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The trip was arduous and long, filled with the loathed necessity of eating rats to survive, sucking blood and marrow from their too thin bodies. Of course, once they managed to make it to land, the humans were just as bad. Too thin, too weak. He cursed their lack of mental power, knowing he needed someone strong to carry him. Pettigrew had been no use and, if he was to return to his full strength, his full power, he needed someone. Needed something. Needed more. "Ryan left me." She was vacuous and vain, drunk and swaying forward out over the water with every breath. "For her. And her baby. Which might be his. He doesn't know. He would know. If he hadn't fucked her. If he'd just fucked me instead of fucking me over. Everyone fucks me over." He took the bottle from her hand and took a long swallow. Watered down, American excuse for booze, too weak to give him any relief from her monotone, self-absorbed diatribe. "What'd you say your name was again?" "Tom." "Tom what?" "Riddle." "Of the Palm Beach Riddles?" "My minions call me Voldemort." "Oh, minions." Tears filled her eyes, but her voice didn't change. "That reminds me of Seth. Seth's gone too. He left and I'm sure it's all my fault. Because of Ryan." The alcohol was gone, drained into his throat, barely burning, barely giving him the strength he needed. But still, the glass shattered on her head with a satisfying sound and her weak, useless, pathetic soul was his for the taking. He sucked it out of her, his wand quivering in his hand. The taste of her on his soul's tongue was bitter and he shook his wand, expelling her as best he could. He walked away from the dock no stronger and only slightly drunker than he'd arrived. He looked back at her, slumped on the silvered boards and shrugged. Someone would, no doubt, find her in the morning. He just wasn't sure that anyone would care.
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