Soul Eater

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Chenille smiled, breathing through her mouth to avoid the musty smell cutting through her lungs.

"No, not really."

She twisted in the barstool so that her back was facing her unwelcomed company. How long had he sat there? It felt like hours since he'd planted himself two stools down, stealing stalker-ish glances at her. When he ordered his drink, his chest was puffed out as if he'd just won a boxing championship title.

It was pathetic, really.

He sat there, flailing his stick-like arms while awkwardly bobbing his head to the music. If only he was on beat with the song, it wouldn't be so hard to watch. Maybe if he wasn't so close she wouldn't feel so light-headed. Or was it heavy-headed? Either way, she felt as if her body was increasingly becoming dead weight.

Chenille stole a side glance at the hopeful guy whose name she didn't bother to remember.

"This song's pretty cool." He attempted conversation in a voice that was slightly too deep to go along with the pimples that dominated his face. He probably got pass the bouncer with a fake I.D.

"Look. Just...drop this, for your sake." The dull ache of her limbs was screaming that it was that time of the month again. Or, as of late, that time of the week. Pulling back one of the sleeves of her blouse, silver eyes widened slightly before narrowing. Sure enough, what should have been flawless copper skin was marred by blue.

It wasn't a bruise, more like a...tattoo.

A parasitic tattoo.

Three blue circular markings lined her wrists, forming what could be mistaken as a bracelet; the marks of a soul eater. Her mother had always said it was a blessing...being able to live forever. To Chenille, it seemed more like a curse. It's a terrible thing, having to leech off of others in order to live. But at the moment.. it seemed un-avoidable.

Hesitantly, Chenille shifted to size up the young man. He hardly looked old enough to be club hopping. And by the look of his clothes, he had to have come alone.

Dress shoes and flannels?

No one would want to go to the club with someone who looked like Lumber Jack Joe.

But, she was desperate. So he'd make the perfect candidate. She got up from the barstool, arms burning as she pushed off of the counter before letting them hang loosely along her sides. Feet dragging slightly, she made her way over to the 'unlucky' guy.

"Sorry, didn't mean to blow you off. " Her singsong voice slipped through the thunderous music that reverberated off the club's walls. The stool twisted slightly with a groan as she sat next to him.

"It's just PMS, so cut me some slack. I'm a girl." She said it with a shrug.

Manicured fingers reached up to push a lush lock of brunette hair behind her ear. She gave a cheerful smile, after which, he visibly reddened and pushed his thick-rimmed glasses up the bridged of his nose.

"I-I understand." He was clearly uncomfortable with the topic, so she decided to revert to the basics.

"So... What's your name?"

"Winthrop."

Wow. No comment.

Turned out he could hold a conversation by himself. The words dragged on from there, though she only caught bits and fragments of it. Not that it mattered. No, what mattered was that her vision was steadily becoming dark around the edges and she could no longer move her left foot. That's what happens when you carried the mark of a soul eater.