americas_son | (no subject)

(no subject)

There was one and only one thing about this that was lacking:

It wasn't a meal. It was barely a snack. And it definitely wasn't about eating.

Now it's well into nighttime, and Cal is hungry.

Time to go do something about that.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I don't think I'll regret Grahame, either. Not much. He knew what he was getting into."

And Cal is right back to not believing him. It was nice while it lasted.

"Yeah, okay."

"I'm sorry, does it surprise you to learn that even with a soul I can be a ruthless son of a bitch?"

Cal rolls his eyes.

"I offered to kill him myself. He preferred it your way. I'll regret what I did to help, but I won't regret delivering him to you in the first place."

"Okay."

Have it your way, Sherlock.

"But you don't regret any of it now. And you'd do it again."

"What an insightful analysis. I also might not. I have much less interest in the whole business when there's no good reason for it. All right? Or is that insufficiently vampiric for you?"

Cal has been driving away from the city; much as hunting there would be a hell of a lot easier, both he and Sherlock are too recognizable. The lower population density should help.

There's a small park up ahead, and it's not too late. There are still a few cars parked on the side of the street near it. Cal pulls over.

"This look good, or would you rather go find a dog or something?"

"Don't make fun," he says lightly. "I'm content with the selection."

"Good."

Cal turns the key in the ignition, much more gently than last time.

"I hear dogs taste like they smell."

"Who do you know who's eaten dog?"

"One of the guys in Sunnydale," Cal says.

Ordinarily, he'd tell the full story, but right now he doesn't feel like it.

"Ready?"

"Certainly."

Cal opens his door.

"Split up?" It's not really a question.

"If you'd rather," he says carelessly, opening his own door and getting out.

"Yeah."

May as well start getting used to it now.

Sherlock turns away, tucking his hands into his pockets.

'Melts into the shadows' would be overstating the point, but if Cal looks elsewhere and back again, he will find that Sherlock is not there anymore. Parks are good for that sort of thing.

Cal doesn't look back.

He takes the opposite tack, dropping carelessly onto a park bench, where he pulls out his cellphone and proceeds to look deeply absorbed in some texting.

It transpires that he manages to interrupt a mugging.

Both participants are still drawing breath when he leaves them, unconscious and no longer bleeding, by the side of the path. As to whether they will continue to do so, well, that is not his business. He'd swear to the victim's health before the criminal's, though, because he took them in the opposite order and he was hungrier the first time.

It's amazing, how quickly a random guy sitting on a park bench can draw attention. Especially a good-looking teenager.

"Is this spot taken?"

No, it isn't. Cal invites her to sit with a smile. She apologizes as she sits for sounding a little slurred; the braces are new and she's still getting used to them.

At least she won't have to worry about them anymore.

Sherlock is back at the car first. He leans against the passenger-side door, aware that he is echoing his better half's posture from earlier but unwilling to do anything about it.

Cal pushes the body under the bench. It's unlikely that anyone will find it before they're well clear of the neighborhood, but just in case. Someone calling the cops a little too soon would make travel kind of a hassle.

He heads back to the car, flicking a brief glance at Sherlock as he pulls out his keys.

"Did you eat well?" he inquires.

"Yep."

Cal unlocks the car and gets in, waiting until the doors are closed before he says,

"I should've gotten here a few days ago, I'd've saved her parents a fortune in dentist bills."

"Orthodontist," Sherlock corrects, smiling.