A little background. The Hero's Villain and Thrill of the Chase are only part of an overarching canon-compliant storyline that I have written and planned. There's a whole mythology spread around stories, shorts, and many many of the entries in the Through-DP collection. A complete listing is now available on my fanfiction. net profile listed under the 'Sides of the Same Coin' series.

Before Danny Fenton was even a thought of possibility Vlad was a normal grad student. And then things happened. First a portal accident, then escape from a repurposed mental institution, then years alone and on the run. Time spent drifting place to place, the only constants being the self-experimentation, the development of his powers, the need to publish his findings before someone else did...

This scene is from that time.

'Indulgence' is rated K+. Just... don't read this while eating.

-00000-

Vladimir Masters huddled in the darkness. Long silver hair hung oily over his shoulders, a reminder that he needed to steal a shower at some point. The sounds of the interstate roared dull and constant, far enough away that the town had begun to collapse with the loss of its main source of income. It was a mixed blessing. On one hand the town was small enough that he had to be careful what, where, and when he scrounged for food, materials, clothing, news... On the other...

No one would come looking for an escaped grad student turned 'mental' patient here. The building was abandoned, left for the county to come take care of but of course they never did. No electricity, no running water, no curious locals, no mad scientists, no distractions. Out here Vlad had space, privacy, the ability to practice these 'ghost powers' Jack's idiocy had left him with. Out here he could experiment.

Out here he could indulge himself.

Indulgence was exactly what Vlad was thinking of for tonight. As disgusting as he found it to be, his ghost tended to disobey command when he ignored the cravings of his inhuman side.

Vlad pulled himself off of his 'bed', really little more than a nest of discarded fabrics, blocks of foam, and gathered straw. He passed by the shelves that held his instruments, mostly old Army surplus and cast-off odds and ends. A typewriter salvaged from an estate sale took up one corner. Gallon jugs of water and two cracked plastic coolers passed for his larder. Unless it was raining hard enough he had to sneak into houses to take showers and replenish his water supply. Food was stolen; what little money he found, stole, or panhandled was used on experiments, mail, or to keep the typewriter working.

He preferred this to the hell that was that inhumane excuse of a facility. He still had nightmares about it.

He had nightmares about many things. Indulging himself was one such thing. He slid one cooler away from the other and cracked it open with a cringe and a whine of longing. He felt both nauseous and hungry as he saw it was ready.

Years of research before the accident should have prepared him for this. Unfortunately he'd never thought to study a ghost's eating habits. No one had. Everyone just assumed ghosts were dead and therefore didn't need to eat. While that was true...

That didn't mean ghosts couldn't choose to indulge themselves. Just as humans ate to enjoy the food they consumed so too did ghosts eat because they liked the taste. It was just that...

Vlad closed his eyes and tried not to think about it. He reached inside at the fire that burned in him and felt a frisson of power draw up his spine. He opened his eyes and the room glowed red, shadows banished. The night was as bright as day with these ghost-eyes, just... a bit red around the edges. He looked down at the contents of the cooler and shuddered in anticipation.

Ge Rouge was pleased. All Vlad could do was hope it ended soon.

A black-stained hand reached inside, past the rich, sweet, mouth-watering smell to the carefully aged contents. A basket of strawberries, a few bunches of grapes, and what was once a bag full of plums. The strawberries were withering, a dark film and pale green fur growing over most of them. The grapes were wrinkled, many bursting like tiny little bombs full of fuzzy white cotton. The plum skins had cracked, filling the plastic produce bag with a soupy mixture of plum flesh, strips of skin, and fermented juice.

Intellectually he knew none of this would give his human side more than a minor stomachache. That didn't mean he could convince that pesky mortal half to shut up and enjoy this. He'd waited a long time for this, had to wait until the local store had fresh fruit and steal enough so he could lay this down to rot and die. That wasn't very often, not out here, not after the season was over.

The loa didn't understand the human's reluctance. Vlad didn't just enjoy alcohol, he coveted it during those rare occurrences that they could find some. They both did. This was dead fruit, same as wine. The sweet taste of fruit, the earthy notes of fungus, the sharp tang of fermentation, the melange of so much death it made his mouth water in anticipation. He picked up a strawberry and watched the fur wave slightly, enticingly in air currents. He bit into it.

Marvelous.

-00000-

Almost an hour later found Vlad curled in his nest, his arms around his belly. Oily silver hair splayed out behind him, pale skin gleamed in the faint moonlight. All too human. He felt his stomach twitch and sat up just in time for a fume-tainted burp. He clamped his hand over his mouth, not daring to let anything else come up lest Ge Rouge take it as an insult. It would not be the first time.

Vlad's ghost was a demanding one. He couldn't imagine every ghost being as indulged as this one and yet it still demanded more, demanded he serve it like it was some sort of god. It knew exactly how to coerce what it wanted out of him. It made him indulge it as often as possible, and sometimes more often. Payment, it seemed, for the experiments that he conducted to keep them safe.

He could still taste it...

Disgusting.