The Warp and The Weft

Chapter Six: A Predator in Jean Shorts - Philip/Rebecca

Philip

My head hurts.

Why does my head hurt?

Where the fuck am I?

Philip opened his eye and close it again from the searing light. A wave of his hand closed the binds completely, the dazzle of light still moving behind his eyelids.

His eyes open gently as he slowly turned over to his back, the slightly too crisp hotel sheets running over his body.

Considering the fact he couldn't remember much from last night he didn't feel particularly bad. Brightborns don't get hangovers, their bodies burn off the alcohol and heal them too quickly to experience one. Though Philip was always left with a full headache, not a splitting pain more like an annoying ache that sits at the edges of his awareness.

The downside to the speed at which his body works to sober him is that it makes him need to pee like crazy. My bladder is going to bust he thought while sitting up and stumbling to the bathroom yawning along the way. He looks down to see the shirt, underwater and socks he wore out last night, the silver band still around his wrist.

He opened the door as another yawn took him, Philip rubbed his sleep-crusted eyes with the heels of his large palms, walking over to the toilet. The lifting of the seat and lowering of his boxer briefs were followed by the most satisfying pee he has ever experienced.

"Nice cock," He jumps and lets out a peep as Philip almost loses control of the stream "Perfect size, big, but not too big."

He looks over his shoulder at Ange, who had already fallen back to sleep, laying in the bathtub.

How the fuck didn't I notice her there? He Thought.

He finished and pulled his underwear back up before washing his hands and going back into the bedroom. Grabbing the phone from the piled jeans on the floor, he sees the time reads 10:43 am.

As he began to throw the device onto his bed it buzzes once. Lifting it back to his eyes, he saw a notification from Rebecca: 'Ur awake. Come over."

After making sure Ange was still fast asleep, he threw the phone onto the covers and began to strip off the club-scented clothes. While they did hold his distinct scent, they did not smell bad. Their bodies may heal quickly and metabolise alcohol just as fast, but their natural bodily processes were greatly slowed. They don't sweat like warmbloods, grow hair like warmbloods, they don't even go to the bathroom like warmbloods. Everything about them is slowed to a snail's pace.

Their bodies did sometimes rapidly change due to sudden shifts in diet, as shown by Philip's sudden increase in muscle mass and body hair growth. He ran his hand over the coppery fibres and wondered if they would bother Margaret, he had always had smooth flawless skin his entire life with little body hair until he began drinking blood almost every day in America.

He slipped off his socks and underwater before replacing them with fresh ones from the closet, sliding the door over, he fished out a pair of grey jean shorts and a plain white shirt, it was uncharacteristically warm for last September and Philip intended to enjoy it while it lasted. He closed the sliding door before murmuring his freshening spell once again, he would shower when he got home.

Looking back toward the closed bathroom door Philip felt a pang of concern.

Did she really sleep in there all night? He thought.

He slipped into the bathroom to see Ange still in her silk bodes and flower print pants, one booted foot hanging over the edge of the tub. She was steadily snoring, her warm wheat and spice scent filling the room, Philip once again wondered how he missed it before. She had a small stream of drool coming from the corner of her mouth, reminding Philip of when he and Rebecca used to climb into bed with their parents when they were young. Ange's expression was exactly that of Rebecca when she would snuggle back into their dad's chest while he'd press his back to their mother in turn, they'd entangle their little legs before slipping into sleep.