Cady stared across the table longingly.

It was Frightday, Frightday - and tonight she could not help but get down. Cady was pretty sure it was a required activity on a Frightday. She was uncertain what that meant exactly, but she WAS sure that she'd put her best foot forward in that regard. She was in the cafeteria, a place filled with many a good memory - the perfect place, in her mind, for a date.

The table was set - she'd dipped one of her own bedsheets into some as of yet unnamed fluid, dying it a vibrant, if patchy, red. A discarded spittoon stuffed with dead leaves and sticks was it's sole decoration, and the branch in the center was lit. Fortunately for the rest of the campus, Cady had actually had the forethought to coat the thing in some kind of lard, so instead of setting the table on fire it slowly (and rather revoltingly) burned down, globs of congealed fat slapping the table wetly in a steady staccato.

The rest of the lights were dim - the stars just beginning to shine as dusk gathered its things and left rather in a hurry. It was cold out there, thank you very much. Cady traced the surface of the table idly with her fingers, following patterns in what was, at best, a terribly botched dye job. She'd never felt like this before, she thought, still staring at her only companion.

It was odd for this corner of the cafeteria to be so quiet - but then, she HAD erected a tent fort specifically over the one window. Surely Willow didn't need ALL these dress-things, right? The mood only deepened as the acrid smoke filled the enclosed space, smelling a rather lot like, well, burnt. The window she'd cleverly sequestered quickly became obscured by a fog of smog.

Yet still, she persisted in waiting. Cady would make her move when the time was right. This was, she was certain, True Like. Yes, the ghoul was quite convinced that she had never quite had this much Like for anything in her admittedly short existence. She ran her fingers through her hair, sighing dreamily and gazing into what she assumed was its eyes. She twirled one strand and smiled, flashing a couple rows of teeth.

Cady laughed at some unheard joke. She was under the impression you should laugh when on a date, to make your date feel Smrat. Why anyone would want to feel like a rat, smrat or not, was beyond her. She bit her lip coyly- and winced as she cut her own mouth. Hmmm. Maybe this wasn't really working so well -

She flapped her wings to clear the air (literally, as the smoke was getting suffocating) and, in the sudden windstorm, the hand made candle rather pathetically puttered out. Drat and bebother. However, as her eyes adjusted, she realized that dinner by starlight (for in her vapid staring dusk had long since gone) was roughly twice as romantic. She would have to ask Deacon to be sure - Oh, DEACON (her heart fluttered) - but that could happen later. Today it was just Cady and her new beau.

It was almost time, she could feel it. She leaned forward unconsciously in anticipation. Grinning sinisterly, she gripped the tablecloth in both hands and dragged it toward her...

The spittoon and its contents clattered to the floor, and a mound of something slid inexorably toward its final destination...

Slugs squirmed and worried at large balls of peat moss, trapped in the sides of a high bowl. The moss itself steamed faintly with warmth. Still fresh. The pure adoration in the level stare Cady awarded it was enough to make even the aforementioned cat demon blush. Yes, it was time. It was their moment. She stopped tugging, instead settling her hands lightly on the table next to it as it perched precariously on the edge. And then she counted to four.

"One...Two...um, two-and-one...Four." Fourplay was, she decided, Important.

With a harsh slap, she slammed the table forward, sending the bowl spinning through the air. Its contents flew out and around in slow motion, still holding the general shape of the bowl. The slugs and damp moss glittered in the starlight as they slid through the shreds of smoke lingering in the tent-fort. The dropped, agonizingly slow, toward the yawning maw below them...

...And landed neatly into her mouth in one clean and disturbingly cartoonish gulp. She crunched away on the bowl as an afterthought.

Hmmmm. Yes, that had been a good Date- although what it had to do with fruit she wasn't certain. It was unfortunate that there wasn't enough left of her True Like to go out for seconds. Oh well. She rubbed her stomach happily and slid back in her chair, fanning herself with her wings.

Love, she reflected, bites. But sometimes it also swallows.