#disclaimer i dont know if bartenders have nametags

[lefaystrent]

Primal Urges

Fandom: Thomas Sanders, Sanders Sides

Pairings: hints of Prinxiety

Warnings: prospective cannabilism, temporary character death

Summary: Virgil specifically remembers dying, and yet he still lives. Now with a hankering for people meat.

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Virgil didnt crave human flesh before he died.

He craved lots of things in life: pasta, oreos, midnight reruns of Friends, mental stability. Ya know, healthy normal things.

Then again, taste buds do change every seven years. And people, canonically, do taste like beef. So what's more irrisitible than the American Dream?

Burgers. The American dream is burgers.

Big juicy burgers just begging to be ripped into with teeth. Burgers that would splatter bloody goodness. Rare burgers that would slide down his throat in a warm heady rush. Something raw to fill the emptiness within his gut that growled its demands to be sated.

Yes, normal healthy cravings.

That's why Virgil found himself sitting there downing a bottle of bourbon. He tried in vain to push away memories of his recent death experience while waiting for the intense urge of NOM NOM to subside.

"How long does this usually take?" Virgil asked, looking inside the empty bottle as if he might find more.

The bartender looked askance at the other two empty bottles sitting beside Virgil. "The alcohol poisoning you mean? Just how long have you been here?"

Virgil blinked at the handsome man before him decked out from head to toe in black. That was his kind of man. "Oh, maybe it did work. I don't remember seeing you back there."

"My shift just started," said the man, and 'Roman' said the name tag on his pristine black polo shirt. He had that face on his face like he was trying to smile, just how the relentless years of customer service taught you, but was failing completely. The farthest he got was moderately bewildered mixed with borderline awe.

"Hm, nice," Virgil said, because really there was nothing else to say. Especially when all Virgil's brain could scream at him for the moment was, Look at that arm! Bite it, rawr!

Virgil shook his head. Damn primal needs.

"Maybe I should switch to tequila," he grumbled.

"Maybe you wanna slow down," Roman advised. "You've had enough to down an elephant. Look, you've even spilt some on yourself."

Virgil looked down obligingly and couldn't help but laugh at the stain on his own shirt. "Oh that. Yeah that's not my drink, it's blood."

Roman's stance didnt change but his eyes were definitely more focused. Virgil wondered if he imagined the sound of a heartbeat speeding up.

Primal brain said, Fresh meat fears us. Fresh meat shall be tasty. *insert evil laugh here*

To clarify, Virgil raised a hand to stop the bartender from calling for help. "Don't worry, it's my blood."

Virgil did not think the clarification helped much. He should try again.

"Listen," Virgil lowered his voice a little, as much as you can in a bar and still be heard. He leaned forward a bit but the bartender most certainly did not. "I died this morning. It's been a really weird day."

"Ah," Roman nodded slowly, and at least his heartbeat slowed marginally. He even chanced a curve of the lips. "Far be it from me to question coping mechanisms. Normally I might ask if you're sure you don't need medical assistance, but you appear abnormally...fine, all things considered."

"You look pretty tasty yourself," Virgil purred and promptly slapped a hand over his mouth.

Did all of his self control die as well? Sheesh. Someone end him properly, please.

It's not like you weren't thinking it, Primal Brain supplied helpfully.

Luckily for all of Virgil's sanity, Roman took the compliment in stride. He laughed, "Well, clean clothes do go a long way."

"I meant to get changed before, I swear, I just..."

"Weird day," Roman finished for him. He nodded politely and smiled in a way that made Virgil want to eat his face off. Literally.

"You should probably go help other customers," Virgil word-vomited. "Or get me more bourbon. Or tequila. Or hell, wine if it'll do anything for me. Maybe everclear."

Roman chuckled again, "I'll make my rounds, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut you off dear. Even if you seem sober enough, the evidence suggests otherwise."

Adding insult to injury, Roman slipped him a glass of water before he left. Virgil watched the liquid settle to stillness in the clear cup and felt absolutely no desire to drink it.

We want blood. Blood! Primal Brain roared inside him.

Virgil put his head in his hands and wondered how he got into this mess.