Demona's Hunger
by Oxnate
Disclaimer: Do not own Gargoyles. Any similarities to any persons or events living, dead, virtual, or imaginary is purely coincidental and totally in your imagination.
Summary: Demona is hungry for fresh meat.
Warnings for rather gruesome death and details afterwards.
A/N: This has nothing to do with my other Gargoyles story. This was written for other reasons.
Chapter 1.
Demona had a hunger that not just any food would cure. She hungered for human flesh. David Xanatos understood. Though as a wealthy businessman and her business partner, he insisted that she not kill any Republicans. Democrats though were fair game.
The problem was telling the two groups of humans apart. Demona could barely tell one human from another and it wasn't like each group only wore certain clothing or certain colors.
Automobiles were good. Many humans used their cars as moving advertisements for their political views. She got one man as he exited a car covered in bumper stickers with the Democratic party on them. Many of the stickers had names as well. Perchance she would have to learn a bit about human politics and politicians if she wanted to eat well. It was only lucky for her that the cravings of this sort were few and far between.
A little research found her the names of either party's presidential candidates. She memorized them, just in case, not that she'd know either man if he were standing in front of her. Well, maybe she'd know him by the security around him. Apparently, there was a bit of hubbub around either human. She also found out that there would be a Democratic convention happening soon. A perfect opportunity to feast.
Security around the convention was much tighter than she expected. Humans were on the rooftops surrounding the building in question. Luckily they were mostly scanning the ground and not the skies, allowing her to silently fly off and find another perch.
It was fairly late at night (for humans) when the convention ended and Demona was getting very hungry. Hundreds of cars streamed out of the parking lots, hundreds more people made the short trip to either the bus or the subway. Demona didn't pick either of those. It was too easy to lose a target with public transportation, and she didn't want to follow one car only to have it make it to the highway and lose her at speeds she couldn't travel at – thus costing her her only shot. So instead she followed a group of pedestrians as they made their way home.
Pedestrians were good. Their slow speed allowed her to follow with ease and the large group made them easy to track with the light foot traffic out that late.
The group thinned as people took different turns at different streets. After a couple of miles only two were left of the group she had followed. Both of them were male. One was wearing a leather jacket that had many long, metal chains attached and various piercings about his face. It was the type of human, Demona had learned, that was more likely to imbibe in drugs. Drugs that left unpleasant aftertastes in her mouth. The other was wearing a white chef's uniform. As any hunter can tell you, the palate of the prey affects the flavor of the flesh. And a chef was likely to eat well.
He never knew what happened. A blow from behind sent him sprawling on the sidewalk, his head banged hard against the concrete, knocking him out. A second swoop carried him off, leaving only a small blood stain on the ground from his newly broken nose.
A few minute's flight and she was home with her meal.
She did not wake him up. She was not some cruel human that liked to torture other animals for fun. She'd caught a fishing show once and it seemed monstrous to her. He was her prey, nothing more and nothing less to her. She tore his clothing off him then took him to her feeding room and cut his carotid artery. She had an entire room for this as it was quite messy with the blood spraying everywhere. The smell of blood in the air incited her animal instincts and she didn't even wait until he was completely drained and dead before reaching into his chest and ripping out his heart. The tender, juicy flesh spat blood in her face as she bit into it but she didn't care. She had been right about chefs tasting better. She really would have to find more Democratic chefs in the future.
In only a few large bites, the heart was completely consumed.
She then tore open the rest of the chest cavity. The intestines and other viscera were all pulled out and discarded except for the liver which was set aside. She'd discovered she now quite preferred the taste of liver once it was fried with onions. The two tastes complemented each other nicely. Considering the man had been a chef, she at least owed him the courtesy of properly preparing his flesh.
Once the chest cavity was clear, she hung the body up to drain then cut out the tender backstraps. Two cuts of meat along the back of the body, along the spine. She'd eat those in a few minutes. Still warm from the body, wrapped in bacon, and fried on the grill; there was nothing better. For now, she set them aside, grabbed a hose, and washed out the carcass. Free of blood, she'd let it age for a few days in her cool room before she butchered the rest of the meat. Until then, fresh, tender backstraps were calling her name. She grabbed up the liver as well and headed for the kitchen. On the way, she noticed the man's clothing.
She set the meat in her sink then washed her hands of blood before picking the clothes up. They'd be burned, along with the bones and anything else she didn't eat, but why let anything go to waste? She pulled the man's wallet out of his pants. She took the cash but left the cards, those she knew could be traced. Not really meaning to, she glanced at the man's driver's license. "Jack Butler." she said. "You were delicious."