And ate the fellow, raw

[belladonic]

WHO: Claudia and 🥩you🥩
WHERE: Near the mine entrance, and near the fountain
WHAT: Claudia is always hungry
WHEN: After being freed from the Warrens
WARNINGS: Read this before tagging! Animal death right at the top.


a. outskirts
The stench of the carcass worsened as the blood cooled and congealed. It was already strange and sour, more than the usual earthy, gamy taste of a wild creature, tainted with fear and sick with watching fire rain from the sky. The thing had been thin and trembling, venturing at long last back to a familiar grazing ground only to find no safety there still. Claudia sat hunched on a felled log next to where it remained, its wild blood warming her through and staining her from chin to navel. Worse still, it was in her hair. Hair that had been growing increasingly untamed, difficult to control under the best conditions and with the help of expert hands, now subject to being torn through with a brittle stick as Claudia tried in vain to comb it. The struggle made it almost impossible to appreciate the hum and sing of nightlife around her, insects and frogs, or what sounded like them, darting through the underbrush, fat and unafraid after their predators were drained from the veins of this wood, flowing away from the volcano, and leaving the earth lush under the density of ash. It should have been a welcome song after being in the unnatural depths of those tunnels. And then there was the smell.

It hadn't taken Claudia long to return to the site of their burial, tiptoeing curiously around the mouth of that cave, sniffing the air for the fungal presence of the dancing mushrooms. The dark of it seemed to crouch threateningly in the moonlight now, and she had thrown a stone into that gaping maw, listening to it clatter down the tunnel until the sound had disturbed something above it. It made her stomach growl. Sniffing at it now, she wasn't sure how that was, and yet even with the taste still on her tongue she felt the hunger claw at her again. She brandished the stick she was trying to use as a comb at the carcass and admonished, "I don't even like you," like the rot and bones could do anything about it now. In response, a beetle came wiggling up through the slick of it, torn skin sliding off of its polished shell. Claudia bared her fangs, and turned her nose up to the wind again, searching for another warm body.

b. downtown
Without the glownies in their enclosure, the wind seemed to rattle the rafters and the straw on the ground looked one more night from blowing away. The flies didn't even remain, followed to wherever the herd had fled when abandoned, leaving only Claudia sitting on the fence where she could kick her legs and look mournfully into the empty sprawl. It wasn't even that she wanted the glownies to be there, for a fact; with no trace of them, she could only imagine the great mass of them all running together through the trees, and that was wonderful. And they weren't even that appetizing. But she was hungry, and one of those beasts would have at least come and eaten from her hand with its big, stupid eyes, completely unaware of its impending end. The other beasts around here weren't so easy to find out at night. Maybe, if she was lucky, she'd spy one wandering through he square, alone as most of them ever seemed to be, trusting the world to be so gentle with them even after it had spit fire at them.

She slipped from the fence and went skipping out into the fresh air, under the shimmer of the moon at its peak in the sky, and paused there to carefully fix her skirt and her hair, and tested a trembling pout before evaluating herself with a slightly unimpressed twist of her mouth. It was probably convincing enough for the meat. Now she just had to wait, turning her ear up to listen for any approach, like she wasn't in the centre of the city that should have been teeming like blood under the skin even at this hour of the night. Instead, it was like she was waiting for a lonely farmer to stumble out to the swamp to relieve himself.

There, a sound. Claudia glanced around herself to pluck up a stone torn loose from some damage to the building above, raising it over her head to drop unceremoniously to the road and let the sound of it ring through the dark streets. A beat later, she cried, "Oh, no," as miserable as she could manage. It took her another second to consider that she should maybe be on the ground for the most effective performance, and gingerly lowered herself, patting away the pebbles that might dig into her legs where she lounged.

Comments

[buildingitsir]

There's a metallic noise under her hand, a hardness that didn't break like bone did, as she slapped him with her claws. It turns his head but he doesn't cry out from pain or anything. The only thing that shows in the aftermath of her hit was the torn skin - or what was a mimicry of flesh, hanging from his cheek. It hung like ripped fabric, flashing for a moment before the furthest pieces turned the illusion off and left only a very tight mesh visible. The hardness Claudia felt was the smooth, white plating underneath, now marred with neat scratches like a cat got to him.

He twists his fury on her, barely able to see before mentally pushing aside all of the errors that were popping up from that slap. "You're just proving my fucking point," he metaphorically spits out at her. He would actually spit at her feet if he had the glands for it. Maybe it was okay that his Stark never installed such a thing. "The only thing worse than you laying a hand on me is just your existence here. I hope someone decides to throw you into that volcano."

[belladonic]

His heart should have been an absolute cacophony with his face twisted up in so much anger, and instead Claudia was listening to that strange, steady chug, unblinking eyes on his chest while he bared his blunt teeth at her and made noises that he thought could compare. He wasn't real, somehow, not even dead; no blood from under his fake flesh, no heart, no thoughts. Some kind of puppet.

"You can't?" Claudia earnestly asked. Perhaps he was bound by what the puppetmaster allowed. There must have been one. He must have bled.

[buildingitsir]

"You want me to?" he challenges back, the fury turning his face to a sneer. "And why the hell do you keep staring at me like that? You want me to call you that word again? Because you're being one and fucking impolite! At least BLINK motherfucker!! Little creep." That last bit is said under his simulated breath.

York finally turns away from her to start physically assessing the damage she's caused. "Jesus christ, really, what the fuck is wrong with you? Are you stuck in some weird ass fucking goth phase where your claws need to be like a cat? You realize it's going to take too fucking long to get this shit repaired, right?"

He presses the mesh up, hoping that the frayed ends would catch on the still online sections but they just fall back down to hang. "At least you're a pretty good contender for why the glownies aren't back. You probably attacked the fuck out of them too."

'Bitch,' though this time smartly unsaid.

[belladonic]

It was incredibly funny that he now seemed unwilling to say 'that word', and also that he had any qualms about anyone being impolite from the way he spoke to her, so Claudia's giggles became an outright laugh over his continued swearing that she had to try to reign in with a squeak and hand to her mouth again. It became a little less funny as she heard Louis in her ear, telling her they didn't have to put up anymore with the white arrogance that thought them savages. To him, she was a dog, now a cat, and ravaged livestock. How predictable for a thing whose so much more polite skin wasn't even real.

She was suddenly right in front of him, one fist in the preppy forelock of his hair, yanking it up to let her grab a steely hold around the hinge of his jaw, fingers pressing into the joint relentlessly. "Which of them do you think called me a dog?" she asked sweetly, eyes locked on his, red and refusing to blink. "And how long do you think they lasted after that? One minute? Two? Maybe it depends on if you're counting how long their heart was still beating. That could be hours."

[buildingitsir]

He wasn't even verbally attacking her because of her flesh color - hell, he looked up to their rebel leader who technically had and kept his own skin mesh a far darker color than York's. Hell, there had been that big guy (Luther, his system supplies helpfully) who was as well.

York's head gets yanked back with ease, the hardware of his neck and spine throwing up errors as they're pushed to their limits. Then there are more errors as she grips him at his jawline. The android can barely see, blinking them away as quickly as the show and then wishing he hadn't as she stares down at him.

"So what? You're going to kill me because I called you fucking names? For someone with a strong as fuck grip, your skin sure is thin." But he doesn't want to be here, but any squirming attempt jars his hardware together in a way that would send pain signals to a human brain. He remembers being ripped apart, the stars wheeling overhead and framed by the skyscrapers. "You're no better than any other fucking human."

He's not even outwardly concerned by her other questions, asking how long others lasted. He doesn't even know what she is, aside from a stupidly strong human female. Vampires just weren't a thing in his world.

[belladonic]

How miserable. Claudia put on a big pout, brow knit sympathetically, ever so sorry for this little boy who didn't seem to understand, "Did you think you would never face consequences for anything in your whole little life? This is probably really scary for you." The dramatics ended as quickly as they came on, her wide-eyed placidity returning for her to contemplate just how interesting it was that he did seem to be aware how inhuman he was. Not interesting enough to keep her from finding out how much he died like one.

"I am so much better than a human," she assured him gently, so he could believe until the end that he probably could have kept treating the mortals like garbage and never faced punishment. How unlucky that he directed that attitude toward something greater. Her grip tightened impossibly, his hair tearing between her fingers, so she could yank down on his jaw to rip it away just as easily.

[buildingitsir]

York laughs despite the situation. "I'm not even two," which was the truth. He hadn't been online that long, compared to his two brothers. He may look sixteen and act older, but his body's age wasn't near either of them.

"You don't know any of the consequences I've faced." And not just here in the city since his arrival.

He hates her gentle tone. Something placating and he finds that kind of condescending. "No. No you're not. You're just as fucking terrible as they are." And that's solidified in his programming as she starts to wrench him apart. There's high screeching of metal against metal, some of the tubes concealed within catching and breaking to cover her fingers in blue blood.

And then whatever self-preservation he had kicked in. "Get OF҉F́ ͟OF ́ME! ̵" his voicebox screeches out high and grating as his hand goes up to try and crack his fist into her nose.

[belladonic]

It was hard to rouse up any sympathy for someone who thought he could be so cruel with impunity, but Claudia did like a taunting pout and big, understanding nod. Whatever little slap on the wrist he had endured for enacting the much worse thing he was willing to accept deserved any kind of punishment, that should have been well behind him, so he could continue being as vile as he wanted. What a charmed life he had wasted.

The blue liquid that seeped out of him almost like blood, splattering Claudia's fingers and running down his neck, was almost enchanting enough for her to stop. It didn't smell appetizing, and felt wrong, not slick or warm enough, like it was already congealing, like eating it would poison her with his death. So entranced, she was unprepared for him to strike out, and the moment she was struck she yelped and was stumbling away, hands flying back to her own face to cradle over her nose. That was what blood was supposed to feel like, dripping down across her lips. Still too cold, but running freely, eager to leap out of her veins.

[buildingitsir]

Everything in his HUD is red. So red. His jaw hardware was barely hanging on, his skin mesh on his face and neck were ripped, and the plates of said neck were crunched with the broken tubes peeking out between them on his left side. With his hit and her staggering back, York also lurches backwards a few paces and almost falling.

Thirium dribbles down into his hoodie and shirt, before he reaches up to finally pinch them closed long enough turn that section of hardware off.

"I know I have a bad attitude and a mouth that gets me into trouble but even I wouldn't assault someone over it!" He starts taking steps backwards. The closest place that could be safety was the hotel. The library was too far for certain and if he was lucky, Richie might be home in their shared room. His hands go into his hoodie pouch, finding his communicator device. He needs to message Richie. Or maybe even Reeve. "Look, I'm just gonna go and delete this fucking encounter."

If she even let him go.

[belladonic]

Even through wanting to wail in frustration for being hurt and tasting this stale blood, Claudia had to let out a watery laugh at York still needing to take the time in his assault to assure himself that he was inherently a better person. It certainly wasn't her that was supposed to care about his lofty morality. And in all of that arrogance, he lingered? Letting her watch through red tears as he searched around in his pockets, and suggested they were still having a discussion.

There was no way she could put that blue concoction in her body, but that didn't stop her fangs from sharpening in her aggression, and in response she dropped her hands from her nose to hiss viciously as a final warning. Then York was being grabbed by the front of his sweater to be yanked across the stones and thrown against the wall of the stable, to crack him open and paint it that pretty blue.

[buildingitsir]

He wasn't lingering! He was walking towards the door! York had every intention of leaving, but running did not seem like a good idea at the moment. The way her laughter rang through the empty room would've chilled him if he was made of flesh and blood.

He's about to just turn and flee when suddenly the room is upending, turning when it shouldn't and then the impact hits. The LED hidden on his chest is red and he lays there limp to assess the damage. His neck had near critical damage - if her claws had ripped further in, he'd be offline. There was the obvious skin mesh damage on his face, but now there was some hidden away under his clothes. Damage to his right ankle that would make walking difficult. Some to the shell on his back, but nothing worrying. Thank god for his clothes.

He pushes himself and now tries to make a break for it, heading straight for the door. If he didn't, she really might kill him. One hand holds the device, typing quickly on it as he moves.

[belladonic]

He was still moving, slowly. Claudia wasn't in a hurry. She watched that strange, flickering shift of the luminescence of him, no compensation for the dullness, a false firefly whose candle would be out by morning. Lestat probably wouldn't believe her if she tried to tell him about the never alive boy, if he was already an unmoving doll. She let him gather himself, and only followed a few paces after, reserved and with poise like she got to attend fancy classes with the other girls and the matrons who taught them on which side they should be carrying a pocketbook. It was in the fresh air where she could look up at the stars that the careful arrangement fell away, for her to wipe the back of her hand across her lip, smearing the blood from her nose across her cheek and her knuckles, and she gave a small sigh of appreciation for the glimmer of the colours dotted through the dark sky. A never alive boy was kind of like an undead one. He would probably live forever in that fragile shell as well. She watched him go with that blank, wide-eyed stare, head tilted just so, curls falling across her shoulder.

[buildingitsir]

Of course he was still moving. York wasn't offline yet. It's difficult though, and slow going from both the damage, and the amount of errors that keep popping up despite how much he pushes them out of his sight. People had already tried to rip him apart before - and this felt eerily similar and he hates it - so this isn't new. He hates that it isn't new.

York was supposed to be safe here. Sure, his mouth could get him into trouble. Had gotten him into trouble. Plenty of times. But never this bad. Surely calling someone a few bad names with an attitude didn't warrant being killed.

Before he rounds the corner outside, he gives pause, glaring back towards the strange girl. He didn't even know her name. Didn't even want to know it. The android hopes he never crosses path with this psychotic bitch again. And then he's disappeared around the corner, heading straight for the hotel.

Straight for home.