somethinghuman | (no subject)

He meant to hold out longer. He really did.

Back home, he could go weeks to months without feeding. The new hunger, no matter how strong, was easier ignored in a dead city. There may have been the occasional feral street dog or unfortunate pigeon to help sate it, but they were just a crutch. Something to help ease the churn and ache that came from something that knotted up in his throat and head and demanded he appease it.

Darrow wasn't a dead city.

There were living everywhere. Even alone on an empty street, he wasn't alone. Every building had humans behind its walls, the air itself was saturated with the smell of living pounding him between the eyes. It made the hunger rear and demand he do something. It made his teeth bare and clench.

He didn't want to hurt anyone. He'd promised. He'd promised himself and the people he'd met that he wouldn't.

But the new hunger demanded.

He was sitting at his open window when he smelled blood. Fresh, alive, cloyingly metallic. It made him dizzy, and even without making a decision for it, his feet turned to follow the smell out the door and out the building. It wasn't human, he knew that, but the smell of feral pain and fear was bright and hot, and he couldn't help it. It called him and he was so, so, hungry.

When he found it in the alley, he mostly just thought: That's really sad.

The cat had clearly been hit by a car. It's back leg was mangled, it's pelvis at an odd angle. There were drag marks on the ground from where it'd tried to take itself to safety.

It was in pain, and pitiful, and there was no way it would survive anyway.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't help you. But I can make it stop.

He made it quick. He owed it that much for the pain it was in, and for what he was about to do.

It didn't taste right. Not the way the new hunger wanted. But with blood slick lips and a mouth full of flesh and fur, at least the smell of living was easier to ignore.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Okay, he definitely has a point there. R tried to imagine himself walking through downtown in bloodstained clothes, and the image was immediately met with some pretty suspicious and gun happy humans. Grimacing, he nodded.

"It's... a... g-good... idea." He agreed, still a bit thrown by the idea of wearing something new. Maybe new clothes would add to his camouflage. Humans might be more inclined to think he was just awkward and sickly, instead of awkward and dead. "B-blend... in... m-more... y'know?"

"Exactly. We'll get you taken care of, kid. I like you too much to see a crowd mess with you because they don't understand. I know what that feels like."

The only advantage that Bull had was that he was huge, and most people had to think very hard before they started with him. But crowds had a way of making people bold.

"If you can lay low for a little bit, I'll bring you things that should fit. Only question is, do you have the dexterity to change clothes?"

Whatever flicker of warmth R felt at being told he was genuinely liked was immediately swept under the rug by the question of his ability to change clothes himself. Which was.... well, a valid question, but still one that made him wish he could properly squirm in embarrassment.

It was obvious Bull didn't mean it in any way that wasn't honest curiosity, but still. I'm a grown dead man, and I'm not even sure if I can change my pants properly. How sad is that?

Shrugging, he picked at the crusty jean stain again. "P-prob... ably." He hedged, because it was neither a yes or a no. Given time he probably could. He wouldn't be speeding through any makeovers in a dressing room any time soon, but given some patience and privacy he could probably fish flop his way into some new jeans and shoes.

Shoulders sagging, he realized he might need help with the laces, though.

"We'll figure something out," he assured R, who looked a little down about it. They would figure it out, just like the whole feeding thing, and they would try to give R a fighting chance at survival here. Bull didn't know why he'd taken to the kid so much. Maybe because R was a strange stray, one that this world might not take any pity on. Bull felt compelled to at least try, like he had with every core member of the Chargers. He could already hear Krem's arguments about having an undead kid in the ranks.

Didn't really matter here, though. There were no Chargers, other than him and Krem.

Bull's easy confidence was oddly uplifting. Yeah, R might not be entirely sure of what his actual limitations were when it came to the strange rituals of everyday life for the living, but it made him think he might be able to power through it. After all, it had taken him months to figure out how to set up and work his record player, but he'd done it.

If patience and hard work had managed that, then maybe pants and shoe laces would be an easy challenge.

And if not, maybe I can find some of those shoes with the velcro.

"Y-yeah," he agreed, a bit more sure of it. "One... st-step... at... a... time... rr-right?"