[Yandere Meowscarada x Reader] I'll Make Them All Disappear!

67 | The Blood-Brazen Bull

Cinnamon's concerned face shifts into that of terror. Meowscarada's eyes, still drowned in rage, soften in surprise. You look over the bed railing at the Zoroark, kneeling there below Meowscarada, and your Pokémon hear you say something they never thought you'd say:

"Before I make a decision," you tell the Zoroark, "I want to hear what you have to say—all of it."

Zoroark looks at you like you're mad. Suddenly, all that anger she exerted before fades into a wide-eyed stare, then a smile, and then a laugh. A haunting laugh, the same one you remember crawling in and out of your ears in your dreams, or at least you think they were dreams. Her boisterous laughter draws the attention of the surrounding students and bed-bound Pokémon. They all turn their heads in quick succession, absorbed by the laughter almost the same as you had been.

"Hear what I have to say?" she laughs. "Now that's some good shit right there. Whatcha expecting over there, pussy? Want me to lay down my life story like a fairytale while we sip tea and beat each other off afterwards?" Meowscarada starts to summon something in her paw—a vine to strangle her for talking way out of turn, perhaps—but you stop her with a swift hand gesture. Your eyes meet; hers brimming with anger no civil person would want to cross, not in a million years, yours calm and gathered. Meowscarada disengages.

"I saw something in your eyes, before our fight," you say, looking again at the fox.

You recall a seemingly distant memory, a bare glimpse of Zoroark's face moments before you were cast into the throes of it and it had become a matter of life or death. For a second the memory becomes fuzzy, as though someone threw a blanket of static over your mind's eye. You wait. Gradually this fuzz disperses into clearness and gives way to the unmistakable, foam-crusted mouth of Zoroark when she was still a normal Zoroark, and not whatever ghostly white fur means.

In Zoroark's eyes, there is both longing and an untamed insanity spiraling.

"You sick, perfect FUCKS!" she spouts and runs forward with her mouth snapped open and the foam running down her fur in chunks. "None of you KNOW fear like I do! NONE of you know what it's like to DIE! You were supposed to..."

"It seemed like you wanted something other than my blood on your hands," you say. "Am I pretty close with that assumption?" You can't be for sure if you're on the money or not. Zoroark's eyes aren't offering any easy answers (what were you expecting?) and as more time passes, the greater the weight of eyeballs following you. You look to your side to find the handful of other people still staring.

Mind your business, you want to say, I'm having a moment here, but remember you're in a very public place talking to a trio of Pokémon. Granted, they have kept their volume to a minimum, it doesn't much help; the room is already stark-quiet as one might expect a hospital room to be, save for the shuffling of legs on blankets or the subtle, faraway chirps of machinery outside the room.