The disgusting taste of blood made its way down Waylon's throat. It resembled the taste of an old, rusted fence he had been knocked into as a child.
Looking back, public school had not done him particularly well. Apart from Chess, he had not made an effort to speak to a single soul.
Children would laugh at them. Pointing their short, grubby little fingers at their direction as they called them names.
"Why don't they talk?" The children would ask, repeatedly
"We'll just make them talk."
What used to be words of mockery, turned into acts of physical violence. Even then they wouldn't talk. Simply hide from the other children like a pair of scared critters.
His time at the estate had been both short lived, and memorable. He figured someone was forcing his mouth onto something right about now. Why else would he be dreaming about an oddly specific taste? They probably had to knock him out because of how poorly he reacted last time.
That sounds like something the String family would do. Not, that he knew very much about the String family. But from what he did know, he figured it was in his best interest to stay asleep.
Voices started to berate his ears, arguing with one another like a bunch of small children.
"This is not fair." Xavier whined, like he was on the verge of a meltdown.
"Do I need to kill you myself?" Linsey snapped.
Best interest his ass. Maybe it's in his best interest to wake the fuck up and end them both.
"Ga-taa-uuu-ou!" let out a muffled voice, violently choking on the lump of wrist gagging his mouth.
Waylon kept shut almond-colored eyes, pushing the caretaker's wrist away from his mouth before he could open his eyes to see it. Maybe then, it would stop him from puking all of over the place and ending his life right there.
Xavier, Linsey, and the caretaker went silent. So that only the sounds of their anxious breathing could be heard.
How much of that did the amnesiac hear?
Are we going to be the next fools strewn about the lawn?
"...."
Waylon opened his eyes expecting to be met with some grotesque seen often depicted in horror movies.
The west wing looked spotless, with all his homework materials put away. No corpse rests on the floor below him. Just a whiney Xavier out in the doorway, and a Linsey who had been feeding into his bullshit.
A faint look of surprise could be seen within his almond-colored eyes. Waylon made his way to the silver haired man, looking his slender body up and down like some sort of beast.
Throwing his arms around his neck, he smiled. His eyes tainted red, with miniature fangs protruding ever so slightly. A faint blush spread across his cheeks, as happiness made his way through his body.
Waylon could only be described as hypnotic.
Mesmerized, the silver haired man gave in. How, he wanted to grab the man from the waist. To rake his fingers through that almond-colored hair, squeezing it between his fingertips.
No matter how much he desired the young man, nothing will ever come of it. The hatred between the pair will always divide them. It's only a matter of time before his beating heart is carved from his chest and devoured.
"I'm sorry", Xavier wanted to whisper so that only Waylon may hear. He shouldn't have met the young man with such malice. Cause now, he couldn't kiss him. That kiss will only be met with another act of attempted murder.
As if on cue, Waylon's fingernails began to dig into the back of Xavier's neck. Deeper, and deeper until his blue-black blood dripped down his hands, staining the skin.
"Tell me, is anyone in this house human?" Waylon whispers softly as he watches the room disperse.
"You know the answer to that little question, little amnesiac," Xavier responds carefully.
"So Chesslynn and I are the current expirement, while you and the estate study our behaviors like some kind of mad scientist.... So are you trying to see if we lose our minds due to our human upbringing?"
Xavier frowned, his eyes locked onto the young man's.
Waylon smiled as he babbled on, reading the silver haired mans expression perfectly.
"I hate it when I'm right," Waylon admitted, his heart viciously beating with curiosity. "Xavier, do you know why I hate you?"
The silver-haired man averted his gaze, wrapping his pale, white arms around the boy's head.
I don't want to hear it, don't make me hear it, Waylon.
"Whenever you look at me you see someone else."
Xavier's eyes widened, somewhat taken aback. His blue blood dripping down the flesh, and down Waylon's soft white hands.
An intoxicating scent filled the room, it carried a subtle sweetness that drove even the strongest mad. Like a bee attracted to a flower, Waylon stood there his ferocious red eyes fixated on the stream.
Would he go to hell if he sunk his nasty fangs into this man's neck? Certainly so. Only monsters joyfully partake in cannibalism. But he is a monster. Only a fool would deny it.
Nobody here is human. Currently everyone is actively partaking in a game surrounded by death. Waylon's place in hell had been secured the second that human being forced its way down his throat. If his fate had already been decided, then it would be easier to simply give in.
"Out." Waylon commanded coldly, sinking his fang into his own pink lips. The west wing quickly acted as he commanded, promptly throwing everyone out the room with a "subtle" gust of wind.
Human or not, this god-forsaken house seems to be praying for his demise. Soon he'll fall to the level of the others, just another marrinete for the String family to play with.
To win the game and ask for freedom. Failure will result in death; success will likely result in a lifetime worth of madness. To become the predator or stay the pray. Chesslynn, better stay away so that one of them may have a future.