[ closed ]

[bloodprayer]

WHO: Michael & Jack
WHERE: Jeopardy 005
WHEN: Nov...emb er
WHAT: ROOMMATE BOIEZ
WARNINGS: Blood and gore and edgy edgy boys being edgy but otherwise nothing afaik!

[ Michael's always been too curious for his own good.

Back home, he'd gotten in trouble for going into his dad's shit. He'd gone through his side-table, picking up things he wasn't supposed to, and when he got caught, the fallout stuck with him. It hit hard enough that it should've taught him a lesson about snooping, but now, Michael's in a new house, a new state, a new world, and - well, his therapist had said it was healthy for him to explore, sometimes. If this is an invasion of privacy, it's not one he can't justify.

Blood doesn't scare him. He's well-acquainted with blood. When he opens the refrigerator in his brand new kitchen, he finds - meat. He recognizes the smell, the coppery metallic taste that hits the back of his throat, but he's never seen blood this cold before, stewing in strange packages and stored like a meal for later.

He carefully lifts something out of the fridge that still seems to have bones in it, hard and solid and wrapped up in black plastic. He toys with it, touches it, and slowly starts to unwrap it, the eager light of unmistakable enthusiasm bright in his eyes. He looks like a kid with a birthday present, seconds away from tearing into the wrapper n the hunt for something that's all for him, and that's when he's startled by the sound of feet behind him. Michael turns and sees Jack in the doorway, and though he doesn't know him yet, he knows this has to be one of his roommates. He panics, throwing the package back on it's shelf and slamming the fridge door shut, trying - and failing - to look like he's done nothing wrong. ]

Comments

[neverdied]

[Why Jack hadn't just got himself a one person apartment somewhere is honestly a fucking mystery even to himself. He'd at least thought he might get a month or two of quiet before a bunch of newbies started getting thrown into this latest imPort city (or had it been here all along?) but no, he's barely had a week to himself before there's another joining him.

A kid too, which is honestly just an insult.

He's been doing his best to avoid interaction up until this point, but the noise of someone rooting around in the fridge is enough to draw him out of his room and have him shuffling towards the kitchen.]

Yeah. That's human.

[Not even bothering to wait for the inevitable questioning as he leans heavily against the door frame, a semi-imposing figure. Or perhaps just an old, tired dude.]

[bloodprayer]

[ Old, tired dude and semi-imposing figure go hand-in-hand, in Michael's mind; he hasn't had very many run ins with adults in general, barring his grandmother, his therapist and a handful of others who... well, who didn't make it out of the experience unscathed. It's scary, seeing someone tall and masculine and pretty fucking clearly capable of punching his lights out if he wanted to.

He's visibly rattled, making absolutely sure that the fridge is sealed shut when he slams the door closed, but. The damage is done. All he can do is hope for the best. He's half-hiding behind the fridge, peering out from the side of it and fidgetting with his hands, not really sure what to do with them. Tapping his fingernails against the metal, he takes a long, slow breath. "That's human". Okay. ... Okay. Okay. ]

Why do you... have...?

[ That's a stupid question. Meat in the fridge can only mean one of two things - he's either a killer who needed somewhere to stash a body, or his midnight snacks run just a little bit outside the norm. Michael hides his eyes behind his fringe, already in need of a cut. Human. Human. Human. He drops his voice to a whisper, half-mystified, half-afraid. Not afraid of Jack. Just afraid of being in trouble. ]

Are you human too?

[neverdied]

[Oh, this kid actually appears scared of him. Smart, but a rare occurrence these days, rare enough that Jack spares a few beautiful seconds basking in that feeling of a wary target. His eyes flicker shut just long enough for a long, slow inhale, by the time it turns into an exhale, it's a tired sigh.]

Yeah. Sort of.

[Keeping it vague, he's never really been sure how to answer it anyway, even with how long he's been alive. A whole lot of his own questions have always gone unanswered. Michael's getting plenty though, and to answer his half question from before;]

I need it though. To survive.

[bloodprayer]

[ The obvious question to ask here is why - he's never met a "sort of human" that needs to chew on a couple of fingers to get through the day, and, again, even though he's visibly anxious and not sure if he's in trouble or not, there's an awe in him that eclipses everything else. He leans forward on the balls of his feet and pries himself away from the fridge, easing forward. ]

Is that - like - a disease, or something? Like - you can only eat... this... because you're allergic to everything else? Or... or something?

[ Something like - a curse, maybe. He believes in curses. Michael rubs his elbow with his other arm, taking a breath. May as well ask what he really wants to know. ]

What does it taste like?

[neverdied]

Like human.

[Why does everyone always ask that?!]

I'm not gonna eat you, if that's what you're worried about. Not at the moment, anyway. These days I prefer my food less lively, makes things easier.

[Which isn't entirely true. He likes murder, he likes it a lot, but he's still trying to make an effort to cut down on that shit and obtain his meat from semi-reputable sources instead.

And for now he's just conveniently ignoring the inital question of why he eats it.]