nookiepowered | City of Mumblemumble, Somewhere Near the U.S./Can Border, Whothehellknows Which Side, 4 Weeks Ago

It had been three days since her last feed. Well, three days, four hours, sixteen minutes and twenty-five seconds, but who was counting? Aside from Bo, who supposed she should feel proud of herself; she hadn't killed anybody for as long as it takes a fast rocket to get to the moon. One small step for Bo, one giant leap for whateverthehellshewas-kind.

It didn't feel like a giant leap, not in this dark, rainy alley, with the silent hunger in the pit of her stomach that was louder than any growl she'd ever heard when she'd gone too long without the regular, human kind of food. When the skinny little tweaker came up behind her with a gun in his hand, three days suddenly seemed like forever.

She gave him one chance: she turned and tried to run, but the end of the alley was blocked off by a barb-topped fence.

"You got nowhere to go, lady; just hand over the c-cash."

What cash? She barely had enough in her pocket to buy lunch at a diner if she stiffed on the tip. Then again, if a free lunch was going to shove itself down her throat at gunpoint... Bo took her hands off the chain-links and turned around, walking steadily back to him, clearly empty hand held out.

"What're you doin'?" he asked, wide-eyed and jittery as she reached up to cup his wet, unshaven cheek, slow and almost gentle.

"All I need is a kiss." The gun wavered a bit in his hand, whether from DTs or just shock at the ridiculousness of her statement, Bo couldn't tell and didn't care. "How 'bout you stop me if you don't like it?"

He didn't stop her.

His mouth tasted of cheap whiskey, vomit, and she didn't even want to know, but when his eyes turned to golf balls and his pupils shrank to dots, when the gun clattered harmlessly to the concrete, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the rich, hot flow of energy from his body into hers, the air between their mouths glowing an eerie, smoky blue, as did Bo's normally-brown eyes. Halfway to the moon and back, she couldn't have stopped if she wanted to.

Then it was over, and the clatter to the ground was more of a dull, meaty thump. She stooped to pick up the gun – no sense letting it go to waste – then stepped across the cold, smiling body to walk out of the alley.

**

Two hours later, with the beefcake bartender at the nearest watering hole twisting and swaying into two beefcake bartenders, she was regretting that she hadn't waited longer out of more than just guilt. You take what you can get, but I always forget how much druggies turn my insides out; it's like eating rotten fruit. If she didn't get something to tide her over, just a taste, she was going to walk into a moving car, or drain some kindergartener in the middle of a crosswalk. There was a reason Bo didn't drink much and didn't drug at all; she was enough of a monster when she was under what passed for control. Out of it...

Was something she would be in a few more minutes if she didn't top off or just get the hell out of here. She leaned on the counter for a moment, her vision swimming, wondering if the bartender was strong enough to push her off before she hurt him. Much.

Jesus, Bo. What the hell are you thinking? These people are innocents. Walk away. Or stumble away, whatever worked, as long as it got her out the door.

And into the street, where a guy in a business suit leaned against a mid-grade sports car and she could do this, she could walk past him, she could... hear his heart beating faster feel the heat rise in his body see the smile on his face as the girl in black leather stumbled into his arms and...

This time it wasn't some low-life who'd pulled a gun on her; all she wanted to do was let go, but she couldn't. Not until the blue rush of sexual energy washed the drug fog from her mind, and the suited body slumped back against the car, empty eyes as wide as his frozen smile.

One minute, twenty seconds since she'd sucked down her second victim of the day – a personal record, but who was counting? Only Bo.

Whatever I am, I can't keep doing this forever.

[OOC: Cut for NPC death, as you get when you feed off the living. Folded, spindled, but not terribly mutilated from Lost Girl Motion Comic 1: Feed. NFI/NFB, obviously, but OOC is fiiine!]