Phantom Hollow a slab in the morgue

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Language.

He walked until he couldn't anymore, at which point Screech was hidden within yet another forest. The cold had dissipated with his activity but had not wholly left him, although he still felt numb and empty. The pain in his face had begun to creep back in as his shock wore off too, which was a strange sensation. The wounds upon his face itched and burned in equal measure, but that was almost a pleasant reprieve from the icy snowscape that had become his new home.

Home. The thought made his skin crawl, his chest ache, and there was a part of him that wanted to defy everything that dark girl had said - return to the caldera and beg forgiveness, promise to be better and to be good, as if that would make everything go back to the way it was before.

Screech sagged against the snowcapped roots of some ambiguous trees; their shadows sheltered him for now, welcomed him, urged him to sleep. Despite how worn out and wrecked his entire self was, Screech remained in a heightened state of stress: he was alert, and would not sleep for some time yet. Perhaps the shadows would come back and finish what they had started.

STEALS

It was with a haughty sort of eagerness that she had continued down the mountain and across the flatlands; the lake spotted from the peaks was stopped at—briefly—but hadn’t held her interest for very long before she was off again. She could see a forest, which she kept away from, the scent of a pack discouraging her; she wasn’t scared or anything, she just didn’t feel like dealing with a bunch of mindless, uptight pack wolves. To her, they were like sheep, so easily controlled and lacking their own, individual thoughts. Those belonging to the Gorgon family had, in the past, all come together in order to live on through the winter, but never had they formed a pack. They claimed no set piece of land, traversing the mountains freely and mocking any of the obedient little dogs that dared to cross their paths. Simply thinking of packs left a sour taste in her mouth, as well as drove her to get by the woods as quickly as she could without drawing any attention to herself.

Thankfully, the next arrangement of trees to catch her attention had yet to be tainted by the vile touch of a wolf’s herd, making it suitable for entry. As she broke through the barrier of trees that separated the outside world from the forest within, she was rather surprised by what she encountered: death. Whilst winter was known for killing everything, this place seemed as if life had never existed there to begin with. Initially, she was unsettled by it, but the feeling was quickly shaken. Replacing it was her usual, cocky self as she delved deeper, sniffing every now and again as she sought food. It was doubtful that she’d find anything, for nothing worth eating would ever end up the—wait, what’s that? A sharp intake of air brought to her the unmistakable scent of blood; it was metallic and sweet, distracting her from the wolfish hints intermingling with it.

Stalking forward she was silent, muscles tensed like a viper right before it struck—and strike she did, noticing only at the very last second that it was another wolf at the receiving end of her assault. And even though she tried to stop mid-lunge, she was too late and, should he not move, would surely land right on top of him, a forelimb placed sturdily on both sides of his neck.

This might not make sense, but he's assuming she's part of the 'Cerb.

He stared at one segment or another thinking that they moved around him, but really it was his singular eye adjusting to the depth of field. There was not much to look at in the dark - the sky was a sterling gray with variegated cloud-cover, and the skeletal forest within which he now hid himself added a smattering of incongruent blackness. He tried to focus on what was above his head, but craning his neck caused a pounding sensation to ricochet up through the vertebrae and in to the base of his skull. The migraine-like sensation had been growing steadily more intense ever since he'd dragged his sorry ass out of the heartwood. The intensity of the ex-Redhawk's vigil did not stagnate for a second despite all of this—he refused to ignore any subtle change to the wind, sound in the boughs, or shuffle of heavy snow as it fell from a perch too weak to carry it.

The darkness would not get him. The boy's entire self was in survival mode with adrenaline still cranked to its full potiential, and while his heartbeat seemed regular, it was in actuality thrumming at such a pace that he would presumably never rest again.

Yet the boy was very tired. He was beyond exhausted physically; the toil of being caught by the Cerberus and then prosecuted within the full extent of their sadism had left him in a new and frenzied state, wearing away every bit of his energy while he struggled to stay alive. When the shadow came thrusting out of the gloom he had fully expected it, been entirely manic in his attention, and yet it was unavoidable: she collided with him and like the day before, he was at the mercy of the shadow.

But the boy wasn't going to buckle now. He reacted to her presence, to her weight, with a strangled cry similar to the manner in which he'd protested against his punishment. A hoarse snarl pulled from his depths and he whipped his face towards the nearest part of the darkness—and he reacted with a defensive volley of snaps at any part of the raven's head that he could see.

Of course, due to current circumstances, it was more than likely he would fail with every attempt. But Screech would not go down without a fight - not now, not ever again - and she was only one, separated from her precious trio of marauders.

When the wolf reacted with snarls and snaps, she’d been prepared. From the moment she realised that her target was a wolf, she prepared herself for anything and everything that could be thrown her way. Yet, as the boy actually started after her, she was slightly thrown off by his terrible aim. She was literally right there, yet not a single one of his bites connected with flesh. In all honesty, she was rather disappointed. She was considering retaliating, her head pulled back so as to avoid his teeth just in case he wised up, when she noticed his face; disgusting and bloody, a gaping hole where his eye should be. Instantly appalled by the fact that, that thing was touching her, Sorina removed herself from him even quicker than she’d arrived, putting several steps worth of distance between them.

Scowling at him, she asked, “What the fuck is wrong with your face?” And why, she silently added, did he think it was appropriate to let her remain on him when he knew that he looked like a living disaster? “How dare you snap at me when you look like that,” she huffed, in a state of total disbelief. “What? Are you jealous that I have both of my eyes and all you have is that mangled mess you call a face—and don’t even get me started with the side you’re missing an eye on.” Seriously, what the hell happened to this guy?

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: R00D BOI

Snap, snap—nothing.

Snap snap snap—it was like playing hungry hungry crocodile, but not a single mouthful could be had.

He struggled under the weight of her, gradually giving up his effort to grab with his teeth and chose to kick and flail instead; even this was a pain, and not a single kick of his limbs landed on the fleshy, furry thing looming over him. It wasn't until she'd detangled herself and begun screeching at him that the boy clued in—but he wasn't in any greater mood because of it.

She spat insults and recoiled, but didn't leave. He, meanwhile, pulled himself free of his frosted mooring and stumbled haphazardly backwards. Soon there was quite a gap between them but the boy didn't feel any safer: if anything, the immense darkness on his right side made him more paranoid. He began to turn his head more frequently to catch glimpses in his good eye, but saw there were only trees and areas of packed snow around him.

...that mangled mess you call a face—and don’t even get me started with the side you’re missing an eye on. She spat venom as if his very existence was a fault in the consistency of the universe, and he bared his fangs in retort, the fur along his back prickling as he ducked his head. Shut—shut—shut up! Shut your fucking mouth! Maybe he'd meant to say these things to Hydra when she had initially put his eyeballs on her Christmas wish-list, but he hadn't been able to.

The fuck -- the fuck is wrong with you?! Jumpin' a guy. If you're not here to -- to kill me, then,  fuck, go back to fuckin' Moonspear! He wasn't about to let some random black bitch get the best of him, not again,
—not ever.

“Shut—”

Oh, so he thought he could speak to her now, did he? Even through her continuous ranting she was able to pick up on his voice. In an instant, she was standing tall and glaring at him, head cocked to the side with her chin pointed downwards—similar to a cat about to attack. Although he didn’t finish his sentence, she had a pretty good idea of what he was planning on saying, and none of it fell under the category of what she considered acceptable. Flashing her teeth, she took a slow, small step towards him, eyes unblinking. The nerve of this guy! Not only had he touched her, but now he was trying to talk back to her? What was the world coming to! A wolf—and a male, no less—speaking to her as if she was just another pup out for a stroll. She scoffed at the thought.

What really got to her was that it didn’t stop there.

All of a sudden, he raised his voice with her, earning another few steps in his direction and a low growl. “Well maybe if you didn’t look like a carcass, I wouldn’t have jumped you,” she countered, certain she was in the right—because, come on now, when wasn’t she? “Who gave you permission to talk back to me anyways?! Shut the hell up already—don’t you think you’ve done enough? Touching with me your filthy self… do you know how long it’s going to take me to get the image of that”—she jutted her chin out further, motioning towards his empty eye socket—“touching me out of my head?! Disgusting.” The thought alone made her stomach twist with nausea.

“And what the fuck is Moonspear?” she asked, spitting the name. “Why the hell would I go there? Is that where you lost your face? Fuck that—I’m not going there.” Risk messing up her pretty face? Never! How would anyone survive knowing that her beauty was wiped clean from the earth?

He was furious.

Even after she'd completed yet another tirade and his awareness of her lack of association with Moonspear came to light, Screech could feel only one distinct emotion beneath the cacophony of his heightened emotional state: pure and utter rage. It wasn't directed at her comments so much as... Everything else. Like the volcano of his birthplace, he took each verbal hit after verbal hit, until finally exploding.

Really? You should. They'd love you. An invasive black bitch who thinks too highly of herself and attacks strangers in the dark? What a bargain! They'd add you to their family of fuckery so fast your pretty little head would spin. His hoarse voice made some of those syllables turn a bit too high, or garble a bit too low, but through it all Screech did what he always did best: he used volume to dominate the conversation.

Wait.

How the hell was he having a conversation right now? His face was a mess. He probably wasn't even looking in the right direction! For fuck's sake.

It's not like I wanted this to happen! I didn't even do anything and those bitch ass girls thought I owed them an eye—like, who the hell does that?! He was pacing now (well, sort of) and slogging through the snow while his paws easily tripped up, and he swayed a few times towards a total wipe-out, or careened close to a dim gray tree trunk in the process.

He leveled his one good eye her way, and after steadying himself somewhat, stated: Look, lady, just get out of here. Get out of my face—we'll both be happier if you do.

She got the feeling she resembled his attackers—good. Why was she even still there? Probably because she was so argumentive that backing away and leaving seemed like way more work than continuing back and forth. Besides, she wanted to go that way—not at first, but now she did just because he was in her way. “First of all, you little shit”—one, two, three more steps forward—“I didn’t attack you. Do you honestly think you’d still be breathing if I had? Hell, you’re such an easy target that some pansy ass kid could take you out—you want that? Maybe I should go find a newborn to kill you, then at least you’d be on the same level as your actual attacker.” Zita’s kids could probably kill him, for fuck’s sake, and they were all about that pacifist lifestyle—tch, losers.

Four, five, six, seven.

By now, she’d crept close enough that she could lunge forward at any moment and tackle him down—and she nearly did, the sight of his gouged out eye being the only thing holding her back. “Based on how pleasant you’ve been with me, I’m sure they had many reasons to take your eye,” she declared matter-of-factly. “They could’ve taken anything that they damn well wanted from you, and you would have deserved it.” She didn’t know what had happened, what led up to it, or anything related to it. That, however, didn’t keep her from running her mouth. She was pissed off and disgusted, and he was the only one there to take the brunt of her emotions; of course she was going to be hard on him, it didn’t even matter that she still had no idea who this guy was or anything else about him.

He still deserved it.

And the second he tried to tell her what to do, he automatically deserved way more than having his eye ripped out. “What face?!” was shrieked right before she launched herself at him once again, intending to knock him off his feet and then straddle him, should she managed to get him back on the ground. “Even if you had a face, I wouldn’t get out of it,” was her bright response, rational statements having left her mind in order to make room for all the rage. “You do not tell me what to do. Got it?!” She snapped at him, extra careful not to actually touch him—how gross would that be?

Even if he had a - what? You're -- you're not even making any sense anymore! Who the fuck are you? For someone who was so high-and-mighty it seemed reasonable that this might be someone important, but from all he could discern (through the fog of his inferno-like anger) she was just a rogue who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time; she was exactly like him except her face was still, regretably, intact.

She was getting too close - no, she was too close! Whatever had possessed her to vault through the dark forest seemed to have made her linger too long, and now she was in his face and shouting as if that would change anything. Couldn't she tell when she was wrong?! Evidently not; but the boy wasn't sure how to proceed. He was just as irascible in his current state. They were separate dumpster fires burning deep in to the night.

Y'know what, I don't actually care, he cut in whether she started to explain her pure-blood lineage, royal status, sainthood, or whatever the fuck delusion seasoned the bullshit falling from her mouth. Taking a cue from the girl, Screech lurched at her so they were almost nose-to-nose (luckily he didn't slam his face against her's due to a lack of depth perception), and cut in hastily: I hope you do run across Moonspear because then we can match; fuck, I'll go back there just to -- just to -- aw, crap, he was running out of steam.

The mere thought of going back set Screech's mind in to a deeper tizzy. He turned as if he'd heard something in the dark of the wood, as if mentioning Moonspear three times would summon the Cerberus to him to finish the job, but he was naturally looking in the direction of the caldera and suddenly everything was fresh in his mind again.

No more home.

No more siblings.

No more family.

Yeah, he'd lost it - fuck, he all but gasped, and fell back in to the snow as if she'd managed to backhand him into submission. I'm so fucked.

She ignored him.

The fact that she was no longer making any sense didn’t matter and his asking of who she was went not unheard, but unanswered. Why should she answer him when all he was doing was yelling and being completely unreasonable? Their similarities flew right over her head, unseen and unwelcome. “Who am I?” she parroted, mocking him. “Who the fuck are you?” There still wasn’t anything clicking. Nope. No way could she see through her own veil of utter bullshit and realise that, hey, they weren’t too different from one another—minus the whole face issue, of course. That was probably their biggest difference at this point.

Face-to-face, she held her ground, neither backing up nor moving forward; being so close to his empty socket grossed her the fuck out, but she ignored that and focused on his slightly-less-ugly side. And again, she scoffed at his remark. “Even with half my face torn off, I still wouldn’t look as disgusting as you do,” she threw back. “You stupid little—” Before she could even finish the sentence, her head jerked forward with widened jaws, eager to lock them down around his muzzle—nothing. With an audible snap her mouth closed down around nothing but air, the boy now on the ground instead of in her face.

What the hell?

“You’re just now realising that?” Took him long enough. “Don’t you think you should have figured that out when—oh, I don’t know—half of your fucking face was torn off?!” Seriously, how slow could he possibly be?! Stalking even closer yet, she asked, “Seriously, what is wrong with you? I’ve never met someone as stupid as you before, so I’m genuinely curious about what the hell happened to get you to this point in your sad, sad life.” She had known him for a total of… what? Ten minutes now? Give or take. Either way, in such a short amount of time, she’d decided that she knew his entire life story and immediately decided it was pathetic.

He just sort of... sat there. She went off on a tirade (again), and Screech went over everything that had led him to this point (again). It wasn't exactly a good moment for the two of them to meet. He had all sorts of trauma to deal with while she seemed to have crawled so far up her own ass, had he known how to pronounce orobouros he would have started calling her that versus her real name. Not that he knew her real name.

But then she attached herself to the concept of hearing the truth (or at the very least, glean some kind of understanding and satiate whatever morbid curiosity had stopped her from high-tailing it out of there) and Screech would oblige her, if only because he needed to get it out in to the open. He needed someone to listen to him - or maybe not even that, maybe he just needed to know he wasn't absolutely alone and doomed to die here in the dark.

I already told you what happened, dipshit, he snapped right back at her, but the level of vehemence had evaporated somewhat. Screech sounded much more level-headed now but, it was more like his rage had reached a slow-burn sort of intensity; he was colder than ice as he explained the details, and staring straight ahead of himself, his golden eye fixed upon the ominous shapes of the trees.

You want details? Fine. Keep quiet and I'll tell you. he took a shuddering little breath, as if telling the whole tale would break him to pieces or something. He decided easily enough to omit some of the shit he'd gone through, because nobody needed his entire life story even if they were begging for it.

There was this other pack - not Moonspear - and the wolves there are fuckin' weird, okay? Its -- its not a nice place, the people are crazy, their kids are all freaks and... Just stay clear of the eastern forests and you'll be fine. But, he sighed and tried to cut to the point, purposefully avoiding the use of Blackfeather as he spoke about the place. I got kidnapped by this big guy, but after a while one of 'em took pity or something, and let me go. They did some shit to me there and -- well, who cares about that right? I got home, tried to be useful, be good... It had all gone wrong.

It always went wrong, somehow.

One day I was out for a run, mindin' my business, and I'm in the west where there are these big-ass mountains. Out of nowhere this girl comes at me like she's bein' chased or something, he hadn't really gotten a good look at her until she was down for the count, and in that moment of panic Screech hadn't really considered his options - he'd just bolted. Next thing I know she's passed the fuck out on the ground. I'm... I'm not sure what happened. But I got out of there as fast as I could.

Cut to... A few hours ago, maybe longer. There was no telling how long Screech had been knocked out in the Heartwood nor how long it took him to do his coward's dance in to this place. He glanced at the dark girl as he considered things, finally calming down enough to focus on her and not bite her head off. Turns out the kid died. Her sisters thought I'd done something to her - hurt her, killed her - I obviously had nothing to do with it but they tracked me down, That was almost the truth! Wow, progress. Lets ignore that he'd had a bad dream and, like some idiot child, gone running out in to the middle of nowhere when a war was about to break out.

He shrugged and fell silent then, letting the words sink in. Did he need to say more? His face showed the result of their meeting - he wasn't even sure if the girl would have listened to all of that shit,but it felt strangely liberating to get it out in to the open.

Despite what she’d said, she hadn’t actually been expecting details. Really, she didn’t even want them. All she wanted to hear was something along the lines of yeah, my parents dropped me on my head a few times. No big deal. Clearly, they weren’t on the same page, as he decided to tell her everything—what sane person does that?! And even though she hadn’t originally wanted any details—and kept telling herself that she still didn’t—Sorina was uncharacteristically quiet whilst she listened to everything he had to say. Which was a lot. She couldn’t believe that everything was true, finding it both strange and utterly frustrating that he’d experienced so much already, whilst she had only recently ventured out into the big, bag world; jealousy had a habit of appearing at strange and completely inappropriate times. Having spent her life protected by her father and other family members, she couldn’t fully grasp either the seriousness of his story or how it wasn’t at all good. All she could gather from it was that he had gone out and done so much, meanwhile, she’d spent most of her time stuck at home. How unfair.

After his story was drawn to a close, she remained silent, absorbing all of this new information. There was a forest that she should probably avoid, or maybe visit and fuck around with—she was pretty sure she’d passed by said woods on her way here. There was also another mountain range somewhere around here—she probably saw it on the horizon when she was staring at the world from atop the Sunspire—that was inhabited by an unreasonable lot; she would definitely be avoiding them. Not out of fear—no, she was too confident in herself to think that she’d ever be given the same fate as the boy—but out of sheer impatience. Why intentionally hang around wolves that jumped to conclusions and made asses out of themselves? As eager as she was to argue, even she wouldn’t do that.

Once everything was all sorted out in her head, she had only one question left on her mind.

“If you didn’t kill her, then why the hell did you run?” she asked, breaking the silence. “Why didn’t you just wait there so you could explain yourself? Dumbass—you could still have your eye right now if you hadn’t run away.” With everything out in the open now—all of his business, anyways—she couldn’t keep her mind from wandering, wondering what he looked like before being maimed. Really though, it didn’t matter—not like he could get his eye back or face repaired at the shop down by the river.

As the boy outlined all the hardships in his life he half expected some smart-ass responses, but through it all the dark girl was surprisingly accommodating to the pace of his tale. She only spoke up when he got to the end and silence spread between them - her choice to break it came in the form of questions that Screech wasn't sure how to answer. He balked at her in the dark for a second, his brow furrowing (and then he winced because fucking hell don't try to move your face muscles when they'd been ripped apart).

I -- am a dumbass, he thought abruptly. She was entirely correct with her commentary and that just made him go on the defensive.

You weren't there. You don't know anything about -- about the packs, or the kind of people they are. His voice hitched in his throat as he fought back the urge to snarl at her (not that it would've been very loud) and he watched her sharply. I didn't know what to do! I panicked, okay? It was stupid but it was just... It was just what I did, and that's... That's all. He could've stuck around but that would've meant facing-off against the trio of sisters on his own, and who knows if they'd have forgiven him then! He would've probably died. It had been a gamble and between losing his life and losing an eye, Screech felt as if he'd come out on the winning side.

Then again, he lost a fucking eye for no reason.

The second he became defensive, she smirked, amused by his realisation that he truly was a dumbass. And perhaps said smirk would have remained, had he not spoken back to her the way that he did; now, it was her turn to take up the defensive side of the conversation, though her line between defensive and offensive was severely blurred. “I might not have met them before, but I know enough about packs to understand that you running did nothing to help your case,” she shot back. “All you did was make yourself look even more guilty.” For generations, her family had spent their lives avoiding packs. They neither joined nor led them, but instead belittled them and everything that they represented. Never had they lived in unison with them, either, which had forced her to learn early on that which was okay and not okay around the sheep and their land; but really, even a child would know that running from the scene of a crime would, undoubtedly, make you appear guilty to any wolf, not just those single-minded pack dwellers.

“Maybe it would have been better had they just killed you,” she then commented. “It’s not exactly ideal for you to continue living—especially if you ever plan to reproduce. We don’t need any more idiots like you running around out there.” Sorina shrugged her shoulders, treating her words as if they weren’t downright mean and uncalled for. “Anyways, I think it’s time for you to take what’s left of your face and get the fuck out of my way before I take your other eye,” were the next words to leave her mouth, voice even and tone bored with an annoyed edge. “You can talk to me again when you’re smarter—if you can find me.” As if anyone would want to find her.

He took a staggering step back as she began to run her mouth again, returning to the bitch-tastic version of herself that Screech had hastily come to loathe. It was better when he was telling his story and she had shut her trap, but that moment had ended and now only bullshit and opinions flowed freely out of her.

It wasn't that important what she thought. Here was this obnoxious stranger trying to make sense of an event that happened to him. Gradually the things that the dark girl said began to hit Screech and roll right off of him. He was still angry, still hurting and the trauma was fresh in his mind - but he was done with her. Done with all of the explaining. Nobody else could judge what happened to him because it was his life and it was over.

Good thing I don't give a rat's ass what some rogue thinks, he snipes right back at her following the mention of her departure. It would take some time for Screech to mull over this entire conversation and decide how much of it was worth remembering—he would surely remember this girl in the future, and wouldn't spare a second of his life to aid her should she need it—but for now he waited for her to leave. To facilitate things he began to maneuver around her but - because fate was cruel - every move she made to leave was mirrored by himself, so that they were repeatedly blocking eachother's path.

In Sorina’s head, her opinions mattered. Every little thing that she could think to say was meant to be listened to with eager ears and, should her words deem it necessary, obeyed. She’d been born with this sort of mindset, with the growth and development of it later being fueled by the members of her family—namely, her father. To even consider that someone might not value every thought she could concoct was impossible; she refused to humour the possibility, even as it played out right before her. She just kept throwing verbal punches, oblivious to how little force she had backing them up.

Pulling back her lips to reveal a set of glistening incisors, she snarled at the male. “Some rogue?!” she growled out, deciding right then that the comment was the worst of insults to ever be uttered. “I am so much greater than a lowly rogue.” Whilst she had lived her entire life thus far without a pack to back her up, she had never viewed herself as a rogue. Each time she heard the word, all she could imagine was a mangy, flea-ridden scoundrel that could hardly speak; where this image originated from, she couldn’t remember, she knew only that it popped into her head each time she heard the word. The notion that she could be anything like that infuriated her, tempting her to lash out and show him what she was made of—yet, she held back. He wasn’t worth her wrath, he was hardly worth the attention of a field mouse—

—or, maybe not.

Each time she tried to get past him, he moved in front of her, blocking her exit. Snapping, she threw her previous thoughts to the wind—he was deserving of much, much more than her wrath. Without much warning, she threw herself towards him, intending to collide with his body and send them both rolling; she’d fight to be on top should he fall, though, given her rash decision and impulsive actions, she was unlikely to succeed.

Each time he tried to evade her it was like she reacted in kind, and they mirrored one another until both entities were too frustrated and flustered to do anything besides become a roadblock. It was Sorina who lost her temper first - well, she never had the best of tempers to begin with and being called a rogue had obviously not helped matters, but moving on - she dove for his face just as Screech was stumbling out of her path. Her angle went one way, he went another, yet it somehow transpired that her nose connected with his cheek, and the next thing either wolf would know, Sorina's pointed snout had somehow inserted itself in to the empty socket on Screech's face.

He roared when the connection was made. It wasn't for long, but the pressure made him stumble and swagger, cursing up a slew of slurred words as he ducked his ruined half away from the dark girl. He had thought there was a sickening wet sound upon entry; everything around him sort of shifted and before Screech could do much else, he was crescent-shaped with his head bowed between two rigid forelimbs, puking up a wave of fresh hot bile. 

There were a number of things that she’d expected to happen, including, but not limited to: falling, tumbling, getting a few bruises, and maybe a sprain. But what did she get? Her nose slipping into the empty eye socket of the male. At first, it didn’t fully register exactly what had happened, but that sweet moment of oblivion didn’t last long.

In an instant, Sorina was pulling out and stumbling backwards, shocked and disgusted. Her stomach churned, threatening to eject its contents, but she swallowed down what she could as disgust turned to rage. “You bastard!”—she was seething—“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the actual fuck?! Oh my—” She cut herself off, body dropping to the ground as she began furiously pawing at her face, trying to rid her muzzle of his blood and tissues. “I’ll kill you—I swear I will, nothing will stop me—for this!” She rubbed her face against the ground, through the snow, doing everything in her power to get the remnants of his eye off of her.

Escape!!

Although their union was temporary, the sensations that followed were not. She felt rage and it was obvious why; he on the other hand was just sick, and nothing could stop the waves of vomit that kept reaching up his gullet. Bile dribbled from his chin as he heaved, until there was nothing left and he was gagging on the tail-end of everything.

Screech didn't really hear what she was saying. It didn't matter. He could see her in his periphery (sort of, poorly,) as she spasmed against the snow, trying to clean off. A part of him was cognizant enough to think, 'Good thing my eye wasn't there or she'd have gouged it with her fuckin' face,' which then made him wonder what was on her nose?

And then, again, more vomit.

While she was distracted and trying to clean up (which might've taken a few minutes to a few hours depending on how grossed out she was, and since he was seriously grossed out himself, Screech decided he had the time to spare), he scrambled around her as she pecked at the snow, careening away before the two of them could continue this ridiculous tango di sangue.

Fully invested in cleaning herself up, Sorina hadn’t even noticed the boy’s escape until long after he was gone—which made her even angrier. She wanted to attack him—to kill him, even—and make him pay for having defiled her pretty face with his… his whatever that was! Yet, at the same time, she just wanted to move on with her life and forget it had ever happened (she hoped like hell that no one had been around to see what had happened, certain that the embarrassment alone would kill her). So once she was as clean as the snow would allow her to be, the serpent took off to find a nice body of water to better rinse her face in—unbeknownst to her, however, she went in the exact same direction as her new friend.