[completed/closed] Characters: Fuujin (oroshi) & Jubokko (vampiretree) Date/Time: June 11th, night Location: Fuujin's path home Rating: PG-13 Warnings: A hungry tree and his weirdness. Summary: Don't look so healthy to him or this happens.
No matter how long he'd lived as a mortal, human food was never going to be as appetizing as blood. And despite his body's tolerance for blood, it didn't give him the boost he wanted. That and he had no immunity against any disease that could be transferred through the blood to him.
But he had to eat, despite any ability he had and he'd chosen a location due to recommendation. The sushi had been better than most places if he was absolutely pressed to make a compliment yet it was the service that made him more appreciative of the restaurant. He recognized the individual, unable to forget a face like that. That talkative wind god, the one with the cat names after fruit. A sugar addict from what he'd read and didn't really believe. But lively despite all that and that was all he really wanted. The weak were easy to prey on but gave so little that it was pointless.
From the darkness, Jubokko fingered his hair that had started to grey at the ends from his lack of feeding recently. The humidity wasn't helping him feel quite as radiant as normal. He'd left the restaurant but then had waited nearby, waiting for Fuujin to leave. He'd follow a short distance and then, when the moment was right, would bring him down.
A plan so familiar that it surely couldn't go wrong at all.
The night was warm and breezy, the sort of weather that Fuujin appreciated. If he'd smoked cigarettes, that might've been the perfect addition to an already great evening. Despite being exhausted from going back and forth, he did appreciate his job. It'd been one of the few places that hadn't shut the door in his face, or given him the eye. He wasn't about to throw away such a good opportunity.
In a decidedly good mood, since bad moods were so rare these days, he departed from work with a bounce in his step. Home wasn't too far away, just a couple of blocks away. There, Mango would be waiting for him to whore around his ankles for food, meowing like he hadn't eaten for days. This was a routine that Fuujin had grown accustomed to: wake up, feed cat, work, feed cat. Mango seemed to hate this routine, with good reason.
Stupidly looking forward to seeing his furry companion, the wind god carried on, unaware of the presence that lurked not far behind him.
It was in a spot just devoid enough of artificial light when he moved in, the only warning for Fuujin a few sudden footsteps before a hand clasped around one shoulder to still him, to pull him back into a nearby alley. The other went for the former god's neck, long fingers wrapping around it. A pulse was felt against his palm, something of a taunt of what he really wanted and could not have. Almost immediately, he began draw from the other, partly from need, partly from annoyance.
"Why couldn't you be on the menu?" he murmured in his native Japanese, uncaring if the other could understand or recognize his voice. "I'd have enjoyed myself more."
Miraculously, Fuujin avoided an embarrassing yelp of surprise, which may or may not have helped him out. People dragging him into alleyways wasn't a normal occurrence, but sometimes he expected it, being too much of an avid crime show watcher. But this wasn't CSI -- it was real life. That much he understood.
The Japanese was familiar in that he knew it was Japanese, but he didn't catch a word of it, being much too preoccupied with the fingers around his neck. Automatically, both hands went up to that hand, nails digging into his assailant's wrist. It might've been his imagination, but the dim light just outside of the alley flickered a couple times.
"If you're gonna rob me," he choked out, "all I have is a twenty." His knees nearly buckled. The fuck.
"How vulgar, offering me money," the good doctor scolded, not yet breaking from his native tongue but those fingernails had to be taken care of. Didn't he know that would leave marks on him? Though he could have taken advantage of those lovely weak knees, he brought one foot around to stomp down on one of the wind god's, grinding in his heel as he switched to his accented English. "Hands down or this can get a lot worse."
Not that he really had any idea or will to make it worse. Murder was complicated. Things not murder were still complicated. The former tree squeezed that throat a bit harder as he felt himself feel become more rejuvenated. There had to be more colour in his skin, his hair softer and returning to its deeper colour. He'd walk away from this and not even need to sleep tonight. The opposite would be likely true for poor little Fuujin.
But Fuujin, who did understand the concept of self-preservation, didn't drop his hands willingly -- they simply fell. Both palms slammed into the brick wall in front to prevent himself from toppling over as his knees threatened to give out underneath him. This wasn't just exhaustion kicking in. This was something else entirely.
At the squeeze, he risked a cough, feeling the air and energy slip away from him. His lashes fluttered shut.
There. Jubokko lingered a moment longer, deriving satisfaction from the quiet, the lack of fight before he was certain it was sensible to release the younger man's neck. Briefly, he pressed his forehead to the back of Fuujin's out of something akin to giddiness of being revived. "Was that so bad?" he asked in a low whisper, returning to Japanese. "Thank you very much for your service."
Now he had to go, he thought, turning Fuujin around with care. The neat-freak in him insisted on tidying up the other but he didn't let his hands linger on him. There was something a bit more pressing than Fuujin's clothes. That he had dug his nails into Jubokko's hands was incredibly irritating. Flashbacks of all those who used to cut him or take his branches moved through him and once he had the other propped against the brick wall, Jubokko picked up one of his hands. Slowly, he became to peel off the end of each nail, taking off as much as he could without bleeding the other or taking off the whole nail. Each piece was collected in his palm to be discarded somewhere down the street. Upon doing that to all ten fingers, he then drew his thumbnail as far as he could beneath each crudely trimmed nail in some finicky effort to remove any part of him that Fuujin took.
At last, when he was through, there was the matter of making sure Fuujin would be found. There was no love, no affection for him but he'd served his purpose and it would be good for his karma if he could repay that. Stepping away from the body, he pulled out a disposable cell, something any wise creeper would have on them for times like this. A call would be made to a nearby hospital before the phone would be wiped down and discarded.