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Harriet was getting tired of sleeping on the couch.
It was a fine couch, really. Especially since she'd picked it up on sale. Finding a nice couch in her price range had been hard, but her shitty apartment had come unfurnished. Whoever had lived in this tiny space before had decided to take everything with them when they moved, and she didn’t blame them. She would have done the same.
But… the couch was just that. Fine . Not wonderful. Not even great. Certainly not meant to be slept on. There were lumps in the cushions that pressed into her back, the springs in the box creaked every time she rolled over, and after about a week of sleeping on it, she'd begun to wake up sore.
Sore is better than dead , her mind supplied, glancing at the door to her bedroom. It was shut tight. Sure, they'd hung up a sheet in there, but…
Images of bloody teeth and wicked claws flashed through her mind, the memories of blood and viscera that had dripped off of them crawling into her thoughts like worms.
A sheet wouldn't protect her from that.
In all honesty, the wooden door currently separating them probably wasn't much better, considering why there was a sheet hung up in the first place. But… at least she could hear it if the monster decided to try and break through. Maybe it would give her time to defend herself. Defend Sophie.
Her gaze wandered over to the upturned table beside her, which had been repurposed into a pillow fort. Sophie had found the idea of stripping her bed to build it much more exciting than simply dragging the bed into the living room, and Harriet had been quick to acquiesce. The girl deserved any semblance of fun she could squeeze from this dire situation.
Harriet's thoughts were interrupted by a muffled thump .
Noises from outside were normal. But recently, noises from inside the building had grown rare as Sam and his… companions diligently cleared off what he had considered threats. And this noise hadn't come from the hall- it had come from the room over.
Jeanne's apartment.
She held her breath as she reached for the machete she now kept next to her couch, listening for further movement.
Silence, for a moment. And then another soft couple of thumps . Silence- and then again. The sound came in clusters.
Something in the other room was moving.
That was… fine. Something lived there, obviously. She'd heard Jeanne moving around before, now that there was so little separating them. But she didn't have legs- not that she'd seen, anyway. Most noises were the scraping of her teeth on the wood, the scrabbling of claws. Thumping was new.
There was no way in hell she was going back to sleep now. The fingers gripping her weapon twitched, heartbeat picking up in her chest. She weighed her options.
There was a good chance it was nothing. But that wasn't a chance she was willing to take, for the risk. Sleep was out of the picture. She could also simply continue to lay here, rest, stay up through the night.
…Or she could investigate.
If it was a threat, she could nip it in the bud. Warn Sophie. Maybe go get Sam. Even at this hour, she knew someone in that damn apartment would be awake. If it was Jeanne, she probably wouldn't be able to do it alone.
If it truly turned out to be nothing… then , perhaps, she could sleep. Being rested was important, with so many dangers about.
And so her mind was decided.
As quietly as she could, she slid off of the couch, bare feet meeting the hardwood. She was decent enough, tank top and long pajama pants, that she wasn't going to bother changing. She was only going to peek, anyways.
She didn’t turn back as she crept across the room, avoiding all of the boards that creaked by heart. She sent up a thankful prayer that her bedroom door didn't.
Thump thump.
It was louder now, with no doors between them- nothing but a few thin curtains of cloth.
There was also a faint… smell, permeating the room, that hadn't made it past her bedroom door. It smelled like a sketchy butchery, or perhaps expired fish. Heavy with copper and rot and salt.
She stepped forward, machete held out in front of her. She used it to nudge the cloth out of the way and create a gap large enough for her to peer into.
The first thing that Harriet noticed was the light. Not in the room, no, but spilling in from the other side of a sheet to her right.
The rest of the room, like her own, was dark. It was also easily twice the size of hers, and Harriet briefly wondered what sort of job she’d had to make the money for the largest, nicest apartment in the building.
Or… formerly nicest. Now the walls were torn and splintered, stained with smears of long-dried blood.
There was a shuffling just on the other side of the lit curtain. Whatever was in there was close enough to touch, should she enter that way. Opening that one would be foolish.
Deep breath in. She steeled her nerves, and tiptoed to the other one- the dark entrance, to the left. Perhaps this way she could observe what she saw before charging in. Forcing the tremble out of her hands, she parted the sheet with her blade.
The smell only intensified. Rotten, salty, metallic.
The apartment before her was, for the most part, as dark as the bedroom had been. She could make out the familiar shimmering coils of her neighbor's new body, reflecting the faint yellow glow from around the corner.
The coil nearest to her twitched. She heard a new sound: a breath, ragged and pained, from the same direction of the light.
There was a squelch. The sound of something sinking into flesh.
The frills lining the coil before her curled and rippled, and she watched the chain reaction with rapt attention as it traveled up and back, towards… some mass, sitting in the center of Jeanne's apartment.
Thump thump thump.
Legs. It was legs. That… mass, now that she was paying attention, was covered in them. They twitched and spasmed when the ripple had hit them, most kicking out in the air, but a few smacking against the wooden floor, thumping. Every other coil responded in time, shifting, tensing.
That… didn't answer anything. She hadn't known what to expect, but she'd been hoping for some sort of answer with just a peek. But this only raised more questions. Especially now that it wasn’t just the thumping. Something in here was doing something beyond just moving .
Her mind conjured the worst- Jeanne's head, clutching another victim in its claws, bloody and hungry. Would it be someone she knew? Perhaps Lyle, from across the way? Eugene, heading out for supplies? They both seemed like nice men, so imagining them chewed up in the maw of a beast…
A choked sob came from her right.
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears as she clutched her weapon tighter. For a moment, she contemplated turning away. Going to fetch help, or go back to bed- anything that wasn’t risking her hide by poking her nose where it didn’t belong.
But she didn’t have the evidence yet, to convince Sam, who still so wholly insisted that the monster she was housed with was safe . And she wouldn’t be able to lie back down in good faith when it sounded like someone was being eaten alive a room over. She had to make a decision with what she was given, and as of now, it seemed like the only path was forward.
And so she pushed the sheet aside entirely and stepped into the hydra's lair.
She didn't need to go far.
Two long necks snaked across the floor and towards the source of the wet noises- what she presumed to be the kitchen. The counter obscured most of her view, but she could see Jeanne's head peeking above it, greasy hair dangling from the coiled tip of her body, fangs glinting from beneath. She was facing away from Harriet, but moving, doing… something. She jerked, and there was another sound, like that of tearing flesh. It made Harriet’s skin crawl.
She stepped carefully forward, trying to get a closer look. Was Jeanne… eating someone? Who would have come in here in the first place, besides her? God above, it had better not be Sam- the man was too trusting. She knew, she knew -
There was another sniffle and sob, and this time, Jeanne's head shook with it.
Harriet stopped.
She swallowed. Her throat felt dry. She could strike now- the neck beside her feet was just laying unguarded. She could rear back, stab at it before the beast even realized she was here.
Harriet took a deep breath.
“...Jeanne?”
Her voice came out as more of a croak than she would like. The monster's head jerked up, finally turning to face her, eyes wide and red and dripping with tears- not blood. She startled, reeling back, gaze darting between her face and the machete in her grip.
Scared. But not mindless, like Harriet had feared. Like she’d seen with so many others in the past few weeks.
“Harriet?” She choked out, gripping something closer to her chest- a knife, Harriet realized. A pocket knife. It was opened, and absolutely covered in… something. Jeanne’s entire front was smeared with something wet, now that she looked closer. She just hadn't noticed because it, like her body, was blue.
“...You were making noise,” Harriet finally responded, taking a moment to choose her words. “I came to see what was happening.”
“Oh!” Jeanne shifted, and Harriet flinched as the tentacle by her feet shifted with her. “Oh, it's- it's nothing, really, I… I'm just. Im sorry I woke you up, I'll try and keep it down, I…”
“You didn't. I was already awake.” Harriet frowned. She wasn't here to talk about herself. “Youre crying. It doesn't look like nothing.”
Jeanne visibly winced at the words, shrinking back and wringing her clawed hands.
“I… I'll be okay. It's just…” her many eyes fell to the floor, to whatever was just out of Harriet's sight behind the counter.
“...A bit of a me problem.”
Jeanne had clearly intended for it to be dismissive- but Harriet's hackles raised. Had the monster sprouted new heads? Had they come back somehow? She adjusted the grip on her machete, and then marched forward, around the edge of the counter. Jeanne sputtered, half-heartedly protesting even as she shrank away.
What she saw there on the floor nearly made her gag.
Another head- eerily similar to the one that was speaking to her, babbling apologies and half baked excuses- lay on the floor, limp and putrid. Its flesh had started to discolor like bad meat, old bruises blossoming across its skin even after death. Chalky, dark blue lumps cloyed around bulletholes, and nearly black remnants of human blood was crusted around its mouth and eyes, which were blank and clouded like a dead fish. It was immediately obvious that this was what she was smelling earlier.
But it was the fresh wounds that caught her eye.
The same sky blue liquid that coated Jeanne's hands was pooling on the kitchen floor, sluggishly leaking from a rugged gash roughly a foot up from where dead flesh met living. It looked like someone had taken a steak knife to a piece of meat much too big for it-
Oh. Her gaze flicked back to the pocket knife still clutched in her neighbor's trembling hands.
That was her blood.
“Its- its not what it looks like- or… I mean, maybe it is? It… I…” Jeanne fumbled over her words, a fresh wave of tears gathering in her already reddened eyes. Her gaze flicked between the corpse and Harriet. “Theyre… they're rotting.”
“I see.” Harriet briefly wonders back to the conversation she'd had with Sam. How he said he'd killed all of the aggressive heads… what, almost a week ago, now? She hadn't considered the implications. And judging by Jeanne's rough butchery of herself, neither had she.
“So you're trying to cut yourself up with that?” she pointed her machete at the sticky pocket knife in Jeanne's hands. She tried to ignore the twinge of guilt as her neighbor flinched backwards and away from the blade.
“...In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best idea. It's, uhm. Not working so well. It's a bit hard to… take a knife to yourself, you know?” She fidgeted with her many hands. “But I don't have anything better for the job. And I… I can't ask Sam to do this for me, he… he's busy enough. I already owe him so much…”
Harriet paused, keeping her blade raised. She had to continuously remind herself that this thing- this beast - was her neighbor.
The creature before her had been responsible for the deaths of many other humans. Harriet had seen it. Smelled it. The sounds of their screams and tearing viscera still haunted her, and probably would for a long time.
She was huge, and dangerous, and clearly more than capable of breaking into her apartment and putting a swift end to her and her daughter. The only thing she really had left that truly mattered, to her.
But… she'd also warned Sophie away when she tried to find help, preventing her from meeting the same fate as the others Harriet had seen. She’d helped them fix the damage to their apartment as best she could. She’d offered nearly everything she had, as if to make up for the damage she'd caused, to atone for the damage she could cause.
And even now, she hid herself away as she rotted from the inside out, cutting herself apart so as not to bother. Even if she wasn't very good at it.
Harriet narrowed her eyes.
“This would probably work better, wouldn't it?” She finally lifted her weapon, turning it over in her hand, light glinting off the blade. “If we each pushed down on one end hard enough, it would work like a guillotine.”
Jeanne blinked. It started at the base of her head and rippled upwards.
“You- you're offering to help?”
“I don't want the smell getting into my apartment.”
“Oh. I mean- yeah. Of course. I… Thank you. I don't- I don't think I could do this on my own. I can't even get through the first one, and… god, there's so much blood.” Jeanne looked down at her own hands, smeared with blue.
“That'll be a problem too, won't it…” Harriet mused, leaning against the counter.
Jeanne blinked again. “Oh god, I didn't even think about blood loss.”
“Clearly.” Harriet frowned. They'd need to staunch the bleeding somehow. “How many do you need cut off?”
“...Eleven.”
“Criss.” Harriet sighed, running a hand through her locs. The edges of Jeanne's mouth tightened in what she thought was a frown. She still clutched onto that little blade of hers like a lifeline.
There's a long pause. Harriet was beginning to realize the situation was going to be much more complicated than originally thought. And judging by Jeanne’s silence, so was she.
“...do you have a cast iron?”
“What?” Jeanne looks up. “I mean, yes, but…”
“Get it out for me.” Harriet stepped over the rotten head to approach the stove. It's not the same model as hers, but it works just the same. She clicked on the front burner to high, listening to the stuttering of the ignition before it finally takes. “We can cauterize them after they're cut off.”
Jeanne opened her mouth- and then closed it, slithering over to her cabinets. “...Right. That's… a good idea. Have you done it before…?”
“No.” Harriet admitted. “But I used to watch survival dramas. We don't have enough gauze to stop up all your… heads, once they're cut off. And they do need to come off. They're already rotting.” She wrinkled her nose, taking the pan as it was passed to her, ignoring the blood on the handle. She was about to get much more on her. “Maybe if we'd started earlier we could do one a day, but it's too late for that. Do you have salt?”
“I… have a shaker? Oh- I have a box in the uh… top cabinet, there.” Jeanne points. “What's the salt for..?”
“Disinfecting the wound. We don't have enough disinfectant for all eleven, but this is better than nothing.” She turned to the sink, now, turning on the tap and letting it run until it's hot while she grabs the box.
Jeanne's mouth opened- and then closed, as if thinking better of her response. Harriet doesn’t offer anything to fill the space left by her silence. She had nothing to say to the other. Frankly, she doesn’t even know what to say to herself. Stepping back and taking a moment to process her own actions left her feeling… strange. She had nothing to gain here from helping. She was only putting herself at risk. Strictly speaking, she would be better off if there wasn’t a tangle of fangs and claws only a room over.
And yet… here she was.
To put it plainly, she had acted on instinct. What instinct, she didn’t know. And what that said about her, she didn’t want to know.
So she focused on her actions. She focused on the way the salt dissolved into the water, the feeling of it lapping at her hand while she stirred. She focused on the budding headache pushing its way into her head, small enough still to ignore if she wanted to. She focused on anything but the person behind her, and the thoughts picking on the edge of her mind.
There's a palpable tension, thick in the air like the smell of the rotting corpse beside them.
Jeanne picked at the drying blood on her hands, growing tacky in the air. She shifted uncomfortably- and just when she seemed like she's finally going to say something, Harriet turned, interrupting her. They didn’t need to speak about this.
“Alright. I think it's ready.”
Jeanne nodded- and then paused. The tension is broken.
“...I really thought you didn't like me.” She finally admitted, a nervous laugh on her breath. It sounded like she thought she could play it off like a joke, should it be taken the wrong way. “I'm surprised you're going to such lengths to help.”
“...So am I.” Harriet said without missing a beat, kneeling down next to the partially severed head.
There's another moment of silence. Not as thick this time.
“My daughter likes you.” Harriet finally huffed. “I wish she didn't. You're a bad influence.” Jeanne looks away sheepishly.
“...But you've been… kind. And you're still a person. And my neighbor, on top of all that. I'd be a real piece of shit to not help when I can.” she sighed. She saw Jeanne relax a bit at her words… and then tremble, eyes growing glossy with what she presumed were about to be fresh tears.
“Plus, like I already said. You smell like a dead fish. Now let's get started.” She raised the machete, positioning it over the uneven gash already present. “You put your hands on the flat of the blade there- and on the count of three, we both push as hard as we can. Once it's cut you hold still, and I'll cauterize it. Understood?”
Jeanne blinked again, taking a moment to process her words. Harriet sent up a thankful prayer that she hadn’t started crying again. “I- yes. Right. I can do that.”
Harriet had never heard someone sound more unsure in their life.
But Jeanne still moved into position, her uppermost two hands laying where she had instructed. Harriet couldn't help but take a moment to observe her neighbor, now that her many eyes were focused on something else. Something that wasn't her.
Despite the claws and hands being much different, Jeanne's arms were still very human. Slim, but muscular, in the way of someone who didn't work out, but naturally did enough labor to give them definition. Harriet had never seen the woman in anything but long sleeves when she was human- and so the tattoos running up and down both arms were new to her as well. She wondered if those had always been there, unseen beneath the thick leather jackets the woman was so fond of wearing.
She shook the thought away. Now wasn't the time to dawdle.
“I’m going to count to three. On three, we'll both push down as hard as we can. Alright?”
Jeanne muttered something that sounded like an affirmation, gaze still locked on the blade. The long, dangling end of her head was betraying her trembling. She looked… terrified.
Harriet sighed.
“Did you ever cook, before?”
Jeanne’s trembling stilled. Her expression morphed into something more closely resembling confusion. “I- sort of? Mostly just… little stuff. Easy things. I did some baking.” She looked away from the knife and back towards Harriet. “I… why do you ask?”
“Hm. Have you ever gone hunting? Cleaned an animal? Fishing?”
Harriet saw Jeanne's eyes light up at the last one.
“Oh! Yeah, I used to go fishing a lot as a kid. I'd help my grandpa clean ‘em when we were done, sometimes…”
“Alright. Now, I want you to picture this like a fish. Smells plenty like one.” She nodded towards the head beneath them. “Because if I count down, and you're imagining how much it'll hurt, you won't be able to do it. And if we both don't push, the cut won't be even, and everything will be worse. So don't imagine it as a part of yourself. It's just a dead fish.”
Jeanne took a moment, mulling over her words before she nodded, slowly. “...That… makes sense. I can do that.” The tendril at the end of her head curled tightly against itself. Harriet wondered, briefly, what that meant.
“...Just a fish.” Jeanne's fins flared, and she adjusted her grip on the blade. Her eyes went back down- and then squeezed closed. “...It's… hard to pretend when I can see it.”
“Then don't look.” Harriet huffed. “Look at me if you need to. Closing your eyes will only make you imagine the worst.”
“...Okay.”
Jeanne shifted once more- and suddenly Harriet had the full attention of twelve eyes locked on her. A heat rose on the back of her neck, burning her ears. A natural reaction to being stared at, she told herself. She willed it away, looking down at the gory mess in front of her. Somebody had to.
“I'm going to count now.” She stated bluntly. Jeanne nodded.
“One…” Harriet squared her shoulders.
“Two…” Jeanne's claws twitched.
“Three.” A wet crunch filled the air.
It was a sickening noise. The sound of flesh splitting and metal hitting wood, of blood splattering and breaths huffing. It lasted only a fraction of a second, but it felt like it echoed through the apartment like a gunshot. They had cut through easier than she expected, the white flesh of Jeanne's body soft and malleable. It reminded Harriet faintly of shrimp.
She looked up, meeting Jeanne's lower most eyes where she was still locked on her, ignoring the mess below. For a fraction of a second more, it was almost… calm. Euphoric. They had done it. Jeanne had done it. She hadn't flinched. Part of Harriet was surprised, expecting the woman to chicken out halfway through.
And then, whatever nerves that stretched along her winding mass finally finished their journey up and down the length of her body- and Jeanne gasped, both the bleeding stump and main head recoiling. The now familiar sound of thumping echoed in from the living room. She reached up to pull at the edges of her teeth like trying to pull shut a large coat, and a choked noise that sounded not unlike a muffled scream reverberated in the length of her throat. Fresh tears gathered and immediately spilled. The pain had hit.
Harriet stood up, lamenting what was to come next.
“I know it hurts. I need you to hold it still for me.” She turned towards the stove. Jeanne sobbed, but surprisingly, did as she was told. Her many arms released her mouth, moving instead to hold down the twitching and flailing stump, even as blood spurted and stained the floor below.
Harriet picked up the scalding hot iron.
“This is going to hurt worse. You need to hold still.”
And she was right.
It did hurt worse. She knew, because she could see it in Jeanne's reaction.
Whatever muffled scream had slipped through her teeth before was gone, mouth now stretched open in a silent howl as she gasped and choked on her own sobs. Her claws dug into her own flesh like a lifeline, pressing it down into the floor as it tried to wrench itself away from the burning metal pressed against it. More claws dug into the wood, leaving deep scores that would never fade. Somewhere in the living room, she heard the entire main body shift, kicking out and fighting against an invisible enemy.
All it would take was one wrong move, one slip of control, and Harriet would be dead. Something in the back of her mind found that funny- that she was only realizing it now, far too late. Even if it wasn’t intentional, defending yourself against pain was an instinctual reaction.
But Jeanne didn’t slip. And Harriet kept working, pressing the pan up against each patch of bleeding, exposed flesh. She watched the meat of it turn pink, and then white under the heat as it cooked and burnt.
And then it was done. Harriet pulled away, setting the pan back on the stove and moving over to the sink. “You did good. I'm going to wipe it down with some saltwater now.”
She didn't wait for an answer before taking the soaking rag from the sink and pressing it against the smoldering flesh. Jeanne hardly reacted. She simply continued to cling onto her cauterized stump, struggling to breathe through her own tears and drool.
At the very least, it seemed like it had worked. The bloodflow had slowed considerably, outright stopped in most places. She'd been nervous it wouldn't, and all of that pain would have been for nothing.
“Okay. I'm done.” Harriet tossed the bloody rag into the empty side of the sink, staying kneeled by Jeanne's side. She seemed out of it, still gasping and clutching onto her severed limb, pain stunning her into silence. “It's over. Breathe.”
She reached out, laying a hand on one of the many whose claws were dug into the body beneath them. Jeanne twitched… and then her claws slowly pulled out of her skin, leaving blue welts behind. Tears dripped and slid to the floor, mingling with the puddle of blood. The woman was shaking under her touch.
Without thinking, Harriet curled her hand around Jeanne's and squeezed it.
Jeanne squeezed back.
They had a lot more to do. But for a moment, she could sit and offer comfort, now that Jeanne was starting to breathe again. She wasn't looking forward to the rest of it. Jeanne, probably even less.
She wished she could do something to ease it. It wasn't like Sophie, where she could offer a candy or hug as appropriate consolation. Nor could she afford to spare any painkillers. She told herself it was because she didn't know how they'd work on Jeanne's monstrous form.
This was the least she could do. Simply hold on as Jeanne cried. She cried until she seemed to run out of tears, sobs still wracking her form but no wetness spilling out. It was hard to tell time, here, in the silence of the dark room. It felt like seconds, minutes, hours until Jeanne finally shifted, squeezing Harriet's hand one more time.
“...Only ten more, yeah?” She croaked, voice hoarse. The edge of her lips curled into something resembling a smile, fangs and beaks glinting in the light. Despite the inhuman shape, it was such a human gesture.
Harriet paused- and then a smile of her own tugged at the corner of her mouth, echoing Jeanne’s own. “I- yeah. Only ten more. Not so bad.”
They both lingered like that, for a moment. Fake smiles and tightly held hands, hesitant to leave their bubble of comfort. To Harriet's surprise, Jeanne pulled away first, sticky hands leaving behind dark blue flecks of drying blood.
The burnt tentacle beneath them shifted, and she watched as Jeanne made a pathetic sounding noise, visibly wincing as it pulled away and into the darkness of the living room.
“Don't drag it on the floor. It has to stay clean.” Harriet scolded, pushing herself to her feet. Jeanne mumbled something almost like an apology as she adjusted.
From within the depths of her apartment, the entire room seemed to move. Meters upon meters of flesh and fins twisted around each other, rustling softly as they squirmed and shifted.
“Sorry, I'm… still getting used to moving them. Let me- I should… move this.” She grabbed the now-severed head with several of her arms, half pulling herself and half slithering away. There were a few curses and a thump as it was dumped unceremoniously near the window. A few moments later, she returned, dragging another limp head behind her.
This one was in about the same shape. Brutalized and broken, gunshots and… what she now intimately recognized as burns, bubbling and crusting on the surface of its skin. What the hell had Sam been doing?
It didn't matter. It was dead and gross, and needed to be removed all the same. Harriet picked up the bloody machete, repositioning herself.
“Are you ready?”
“As I'll ever be.” Jeanne huffed out, a hint of laughter on her breath. Her claws clicked against the flat of the blade as she lay her hands down.
She didn't look down. Their eyes locked together as Harriet counted.
The second time went much like the first. The crunch, the gasps, the pain. Harriet hated the sounds Jeanne made as she worked. It almost made her want to give in and go fetch her valuable painkillers. Sincerely this time.
By the third, Jeanne's faux humor was gone. She was exhausted, obviously so, barely able to stop herself from jerking away when the hot pan met flesh. Harriet had paused to let her compose herself, and she found herself gently petting the silky frills on Jeanne's hide like someone might stroke a scared pet.
By the fourth, Harriet was honestly surprised Jeanne was still going. The smell of burnt meat and copper was filling the room. Blue blood coated the floor, pooling around them and streaking off into the distance where Jeanne was piling the dead. Jeanne had to put her whole weight down on the severed heads now, using her own body to hold them still, arms shaking too badly to keep the pressure.
On the fifth, Jeanne broke down.
Her hands trembled against the blade of the machete, eyes wide and bloodshot.
“Harriet.” She said, voice hoarse.“I don't think I can keep doing this.”
The woman paused. She'd been expecting this, dimly.
“It hurts. It hurts so much. I…”
“It's okay.” Harriet sighed. “This is… what, number five? If we do this one, we're halfway done. And then we can be finished for the night.”
“...But then there's still half left. And… I. I definitely can't do that with my pocket knife, it’s…”
“I'll come back in the morning.” Harriet cut her off. She’d thought that had been obvious. “That'll let you get some rest in, and recover some blood. Even with the cauterization, you’re losing a lot.”
For a moment, Jeanne just… stared. Harriet couldn't tell if the woman wasn't processing her words, or had simply zoned out. She was just about to speak up when she saw her face twitch, corners of her mouth peeling back in another dry sob.
“Thank you,” Jeanne choked out, the tip of her head wilting further. “I… Thank you. That helps a lot. I…”
“Don't thank me yet. I want to get this last one done.” She tapped the machete. Jeanne looked down, expression scrunching, and then looked back up at Harriet.
“...Okay. Okay, last one.”
“Last one. Here we go. Are you ready?”
“No. But start counting.”
Harriet huffed out a tiny laugh. “Okay. One, two…”
They both pushed. Again, the sound of slicing meat. This time, Jeanne didn’t flinch back. She went straight to grappling her own bloody appendage, holding onto it almost more to ground herself than to actually hold it still.
Harriet worked as fast as she could, whispering faint praises as the smoke curled around them both.
The rest of Jeanne’s body writhed and curled in on each other like dying snakes, knocking into furniture and scraping against the wood. But she held still, even as Harriet set the pan aside and rinsed once more.
When the rag was finally dropped back into the blue-stained water and she was standing over the sink, she let out a breath she hadn’t entirely realized she’d been holding.
“It’s done.” Harriet panted, reaching into the murk to let the water drain. After a moment, she flicked the tap on, scrubbing at her hands until the water ran clear. The feeling of blood on her hands was almost starting to feel familiar.
She turned- and to her surprise, Jeanne hadn’t moved. Worry flicked through her for a moment before she heard a shaky inhale. Jeanne was alive, at least. Her neighbor's breaths heaved, the entire length of her body expanding and contracting with each one.
Harriet’s gaze lingered, for a moment. And then she turned back to begin rummaging through the cupboards, until she found what she was looking for.
“Here.”
Jeanne shifted- and finally pulled her gaze upwards as she was addressed, eyes swollen and tired. For a second, she simply stared, as if she wasn’t processing what was being held out towards her. And then her many eyes snapped to attention, finally focusing on the plastic cup filled to the brim with tap water.
“You need to drink. You’ve lost a lot of fluids.” Harriet paused- and then pulled the cup back, and offered her hand instead. “You should wash your hands first, actually. All of them.”
Harriet was dimly aware that she was going to have to wash her own hands again, after this. But she didn’t mind.
Not when Jeanne’s own hand gripped hers so gently, mindful of the claws despite her obvious exhaustion. She pulled, and Jeanne’s head lifted, arching up towards the sink. The length of her sagged, as if moving was laborious. And perhaps it was. She’d been through a lot tonight. But exhausted or not, she couldn’t sit covered in blood.
So Harriet watched with faint amusement as Jeanne worked, two hands at a time. When one pair finished, she scooted up further so the second pair could reach. And then again, and again, until all ten hands were clean. Only then did Harriet hand her the water.
“Thank you.” Jeanne mumbled, taking it gingerly. She brought it up to her mouth, beak parting as she tipped it back.
Immediately, a good portion of it slipped from between the teeth running down the length of her body, splattering to the floor.
Jeanne looked down. Her expression was one of quiet resignation.
“...Okay.”
There was another beat of silence. And then Harriet snorted. She reached up to cover her mouth, stifling herself best she could. Jeanne’s gaze flicked up from the spilled water to the other woman… and then she giggled in turn, splattering more droplets onto the wood with the movement.
Like a feedback loop, Harriet couldn’t stop her laughter as Jeanne joined in, and soon enough, they were both hunched over the kitchen sink in a full blown laughing fit. She buried her face into the crook of her elbow, trying to muffle the sound lest she wake Sophie. Jeanne wasn’t faring any better, the fanged tip of her head jostling back and forth as her body shook with laughter. It was… surprisingly unchanged from when she was human, save for the deep rumbling and wheezing that accompanied it, the length of her mouth amplifying the noise.
It wasn’t even that funny, really. If anything, it was an inconvenience. It was stupid to laugh at all. But… Harriet's chest felt warm. It lightened the load, just a bit.
And as she looked up, at the way Jeanne’s new face contorted into a humanlike smile clearly not intended for her new shape- she hoped it felt like that for her, too.
“Maybe- maybe try tipping your head back…?” She offered, miming the motion of taking another sip.
“No I- oh god.” Jeanne giggled. “I know- I know, I’ve been like this for a while now, that’s the thing. I’ve already figured out how to drink, I know I have to do the stupid… waterfall-ing thing. It’s genuinely that I just… forgot. I am so tired.” She brought four hands up to her face, rubbing at it roughly with her palms. But she was still smiling. “I literally just… forgot.”
“Well, then show me! If you die of dehydration after everything I just did to keep you alive, I’m gonna be pissed.” She reached out, snatching the half full cup from one of her lower hands and sticking it back in the sink to refill.
“Aw, shucks. There go my evening plans.” Jeanne took the cup back when it was offered, a puff of laughter hissing through her many teeth. This time, she focused on keeping her mouth closed tightly- the entire length of it. When she brought the water up to the little indent that her voice seemed to come from, she parted it carefully, and the water poured in without spilling.
Harriet watched as Jeanne then shifted, lifting parts of her body and lowering others in an almost wavelike motion. She wondered, for a moment, what she was doing… until the familiar pattern struck her. It was like when she angled the gas pump to make sure all of the gas actually got into her tank- Jeanne’s mouth formed a hollow tube down the whole length, which then had to be directed to the back of her… throat, so to speak, using gravity.
Harriet was suddenly very glad that the human body was proportioned and angled in the way it was. She was also suddenly very aware of how little one cup of water was to the new body of her neighbor.
“...Another. You should drink as much fluids as you lost.” She pointed back at the sink. Jeanne just nodded, repeating the process again. Harriet waited as two, three, and eventually eight cups were downed, at which Jeanne began to mumble.
“‘S sucks.” She gurgled, her voice muffled by her attempts to keep the water from spilling.
“Maybe just try pouring in a bunch, and getting it all at once?” Harriet shrugged. Jeanne paused, considering. And then leaned forward, sticking her head under the tap and turning it on, letting it just pour into her mouth. Harriet snorted again. “Hey, that works.”
Jeanne made a noncommittal grunt, mouth too full to answer. Eventually she switched it off and sat up, once again undulating until the water was properly swallowed. Only then did she let out a breath, leaning heavily against the counter.
After the moment of rest, the injured tentacle began to pull itself away, back into the darkness. Harriet was reminded of just how bloody the floor was now. They probably should have put a towel down, at the very least. Not that it would do much. Jeanne followed her gaze.
Apparently she was thinking the same thing, because she sighed loudly. “Honestly, at this point, I don’t think it matters. I mean- I already did some impromptu renovating.” She gestured with a few hands at the splintered wood and many holes busted through the house. “I’m already pretty sure I’m not getting my security deposit back.”
Harriet let out a small, tired laugh. “Neither am I, at this rate.” She glanced back towards where she knew her bedroom lay, also still full of holes. Jeanne’s smile fell, a hand reaching up to awkwardly rub the greasy hair on the back of her neck. “I.. yeah. I’m still sorry about that.”
“I know. You’ve said it plenty.”
“I’m s- ah, shit. Shoot. I mean… yeah.”
“It’s okay. You’re just gonna help me fix it when we find the wood. Which means-” She pointed a finger. “You’re not allowed to die, yet.”
The ghost of a smile returned to Jeanne’s face. “...Right. S… ah… thank you.” She turned, eyes following the length of her body back into the dark of her apartment, where more rotting flesh awaited her.
“...It’s getting late. I’m going to go home. We both need the rest.”
“I- yes. Right. I…” Jeanne sucked in a breath. “Thank you.”
“You just said that.”
“I… know, yeah, but I mean it. You… didn’t have to do this. And so… Thank you.” A pause. “Again.”
Harriet pushed herself up from the polished wood and to her feet. She picked her machete up out of the sink, flicking it a few times to get the water off. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Keep drinking water.”
“Yes ma’am.” Jeanne put a finger to roughly where her forehead would have been, as a human, and gave a shitty one-finger salute. Harriet snorted, looking away to hide the heat on her cheeks.
She stepped forward, careful to avoid the slowly drying puddle of blue, and began heading back towards her apartment. Her neighbor was quiet, simply watching her go. It was only when she reached the curtain that Harriet paused, turning back.
“...Goodnight, Jeanne.”
“Goodnight Harriet. Sleep well.”
She pushed through the sheets once, and then twice, until she was back in her bedroom.
She’d left the door open, just in case… and from here, she could hear Sohpie’s quiet snores. Good. She was still asleep, and she was still safe. And now that Harriet knew there was no threat, she could join her. She had no idea what time it was. Late, if she had to guess.
But…
Halfway through the room, she stopped.
Harriet was tired. She was sore in several places, both from the work she’d just done and the insufferable couch. She was grimy, stinky, and utterly disheveled. She wanted nothing more than to lay down and pass out, reassured in the fact that she probably wasn’t going to be eaten alive.
And there lay her bed, pristine, untouched. A wordless queen sized temptress.
…Only a scant few feet away from the thin curtain separating her space from Jeanne’s.
There was a moment of consideration.
And then it was over, and she was climbing into the familiar comfort of her own bed, not even bothering to shuck off her pajamas. Relief and comfort flooded her body, only just now realizing how much all of that had taken from her. The blankets enveloped her like an old lover, and she rolled onto her side, clinging to a pillow.
The faint glow of Jeanne’s kitchen light clicked off, and the room plunged into darkness.
Harriet simply closed her eyes.