Anna – who was Sabine, who was rabbit, who was raccoon – was clearly far gone. If there had ever been a sister, she'd long since fused into the creature before him. The Allsister didn't seem to understand how wrong all of this was. Made him feel bad for what had to be done. But sometimes broken things couldn't be repaired. Like a leg too rotten, you had to cut.

If this really was Laric's friend – the polite thing to do was to offer to take care of it. Maybe. No one liked killing their own. But what would they do with the fat fucker then? Killing his caretaker meant killing him too. And other than being simple, it was entirely possible he'd done nothing wrong. Eating humans without knowing what you're doing was no different than the promised rabbit stew.

Words pulled him back.

„Oh that's Ginny!“ The fat fucker seemed to make some kind of a NEEE sound in response. Trevor couldn't make it out. And the guy's efforts were rewarded by moving drool from the left to the right corner of his mouth.

Yeah, that guy's fate was tied to the crazy lady.

„Bless her, she's still shy around company.“

Maybe the best you could do for people like this...was making sure it didn't hurt?

„Laric, would you mind checking if I tied Benny well?“ Breathing slowed in preparation. Much as a man could be ready for such things. „I'm no good with horses.“
 
She went to argue with herself in the kitchen. He could hear the rummaging and the onesided commotion. Normally, you'd not let a mark go to a room full of sharp things...but with Trevor, it didn't make much difference. Allsister could've come back with reinforcements, and it'd just change the count.

His eyes weren't leaving Laric.

„You don't eat meat...anymore.“ And he never asked it outright. But it hung there, between them, halfsheathed – like the fucking dagger.

Flicked the cooked thumb across the table at the other man.

Because Blondie was sane enough to know better.
 
Some people just wanted to fight you. Nothing to be done about it. Trevor didn't really think Laric a cannibal – too fancy, too squeamish. But that darker part of him itched. People's insides rarely matched the packaging. And he'd known fancy men to do horrendous shit. But was it worth hurting him over a weak doubt? Teeth clenched, he didn't want to count higher than he had to. And sure – one to two was a much tougher step than the numbers he worked with now – didn't mean he liked it. Any of it.

Something might've come of these thoughts, but Anna returned with her own name and a cake. And it could've been peoplecake. Probably should've stopped it all right then. Ankles were tricksy and floors slippery, chairs old and creaky...heads crackable and necks snappy. But dead was dead. And he hated waste.

Maybe one last meal was what they were entitled to before they went.

„Soup was lovely, Anna.“ He lied. „But maybe some cake is in order.“ Could've been sadness, could've been tired, but he didn't want to look at any of them. „To celebrate old friends and new. A smaller piece for me, I'm a little fuc...guy.“

Not like anyone would box his ears. But manners and all.
 
His hand twitched to catch her head before it thudded on the plate. Stopped halfway. Too weak, too slow. And he hated the impulse.

A NEEE sound underscored the moment. He couldn't bear it. Neither could the chair. Old wood remembered just how fat Ginny was. Just how long she'd been sitting. Back leg broke, toppled, and delivered her bulk. An alert creature may have tried to break the fall with their hands. Ginny did it with her neck. No movement. Only a NEEE sound, until there wasn't.

Neck crunched like celery.

He felt sick.

Cracks in his mind mirrored in the roof, the walls. Rusted nails, poorly driven in. Wood rotten and tilted. All old houses were lucky to still be standing. Sometimes it didn't take much to help them remember this fact.

„Check for....live ingredients.“

Didn't want to look at the other man. They both knew what had to be done. Didn't make the doing sit better.

Didn't get to eat their cake, after all. Would've been funny, most days.
 
Fire, then. That was good. Sitha couldn't have 'em – they'd eaten enough in life. Served them right to fast in death. His eyes couldn't quite make out the NEEmaker sprawled on the floor. Stood up to see the drool had finally stopped, replaced by blood. Guess everyone had to leak something. Maybe blood was better.

His chair was on its side. Funny, hadn't seen it go.

Wondered why this upset him. They were cannibals, after all. But perhaps that was the problem – even shit people were people. Sometimes this was hard to forget. Harder to remember, others.

Made his way after Laric, before the house decided to become too aware of its sag.

Rain had gotten worse. And they were burning the only shelter. Seemed so dumb. But it made him feel human. Benny was gone. That was good – at least she made it away safely.

„When it rains...“ Laugh replaced by bonetired breath.

What the fuck did that goat want with him?
 
It only caught up then. That the way he saw cannibals must've been the same way nonmeaters saw him. Looked to Laric who'd just freed the only bit of meat that wasn't human. Well, hopefully wasn't – he'd heard stories of witches and goatboys and such. Where a guy gets goated and ends up as dinner. Where he saw a goat, someone else might've seen a Jerry. Maybe not knowing was for the best.

Nodded and limped to Laric to get said leg up.

Laric had just killed his...friend? Was he supposed to say something? It didn't sit right. That someone would be friends with a cannibal for years only to twonk them the moment Trevor got his undies in a twist. And while he was glad he didn't have to deal with three people instead of two...Laric had killed a friend. Just because it was required. Because it was convenient.

Wasn't sure you could turn your back to a man like that.

„Should we say some words?“ Glanced at the fucked house, hoping fire would outdo the downpour.
 
Wished they'd found her sooner, then. Before she got reduced to teeth in the woods. But wishing was for the future, and Anna or Sabine or whoeverthefuck no longer had any. Hoped when they burned his bones, if anyone bothered, they'd be burning a Trevor – not whatever else hid between his ears.

Laric never gave him the reins. Perhaps it was better that way.

For someone who didn't want to say any words, Laric sure talked a lot. But that's how grief did you in. Snap at the neck, bite at the ankle. Even when you invited it to dinner, it always came through the window. Another thing to worry about, but never plan for.

So that was to be the end of Anna's story. Outlived by a goat and two assholes. Seemed fitting.

„Sometimes they have to go.“ Looked at Blondie, then his own hands. „Maybe you're faster, next time.“

Wasn't sure they were the ones to judge. They were both past due, after all.
 
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