mayven-wynters

[mayven-wynters]

He was waiting, watching the idiot trying to navigate the bar and not look so drastically out of place but clearly that wasn't working for him. Giving it all of ten minutes before the guy bolted like a rabbit started by some loud noise; May had seen that often enough to be a reasonable judge of the sort of people who could move comfortably through the loud setting, the strangers and the promise of alcohol to drown the real world away.

Some people looked as if that setting might just eat them alive and he found it amusing, if only for a moment before his attention roamed elsewhere and he left the stranger to his fate. As always, his mind weighing options and looking for easy targets; practically living at Neon the past few nights because communal housing was not a good place for someone with tolerance as thin as his own. Given a few more hours and he'd be somewhat drunk and a great deal more loathing of the living world but that was one of the hazards of being social. Not that he was, social, he was there strictly for the gain in it, which he had seen depressingly little of that night. ‘

What he did notice again though was that misplaced stranger skirting the edges of the bar once again, just what he was trying to prove May had no idea, didn't care, it wasn't sympathy that had him wandering that direction so much as boredom. Why not, he had some time to kill.

"Let me guess, you're lost."

@alexanderxbraun

[mayven-wynters]

[mayven-wynters]

You ever worry about it falling off when you get an erection?

“For fuck’s sake nothing falls off! My ego is fine about the constant attention my dick gets with the questions but, seriously, why the fuck that? Look; I’m dead but I would be so far gone by the time I was rotting enough for any body part to fall off that I’d be really dead. In the ground dead.”

“Why would my dick fall off in the first place if it got hard? That doesn’t even make sense, it’s lack of blood flow that causes decay or what the fuck ever, not more of it. I’ve tested the theory plenty of times, believe me, it’s not going anywhere.” 

[mayven-wynters]

golicth‌:

Mistaking May’s scent was impossible, which was the only reason his feet stalled the moment he walked through the doors. It didn’t take long to find him in the crowd, and for a moment, Sam debated turning around and leaving - finding another place to unwind. But, the only other place that made drinks strong enough for him was Sins, and he was not in the mood to be in that kind of atmosphere if he could help it. 

He kept himself to the corner of the bar, close enough to the door that - should it be needed - a quick escape was easy enough and the damage as he dragged the zombie out was minimal. Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t needed, which left Sam to his own devices, and a rather uncharacteristically long chat with the bartender.

That was, right up until the two came into contact yet again. The gargoyle blinked from behind his glass, watching the bartender for another moment - the silent demand they leave - before turning to the other. “Meditating toward inner piece.” Despite the flat tone of his words, his brow arched - the touch of confusion evident on his features as glass was placed back on the bar. “What the fuck does it look like?”

"I didn't mean literally." May grumbled, any charm he might have been sporting earlier for the sake of necessity had collapsed into his actual personality the second he'd spotted the gargoyle. No false pretenses there, Sam knew his edges were all sharp under the lies. "Just, nevermind." Frustration was there in his voice, even he had to admit the question was stupid and he hated that it was the first thing out of his mouth. Fuck Karma too, again, for that. 

"Don't let me intrude on your attempts at being social." He added for good measure before squaring his shoulders and fixing his gaze on the exit, May had nowhere to be and no reason to stalk off other than a very dire one. Sam did something that was very rare; he made May nervous. Recent event, yes, but he wasn't sure how to handle the curiosity the gargoyle had or the incredibly bizarre moments where Sam wasn't actually being a bastard. Damn him for that, yes, for being confusing.

The fact that he hesitated for an instant really only set off that internal frustration even more and May was starting to wonder if he had drank too much because his thoughts were fuzzy at the edges, he couldn't drink for shit really so that was no surprise. "Okay, I'll ask now because it's going to annoy me later, but gargoyles can get drunk?" What, he still didn't know much of anything when it came to half the people he ran across in town, that was it, all of it. The question had nothing to do with his own curiosity when it came to Sam.

[mayven-wynters]

Sam - Rhys: 8, 14, 16, 18, 20

(8. tell my secrets? 14. commit a crime with? 16. have a threesome with? 18. serenade? 20. have a baby with?)

���This is some funny shit right here.” 

“Secrets? I plan to avoid telling those to anybody, but comes down to the type of secrets; different monsters, different things they probably get from life being a bitch for them too. They probably both have plenty of experience committing crimes but it’d be more of a disaster with Rhys so that’s what I’d go with for the entertainment factor.”

“Both, I’d fuck either of them and we’re talking about a threesome so that’s the easy answer, obviously.”

“I don’t do that, sing or anything like it, so neither. I personally am not having any babies, issue of being a corpse and having a dick. So I’ll go with raising one instead. Which I would be awful at so somebody would have to be capable and Sam is probably less likely to accidentally lose it or let it wander off a cliff. He’d probably handle it better.” 

[mayven-wynters]

Shh

“I think it’s past giving a fuck about what they know, right?”

“Nah, they weren’t bad parents, they just didn’t know what to do with me. I’d rather mom not cry so the dead thing is at the top of the list, where I am now is on there too because it’s just better that way. They wouldn’t be too approving of my lifestyle overall so maybe it’s just me, all of me, it’s better they don’t know anything about anymore.” 

[mayven-wynters]

It was time to get a better lay of the town, not because he was staying, no, it was just precautionary. Always made more sense to know the details, just in case. What that case was May had no idea but somebody had decided it at some point in the course of human awareness and it stuck. Or whatever; getting that lay of things had mostly meant places that interested him, like the bars. Places that meant people with low tolerance and lower inhibitions thanks to it; great targets. The drunker they got the easier it was to talk them into things and out of what they had that he wanted, like money of course, with empty suggestions and false charm, which to be honest was probably about the only sort of charm May could claim to have. The key was finding the ones who were ninety percent alcohol and ten percent still conscious enough to find him interesting long enough, then forget he existed the second he disappeared  

Less than two hours into his little adventure and May was ready to hit the door, a few drinks and a couple of idiots already less than an afterthought. No point in hanging around, he had to weave his way past people, a few choice words to a couple with the misguided thought that he might want to chat, and he had almost made it to the exit when whatever bitch Karma was decided to kick him for good measure, apparently. 

"Seriously." May might have twitched about it but what was the use? It would have been funny if he'd been actually drunk, just short of that it was creepy. "Why are you even here?"

@golicth

[mayven-wynters]

ofbrokendarkness‌:

“Cute; red is really your color my dude.”  He managed once May had recovered from the truth that was the monster that seemed to hide inside both of them. A motion was made to his mouth, but Rhys was careful not to get too close - just in case he’d decided it was time for some kind of live action dessert. The thought made him laugh, even though it was entirely too morbid for anyone to appreciate, probably not even the zombie in front of him. Regardless, head shook, prompting hair to fall into his face. 

This was a constant annoyance, something he was more than used to, if he were being entirely honest. There was a moment taken, a pause, before bloody hands were run back through that same hair, attempting to chase it away. Of course, his plan succeeded, even if it did give a little insight to what he may look like if he ever decided to go auburn. Sickening, honestly, but that term was certainly dependent on who you were asking. 

The question about trust was one that had him chuckling again. “Listen, I’m not saying trust me like let’s share bedtime stories and shit because I don’t have the emotional capacity for strangers like that. But, trust me in the sense that I would rather you eat that than me, and I know what that shit.” A vague gesture made to the mess that May had made of himself. “Is like, if anything. It’s really gonna fuck you up when you find out why.”  He mused, taking a guess before a hand was reaching in the back pocket of dark denims.

He picked out the pack of cigarettes, offering one out to the other, before he took one himself and lit it. If May took it, he would pass over the lighter as he exhaled. “You know this is not what most people mean when they say they need a smoke after a good meal, but it’s the same fucking thing.” 

He shrugged it off and used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth of some of the gore. Some was unavoidable, he was too pale for it not to stain his skin until he could scrub it off later, which meant exercising some caution navigating town if he even went back that evening. The way the guy looked at him, uncertain, was hilarious given that a few moments before had been the real danger. “I’m harmless, for a while anyway, in case that vague paranoia was directed at the possibility I might still attack you.” Not unless he was irritated, but that wasn’t the case just yet.

As a rule May disliked most everyone he met on sheer principle, he did not need people trying to get close to him and he did not need his secrets being scrutinized because, as was evident, they were bloody. Rhys still wasn’t among the roughly three people in the world he had varying degrees of acceptance towards but he wasn’t on the list of everyone else just yet either. He needed to figure this one out a little more before making judgments on that, hypocrite that he was in wanting to know about other people without being willing to do the same in return. Maybe some mutual respect, for the moment, because he didn’t demand answers as swiftly as he normally might.

“You’re not like me.” He pointed out without much emotion behind the tone, not as much on purpose as it was just difficult to come back from that place fully himself at first. “You’re alive.” And that might have been the full sum of what he did have to say on the matter because there was likely no story that would have shocked him as much as Rhys wanted to think but he let it rest, for the moment. He needed a few seconds to recover anyway, still a dim haze cast over his thoughts, too warm, too comfortable, he actually felt good after that disgusting appetite was satisfied. Too bad it never lasted as long as he wished it would.

“Nothing fucks me up anymore.” He remarked dryly with the cigarette taken, praising whatever higher power was in a good mood that evening that it was a shared vice.

The lighter was passed back and he didn’t have the ability to speak and smoke at the same time, had to be one or the other when it was a conscious effort to fill lungs that no longer worked, so he was silent for the first few draws and only studying Rhys a moment. He wasn’t put off by how the other man practically reeked of blood by then, soaked into his pores and decorating his sticky hair, he couldn’t claim much better himself. But his curiosity was still a very guarded one. Common ground could be a very dangerous thing, as he had been learning the past few weeks

[mayven-wynters]

ofbrokendarkness‌:

He could read the zombie like an open book in that moment. Rhys was no stranger to that look, to that feeling. Perhaps the need was a little different, but that didn’t matter. It all came from the same dark place, from the hidden spaces that they all tried to keep as a dirty secret, a particularly ugly truth. For once though, he could sympathize. He felt bad for the way the other still seemed to be trying to hold onto whatever scrap of humanity, whatever was left of his skewed morality that kept him from indulging. Man, that was the ultimate bitch.

“Do it.” He encourages this behavior because the ache was always worth it. The need to feed was a pain that he’d never really felt before, a hurt that was one of a kind. That kind of self induced scarring wasn’t worth it, and it definitely wasn’t worth Rhys risking his own limbs for. He stopped for a moment, toeing at what was left of the carcass - enough to satisfy that hunger, but definitely no longer whole, edging it closer to him.

After all, there was only so much temptation that anyone could take. No one was built with perfect will power, and some had none at all. Thankfully, the pair of them had somehow learned to find the medium, as uncomfortable as it was. Either way, vans clad foot was pulled back.

“Trust me, just do it.” Encouraged again, until he realized that embracing some kind of animal instinct was probably very problematic for some people - especially with an audience. It was that realization that had him taking a few steps back. He wasn’t quite comfortable with turning his back on May yet, and maybe he wanted to - needed to watch. Whatever that compulsion may be, he knew it was a sick one. Perhaps a fucked up sense of comradarie.

By that point his uneasiness about someone else being present wasn't the issue, he no longer cared, but it was dangerous. There was very little thought on that very primitive level of demand stirring under his skin. He wasn't himself, he wasn't anything, some sort of internal switch flipped. There was only the need twisting in his stomach and clawing at his mind that drove him, autopilot. He couldn't overthink it or debate, it was probably the only saving grace his mind had granted him since death, that distance from reality in those desperate moments. 

Oddly deliberate, one might have assumed there would be more of a frantic note in those moments but it wasn't the case, all the more disturbing because of that. The actions were practiced, like a habit, hands that lacked more useful claws were still surprising strong and dug into flesh like it was nothing to pull free of bone. It wasn't, it all came free, slick and wet sounding with the rip of delicate tissues and tougher muscles that peeled away from what lay under it. Not near so unpleasant as the sound those raw parts made between teeth though, a certain snap and pop that came with every mouthful half chewed. Bones, otherwise useless, bent and cracked when wrenched apart and tossed aside, decorating the ground around the rest of the carnage. 

Awareness was always gradual, a fuzzy feeling in the back of his mind as the ache began to recede and he was not spared knowing his actions even if he was still too far disconnected to control them. It was strange how he could identify just what parts were by the sticky residue of taste left on his tongue, thick with blood swiftly growing cold but under it was everything else; iron and copper laced through every shred of flesh and whatever else went with it. Bitter at times, bits of things buried deeper, shattered organs dripping bile that stung for all its' acidic makeup. None of it was appealing so much as necessity, or maybe it was starting to be and that was a nervous thought.  

By the time his stomach had calmed that faint shudder of all the things he so often felt empty of, life, was like a wash of warmth in itself intoxicating. He remained motionless for another long moment, until his muscles were relaxed and his mind came back into focus, the fear of it not returning shoved aside one more time. Then he was once more on his feet, jeans decorated the same as Rhys' with splatters of gore and his hands stained and slick with it. Fingers still dripping as he drew them up, the washed out blue of his eyes glinted dark with that predatory flicker, May licked the traces of blood off them with more satisfaction that he would have dared to admit. More and more he was forgetting how to separate the two, the person he was and the creature that dwelt under his skin.

Lips still as red as his hands, traces still splattered across his jaw and smeared as he licked his palm, his eyes fell back to Rhys in silent scrutiny. In most any other case anyone with the misfortune of seeing his habits ended up a meal but the situation was so entirely different; the thing May had to keep away from prying eyes was, apparently, what they had in common. So what did that make Rhys? Not like himself, no, he man was alive so far as he could tell, so was he just that psychotic?  

"Trust you?" He repeated the words barely heard earlier and all the more mocking out of context, they came out low and bordering amused with absurd they were even as he shifted not to take a step backwards but just barely forward instead, regarding him with thin curiosity. No use in denying much of anything now, was there? 

[mayven-wynters]

interdommensional‌:

Their friendship, if that even was the right word for her incessant nagging at him and forcing whatever leftover affection she had on the boy - like a hovering older sister - never had really focused on her. She’d mastered the art of telling him very little about herself while using his brand of guarded to somehow seek out all the cracks in his walls, letting him tell on himself piece by piece. It helped that she also had the dreams, dreams that were sometimes far more his than they’d ever be hers. But for some reason when he’d attempted to bounce the conversation back to her, it seemed to hit a particularly raw nerve.

“Remember those lines you seem to like so much?” She paused, but more for dramatic affect than anything else. “You’re about to stomp all the fuck over them if you keep implying that my finding a sponsor is as easy as getting someone to agree to allow me to fuck them up.” The real problem was that he’d unknowingly stumbled upon her greatest fear - Juliette was afraid, more than anything, that she’d one day be more of a detriment to Stella than anything else. One day, she might destroy her, or even May, the same way she’d ruined everything else she’d ever loved.

The momentary look on her face, the lost one that implied she had went somewhere was was gone now, and she was reaching for the bottle like it was a poor mans life support. The burn of the whiskey was anchoring in a way, bringing her back down as it warmed its way through her. “I had one once, until the dragon bopsie twins decided to take that from me, and trust me…rectifying that is at the top of my to-do list.” She tapped her fingers against the neck of the bottle, tempted to squeeze it just to satisfy her need to watch the pair of them choke.

“Regardless, tread lightly, zombeyonce.” She finally slid the bottle back towards him. “Now that our hearts are warmed with sharing time, can we move on to something else…something maybe a bit more productive than wallowing in our own self imposed bullshit parade?”

"You mean the ones you ignore?" He retorted with a thin-lipped expression firmly in place, because the doubt standard to it was that she seemed to have every right to push whatever she liked but it wasn't the case in reverse. 

"It's not an implication, it's a fact. You're not delicate, you're never going to be, and I'm saying whoever you end up with better be able to appreciate that. It's not a bad thing, would you get off the idea that it is? You really figure you'd still be here if you were?" In a very skewed way it did hit a rough nerve with May because why the hell did anybody get to judge her? He'd spent most of his life loathing the idea of people who thought themselves better for whatever reason and that sponsor idea always hit that raw spot. "I realize I sound like a damn after school special about it but if you can't find somebody who gets that about you then you might as well just not do it."  She had a chance, slim perhaps, to find better things in life than what it had given her before and why wouldn't he want that for her? 

He waited it out, gave her that length moment of getting lost in whatever memory had her tight in its' grip, or whatever idea was calling so strongly to her, he didn't know which was the case but it was rare to see a slip in her usual demeanor. 

"Don't. Don't do that, whatever that is on your mind right now, I don't know what it is but it's ugly. Stop going there." As someone who lived in those sort of places more than he allowed himself not to May was very aware of what self-damnation looked like. "Doesn't matter what you did, the idea is supposed to be that this place gives just about everybody some chance, right? Probably an unrealistic view but, fuck, why not; might as well enjoy it." It was advice he had no ability to take himself but May saw their situations as vastly different; the monster she was still wasn't so unpredictable that it couldn't even be held under control so she had a chance. Maybe not much of one but all the optimism he couldn't spare for himself he could spend on her. 

"Maybe hold off a while on picking a fight with a dragon, much less two of them, just saying that sounds like an actual bad idea." Maybe it was what she needed but it clearly sounded like disaster just waiting to happen. Seeing her with that bottle though was an indication of how deep that anger ran and he made a vague hand motion. "Or don't, whatever, you're not going to listen to me anyway. Just wait until I'm dead first because I don't want to be here to see if it goes bad." 

That bottle was tempting, he'd been thinking too much during the conversation, too much about things he couldn't change. May couldn't help Jules find what she needed, if anything he would have been a hinder to that, and it was exhausting feeling helpless like that. 

"First, I hate you even more for that now. Beyond that, you know I keep drinking and I'm going to be fucked up in no time flat and if you're expecting productive from that good luck." None the less he took the bottle and another long drink before the burn hit the sore spots in along his insides and he stopped, handing it back and digging out a cigarette from his pocket along with his lighter. "What are we even supposed to be productive about?."

[mayven-wynters]

Are you so sure that it was the cult that turned you into a zombie? What if it was something else?

“Since it involved me dying I’m pretty sure that’s what brought me back from the dead, yeah. Great to know for the sheer amount of stupid in that place they managed to get that one right somehow.”

[mayven-wynters]

interdommensional‌:

“If I didn’t know you so well, you wouldn’t be so pissed off about it.”  The answer was simple, so much so that she didn’t even feel the need to allow a certain bite to slip into the words. It was easy enough to pull fact from fiction, or whatever he was trying to desperately to cover up. Juliette might have allowed him to live whatever washed up fantasy that he had, the one where he was entirely aloof and alone, but now wasn’t the time for that. Instead, now was the time that she’d stepped outside of her own selfish need and provided him support - even when he tried to thwart it at ever turn. 

“No, but I’m giving you someone, something else to be angry at.”  The words were again, brief, but they meant something. Whatever it was that the boy happened to need, she could have given him - even it was as simple as providing a sounding board, or a scapegoat. The Wraith had seen and done far worse than him, and perhaps she felt bad about that - and about him. There was always a tinge of guilt that she hadn’t tried harder, that she hadn’t done for him what someone should have done for her. Neither of them were truly to blame, not in the end, but that didn’t make it feel any better. As a matter of fact, blame was easier, more familiar to carry, some days, than anything else. That was why this was their thing, the common ground that never wavered between the two of them despite how many times either party may have tried to dissolve it. 

“I play the cards I’m dealt, it just so happens most people in this town respond better to psychological warfare than anything else. But, if it called for it, I’d happily butcher anything that stood in my way.”  She shrugged her shoulders, unapologetic when it came down to it. This was something that she could control, a grip finally given on power, instead of letting blood spill over because she’d been made a monster without an instruction manual. There was a moment where a memory passed through mind at that recollection, causing face to wash in an unfamiliar expression before it was tossed away, ignored, and replaced with something else. 

God bless resting bitch face, really. 

“We both know you are irreplaceable, the zombie Beyonce. How would you prefer your death to go then, if not by pink baseball bat extravaganza?” 

"I already have a list of people a mile long to be pissed off at and you're not even halfway up it." He countered, because her brand of frustrating was one he had shouldered for years and was familiar, at times even welcome for all the distraction that it offered, and it certainly was not her name he wanted to forget ever learning. She could dig under his skin all she wished but some things were still like a lead weight in his stomach and a stubborn set to his jaw that May would have rather broken under the strain than allowed let slip too much of what was actually dragging like razors along his thoughts. He only throws her a few vague words to satisfy her, hopefully, and give her a reason to move on from the topic. "I just don't like this place, I don't like being here because it's a real ugly realization that I'm going to snap sooner or later and even the level of bizarre this place has I'm still a hazard in comparison. And the people...you know, fuck some of them because they're nosy bastards more than they need to be." Wasn't that the bitter pill, not being able to accept any sort of curiosity because he felt it ripped the ground out from under him and exposed too much of the bloody truth. 

"How's that hand going for you? You about ready to admit those cards are getting so old they're falling apart?" The thing was it was true, to him, that even she was redeemable. Hell, she'd tried to drag his ass out of the darkest places he'd gone mentally time and time again so she wasn't nearly as cold as the image she liked to shove in peoples' faces. May understood that on a very basic level; the world ate you alive if you allowed the type of weakness that went with actually giving a damn about anyone or anything reach the surface; how many times had he gotten screwed over trying to protect Ber? So she wasn't a monster, not entirely, something in there was better than she thought. Maybe that was the case for just about everyone but some people felt the cost was too high to not keep teeth bared to the world. ‘

May didn't want to pay those costs anymore but he wondered how long it would be before something about the town wore her sharp edges down. He hoped it would be the case, as much as he would never say so, because maybe that meant one day she'd actually get some rest from the demons that plagued her. In her infuriating way she looked out for him, she already had his loyalty and they both knew it, he just didn't know how to make things better for her. 

"What even stands in your way around here? Somebody wanting you to loosen up and not go homicidal? Imagine that." He replied with a tip of his eyes skyward with the words. Was there really anything that terrible around town? Maybe, but he hadn't run across it yet. Her battles were personal but, like himself, she projected them on everything else. May didn't care in the least if he was a hypocrite for pointing it out. "I'm sure there's somebody around here that would get into you beating them up, might even be the healthiest relationship you're going to find, disturbing as that is." 

The look he gave her was so entirely deadpan it was almost painful. "I really hate that, thanks, can you just not ever say that to me again."

[mayven-wynters]

how many dicks did it take you to form your 'British guys are hung' theory?

“You think I kept count?”

“I’m not saying it’s the absolute rule, I’m saying in comparison it seems like I’ve run across more guys over here than I did back home who were a little lacking in that department. Haven’t been here as long though so maybe I’ll get back to you when I feel like my numbers are balanced, be all scientific about that shit, yeah.” 

[mayven-wynters]

what happened with the cult

“A few very specific ones got what they deserved and they’re rotting for it now, bunch of sick bastards. Probably a few of them still slinking around somewhere but it’s not my concern anymore.”

[mayven-wynters]

golicth‌:

“I heard you the first time,” he gave right back, that touch of a grin lingering at the corner of his mouth, “you don’t breathe.” He could see how it could be unsettling to some, that lack of proof of life. He’d seen plenty of dead bodies in his time, and having a corpse on his living room floor wasn’t a first. It was, however, a first knowing that he’d be up and moving at some point. And Sam, being Sam, saw more benefits to the notion than not. 

Watching him, it took some effort not to let that grin take over – he was rambling again, and while it had become something he appreciated it, the zombie’s ramblings usually left Sam with a million more questions than he started with. “So if you don’t sleep, you’re just, what? Dead?” He didn’t flat out ask what the point was, because even he knew that was rude. Still, it hovered. The gargoyle gave away more of himself these days than he did before, useless bits of information – though, he’s learned nothing is ever really useless to a determined person – so there was a part of him that could understand the closed off nature that was May. Which was why Sam willing gave whenever the other did. The two were similar in more ways than what people would assume, and he liked to keep an even playing field as much as he could. 

Most days, at least.

In his space, he kept a close eye on the other’s expression, watched the way his mouth moved as he issued that warning. Serious as it may have been, Sam let out a little snort of a laugh. It was no threat to him, he quite liked the violence that some people could carry with him. He leaned in, his head dipping down to come closer to May’s. “Then bite me.” He had half a mind to run his thumb along his lips, but he still wasn’t quite sure how quick either one of them were, should he want to save that finger. Instead, he dragged the very tip of his thumb over his bottom lip. A quick, sweeping motion to tug. 

Surprisingly, he was speaking again, though. And despite all the efforts to try and keep everything to himself, Sam was selfish. Admittedly so. Beyond the fascination and interest he let show for the other, there was an appreciation and understanding, and it wasn’t often he found that with others. Not like this, never in such a dark way. 

There were depths in their respective histories that went untouched, undiscovered by anyone. Save for Aidan, finding someone you didn’t have to hamper that with was unheard of here. 

And he wanted it. Greedily. Obsessively. Selfishly. 

So he pushed, albeit a bit aggressively for most, but he knew no other way. “You still think this is just about twisted curiosities?” The corner of his mouth twitched, the quick flash of an amused grin. “You think I’ve sought you out and asked you to stay because you amuse me?” This time, he did let out a laugh. That low rumble of a sound that seemed to stop just at the base of his throat. Explanations had never been a strong suit for him, in any matter. But explaining himself had always been an impossibility. His hands against his face adjusted, found an even sturdier position as fingers slid down to the sides of his neck. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, but how am I supposed to help keep you alive if I don’t know hardly seemed like it was it.

Already on edge, he always was when a situation felt outside the scope of what he knew to expect and Sam had certainly dug himself right into that spot very well, May said nothing. He was hit, again, with that frustrating feeling that he had allowed himself to venture too far, talk too much, and there he was feeling as though he had was doing such a poor job of keeping himself in check around him. He carried that tension on even his best days, absolutely loathing the tiny possibility that his intentions could be turned on him and had stepped right into some too comfortable spot of speaking too freely. It's not for the sake of kindness, Sam isn't kind, not in a way that doesn't leave bruises and only lurks in ways that feel as much like demands as they do offers to help.

He was intensely angry at himself for it, some of it overlapped into anger at the world but by far more of it burned knowing he was willingly allowing Sam to ask those questions. 

"Yeah." The dry mutter was what it was, and clearly all he had to say on the matter even if there was more of an explanation than simply that. His jaw practically ached from how tight he held it and how he refused to speak. By then it was simple stubborn nature that kept trying to shut Sam out as much as possible because he already knew the mistake he had made; he'd let gt past that wall in the first place. 

Not nearly as bad a choice as the uncomfortable realization that he talked to Sam because, as much of an asshole as the guy was, he still hadn't been half as bad as he was used to people being. Maybe he had some smartass remark for nearly everything May said but the same could be said from the other side of the equation. And damn him for not getting tired of it, too soon to judge that of course but Sam had lasted out longer than other people and even in that lay a bitterness like bile on his tongue. The cruelest things the world ever offered came in something good that broke apart, hollow like old bones, when something shifted and pressure fell upon them. It was only a joke, to think that anything lasted more than an instant.

"Apparently you'd get off on it or something." He grumbled, all the more determined to keep his teeth to himself with the taunting but some of it wasn't entirely in his control, he could feel the pounding in his head even more acutely the longer Sam touched him. He did try to recoil but the effort was flawed, hindered by that grip or the lack of actual desire to do so because he could no longer separate one from the other. It was an ugly game, Sam's self-assurance was dangerous; the man didn't know that place where the worst of it lay, all the bone-snapping, spilt blood and the world twisted out of focus.  

"I really hate you." He was tempted to snap at him anyway, see how much Sam enjoyed it when the taste of blood really set him off and had to deal with all the claws, teeth and snarling anger that went with it, the monster that served May better than he cared to admit because it understood the world was simply something that devoured and deserved the same in return. Any lapse held the possibility of not coming back from it though and the fear in that was what always cornered him, still, even knowing one day he likely would be so tired embracing it would be welcomed end. 

"I don't know why you do anything." He might have guessed at motives but did he ever truly know why people did anything at all? "For a second I did but that's the damnest thing about being dead; once your heartbeat stops all over again the world comes back into focus." Sam's kindness was one with claws, that didn't frighten him, the uneasiness came from a different place; the looming change in that. Monsters were monsters, after all, and his brand was one that would always go for the throat, even Sam's if it came to it. 

Very aware of those thin bones, how close to the surface of faintly cool skin they were, the most resounding trick nature had ever played on him was in making so much to him delicate. Sam's fingers rested at spots that he knew, having little doubt how strong the man must have been for all the bizarrity of what he was, could have snapped with less effort than most. It was tempting, if only for an instant, to push him that far, just to see what he might do. That laugh sounded like a growl and for all the twisted notion there was something more inviting in the sound because of it. 

"What sort of fucked up thought ever got into your head that I'm any different than anyone else out there, we're all black and blue under the surface, bleeding out." It wasn't a question that he wanted any answer for, his eye was clouding red at the edges, he could taste the hint of his own blood from somewhere at the back of his throat and May was tired, he wouldn't have understood any answer given until he was ready to. Something about saying it though brought an odd comfort.

"I'm dead, how do you think I survive?" May's voice hit a tone lower, a drag of words that tasted like betrayal of himself on his lips. But he had never encountered this before, never found a monster that tested his own in such a raw way. "I kill, I eat, I know every disgusting, bloody part inside people because I've tasted it and I don't care. I do every damnable thing I have to and at the end of the day if it's me surviving or someone else it's always going to be me." And that was the monster under his skin, the one in his mind and the one he was; that laid bare he waited to see the smirk die on Sam's lips.

[mayven-wynters]

ofbrokendarkness‌:

It was a good question. Honestly, he didn’t blame the zombie for asking. Perhaps, it proved he was smarter than Rhys might have originally thought. A mental note made to award him a gold star or some shit later, before he contemplated the question. There was really no point in lying, or trying to fabricate a scenario in which being covered in blood in the woods was some kind of socially acceptable. No, instead he simply offered a shrug at first, the rise and fall of shoulders, before finally speaking.

“First of all, dawn of the dead, quit looking at me like I’m a meal.” He paused, holding a finger up as if that was going to immediately halt all intention or temptation. “A snack, sure, but not in the way that involves flaying me, Hannibal style.” So many horror movie references, honestly. Rhys was hardly one to keep away from the chance to showcase his vast knowledge of both pop culture and pointless trivia. Perhaps it was a nerdy tendency, but Little did he have a single fuck to give. Instead, the entire thing put a grin on his face that was just goofy enough to be charming. That is, is May could even be charmed.

“Second, the short answer is eating. I usually don’t share my food, as a rule of thumb, but I feel like that’s better than regrowing fingers so.” A nod was given back behind him, it was as much of a cue as the other would ever get. For as much shit as the skinwalker talked, even he wasn’t dumb enough to turn his back on a hungry zombie. After all, he knew all too well what that same hunger, what that same need looked and felt like. They had that much in common, at least. Perhaps, that would keep him in one piece tonight. It was what he was hoping.

Once the lead was taken by none other than sir bitches a lot, the little known cousin to sir mix a lot, Rhys would trail behind. He gave directions deeper into the woods, the darkness, it was actually where he’d always been more comfortable. It looked and felt like a scene out of a movie, the set up to bloodshed, but he’d already handled that part on his own. Instead, May would eventually be greeted with the only thing Rhys really had to give him - leftovers.

Uncharacteristically quiet, since any given topic May most always had some opinion on, he was entirely unwilling to trust Rhys or the words, if he even understood all of them. Truthfully he didn't, only part of the conversation managed to sink through that fog so thick in his mind and the weight so intense in the pit of his stomach. On some level he was calculating, very carefully, just how likely his odds were with Rhys and if he could, in fact, kill him. But that town was host to things May had never even encountered before and that deck always seemed stacked against him when it came to how much stronger the creatures he came across had been compared to the fragile nature of humans. He was reasonably strong himself but even with full blood lust behind him the sheer logistics were what they were and May was not built as well as many apparently inhuman species. Rhys was unpredictable because he was unknown, that risk was an unsteady one at best. 

Somewhere amid all the nonsense the man was spewing May did pick up on a few key words, enough to decipher the idea to the conversation even if his scattered mind would not allow him to fully comprehend each word for what it was. It was the point when his brow furrowed, confusion flickered there, finding nothing that made sense even when he did catch the drift of what Rhys was saying. It actually made no sense and that wasn't just because the scent of blood was slowly dampening out everything around him, it was more that in all his rambling Rhys was talking about things that struck too close to home and May wasn't certain what to make of them. 

It was sheer uncertainty that made him move, and the realization that the other man probably did have some advantage he didn't know about so it wasn't worth an attack until he was entirely desperate. Rhys was determined to point him in a specific direction and the low growl felt like warning enough to just how bad an idea it was to test him with something foolish right that moment. It wasn't as though the darkness was going to make any difference, his body had adapted to that existence and at least the one eye that was still intact and not functional by magic was more than capable of navigating the dark as though it was as bright as daylight. 

Even without it though other senses would have been enough, few things were as sharp as his sense of smell and it was absolutely flooded with the copper on the breeze, the sort that held an even more rusty edge for mixing in with the swamp water and soil.  What might have been repulsive to others was practically impossible to pull his attention from, it made him single minded and reckless enough to allow Rhys to direct him deeper into that darkness.

Surprise registered in his expression when he stepped past the threshold of normality and into that horror-worthy scene before him. May was absolutely no stranger to such things, having lost count of how many times he had scraped blood and gore from his own fingertips and watched it pool around his feet. But it was the first time he hadn't been the cause of it. "What-" with the word still trailing, shocked that he'd even found his voice among the bloody haze filling his thoughts, he tore himself from the sight to swing a wildly curious gaze back to the other man. Thoughts were only fragments barely grasped and his ability to articulate was weak at best.

He couldn't resist drawing closer though, not to Rhys but that disaster, fingers catching at the brush where they came back stained sticky and dark crimson the same color as midnight, stretched like thin strands between the tips when he drew his finger and thumb apart. 

Maybe the questions could wait.

[mayven-wynters]

C = Cum

“I feel like I shouldn’t need to explain it but apparently so. Zombies don’t do that, or can’t.  Don’t know the biology lesson that goes with it but when you’re dead your body doesn’t give a damn about reproduction, obviously, so why bother with that detail when you’ve already got so many other fucked up things going on?.” 

“Don’t get me wrong on it, I’m still perfectly capable of anything else involved and I do, in fact, have zero issues enjoying myself and getting off like any other healthy, living twenty-something year old male. Dry orgasms are a thing, in case people were so incredibly uneducated that they didn’t know it.”