tampered | (no subject)

(no subject)

When; Night of April 15th.
Rating; Possibly R, for character death.
Characters; Nathan Young [

foundababy] & Saya Daphne [

byweavinglives]
Summary; Nathan gets eaten by a werespider.
Log;

Pub crawling was a long-standing tradition that Nathan was only too happy to help keep going. Sticking to one bar for the entire night just seemed boring, especially when you were on your own. And there was far more fun to be had from moving around, anyway. He was pretty sure he must hold some sort of record for being barred from the most bars in one night, something which pleased him far more than it probably should.

Nathan had crossed the line between tipsy and wasted a while back by the time he stumbled across the fifth pub of the night. If he'd had any common sense, he might have called it a night. As it was, his first port of call was to head for the bar, shoving past anyone who might have been in line before him. "Two pints of larger, please, barmaid," Nathan ordered, propping himself up on the bar. "One for myself and one for my friend." He motioned at himself at the last part of the sentence, a joke that clearly amused him far more than it did the barmaid. She didn't so much as ask his preference before rolling her eyes and going to fill his order with the worst tasting larger they stocked.

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Saya doesn't really pub-crawl so much as she looks for a place where no one will notice if someone leaves with the well-dressed black-haired woman. She's a little hungry, but if she doesn't find someone tonight, she won't be too disappointed.

She sees Nathan the second she walks into the pub, her heels clicking on the floor with a methodical, snapping noise. She considers him for a moment, her dark eyes stopping on him and looking him over. Skinny, but tall, not too young. But skinny, that's always something that Saya hesitates over.

She about to disregard him entirely, stepping past his table with a certainty that can be read as extreme arrogance or extreme self-confidence.

Nathan also notices her. He's not really on the pull tonight, but she's good looking. And drunk as he is, he doesn't miss that look. He knows what that look means. Or at least he thinks he does.

He grins as she walks closer, faltering when she steps right past. It doesn't quite register at first, alcohol numbing his mind even more than usual. Turning in his seat, he leans to call back to her.

"What, you mean you're not joining me?" Despite her not really giving him any sign she was, Nathan sounds put out.

Saya turns on her heels when he speaks to her, looking down at him. She looks him over once more. Tall, skinny, well, at least he's not terrible to look at, even though he looks terribly young. She slips into a chair next to him, and is assualted by the smell of alcohol.

Well. He's really drunk. That could go either way, really.

"Sorry, do I know you?"

"No." Nathan shoots her an incredulous look, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. Who doesn't speak that way to total strangers? At this point he should probably get her a drink if he expects her to stick around. It's rare for him to find a girl still sober who'll go with him, but going over to the bar again doesn't seem an appealing idea now he's sitting down.

He's a little over half-way done with his first pint, so he considers that, nudging across the table slightly. That's okay to start out with, right? And she seems like a classy sort of woman. Maybe she'll want to buy her own drinks after that. "Drink?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. "Although I have to warn you. This stuff tastes like someone took a shit in canal water, then called it a pint."

Saya looks at the drink, and finds herself vaguely amused. Most women, she knows, would be offended at the implication. But she is not most women, and it's not really as though she drinks anyway. Not beer, at least. She takes the pint and pulls a flask from her McQueen purse and pours a dollop of digestive enzyme into the pint, and takes a sip. It's bitter and bad, and not appealing in the least.

"Well, I suppose you did warn me," she says, keeping her eyes on his face.

Whatever she's adding to it catches his interest. "What is that? Whiskey?" Nathan sniffs, pausing to consider that.

"That doesn't make it taste any better, does it?"

She look at her drink. "Unfortunately it's doing very little for the taste," she admits, giving him a sly sort of smile. She's hungry, he's drunk and unlikely to resist, and if he comes back, she can make him unable to speak straight. He'll do.

"I have something better, if you'd like to come along. Something that will make you forget all about this terrible beer." She stands up, offering him her hand.

Nathan stares longingly at his remaining pint, a little torn now he's bought it. But fuck it. Downing it now would be a recipe for disaster, something he's learned the hard way far too many times. And anyway, it's not like he's wasting his own money. Just some drunk guy's from the last bar, who hadn't counted on Nathan being there when he'd fallen asleep into his beer.

Kicking his chair out, Nathan stands, making a clumsy grab for the offered hand. "Oh, I'm sure you do. And if it's all the same to you, your place might be better. I don't think I can even remember the way back to mine."

Her hand is colder than it should be, but that could be chalked up to any of several reasons. She pulls him along down the street and to a back alley, then up a flight of steps to the fifth floor of the Warehouse.

Once they're on a landing, she turns to look him over. Nothing perfect about him, nothing worth keeping, so she decides he'll make a decent meal but nothing more. Shame. It's always better when there's something to keep. She leans forward and kisses his mouth, the side of his neck, then his mouth again, when the two pedipalps that are on the roof of her own descend, the fangs pushing down into his bottom lip.

She used enough venom to cause him to hallucinate, enough to kill him after a little while. The sting usually feels like a sharp bite; the effects take a minute.

He barely even registers the temperature of her hand. He has other, more important things on his mind. He could do without all the stairs, he's not at his most stable right now, so does manage to trip a few times.

Still. It's worth the trip, if he gets to sleep with a woman like this. He's all to happy to let her start kissing his mouth and neck, letting out appreciative little moans and trying to tug her closer. He's about to start in with some tongue when she bites him, which just kills the mood completely. Usually he no problem with a bit of biting, but this crosses the line.

Shoving himself back, Nathan claps a hand to his lower lip. "Ow! Jesus. What the fuck was that for?"

She has no compassion at all (after all, he is a meal) so she just licks his bottom lip. "It only hurts for a moment," she tells him, getting more of her poison into the cut, which should start to swell. The truth is she doesn't actually know if it only hurts for a minute - it's not as though she makes a habit of interviewing her meals post-mortem.

Her hands go to the small of his back, because she knows in a minute he'll collapse and she'll have to catch him, and pulls him closer.

"A moment?!" Nathan tries to pull his head back. His lip's starting to feel numb and he thinks it might be swelling. "Well, that's great. Thanks for letting me know," he says, voice heavy with sarcasm. "Look, would you mind not licking me? I really don't think that's helping."

He's a little confused by the hands on his back. He's not quite with it anymore, a combination of the alcohol and the start of the effects of poison. He'd really quite like to just stumble off somewhere and sleep off whatever it is that's making him feel so unsteady. It's already a little too late for that, however, and all too soon his legs are giving out from under him. Fuck.

"It's helping," she assures him, and her hands catch him quickly. There we go. Quickly and smoothly, caught up by her. The hallucinations will start next, so she watches his eyes, because once the pupils dilate, she can take him into the sylie. It's important that if he wakes up the next day, he not know where he was, that he's unsure about the situation.

She wishes she didn't have to take these precautions. But adrenaline is bitter anyway. "Almost there."

His breathing is rapid and shallow, and the numbness that had started in his lips has spread through the rest of his body far faster than he'd ever expected. Normally, Nathan can handle hallucinations. He doesn't get bad ones. Not usually. But usually he has the use of his legs and the fact that he can't makes him panic. Like there's nothing there around him and somehow everything around him has gone.

His pupils are also dilated by now, but Nathan doesn't know that. He's more caught up in trying to work out what's happening, confused by what she's saying. Is she there? Is he going somewhere? Groaning, Nathan tries to shake he's head. "No," he manages to slur. "M'not goin' there." It's not a protest. It just seems like fact.

She picks him up as though he were made of paper, and her mouth opens, and her mouth is already transforming, the pedipalps enlarging, extra eyes opening along the side of her human ones, because she knows that will only make the hallucination worse.

She can't speak anymore - the pedipalps and chelciderae are too big, too cumbersome in her mouth to allow for speech, and her grip on him is strong that struggling isn't really an option as she takes him inside to her sylie.

Dinnertime.

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