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Waves lap at the edge of their boat, gently flowing against the wooden oars as they turn them. Ren and Sausage have fallen back, so she and Martyn are left in silence, the peaceful kind that she always finds herself grateful for.
Martyn seems preoccupied with the scenery, and they can’t blame him. Oakhurst may be, for the most part, an awful place to be forced to live in, but it is, admittedly, beautiful. She glances towards the mountain peaks, and the sun peers through the clouds, bathing them in light. It’s almost like a painting; it reminds her of something Cherri had painted once. They’d always loved her art.
As they near the castle, Apo pulls her gaze away. She can’t bring herself to look at it. Martyn leans into them, pressing his chest to their back and leaning his head on their shoulder. His body’s warm against hers, and she can feel his heart beating through the fabric separating them. For a moment, they think he’s scared. After all, he’s bound to feel nervous around the castle as well. She finds that—for a reason she can’t place—the thought makes her chest ache.
“Hey, Apo?”
Apo makes a noncommittal sound in response, indicating they’ve heard him. He doesn’t continue, and she glances at him.
“Yeah?”
Martyn grins when they respond, then quickly calms himself, forcing a clearly fake deadpan expression onto his face. From that, she can already tell whatever he’s about to say to her is going to be stupid. They groan inwardly.
“What do you think my blood tastes like?” He says it in the worst attempt at sounding serious she’s ever heard in her life, yet her chest tightens.
“What?” Apo tries to sound calm, but she’s sure her acting must be worse than Martyn’s. If he notices it, he doesn't show it. Considering his own unfortunate acting skills, they wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't.
“Well.. y’know,” He pulls his head away, looking to the castle. “If you were a vampire and you sucked it, what would it taste like?”
Her grip tightened on the oars; he had to know, or be testing her, or something. They didn’t know what exactly he was doing, but it made them feel sick.
“Eugh.. that’s gross.” She whispers it through gritted teeth, making sure to avoid his eyes.
“Eh! That’s rude!” Martyn quickly leans back, and Apo leans forward in response to stop the boat from tipping. She misses the warmth of his body against hers, yet some part of her is happy that he's pulled away. His closeness isn't something they deserve.
“I’d taste amazing!” He laughs easily at the thought, and she can feel the boat sway slightly as he gestures towards the castle. “I bet they’re fighting over who gets a taste first!”
Logically, Apo knows it’s a joke, and there's no way that’s true, but they can't help but think of it. She wouldn’t be surprised if they, more accurately Scott, wanted to make her suffer. The easiest way to do that would be to hurt the militia; most of the vampires were cruel in that way. She shakes her head quickly, pushing the thought back. That wouldn't happen; they wouldn't let it.
“They won’t get to me though!” This time, his laugh shakes the boat. She glances back at him; he’s right about that.
Martyn’s head is thrown back as he laughs, leaving his neck exposed. Their gaze fixes on the pale, soft skin, and they can’t help but think of it: what would he taste like? She imagines it, sinking her newly grown fangs deep into his jugular. How he’d probably scream and thrash against them, maybe he’d tip the boat, they wouldn't let go. Not a drop would be wasted. She’d drink until she’d had her fill, despite her own disgust at the idea. That didn't matter now; she was hungry, so hungry, and Martyn had said it himself, he’d taste good.
Apo pulls their eyes away before their thoughts can go any farther than that. Leaping from the boat and plunging into the icy depths of the lake feels like a wonderful idea right now.
Before she can do that, as if he’d sensed something off about her silence, Martyn’s voice cuts into their thoughts.
“Anyways, I think yours would taste like apples,” His voice is noticeably softer; some part of her hates him for it. “Y’know, ‘cause of your name.”
Her brows furrow, and she looks back at him. “Apples?”
“Yeah!” He simply smiles in response.
“..Wouldn’t it taste metallic?”
At least, animal blood did. She’d assume that human blood would taste the same.
“Well, that’s boring,” Martyn practically whines at her, dragging his words out dramatically. “It has to taste special; there must be a reason they’d choose it over animals.”
“I guess.” Apo supposed he was right. His reasoning was sound enough anyway.
What sort of taste reminded them of Martyn? Some type of candy, maybe, something bold. Sweet yet bitter.
“Black liquorice.” She muttered decisively after a few moments of silence.
“What?” He leans forward.
“That’s what your blood would taste like.” They almost regret saying it in the first place.
“No one likes black liquorice,” Martyn yells, appalled. “You’re saying I taste bad!”
“Well, I like it!” She finds her own voice rising in response to his.
“Then you’re insane!”
“It’s an acquired taste!” Apo grins, barely able to stop herself from laughing.
Martyn rolls her eyes at them, groaning in annoyance. Then he quickly brightens.
“So.. you’d drink my blood?”
He practically beams at her, as if the idea is hilarious. Maybe it could be if it didn't have such a weight to Apo.
“No, no, I couldn’t.” They look back at him, staring at him earnestly. He’d never forgive her if she did, and that terrified her.
“Don’t get so serious,” He softened. “ I was joking.”
He leans a little closer to her, an attempt at comfort Apo’s sure she doesn't deserve.
“Besides, I trust you.” Martyn smiles; it's genuine, nothing like the shit-eating grin he’d worn mere moments before. It makes their stomach twist, a terrible knot that keeps pulling tighter and tighter. He shouldn’t. She stays silent, turning away from him. Her grip on the oars tightens so hard that she’s sure the wood could split; it aches.
After a few seconds, they can feel him pull back. He yells something back to Ren and Sausage, snickering at whatever they shout in return.
When he starts talking to them again, Apo drowns him out. Not exactly by choice, by the time his voice reaches her ears, it distorts, a garbled mess that she can't force herself to try and make sense of.
He trusts her, really trusts her, and she’s been lying to him. How could they keep it up when he said stupid sentimental things like that? She has to tell him, but how? For all they know, he could stake them the minute they open their mouth—not that they’d blame him for it. It’s what she deserved. No matter what she thought he’d do, she had to tell him anyway. He needs to know; she owes him the truth.
Before they can speak, the boat lurches to a stop with a thud, crashing into the bank of the dead woods.
“Careful!” Martyn grabs her shoulder, pulling himself forward as he does. She quickly shrugs him off.
“You ok?” He sounds slightly breathless.
“I’m fine,” Their voice nears a growl, brows knitted tightly together. Then she softens, unable to let herself be cruel when he seems to care so much. “Are you?”
“Yeah.”
Apo stands out of the boat, brushing herself off. They offer a hand to him, and he quickly takes it, pulling himself onto the bank beside them.
“God, your hands are cold.” Martyn laughs, accompanied by an overdramatic fake shiver. Apo can only force herself to smile at him in return before pulling her hand back. They shove it into the pockets of their dress.
“Come on, let’s check that tomb.” She gestures back into the woods.
He nods, glancing back to Ren and Sausage as they near the bank. Once they’ve docked, Apo turns away. They’re losing daylight, and she sees no need to wait on them. It’s safer for them away from her.
Besides, she needs the distance.