122: Girly Fight

on December 20, 2007 in 05: The Weekend Shift

In Which Mackenzie Gets The Finger

“You know, we can avoid this if you’ll just fix what you did,” Rocky said, eyeing me cautiously.

I hadn’t done a damn thing, of course… but that never stopped anybody from blaming me, did it? I’d spent my whole life paying for things I hadn’t done. It seemed like high time that changed… this time, I would actually do something.

“I think it’s an improvement,” I said, a slight growl in my voice. I gestured at the prone figure of the lizard woman. “Don’t you like Hissy like this?”

She didn’t rise to the bait, unfortunately. I really wanted to go for her throat, but if I tried to get in that close, she’d be all over me. Better if she made the first move.

She just went into a sort of half-crouching stance and watched me warily, ready to either attack or defend. I needed to think.

I needed another strategy.

Then, in a flash of inspiration, I had it: hungry!

It was brilliant. You just couldn’t argue with logic like that.

I lunged for her, mouth open wide.

She twisted aside and clipped me on the side of the head. She was no stronger than any other muscular human woman, but she had the advantage of skin that was… from the outside… as hard and unyielding as stone. It was no ogre punch, but it wasn’t exactly a summer breeze.

I turned around, grinning a manic grin. Why couldn’t any of my worthless lovers hit me like that?

Of course, Steff always wanted to do that and worse… I decided I’d take her up on it, but we’d make it winner take all: if she could really beat me into submission, my ass was hers… if she couldn’t… hers would be mine.

I giggled madly.

“What’s so funny?” Rocky asked.

What was? It had to be her.

“You are,” I said. “You’re a joke. ‘Skirmish.’ The little war humans made up to keep from going crazy and killing each other in decades of peace, and so worthless piles of muscle and brick like you can pretend to be big damn heroes. It’s fucking hilarious.”

She started to come after me, then held back. I don’t know if it was a feint or an attack she thought better of, but I started forward to meet her, and she managed to snap off a lightning fast high kick that caught me on the chin. I tasted my own blood again. It was a bit like an appetizer.

We danced around some more and I figured out that things weren’t going to be quite as easy as I had thought. She was a fighter. I wasn’t. If she hadn’t stepped up to offer herself to me, I would have been much better off trying for Twyla or Trina, or one of the humans from the other dorms. Like… that guy I’d been talking to. I was supposed to meet him or something.

For dinner.

I laughed again.

Rocky took that as her opening and lunged at me as if she meant to grapple me. I twisted aside… slipping a bit in the running water on the floor, but not badly… and managed to grab her from the side. Before she could shake me off, I sunk my teeth into the meaty part of her arm just below the shoulder, left bare by her tank top.

It was a weird sensation. Her magically stony skin yielded to my teeth as easily as soft, pink human flesh would have… though my teeth aren’t particularly sharp, so it’s only sheer strength that let me tear through it. Underneath was warm and delicious… but the texture and hardness of the chunk of stone between my teeth, against my tongue, was unchanged. That was all that kept me from biting harder, ripping and tearing out a gob of meat and swallowing it.

I only needed the blood, but was kind of getting used to having something in my stomach, and it seemed like a good way of combining my love of normal food and my inherent need. It was tempting. The stuff beneath tasted so good, but the outside was just rock.

The world dissolved, just sort of… went away. It was just me. I didn’t know what I was holding on to so desperately. I did not know what my mouth was wrapped around. I just knew that it was hot and it was wet and it was good. My head felt so light and clear. I didn’t know a fucking thing, but everything I didn’t know was clear.

Except… somebody was screaming right up close to my head, a high, wordless scream of pure, primal terror.

What were they screaming about?

Everything was right. I had food, and it was wonderful. It was like being back in the womb. Everything was warmth and fuzzy light and comfort and contentment.

Except, you know, for the screaming.

I couldn’t figure out what that was about.

Then the world spun around sideways and then I slammed into something, and then I slammed into something again. I clung on to whatever it was I was clinging on to, and I bit down harder, eager to retain my meal. I was slammed and then spun around again, and lost my grip. A chunk of flesh came loose in my mouth, flying with me.

I hit something… a wall.

The world, which moments ago had contained nothing but myself and my meal, now contained walls, for some unfathomable reason. I ignored it, and sucked with relish on the more tender side of food I’d managed to keep within my grasp.

It was a bit like eating the end of some juicy, fleshy fruit with a hard rind.

“That’s fucking sick!” somebody screamed. I looked up to see somebody… Linda, or something like that? No, somebody else. I knew her, but I couldn’t say from where. She was clutching at her shoulder. The ragged tear in it was wide, but not terribly deep. Yumminess seeped from it, trickling down her arm. If she’d had normal skin instead of some kind of rock covering, it would have been just like sauce drizzled over a roast. “Sick freak!”

The words were noise; they meant nothing. I ignored her and hunched down on the wet floor, nibbling at my prize. Suddenly, a foot snapped up and blasted my precious treat away, hitting me in the face. It was the screaming woman. She kicked me again and again, all around my head and face. I whimpered and crawled after my lost meal, but she knocked it beneath the running shower, where it quickly added little rivulets of pink to the water puddled around the drain.

I dove for it and managed to suck up some of the tantalizingly tainted water before she grabbed me by the back of my shirt and slammed me again into a wall.

“More,” I whispered, I prayed. “Please… more.”

“You like this, you sick little shit?” she shrieked, and she drove me head first into the floor and then stomped on my back.

Didn’t she understand? I only needed more blood. That was all. I just needed to feed. Why wouldn’t she help me?

“Three-Eyes said you liked having the shit kicked out of you,” she said. “Well, you’re gonna love me, you sick little monster.”

Didn’t she get it? I already loved her. She was food. She was life itself. She was delicious. I loved her more than anybody had ever loved anything before. I loved her to death.

Heedless of her own cruelty, she continued to throw me around, slamming against the walls and floor of the shower. Every time she grabbed for me, I lunged at her, wanting–needing–another taste of the beautiful, life-sustaining stuff I knew was underneath her ugly skin, but each time, she’d just turn or twist and somehow send me hurtling twice as hard into the slick stone walls. Our wild brawl carried out into the bathroom, where my face broke a mirror, shards stabbing at my skin and eyes without cutting.

I was sobbing now, but not from the pain. There was no room in my head for anything but my single, overpowering need to feed. I was hungry and she wouldn’t let me eat her.

She’d let me have a taste, but not a meal. That was almost worse than nothing at all… what gave her the right to decide whether I got to feed or not?

I’d had enough, I decided. The next time she came after me, I pretended I was going to charge right at her again but when she went to grab me, I whipped my head around and tried to sink my teeth into her forearm. I caught her hand instead. She shrieked and hammered on the side of my head with her other hand. I bit down while she pulled away.

I only got one finger.

I would have liked to spit it out so I could suck all the blood out through the ragged end, actually savor the taste of it, but I’d learned my lesson. She wouldn’t let me do that. I crunched it instead. The spray in my mouth was rich and rewarding before I had to swallow. I felt miles and miles better instantly, with something solid in my stomach. The woman (Rocky, I remembered now) was giving me quite a work out… and getting me quite worked up.

Maybe the pile of boulders wasn’t completely unfuckable, after all… though I’d have to keep my priorities in order. I wasn’t done feeding, and that was just standard dating etiquette: you got dinner first. I was in a unique position to appreciate Raquel as a lover… I figured her pussy would be as soft as anybody else’s, once I got the skin off it.

I watched with a growing sense of pleasure as she stared at her mangled hand like it was somebody else’s, like she’d woke up and found a stranger’s extremity attached to her wrist.

“More… please,” I said again, stretching my mouth into a smiling a bloody, toothy rictus.

Wordlessly, and with only a little awkwardness, she reached over her left shoulder with her left hand and drew her sword. It was gold-hilted, with the figure of an eagle on the crosspiece.

The world seemed to shrink again… only now, it wasn’t just me and my meal. It was me, Rocky, and the edge of her blade… and it was rapidly contracting to just the blade.

She wobbled a bit.

It might have been a promising sign, but I was feeling pretty wobbly myself. The last few minutes were catching up to me… every slam, every shock, every kick… every… every…

It all hit me at once: what I’d done, what I’d wanted, what I’d thought. Two on a platter with an apple in her mouth. Sucking on a piece of torn flesh like it was a bit of candy.

And… I’d eaten a finger.

I retched, my hands flying to my mouth and to my stomach as my belly tried to empty itself.

“What’s wrong?” Rocky asked. “Something go down the wrong pipe? Got a bone caught in your throat?”

“I… I…” I stammered. It was probably hard enough to apologize for eating somebody’s finger when you weren’t trying not to throw up, and when they weren’t about to kill you. Then, it wasn’t a matter of trying… hot red sick, spotted with bits of flesh and bone and cookie sprayed between my fingers.

“Choke on this, hellbitch,” Rocky said, striding towards me.

“Rocky… it wasn’t me,” I said, knowing this was a lie. Of course it had been me. My mouth was full of the taste of bloody vomit.

Behind me, the bathroom door… apparently not locked after all… opened.

“What the hell?” Rocky said, looking over in surprise. “How…?”

“Step the fuck back and drop the sword!” commanded a loud, exuberantly–extravagantly–angry voice, a voice that I knew all too well for having first heard it only a few weeks before.

My day was now officially well and truly complete; Puddy had come to my rescue.

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7 Responses to “122: Girly Fight”

  1. pedestrian says:

    No situation, no disaster is so bad, that it cannot get worse.

    Current score: 2
    • tordirycgoyust says:

      And we aren’t even at the Godzilla Threshold…we’re not even close.

      Current score: 3
      • Kanta says:

        If Godzilla gets involved in this fight, even Mackenzie won’t stand a chance.

        Current score: 0
  2. Erm says:

    Behind me, the bathroom door… apparently not locked after all… opened.

    Maybe the whole “no-door-locks-against-her” thing is true after all.

    Current score: 2
  3. RinnRaven says:

    -takes a moment to indulge in a Browncoat nerdgasm- “big damn heroes”. I think I love you for that.

    Current score: 3
  4. nobody says:

    This dissonance in behavior is why I stated hungry Mackenzie was my second favorite character.

    Current score: 2
  5. Lara says:

    Jeeeeeeesus hahaha. So scary to read. Like, imagining it from Rocky’s point of view, it gives me chills.

    Current score: 1