Maintaining her sunny expression is taking all the willpower Taylor can muster, and still it's not enough to convince the damned creature to come even a step closer. Well, if the dog isn't going to cooperate, then it'll simply have to be her who moves forward.
"Here, here. I've got something good for you, see?" Taylor can swear the animal is giving her a skeptical look, not at all convinced by the strained sweetness in the girl's voice. Perhaps it's the nose? Dogs have a much better sense of smell, after all. It may be it's good enough for the stray to sniff out the lie behind her promises. Stupid mutt, why can't it be a bit dumber? Did somebody kick it as a pup? Good going, asshole. She might just miss out on a meal because of that. What kind of sick bastard beats up dogs anyway?
"Good doggy." She heard somewhere that animals can understand intent from the tone of voice - not the meaning, but she's not going to risk calling the thing with all the expressive names readily supplied by her frustrated mind. "Good doggy. Be a good doggy and stay where you-"
A minute change in the animal's posture has Taylor throw herself at it the next instant. She would have preferred to do this differently, but if it won't assist her, then so be it! She only makes the leap thanks to her enhanced strength, seizing the dog and beginning to grapple with the creature. It's- surprisingly difficult to keep the animal in place with its maddened thrashing. More troublesome, at least, than she remembers doing the same to the policeman back in her home was. Who would have thought people would be easier to keep on the ground?
Alright, how does one go about strangling a dog, anyway? With humans it's obvious, even to an amateur - just go for the neck. The thing with animals, and this one in particular, is that Taylor's not even sure where their neck begins or ends.
Still, it has a throat! If she presses down on it, like so, she's bound to get it right eventually, right? She puts more weight on her forearm, making her elbow and knuckles connect to the ground on either sides of the neck. Eventually, her prey stops even twitching. The girl sniffs, and wipes away the mist from her eyes – the creature's smell bad enough for them to water, and nose to run, apparently.
She leans away, somewhat unsteadily, numbly taking note of what's become of the animal; of its crushed neck, of the blood staining the fur in the places the skin could not handle the pressure.
A shudder goes down her spine, with unease pooling at the pit of her stomach, just below the hunger.
Best get this over with. How does she open its head? Cracking it against the ground won't work the same way it did with- it won't work. Taylor looks around, as eager to find a tool she could use as she is to push the unwanted memories out of her mind, but the only thing which could potentially contain something useful is the trash container. She's not quite that desperate yet.
Stomping on the head should work. Just- there, her shoe is a bit cleaner now. She doesn't want too much of the brain to be contaminated by dirt. It's disgusting enough as is, and she's without a way to improve it. The fact she forgot to take any money aside, she's not sure how well could she handle dealing with a cashier - or they with her, if she's being searched for. Best avoid the possibility altogether.
Though... if she had brought money, she'd risk at least two purchases – a pair of gloves being the first one. She's found her hands refusing to work when she keeps them out of her pockets for too long. Must be the cold. She's not exactly warm-blooded anymore. Or warm-anything, for that matter. She's just glad to have noticed the fact before taking that nap – one she might not have woken up from.
She would also buy a pair of boots for the winter for much the same reasons. It's a pity she didn't do so before being buried alive, and that she grew out of her old ones. Sneakers aren't that good with either the cold or when it comes to cracking things open. Urgh – crap. She hasn't cracked the skull as much as smashed it in... good enough.
It takes a moment, but Taylor gets through the fur and bits of bone to the head's contents. Huh, it kinda looks like pudding with the way she opened it. Feels like it too, only doesn't smell any good. She hopes, as far as similarities go, that it won't be as sticky as pudding is, since it looks like she's getting her hands dirty again. It would be nice if she had a spoon on hand. One is supposed to eat pudding with a spoon, not bare hands, like an animal. Do the Chinese eat dog brains? With spoons? They have spoons, right? Isn't it the Japanese who use chopsticks? Why would anyone ever use them over-
Taylor freezes when her tongue makes contact with the mushy matter. She swirls it around her mouth, making sure that none of her taste buds are left untouched by the tasteless meal, and swallows it.
The desired rush of stinging craving she's come to identify with eating while hungry, does not come.
It's just like it was with the cereal, and the canned ham she took off that homeless guy. Sure, stealing - from homeless, no less - is a villainous act through-and-through, but the fact she might be going crazy with hunger excuses her just a bit, doesn't it? At least the hobo can go to a soup kitchen or something. The girl doesn't trust herself to stand so close to others, not after – not now. She needs to fill her stomach, first. And since a pound of mashed pork didn't help, perhaps this will.
It's a hope that is proving to be more and more in vain, with every bite Taylor swallows, each more off-putting than the last. It's not even bad, not really. It's her stomach that's upset, not her palate. Still, it shouldn't be a surprise. She never ate a brain before, and it's an uncooked one to boot that she chose to be her first. It's only natural her stomach is rebelling a little - that or her brain.
Although, she didn't feel sick back when-
She wasn't thinking clearly back there! People can eat most revolting things when they're not in their right mind, and not even notice. Her power might be all kinds of fucked up regarding her diet, but a brain's a brain, right?
She covers her mouth, fighting back a wave of nausea that came with the last bit she swallowed.
Exactly so! Besides, she can deal with a little bit of sickness if it means not becoming a disgusting freak - people do eat animal brains... it's not common here, but it's not a crime either. Easy. Just- she needs to finish this dog and- but isn't half a brain enough? It should be, to quell her hunger if nothing more.
The teen rubs at her upset stomach.
Yeah. Yeah, half is more than enough.
Taylor wipes her hands on the cooling carcass, before stuffing them into her pockets. No point in staining her clothes even worse than she already has. It's not even been a day and she's filthy already – she never imagined how quickly one gets dirty without an access to a tap. She leaves the alley for the open street, once she deems her hands close enough to clean, looking around furtively.
It's strange, seeing the city at this - whatever hour it is. The latest she ever got home was... around eleven, if her memory serves, and the streets were still quite lively back then. She's not sure what time it is, but given how there's almost nobody out, bar the occasional rather suspect-looking fellow, she'd guess it's far past midnight. Taylor's glad for it, after spending most of the day hiding herself away in enclosed back-alleys. It's so much easier not to follow her instincts and attack anyone when there's nobody around. Kind of like a diet, really, the most important part is not to buy-
No! Not like a diet at all. Nothing like a diet. At all.
She bites on the sleeve of her jacket. How long does it take for a meal to kick in? Mom used to reprimand her for eating too quickly – something about the stomach being a lazy bum and not telling the brain that there's no need to eat more. Well, sorry Mom, but she's bad at eating slowly when it feels like something's chewing at her guts. Small wonder, that. When was the last time she ate a filling meal? Ugh, she should've checked the date when she had the chance. Although, come to think of it, there's no guarantee Dad changed the date on the calendar after what happened.
A ripping sound has the teen look down at her arm. Urgh, not again. She already tore her jacket up at the neck in a similar fashion. Just great. If things continue that way, she'll be left half-naked in a week. She could use something to occupy her teeth. A carrot – no, a carrot wouldn't do. She'd bite through it in a minute at most. Any food at all would share the same fate, barring Dad's cookies - she'd sooner break her teeth on those. A chew toy would be nice, actually. Rubber is a lot sturdier than any food. Certainly more lasting, unless there is something about those toys that dogs aren't telling their masters. They seem happy enough when given one, though. Huh. Infants would love them as well, maybe even small children. Dogs are said to be as intelligent as three-year-olds. Would that be the reason both their toys are designed to squeak?
The young runaway only becomes aware of the noise behind her after it stops. Her gut twists painfully when the girl's eyes land on a woman some twenty feet away - one rather poorly clothed for the weather. Why anyone would be wearing a dress in winter is beyond Taylor, such a short one, too. It almost makes her want to gift the woman with her jacket... almost. The fact is, Taylor doesn't have anything else to her name but the things she's carrying with her right now. The woman will catch a cold at worst, and maybe learn a lesson from it.
Taylor, on the other hand, has come to a conclusion she might quite literally freeze if she stops moving for too long. Getting rid of any of her clothes could be very detrimental to staying alive. It's a wonder she didn't get frostbite on her way home in that dress of hers, though it was still a warmer piece than the one this woman is wearing. She's got shoes, at least. Though how the woman is even walking in high heels in this frost remains a mystery to Taylor – she can barely keep herself steady in her sneakers on the ice-covered pavement.
The pale teen blinks, realizing she's staring at empty space rather than the woman. Looking around, the runaway notices her across the street, casting a nervous look back, and minutely speeding up once their eyes connect.
Thoughtlessly, the girl follows - if at a much slower pace. The lady looks back, and spotting Taylor following, quickens her step, only to have the younger girl do the same on instinct.
Taylor most definitely does not jump when a car speeds just past her. When the hell did it even get so close without her noticing?! Her head, swarming with insults, whips after the cursed contraption. No, no, it has working lights. How did she not spot it? She's always found them blinding bright at night. Maybe it's got dim front lights, and is one of those dirty silent cars? Really, who ever thought it would be a good idea to make cars so freakishly quiet? They need to make enough noise to be heard when somebody gets distracted.
Talk about distractions... she's standing stock still on the street! The girl rushes to the sidewalk with a grimace at her lips. It's hard to think when hungry. She's never had to go this long on an empty stomach before.
Well, figuratively empty. She already ate a brain, just as her power seems to want her to. A dog brain, granted, but a brain nonetheless. And she knows, she knows that were it to work, she'd feel something beside the painful gnawing at her insides. Why does her power have to be so goddamn peculiar as to crave a specific kind of meat? She could live her life no problem if she had to eat cow brains- well, she could live her life, once she sorted out the mess she made of it back home. The part about the brains being human, however, is going to make things significantly more problematic when explaining herself. Hey, hello, I'm Taylor – I, yes, I beat up two officers – but that was an accident! See, I was trying to eat my Dad's brain and... yeah, that would go over well for sure.
Looking around to pick a direction in which to go to, Taylor's eyes land on an abandoned pair of high heels. Aren't they- yeah. These are they same that lady wore. The girl looks around, uncertain herself as to what she's expecting to find, but there's nothing. No woman, and no reason she can discern which would explain why would the lady just leave her shoes like that – she's bound to get a cold without them, or worse. Weird, but none of her business, Taylor supposes. Nobody afraid of a cold would wear these things in the first place, with how little skin they cover.
She looks at her own dirty sneakers as she walks past the discarded heels. While not exactly fit for the weather either, she should be fine as long as they keep most of the cold outside. Taylor doubts she even can get ill because of something as trivial as low temperature - her own body is cold. How would that even work? Can she still come down with a flu? Is the flu only dangerous because of the temperature? She's not sure. They don't learn about these things at school, probably because it's pretty obvious to a normal person how this stuff functions. High temperature equals bad – end of the story, the kids will never need to know more.
She could use a doctor. They could tell her those things. The Wards are sure to have medical staff available to them 24/7. They're probably not even grateful for it, either. One only learns about the value of such things once they no longer have them. Taylor certainly wasn't grateful for being vaccinated. Dad had to hold her down till she was twelve. She'd never let the nurse anywhere near her, otherwise.
First World problems. Even the bullying she endured at school doesn't seem as terrible, in comparison. Sure, it fucking sucked, being treated like trash by some, and like she didn't exist by the rest. Perspective is a funny thing, though. What wouldn't she give to go to school and be bullied, like she always was, over wandering the streets in her only set of clothes, without a clear idea what to do with herself? What wouldn't she give to return to her silent, beaten-down father, instead of- instead of how things are?
What is she even supposed to be doing? Nobody ever told her how to act while on the run from the law enforcement, beside turning herself in, and that's so not happening. Not right now, while she's as likely to bite the hand that tries to restrain her as she is to rip it off. But she does have to settle things eventually. Preferably, when she's not hungry. Therefore, the first order of business remains the same as when she lost her pursuers in the morning: Eat. And after that?
Hmm. What do the homeless actually do – she kind of is one now - beside looking for money or food? Oh, sure, her house might be standing, but she'd lick her shoe (it likely wouldn't taste that bad either, in her current condition) if it isn't under observation right this very moment. Going back there would be an idea on par with going to a police station.
Where else should she go, though? She doesn't have a destination in mind. Worse, if the continuing dull pain in her stomach is any tell, that dog's brain has indeed failed to satisfy her needs, so she still needs to figure out what to do about her diet. The only option available seems to be to try different animals, until she stumbles upon something she can use to... substitute. It's a shame there's no zoo in the city. Perhaps a monkey would work. Yeah, it would be a crime to kill and eat one, but Taylor's fairly sure animals classify as possessions of sorts. Killing one wouldn't be nearly as bad as an act of cannibalism... she thinks.
...how does the legal system view this sort of stuff, anyway? Law is a strange thing, but she would at least continue living with a clean conscience. It's not like people don't eat monkeys around the world, or so the TV says. Illegally, sure, but so what? They're still only animals.
Hmm. Where would the nearest zoo be? Boston has one, she'd even been there, once – and they did have monkeys in there, hopefully they still do. How does she get there, though? Going by the train or bus would be... inconvenient, what with the current state of affairs. The lack of money aside, she's technically a criminal, and her filthy state would raise too many red flags to remain unnoticed on the way. Would she even be let on a bus in her current state? Maybe. She rode, on a few occasions, with people who outright stank, and looked the part too. They weren't thrown off the bus, though. Maybe nobody wanted to touch them.
Daydreams, that. She can't pay for a ticket either way. Should she decide to go, it's only walking for her. It's not a bad option at all, really. Boston isn't so far away that she couldn't get there in a day or two – three tops, if she got lost on the way. She'd have to travel by forest, since any patrol would no doubt take interest in a lone girl walking by the highway, but aside from that? It's a much better plan than doing nothing.
Now, she just needs to...
...to...
Taylor warily scrutinizes her surroundings, just in case her eyes are playing a trick on her. There stand the florist booths, each in the place they've always been in, and there is the parking lot, and here, the entrance gate with the brass plate naming the property as St. Benedict Cemetery. But the worst offender of all must be the chapel a hundred paces ahead, the structure's dark shape visible against the city's glow.
Taylor swallows.
Okay. This is hardly a reason to freak out. She just-so-happened to walk up here, completely by accident. She's ended up in stranger places when she let her legs carry her to where they deemed fit. Like uh... um, like not her own classroom, back in primary! So there. It happened to her before. So what if it was just once? She's only fifteen, it's been bound to happen sooner or later again. That she ended up in a place where at least a few fresh corpses are put to rest every week is purely an accident. There are only a few hundred streets in Brockton, these are some completely believable chances, given how truly astronomical the math behind somebody winning in a lottery is – people still win. Yeah, it's- it's fine. This is fine.
All she needs to do is to turn around and go to Boston.
That's all, nothing difficult, she will go to Boston and break into a zoo to eat a monkey brain. All she needs to do is endure a day or two more of this hunger. Easy. Totally doable. Nothing hard at all, she only needs to turn around. First step is the hardest. Once she takes it the rest shall be easy. She doesn't tire, after all. Yes, she'd be hungry, as opposed to finally eating something more filling than air. Would it be bad if she ate something before going? It'd just be this once, nobody has to know...
She would know.
Her hands curl into fists, relax, and then curl up again.
This- this is entirely more difficult than it ought to be. She shuffles in place to make sure her soles haven't frozen to the ground, but finds them perfectly normal.
A grimace flashes on the girl's face. This is ridiculous. Alright, this time for real. One, two-
Taylor's head snaps to the side when the distinct sound of an incoming vehicle reaches her ears. Shit, uh, how does she go about looking inconspicuous in the front of a cemetery, in the dark of the night, in her current choice of attire? Damn. Put like that, there really isn't much of a way she could look any normal. Standing around won't help though. Move, move, moving is good, moving is normal, as opposed to dumbly staring at a passing car.
It's only when her body passes the graveyard's gate that the teen's mind catches up with the direction her legs have taken her. Crap, crap-crapcrap! She can't turn back now, it would look even weirder – she doesn't even have a phone to fake something as she hears people do! No matter, she will just turn and leave when the car passes by.
Only - the car doesn't drive away. As Taylor soon finds out when a beam of light illuminates her back. The girl freezes as the sound of the vehicle approaching becomes louder.
Why, why can't anything ever go my way?
Shoulders set, she glances back at the approaching vehicle – why is a van even entering the cemetery grounds? Oh, right, she needs to move out of the way – but why is a car driving to the- could it be a hearse? Sure doesn't look like one. In fact, it looks about right to be a mail truck.
As the van passes her by, Taylor spots a man looking at her from behind the window, nearly causing the girl to suffer a panic attack, but the truck simply drives on without stopping, slowly rolling towards the chapel.
Taylor stands still for a moment more before furiously scratching at her chest, the feeling beneath it more reminiscent of an itch than the weight her heart used to have when still beating – uncomfortable all the same. She looks after the van, its lights clearly visible visible by the chapel. The people inside have definitely seen her, but it doesn't seem to have drawn a reaction, which is good, obviously. She can now simply leave and start solving her mess. Only... only what if the people in this truck are up to no good? Why would anyone drive onto the cemetery grounds in the middle of the night, and stop under the church too? There's a ban on driving cars here, she saw the staff throw a fit about it, once, he had good points too – some people would park right by the grave if allowed. These people, however, are most certainly not just some lazy visitors. Has she stumbled upon a break-in? What would anyone want to steal from a cemetery? There shouldn't be anything to steal in the graveyard proper, and they have stopped before the chapel...
Dammit, she can't leave before she makes sure nothing's wrong. She'd dreamed of being a hero for so long, and now that she got powers – however deep the mess they've put her in – she's not about to let a crime just go on unhindered. What she can do about it is another matter altogether, what could she do without resorting to violence - call the police? How?
Doesn't matter – Taylor decides as she slowly creeps towards the church - if something bad is indeed happening, she'll find a way to stop it. Otherwise, all she'd be able to think about for the next few days would be how she left without making sure everything's fine. That, and the painful emptiness in her stomach.
There's a light in the chapel, she notes as she approaches the building. A good sign, surely. Thieves wouldn't turn any lights on, would they? It's a calming thought.
The lanky girl stops a reasonable distance away from the structure, making sure to remain unseen, not that problematic a task, given the only source of light around is the chapel itself and the van in front of – nevermind. They killed the engine. It fits Taylor just fine, what light is there is more than enough to see the men as they fuss around their truck. She bites down on her already-tarnished collar, and digs her heels in when her stomach starts complaining about her idleness.
She's too far away to hear what their conversation is about, but they seem to be listening to someone inside the chapel. How many of them are there, again? She saw two in the vehicle, but maybe she just didn't see the third, it could happen, her eyesight isn't the best there is, and-
-and that's a coffin they're taking out from the back. So it is a hearse, of sorts, after all. Well, that's a relief - they really should make it more recognizable, though. Unless that's the point? Come to think of it, bodies can't be transported with hearses all the time, those are ceremonial. It would be... weird, to use one to drive a body right from the death site. Hmm, what sorts of vehicles do they use to transport a body to the morgue? An ambulance? No. It would seem like a terrible waste to use those for such a purpose. She can't recall if she ever saw what happened to a body after being bagged in any of the movies she's watched. Is it just vans, like this one, that serve that purpose? Are the streets full of trucks driving the dead around, without anyone being the wiser to the fact? Was she in one of those, possibly stuck in a traffic jam, like on any other day? How many times has she walked past such a van without ever even considering the possibility of it containing a body? Could any of them still be alive, then?
She energetically shakes her head. It helps, just a bit, in dispersing her thoughts.
She really ought to leave. It doesn't look like anything's wrong here, the men just seem to be doing their job. Unless it's a bomb inside, in which case... it'd be kind of overkill, and why put a bomb inside a coffin if they could just as easily rig the chapel itself? No, they must be legit.
Ah, there's the third one.
He looks... familiar. Taylor can't say for sure in this light but she thinks she saw him once or twice around the cemetery, when she came to visit Mom. Is he a caretaker here? Probably. He must've opened the chapel – what hour is it? She thought it was sometime past midnight, but it must be closer to the dawn if they're already preparing for a funeral.
The girl glances up at the still-decidedly-dark sky, before she returns return to observing the work happening before the small church. A spark of indignation flares in her mind at the way the coffin is being handled – as if it were a piece of furniture, without a person resting inside. Sure, they're being careful – dropping it would doubtless land them in trouble, but that's just it. It's just a job – it chafes, when she remembers Mom's ceremony. How pristine they were there – the people carrying the casket on their shoulders – nothing like this.
Is it unreasonable to expect them to be like that all the time? Maybe. The dead might not care all that much, but she's everything but dead. Is this how she was handled as well? What about before being put in the coffin? The fact they wrote her off as dead doesn't inspire much confidence for their professionalism in the girl. What was her stay in the funeral home like? Did they treat her like a person, or more like a valuable sack of potatoes – did they treat her as one would a doll?
She stops chewing, her body seizing up as the visions of herself, strange hands upon her, flood her mind.
She screws her eyes shut, anchoring her thoughts on the first song she can remember, and remembers it loudly in the place of unwanted images. It works, up to a point. Enough so that she can't focus on either.
It is with relief that she welcomes the sound of a starting engine, as it gives the girl something new to focus on. The feeling only lasts a second, before she realizes just how little cover her position offers from the path the van will be taking. Although, thinking back to how the men already saw her, and didn't do anything at all... does she actually need to hide? They don't care – she's just visiting a graveyard, in the middle of the night, in winter. A teenager who's moved all of a hundred feet since they drove in some five minutes ago.
Yeah, okay, it's probably best if she does hide – they won't even think about reporting her if they don't see her. Now, just to find a place to hide and- uh, shit, she can't really see that much in the dark. There's a tree and- there, a bush! It might not be the best hiding spot, but it'll do - if the men in the car don't look too hard, and why would they?
A few moments after Taylor takes cover, just as she suspected, the vehicle drives by without an incident. Thinking further on the topic, would the men stop even if they saw her? Taylor would. There shouldn't be anyone lying on the frozen cemetery grounds at night. Then again, those two might be soulless bastards, in which case they could just call the police, or ignore her outright.
She really would prefer to believe that people who handle corpses are not the sort to ignore something looking like a person lying in a place like this... Nah. They just didn't see her, that must be it.
Still, the quicker she leaves, the better. Her heroic deed done, she has nothing more to do here. Every moment she spends idle is a moment she's not using to get out of the city, and start her journey to Boston. It would be a tall order to walk busy streets in her condition. Besides, someone could recognize her - she'd much rather not have to evade the police and PRT again. She was stuck up a tree in the park for a good two hours this morning, before she deemed it safe to come down. Thank God the dogs were acting weird, and didn't stop to bark under her hiding spot. They were acting strange all the way through, really. Perhaps they were sick? Why would the police use ill dogs to search for her? She understands the BBPD must be overworked, and probably underpaid to boot, but isn't this kind of thing counterproductive? Taylor's not sure how much it had cost to send those thirty-odd men after her, but surely, had they used well trained and healthy dogs, they'd have found her. It would justify the expense that way. Instead, they left empty-handed.
Not that she's complaining.
Or maybe she is! Just a bit. She would never be in this situation in the first place had the people who handled her body, done their jobs competently. First those in school (police among them, no doubt), followed by the shockingly inept doctor (or doctors) who signed her off as dead, and all the others whose hands she passed through on her way to an early grave.
The pale girl sneaks a glance at the chapel. She probably came through there, as well. Maybe she was even handled by the same guy who's now walking away from the chapel with something – Taylor can't see what – in his arms. He certainly doesn't seem to be taking his duties very seriously. He hasn't even closed the damn door! It would only take him a few seconds to do so, and what if somebody were to sneak in while he's away?
What if?
Can she - as a parahuman, or more importantly, as a human being - leave without first checking if the poor soul inside will not have to live through the same things she has? If she doesn't check, who will? Giving the body a proper shake might be all it takes, and she can bet nobody will do that in front of the mourners. She might very well be that person's only chance! Not everyone has the devil's own luck as to trigger after being put underground.
Surely, checking can't be any worse than leaving things as they are.
The girl leans out from behind her cover. She has to be quick, the caretaker is sure to come back, seeing as he left the lights on.
Making as little noise as she can, Taylor sneaks up to the chapel, making sure there is still nobody around before entering the building.
She only spares a cursory glance for the mostly bare insides of the chapel, and quickly moves to the coffin in the center. Huh. She didn't notice it before, but there's a strange smell permeating the chapel. Did they sprinkle something here? It would make sense, a body can't hold up forever. It's a nice smell, she has to say.
Now - how does she open the lid- there, the screws. How nice of the designer to make them usable with bare hands, she'd have to smash the coffin otherwise...
...How come she didn't think of that before? Why bother with the lid? Pushing the whole casket off the podium will do the job just fine.
Not wasting any time, the girl pushes the casket off its place, shattering most of the construction on the stone ground. It still holds together, if only by splinters. It's no trouble to pull the more stubborn wood away, and reveal a woman's body beneath. The girl drags the corpse out, just far enough for it to lie on the stone ground, but doesn't bother with turning it onto its back, not just yet. Instead, she pulls the head back, and smashes it, forehead first, against the hard tiles to a satisfying crack. Taylor secures her grip, and repeats the motion, again and again, the action familiar for some reason.
Finally, she turns the body around, and with a sharp motion, buries her fingers in the shattered forehead to ply the fragmented bone and skin apart, revealing the skull's tantalizing contents.
The texture is- different than she remembers. Harder. Less like jelly and more like tender meat. As for the taste?
Taylor can't help the small moan that escapes her mouth with the first bite - not that she tries to. More mouthfuls quickly follow as the teen abandons all remaining pretense of propriety, savagely digging into her meal, tearing at the container more and more, throwing the hard pieces aside. She only stops when she tears out the last tasty bit from the cord, though she eats it with no less ferocity or pleasure than all the rest.
The girl sits back, her stomach full, and licks the remaining taste off her lips. A lazy smile curves her lips up. She never knew a meal could make a person so... content. All she'd need to be happy now is be a comfy bed and a...
And a...
Oh God.
Oh God, oh-fuck ohshit!
She scrambles to her feet, and away from the mutilated remains. Fuck. Did she- she just-
Run! Run- she needs- she has to run!
Not sparing another look to the mangled body, she springs for the exit.
Right at the door, she crashes into someth- someone, sending them both to the ground. She doesn't look, doesn't stay, doesn't listen - she's back on her legs a second after falling, running again before she even fully regains her balance.
She doesn't stop until her surroundings have long become unfamiliar.