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Humming would reach Pierrette's ears first -- low and slow, a crawling melody. Then the base line picked up, a steady click, click, click of heeled shoes. The pace was slow, steady. It Pierrette timed it, the steps would probably fall precisely the same number of counts apart. Perhaps then Pierrette would smell the meal. It was salty with a spicy tang, vaguely familiar even.

When Fallon finally rounded the corner, she was smiling. A pale cream plate rested gently in her hands, and on top of that, there were a couple eggs, some kind of spiced meat, and a smattering of greens. How had Fallon found food in this place? Being undead had perks -- including a certain fearlessness out in the woods. What monster could be more terrifying than a cannibal? Fallon was not sure. It only took the young teen a half an hour in the woods to collect eggs, edible herbs, and to kill the rabbit that didn't move quickly enough. Fallon wasn't working with her preferred conditions, but she was slowly trying to adjust. The Home Ec kitchen was one she had worked in before, and she was fortunate enough to find some discarded spices, things that had been tossed aside by other humans for not offering enough sustenance.

"Pierrette," Fallon said, relief washing in to her voice. "Mon ami!" Her mouth fell open in an exasperated pout, shoulders sagging under the weight of her joy. She took two quick steps forward, and then stopped. It was nighttime. Fallon's skin was no longer vaguely green -- it was practically sage. She paused, bowed her head. "Mon ami, before I approach you, I have to tell you that something terrible has happened to me. I... I think I... I think I died in the fire." Fallon let her bottom lip tremble, but she bit her teeth down on it, giving off every appearance of being strong. She drew her ankles together, crossed them in the same prim manner that she had in her human life. "I am so hungry all the time, but no matter what I cook, I can't find satisfaction. I've had to eat..." She grimaced, took a breath, and then said, "Rats. Vermin, Pierrette." When she shook her head, a cascade of auburn hair tumbled around her shoulder. Fallon sighed, looked forlorn.

It hadn't taken her long to cook up the meal. Death had not robbed her of her cooking knowledge, and though she was incapable of tasting the food to gauge its quality, her nose was just as strong as ever. The dish she held in her hand was of high quality -- the same quality she had delivered to Pierrette in life. "I'm afraid this isn't escargot," she said, shrugging. At one point, the French Club had shared escargot. Wouldn't this joke remind Pierrette of that friendship? "I thought cooking might make me feel... better, you know? I haven't seen anyone else. The few shadows I've seen have run from me." Fallon took a slow step forward, extending the plate far away from her body.

"Please, Pierrette. I cannot enjoy this. You should have it. I won't even sit near you. I can stand right here." Fallon nodded matter-of-factly, each promise sounding more convincing to the last. "I just..." She pursed her lips, tossed her gaze to the ground. "I don't want to be alone." After a moment, she glanced back up to Pierrette. Her skin was a sickly green, and her eyes seemed to glow a bit red. Otherwise, Fallon looked like Fallon -- a sad, despondent Fallon at that. The plate of food remained extended to Pierrette, and the youma-teen waited patiently for a response.

When Pierrette approached to take the plate, she brought with her a wave of humanity and heartbeat. Pursuing her lips, Fallon forced herself not to inhale too deeply or let her eyes roll back into her head in pleasure. It would destroy what sense of normalcy she had achieved. Instead, she smiled wistfully, raising her now empty hand to tuck a piece of auburn hair behind one green ear. The fervor with which Pierrette consumed the meal did not disgust Fallon. In fact, quite the opposite. The youma in her craved the same sloppy meal, the same irreverent consumption of anything and everything -- but the human in her could be patient.

She waited until Pierrette finished, not moving one inch. "I am glad someone can appreciate it," she said, shrugging. "I tried to make myself eat it, but... it tasted like a lump of wet garbage on my tongue." Fallon laughed, an awkward tremor leaking into her voice. There was no point in skirting around the issue of what she required for sustenance. If anything, talking openly about it would only assure Pierrette of her control over her hunger. With each word from Pierrette, Fallon nodded, bobbing her head in a slow practiced way. "I'm not sure I'm as excited about my after-death condition as you are," she added, the corners of her mouth turning downward. Every inch of her appeared despondent over her condition, except, perhaps, her fingers. They ticked impatiently at her sides. After a moment, Fallon folded both hands neatly behind her back, moving them out of sight.

French Club. It seemed like so long ago. Quietly, Fallon wondered what the fate of the other boy, Sebastien, had been. Was he like Pierrette? Or had he too been consumed by the fire? The answer didn't really matter. Fallon found no companionship with the other monsters; she felt no companionship anywhere. "It is not as scary as it must be for you, I'm afraid. Once you die the first time, a second death doesn't seem so scary, you know?" Fallon laughed and touched at her hair, eyelashes brushing her cheeks lightly. Second death did not seem as terrifying as the first one, but Fallon had no desire to lose her life again, even if it was this undead one. As long as she was thinking and walking, life was worth living. Perhaps Pierrette would understand that soon enough.

"I think dying at all would be scary!"

Fallon pursed her lips. "It was," she said, and it was absolutely true. A note of human frailty rang in her voice, and Fallon dropped her eyes to the floor. Death had terrified Fallon, shaken her, ripped her. It showed her the worst side of her OCD -- not the one that caused her to hurt others, but the side that prevented her from saving herself. It challenged her already weak relationship with God and her even more tenuous faith in Judaism. What God would let her become this? How could there be an existence like God when there was an existence like her? This was too much thinking, too much humanity. Fallon squeezed her eyes shut, and when she raised them back to Pierrette, she back in control. Not she, Fallon -- she, predator.

Lifting one hand, Fallon fidgeted with her hair, working to control all the machinations of her body. "If you want more food," she began, "I found more. It's in the Home Ec classroom. I keep... I keep trying to find normalcy any way that I can, even if it is just cooking a simple dish for a friend." Tilting her chin up at Pierrette, she smiled demurely, blinking in bashful humility. Of course, Fallon was anything but humble about her culinary prowess, but it would not suit her to brag in that moment.

Even as a zombie, Fallon found Pierrette precious. Of course, now she sought to desecrate her body in a very different way. Taking two steps forward, the lean girl splayed her hands out from her body in defense. "It is hard, Pierrette. I won't lie to you. But I have control. You know me... I control things." She laughed, but it seemed off. She extended one hand upward, holding it out toward Pierrette. "Shall we go to the classroom now? I can keep any other from bringing harm to you, and maybe you can do the same for me." Fallon did not break eye contact; she didn't even blink.

A smile crept up one corner of her mouth. Fallon batted her eyes. "I will not hurt you, Pierrette. We are friends." Her smile widened, and she tilted her head slightly to one side. If not for the sickly green skin, Fallon might look almost pleasant, quite friendly even. She waited, eyes fixed on Pierrette's smooth skin and flushed cheeks.

In Barren Pines, the number of humans remaining was swiftly eroding down to nothing. Fallon did very little venturing out unless she was hunting for food -- which was, admittedly, quite frequently -- but she hadn't had too many encounters with others, zombie or human alike. Oddly enough, most of her interactions had been with those of a fleshy variety, but sitting in trees and staring out of windows, Fallon saw far more zombies milling about during both the day and the night. In a place like Barren Pines, rats could be hiding anywhere, apparently.

Fallon was happy to have found Pierrette that night. Not only was the girl utterly compliant, but Fallon took pleasure in knowing that Pierrette would trust her, specifically, because they had a connection in her old existence, an existence that she sought to distance herself from more and more everyday. When Pierrette announced that trust with a bright smile, Fallon smiled back, though for entirely different reasons. "Excellent," she said, gesturing for Pierrette to follow her.

As they walked, Fallon stayed a few paces ahead. She figured it would make Pierrette more comfortable, and the girl was not sure if she could resist the urge to pounce if the situation were reversed. "Right in here," she said, gesturing to a doorway up ahead. Fallon got there first and pushed the door open, sweeping a hand across her stomach to guide Pierrette inside. The hallway was not a suitable place for her to interact with Pierrette. No -- the home ec kitchen was more or less Fallon's field of advantage. She would make use of it.

Inside, there was the food that Fallon had promised. The remains of the rabbit Fallon had caught (free of any identifying animal bits) sat on top of some napkins stacked on a textbook. A half-full bag of flour sagged to one side beside it. There was half an onion, what appeared to be some lemon, and various greens. The processed foods were more plentiful -- a bag of Cheetos, some poptarts, two cans of soda, a packet of Twizzlers, instant-noodles, and some stray dried herbs. Truth be told, it had taken Fallon an incredibly long time to find what she had, and it included crawling in to some less than desirable places to search for food -- including the burned out remains of the dormitory. Her own room had been totally incinerated (though she did find the melted remains of her electric kettle), but some of those on the third floor had managed to be partially navigable, at least long enough to grab some forgotten snacks.

It was the necessary set that had to be staged for her performance to take hold. Reaching out one hand, Fallon dared to touch Pierrette, pushing her forward through the entrance way. For an instant, she let her eyes roll up at the scent wafting off Pierrette's skin. "The ingredients are not my normal choice," she said. "But I will do what I can -- for you and the others." Her hand retreated to her collarbone, touching lightly at her blouse. "Do you know where the other survivors are hiding out?" she asked, her tone giving nothing away. Fallon had located a few hideouts, but nothing that she could easily infiltrate. Perhaps Pierrette could shed some light on the situation...

Survive this? Fallon hadn't thought of life outside of Barren Pines. She wasn't entirely convinced that there was anything outside of it. How long had it been since she last saw Melinda in that market? Time was an endless drizzle of rain. It meant no more to Fallon than Pierrette's life. Disappointment tinged her lips when Pierrette failed to give over the desired information. Recovering quickly, Fallon began to smile -- and then Pierette hugged her.

Fallon had shown amazing restraint and control in the entire exchange. She had been a model zombie, in fact -- until Pierrette crossed the line. Draping her arms over Pierrette, Fallon burrowed her nose in the girl's hair, inhaling deeply. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she let out a quavering moan. Just as quickly, Pierrette pulled away, but the damage had already been done. Fallon's wheels had been set into motion.

Part of her knew that it might be smarter to keep Pierrette alive. The other humans might trust her if they saw how she kept herself from attacking Pierrette. If she could wait, Fallon would be able to maneuver Pierrette into the best position for her feasting. The thoughts were electrons shooting across her mind, each one outdone by the groan in her stomach.

"Pierrette," she said, voice low and gravelly. "It is very kind of you to want to feed the others." Trailing her fingertips across the counter, Fallon slowly walked around its perimeter, coming to stop mere inches from Pierrette. Magenta eyes flickered down to Pierrette's own. "I like generous women." Raising a hand, Fallon moved her hand to Pierrette's chin, tracing the length of her jawline and curling to fingers behind one ear. With her other hand, she swept away the length of Pierrette's hair, pushing it behind her shoulders.

No sooner had her hand moved and Fallon brought the other girl's face to her own. Brushing her lips lightly over Pierrette's own, Fallon lowered her mouth -- and kissed her. No teeth. Just a soft kiss, a gentle stroking of the soft skin at her neck. The kiss was a whisper in a dark room, a quiet echo of the passion Fallon had once felt for the girl in her humanity.

It was a goodbye.

She pulled away and rested her forehead against Pierrette's. "You should not trust so easily." In a flash, Fallon lifted Pierrette off the ground and slammed her on the counter, knocking off the treasure trove of food that the French girl had just been admiring. A shower of Cheetos and rabbit and herbs clattered to the floor, punctuating the stride of Fallon's movement. She dove on top of Pierrette, teeth bared and eyes wild. One hand shoved Pierrette's chin to the side, the other pinned her left arm.

Fallon shot forward, opened her jaws, and sunk her teeth into the fleshy skin just below Pierrette's left shoulder.

Pierrette was so easily led. So malleable. So trusting. So stabbing a ******** fork in my eye.

Fallon let out a guttural scream, flying backward off the table. Zombie or not, it hurt to be stabbed in the eye. It also did wonders for her depth perception. On the table, Fallon spotted a leg and dove for it. Her hand ended up grabbing empty air, fingers dragging across the countertop. In this possessed form, Fallon saw no point in talking. She did not have some snappy witticism to throw out. She didn't have a threat to fling.

No -- Fallon had angry noises. Very angry noises.

"Graw!" she spit out, the first in a stream of a grunts and hisses. Fallon was more animal than girl and she moved as such, stalking with shoulders rolling like a lioness in pursuit. Again, she lunged, and again -- she missed. This time, her hands fell just short of Pierrette's elbow, and the girl faceplanted on the floor of the home ec classroom.

This misstep had the added misfortune of stabbing the fork clear through her eye. Fallon was out like a light, facedown on the dirty floor. Upon waking, she would no doubt be both pissed and disgusted, but lucky for Pierrette, the OCD zombie teen would not be stirring for several hours, not until long after the sun had fallen once more.