Where I'm From, We Eat Our Parents

His name is not "Fiend." Her people don't have the right mouths, so whenever Clarissa says her name sounds wrong. People's lips make it sound like "Fiend." The homonym is not appropriate, but he is patient with her. You will tolerate anything about Clarissa.

"They'll love you, Fiend," he said, sitting in his wheelchair to fix his tie. "Just be yourself."

"Skree," he said. Her tentacles fluttered, and she wandered, tossing and turning. He keeps forgetting that a tie is not a tent. They have no out-of-the-ordinary fashion in this city, and her tents keep popping out of the sleeves and neck of her off-the-rack Big & Tall. She feels embarrassed next to her in that sunflower printed dress.

Shortly after knocking on the door, two elderly people came out. It’s all about moderate smiles and kind retreats. Clarissa hugged them both.

"I'm Stefanie," said her mother, shaking both hands as if fanning herself. "Come on in! Dinner is ready."

Her father is wearing a gray coal suit that fits well with both of his arms. "So you're Fiend? We were beginning to doubt his existence."

"Skree," said Fiend, as politely as possible.

"Harrington," his father's introduction. Fiend can't read her personal tone. Should they shake hands now? Fiend stretches out the tent, but Harrington goes inside. Crap, did you already make a bad impression?

Fiend hurries behind the man. The house stinks, and Clarissa is on her way to the kitchen, walking next to her mother and talking. Waves are strong enough to attract him, and they collide with Harrington while pouring a drink. Harrington raises a gray eyebrow.

"Do you drink?"

There is a good chance he will devour these people if he ever had a plan. "Skree."

Harrington's mouth disappears into a pale line. At first, Fiend thinks the sound of clawing is coming from inside him. Then the hair becomes thinner passing over the man's side, the nails hit the log and suddenly the teeth sink into Fiend's lower thighs. He sneaks up on her.

"Dexter, down!" Stefanie shouts, running to catch the fuchsia rope. A boar, a well-prepared booth, bursts into flames, chewing on Fiend's trousers and crowded tents inside. "I'm so sorry. She's scared of strangers."

Fiend restricts some of his organs from dividing the doxie. Harrington glances at them for a moment, then frowns and splashes himself with cognac.

In the kitchen, Clarissa smiles at him with a lot of teeth.

He pushes his boneless body into a straight seat like Harrington does on the other side of the dining table. The walls are adorned with elaborate statues from the battlefield, the Eldritch Marines, and the beast monsters that drop the Silent. Those titans are so horrible that the images blur their forms. Fiend's leather seat smells like Unspeakable One hide. It tickles him, thinking he is sitting on the skin of players who once devoured his own people.

Clarissa surrounds them, placing plates and silver objects on her thighs. Fiend keeps trying to help, but he strokes her side and sits down, sitting with her father. The doxie moves from behind the sliding door to the home theater as if speaking the Harrington concept.

The photo on the left of Fiend is of a gunman who looks like a young Harrington, right downstairs. This may break the ice.

"Skree?"

"The war was an easy time," said Harrington, with a brief smile on his face as he stood beside the ugly corpse. "I don't think he worked."

"Skree." He had not yet hatched.

Harrington drinks his fourth cognac in the evening. "What are your parents doing?"

They devoured their young ones, as well as all the wild beasts of the field. But he can't say that in this man's house. "Skree."

Harrington drinks and Fiend plays with his tie. He wishes his tie would be a tent. She would enjoy a silk tent, and she thought Clarissa would too.

The sliding door slams shut as Dexter crawls through it, and Stefanie slams into the earthenware crust. Like her daughter, she smiles with many teeth. "This is a delicious family meal."

He puts the bowl down, exposing the lining of the lining with the shiny calamari in the clam sauce. The sweet smell smells and surrounds the holes in Fiend.

Clarissa opens her parents' door, and for a moment Fiend wonders if people are eating their parents.

"Clarissa's Nana invented this during the war," Stefanie said. "Family favorite."

Harrington watches. Fiend didn't do well all night, and it's not like he never ate seafood. He reaches for the feed fork to calm things down - and that's when the slippery door opens. He runs a hard stick before the usual doxie's teeth grind into his thighs. He fights so as not to overwhelm his attacker.

Then Harrington rolled his eyes. Fiend screams and grabs the doxie collar with one tent, then ties her legs with the other three. Take it off the floor and in front of the man's face.

Harrington nods strongly. "So you have a backbone."

Fiend doesn't understand fathers. He snorts under his breath and drags the dog to the back door.

"That's good," Stefanie said. "Flexible, isn't it?"

Clarissa smiles. "You know nothing."

Harrington grabs his tent and shakes. "It's wonderful, Mr. Fiend."

Stefanie enlightens them, "Such a joy! Come in anytime." It's been fifteen minutes since saying goodbye. Even Clarissa is embarrassed at this point, but Fiend treats her well, shaking her body.

As they drive to their car, Clarissa whispers, "Do you want to have five boys? You didn't touch dinner."

"Skree." He is completely full.

As his parents turn their backs, Harrington asks, "Do you see Dexter?"

Clarissa angrily leaves her for a moment, then smiles at Fiend as she calls her parents, "Maybe you're back in Mr. Nakamura's yard."

Her father swears and runs to the back of the house. Fiend keeps his eyes open, two tents playing with his tie. Clarissa slaps her shoulder.

"Thank you more than that."

"Skree?"

She smiles toothless, lips all over. "How about dessert?"