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?
“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.”
