Log: Mao & Vaughn Who: Mao and Vaughn. What: Mao lets the cat out of the bag. Where: Vaughn’s place. When: A few days after this. Warnings/Rating: Lowish???
The people had spoken, and the majority had said, ‘Tell him.’ So what choice did Mao have? He knew it was for the best in the long run, and tried to tell himself that the worst that could happen was that he’d just have to find another source to satiate his hunger for human flesh. And really, that was all he actually cared about, right? Right?
He came up with, and rejected, many a game plan for how this was going to go. In the end, he went with what he asked that Atticus guy’s opinion on; chinese food. Because who didn’t like that shit? And a way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. ...Not that Mao was trying to get to Vaughn’s heart or anything. Er…
Uber Eats to the rescue. Mao ordered far more food than was probably necessary, he spread out the feast in their white boxes and paper bags. He wasn’t able to just sit and wait for Vaughn to get home before he started to chow down. It was nervous eating. Nervousness was not a feeling Mao experienced very often. He didn’t like it. So he ate.
Hunched over a container of lo mein, Mao clacked his chopsticks together between bites, fidgety. He sat on the couch, his bare feet on the seat, dressed for summer in army green knee length shorts and a black tank top. A pair of sunglasses was perched fashionably on his head. The TV was not on so that he could hear Vaughn’s car, and when he did, he gulped despite himself.
The sound of keys in the door made him flinch, but a second later he wore his brightest fanged smile calling out cheerfully as Vaughn entered, “Hey, V! I got us chinese food!” This voice was quite different from the monster cat’s. It was human for one thing, and young, yet the way he said ‘V’ and the cadence of his words was the same as the furry beast’s, no mistake.
His smile faltered, became sheepish, “And, uhm… Surprise! It’s me..!” His chopsticks clacked. “...Are you mad?”