Out Of Words
GM of If December Freezes
A NIGHT BLEEDS
A story by Out Of Words
A story by Out Of Words
Out Of Words
Not The Embassy Suites - Coda & Indy
Tags:
Vinegar Bees
Rhyme
Location: Miami, FL
Coda could barely hear Key's instructions as he led the smart-mouthed Indy to their designated room for the night. Key's words were tinny in his ears, Indy's back an inscrutable blur in front of him. The headache was growing, pounding, even, as if a bird had been loosed within his skull and was bouncing off of the walls in a desperate bid to escape.
Not that he could blame the little thing, figuratively speaking. He didn't like being stuck in his own head, either.
He kept a narrow, hateful gaze on Indy as she entered the room. Spending the night locked in a room with a smartass was one of the last things he wanted. He was certain there was some kind of camera system in here, that Key was getting ready to laugh his ass off at the spectacle—
Oh. Coda's gaze moved past Indy to the room itself, and something strange and unbidden twisted in his chest.
Bunk beds.
For a moment, Coda could only stare mindlessly at the strange relic, his ears buzzing.
Snap out of it.
Frowning, Coda ran a hand over his aching forehead and then pressed his back up against the closed door, keeping a grim but silent eye on his charge. The last thing he needed to do was give the smartass more ammunition.
No blood had been spilled, but she could smell it. She smelled it in the clean corridors, on the walls, in the cracks of every façade as she and her fellow prisoners were unceremoniously led from the room by the spikey-haired bastard in charge and marched down the hall before being sorted into rooms. She watched Foster and Winnie leave before her, desperately tracking their frames until they were shut away from view. Each time her lips parted, almost to call their names. Twice, she caught herself.
Until it was her, alone with the dark statue behind her. Don't leave the room. Fuck off.
Before the door even shut Indy was tracking around the room, fingers tracing invisible lines on the windowless walls. Her head was starting to ache again, the claustrophobic walls pressing inward before trying to escape through her burning skin. Every atom of her core was coiled, desperate to pounce and drag bloody claws down the walls--a caged animal.
Cat's in the bag, this time, I guess.
Arms crossed tightly, she crossed the small room to the fridge, remotely surprised to see it fully stocked.
"Well? You a Coke or Pepsi man? Or, vampire. Whatever." Her voice hid no edges, each syllable spit sharply from the tip of her tongue.
Coda kept his eyes narrow, his fists clenched. God, how he wanted to just pummel her a little bit—not a lot, just enough to show her to stop fucking around with him. He could control himself.
Sure you can, one of the voices spat, a sneer of pure sound. Just ask your sister.
A jolt ran through him, a hot flash searing the ends of his nerves, and he again found his gaze wandering to the bunk beds daring him to come near.
Just go to sleep, okay? The monster—
He gritted his teeth, digging his nails into the palm of his hand in an attempt to shock himself out of it. Willfully, he reoriented his focus to Indy, though he really didn't care what kind of drinks were in the fridge Key had provided. "Not a vampire," he growled, "and not thirsty."
Indy could practically hear the soft click of a land mine settling into place, ready to trigger. The signs were in his fingertips; now the smell of blood was nearly vivid as the skin on his palms threatened to break.
She just needed to push a little harder.
She pulled a can of soda from the fridge, cracking it open. Carefully, she raised it to her lips as she appraised him carefully. "Not a vamp, huh? Well." Slowly, she leaned back into the fridge, setting her can of soda on the shelf as she reached for another, speaking loudly. "What the fuck are you then, angel? Unicorn? That explain why you're so wound up, just fucking horny?" Quietly as she spoke, she shock the unopened can, blocking his view with her back, before standing.
She crossed the room soundlessly, toeing up to the looming figure. Her voice was dark. "They tell you the same shit about the moon? That you're doing the good work? Or are they just fucking paying you?" She tilted up her chin, eyes narrowed.
I'm not afraid of a fucking kid.
Suddenly, she stepped back, pulling the tab on the can of soda just before tossing it at him as it began spewing a tirade of foam. "Catch, sellout."
The blood in his veins was thrashing hot, as if it threatened to eat straight through them along with his skin. Coda's heart was pounding in his ears, an alarm bell urging him to make her pay for her arrogance.
How many times are you gonna let the world laugh at you before you burn them for it?
Sharp pains snaked through his jaw from the weight of clenching it. Just one night, he reminded himself. Tomorrow he would be on his way to HQ, could put this smarmy bitch behind him. Finally, finally, he would be on his way to some real work—some real power. Let them laugh at him then. It wouldn't last. Finally, finally, he would get to be the one laughing.
Indy tossed something at him, then, and though half of his brain was aware that it was nothing more than a can of soda, the other half had been conditioned to view any rapidly-approaching object as a threat. Swiftly, he batted the can away with a strike of his forearm, but the stupid thing had still gotten close enough to spit a stream of foam at him before it landed pitifully on the other side of the room, frothing like a rabid stray.
Oh, he was frothing, too, but he willed himself to keep his foam behind his teeth.
"Yeah, I'm a unicorn," he spat caustically, ignoring Indy's question about the moon. Coda extended his middle finger through a clenched fist and then pressed it to his forehead. "Here's my horn, fucker."
"That explains it, then." Indy crossed her arms. "Tiny horn syndrome."
At this point, Coda had to admit he was surprised his teeth hadn't started to crack yet, given how hard he was clenching them. Pick your battles, Key had said, but damn it, this one was starting to feel more and more ripe by the second.
Just for tonight.
He shut his eyes for a moment, breathed in, out. Every inch of him was burning from his toes to the tips of his ears.
"Thanks for the diagnosis, doc," he snarled. "Hope you're not expecting me to pay you."
He hadn't zapped her yet, and it was obvious he would if he had the ability. Indy smiled.
She had to hand it to him; she had figured he would crack long before now. Somehow, he was managing to keep it together.
"I can see how pissed you are." She inched closer again, kicking the discard can aside as it skidded into the wall with a sharp clatter. "Doesn't it just thrill you? Having to put up with this shit, not being able to do anything fucking about?" She jabbed a finger at his chest, standing practically on top of his feet. She could smell his breath, hear the grinding of his teeth as she jabbed him hard, once.
"Fucking hit me then. Do it. See your boss come in and bitch you out, explode my fucking head. Do something. Say something. Cause a fucker like you doesn't do this kind of shit for no reason. Are you into it? Does this turn you on, kidnapping girls and locking them in rooms? You fucking coward."
Any opening; she would take any opening. Every muscle was coiled, ready to suffer the consequences of poking this timebomb--she was dancing on ice, listening for the cracks that just might let her fall through into the water.
Dark spots were edging on the corners of her vision, split by the quiet drumming within her skull. Not now.
The room was spinning, his vision burning a deeper scarlet with each indignity Indy spat his way. God, how easy it would be—he could snap her neck, or stab her straight through the heart, or—
No. A death like that would be too good for her. He wanted it to be slow, torturous. He wanted her to regret ever opening her mouth. He wanted to see terror in her eyes before he crushed the life out of her—
And yet Indy wasn’t the only one laughing at him. In his vision, she seemed to have grown to titanic height, a wicked grin split grotesquely across her suddenly-rotting face—and the flies buzzing around her were the others.
What’s the matter? Mean, nasty lady hurt your feelings?
Gonna cry, mama’s boy?
He wasn’t. He wasn’t a mama’s boy. If anything, he hated that woman for the unforgivable crime of giving him life.
Poor little demon boy. Why don’t you off yourself, then? Too scared?
Little half demon boy.
He wasn’t scared, and he wasn’t weak. He wasn’t.
Then do it, freak. Do it.
All at once, something snapped behind his eyes—there wasn’t a sound, nor a feeling, really, just an awareness that something had changed. In the next moment, a sharp pain bit into the lower half of his face, and he drew a hand to his face to feel that his nose had begun to inexplicably bleed.
The sound of flesh searing and the scorching pain were almost a relief. Coda swiped his hand across his nose, letting the burn spread there, too.
Without a word, Coda flicked his hand lightly at Indy, spraying her with a few drops of blood—not enough to do any real damage. Then he shoved past her to the bathroom, where, door still open, he began to run the faucet as cold as it could go. Might as well clean up some of the mess.
On the outside, at least. The inside was a lost cause.
Well he certainly looked like he was about to pop. His face was aflame, features twisted mercilessly with barely guised hatred. She could see the thoughts swirling through his mind, twirling images of death and torture. Her head tipped to the side, daring him to twist it.
Nothing happened.
Indy was only struck by the sharp smell of fresh blood, tainted with a unique acidic sting as her nose wrinkled in response.
The same blood was flicked onto her face, sending her staggering back as she rubbed desperately at her face. Initially the scent was the most assualting aspect, but then her face began to itch desperately. "Fuck," she hissed, watching Coda brush past into the bathroom through a blurry gaze.
She followed, hand over her eyes as she swapped on the shower, hand desperately clawing at the dial until the water finally began to spray. She dipped her head under the spray, feeling cold relief wash away the sting and scent.
"Alright, alright," she muttered. "Alright. Fair dues. Can tell your boss you--ah, shit," a soft, wet sneeze jerked her body. "Fuck."
She twisted the dial back, stepping out of the shower as her wet hair slapped onto her back. All at once, she was exhausted. The fury that had driven her was exhausted with a single flick of his fingers and she craved the safety of a small corner, tucked away. Away from any proximity. God--the thought of proximity, the tension between her body and all the others--fuck.
Instead, she slumped down, finding a seat on the toilet as the weight of her body was released with one slow exhale.
"So you can't shock me, or don't have the remote, anyway," she twisted a wet strand of dark hair behind her ear. "And you bleed... spicy blood. So, you're not a vamp, then. I think, anyway." Her head fell back against the wall, eyes shut.
Coda threw a hostile, sidelong glance at Indy as she collapsed onto the toilet, her spiteful belligerence seemingly replaced by a thorough exhaustion. Likewise, Coda felt the murderous rage he had previously been harboring ebb into a sort of feverish embarrassment—why had he allowed her taunts to rattle him that badly? He wanted to let insults pass through him unacknowledged, but his skin was so thin as to be permeable. Every cell in his body screamed; he had not been built to not feel every pinch as if it were an impalement.
Another reason the sudden sting of his acidic blood was a relief. There was too much, always, all at once swirling around within him; pain, at least, narrowed it all down.
His face washed clean, Coda twisted the faucet off, listening to the tapering stream drip into the basin of the sink. "Not a vampire," he said, low and tense. "Demon."
Fuck it. She was going to find out either way.
"Half. Two horns, but they're both a hell of a lot uglier than a unicorn's."
He could still feel them kneading beneath his skin, pressing out against his skull; like caged animals, they longed for release. If Coda dared to meet eyes with the figure watching him from the other side of the mirror, he wondered if he would see them trying to push through.
Scared of your own reflection, half-baked?
Coda scowled and swiftly looked up into the mirror. Whatever enmity had been burning behind his eyes for Indy paled beside the unalloyed loathing with which he greeted himself.
He left the bathroom, then, leaving Indy to sleep on the damned toilet if that was what she was planning. He hesitated again at the sight of the bunk beds, and his gaze drifted to the door. Probably better to sleep there, to keep watch—
Scared of a bed, too.
Coda gritted his teeth and emphatically headed for the bunk beds, hoisting himself up to the top bunk and pressing his back up against the wall, legs hanging over the edge.
Like hell I am.
Indy watched Coda's furious expression wither in the mirror into a familiar depiction of burnt exhaustion, his words carrying a duller edge than his previous burning jabs.
She slowly eased herself up, leveraging her weight on her knees as she sidled up to the sink and leaned heavily onto it, pressing her face close to the mirror and investigating the deep bruises under her blood-streaked eyes.
A demon. "Shit. Of all the bullshit I could hear today, that has to make the most fucking sense," she grumbled, rubbing a hand over her mouth. To think she had believed she'd escape that cult bullshit.
She went back to the main room, seeing Coda had claimed the top bunk, his large form a comical lump towering over her, his legs dangling off the edge.
She went to the fridge again, throwing open the door and leaning against it as she dug through the shelves, desperately looking for any sort of alcohol.
"Heard of demons before. Least you don't drink blood." She shoved her face into the cool air. "Know holy water is out of the question, but what about alcohol?"
Apparently Indy wasn't planning on sleeping on the toilet, which he had to say was a good call. She emerged from the restroom a moment later, immediately returning to the fridge and digging through it.
He had to admit his ears pricked up a little when she mentioned she had dealt with demons before—that makes one of us, then, he thought bitterly. He had never met another of his kind, half or not, and the isolation was a bit disorienting. Not that he imagined demons were good company—he sometimes fantasized about meeting whatever creature was his father, just so he could spit on it—but being a freak in company seemed marginally preferable to being a freak alone.
A tiny part of him considered asking her what she knew about demons, but whatever scorched, scarred remains of pride he had bristled at the idea. He turned his attention, instead, to the alcohol. "Gluttony is supposed to be a deadly sin or whatever," he said. "I'd be a sorry excuse for a demon if I couldn't drink alcohol."
(Maybe he was a sorry excuse either way, but she didn't have to know.)
"Hark, 'Deceit is in the heart of those who devise evil, but those who drink have joy.'" Her hand landed on a promising glass bottle which she pulled out to reveal the crystal clear shine of expensive vodka. She unscrewed the cap, taking a quick swig and wincing lightly. "Proverbs. Kind of. Here," she wandered over to the beds and tapped the bottle on the rails. "Cheers to the fucking moon, if that story was legit anyway."
Coda cast a bewildered look at Indy as she suddenly began to speak like a priest fresh from the pulpit. There was no way she would have bothered to memorize something like that for the hell of it—was she a fundie kid? One in a long line of kids from one of those sprawling Mormon clans?
Whatever her story, her current acerbic tone suggested she didn't exactly hold spirituality too dear. Coda stared suspiciously at her, eyes narrowed, as she offered him the bottle of liquor she had produced from the fridge, but it wasn't as if she could have poisoned the thing—she had just taken a swig herself, after all.
"Can't say I blame the moon much," he muttered. "About time someone tried to end this shitty planet."
He picked up the bottle and took a long gulp—the burning in his throat was as satisfying as the blood dripping earlier down his chin—before handing it back.
"Yeah. Well. Forgive me if I'm not quite done with it yet, personally." Indy took the bottle back and drank deeply, feeling the alcohol drum old feelings of fire down her throat.
She slumped onto the bed, falling backward as she took another swig. One leg shot up to kick the bottom of the bunk above her, the bottle tapping the floor as she let her arm fall.
"Night, unicorn."
An impending mutual insomnia seemed to be silently acknowledged, but it felt odd to not say it.
She hadn't slept in the same room as someone else in a while, and her memory the appropriate protocol for kidnapper-kidnapee sleepovers had been lost to time.
Coda scowled at the feeling of Indy's leg striking the bed below him, but it was little more than mild irritation—that homicidal fury he had been harboring like a fire in his chest had given way to tired cinders.
"Yeah, whatever," he muttered sullenly. He was stuck with this unicorn thing now, wasn't he? As if Roje's soda shtick wasn't enough. "Too bad there's no bedbugs here."
Tentatively, he let his eyes drift shut, but the feeling of lying on a top bunk was altogether too familiar, and he might have convinced himself he was somewhere else if he didn't open his eyes again a moment later.
Sleep was seldom restful for him, anyway.
Vinegar Bees
Rhyme
Location: Miami, FL
Coda could barely hear Key's instructions as he led the smart-mouthed Indy to their designated room for the night. Key's words were tinny in his ears, Indy's back an inscrutable blur in front of him. The headache was growing, pounding, even, as if a bird had been loosed within his skull and was bouncing off of the walls in a desperate bid to escape.
Not that he could blame the little thing, figuratively speaking. He didn't like being stuck in his own head, either.
He kept a narrow, hateful gaze on Indy as she entered the room. Spending the night locked in a room with a smartass was one of the last things he wanted. He was certain there was some kind of camera system in here, that Key was getting ready to laugh his ass off at the spectacle—
Oh. Coda's gaze moved past Indy to the room itself, and something strange and unbidden twisted in his chest.
Bunk beds.
For a moment, Coda could only stare mindlessly at the strange relic, his ears buzzing.
Snap out of it.
Frowning, Coda ran a hand over his aching forehead and then pressed his back up against the closed door, keeping a grim but silent eye on his charge. The last thing he needed to do was give the smartass more ammunition.
No blood had been spilled, but she could smell it. She smelled it in the clean corridors, on the walls, in the cracks of every façade as she and her fellow prisoners were unceremoniously led from the room by the spikey-haired bastard in charge and marched down the hall before being sorted into rooms. She watched Foster and Winnie leave before her, desperately tracking their frames until they were shut away from view. Each time her lips parted, almost to call their names. Twice, she caught herself.
Until it was her, alone with the dark statue behind her. Don't leave the room. Fuck off.
Before the door even shut Indy was tracking around the room, fingers tracing invisible lines on the windowless walls. Her head was starting to ache again, the claustrophobic walls pressing inward before trying to escape through her burning skin. Every atom of her core was coiled, desperate to pounce and drag bloody claws down the walls--a caged animal.
Cat's in the bag, this time, I guess.
Arms crossed tightly, she crossed the small room to the fridge, remotely surprised to see it fully stocked.
"Well? You a Coke or Pepsi man? Or, vampire. Whatever." Her voice hid no edges, each syllable spit sharply from the tip of her tongue.
Coda kept his eyes narrow, his fists clenched. God, how he wanted to just pummel her a little bit—not a lot, just enough to show her to stop fucking around with him. He could control himself.
Sure you can, one of the voices spat, a sneer of pure sound. Just ask your sister.
A jolt ran through him, a hot flash searing the ends of his nerves, and he again found his gaze wandering to the bunk beds daring him to come near.
Just go to sleep, okay? The monster—
He gritted his teeth, digging his nails into the palm of his hand in an attempt to shock himself out of it. Willfully, he reoriented his focus to Indy, though he really didn't care what kind of drinks were in the fridge Key had provided. "Not a vampire," he growled, "and not thirsty."
Indy could practically hear the soft click of a land mine settling into place, ready to trigger. The signs were in his fingertips; now the smell of blood was nearly vivid as the skin on his palms threatened to break.
She just needed to push a little harder.
She pulled a can of soda from the fridge, cracking it open. Carefully, she raised it to her lips as she appraised him carefully. "Not a vamp, huh? Well." Slowly, she leaned back into the fridge, setting her can of soda on the shelf as she reached for another, speaking loudly. "What the fuck are you then, angel? Unicorn? That explain why you're so wound up, just fucking horny?" Quietly as she spoke, she shock the unopened can, blocking his view with her back, before standing.
She crossed the room soundlessly, toeing up to the looming figure. Her voice was dark. "They tell you the same shit about the moon? That you're doing the good work? Or are they just fucking paying you?" She tilted up her chin, eyes narrowed.
I'm not afraid of a fucking kid.
Suddenly, she stepped back, pulling the tab on the can of soda just before tossing it at him as it began spewing a tirade of foam. "Catch, sellout."
The blood in his veins was thrashing hot, as if it threatened to eat straight through them along with his skin. Coda's heart was pounding in his ears, an alarm bell urging him to make her pay for her arrogance.
How many times are you gonna let the world laugh at you before you burn them for it?
Sharp pains snaked through his jaw from the weight of clenching it. Just one night, he reminded himself. Tomorrow he would be on his way to HQ, could put this smarmy bitch behind him. Finally, finally, he would be on his way to some real work—some real power. Let them laugh at him then. It wouldn't last. Finally, finally, he would get to be the one laughing.
Indy tossed something at him, then, and though half of his brain was aware that it was nothing more than a can of soda, the other half had been conditioned to view any rapidly-approaching object as a threat. Swiftly, he batted the can away with a strike of his forearm, but the stupid thing had still gotten close enough to spit a stream of foam at him before it landed pitifully on the other side of the room, frothing like a rabid stray.
Oh, he was frothing, too, but he willed himself to keep his foam behind his teeth.
"Yeah, I'm a unicorn," he spat caustically, ignoring Indy's question about the moon. Coda extended his middle finger through a clenched fist and then pressed it to his forehead. "Here's my horn, fucker."
"That explains it, then." Indy crossed her arms. "Tiny horn syndrome."
At this point, Coda had to admit he was surprised his teeth hadn't started to crack yet, given how hard he was clenching them. Pick your battles, Key had said, but damn it, this one was starting to feel more and more ripe by the second.
Just for tonight.
He shut his eyes for a moment, breathed in, out. Every inch of him was burning from his toes to the tips of his ears.
"Thanks for the diagnosis, doc," he snarled. "Hope you're not expecting me to pay you."
He hadn't zapped her yet, and it was obvious he would if he had the ability. Indy smiled.
She had to hand it to him; she had figured he would crack long before now. Somehow, he was managing to keep it together.
"I can see how pissed you are." She inched closer again, kicking the discard can aside as it skidded into the wall with a sharp clatter. "Doesn't it just thrill you? Having to put up with this shit, not being able to do anything fucking about?" She jabbed a finger at his chest, standing practically on top of his feet. She could smell his breath, hear the grinding of his teeth as she jabbed him hard, once.
"Fucking hit me then. Do it. See your boss come in and bitch you out, explode my fucking head. Do something. Say something. Cause a fucker like you doesn't do this kind of shit for no reason. Are you into it? Does this turn you on, kidnapping girls and locking them in rooms? You fucking coward."
Any opening; she would take any opening. Every muscle was coiled, ready to suffer the consequences of poking this timebomb--she was dancing on ice, listening for the cracks that just might let her fall through into the water.
Dark spots were edging on the corners of her vision, split by the quiet drumming within her skull. Not now.
The room was spinning, his vision burning a deeper scarlet with each indignity Indy spat his way. God, how easy it would be—he could snap her neck, or stab her straight through the heart, or—
No. A death like that would be too good for her. He wanted it to be slow, torturous. He wanted her to regret ever opening her mouth. He wanted to see terror in her eyes before he crushed the life out of her—
And yet Indy wasn’t the only one laughing at him. In his vision, she seemed to have grown to titanic height, a wicked grin split grotesquely across her suddenly-rotting face—and the flies buzzing around her were the others.
What’s the matter? Mean, nasty lady hurt your feelings?
Gonna cry, mama’s boy?
He wasn’t. He wasn’t a mama’s boy. If anything, he hated that woman for the unforgivable crime of giving him life.
Poor little demon boy. Why don’t you off yourself, then? Too scared?
Little half demon boy.
He wasn’t scared, and he wasn’t weak. He wasn’t.
Then do it, freak. Do it.
All at once, something snapped behind his eyes—there wasn’t a sound, nor a feeling, really, just an awareness that something had changed. In the next moment, a sharp pain bit into the lower half of his face, and he drew a hand to his face to feel that his nose had begun to inexplicably bleed.
The sound of flesh searing and the scorching pain were almost a relief. Coda swiped his hand across his nose, letting the burn spread there, too.
Without a word, Coda flicked his hand lightly at Indy, spraying her with a few drops of blood—not enough to do any real damage. Then he shoved past her to the bathroom, where, door still open, he began to run the faucet as cold as it could go. Might as well clean up some of the mess.
On the outside, at least. The inside was a lost cause.
Well he certainly looked like he was about to pop. His face was aflame, features twisted mercilessly with barely guised hatred. She could see the thoughts swirling through his mind, twirling images of death and torture. Her head tipped to the side, daring him to twist it.
Nothing happened.
Indy was only struck by the sharp smell of fresh blood, tainted with a unique acidic sting as her nose wrinkled in response.
The same blood was flicked onto her face, sending her staggering back as she rubbed desperately at her face. Initially the scent was the most assualting aspect, but then her face began to itch desperately. "Fuck," she hissed, watching Coda brush past into the bathroom through a blurry gaze.
She followed, hand over her eyes as she swapped on the shower, hand desperately clawing at the dial until the water finally began to spray. She dipped her head under the spray, feeling cold relief wash away the sting and scent.
"Alright, alright," she muttered. "Alright. Fair dues. Can tell your boss you--ah, shit," a soft, wet sneeze jerked her body. "Fuck."
She twisted the dial back, stepping out of the shower as her wet hair slapped onto her back. All at once, she was exhausted. The fury that had driven her was exhausted with a single flick of his fingers and she craved the safety of a small corner, tucked away. Away from any proximity. God--the thought of proximity, the tension between her body and all the others--fuck.
Instead, she slumped down, finding a seat on the toilet as the weight of her body was released with one slow exhale.
"So you can't shock me, or don't have the remote, anyway," she twisted a wet strand of dark hair behind her ear. "And you bleed... spicy blood. So, you're not a vamp, then. I think, anyway." Her head fell back against the wall, eyes shut.
Coda threw a hostile, sidelong glance at Indy as she collapsed onto the toilet, her spiteful belligerence seemingly replaced by a thorough exhaustion. Likewise, Coda felt the murderous rage he had previously been harboring ebb into a sort of feverish embarrassment—why had he allowed her taunts to rattle him that badly? He wanted to let insults pass through him unacknowledged, but his skin was so thin as to be permeable. Every cell in his body screamed; he had not been built to not feel every pinch as if it were an impalement.
Another reason the sudden sting of his acidic blood was a relief. There was too much, always, all at once swirling around within him; pain, at least, narrowed it all down.
His face washed clean, Coda twisted the faucet off, listening to the tapering stream drip into the basin of the sink. "Not a vampire," he said, low and tense. "Demon."
Fuck it. She was going to find out either way.
"Half. Two horns, but they're both a hell of a lot uglier than a unicorn's."
He could still feel them kneading beneath his skin, pressing out against his skull; like caged animals, they longed for release. If Coda dared to meet eyes with the figure watching him from the other side of the mirror, he wondered if he would see them trying to push through.
Scared of your own reflection, half-baked?
Coda scowled and swiftly looked up into the mirror. Whatever enmity had been burning behind his eyes for Indy paled beside the unalloyed loathing with which he greeted himself.
He left the bathroom, then, leaving Indy to sleep on the damned toilet if that was what she was planning. He hesitated again at the sight of the bunk beds, and his gaze drifted to the door. Probably better to sleep there, to keep watch—
Scared of a bed, too.
Coda gritted his teeth and emphatically headed for the bunk beds, hoisting himself up to the top bunk and pressing his back up against the wall, legs hanging over the edge.
Like hell I am.
Indy watched Coda's furious expression wither in the mirror into a familiar depiction of burnt exhaustion, his words carrying a duller edge than his previous burning jabs.
She slowly eased herself up, leveraging her weight on her knees as she sidled up to the sink and leaned heavily onto it, pressing her face close to the mirror and investigating the deep bruises under her blood-streaked eyes.
A demon. "Shit. Of all the bullshit I could hear today, that has to make the most fucking sense," she grumbled, rubbing a hand over her mouth. To think she had believed she'd escape that cult bullshit.
She went back to the main room, seeing Coda had claimed the top bunk, his large form a comical lump towering over her, his legs dangling off the edge.
She went to the fridge again, throwing open the door and leaning against it as she dug through the shelves, desperately looking for any sort of alcohol.
"Heard of demons before. Least you don't drink blood." She shoved her face into the cool air. "Know holy water is out of the question, but what about alcohol?"
Apparently Indy wasn't planning on sleeping on the toilet, which he had to say was a good call. She emerged from the restroom a moment later, immediately returning to the fridge and digging through it.
He had to admit his ears pricked up a little when she mentioned she had dealt with demons before—that makes one of us, then, he thought bitterly. He had never met another of his kind, half or not, and the isolation was a bit disorienting. Not that he imagined demons were good company—he sometimes fantasized about meeting whatever creature was his father, just so he could spit on it—but being a freak in company seemed marginally preferable to being a freak alone.
A tiny part of him considered asking her what she knew about demons, but whatever scorched, scarred remains of pride he had bristled at the idea. He turned his attention, instead, to the alcohol. "Gluttony is supposed to be a deadly sin or whatever," he said. "I'd be a sorry excuse for a demon if I couldn't drink alcohol."
(Maybe he was a sorry excuse either way, but she didn't have to know.)
"Hark, 'Deceit is in the heart of those who devise evil, but those who drink have joy.'" Her hand landed on a promising glass bottle which she pulled out to reveal the crystal clear shine of expensive vodka. She unscrewed the cap, taking a quick swig and wincing lightly. "Proverbs. Kind of. Here," she wandered over to the beds and tapped the bottle on the rails. "Cheers to the fucking moon, if that story was legit anyway."
Coda cast a bewildered look at Indy as she suddenly began to speak like a priest fresh from the pulpit. There was no way she would have bothered to memorize something like that for the hell of it—was she a fundie kid? One in a long line of kids from one of those sprawling Mormon clans?
Whatever her story, her current acerbic tone suggested she didn't exactly hold spirituality too dear. Coda stared suspiciously at her, eyes narrowed, as she offered him the bottle of liquor she had produced from the fridge, but it wasn't as if she could have poisoned the thing—she had just taken a swig herself, after all.
"Can't say I blame the moon much," he muttered. "About time someone tried to end this shitty planet."
He picked up the bottle and took a long gulp—the burning in his throat was as satisfying as the blood dripping earlier down his chin—before handing it back.
"Yeah. Well. Forgive me if I'm not quite done with it yet, personally." Indy took the bottle back and drank deeply, feeling the alcohol drum old feelings of fire down her throat.
She slumped onto the bed, falling backward as she took another swig. One leg shot up to kick the bottom of the bunk above her, the bottle tapping the floor as she let her arm fall.
"Night, unicorn."
An impending mutual insomnia seemed to be silently acknowledged, but it felt odd to not say it.
She hadn't slept in the same room as someone else in a while, and her memory the appropriate protocol for kidnapper-kidnapee sleepovers had been lost to time.
Coda scowled at the feeling of Indy's leg striking the bed below him, but it was little more than mild irritation—that homicidal fury he had been harboring like a fire in his chest had given way to tired cinders.
"Yeah, whatever," he muttered sullenly. He was stuck with this unicorn thing now, wasn't he? As if Roje's soda shtick wasn't enough. "Too bad there's no bedbugs here."
Tentatively, he let his eyes drift shut, but the feeling of lying on a top bunk was altogether too familiar, and he might have convinced himself he was somewhere else if he didn't open his eyes again a moment later.
Sleep was seldom restful for him, anyway.
coded by natasha.
