Isolated Desolation | Logan

Logan pushed the sunglasses harder up the bridge of his nose. When they slid too low, they pushed uncomfortably against the top row of his nasal piercings. Not for the first time, he considered ditching the things altogether. They'd turned out to be much more trouble than they were worth, in the long run, considering all the effort he had to put into preventing the piercings from becoming infected. Not that his new body seemed like it could even allow infection anymore, anyway. Which was part of the problem. Who the hell wears sunglasses at night apart from useless fucking hipsters? But no, he had to wear them, because he didn't have a mirror handy to check if the black had bled out of his sclera yet. Coloured contacts had somewhat solved the problem of his unnatural red irises, but there was no concealing the slits, not until they fattened again.

The feeling of fullness that warmed not just his stomach but seemingly his entire body down to his furthest extremity sickened him as much as it relieved him. The memory of the sweet tang still clung to the back of his throat, no longer metallic and distasteful but like a restorative shot of the very best single malt whiskey. It was the reason Logan kept feverishly running his tongue over his teeth under pressed lips to make sure not a stain was left to betray what he'd been doing. It was the reason his eyes were vamped out right now.

He'd been feeding.

It was his fifth. He'd put it off as long as possible but eventually it had become obvious that if he didn't seek out a meal of his own free will, the beast inside of him would get sick of starving to death and go on a feeding frenzy. Logan had managed to limit himself to one drink every two days, but he was suffering from the horrible suspicion that it was going to take more than that. The buzz, the warmth right after a meal was horrifyingly wonderful, but in between he didn't feel so kosher. He felt... thin, stretched, weak, vulnerable, as if he was wasting away second by second. But the thought of, of adapting to this thing like it was the fucking three-meals-a-day rule, of letting it become a matter of course, that was too horrible to think about.

Thank the gods for the bullet trains. He'd been taking advantage of his student pass as much as possible in order to spread his feeding pattern, avoid attracting suspicion to any one location. This was the first time he'd tried Osaka; the others had been in Tokyo and Kyoto. It had gone much like Logan's previous feedings. He'd been shocked to find how naturally it came to him, stalking and herding a stranger into an isolated corner, tackling them, scraping his fangs across her throat and lapping up the blood as she sagged into his grip. As if the knowledge had been buried somewhere deep in his hindbrain, only to be unearthed like a corpse being pulled out of a grave.

He'd drunk about a pint for each of them, no more. No more than they might get taken out of them at a blood drive. He had to keep telling himself that, as his meandering footsteps led him into a little park. He'd skulked in the shadows afterwards, watching them owlishly, watching as they regained their senses and cast a look of aimless surprise at their surroundings. He'd watched them teeter off on their way again, cautiously on the lookout for any decidedly more human monsters out to take advantage of a stranger's temporarily anaemia. The conclusion he'd drawn was this: his fangs must secrete some kind of stunning venom that knocked the victim out while he fed, and wiped the last few minutes from their memories so they wouldn't even remember what happened to them. Meanwhile, the saliva drying on the fang-wounds had rapidly sealed and restored the skin, almost as good as new. Logan could hardly believe the creature in the darkness inside his head could have possessed a, a humane ability like that. Was he supposed to be a merciful breed of monster?

Just as long as he didn't turn out like that Romanian hag that had made him this way. And he could only hope that poor Iris might fare as well.

Logan dug his hands into the pockets of his coat, and squinted up at the sky. Night. Really deep dark night. No way the trains'd still be running, and as fast as his new body was, he didn't fancy hoofing it along the tracks back to Tokyo. At least it was a Saturday night and he didn't have any classes next morning. He could just sleep in the rough, couldn't he? That was one thing, at least; Logan didn't need to worry about getting messed with anymore. Anyone looking to do so would quickly find themselves becoming the fucking messees.

Then again, he might not even sleep at all.

Somehow, there was a sweetness in the night's call nowadays.

His nostrils twitched, and he realized he wasn't alone. Logan glanced around, and spotted an occupied bench just a short distance away. The occupant was... a girl, a red-headed girl, not that much older than himself. Logan's eyebrows furrowed, wondering what she was doing out here, but such thoughts were temporarily overriden by the saliva that was suddenly filling his mouth. No. Cut it the fuck out. You've eaten. Sit the fuck down. Twisting his mouth harshly, Logan slowly stepped forward, ignoring the way the scent of the girl's blood jammed his nostrils. By the time he was within two feet or so from the bench, he was in better control of himself. He was only checking on her, that was all. A full night was a long length of time for anyone to be sleeping out here on their own.

He was just going to make sure no-one else tried to mess with her.

Yeah.