Edgar poked at the spaghetti on his plate, sniffing warily at a small jar of shredded garlic on the table.
"What's wrong boys, don't like garlic?" Lucy asked teasingly, hefting a good spoonful onto her own plate and stirring it delicately into the dish. After their run-in with The Lost Boys and Max, she'd developed quite the taste for it. Granted, garlic didn't really deter vampires, as they'd come to learn...but surely there had to be something behind the old belief. Maybe it didn't hurt them, but they'd still much prefer blood from a person who hadn't just chowed down on several dozen cloves. If any of the Emersons did some day become the meal of a ravenous monster, Lucy would make sure she could at least ruin the meal for them.
As for Edgar, he didn't much like garlic. Sure, he'd had to use it in his formative hunting stage (IE the only time he and his brother had actually taken on real vampires), but that didn't mean he was required to enjoy the stuff. It tasted way too strong, and smelt like sour gasoline.
"It's, uh...it's fine, Ms. Emerson. I'm just not that hungry," Edgar replied with a somewhat furrowed brow. It was the most cheerful face the boy was capable of making.
For his part, Allen was already on his second helping. He may be the skinniest boy at the table still, but he had an appetite that would put an irate hell-hound to shame. Sam was fascinated, just watching him shovel the spaghetti down his throat with hardly a chewing motion.
"Now, Allen, I do appreciate how much you're enjoying my cooking...but I'd also appreciate not having to take you to the hospital for a herniated throat. Please slow down," Lucy chided as she smiled sweetly at the somewhat less grumpy of the Frogs. He was still bad-tempered, but not as much as Edgar. Probably because he'd never taken a side for Marvel or DC, so the epic battles of nerd discussions had yet to jade him.
"Ugh, are you like part cow or something? Close your mouth when you're eating!" Sam exclaimed, finally tearing his eyes away from Allen to gingerly twirl some spaghetti onto his own fork. He had the good graces to display some semblance of table manners around his mother.
Gramps was nowhere in sight to make a comment on the meal, or the guests, because he was busy hiding out in his workshop...as usual. There wasn't much of a surprise there. Recently he'd had a bit of a fight with the widow Johnson, so his mood was even less social than usual. It suited Sam just fine. He didn't want to listen to his grandpa lecturing him about raccoon toes when he was trying to eat dinner. He already had enough trouble as it was, with mister garbage-truck across the table shoveling his meal in as if he hadn't had one in three straight days.
"Ms. Emerson, Allen and I got something to tell you. You're not gonna like it," Edgar spoke up, setting his fork down. He'd hardly taken more than a few bites. Clearly Allen was going to make up for his lack of appetite, however, because his brother didn't even pause to listen.
"We've been thinking a lot about Santa Carla lately, and the bloodsuckers that keep this city in constant terror. Allen and I have both decided that we're going to move in with you to help protect your family. And also, we really hate Florida." Edgar finished his last statement on a very dark note, tilting his head down for emphasis.
Lucy smiled politely and listened as the boy spoke, neither laughing nor really providing much of any reaction until she'd properly swallowed her food and taken a sip of ice water from her wine glass.
"That's very nice of you, Edgar. Allen..." She replied sweetly, dabbing at her face with a napkin. "We'd appreciate the gesture very much, but I don't think there's much room in the house for two more teenage boys. Not to mention, your family probably doesn't want you moving across the country to fight vampires. Especially not with school coming up very soon." Lucy was very good at humoring people. She didn't even bat an eye as she spoke. It rather sounded like she'd even given the idea some thought before replying.
"Then can we stay the week?" Allen asked, sopping up a bit of sauce that still remained on his plate with a piece of bread. Sam reached over to pull the serving dish of spaghetti slightly further from him, and gave his friend the 'you've had enough, I'm cutting you off' look. Allen frowned and shrugged. He could easily slip back into the kitchen later when nobody was looking. Either way, he was going to get the rest of that spaghetti...and they all knew it.
"A week would be lovely, boys. Sam could really use the company. Speaking of which...Star still hasn't come home tonight...so when she shows up, please try to be a little more polite when you're talking about vampires. She can be very sensitive..." Lucy trailed off. None of them actually enjoyed the topic, but Star was the one who generally reacted the worst when anybody mentioned the 'v' word around her. It was likely from PTSD, seeing that she'd experienced a lot more at the hands of the Lost Boys than anyone else.
She was clawing at the cavern wall, blindly searching for escape. Trapped in a large pit, Star had spent the last hour or so simply going from one side to the other, digging her bloodied hands into the wall, the monster that she'd become relying solely on instinct to find a weak spot and perhaps get out of her subterranean prison to find food.
Michael watched from the top of the pit, frowning as he gently stroked the hair of Star's soon-to-be victim. Just a nameless drifter, from what he could tell. It was easier to eat people when he could pretend they had no real identities to focus on. This one he'd found sleeping under a dock at the boardwalk, half-awake and dazed from enough alcohol to pickle a large cat.
How was it that the beautiful girl he'd once known could so quickly become this...thing? Not once in her short time as a half-vampire had he ever seen the monster inside reveal itself. No hint of glowing eyes or fangs, no claws or ravenous appetite. He didn't even recognize what he'd made her in to. And that's really what he'd done. He'd made Star into this...
A slavering ghoul, driven by physical hunger, hell-bent on destroying anything with a pulse the moment she came into contact with it. Really, he should put...it...out of it's misery. Stake her. Throw her out into the sun. Give her a holy water shower. Something. Michael knew in his heart that she wouldn't want this at all. She'd hate him for letting her become this.
Yet...the alternative? Michael shivered, hovering above the pit with his unconscious captive. No, the alternative was unthinkable. If this was the only way he'd be able to keep Star, then he'd just have to learn to live with it. Maybe some day she'd snap out of it. Maybe he'd just have to feed her enough to sate her appetite. Maybe he was fucking kidding himself, but it was better than killing the only thing in the world that made him feel like his old self. The only thing that made him think that yeah...maybe a part of him was still human.
Michael released the man in his arms, closing his eyes when he heard the intake of breath as the man awoke mid-fall. He didn't have a chance to scream, before the ravenous woman-thing in the pit leaped up to grab him and immediately tear into his flesh. The floor of the pit was painted red by the time Michael opened his eyes to look down.
"...I love you, Star," Michael whispered. She didn't hear him...she just mindlessly drug her tongue through the dirt after she'd completely drained her victim...trying to lap up every speck of crimson life she could get to. There would never be enough blood in Santa Carla to satisfy the beast.