The next morning, after Aerrow had prodded him awake, Stork ate his breakfast. 'At least I can still enjoy the taste of normal food. Even if it doesn't do much against the hunger,' he thought as the others also ate. Finn was joking around as always, Junko had about four times the amount of food as anyone else, Piper had a book in front of her plate, and Aerrow... Aerrow was looking at him.
"What? Do I have cabbage in my teeth or something?" He made sure his fangs were hidden before "checking" his teeth.
"Stork, you've barely eaten anything," Aerrow commented.
"Yeah, and? I'm not that hungry..." He finished the comment in his head, 'for normal food.'
"Hey man. I figured after having almost nothing to eat down there," Finn spoke up, tossing a sky berry into his mouth, "you'd practically stuff yourself."
Stork flinched. "Right, stuff myself until my stomach ruptured and killed me." He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Well, I'm going to start on those repairs." He got up, put his leftovers in the fridge and left the kitchen.
"He's right, you know. You should have gorged yourself the moment you had the chance."
Stork glanced at his reflection on the shiny metal pipes as he walked down the hall. "No. And shut up. I ate. I'm good for now. Maybe I can talk to Aerrow about landing more often. Routine work on the ship... or something. I'll be fine."
"But for how long? How long can you resist that wonderful scent you just left?"
Stork paused to stare at himself in the warped reflective surface of a pipe. "As long as it takes. I finally have friends. Now shut up, or at least leave me alone for a bit. I want to get the Condor back in the air." Giving the now silent reflection a nod of finality, he went to get his tools and begin the repairs on the Condor.
Stork hummed to himself as he worked on his baby. No one ever really bothered him when he was working like this. Junko had done it once, and Stork had jumped so high he'd nearly fallen off the ship. So being left alone, he'd lose himself in this work. He'd carefully, lovingly and tenderly work on each gash, lose screw and missing hull plating.
Being so caught up in his work, he damn near yelled in pain and surprise when his lingering hunger, always present for him, became the stabbing, near-starvation pain it had been just yesterday, causing him to drop his tools.
'The hell?' he thought. He knew better then to talk to himself about this. 'I just fed last night! I shouldn't be this hungry so soon!'
"Get to your lab, you fool! Even the Condor can wait for THIS!"
For once, Stork fully agreed with himself. He took off like a shot, holding his hand like he'd cut it or something, just in case anyone wondered why he was coming in. 'Maybe one of the damn things was sick. Sick blood can make me sick,' he thought.
"Whoa, Stork. You okay?" Stork spared the one talking a glance. Junko.
"Cut myself. Gotta patch it up before I get back to work," he muttered before making his way back to his room. Once he was sure Junko wasn't going to follow him, he kept going, making even less noise then normal - oh he could be silent as death when he wanted to be, and right now he needed to get where he was going quickly and silently. Finally he found what he was looking for: a section of the Condor he'd walled off when he was first turned into this... monster, as he saw it. Not even a fully grown wallop could have moved the door. But with the enhanced strength he'd gotten from the curse, he moved the wall easily on hidden tracks.
Once the door was firmly back in place, he doubled over and let out a long drawn-out moan of need and hunger. "Damn it," he grumbled as he sat in the chair.
The room had the look of a thrown-together mad scientist's lab, and on the wall he had scores of papers with notes comparing his condition to the stories he'd heard of vampires over the years, finding out which were true and which were bullshit. There were also various tubs and beakers and a few chemicals he'd gotten his hands on since joining the Storm Hawks, and a microscope. He pulled out a small slide and with one sharp fang nicked his finger, letting the tiny drop of blood land. He then placed a cover on it and placed the whole thing under the scope.
It was revealed that the blood didn't have any sign of toxins or parasites. He shuddered in remembrance of one meal he'd had in the Wastelands - the damn thing had been riddled with blood parasites, and he'd spent three days in bed unable to move out of pain until his body passed them. That hadn't exactly been pleasant either.
With that fear put to rest, he looked at the meager equipment that he stashed here. Finally he sighed and took out three Petri dishes. Stork brought his wrist to his mouth and tore off the skin with a gasp of pain and allowed the blood to drip into the three dishes, before spitting on the bleeding gash to aid in the healing. Within moments no one would have guessed he'd just torn out his own wrist. He muttered to himself as he worked, rambling off the chemicals as he went through them and put different combinations onto each dish. It would take some time for the chemicals do their job and yield answers. He quickly "bandaged" his hand while he was there. So careful. He always had to be so careful. Since he'd told Junko that he'd cut his hand, he had to make it look like he'd taken care of it.
As he made his way back out of the Condor, Junko was just coming in. "Hey, Stork. How's your hand?"
"It's not bad. I'd better get back to work," Stork said absently, wanting to get away from the scent of living blood.
"Oh, I finished the repairs. Aerrow asked me to tell you we got word that the Cycloians have invaded a terra. He wants to check it out, see if we can do anything." Junko rambled off the coordinates of the terra.
"Yeah, sure. Got it," he said, waving off the wallop.
"Stork? Are you okay?" Junko asked, reaching out for the merb. Stork's eyes were glued to the hand coming at him. Actually they were glued to the pounding pulse he could see, hear, and smell; however, Junko took it as Stork being in one of his "don't touch me" moods, and lowered his hand. Stork relaxed visibly and headed off for the bridge.
Piper and Aerrow were already there when he started up the ship, intent on losing himself in flying. Those wonderful clouds... he winced as his back twitched. By Atmos he hurt, he hurt everywhere now, and he put a death grip on the helm. He barely heard the conversation Piper and Aerrow were having as he took to the skies. Oh, if only they'd leave. He could smell their blood. Hear it pound in their bodies. It was driving him insane.
"Could you two do that somewhere else?" he finally snapped. "I'm trying to fly here."
"Piper, you go on ahead. I'll catch up," Aerrow told her. Piper took one look at Stork's tense posture, picked up her maps and left.
Once she was gone, Aerrow said, "Stork? You okay, buddy?"
Stork looked over his shoulder at the Sky Knight. "It one of those days, Aerrow."
Aerrow retracted the hand he'd been about to place on his helmsman's shoulder. "Alright pal, I understand." He took a seat on the sofa. "How's your hand?"
"It's alright. Just a small scratch. But I had to bandage it. You never know what kind of infections you can pick up," Stork said with a shrug.
Aerrow smiled. "Well, I'm glad it's nothing serious."
"Yeah, well..." Stork gritted his teeth as hunger pains hit him hard. "Aerrow... I'd like to be left alone, if that's okay?"
"Stork, are you sure you're alright? You haven't been yourself for a week or so now," Aerrow asked in concern.
Stork looked over his shoulder at the red-haired Sky Knight. He wanted to tell him, to explain, to be comforted... to pull him close, to feel his pulse against his sharp fangs... 'No!' he yelled in his mind. "Aerrow, please, just... I'd like to be alone," Stork said, pleadingly, almost begging.
Aerrow looked concerned, but he knew better then to try to pry answers out of the merb. One just has to wait for him to come to you. "Alright Stork, I'll leave you alone for now, but you know where to find me if you wanna talk."
"Yeah, I know. Thanks," Stork said sincerely.
The moment he was sure Aerrow had left him alone, Stork let out a dry sob. It was like a living, waking nightmare, this torture, this constant agony. Especially since relief of this real-life horror movie was so near and yet, by his own will, so unobtainable.
"Why do you do this to yourself?"
Stork glanced at the instrument panel next to him, his reflection staring back at him. "Simple. These are the first people to give a shit about me as a person, rather then as a tool or worse, in a long time. And I'd personally like to keep it that way."
"At the cost of your SANITY at the very least?"
"And that's different from how I was before how, exactly?"
"Okay, point made," his reflection conceded, shaking its head. "But you can't keep it up forever."
Stork bit back another moan and growled at his reflection. "What do you suggest? Humm? Feed on them? Atmos would find out in a heartbeat, then throw me in jail. I'd be right back here in a matter of months - worse actually, because not only would I be starving, I'd be caged and grounded for good. Anything to say about that?"
His reflection was silent. "Didn't think so," Stork said with a huff.
The day dragged on slowly - an eternity for the merb at the helm. Aerrow would listen to his request to be left alone, but the bridge was kinda the central hub of the Condor. The crew gathering there was inevitable. Thankfully Aerrow often came in to disperse them, most often Finn and Junko. It was murder to Stork, as he kept checking the time, doing the math over and over again as to how long it would take those cultures to mature enough that he could get his much-needed answers.
Every time Aerrow left the room, he'd look back at the helmsman, silently offering him the chance to talk, to open up, and each time Stork would shake his head. Not now, he'd silently tell him. Leave me be, his eyes would say. But Aerrow was observant. Help me, his expression would say. I hurt, his posture would tell him. Aerrow vowed to keep a close eye and ear on the merb. Something was wrong, he could sense it, and whatever it was would soon come to light. He could feel it.
They finally arrived at the terra. It was late at night, and Aerrow called the others onto the bridge for a meeting. "Alright everyone. According to the S.O.S. we received, the Cyclonians have recently gotten a small foothold on this terra. In the morning, we're going to see about sending them back to Cyclonis crying. I want everyone," he gave a pointed glance at Stork, who was standing in a corner listening, "to get some sleep tonight. I need you all at your best, no two ways about it. Understood?"
The crew nodded and each headed to bed. Each except Stork - once he was sure everyone was in their rooms, he silently made his way to his lab, his stomach in pain. Answers. He needed answers.
He placed each dish under the microscope, growing more and more pale with each one, until he finally had his answer. It was simple: animal blood wasn't sustaining him anymore. It was if he hadn't fed at all.
He bolted to his room, making sure to close up his lab first. Once there in the warmth of his room, he buried himself in the blankets and shoved his head into the pillow. He had only one option left to him. He half expected his mind to say 'I told you so,' but it didn't. His body shook. He was starving, and now there was only one way to handle that.
He raised his head to look at himself. His skin was starting to turn pale. He shook his head and began to sob in anguish.
