I am not harmed so easily. [She shifts back to her usual form. For Pom's comfort, she equips one of his shirts, stashed in her inventory to prevent him from stealing it (back,) and equips another to him.] You will return this.
[He's almost surprised by the shirt that appears on him suddenly, but exhaustion dulls his reaction as much as it does his senses: he instead sighs as appreciatively as possible. The shirt is long enough to cover all the uncomfortable bits, but he still would prefer to be wearing underpants.]
Sure.
[Whether that's about Northly fortitude, or whether or not he'll return the shirt (which, yes, is very much his), Pom doesn't say. He finally lets go of her, easing upward so he can sit before getting to his feet.]
Don't suppose you keep any of my bottoms in there.
You must eat. So you have strength. Creatures in this world spawn frequently. Spring makes their reproduction especially prolific. The un-horned rabbits are plentiful.
You need only eat enough to travel to the water. [She doesn't especially wish to return to the city. Not when he could try to hide once more.]
[He bites his tongue to not cut back at her that their numbers are plentiful now, that he has been controlling himself not to devour every last one of them since well before the arrival of spring, but even he realizes that isn't helpful.
So instead, he nods.]
Just one.
[Given his size even without his Shift, that's hardly a snack, but it's all he's willing to risk. Fish will be more plentiful - he can make it until then.]
[She pauses, then darts off, towards the nearest un-horned rabbit shaped collection of water, of blood.
She boils its brain, impatient and vicious for it. She stows its body in her inventory, separates it into parts, the guts and bones she leaves behind, deposited in two hops on her path back.
When she returns, barely a minute later, she has cooked its meat.
She takes Pom's hand — so much larger than her own — and turns it over to place the meal within it.]
[When Pom said he was hungry, he apparently meant it.
Northly returns in seemingly no time with an offering, and the instant she sets the meat in his hand, he changes: his eyes widen, their glow volatile; his mouth stretches back, the corners tearing, fangs pushing from his gums so forcefully that they bleed; he snaps at her as though she were a threat, growling as if she would steal back her gift. Smoke billows from the torn corners of his mouth — not the usual dragonblight, but genuine smoke, his breath hot as a furnace — as he tears into the morsel, devouring it in an instant.
And when it's gone, he looks toward her, that ravenous light still burning in his eyes. There's a second of failed recognition, of desperate horror, and then, sudden movement — he brings his arm to his mouth and digs his teeth into his own limb, piercing flesh and scales in an attempt to ground himself.]
[His teeth sink into his skin and her arm snaps back, then forward, slamming into his mouth — his teeth — in a punch far more powerful than her tiny frame should allow.
[She's small, but mighty - given Pom has spent most of his life with a Felyne who is very much the same, one would think he'd know when big surprises come in small packages.
But he doesn't even see her punch coming, and her fist connects with his fangs, sending a reverberation through his entire skull. He releases his arm as he recoils, his hands covering his mouth as he hisses through the momentary pain. In good news, it's plenty to bring Pom back to his senses: the fire in his eyes settles, his fangs retracting as blood trails down his forearm, along the gutter made by the long scar that travels half the length of his limb before dripping from his elbow.]
[She lets out a noise of disgust, frustration, irritation and no small amount of hurt.] Pain does not help! It hurts you! It leads to scars, even if they are not visible.
[Logically, he knows Northly could put him in a grave with only a thought. He might not know much about magic, but he knows enough to realize she's dangerous. He's seen it first-hand, watched her freeze entire rooms, control the very wind around them.
But he has reason for his beliefs. He remains still, despite the corpse in her hand.]
The problem ain't what you can do. It's what you might not do if you had to.
[The unhorned rabbit vanishes from her hand, but its blood remains behind, splattering to the ground. Its bones drop next, then its guts. She tosses him its flesh, now cooked.]
[Though he catches the meat tossed his way, Pom doesn't break eye contact with her, his eyes narrowing as he fights to keep the encroaching morning light from blinding him.]
This place has changed all of us, Northly. Some of us worse than others. And if I end up as something horrible, something that's a danger to you—
[He pushes a shuddering breath through his nose, his lip quivering.]
I'd rather be dead. If you don't do it, someone else will.
[Pom nearly cuts back again, but his stomach grumbles, his teeth aching. He can't help himself any longer; he's forced to eat by a voracious body he struggles to control, to even consider his own anymore. Devouring the meat in his hands, he's awash with a mixture of guilt, frustration, and disgust as his gaze lands on the remains near Northly's feet. He's still hungry. He's always hungry.
But the longer he looks, the worse he feels, the vibrant color of the fresh blood too akin to the puddle on the garage floor, the guts too similar to those torn from the man he brought home for himself and Gale. They ripped into him like animals, like true monsters, not caring who he was or what he'd done or if he was a person—
His eyes squeeze shut as he covers his mouth with his hand, trying to shut it all out - the sight, the smell, all of it.]
[She sees his eyes fall on the pile, senses his rising distress. Hastily, she places the gore in her inventory, out of the way of temptation, then presses close to his side.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Sure.
[Whether that's about Northly fortitude, or whether or not he'll return the shirt (which, yes, is very much his), Pom doesn't say. He finally lets go of her, easing upward so he can sit before getting to his feet.]
Don't suppose you keep any of my bottoms in there.
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If I brought you an animal, and separated it into parts — bone, skin, flesh and organs — would that be more palatable? So we may travel.
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I don't know. It's- it goes down easier cooked. Can do that on my own.
[He rubs at his eyes, his head spinning for a second or two.]
I've got to be careful what I eat out here. Can't eat too much. If I did, I'd- nothing would survive.
[And his principles, compromised and worthless as they may be in this place, won't allow it.]
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You need only eat enough to travel to the water. [She doesn't especially wish to return to the city. Not when he could try to hide once more.]
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So instead, he nods.]
Just one.
[Given his size even without his Shift, that's hardly a snack, but it's all he's willing to risk. Fish will be more plentiful - he can make it until then.]
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She boils its brain, impatient and vicious for it. She stows its body in her inventory, separates it into parts, the guts and bones she leaves behind, deposited in two hops on her path back.
When she returns, barely a minute later, she has cooked its meat.
She takes Pom's hand — so much larger than her own — and turns it over to place the meal within it.]
Now we may leave.
cw: more self-harm
Northly returns in seemingly no time with an offering, and the instant she sets the meat in his hand, he changes: his eyes widen, their glow volatile; his mouth stretches back, the corners tearing, fangs pushing from his gums so forcefully that they bleed; he snaps at her as though she were a threat, growling as if she would steal back her gift. Smoke billows from the torn corners of his mouth — not the usual dragonblight, but genuine smoke, his breath hot as a furnace — as he tears into the morsel, devouring it in an instant.
And when it's gone, he looks toward her, that ravenous light still burning in his eyes. There's a second of failed recognition, of desperate horror, and then, sudden movement — he brings his arm to his mouth and digs his teeth into his own limb, piercing flesh and scales in an attempt to ground himself.]
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That's her Pom he's snacking on.]
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But he doesn't even see her punch coming, and her fist connects with his fangs, sending a reverberation through his entire skull. He releases his arm as he recoils, his hands covering his mouth as he hisses through the momentary pain. In good news, it's plenty to bring Pom back to his senses: the fire in his eyes settles, his fangs retracting as blood trails down his forearm, along the gutter made by the long scar that travels half the length of his limb before dripping from his elbow.]
I'm okay! I'm... I'm okay.
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[He swallows; he can still taste his own blood when he does.]
Pain helps. Helps me find my way back. Helps me know this is my body. That this is still me.
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It's something I have to do to keep me me. To keep me from hurting you. For that, I'll do whatever it takes.
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You were taken by Patho-Gen. Put in a cage. You think I couldn't hurt you if I had half a mind to?
cw: harm to an animal
An unhorned rabbit, squealing a warning like a piglet slams into that hand. The next moment, its head snaps to one side. It falls limp.]
I do not.
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But he has reason for his beliefs. He remains still, despite the corpse in her hand.]
The problem ain't what you can do. It's what you might not do if you had to.
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[The unhorned rabbit vanishes from her hand, but its blood remains behind, splattering to the ground. Its bones drop next, then its guts. She tosses him its flesh, now cooked.]
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This place has changed all of us, Northly. Some of us worse than others. And if I end up as something horrible, something that's a danger to you—
[He pushes a shuddering breath through his nose, his lip quivering.]
I'd rather be dead. If you don't do it, someone else will.
[He sounds so certain of that.]
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cw: boy howdy allusion to cannibalism
But the longer he looks, the worse he feels, the vibrant color of the fresh blood too akin to the puddle on the garage floor, the guts too similar to those torn from the man he brought home for himself and Gale. They ripped into him like animals, like true monsters, not caring who he was or what he'd done or if he was a person—
His eyes squeeze shut as he covers his mouth with his hand, trying to shut it all out - the sight, the smell, all of it.]
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We must feed you.
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