Neighbors (closed to DrStein)

Neighbors (closed for DrStein)

One never knows how they will take to solitude until they experience it. Sure there’s always speculation but how can one be sure until the silence descends and the only voice to be heard comes from within. In a society driven by near constant contact, the idea of it seems a novel thing. But there are those who don’t mind the anonymity of a life alone, they crave it. They seek it out and embrace it.

Sombria Guerra was one such being. Father had laughed at her when she told him of her decision to leave the comforts of Home and assured her that when she was “done with her tantrum” he would welcome her back with open arms. “As I always have and always will,” he promised, intentionally reminding her of her past attempts. Her past failures. She spat at his feet, hefted her bag and stormed out of his office to a chorus of gasps from his advisors. Such blatant disrespect would not normally have been tolerated but Sombria was different.

He found her feral and naked, hiding in the barn of a long deserted farm in the old country. Perhaps two human generations ago, Sombria could never be sure of the time. She didn’t remember much of her life before Father found her and made her into a daughter of sorts. She couldn’t speak, reduced to her most primal by a Vampire who didn’t care to see her through the turn. Or the decency to drain her completely. Instead she was left to her own devices, for how long none could be sure, and since she couldn’t tell of her life before Father gave her a new one.

Most importantly, he gave her a name. Sombria, or darkling in his native Portuguese, for her near chocolate skin tone and generally surly demeanor. Guerra for her will to survive and propensity for violence. He taught her to speak, read, and write all the languages he was fluent, including the Ancient Tongue making her one of the few Turnlings who knew the tongue of the Old Ones. It was true, Father had given her a charmed life and all would have been well had she not come across her Maker. Of course she didn’t recall but he reminded her the gory details of her family’s demise The family she couldn’t remember. That didn’t stop her from launching herself at him and ripping his throat out with her bare hands. In a very expensive evening gown no less, right in the middle of one of Father’s clan galas. That night was the first time she ran away and she barely made it a week.

That was nearly 10 years ago, and almost a little more than half as many attempts. And to her they were far from failures. No matter how brief the sabbatical, she returned with a better understanding of what she would need to be completely free from Home. The first step, and the hardest, was to get off fresh blood. Life with Father had blinded her to her Vampiric reality. People weren’t always willing to just allow you to drink they’re blood, not matter how politely you asked. The bagged stuff had been a novelty then, now it was her sole source of nourishment. That was what brought her home that last time. Father had cut off her supply after she had been gone for some months, now she had her own source. Plus a job and a tiny basement apartment in a sort of shady apartment complex on the fringes of the city.

It wasn’t much, barely a studio but it was hers. Truly hers, when she saw it she glamoured the manager into renting it to her exclusively for the foreseeable future. A ratty sofa that had been there when she moved in, a desk and folding chair were her only furniture. The walls were bare and the only appliance that worked in the kitchenette was the refrigerator. The only appliance she needed. Out of spite Sombria only took her prized possessions when she left. Her shoes and her guitar, the rest she left for the little whores who coveted her position in Father’s favor. She had no use for the expensive gowns and jewels. There were no galas in the real world and she was happy for it. Content to sit within her four walls and strum away.

Which is exactly what she was up to at the moment. Her thick hair was loose, looking like a jet black lion’s mane around her head. It wasn’t kinky enough to make an afro but it took some effort to get it to lay down straight so since being on her own Sombria had taken to wearing it as it was. Wild, like her. She didn’t bother getting dressed, sitting Indian style on the sofa with her guitar in lap in a simple white tank top and black boyshorts as she sang her favorite song. “Redemption Song”. The first song she ever learned and she played it every day at least once. Sometimes she simply played the chords over and over again, allowing the melody to soothe her. Other times she added her own verses but they never stood against the original.

Just as she made her way to the second chorus, the hairs on the back of her neck raised. She tried to ignore it, to play through it, but she knew she couldn’t. Reluctantly she lay her guitar down in its spot on the sofa and got up. By then there were heavy footsteps above and her body tensed with every report. Then came the music, loud and aggressive, and it covered the sounds of footfalls but it did nothing to lessen her unease. In the blink of an eye, Sombria got herself dressed and ready for work. She peeked out of her only window and smiled at the setting sun.

“Well that’s my cue,” she mumbled to herself as she headed up her stairs.

To say that Varg was an introvert would be an understatement. He looked at times like he only did three things: work out, smoke dope, and get into fistfights. He lived in one of the garden-level apartments toward the rear of the building and came and went as he pleased. The only ways to know he was in were the presence of his motorcycle in the lot and the sound of heavy metal coming from behind his closed door.

Of course, Varg had his reasons for wanting privacy. Some of it had to do with those injuries people always saw him with. A black eye can take anywhere from a few days to more than a week to heal. If one were to get Varg to stay and chat, they would see his black eye clear up within an hour or two. But since people went days without seeing him, they never noticed.

It also had to do with the fact that Varg kept very irregular hours. He was a night owl through and through and if anyone saw him awake between dawn and noon, which wasn't often, he generally looked exhausted and miserable.

To an extent he didn't want to give more people the chance to see the mark on his arm. At a glance one could mistake it for a tattoo, and most people did. But a closer inspection would reveal that the strange symbol of a crescent moon and claw marks was not in fact a tattoo but a brand. Something that Varg was paradoxically proud of but also didn't want to advertise to those who weren't already in the know.

When you got right down to it, it all came back to the fact that Varg was a werewolf. The first one in the city in over two decades. And there were certain parties who wouldn't be thrilled to hear about that.

Varg had stepped out of his apartment, a joint hanging from his lips, intending to go up to the roof and look at the stars. On clear nights like this it helped him sort out his thoughts. He was wearing his usual beaten-up jeans and biker boots. Since it was a balmy night out he elected to go shirtless. He was young and handsome, though he didn't come across as terribly approachable. His long, dark hair seemed to be streaked with rust even as it was jammed under a ball cap. His lithe torso was marred by the presence of several scars, a few of which looked like they came from... severe injuries.

He heard footsteps coming up but paid it no mind. He doubted whoever it was would get in his way. He didn't realize the smell from the joint was messing up his ability to pick up scents.

It was only after she opened the door and the two of them made eye contact that he realized what she was. Which meant she probably knew what he was. He stopped dead in his tracks and just stared at her a moment. "God damn it..." he grumbled, his voice a low, soft-spoken growl.

She cringed as she heard his door open. It had been almost a month and they had yet to cross paths and she had hoped they never would. The day she moved in she felt his presence, it was faint but she knew the goosebumps that ran along her dark skin weren't from a recent visit. This was were he lived, and right above her no less, but she figured what better way to stick it to father and the clan than to share her solitude with the mongrels they so despised.

"That's stating the obvious, don't you think," she said with a smirk and a wink, trying to keep things light. To make it clear that her presence in the building had nothing to do with his. Sombria didn't wait to see his reaction and gave him wide berth as she passed him to leave the lobby.

Out on the street, she put on her aviator shades and headed for the metro. It was a quick walk, maybe five minutes but it still annoyed her not to be able to use her enhanced speed. It was one of the rules she gave herself after her second escape. If she wanted to live in their world she had to do her best to live like them. That meant no putting on hyper speed to catch her train when she ran a little late leaving her apartment or using her inhuman strength to move boxes at work. She couldn't shake the glamour though but she figured that was no different than a human woman using her appearance to get what she wanted.

Sombria knew what she looked like, how well she was built. At 5'9" her 170 lbs were almost perfectly proportioned on her hourglass frame. Her breasts, full and ample, overflowed the hands of most men. She never wore a bra so Sombria couldn't say what size but she had been told they defy gravity. Her hips were round, her ass filled out a pair of pants like a hip hop video model. Unlike others of her species, her body was soft, her muscles taught but not well defined. Outwardly she was just a well built woman on her way to her third shift security job at the local clinic. None were the wiser.

Except him.

Varg watched her go with his dark eyes briefly flashing yellow. He resumed his trip up to the roof, but now he was feeling irritable. The damn leech could have been a rogue from the larger court. Or she could have been a scout or spy. It would only be the second time he'd bumped into one of those, but the possibility was there.

He sat on the edge of the roof getting stoned and thinking about what to do now. This building would be an unbelievably shitty place to start a fight and she probably knew that as well as he did. So the threat of violence remained unlikely. At least for the time being. Just in case Varg mentally ran through his planned escape routes he developed in case of emergency.

He stared up at the stars for a couple of hours until the munchies settled in and he went back to his apartment. He threw a couple of cheap hot dogs onto a George Foreman grill and ate them sans buns and took stock of his apartment. To say that it was spartan would be kind. He lived simply. Little furniture, few electronics, and most of it easy to pack up and leave with. Unless he ever got a pack started, Varg had no illusions that this would be a permanent residence. This was only the latest in a series.

He put on a Candlemass CD and leaned back to listen and wait for the vampire to return. When she did, they were going to have to establish some ground rules.

The encounter with the dog the night before stuck with her through her entire shift. This could be trouble, but she didn't want it to be. Sombria liked her place, liked the building full of people too busy to give their neighbors a second look. There had to be a way for them to coexist comfortably. They would have to talk, she thought, lay their intention on the table. She had to let him know that his secret was safe with her as long as he didn't give her any trouble. If civil discussion didn't work she was more than willing to show him the trophies she'd acquired from puppies like him who had misjudged her. Perhaps she need only tell him her name, Father had told her that her exploits during the most recent extermination had been recorded in the histories of both species.

She laughed to herself as she headed down the stairs from the Metro platform. "If it's peace I want, best not mention the blood of his brothers on my hands." It was a couple hours before dawn when she finally got to her building and she could feel him as she approached. He must have been watching her and normally that would have made her show off, but she wasn't that Vampire anymore. Instead she continued at the snail-like pace of humanity, one foot in front of the other until she got to their doors. She stood there a moment, contemplated knocking, then laughed.

"He wouldn't invite me in, even if I asked nicely," she thought before she set key to her own door. He would come to her, with war or for peace, either way Sombria Guerra would be ready.

He heard her come in. Heard her talk to herself. There was little that could get past Varg's senses. He got up to go talk to her when he heard her heading back toward her own apartment on the next floor down. He muttered a light sting of profanity and put on a shirt, Megadeth - Rust in Peace, and stalked down to see her.

He stood in front of her door and knocked. His hands were in his pockets and there appeared be a little bit of a slouch in his stance but he was like a coiled spring. If she started trouble, he would finish it. All the same, Varg decided not to inform her right off the bat that his kill count was in the double digits. As much as he favored the direct approach, this was not one of those times.

She thought she should feed. Though she wasn't hungry, being freshly sated had always made her more agreeable. In the event that he did come to her door and things got out of hand, Sombria thought a full belly might be the difference between a civilized debate and a bloodbath. She pulled off her powder blue polyblend after only undoing the first two buttons and hung it over the back of the chair before she got a fresh bag from the fridge.

Even though she was full, there was always a bit a frenzy involved with a feed and she was tired of explaining the little red flecks on her uniform to her boss. Still in her cargo pants and work boots, Sombria stood in front of the fridge and let loose the reins that held back the animal within. Her teeth came down just as she brought the bag to her lips and she moaned at that first taste. AB-, her favorite type and the hardest for her to come by, she figured she'd treat herself to the good stuff before things got ugly.

knock knock knock

It would have started her had she not heard his heavy footfalls move to his door, or the slam that followed. Had it been anyone else she would have set her appearance back to humanoid but she figured why keep up a charade that had already collapsed. With the bag still in her maw, Sombria sped up the stairs and open the door.

"Fancy meeting you here," she mumbled around the bag and stepped back, silently inviting him inside.

Varg's response was to lift a brow. "Is that supposed to intimidate me?" He looked into her apartment and sniffed. No sign of trouble. She probably didn't want this going south either. They both had a lot to lose if any of the humans living here decided to get the cops involved. She invited him in, and he followed. His eyes continually surveyed the room taking in every minute detail. In his head he was looking for weapons, traps, escape routes... It was strictly habit at this point.

"Is that bag in your teeth just for show? Or are you trying to keep a low profile like me?"

She laughed quietly at his question. "If I wanted you dead dog, it would be done already," she said with a smile that came off a bit menacing with the blood dripping from her teeth. She licked her lips clean then daintily wiped her face with the bottom of her tank top, showing him her soft belly. "Have a seat. I'd offer you something but I don't keep kibble around. Its been some years since I kept a pet and have no interest in the responsibility."

Again she smiled, in the hopes that he would let his hackles down and relax. His eyes shifting around the room were keeping her on edge. Reluctantly, she pulled the chair over opposite the sofa and grabbed her guitar. She looked at him and nodded to the couch before she started to strum the opening to Painted Black.

"Sit...please," she added the last with a smirk hoping to lessen the command she heard in her tone.

Varg said nothing to her remarks at first. When she told him to sit, he shook his head. "No, please keep talking. Sooner or later you'll think of one I haven't heard before." Since she chose to open with bravado, he might need to show his teeth. Every vampire he'd met had a superiority complex but Varg was just as good at bullshitting and bluffing his way out of (or sometimes through) things as any other creature of the night. One of the advantages of being a man of few words was it made it harder to get a read on him.

He continued idly pacing around as his eyes scanned the room. Varg had been on his own for a while now. Though for all practical purposes, he may as well have been on his own since he was 8. He didn't trust easy among people who weren't hostile to him and now he had a damn vampire living right below him. "I, uh... couldn't help but notice you didn't answer my question. That doesn't seem very neighborly."

She kept playing, her eyes on him pacing the floor. She smiled again, this one genuine, and said, "I knew this was coming and...well...let's just say I'm not the sweetest on an empty stomach. I figured you wouldn't mind me snacking a little." Sombria looked up at him, and thought this might be easier if she just put her cards on the table. No matter who they thought they were, both were probably underestimating the other. She finished the riff with a slap of the guitar strings and set the instrument down beside her.

"Look, I don't want any trouble. I'm here trying to live just like you. I'm not interested in politics or any of the other bullshit between mine and yours. Mine haven't done me any good and I'm guess yours are about the same, else neither of us would be here. I'm not looking for a friend, or an ally even. You don't have to talk to me or even acknowledge my presence. I just want to be," she said finally. She looked at him again and took a moment to insure her appearance was back to normal before she took a tentative step towards him.

With her hand extended, she smiled and said, "Sombria Guerra...Bri if you feel so inclined, but only call me Guerra if there's blood to be spilled. Now, how's that for neighborly?"

Varg look at her hand then at her eyes. He was weighing in his head whether or not to believe her. He decided on abiding skepticism. He would go along with this, but the first sign of trouble and all bets were off. He took her hand. "Varg Blackstone, son of Donovan Blackstone." Most werewolves still held a sense of formality around their bloodlines. Especially Varg's family, such as it was. He noted the strength of her grip. In brute force they'd probably be evenly matched. And he always had his secret as a tactical advantage.

"So that we're clear, everything you've heard about how territorial my people are is true." He paused at that to pull a joint out of his pocket and light up. He offered it to Sombria. "I'd like to be left alone too. I had to kill four other things that go bump in the night just to setup here. Don't worry, no one you'd know. Or miss. I'd like to avoid anymore of that for a while."

"Blackstone, huh," she repeated with an appraising look. She chose not to dwell on that, instead accepted the offered joint and put it immediately to her lips. After two quick hits she passed it back. He didn't strike her as the pothead type, having figured that the aroma was coming from a different tenant, she was glad she was mistaken.

Sombría laughed at his last remark, heartily. But she decided it would be best to leave her boastful ways for a later encounter. Bringing out her heavy silver plated mace might have ruined the report they were developing, especially if he counted the amount of notches it held. She herself had lost track of the tally at 128 and there were at least double that now.

"Trust me when I tell you Varg, just because they have teeth and we share clan marking don't make them kin to me." To further her point, Sombria pulled the simple silk string she wore around her neck up out of her tank top so he could see the four sets of incisors that hung from them. "These made me," she said unable to keep her appearance tame with the feelings the thought of him brought. "These thought to test me and these last ones were just to prove I could. You don't have to worry about me seeking any retribution for any trophies of yours."

Varg smirked as he exhaled a hit through his nose. "Vampires still keep trophies? Or is this retro now?" She was certainly giving him reason to believe she'd gone rogue. All the same he'd keep an eye out for trouble. Still, he'd play along for now. He sat where she had directed him to before.

"My people? Trophies are shit you gotta carry. It's the douchiest fucking way of marking territory." Where ever Varg was, he took up a lot of space. Whether it was the confident way he let himself sink into her couch, or the fact that people in public gave him all the personal space he wanted, he took up a lot of room. "We prefer mementos that stick with you. Something you never take off."

Finally, she thought as he sat, made himself comfortable in the middle of her couch. "Retro," she repeated with a laugh before she hit the joint for the last time. She put the roach out on her bare hand and put it on the table. She thought a moment and went to the closet.

"Ehhh, to each their own, " she said half inside. " The teeth are for my own personal satisfaction. Now this is a trophy, " she said of her mace as she lay it preciously across her lap. " Douchie it may be but memories fail me sometimes without something tangible to attach them to," she said as she ran her hand over the weapon's shaft, a far away look in her eye. "I show you this not as a threat but to give you a deeper insight into who I am...And show you that I'm well past what you might call retro. An antique maybe?" The last she added with a smirk as she lay the mace down on the floor between them.

Varg looked down at the mace, then back at her with a smirk. "Getting vampires to talk is easy. The slightest hint that someone thinks they're your equal, and you have to show your hand." He took out another joint and lit it up. "My honest opinion: if we get into it, neither one of us would walk away from it pretty... But I believe you when you say that's not why you're here."

She was powerful, no doubt. She had more experience than him as well. But he knew how vampire politics worked. Varg had a firm belief that it wasn't the number of fights you got into, it was the quality of them. Go big or go home. Even for a werewolf, he sported an unusually high number of scars for his age. He was used to taking on even opponents that should have been over his head. If he were to fight her, the odds of surviving were about a 50/50 split. And if he won, he'd have to flee as he wouldn't be in much shape to defend himself for at least a week. Not worth it.

"And people think I'm a cocky asshole," she said with a laugh. Whether it was from the chronic or her company she wasn't sure, but Sombría was glad when he lit his second joint. It told more of his comfort than his demeanor did and she was glad for it. Again he passed it to her and she took her tokes, silently contemplating how well this was going. Almost too well but she would keep that to herself.

She stood with a yawn and scooped up the mace to put it back on its shelf. While she was up she went about making herself more comfortable. This had been the longest time Sombría had been clothed in her place and it had become unbearable. All in one motion she kicked off her boots and slipped out her heavy cargo pants. Their kinds weren't plagued by the modesty of humans so she figured the sight of her pantied ass wouldn't make him any less comfortable than he was already. After sliding on a pair of loose basketball shorts she went to the sink and pour him glass of water. She grabbed herself another bag, plain old A this time, went back to the couch.

"I don't know about you but I still get cotton mouth... And the munchies, " she added with a lazy giggle as squeezed into the spot next to him.

If she thought he was kidding, Varg wouldn't stop her. He preferred people to underestimate him. He was a little surprised by her sudden coziness around him, but he didn't comment and figured she probably feels secure in her position at the moment. That big-ass mace of hers wasn't as big of a threat as she thought it was, but she had no reason to think otherwise. Few did. Getting hit with that fucker would still be problematic, so avoidance was a better choice all together.

"If I get the munchies bad enough, I know a butcher who owes me." Varg got by mostly on favors. The butcher, the diner, the head shop the pawnshop, Pavel... What few friends he had were people he had done a solid for at some point. Usually through a generous application of savage violence. There weren't a whole lot of things Varg did well. But he enjoyed them. "Honestly, didn't know this stuff affected you guys."

"I'm sure there's a lot of things you didn't know about us," Sombria said midfeed. Blood trickled out of the corners of her mouth, her canines elongated, cheekbones flared out making them more pronounced. "The Sanguine Propaganda machine is an amazing thing Varg. The things I could tell you," she said with a laugh and went back to finish the bag. Again she wiped her face with her tank top when she was done licking her chops. She lay back against the back of the couch and put her bare feet up on the chair in front of her.

Overindulging had always made her lazy and all the chronic did was make it worse. She could tell morning had come, she felt herself slowed down even more. But she dare not dose in the presence of the wolf, no matter how "friendly" he seemed. Friendly for a wolf anyway, she thought as she looked him over.

"Tell me Varg of this butcher..."

Varg looked over at her and regretted mentioning the butcher. Still, anything that would keep her from snacking on a tenant of the building... "The Prime Cut over on Beacon Street. The owner, Jens, provides types like myself with food that's otherwise pretty hard to come by. He never names names and he never asks questions." Varg finished the last of the doobie and snuffed out the roach on his tongue. "Only rule being that he doesn't deal in anything that would get the cops involved."

Varg slowly stood up and stretched. "If you want to do business with him, call and leave a message. Use the phrase, 'I haven't had a good meal in an eternity.' He'll be in touch."

Sombria noted his reluctance as he stood and she knew it wasn't about him leaving. He didn't want to share his connections with her, but he had and Sombria found that almost admirable of the wolf. She would have to think of a neighborly way to show her gratitude, she thought as she followed him to her door. Hungry eyes roamed his muscled back and shoulder and Sombria laughed quietly to herself. She found herself wondering what might be hidden under that ratty t-shirt. Judging by his surly demeanor she knew there were more than a few scars marring his powerful frame, and because she didn't have any of her own, Sombria had always had a certain interest in them.

With her hand on the nob, she fixed him with another smile as she opened the door. It was genuine, almost sweet if a predator could be sweet. "Got it...good meal...eternity. Thank you Varg I appreciate you sharing. Really, I do. I owe you one," she said and found herself glancing down at his crotch unconsciously. "Don't be a stranger...and I promise, your secret is safe with me." The last she added with an extended hand, hoping he might take it.

Varg glanced down at her hand then back to her face. He took her hand as offered, but it was clear that he was still keeping a certain distance. It wasn't even personal. Just how he was used to doing things. He kept everyone at arm's length except for a few people. The ones who had earned his trust. Being orphaned at a young age would cause anybody some trauma. The circumstances surrounding Varg's twist of fate made it all the more painful.

"See ya," he said simply, a left as quietly as he had entered. He stalked back to his apartment where he immediately put on a Led Zeppelin CD and packed his bong. It was an interesting night to say the least. He'd be up for another hour and he wanted to just process everything that had happened in the last few hours before he got some sleep.

It was dusk by the time Sombria woke up and she immediately called the number Varg gave her. No one picked up but she left the message as instructed. She decided to forgo her feeding after overindulging the night before. She didn't want to risk slipping back into the savagery of her earlier days. Being a vampire wasn't that much unlike being an addict, the only difference was that if she stopped using she stopped living and that wasn't something she was interested in. The best she could do was control it.

It wasn't long before she got a callback from Jens and on the phone he made Varg seem like a social butterfly but she understood he's reason as she understood Varg's. Like she understood her own. If he wasn't a wolf she would have treated him as she had everyone else in the building, with civil indifference.

She dress quickly in skinny jeans and loose linen tank top, all black of course, and her favorite pair of boots. The were flat, knee high, lace ups with 1 inch spikes running up the back and a length of chain around the ankle that jingled with each step. They were bad ass to say the least and looked hot with her biker jacket which she slipped on as she headed out.

Sombria took to the roof. It was the fastest way for her to travel, short of flying but she wasn't in the mood for that so she frog hopped her way across town to the butcher shop. As promised the backdoor was open but Jens looked shocked to see her so soon but he didn't ask questions. "Tell Varg we're square," he said as he thrust the bulky brown paper bag at her. "But if you'll be doing his pick ups then he needs to order more often." To that she laughed and headed out the way she came.

She had to move quickly. So much blood, even if it was animal it still had the same effect. Sombria was barely keeping her teeth down as she made her way down from the roof to the ground floor. Her head down, she pounded on Varg's door hoping her could hear it over the music. She laughed to herself when it occurred to her that she probably didn't need to announce herself. He probably smelled her through the door.

Varg wasn't expecting her to show up at his door. He was wearing the usual beat up jeans, band T-shirt, and biker boots. His long hair was pulled into a loose ponytail and he slipped on his denim jacket when he picked up her scent. Candlemass was on the stereo, which he swtiched off before answering the door. "You need something?" Immediately after he asked the smell of the blood and... Jens as well reached his nose and he glanced down at the bag in her hand.

"I figured since I was going I'd pick you up something," Sombria said in a rush. There was nobody else in the hall but one could never be too careful. She tried to pull the animal inside her back but I was tough going. She should have fed before she left. "I don't know what's in there. I just told him to give me what you liked, so there you go," she said as she shoved the bag at him and once it was in his arms Sombria reached in and grabbed one of the tall black quart sized containers. "There's another one of these in there for me. Mind hanging onto it for a few...Thanks," she said and left before he could respond.

She burst through her own door and didn't even make it down the stairs. Sombria flop down on the top step, her back to the door, and let herself go. She didn't even take the lid off, simply pierced through it with her elongated canine's and slurped noisily through the holes they made.