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F briefly wondered how he'd gotten to her duplex in the first place. There seemed to be whole chunks missing from his memory. If he was lucky, they'd turn up sooner or later. Probably when he least expected it.

The flea eyed the squirrel suspiciously with one raised brow. "You took a'vantage of li'l ol' me.." he concluded slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching.

He watched her carefully as she chewed on what was intended to be his breakfast.
"I don' know." he whined tiredly. "But all I can taste on vat is chemicals."

F simply squinted at her, then shut his eyes in an attempt to prod his head cogs into coming up with some kind of deserved retort.

"No.." he found himself saying after a delay, "M'saying you were Antony." He gave an innocent smile and a mild shrug. That would do.

"Nrar." he gurgled quietly at her sudden touch. "I was 'oping for a chimpanzee. Always wanted t' fling monkey poo."

He shook his head suddenly.
"God I'm 'ungry vough." he said, staring down at the remains of the pancake. After a moment spent considering the harmless looking food, he suddenly shoved it quite defiantly into his mouth. F then proceeded to chew on it lengthily, making all kinds of faces before suddenly gagging and looking for the nearest object that wouldn't mind having semi-regurgitated pancake spat into it.
It was a pretty little bowl that sat helplessly on the side.

"Cafe?" he turned back and suggested simply, fingering the slightly crushed unlit cigarette still in his hand.

"Nodarammel?" F murmured to himself. The flea-man didn't even properly remember what he looked like anymore.

He didn't give a whole lot of attention to the passing nakedness of the squirrel-woman either, and instead fumbled with his clothing.
F wriggled into his own wifebeater and then realised he'd still not got his boxers. He spotted a convenient pair on the floor and picked them up with his toes. Apparently they weren't his, but F didn't seem either notice or care at that point, and pulled them on anyway.

Not too long ago, he'd been wearing far more objectionable ladies underwear, after all. But Antony didn't need to know about that, ever.

He flopped into his jean shorts and lurched off the bed, silently following her out and lighting the now bent cigarette along the way before unthinkingly pocketing her lighter.

F mock-glared at her with this action. "A whatopod?" he asked, his tongue poking out slightly. "I pity vuh poor sod turning into vat."


Once inside the building, F gravitated towards the nearest edible item. He moved along the sections, peering and sniffing at the various different foods on offer. Every so often he would pick something up and, while the canteen staff weren't looking, give it a quick lick -usually followed by a disgusted snort. F would then put the food back where it came from, and try something else.

Antony would soon lose track of which foods had been assaulted by the flea's tongue, and which were still safe to consume.

At one point, F appeared vaguely satisfied with a large piece of rare meat. He licked it clean, and then took an experimental bite.
"Tastes like cotton wool." he announced around the meat and spat it into the rubbish bin, swiftly moving on to try out some cabbage.

F was growing increasingly disturbed by how narrowed down his diet appeared to be becoming.

F's painfully empty flea stomach growled in complaint at the lack of success he'd had so far.
"Easy vere" he drawled at her, leaving the lemon tart he was currently prodding hopelessly and making his way over to where Antony sat.. bleeding.

F's nose twitched when he got closer -something he ignored. He flopped down onto the seat next to her and slowly slid down it dejectedly. There, he noticed Antony's finger -all throbbing and bloody and strangely appealing. F found himself staring fixatedly.

"I's no good. I suppose I'll jus' starve." he said to the finger, instinctively edging closer to the woman.

"I mean, maybe I'm becoming somefing vat only eats dry roasted cockroaches, glazed with parmesan and fresh basil-" he rambled conversationably, slowly leaning forward.
"-'ow would I ever know vat?" he asked of the bloody digit.

"An 'ow come vis's happened so sudden?" his mouth was inches from it now.
"People don' usually get stuck on critter food after changing jus' once..." he trailed off and smoothly made to lick at her bandaged finger.

He didn't even need to mull over the taste. In F's mind, the old metallic tang of blood took on a new vehemence and immediately declared itself as The most delicious, satisfying taste he could ever have imagined. He would lick at her finger like a dog until she pulled it away.
If she didn't, he would attempt to pull off the napkins for better access, and so that his saliva could work as the anticoagulant that it had become.

It seemed F and his lick-a-thon most definitely demanded Antony's attention again.

The fact of what he was doing hadn't yet sunk in. All he knew is that it satisfied an urge somewhere.

His head tilted and he peered at the table, focusing on where the blood-covered napkin had fallen.
"'scuse me." he mumbled apologetically before reaching to pick it up and bring it to his mouth, licking at it tenderly. He'd have sucked on it if he had the lips to do so.

Only Antony's cry made the creature look up from what it was doing, and prompted the horrible feeling of his whole body having suddenly retreated five foot behind him, while his eyeballs were left to explain themselves awkwardly.

F's hands reached for the back of his head and he held them there almost in self-restraint.

"Fffpt-" he spluttered weakly, as if his brain was in the process of exploding.
"I- I don' know." he answered simply, with one arm held up in front of him in a half-shrug, like he'd just been asked where the stapler was.

His eyes, however, were wide and entirely unsure of where to rest their gaze; holding just as much fear as the squirrel woman displayed.

"Vampire?" F considered while staring at the space near Antony's head. "I ain't got the choppers for it." he said finally and tapped the still human teeth that hid behind his flea 'tache.

His eyes flicked to her rather distressed squirrel face.
"Hey.." he interjected, a characteristic 'F' glint in his eye, even if it Was somewhat forced. "A' least I'm not a celafopod." he said with a careless shrug.

He was a little stunned by her offer, however, and nodded slowly in response.
"I would love to suck your finger." he purred quietly, eyebrow quirking as he digested the exchanged words.

This was utterly crazy. The whole world had swivelled on it's end and been shaken like a snowglobe just to see what happened.

F's eyes following the finger in question wherever it went, but waited hungrily for it to actually be offered up to him.

F gave a slight grin at the pure strangeness of the situation while carefully removing the napkins and adding them to the collection on the table.

He then stuck out his tongue and gently licked the growing bud of life that began to ooze from the cut, before putting his mouth around the finger and peering up casually at it's owner. Inside, the three sections of his strange new tongue seemed to naturally want to curl together and form a hollow tube through which the juice could be sucked and directed to his throat like a makeshift straw.

The flea in him revelled in the seemingly morbid ritual, and the rest of him felt some oddly maternal connection as his eyelids fell placidly.

Whilst F's slobber still lingered on it, blood would continue to flow from the cut. Even then, the blood spilt from a finger wasn't enough to satisfy his lasting hunger.

"Perhaps I can have a little nibble on your neck later." F's brow raised as he looked back up at her playfully.