#metzli.

[whimmortal]

@muertarte replied to your post “[pm] What is this thing about body spray?”:

[pm] I heard it from Baz. I'd say their debut was a success. Their pieces were the second best seller. Remarkable, really. Umbra is one of the more established artists I have.

​[pm] Very much so! I'm so proud of them. And you! The gallery looked amaaaze. Makes me miss gallerying. Did I ever tell you I did that?

[formersacrifice]

@muertarte replied to your post “[user moves to pms after the fmk anon] [pm] The...”:

[pm] I am glad you were there. Truly am sorry for how things have been. It must not have been easy for you either and yet I was cruel.

​[pm] It's okay not okay, but it's in the past. I accept your apology.

[bladesbounties]

TIMING: 6 January PARTIES: Metzli @muertarte and Daiyu @bladesbounties LOCATION: Another Castle parking lot SUMMARY: Metzli and Daiyu brawl before dinner. CONTENT WARNING: Sibling death

The drive from Molly's to Another Castle's parking lot was short. Not that long drives were an issue. Most days, that was fine, but having fresh food to keep warm was a different game. To combat any unnecessary cooling, Metzli put the enchiladas, rice, and beans in a heatable container, and had a cooler with the extra garnishes and Mexican cokes the two would need to make their meals complete. The folding chairs and table sat comfortably underneath the containers, and Metzli had fixed them snugly together to keep everything from shifting around too much. There were a few more surprises, but Metzli figured those would be revealed after the small spar in the parking lot. 

Turning into the lot, the vampire secured a spot in a mostly vacant area and parked. They stepped out of the vehicle and texted Daiyu that they'd arrived, moving around their car quickly to organize everything they'd need. Since Metzli had never sparred with Daiyu before, they even brought an extra set of clothes and a small first aid kit in case either of them needed it. There was something exciting about the setup. It was different, but Daiyu appreciated food in a way most didn't. She offered criticism for improvement and it was that blunt nature that convinced Metzli to make the offer at all. Nothing moved their heart faster than good food and a good fight. 

—

She pulled into the parking lot smoothly, cutting off the engine and music swiftly. Daiyu was well aware that this could all be an elaborate trap. That there was a chance Metzli had planted that bananshee all those months ago to get on her radar, and had tried to buy her trust through food. That this was just all a ploy to get her somewhere with her guard down. Too bad for the potential trap layer, though: her guard was never down. She stared into the parking lot, seeing Metzli waiting for her. She narrowed her eyes. She tried to ignore the foolish hope that this was just what it was offered to be: a parking lot fight with good food after.

She got out of her car, mostly unarmed save for the knife strapped to the inside of her booth. “Metzli,” she called, offering a grin. As far as she knew, the other was human. Ignorant of what a bananshee was, and so most likely just a civilian. They were strong though, that much they could gather from their build. Daiyu wasn’t too concerned. She’d hold back on her strength, but she’d come to win a fight. As she closed the distance between them, she considered the other. “So … any rules? A safe word? Do you want to go in rounds, or just go at it until we’re too hungry to keep going?”

—

Daiyu had arrived just as the table's locks were set, and the vampire smiled softly to themself. They took out the small propane grill they'd brought to keep the food hot and assembled it quickly before organizing the food on it. “You have very good timing.” Metzli continued to mess with the grill, igniting the two burners at the lowest heat. The two metal containers holding the food should heat just fine without cooking the food further, and once Metzli was satisfied with the setup, they turned to Daiyu, expression neutral but light. 

“I do not need a safe word. If we are both good fighters then we will know when to stop.” Hopefully. Daiyu was still mostly a stranger but if her claims to be skilled were true and with the build she had, Metzli had to take her at her word. “We can just keep fighting until we need to eat.” Or rather, when Daiyu needed to eat. The food was good and Metzli would enjoy it, but it would do nothing to sate their hunger. Which was why they ate before arriving, giving them the chance to playfully taunt Daiyu with, “Hopefully you can last as long as me.”

—

“Wow, that’s the first time someone has said that to me,” she said, half-joking. There were moments where Daiyu had good timing (mostly while hunting), but she was definitely not someone known for her punctuality. Just as she liked it — giving people expectations about her being on time was probably a bad idea. She looked at Metzli’s set up, taking in all the effort the other had gone through. It was almost a little bit much, but then most things people did for her were considered a bit much. Maybe Metzli was just real passionate about food and supplying it, something she could appreciate. “Damn, you went through a hell of a lotta trouble.”

She rubbed her stomach demonstratively, the smells of fresh, hot food strong and mouth-watering. “I’ll try to keep up as long as possible, but that shit smells good. Sounds solid, though.” She moved away from the food, not wanting to risk throwing Metzli into the table and ruining it. She grinned. “I’ll have you begging for mercy before long.” Daiyu took a stance, planting her feet into the ground as she taunted Metzli playfully with a beckoning of her hand. “Bring it.” She figured she’d go easy on the other, as fighting a human as a hunter was a bit of an unfair match up.

—

Cooking had become something of a norm for the vampire. So many people had come to their aid, and with little to offer in return, Metzli settled for cooking for others and ensuring they were all well fed. With Daiyu though, there wasn't that sense of obligation, that tinge of grief that came with every stir or dash of spice. For once, cooking was just for the sake of having good food and nothing more. Well, good food and a fight. 

“I do not beg, just to warn you.” Metzli had a ghost of a smile on their face as they parted from the table and took their stance, but the light in their eyes made it more genuine. As did the way their body moved with the sort of freedom that was rare for Metzli in fights. They shot a right hook at Daiyu, ducking along with the momentum until they built enough power to swivel and kick. If they missed or if she blocked it, Metzli didn't care. There wasn't anything to lose. Not that time around. 

—

Metzli had a few things in their favor. Height, for one — quite a lot of it, too. Daiyu was used to adjusting to that kind of thing, though, as most people (and beasts) she fought were taller than her. Though not many were quite as tall as Metzli, admittedly. They looked to be strong. She did not know how fast they were, but that could be her advantage: being quick, small, and evasive. And there was of course the clear disadvantage: Metzli only had one arm. How well adjusted they were to that, she didn’t know. (She didn’t want to think about her own disadvantage: the scar tissue that hurt faster than the rest of her.)

Metzli made the first move, as was her intention. She wanted to see what they did, and evaded the punch by ducking. A gleeful sound escaped her, though it quickly turned into a grunt as Metzli kicked her. Surprisingly fast, surprisingly clever, to use the momentum from the punch to charge the kick. And it was powerful — her eyes widened as she took the other in. Maybe they weren’t human. Daiyu caught her breath as she moved along with the kick, rushing forward to swipe at the other’s legs to get them on equal footing, throwing a punch at their gut as well. Reaching the face was for now not an option.

—

Regardless of the fact that air no longer supplied anything of real use to the vampire, the strike to their stomach still hurt. They groaned quietly, absorbing it as best they could, and before Daiyu retreated her hand for another move, Metzli grabbed her wrist. 

It was the first time they'd been able to touch her, to confirm she was alive. The punch was strong, but she could still very well be human. Metzli contemplated their next course of action, unsure how much Daiyu could truly handle. They didn't want to hurt her, even by accident. With no time to spare, Metzli followed the force of Daiyu's body and tossed her away from them. Utilizing space usually kept things from getting too rocky, and hopefully Daiyu would tap out sooner rather than later. 

—

Daiyu skidded backwards after Metzli tossed them, stopping herself from falling onto the asphalt by catching herself with a hand. Some of her skin let loose, road burn making her hiss. She stared at the other, wondering what they were. Not a shifter. A hunter was an option, there was not just brute strength in their moves but technicality too. Fae? No way. Fae did not brawl. Undead? An option. Just a strong human? Unlikely.

“What are you, a secret body builder that also likes to cook?” She started moving in a half circle, eyeing Metzli curiously. The height was a real problem. Daiyu was not often a problem solver, but in a fight she certainly could be one. She inhaled and rushed forward, head first. Arms moved to wrap themselves around Metzli’s waist to pull them to the ground and knock them down — so they could meet face to face, rather than face to shoulder.

—

Daiyu sounded suspicious, knowledge hidden under her tone. Could she be trusted with the truth? If she had been a slayer, she wouldn’t need to ask questions. Unless she was just trying to get Metzli to verbally confirm, which seemed unlikely. The vampire grumbled quietly to themself, contemplating on what to do, but their thoughts were interrupted by the injured skin on Daiyu. Had they drawn blood? 

“Dai–” It was too late, another attack was being made and Metzli braced themself. They stepped back, using the ball of their foot to keep their balance and push their front foot forward. When Daiyu collided with them, Metzli met her with just much force, slipping their ankle behind her achilles to make her fall back. Before she could lose balance though, Metzli caught her by her wrist and helped her stay up, loosening their grip and letting go when she was steady on her feet. “I concede. You are hurt.” 

—

The other had swift maneuvres and Daiyu gasped in surprise as she lost balance. Before she could fall on her ass, and lose all her pride in the process, she was caught by the very person who’d made her lose her balance. She quickly got into a more solid stance, staring at Metzli with both awe and offense. She’d intended to get the other onto the ground, but she hated having her own moves used against her and then being helped.

“Concede because I am hurt? I’m not hurt. I’m spry! I’m ready to keep going! But if you wanna concede, then we can … just don’t put it on me, alright?” Daiyu noticed some heat in her voice, which she was trying to get rid of. This was supposed to be cool and casual, and she was not being cool and casual about kind of losing. Even if she wasn’t the one conceding, which was something she’d never do. She stared at the other, watching to see if they were ready for another round, because she sure was. 

—

Faint, small pools of blood bubbled in the thin lines of Daiyu's scrape from her previous tumble to the ground. She wanted to continue, to keep having the fun she was so obviously having, but just the hint of blood made Metzli’s throat constrict and their stomach roll with a tinge of hunger. It wasn't strong enough to make them lose control, but their nature didn't care about that. 

Without their wanting, Metzli's features changed, their tongue picking at the tip of one of their fangs while their eyes inevitably beamed crimson. “Not-no, n-not on you, then.” The vampire stammered, taking a careful step back and averting their gaze from Daiyu's. Guilt rattled their body, shoulders slumping. “I lose.” Metzli swallowed, “Maybe we can clean your wound?”

—

Maybe it was a blessing for the both of them, that Metzli was showing signs of vampirism. Daiyu watched the fangs protrude, their eyes become red and she understood a few things immediately. Why they were conceding. Why they had been as strong as they were. She felt no instinct to fight the other properly the way a hunter would – vampires were only her jurisdiction when there was some large benefit to it, otherwise she didn’t bother. More importantly: Metzli had cooked for her. Twice now.

She offered a smile. “You lose.” It was said with a level of respect, though. Metzli could easily keep fighting despite whatever blood urge was happening inside — it would probably make them stronger. But they were backing off. It wasn’t something Daiyu would have done, were the roles reversed. “I’ll clean it myself. Let’s … get to dinner?”

She dug around in one of her cargo pants pockets, getting out an alcohol spray (a must-have as a ranger: she touched plenty of gross stuff and didn’t always have running water and soap around) and spritzing it on. She grimaced, stared at the marred skin, and shrugged. “All good.” A beat. “So, vampire, huh? Explains how strong you are.”

—

Daiyu wasn’t afraid. She relented, confident and respectful, going so far as to offer a kind gesture through her expression. Metzli returned it, as confused as they looked. “Dinner, then.” They breathed, taking a stuttered step back and turning on their heel to set up their food while Day cleaned her wound. 

At her hiss, Metzli looked up, a little concerned, but they pushed it aside. Taking her strength into account on top of everything else they had experienced, they could only surmise that she was something different herself. Not a slayer, considering her question, but possibly still a hunter. Metzli didn’t know of fae with heightened strength, leaving shifter, hunter, or maybe even undead on the table. Though that final one was far less likely. Daiyu felt warm.

So, they nodded at her remark and guessed aloud. “Hunter?”

—

Every fight should come with a home cooked meal, Daiyu thought. Of course, in reality that would not always work — there were plenty of moments where the aftermath of a fight left her without an appetite for reasons she preferred not to analyze. But right now? It seemed like the very best thing in the world. A little scrap in a parking lot (that she won), and then food prepared by someone who knew how to cook well.

Ironic, now that she thought about it. “So … you cook, despite not needing human food?” It was an interesting thing. Daiyu had once thought about what she’d do if she were to became a vampire (something she’d prefer to avoid at all costs, though). She would not give up burgers, even if blood would start tasting better. Not that she could imagine anything tasting better.

She looked up at Metzli without reply for a moment. Being clocked was never good. But Metzli wasn’t jumping her again, and Daiyu wasn’t grabbing a stake. No, Metzli was fucking laying the table. “Ranger,” she confirmed. “Which means I have excellent smell, and that shit smells amazing.”

—

There was something to be said about monsters and hunters breaking bread without knowing it. A mutual adoration for food had brought them together, but the truth tied the moment up with a bow. Neither of them attacked, and neither of them threw out a warning to the other. There was something more to be said about that. 

“Cooking is like bringing home back.” Metzli set out two plates, filling them both with three enchiladas, rice, and beans. They added an extra topping of cotija cheese for Daiyu, smirking as they recalled her comment about their last dish needing more. As they did, Metzli’s expression fell somber, small smile flattening as their explanation trickled off their tongue like sand. “My…brother died not long ago. It’s like bringing him back too. In a way. We used to cook together when we were kids.”

Daiyu looked at the vampire, and they were briefly concerned that they’d said the wrong thing. Which was a problem for them, wasn’t it? They spoke their mind too freely at times, and that had been a point of contention between them and Eloy. But…but he wasn’t around anymore, was he? Besides, Daiyu replied to Metzli easily, and they relaxed. “Then, come eat.” They slid a dish over to Daiyu’s seat and took theirs with a soft smile, laying out the small box of plastic utensils for her to take out a knife and fork.

—

The smell was intoxicating. Daiyu was not sure how well vampire taste buds worked (those were just not the kind of questions she tended to ask), but she figured they had to work somewhat well for one to be able to produce such a meal. She watched Metzli fill the plates, feeling a strange sense of softness at the process and effort put into it. People at restaurants just didn’t do it like that. 

And then Metzli said something about their brother. Their dead brother and how they would cook together. Her face turned hard and unmoving, something at her jaw ticking. These were the kinds of losses she wasn’t unfamiliar with — it was quite rare, really, that both her siblings were still alive considering their age and active hunter statuses. She always wondered when the news of their death might reach her. She felt uncomfortable, being exposed to Metzli’s grief and the shape it took. The meal that was an indirect result of that loss.

Eventually she cleared her throat. “Sorry for your loss.” She did not wonder if he had gone by the hands of a slayer. She took it to be fact. Daiyu took a fork and knife, and stabbed her food. The thought that pressed to the front of her mind now was those days where her brother would be in the kitchen. Stir frying a beef dish or making banmian. Letting her help, when she’d still been young. “Food and family, huh? What a combo.” She wished she’d asked him for the family recipes. She shoved her mouth full of food so she couldn’t talk about it. A groan of enjoyment did pass her lips, though.

—

Daiyu offered her condolences but didn’t linger, which Metzli was grateful for. Though Kabil had been returned to where he belonged, speaking about him in a past tense still felt surreal. It was a reality that Metzli didn’t want any part in, but they had no choice but to partake. So in small instances such as that one with Daiyu, they took any out they could get, and simply nodded.

Following Daiyu, the vampire took a bite of their own, flooded with memories the moment the flavors touched  their tongue. Not unexpected, but the feeling of relief most certainly was. Metzli smiled, their expression growing lighter at Daiyu’s delight. “Enough cheese this time?” In case the answer was no, they slid over the container of cotija to her, brows raising when a memory popped into their head. 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Metzli dragged the cooler back from under the table and pulled out two cups and a bottle of tequila. They tilted it in offering, brow quirked. “Would you like some?” It was Kabil’s favorite, but Metzli kept that to themself, pouring themself a drink.

—

She was glad that Metzli didn’t take her expression of sympathy as a sign to keep talking about their dead brother. Those weren’t the kinds of topics Daiyu liked, even if they came up with relative frequency in her circles. Lots of dead siblings amongst hunters, after all. Her way of dealing with that kind of grief would be to fight, anyway, and they’d already done that. She’d played all her empathy cards.

She nodded, “Definitely,” she said, even though she reached for the container, opened it and grabbed some to sprinkle in her mouth. “I love salty food. Probably too much, but you know me, I got those iron guts.” She gave a bit of a grin, before digging into the proper food again, enjoying the array of flavors Metzli had managed to pack into it all.

When the vampire produced a bottle of liquor, she shook her head. “Nah, I don’t drink.” Especially not hard liquor. The bite of its smell was already reaching her nostrils, but she wasn’t too bothered. “Not alcohol, anyway. You didn’t happen to bring any Jarritos, hm?” She wasn’t going to complain if not — she had a few cans of energy drink in her car.

—

Again with the iron guts, though that had become a bit of a pattern with Daiyu. It annoyed Metzli at first, the illogical nature of it not making any sense, but they'd quickly grown to expect it, even find humor in it. They smiled, swallowing before they spoke again. “I suppose I can say the same. I can eat almost anything and it doesn't bother my stomach.” But that was due to the fact that they were undead. Daiyu was being facetious. 

“Oh?” A hunter that doesn't drink. Well, that was a first for the vampire, but they were happy to oblige. “No jarritos, but…” They raised a finger to ask for a moment, reaching back into their cooler to present Daiyu with an alternative. “I do have coca en botella.” The smile on Metzli's face was strong despite not exposing their teeth, and they happily planted the drink in front of their new friend, unopened. With her strength, they figured she'd get it cap off no problem. 

“This has been nice.” Metzli said, cutting into their enchilada. “Thank you for joining me. We should do it again.” A pause, “And next time I won't hold back.” Bobbing their head side to side in thought, Metzli chuckled, “As much.”

—

“Well yes, duh,” she said, grinning a little. “Your guts are like, dead. No offense.” Honestly, she had no idea what the state of a vampires organs were. But she figured they could swallow most poisons and inedible stuff without much issue. Daiyu had a running theory that her guts were stronger than most because of her hunter genes, but she figured it could also just be because she had good genes (in that department, at least) or because of her weird diet growing up.

Daiyu was glad that Metzli didn’t prod her about not drinking. Some people made such a deal out of it, as if it was something that was their business. There was some surprise there, she saw, but that was it.When Metzli produced one of her favorite sodas and grinned. “That will do.” She took the bottle, slamming the head on the table to get the cap off. The table shook a little, but nothing dropped, and she took a satisfied sip.

“Yeah, it has been actually.” She was surprised by it, in all honesty. She had expected to kick someone’s ass and get out with some food, but she was in no rush to leave. She let out a laugh. “Alright. We’ll see who’s victorious then, when we’re both not holding back.” She held out her glass to cheers with Metzli and got back to eating her food, feeling the buzz that came from a good meal after a good fight.

[ohwynne]

@muertarte replied to your post “[pm] Leila tell me what happen to Aria. Are you...”:

[pm] It is a difficult world that we have to be in. Am sorry there is not much to do about it. Do not worry about me. [user is not fine]

​[pm] I am sorry too. [...] If you're back, would you teach me some moves for fighting?

I will worry a little. Ireland is not a kind place.

[bountyhaunter]

[pm] Are you gay?

[pm] Who the fuck are you?

[nightmaretist]

TIMING: Current PARTIES: Metzli @muertarte & Inge @nightmaretist LOCATION: Muertarte SUMMARY: Inge and Metzli toast on their collaboration moments before the opening of Inge's exhibition at MuertArte. CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

Meeting Inge had been long overdue. Ever since they perused through the online portfolio she had, Metzli knew they needed her work in their gallery. Pixels hid so much, but they did not hide her obvious talent. Even in their absence, with Rachel taking over, Metzli took great pride at the fact that they were able to convince the artist to visit. Maybe they didn’t give her the final push to convince her and add her to the rotation, but having a hand at all was enough for them to have some sort of pride. All credit to Rachel, of course, though.

“Hello, Inge.” They rounded the corner, inhaling the hints of paint still clinging to her scent. She was tiny in comparison, but they had no doubt she would be mighty and exude more confidence than a twelve foot man. It was a silly concept in theory, but they’d read it on some forum, and figured using exaggerations might make them a bit more appealing. Even if it was just in their head. “I apologize for not meeting you sooner. I had to be away.” Metzli bowed their head respectfully, raising it back up to lock their eyes onto her shoulder. They were getting better, they thought. Usually, their instinct was to go for the ceiling.

“We have coordinated your exhibition and all works you have given are now on display. Will you like to take very first look?” Gesturing to a table, Metzli pointed to some flutes and bottles of champagne. “You can also celebrate if you will like. This is your big day.”

Though all instinct demanded she leave, she remained. Inge considered this to be the cause of it all: this exhibition she had been working for and towards for a few months, showing Metzli’s employees what works she had in storage, what works she was expecting to finish before opening date. Rachel and her had poured over her catalog, which went back further than she would ever be able to logically explain. Metzli had been an absent ghost. Inge figured that they were a troubled person, or perhaps more busy than a local-gallery-owner typically was.

At last, though, they were there. Inge was considering her little darlings, the endless birds she had crafted and glazed, having formed a flock of statues. Gleaming eyes, dead eyes, sharp talons and ones that were missing. One of her fingers was underneath a beak, as if she was petting the little thing, “Hello Metzli.” She shrugged away their apology. “We all have obligations. Rachel was more than accommodating.” 

She had seen the plans of course, the drawn up maps she’d given approval on — but she’d not yet ventured deeper into the exhibition, past her birds. “I’ll take a flute for on the go, and then we can take a look.” Inge didn’t ask before taking a bottle and popping it over, skillfully succeeding in not spilling anything before pouring two glasses. “I don’t … mean to be presumptuous.” She held out one of the glasses. Maybe Metzli didn’t drink.  “But we should at least clink to this collaboration!”

“That is good to hear.” They nodded along, looking toward Rachel’s office. “She did very good while I was gone. Give her promotion. Deserved.” Metzli took the flute graciously, nodding again as Inge offered her her glass. She was right. An artist’s debut exhibition in a gallery was worth celebrating. Metzli, by no means, drank often, but thanks to their undead status, it hardly mattered. It took copious amounts of alcohol to affect them. 

“Congratulations, Inge.” Metzli tapped their glass against Inge’s, sipping and wincing at the sensation of the pointy liquid hitting their tongue. It wasn’t too awful, they supposed, but they much preferred their usual; blood. Shrugging mentally, Metzli gestured to the hall, trying their best to scrape the spiky sensation off their tongue as they moved. 

“I know you see designs for the custom frames, but I think they come out better than expected.” They stopped, “Ornate features are preferred with your style, but sometimes this is too distracting, so using stained poplar wood, briar smoke, and walnut became my choices. Dark. So intricate work will blend easily and leave focus where it should be.” Metzli smiled subtly, almost spiraling into a deeper dive about what they did, but they stopped themself and sipped the spiky liquid instead. “I hope these are good standard for you.”

Part of her was immensely curious to know why Metzli had disappeared, but she wasn’t one to pry. At least, not with people like the other, who she wanted to have a mutually beneficial business relationship with. “She seems like a good one. Best to keep her on.” Inge took a sip from her glass, giving a sound of approval at the taste. Some art galleries tended to serve horrible champagne, but it seemed Metzli’s wasn’t among them. 

Her lips spread and she nodded her head, ready to thank the other but changing her mind at the last second. “Appreciated,” she said, glancing around the gallery. She wondered about the clientele that came here, if it was mostly locals or some others. Inge tried not to undermine the place, but it was hard not to — it wasn’t like some of the places in larger cities she’d had her work exhibited. Still, this town proved to be more exciting than one might expect at first glance, so perhaps the same could be said for MuertArte.

And Metzli seemed more than good at their work. Her paintings, which were often her least favorite part of her oeuvre, looked stunning in the frames the other had designed. “They’re marvelous, Metzli. They did come out better than expected. So yes, a good standard. I think we can both agree that this entire collaboration is proving fruitful, no?”

“Yes, that is the plan.” They replied dryly, arching a brow at the sound Inge made. It was one of surprised pleasure as she sipped on her expensive champagne. Metzli supposed they should give her details about what she was drinking if she liked it so much, especially if she wanted to purchase it herself. “Goût de Diamants.” They pointed at the glass with a jut of their chin, their only hand otherwise occupied with a glass of their own. “This is bottle only for you. I have one extra if you want to take it home. The rest are Dom Pérignon. It is good to see enjoyment on your face.”

Metzli closed their eyes proudly, bowing their head for what seemed like the hundredth time. It certainly wouldn’t be the last. As far as artist’s go, Inge had been a change of pace to work with. Confidence and pride in her work, requesting well within reason. Which was odd, at least to Metzli. Most artists wanted the most elaborate exhibits with parameters that the gallery could execute in theory, but didn’t make sense for such a beginner. And by no means did Inge seem to be so green. Her confidence appeared to be far more earned than most, though that was just from a short glance by Metzli and what they’d heard from Rachel.

“Fruitful?” There was no fruit, but context gave the vampire enough understanding to nod enthusiastically. Frutífera. That had to be it. “Yes, fruitful. With limited time exhibit and well-known critics coming, people will demand for more. Have very much doubts that you will have much to take back. Me and Rachel think you will sell very well here.” Taking a sip, Metzli cleared their throat, whisking away the pointy liquid. It was getting a tad bit easier to enjoy. “Will you have any friends visiting? If you give names, I will let them in free.”

Metzli had a way of speaking and communicating that dazzled Inge, albeit in a good way. Straightforward, matter-of-fact and blunt, with no beating around the bush. It was opposite of how she conversed, as she spoke with embellishments and half-truths, dancing around her intentions with extra words. But she liked straight-forward people, most of the time. “It’s good. It’s hard to get wines right — I mean, there’s not much to get wrong, but to get it right … that is a challenge sometimes.”

The idea of selling her art was always a strange one. She wanted money, relished in the security of having a lot of it – especially because there had been plenty of times where she’d had none – but she didn’t make her works to sell them. Still, to know her work was thought good enough to be bought and put up in a stranger’s home was a compliment, and one she took without much complaint. Inge smiled a little, “I don’t doubt it. If you’d want to add anything to your more permanent collection after this, do let me know.”

Her last exhibit had been in New York, which felt like a world apart from this strange, small town. Inge preferred cities, but there was something about Wicked’s Rest, and because of that she was glad to have an exhibit here, too. “I’ll forward you a small list of people you can put on the guest list. I have a few that I’d like to get in for free, yes — but some of the others can pay.” She smirked, giving Metzli a look. “I’m excited to see the public’s response.”

Continuing through the exhibit, Metzli led the pair toward a sculpture they were particularly fond of, nodding along to Inge. They raised a finger, placing their glass down and retrieving their cellphone to send a quick text to Rachel to let her know there would be a list of guests for Inge. She replied instantly with a simple thumbs up emoji, to which Metzli shook their head. They sighed, pocketing their device, “It is strange that people respond with these emojis.” It was efficient, sure. Rachel let Metzli know in a single symbol that she would await for the list, but still. They wanted clear words, not a random collection of colorful pixels that didn’t even match her skin tone. 

“Rachel will be waiting for list.” They nodded, regarding the sculpture they wanted to discuss. The most beautiful one that Metzli had had the honor to lay eyes on. They had been adamant that they needed to be the one that prepped it, knowing their plans to purchase it as a permanent addition to MuertArte’s collection. Eyes gleamed and stared reverently, a stark contrast to the rest of their stoic visage. “Want to discuss this beautiful piece.” The delicacy of it was profound, strength found in the expertise of Inge’s ability to mix. It combined creativity and anatomy, science and art meeting to bring the audience a masterful take on their own autonomy. Metzli needed it. Craved it. Thirsted for the visual flow and sense of movement throughout.

“Wish to purchase for the gallery. It is favorite. Will give you ten-thousand for it.”

As Metzli commented on the use of emojis, Inge thought they sounded rather old. It was a notion she shared, in some sense — she did think that words conveyed more than any tiny pictures ever could. But Inge was old, in a way. “I agree. Some of them are cute and can be a nice addition to a message, but the message itself? Needs to be written.” Rachel had been an emoji enthusiast, even she had picked up on that in their short time of knowing each other. It seemed that was who Metzli had contacted. “I’ll send it to her shortly, then.” 

She looked at Metzli as they looked at her work. She didn’t create to get praise or applause, but she did create to get a reaction. Something like fear, preferably — but anything would do. To bore those who witnessed her art could undo her, she was sure of it. Metzli was a worthy witness and Inge was glad to see their face change as they looked at the immobilized version of a bird.

“I’m glad it’s to your liking.” Selling ones art was strange, Inge found. She was glad it was a source of income, especially as she remembered not making anything from her art — but still, to put a price on a piece of work seemed strangely perverse. It helped that she liked money, needed it. Her annoyance with how art had been commodified, turned into a product even, only went so far. “And I would like to sell, yes.” It was very forward of the other to already name their price. She looked at them. “Fifteen.”

When Inge gave her counteroffer, it gave Metzli pause. Not because they were offended, or because they were upset. In fact, they were impressed that Inge knew her worth, and they offered her a smile, a real one, in return, accompanied by a nod. “For that, I will add another three-thousand. Artists like you that push worth are my favorite.” And selfishly, Metzli really wanted to keep the piece for display while also ensuring Inge got her share, what she was owed for her talent and effort. It was still a strange concept, them being able to have a business, let alone being able to afford such high prices. But that was how things were. It wasn’t the trading and bartering they once knew.

“The world runs on money now. Well,” They juggled their head side to side, pondering for a few beats. “There was trading and money, but now money is everything.” Shaking their head, Metzli tutted with disapproval, waving for Inge to follow them back to their office as they continued to speak. “In return for having the honor of displaying your work, I will make check for eighteen-thousand, then maybe we can discuss a permanent collection as well?” Their intonation peaked at a higher pitch than normal, making the question even more noticeable.

“Without people like you, art will be lost and I want to make sure this is not something that happens. If money can do this, then there will be…” Brows pinched together as Metzli searched their brain for the English word they needed. Upon finding it, their face relaxed. “…adapting.” They reached the office and found themself seated at their desk, gesturing for Inge to take a seat, too. “I must give my gratitude to you, Inge.” 

Drawers slid open, wood and metal’s smooth friction a satisfying roll. Metzli pulled out their logbook and checks, closing everything softly before regarding Inge once more. “It has been many years since an artist has given me motivation to create. Your mind is beautiful and I have much hope that you and your people have a good time at this exhibition.” To give Inge a moment, Metzli began scribbling all the information needed for the artist’s payment, happy to have found a visionary among the sea of bleak and untalented artists. 

She liked Metzli. That was definitive now, and not just because they were giving her money. Sure, that helped, but it was rather the way Metzli responded to her asking for more money that made her lips spread into a smile. “I think that means we have a deal.” Quick and to the point, which seemed to be how the other approached most things in life. Inge liked them for that, too, even if it was quite different from how she tended to approach things.

They did have a strange way of speaking at times, but she didn’t find herself overthinking it too deeply. Inge nodded, “It does, yes. It’s silly sometimes, to tack a price tag onto art. To measure it by something as … mundane and dividing as money. But alas, there’s rent to pay! Materials to buy.” She followed the other, taking another sip from her glass and looking at her piece over her shoulder. It was impossible to lug around with her, when she was to inevitably part from Wicked’s Rest and this was a worthy place for it. “That all sounds good to me.”

Metzli’s praise was like wood to a fire, making Inge’s ego swell and burn brighter. The value of art was lost on plenty of people, especially in today’s day and age. “Ah, tell me about it. I worry about the place of art in the future, you know? These rapidly evolving technologies, they’re …” She pulled a face. “Not only hard to keep up with, but a threat! More funds should go to the art — not just privately, though I appreciate it, deeply, but also publicly.” A bit political, but it was true. 

Her face brightened a little. “Oh, well — I’m honored. I think your work is astounding, you know, so to inspire you …” Inge shrugged. “It’s a nice side effect of our collaboration. I would love to see what it is you end up working on, will you share it with me when it is done?”

The scribbling came to a halt so that their eyes could take a moment to truly digest what Inge was saying. Speaking of technology the way she did made her sound older than she looked. In a town like Wicked’s Rest, that was usually an indication of something else. “Inge…?” Metzli began, on the brink of a question, but stopped short when their phone began to vibrate. They ceased the buzzing immediately with a press of a button, suddenly remembering what the rest of the day’s plans were. 

Their entire body bristled at the thought of Chuy, and they swallowed thickly as they centered themself with the final details of Inge’s check. What were they going to ask? Brows furrowed and eyes blinked rapidly as Metzli attempted to remember, but their mind was clouded with the fog of stress and anxiety. “Apologies. Do not remember what I was going to ask.” They took a shallow breath, putting the pen down with a bit of finality before tearing out the check to hand to Inge. Ants were already beginning to crawl down their fingers, the intensity of their march growing more and more uncomfortable. As much as they were enjoying Inge’s company, they knew their time had come to an end, and they needed to excuse themself.

“If you have wish to explore, you can do so. I have one more meeting to prepare for before the opening and then we can celebrate you with all guests here.” Metzli offered Inge a robotic smile as they shook her hand, somehow managing to exude friendliness and warmth in their attempt at being a person. It was crooked and all their own, even if it didn’t quite meet their eyes. “Please let Rachel know if you need anything. I am looking forward to your event. It is…” Their smile turned brighter as they huffed a brief puff of laughter through their nose at the reality of it all. Freedom was beautiful and it was amazing what a person could do with it. “Happiness. It is happiness.”

[whimmortal]

@muertarte replied to your post “[pm] Are we friends?”:

[pm] Oh. Do you want to be Yeah. This has sense. Do you have friends?

​[pm] Yes, back at home in New York and a bunch here too, of course! [User has no friends in WR yet.]

[whimmortal]

TIMING: Current PARTIES: Metzli @muertarte and Jenny @whimmortal LOCATION: The woods SUMMARY: Metzli teaches Jenny a thing or two about hunting animals in the wild CONTENT WARNING: Tongue horror

“Just up ahead. There's a clearing where I like to hunt.” Metzli led Jenny up a slight slope, having navigated at least a mile away from where they parked. It was better that way, ensuring that they'd be alone out in the woods. The farther, the better. Neither of them needed another casualty on their conscience. 

“Take a deep inhale. Tell me what you smell.” Having already honed their sense of smell, they knew exactly what was around. What lay amongst the groaning trees and the rattling brush. The strange mixture of fishy and sweet, marking the presence of moose, and the earthy, sweet smell that came from squirrels. 

Metzli inhaled again, catching something new, a little stronger than the acidic dirt and the pine. It was pungent and musky, reminding Metzli of cat urine. They narrowed their eyes, seeing the landscape clearly but not finding anything that stuck out to them. “So, anything?”

—

If anything, the surge had proved that relying purely on bloodbags was an unsafe bet. Though she was plagued by the memories of her small massacre at the gym, there was also a part of her that longed for that carnation. For the blood she had tasted then. Warm and alive. They were glad for Metzli’s aid, for the way they had suggested they go hunting. Jenny was trying to be appreciative of the woods around her, but she had never been much of a nature person. Besides, she was itching with anticipation.

“Alright,” she said once they had reached the slope. Jenny inhaled deeply as instructed. Her senses were sharper now and it was slightly overwhelming, even in the woods. It was like there were more birds than ever, even though it was winter. She tried to focus on all the scents entering her nose, but found little that made her intrigued.

“Pines … something mushroom-y. Earth. Leaves. Uh, you know. The things.” She looked at Metzli. “I don’t feel like chasing any of it though. Which one do I pick out? Is there even …” She shook her head. “What do you smell?”

—

So not all was lost. Jenny was able to identify a few scents herself and that meant there was enough to work with. “Inhale again.” Metzli instructed, inhaling along with her. “There are a few animals around. Squirrels, obviously, but those will not feed you enough.” 

There was a rocky incline coming up ahead, and Metzli arched a brow. Higher ground was always preferable when hunting. “The moose will be up ahead. There is a creek to our right that bends around. Note the fishy smell. It is more than that.” 

Pausing, Metzli leapt high and caught purchase on a lip of the wall and began to climb. “Trust your instincts while climbing. The hunt will guide you.” They inhaled again. “Do you smell the sweet undertone? The acidity? That is moose.” Metzli continued to climb, enjoying the ascent. “But we are not the only ones hunting. Notice the cat piss.”

—

The idea of killing and drinking from a squirrel made Jenny's nostrils flare slightly in response, but she did not voice her disgust. Swallowed was a comment about not being a dog, because Metzli was already acknowledging that a squirrel was not good enough. But when the other went on to talk about a moose. Had Metzli forgotten that Jenny wasn't as tall as they were? Sure, she had cut through multiple men twice her weight earlier that month, but a moose? Those were really, really big.

She tried to inhale again, sniffing as Metzli started climbing. “I smell it. Isn’t a moose too big for me? I am … I don't like to acknowledge it but I lack in height!” She watched for a little more, then started towards the incline. She had gone bouldering exactly once, but that was before she'd gained superhuman strength.

Jenny took hold of one of the rocks, pulling up her weight with a surprising ease. Holding on and finding a new place to move was stressful, though. What if she fell? Metzli said to trust her instincts, but her instincts wanted her back on the ground. “Gross,” she muttered. “Who is our competition?” She moved her leg, trying to give herself the space to hoist herself further up. She groaned, not yet giving up but thinking about it all the same.

—

Watching Jenny work made it abundantly clear that she had a very easy upbringing. On top of the fact that she behaved like she always got what she wanted, it was easy for Metzli to piece that together. She continued, though. Her trying at all was important, and it looked like she was well on her way to becoming a decent student. 

“Moose are large, yes, but our strength overpowers them. From what I read, your tongue shreds and your feral state is ferocious and unpredictable.” Up against an animal made that an advantage. Maybe against hunters, too. If Henri was any indication at least. 

“What you lack in height, you make up for in strength,” Metzli informed bluntly. “On the hunt, we are animals. Predators. Hopefully that has been made clear in your feedings.” When Jenny was close to reaching them, her comment made them roll their eyes with an amused, huffy chuckle. “If the urine smells feline in nature, I would have to guess it is a bobcat. They're common here.” They sighed, “Now hurry up. I'm hungry.”

—

Climbing was not an issue because of a lack of strength, that was clear. Jenny felt something strange course through her as she realized how strong she was now, but at the same time battled with a fear of falling. There was a technicality to the climbing that she did lack. She was holding onto her breath as she tried to found a route that would not see her land on her ass, trying to juggle that along with the conversation and smell.

“I can’t just … go feral on demand,” she said, her voice not strained. That was a surprise, but she figured it was because though she was exerting herself, she needn’t breathe. “It just happens. When I’m hungry or when I smell blood.” She was not sure about what other triggers there might be. But the person she was when frenzied wasn’t one she felt entirely in touch with. It felt like an entity within that took hold of her, rather than she herself, monstrified. 

She heaved herself over the rocks, onto the ground and ended up crouched. Jenny looked down over her shoulder. “Damn,” she said, impressed with herself despite it all. She rose to her feet, looking at Metzli. “Okay.” She inhaled again, trying to get a sense of direction. Sniffing once more, she felt like an animal trying to track something. She looked at Metzli for a moment before starting off in the direction where the moose-y smell seemed to come from. “Let’s … try this.”

—

The initiative Jenny was taking was refreshing. All it took was a few pointers and she was able to lead them in the correct direction. Metzli was impressed and a little humbled by it, a grin stretching their cheeks upright. 

After their change, control was so hard to grasp and their new sensitivity to smell overwhelmed them when it came to a hunt. For weeks, they were useless. Kabil was the natural. Now though, that fact seemed untrue. 

“Scent is a fantastic tool, but it's not the only thing you should use.” Metzli picked up in pace and jogged just slightly ahead of Jenny. “Look,” They pointed to the ground, bringing tracks to Jenny's attention. “You did good.” When she caught up, Metzli gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder, continuing to walk in the direction the tracks led. 

It only took a few paces for them to hear the signature moose bellow to know they were close. Metzli instinctively crouched down and looked at Jenny, raising a finger to their lips. They pointed their head toward the sound and stealthily made their way to the clearing where a small herd was grazing. 

Locking eyes with Jenny, they leaned in to whisper, drawing a knife out. “I wound that moose closest to us and you attack, okay?” Metzli gave her a moment to process, then flung the blade into the moose's neck. The smell of iron filled the area immediately, as did the sound of distress from the injured moose. Some moose scattered while a few stragglers ran towards the disturbance. 

—

The vampires that had fed on Jenny had mostly done it in the way she imagined she would like to feed. In an alley, in bed, in the back of the club. (Or on her living room floor, with her squirming under Metzli’s weight — but she was not thinking of that now.) All the times she had fed had been spontaneous and chaotic, ripping people apart in their homes, a gym or a random alley. This was different.

Metzli pointed out tracks. They were hunting. Creatures of prey looking for something that ranked below them on the food chain. She pursed her lips together, not entirely sure what to make of it. But her hunger was alive and she could smell that moose. The sheer size of it was enough to keep her going.

She smiled at Metzli, their approval making her all the more excited. She hated being bad at anything and even though this wasn’t exactly what she had imagined for herself, she’d hate to be a flop at it. She moved next to the older vampire, crouching next to them. Instinct made her hold her breath, and Jenny almost laughed when she realized she didn’t need to focus on that any more.

Watching the moose, she felt her tongue press against the confines of her mouth, wanting out. They were large and they were many. Not unlike the men at the gym. Filled to the brim with healthy blood, that might not satisfy the way they had, but was still warm and alive. “Okay,” she answered, voice hoarse with hunger.

Once the knife cut through skin, the scent of blood became dizzying. She had smelled it before, but now it was everywhere. Jenny didn’t have to think. She just acted. Moving from where she was crouched, she bolted forward, unleashing her tongue and slicing at a moose close to her before jumping on another. Her tongue made quick work of its neck, then its guts and burrowed deep into the beast’s body. Organs and blood made way for her and Jenny ate with fervour. To call it drinking would be incorrect, considering how her teeth ripped skin and organs apart.

—

The gore was oddly enticing to the vampire. Shreds of flesh, sinew, and organs fell around Jenny, her hunger ripping further into the second moose she was now focused on. Metzli watched in horrified admiration, pins poking at their nerves. As if the more rational part of their brain was telling their body it should run. But they didn't. Instead, they took a deep, shuddering breath and stepped forward. 

Trepidation wobbled their gait, and it took several paces to level out their nerves, but Metzli eventually came across a lingering moose. It huffed with anticipation and power, head thrusting side to side before it charged forward, antlers pointed right at them. Metzli didn't move, nor did they hesitate to barrel into the attack. The moose let out a surprised and distressed bray at the impact, falling to the side with a heavy crunch into the snow when Metzli threw both of their weights. 

In the next instant, they bit down into the moose's neck and groaned with satisfaction as the blood coated their tongue. A clean kill unlike Jenny's, though they knew it couldn't be helped. Overall, it was a successful hunt. The only thing left was to see how Jenny would return to herself, and Metzli came prepared in case she needed some guidance. 

—

The blood was different from all she had tasted so far. In her memory of blood there were a few instances that stood apart for different reasons, like Baz and the gardener, and Henri too. The moose tasted warm and fresh, almost better than the blood that came delivered in a bag and she kept chilled in her second fridge. But there was something more iron-heavy about it, something that made her yearn for the freshness of human blood.

Still, she could not complain. Quite literally, because the ability to speak was gone as she tore organs into little digestible pieces. She lapped up the blood spilled, dug her fingers further into the moose to get the parts out of the way she had no interest in. It was a good thing she did not need to breathe, with the way she was burying her face into the hollow she’d created in the creature. Her face was red, pieces of gore stuck to her hair and she’d severed a few limbs from the animal to creature more places to drain empty.

Eventually, after she’d made messy and destructive work of the moose and she’d had her fill, Jenny came back to herself. She wiped at her eyes, trying to get rid of the blood clinging to her eyelashes but came nowhere. Her arms were red too, as were her fingers. She looked through blood-stained lashes at the scene she’d created. Two moose laid ripped, a long intestine discarded a few feet over. A torn open stomach revealed a cavity where she remembered nearly drowning herself on blood. She stared and heard the whine leave her throat before she could stop herself. When her eyes started producing tears, the blood finally stopped clinging to her lashes.

—

Something bent in Metzli’s chest when they heard Jenny's distress. They turned to face her, wide-eyed and stiff, blood smeared across their cheek. She was a gory scene while Metzli looked almost beautiful, like one of those vampires she admired in her stories. 

Was that the reason behind her loss of composure? Or was a kill a kill, no matter what species? When Metzli fed on animals, it felt a lot like when they slaughtered animals on their uncle's ranch. It was necessary for sustenance and use of the hide, along with the other miscellaneous parts they could use. No piece went unused and the animal died for a reason. A good reason, even. So, what was wrong?

“Jenny?” Metzli approached her slowly, taking her hand and not caring how it stained their skin. “What's wrong?” They weren't sure if they'd be able to provide adequate comfort, but they knew putting feelings into words could alleviate much of the weight she was feeling now. 

—

She did not want to cry, but that had never stopped her from weeping before. The sight of the carnage she had caused was like a shock to the nervous system, and now that the adrenaline of her frenzy was gone there was nothing but the release. Two tracks of tears made way through her blood stained face.

Metzli was at her side, taking her hand. Jenny looked at their hand, then up at them. What’s wrong, they asked, and she didn’t know what to say. She felt only pathetic, like a failed copy of the person she was supposed to be. She tried to figure out why she was crying but there was no direct cause to find. It wasn’t because she felt particularly sad for the moose. It wasn’t because she felt guilty. 

She felt like a clenched fist that had just been released. Like a balloon emptying swiftly. “I …” She heard herself stammer distantly. Jenny shook her head, as if that would help her. “Just a lot. The … the sight. Don’t think I’m used — don’t know that I ever will be —” She had seen so much gore in movies, had read about it aplenty, but the sight of it now, at her own hands (and tongue) was stirring something within her. But then wasn’t there something else, too? Something like power? She’d killed two creatures that were four times her size and she was unwounded. She shivered. “Heh.”

—

“That's okay.” Metzli reassured, carefully brushing their thumb over each of her knuckles. It didn't matter that the moose hadn't been human instead. The carnage Jenny created from a power she was still learning was enough to jar her into a state of despair and grief. She died and failed to return in the image she'd envisioned. The gore would have been less, but the severity would have been the same.

Still, something like pride bloomed across Jenny. Her shoulders straightened, her spine lengthened, and her expression cooled. “You did a good job,” Metzli smiled with a pat to Jenny's shoulder. “You tracked your meal and took it down efficiently. A successful hunt.” They gave her shoulder a squeeze, moving to point to her chest, giving it two little taps. 

“This is what is inside of you now. A monstrous and erratic power, but it will not rule you. You are different from me but we hunger for the same thing.” A sigh bellowed and puffed into the air, dissipating slowly. “Strength comes from here.” Metzli tapped Jenny's chest again. “But the discipline to understand it and control it comes from here.” Another two taps, this time, at Jenny's temple. “You have more than proven you have the capacity to live by this. To grow used to it.” Because she had to, for the sake of those around her. 

—

Highs were often followed by lows for Jenny. As if euphoria only left room for the release of all other cooped up emotions. She thought of all the times she had cried after sex, wiping her tears on a pillowcase or someone’s shoulder. Was this like this? It was hard to draw a parallel to the gorey sight in front of her and the aftermath of intercourse, and yet her body felt as stretched and released as she did otherwise.

Metzli was trying to say it was okay and she disregarded it in favor for the compliment. She was a beast of prey that, she knew that. She stood at the top of the food chain, a goal she had aimed for and even though she did not quite like the beast she had become her position had once more been solidified. And she had done well. Jenny smiled at Metzli, vaguely. She brought her hand to her mouth, licked at her knuckle.

“It does rule me,” she confessed. “And … that is not so bad, during a hunt, but at other times …” The bodies in the gym. The woman in the alley. Henri. She closed her eyes for a moment. She felt herself hunger for that warm humanness on her tongue, rather than the musky taste of moose blood. How she was still hungry was a mystery to her. “But … grow, you said. It’s a process, maybe. I …” She looked at the carcasses, then back up at Metzli. “How do you fight it, all the time? Don’t you just want to give in?”

—

“Maybe it always will rule you, in some way, but to choose to do better is what matters. We can't fight our nature. We can't run from it.” In the beginning, that's all Metzli tried to do. They tried to survive the same way as they did as human, and it ended with them looking a lot like Jenny did right then, but instead of moose, it was several innocent people. 

Metzli had no doubt Jenny had experienced similar by now. She had to. While their features only changed slightly when blood was spilled, Jenny turned into a beast. That was far harder to control, and there was no telling if she could ever prevent it. At the very least, she found a way to bring herself back. An improvement, all things considered. She had the desire and wherewithal to share the discovery, too. That spoke volumes. That gave her the purpose she needed to not give in. 

“Of course I want to give in. It's nature. We are designed to kill.” A shaky sigh tumbled out of Metzli and they sat back on their heels. “But there is more to us than our monster. We are rooted in humanity. We have the curse of knowing death. We are what killed us.” 

That alone was enough to convince Metzli to be better. So many had met the same fate as them, and they couldn't do that anymore. “That's how I don't give in. I have people who matter and so do you.” They breathed, “Trust me, Jenny, you don't want to give in. You don't want to be like me. I-I have hurt so many and I didn't care back then, but I care now. I should have always cared, and that is my burden to bear. Being better won't undo the damage, but it can prevent it from spreading.” That's ultimately why they wanted to teach Jenny to begin with. Metzli wanted better for her. Kinder. History didn't have to repeat itself. “We are not our failures. Just…just what we learn and choose to become from them.”

—

Jenny fell quiet for a moment, chewing on all Metzli was saying. Nature, monster, humanity. It were all terms she was familiar with in a literary sense, had picked them all apart in plenty of essays. The term monster especially had been analyzed aplenty so she could describe what made a monster in fiction and how that related to the time period of a book’s release. She did not like to think of herself as something of that sort, most days.

But she also knew what she became when hunger took over. How her tongue became a weapon more threatening than knives and swords, how she was unstoppable. It was a monstrous thing, but she was yet to find a way to apply the label to herself in a way that was satisfying. That made sense. That gave comfort. Because a monster was only a subjective thing, wasn’t it? It was just a word.

“Humanity is plenty monstrous,” she said, though it was not said with heart. It was just something to say, something repeated from where she may have read it. She looked at Metzli for a moment, pondering whatever era they spoke of where they did not care. She bit down on her lip. “That was when we first met. Right? When you … didn’t care. Or tried not to.” Jenny guffawed softly. “You were not very good at it.” The smile on her lips was a bit bitter, but also one of amusement at where the two of them were now.

She ran her bloody hand through her bloody hair. “That’s … I’ve spent so much on haircare since all this,” she muttered, before returning to the topic at hand. “I’m just… so hungry, all the time. And this was good, but I still… fuck. I can’t stop thinking about human blood. About the actual fucking stuff. From the vein. Not this, or from a bag. But warm and …” She threw her gaze up at the night sky. She saw more stars than she ever had as a human. “This is exhausting. To fight that. To …” She shook her head. “But this was better, almost, than the bag. More natural, anyway.”

—

A dry chuckle escaped Metzli and they nodded, no energy really behind it. “No, I've never been good at not caring.” They swallowed, chewing the inside of their cheek. 

“And still, I've hurt many. Whether or not I cared didn't matter. I thought…I thought I could earn my sire's love if I was like him, but that just…” A shrug. “Other people paid for that. Even worse, I can't recall every face when they were all people. But I'm glad…” Metzli sniffled and squeezed their eyes shut so hard they saw stars. When they opened them again, they saw Jenny fading into clarity. “I'm really glad you're not a face I forget.” An apology of sorts. Saying I'm sorry wasn't enough anymore. 

“It takes time, Jenny. It's okay to feel the way you do. It's important to feel it.” After all, she was still learning and processing everything. Even being over a century old, Metzli still sometimes struggled with hunger too. Fighting against inner nature was a constant battle, one that was sometimes lost. Failure was just a step though, and Jenny now had plenty of time to practice. 

“It never stops, but we do it for the people we care about, yeah?” They smiled warmly at Jenny, offering their hand to help her stand up. “Come on. Let's wash up at a nearby creek.” Metzli pulled Jenny up with ease, giving her hand a squeeze before heading toward water. “You did good, Jenny. I'm proud of you.”

—

Jenny was silent for a moment. All through Metzli’s words, she had wondered if they also counted her as someone they’d hurt, and when they looked at her and confirmed that they did, she felt herself nearly sway. It was an ugly thing, their shared past. The memory of her pinned to the living room floor was still a sharp and jagged thing, but seemed to have gained a new context ever since Jenny had sliced men and women apart herself. And though she thought there was a difference, she also understood that ruthlessness was not always something controlled.

She did not know what to say. She bit on her lip, found a bit of coagulated blood there that she pulled into her mouth with her teeth. “That’s done now.” Her human life had to be left behind. The fears, the agony, the time in the sun. All of it.

Metzli mentioned the people she cared about, and Jenny wanted it badly to be enough. When she felt like herself, the thought of those she loved was enough to ground her. But there was also that part within her that she liked to think of as not herself, which wanted to taste those she cared about. That wanted to have Baz completely and lethally. She nodded, somewhat stunned into silence. She did not want to admit that she was afraid that the people she cared about were not enough to keep her from ripping everyone apart.

As Metzli pulled her up and squeezed her hand, she nodded. “Alright.” Washing up in a creek was something she had never done, but with her being covered in blood as well as immortal, she didn’t have it in her to argue about all the diseases creek water might hold. She just followed Metzli, trying to hold onto the feeling that came with being told they were proud of her, and in return wordlessly gave them back more of her trust.