more pyre to make eveyones day (and writing blurb utc!)
{ cw: intended SA (nothing actually occurs but its implied), strangulation }
"Hey there, sweetheart. You look lonely sitting there all alone, mind if I keep you some company?"
Pyre can barely hear the man now sitting right next to her over the generic pop song blaring over the club speakers. Normally, this would be water right off her back, but after the shitshow of a week she's had, another random person talking themself in circle's while she nods along is the last thing she wants. Not even the buzz from nursing her now fifth gin and juice is enough to tackle this with a straight face.
By this point, she realizes that she hasn't said a word yet. The realization only hits her once the man is leaning in closer, his breath, hot and muggy with alcohol fans against the side of her face, awful smell wafting in her nose and making it crinkle in response. It takes everything in her not to recoil in blatant disgust.
"Why don't we get out of here together, hmm?"
Considering the last large 'meal' she had was just a matter of hours ago, this isn't necessary. Pyre could ignore him. She should.
Despite her better judgement however, she agrees. By the wide eyed look that flashes across his face is clear that he hadn't actually expected to get this far, but he doesn't push his luck by asking anymore questions. She prefers the ones that are like this.
"You came with any friends?" Pyre asks as they step into the mans far too crowded car. Where there isn't a plastic water bottle or empty can of some unknown energy drink, there's indistinguishable mounds of trash lost in the dark lighting. "No, its just me. I don't normally do stuff like this," he responds, nervously tapping his fingers aloud the steering wheel as he dances around that exactly this is with the presumably far-too-drunk woman sitting in his passenger seat. Typical. But that's alright, its easier that way.
"And my place is empty. If you were, uh, worried...about that." Even better.
-
His place is small, even messier than the car, too, somehow. He's frantically pushing the piles of trash under his twin bed while he throws his jacket off and over to the other end of the room. He wastes no time in getting closer to her, leaning in inch by inch and making that awful, revolting, 'before kissing' face. Annoyance flairs in her gut, scoffing sharply before pushing him backwards with enough force that he staggers over the bed and knocks the back of his head into the nearest wall.
"What the fuck?" He squawks, huffing erratically as he tries to make sense of it all. Well, at least the act is over now.
He puts his hand to the back of his head as his vision fuzzes around the edges, a concussion not mixing too nicely with the liquor running through his veins. By the time he's seeing straight again she's crouched directly in front of him. Her is as sharp as a dagger, wine red eyes so intense that the low light does nothing to ease the manner in which they burn into him, disgusted. He trembles, feeling the sudden urge to explain himself, but nothing comes to shape besides the sound of his own gasps.
Before he has the chance to provoke her with anymore bullshit, she lets out a long groan. It sounds almost childish, as if she's a kid who's been told no more video games. Pyre runs a hand through her hair, briefly brushing the bangs that frame her face backwards in a lackluster attempt to soothe herself. "You," Pyre starts, licking her teeth as she searches her mind for the appropriate words to say. "You're such a fucking bore."
Suddenly, there's a hand around his neck, the unnatural vice grip forcing him to choke on air. "Every time, its the same thing with every one of you lowlifes. You're so sure of yourself when you think you're the predator, only to piss yourselves like scared little dogs when you realize you're not the one in control." The sound of her voice is akin to venom, hissing as her fingers dig further into his flesh, jolting as if to emphasize her point.
He strains for air, making gargled noises as he claws at her hand, trashing pathetically—its all the same. Not even the unabashed look of pure terror in the man's eyes feels rewarding tonight, it's all numb. Meaningless. She feels empty. She's starving all over again.
