How to Spend $100 on a Gargoyle
Ren - Valesport - NSFW (but I mean not like a lot)
Ren - Valesport - NSFW (but I mean not like a lot)
Ren looked down at the remaining money in her hand, grimly. $100 had felt like so much when she got it. You could last a while on $100, if you were careful. And used to surviving on spare change or nothing. But medicine had knocked her out $35, frosting another $3. (The best $3 she ever spent, arguably.) Food had set her back another $5 and change.
She had a little more than $50 left, after just one day. She’d been intending to make it last.
Resigned, she went into the pharmacy first, a different one than she’d gone in yesterday. The pharmacist there had given her a look. She knew she would have been recognized.
The alarm on the face of the clerk when he saw the blood was palpable. She assured him she’d just fallen down some stairs. He wanted to call the hospital, kept talking about stitches, but she refused over and over, instead buying proper bandages to replace the strips of cloth she’d bound her leg with the night before.
She also bought three towels and rubbing alcohol.
Twenty bucks lighter, she wrapped one of the towels around her waist and headed to a dollar store. She managed to avoid alarming the clerk there, thanks to the towel covering her shredded, blood-soaked pants. She could change into something ‘clean’ later, but she would need to get all the blood off first.
Cloth gardening gloves, a cheap but solid wooden brush... then, after a pause, a second one. A bundle of five pairs of men’s boxers in extra-small, because she was going through underwear at an alarming rate and they could double as pants. Several forms of all-purpose cleaner. A huge pack of a dozen cheap towels. Four gallons of water. An additional tub of frosting, this time cream cheese because she felt like ‘pink’ was a shitty flavor and demons needed to expand their horizons. And, after a bit of math in her head, a box of granola bars and a jar of peanut butter.
She had two dollars and fifty-four cents left when she left the dollar store, all in change. She glared at it for a while.
Well.
Easy come, easy go.
She headed back to the church, climbed in the window on the first floor where it had been broken.
The creature was, hopefully, where she’d left it, though she expected it to come swooping down at any second.
No one had been by, by some pleasant miracle. It was a side of town people seemed to give a wide berth, nothing here but transients like her and abandoned or collapsed buildings. Still... lucky.
She looked down at the mess.
Her stomach lurched.
An esophagus, completely torn out.
Coaxing his hand against her neck, trying to get him to squeeze harder, trying to get him to use it as leverage to fuck her.
A man’s head completely backwards, neck snapped.
His hand buried into her hair, firm, demanding, leading her where he wanted her to be.
Entrails ripped out, spilling onto the floor.
His palm against her stomach as he fucked her from behind, feeling the way he spread her, the way her body ached to contain him.
Half a human spine, exposed to the cold morning air.
Claws running down her spine, not even breaking the surface of her skin, making her shiver and moan.
Half a skull turned to liquid and slime, smashed so hard against the stone floor.
The way he cradled her face, running thumbs along her cheeks. His lips on hers, hard and soft and gentle and rough.
...
It didn’t bear thinking about. She could not stop.
She took a few steps into the church, setting her backpack down on the remains of a pew. She rummaged through for the bandages, paused to re-dress her wound, properly this time. Or at least... with real bandages. She didn’t really know what she was doing. It hurt. A lot. Especially after limping around town on it. Fortunately, her threshold for pain was pretty damn high, or else she wouldn’t even be walking, and the bullet wound would be the least of the reasons why.
Then she pulled on the cloth gloves, eyed the chunks of bodies... and sighed.
She’d noticed the Highly Suspicious Brazier in the basement earlier, while looking for possible places to bury bodies once it had become clear that her ‘demon’ did not, in fact, eat people. Well. Not dead people anyway. He’d been pretty enthusiastic about eating in general last night.
Fortunately, the church had no shortage of old wood. Dragging the bodies was... well, unpleasant was a laughable understatement. She’d never handled bodies like this before. She’d lived a hell of a life, but nothing had prepared her for this level of sheer mutilation and gore. Hard to believe it was the same creature who--no, actually, scratch that, it really wasn’t. He was pretty fucking scary even when he was doing things she arguably really enjoyed.
She tried to pretend they were dead animals. Rats watched curiously from the corners as she worked. At one point or another, a squirrel stopped in as well. She didn’t pay them much mind, which was probably how they knew it was serious. She knew they’d stick around anyway; no building she made herself present in remained rat-free for long.
She piled up the bodies with some wood, then headed back to the temple area, where she proceeded to learn which cleaning products best worked on blood. She used the water as sparingly as possible, since she had no idea where to get more. There was a fire hydrant a few blocks over she could probably bust open if she really needed it, but that would attract authorities, which was never good. Least of all when you were in the process of destroying the evidence of three extremely gruesome murders.
Slowly but surely, the stench of blood was replaced by the acrid smell of bleach and soap. She was exhausted and filthy, her cardigan absolutely soaked in blood, her face and body smeared. She’d been sticky before she even started, but mostly with obnoxious, glittery semen. Blood was somehow even less pleasant, though less sticky in general.
Before bothering with herself, however, she climbed the stairs at the back of the church to get up to the balcony. The creature was where she’d left it, solid stone. The blood left on him had long since dried. Her shredded, blood-drenched hoodie was still strewn to the side, in a dried puddle of glitter that would probably also need to be cleaned at some point.
It’d probably be easier to clean him now, but she was skittish. His horn had broken at some point, right? What if she broke off a finger, or even just a claw? She’d feel horrible. So she stuck to large areas, using one of the brushes to scrub dried blood off his back, wings, legs, and loincloth. The glittery cum didn’t appear to have stuck to him. A useful trait she wished she shared. She stopped when she figured he was as clean as he could get safely; she could finish washing him tonight.
She caught herself mid-thought, horrified. Why was she just assuming she’d be here tonight?! Three people were dead, surely there was no one left who’d keep chasing her? She’d already spent all her money covering up his murders. She'd let him fuck her stupid, multiple times. Well. Let was a strong word. It had happened, anyway. She’d done enough to repay him for saving her life, certainly. Of course, there was the window... she should probably try to board it up, if for no other reason than to protect other people wandering through. But she had no supplies with which to do that, and no money with which to obtain them.
She sighed as she collected her hoodie and headed down into the basement. She washed herself off last, with one of the towels and rubbing alcohol and some all purpose cleaner, which hopefully included humans as one of its purposes because she’d neglected to buy actual soap. Blood drenched shoes, cardigan, pants, towels, and gloves went into the pyre. Clean of blood and relatively clean of semen--she could never seem to get the glitter off--she pulled on one of the pairs of boxers. T-shirt and boxers... Hey, it was something. She could put on some pants, later, if she was very sure they wouldn’t be ruined.
Then she pulled out the lighter the strange man--or possibly woman--from the other day had left her with. She doubted they would approve of using it for this, but that was hardly going to stop her.
She had one of their cigarettes while she watched it burn. The room smelled like roasting pork, making her once again bitter about spending all her money. She’d have to go dumpster-diving later, or beg outside of restaurants. Granola bars and peanut butter wouldn’t last, so it was time to start scrounging. Still, the cigarette tasted satisfying as she watched the strange brazier blaze.
It wasn’t a hydrochloric acid and bleach, but all told, she was a bit proud of herself.
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