Best Served With A Hot Make Out Session

Rody is weak for Vince's pretty face and we all know it:

Diabolical.

Fucking evil.

Rody's fists clenched.

He continued his way around the eerily empty bistro, first trying the (unfortunately, locked) back door, before trying the (also, frustratingly, locked) front entrance. There was no other exit or entry, and the vents would make too much noise for him to even entertain the idea of trying to clambour into them. That, and he was too short to actually, you know, reach them.

There wasn't anywhere to hide, either. Camping out under a table or chair would do nothing; you could see everything under them. The windows were locked tightly shut, no curtains to hide behind, no pillars, no nothing. He was really and truly fucked.

He made his way quietly back to the kitchen, silently praying to any and all higher powers that Vincent /wasn't/ waiting like a lion for its prey in there.

Thankfully, his prayers seemed to be answered as when he slowly made his way in there was no sign of any cannibalistic murderer in sight.

Phew.

All there was was one plate.

A 'dead plate', he remembered Vincent calling it.

Rody walked over to get a look at it. Maybe be could use the plate to bash Vincent's head in, or something.

It was grilled hanger steak.

A door slammed open.

Their eyes met, stuck on each other for a good 10 seconds.

Rody suddenly realised he was not ready to fist this guy up.

He was not ready to stab this dude with his own knives.

He was not ready to get revenge for Manon.

He was ready to buckle his knees, fall to his please and beg Vincent for mercy. Or pity. Or even a painless death?

Vincent's already pale face was drained of the little colour it had had, and his expression was nothing short of horrified.

Oh, but of course, his next meal had scuttled away, of course he'd be annoyed. Can't have your 'fresh meat' running away, now, can you?

"I-"

"..."

Rody felt the biggest droplet of sweat known to man and beyond make its way down his face.

"..."

" ... "

"H-hey, maybe we can- can talk about this..." Rody tried to start sprouting what he knew was utter bullshit. 'Talk this out' his ass. There was no way he was getting out of this shit ali-

Vince moved. Like a fucking cheetah or some shit he came flying across the kitchen at Rody, who did /not/ scream like a wailing banshee.