† Blessed are he who speaks the Word.
Characters: likeagoodson & dissentive
Setting/Location: In the kitchen!
Date & Time: Day 15, very very very early morning.
Warnings: sex and magic Blood and...Morrigan?
Summary: Charley never catches a break. Five days after this, his hunger strikes again. Or...yeah, that's it.
He was feeling it again.
Charley stood by the sink in the kitchen, staring at the water he was wasting as it washed down the drain untouched. No one else seemed to be interested in seeking out this particular part of the Caravan at such an early hour, but that knowledge only reassured him a fraction of what he needed. He felt ready to burst; everything, collectively, that had happened to him within the last two weeks was beginning to wear him thin. He no longer felt close to God. Not with the sins he'd committed, his own blasphemous actions. Charley placed a hand under the water as though it could cleanse away the invisible blood there.
Blood. He bit his lip, almost glaring as he curled his fingers into a fist. He was starving.
What few mouthfuls he'd managed to swallow several days ago had done nothing but tide his appetite. And poorly, too. Charley did not have it in him to kill an innocent person to appease his hunger; murder was unbecoming of a man of the cloth. Even taking what he had had broken so many of his own oaths, morals he had once stuck to despite the most drastic of circumstances. He swallowed, using his other hand to wipe at his face. Crying wasn't going to fix this problem. Perhaps if he found some alternate source without resorting to violence or killing-- But there was no one else to turn to. Master was gone, and Hal was too young to understand his predicament.
So, he simply stood there, still and trying not to breathe. If anyone approached - and he hoped they wouldn't - Charley would remain oblivious in order to protect them. Not seeing or smelling might help slow the burn in the pit of his stomach.
Setting/Location: In the kitchen!
Date & Time: Day 15, very very very early morning.
Warnings: sex and magic Blood and...Morrigan?
Summary: Charley never catches a break. Five days after this, his hunger strikes again. Or...yeah, that's it.
He was feeling it again.
Charley stood by the sink in the kitchen, staring at the water he was wasting as it washed down the drain untouched. No one else seemed to be interested in seeking out this particular part of the Caravan at such an early hour, but that knowledge only reassured him a fraction of what he needed. He felt ready to burst; everything, collectively, that had happened to him within the last two weeks was beginning to wear him thin. He no longer felt close to God. Not with the sins he'd committed, his own blasphemous actions. Charley placed a hand under the water as though it could cleanse away the invisible blood there.
Blood. He bit his lip, almost glaring as he curled his fingers into a fist. He was starving.
What few mouthfuls he'd managed to swallow several days ago had done nothing but tide his appetite. And poorly, too. Charley did not have it in him to kill an innocent person to appease his hunger; murder was unbecoming of a man of the cloth. Even taking what he had had broken so many of his own oaths, morals he had once stuck to despite the most drastic of circumstances. He swallowed, using his other hand to wipe at his face. Crying wasn't going to fix this problem. Perhaps if he found some alternate source without resorting to violence or killing-- But there was no one else to turn to. Master was gone, and Hal was too young to understand his predicament.
So, he simply stood there, still and trying not to breathe. If anyone approached - and he hoped they wouldn't - Charley would remain oblivious in order to protect them. Not seeing or smelling might help slow the burn in the pit of his stomach.