling into each other for one reason or another - desperate to find their friend or family in the chaos, confused, scared, unable to find a gap to be freed from the inner circles of the mess. Ulysses shakes his head. “Looking at this crowd, that just might be a misguided phrase,”

Which, coming from him, just might be ironic – he joined an entire organization as to not have to deal with his plethora of enemies on his own. ( And, truthfully, Ulysses wouldn’t be surprised to learn that one of his…er…coworkers were responsible for this ordeal ). 

He looks back to the woman and the brilliant smile she’s offered him. “We could go back and forth about whose fault it was all night. The fact of the matter is, for one reason or another, it seems like we’ve been pushed together,” He extends his hand out to her. “Desperation is a horrible stench, though it’s one I can’t say I’m familiar with myself. Perhaps we can find another bridge where the air isn’t so…heavy.”

Drowning in a sea of people and yet the flow around them seemed somehow less than. Like they were above and beyond the ken of the people that ushered around them, smelling of humanity and desperation; sometimes Ever’s own perception was off but at that moment she felt superior.

“I suppose it makes sense. Safety in numbers is fair when you’re weak on your own.” There was an implication there that Ever hadn’t even meant to make, and yet the words left her lips like a practiced speech offered to convince people of a thing she didn’t necessarily need them to agree with. Being the best was just what you were or you weren’t, it didn’t matter who accepted it.

There was a long pause before she spoke again, “Do you think you can part this mass and get us free? I waded in out of curiosity but I didn’t actually expect it to be so....” a hand wave, “this.”

Her eyes register the outstretched hand. She doesn’t pull herself away from the gesture, however, neither does she bring herself closer to being touched. In truth, all Annabelle can think about are chicken nuggets. Hunks of meat dipped in batter and fried until golden brown. She pictures herself sitting at a picnic bench with a bucket of fried fingers to snack away on at her own leisure. Chicken fingers. They’re chicken fingers. Because, maybe, if she tells herself the fingers before her, the fingers in her mind, are just chicken waiting to be fried, just maybe she can let herself give in–

– Except those fingers are attached to a hand to an arm to a face to a voice that Annabelle cannot equate to a mere chicken. She feels hungry all over again.

“I’m sure you don’t want to hear my sob story,” She waves an arm. She’s not even sure if she wants to tell her own sob story all over again. “If ghosts are real, I feel sorry for the ones that are stuck haunting this graveyard,” She attempts to change the subject again. “I’d rather haunt Disneyland. Do you think there are ghosts haunting Disneyland? Someone who got thrown off the roller coaster on accident?”

Perhaps Ever knew the look of the hungry new, or maybe she just wanted to bring someone else into the fold. She might have given up the title of violent ghoul supreme — a thing perfected by the Bates family on the whole — but it didn’t mean she didn’t feel their superiority was entirely clear. Ghouls would rise to the top but she wants it in a far more diplomatic and less destructive way.

... if she can make it happen that way, anyway.

“I mean I’m standing in a graveyard, there’s probably not much I’m adverse to hearing — whether it’s your sob story or anything else.” Ever offered with the hint of a question on the end, brushing against Annabelle’s hair after a moment letting her digits draw across the other woman’s skin. It was a brief touch of flesh to flesh before her hand would fall away.

“The hunger won’t go away, you’re going to have to eat eventually.” She says, off-handedly; whatever it might mean she was trying to be vague, as useful as that might be. 

he’s seen her around– she’s got an attitude of cunning and glamor mixed into a breeding ground of danger. truthfully, he’d rather face that danger head on–

fleeting footsteps would have created music for the ears, but the picture placed in front of him taints such happiness. he’s animated in his reactions– a glower in his face pairs with a slight rubbing of his temples. a sigh of exasperation emits, and she’d only sat down– at his table no less. he feigns a smile, however, as if he is amongst pleasant company. the anteiku cafe doesn’t need trouble– “If we’re commenting on looks, it’s probably an even worse one for another to take a seat without asking permission first.” he raises an eyebrow, pulling the macbook screen closer to him. thought, his music is on pause for the moment… 

“If you’re looking for any real secrets, you’d have to dig behind all the skeletons in my closet, you know.” he leans closer, elbows pressed to the table, and shoulder blades squeezed tightly in a tense stance. “Might find some of your friends in there– if you’re lucky. That is– ” he admits, “If you ever had any to begin with… But don’t worry, I’ll be your friend for the day.”

A slow tilt of her head as she watches him, every shift of his expression and that perfectly practiced scowl that seems almost at home on his face; she can hardly imagine him giving her a smile and for that, she’s almost grateful? It’s hard to live her life and not feel the least bit annoyed at how people seem so quick to give in, and part of her wishes to suffer for the violence of her family, as odd as that may be.

“Friends are a luxury I can afford but do not often get offered, you’re right.” Ever said with a smile, tight at the corners of her mouth and tinged with the knowledge of that slightly veiled threat in his voice, reaching out to tap a fingernail gently across the tabletop — his tabletop, he probably thought — and she shook her head, “If you want to be my friend I’m not going to stop you, but you might find it hard to truly ruffle my feathers that way.”

Dig deep enough and you’ll find it, nestled in her heart of hearts and as fragile as any organ — a small, niggling thing that could be tugged at to pull that violent streak right out of her... but she didn’t give it freely, and he’d have to work.

___

One of the most difficult things Joey had to learn while working for the CCG was that, when it came to humankind, he could not save everyone.

It frustrated him. There have been many an opportunity in which he should have absolutely bodied a ghoul who was about to dine on one of his many human peers, and yet, like an observer watching predator and prey animals, he had to let nature take his course. Something something about not blowing his cover. At the very least, he had to know which ghouls were affiliated with whom, and how ghoul societies tracked activity. 

He recorded what he needed. Far cries of humans being ripped apart were likely to barely register in his recordings – a combination of wonky cyberware installed in his ears and eyes. The cyberware wasn’t perfect. Far from it. It wasn’t nearly as good quality as the cameras in many portable devices that were once called “phones.” Still, he managed to catch a bit of the chaos before he would head home tonight.

He bumped broadside into her, too, and when he did, he had the sudden doubt that his cyber-eye-ware would still work. He wasn’t quite sure why, either.

“Sorry about that,” he quickly righted himself in turn. “I’m just a big old klutz, aren’t I? Anyway,” he pointed to the chaotic scene with his thumb. “Whose birthday is it?”

If only they were able to communicate that they both felt sort of the same way, though on vastly different sides of things. Ever was in no way confused on her supremacy as a being, so to speak, but it didn’t mean she thought that every human should be eviscerated into something of a mist and served up like cattle.

She eats, mind you, but rarely whole and rarely to the death — not that most would think that any better and honestly if one were to look at it too long they might find more instances where she should have killed them outright rather than leaving them as she had but... there had been circumstances; they’d pushed at the wrong buttons and twisted something up inside of her that was beyond feral and lived on rage and bloodthirst alone...

... still, she was better than most, right? She had to tell herself that.

“It’s hard to tell, isn’t it?” Ever laughs, genuine but soft, not devoid of mirth but not overflowing with it either, instead smiling and allowing a moment’s pause as people shift along around them, before she’d take another step to stay in line with the crowd, “It has to be fun though, right? This many people?”

How dangerous was this? This many people, this many potential victims or even rivals among the crowds and... she shuddered to think of ending up on the wrong side of a CCG agent. 

He’s wary of large crowds. Not because he finds discomfort in the swarms of people, but because of their unpredictability. Ulysses isn’t sure how he managed to make his way into this crowd, if he had somehow walked into it unexpectedly on his way out of the building or if it had grown around him while he drank a smoothie that, if onlookers got too close to, they could be lead to believe that no amount of strawberries could produce such a red color.

No one gets close enough to question his choice in beverage. They’re all too consumed with whatever party…or perhaps whatever mass panic, is going on around him; it can be too difficult to determine the difference between the two. 

Ulysses doesn’t hear the footsteps approach, but there’s no surprise when soft words are spoken into his ears. He registers that someone has bumped into him - something to be expected in such a crowd. Rather than beratement, Ulysses offers her a smile. “There’s no need for apologies. Someone just might get trampled in a crowd like this. You’re quite alright,” He insists. “Speaking of –” He turns his head to look at all the people behind him. “Do you have an idea of what’s going on here?”

Ever has righted herself and seems no worse for the wear after the bump; it’s almost as if someone had bumped into the most solid feather-bed they’d ever collided with. She smiles softly, face caught in the street lights as the throng of people shifts to and fro to let in shafts of light, “I think it makes everyone feel safer to clamor together like this. I don’t understand it myself, but I thought if it was good enough for all of them I might as well dive on in.”

The smile she offered was beatific, if not a bit tight around the eyes. She’d spent so long being something so vicious that oft times her face didn’t want to actually form the expressions it ought to. Still, she was trying and she was making a good way of it, considering how she’d been all but disowned by her ‘famous’ family. 

Annabelle brings her head to the side to try and focus on the words etched in stone once more. Always in our hearts, is written below the birth and death years. But there is little evidence to suggest anyone but the groundskeeper has been by to visit this particular grave with no signs of flowers or flags placed nearby. She thinks about how she would feel if it were her own body buried six feet under instead.

“If I were a ghost, and this was the only plot of land that I could haunt, I don’t think I’d want some stranger taking up half the room,” Her head tosses to the side of her shoulder as she mumbles. For the record, she isn’t doing well; she feels as though her whole world is collapsing on top of her. That her bottomless stomach is trying to consume it all and leave her with nothing and no one. But she waves a dismissive hand. Not only does she lack the energy, but she has no interest in gaining sympathy for her woes either. “I’m sure I’m worse than I look,” She does say. “I’m sick. Maybe. I don’t know,” Her head shakes again. “If there’s a life after this, I want to come back as a bug or something. Like a butterfly. No thoughts, only pollen. Yeah, that sounds like an ideal life.”

Until she’s eaten by a bird or made into some sort of jewelry, but she decides to not dwell on those aspects.

Ever’s attention was rapt upon Annabelle. It was hard for her to gauge the entirety of what was happening to the young woman, but she had an inkling of an idea and it made her all the more curious; she comes to crouch next to the woman with an unparalleled balance and grace.

A hand comes out, hesitating a moment before reaching in as if to ask if she can touch the other woman’s forehead, her own head tilting aside, “I feel like if you’re in a graveyard and looking like death there’s not a ghost in their right mind that is going to argue with someone coming to join them.”

we weren’t turned into monsters, we were merely freed from expectation.

Night time was her favorite. All silence for miles outside of the city, but in its center at the very core of it was all specific noise. People enjoying their lives, and some of them ending at the hands of Ghouls in a fit of hunger or just because they were annoyed. It was a strange sort of juxtaposition to enjoy the sounds in the distance of people being eviscerated while trying desperately to separate yourself from the legacy of your family and its tendencies towards just that.

She stood idly on the side of the road, glancing across at the nearby building where a flood of people were spilling out. Just by looking no one could tell who was whom within the crowd: ghouls, humans and otherwise all blending together until one fateful moment in which everything changed. She sometimes felt as if she knew, honestly, but even Ever wasn’t beyond reproach.

A sudden glance to the left and she darted across the street towards the crowd, shouldering her way into the throng of it and trying to find a spot where she too could blend and walk — sometimes willing parties would offer themselves up for fun and sometimes her kind got in over their heads, so she meandered — and as she bumped broadside into someone, her lips parted with a soft, “Excuse me, I’m so sorry.” before she’d even righted herself.