Before heading back to the kitchen Susan let the hens blood drain into a waiting bucket while she plucked and tossed the feathers into a waiting basket. They weren't as valuable as down, or as useful as the larger feathers of other birds either. Though they were still worth something to some craftsmen. At the very least they could be used, if ground, as a fertilizer. Usually she'd also clean up the killing stump, or at least Johnathan would have. Today she didn't have the drive to capture the little bit of blood staining it. Somehow that decision also prompted another alert in her system, but it simply showed up as a increase in the value on her already numerous but minimized set of them. A twinge of anger rose again at whatever entity decided today was when the system would pay attention to her, but she'd already muted and sidelined them so let it go while huffing and carrying hen to the kitchen to prep for dinner.

Preparing a meal had always been a good break from reality for her. The actions ingrained as rote and unconscious, but the results were still fulfilling. It was almost like watching someone else work while you took a back seat and relaxed. Enjoying the fruits of the labor but not really feeling like work. First she started a fire in the oven, then started prepping the chicken. Washing the skin, pulling off the last few remaining feathers. Pulling out the organs, although messy, was rather quick. Like the feathers they were set aside. Some for use in other dishes and some for the cats and dogs to enjoy. In fact the house cat was already standing behind silently pretending to not be begging but clearly were; Like they always did while meals were being prepared. Susan had a soft heart but also ran a strict house. It was rare that she'd give in but in light of the events of the day she tossed the cat the chicken liver. The cat rewarded her in turn with soft purrs as she happily chewed her fine treat. Meanwhile the system tortured her with another increment on her minimized alerts.

A second wash of the bird was followed by adding what seasoning she had available. Some thyme and chives from the garden, salt they'd bartered for with the local mine, some lard carefully saved from other meals. There had been times in the past where they'd had more seasonings available but this last year trade had been limited. The carts that had come through town hadn't shed much light on why this might be. Many said those who used to trade this way had simply moved to better routes. It seemed strange that an improvement in the traders way of life could cause a detriment to another's. That wasn't her concern though. Taking a deep breath she put the finishing touches on the bird and set it to marinate while the oven heated up. cleaning her hands she trudged out to the root cellar. With such a reduction in traders coming this way it did mean they had a surplus of wine. There was no reason to let it go to waste. Especially now that she had no husband to share a bottle with, she raged internally. Shaking her head at her temper caused a few errant teardrops to come loose. Her hand came up to wipe them and she realized she'd absentmindedly brought the kitchen rag with her. Again she found herself shaking her head at herself as she used it to dab the tears away. Again she noticed this action somehow caught the attention of some interested party as up popped yet another notification.

Taking a deep breath and calming her nerves as much as was possible with the recent events she opened the root cellar. The steps down barely even creaked, as expected. Jonathon's craftsmanship had always been superb, especially for a farmer. They did get benefits to their work around the farm but he had always taken pride in spending just that extra bit of time to ensure things were done just so. Relishing the fond memory she perused the wines they'd kept from their last few harvests. As she debated her eyes passed over the cask of vodka her husband had insisted on making a few years back which they'd never sold and never drank. A dark portion of her wanted nothing more than to down the entire thing and be done with it all. Quickly quashing that she still found herself grabbing it and eyeing the simple label. "Vodka, Jonathon, 12186" The man had never been one to mince words. Straight to the point in everything. Idly wiping the dust from it with her kitchen rag she rolled her eyes at the ever ascending numeral in her vision. That settled it, she took the vodka back with her to the house.

back in the kitchen Susan checked the chicken and surrounding vegetables before setting it in the oven. Looking to the cask she'd brought in she scoffed. There'd never been much she'd liked about hard liquor, but in this one instance the strength would help her ease her mind and keep it off of that which she didn't want to remember. That didn't mean she wanted to drink it straight though. Despite Johnathan using vanilla to flavor it. She'd nearly killed him as it was they last they'd had for years. Grabbing a bin of strawberries she brought it, the cask, a couple spoons, and a glass with her on a platter to the porch. Squeezing those strawberries would give a decent base for the drink. In the sky Major was creeping ever closer to creating a beautiful sunset.

Finishing squeezing a nearly full glass of strawberry juice she added the vodka and took a sip. The drink was surprisingly good. The strawberries turned out to be overripe and their excessive sweetness combined with the smooth vanilla helped offset the vodka almost perfectly. As more of the drink passed her lips she found her hopes of holding off memories were dashed. Although it seemed to also be in a better than expected manner. The floodgates were opened and she reminisced of old times but without the fear and sadness overwhelming her. Times of love, happiness, and even sadness flowed through her. There was a bittersweet twinge and the feeling of loss interwoven into those memories now. Though this new tapestry was difficult to see the lack of inhibition allowed an understanding that the addition wasn't a destruction of those memories. Sadness and loss are the unfortunate bedfellows to love stories, but she could see how they somehow made it even more beautiful. The smell of chicken wafting out onto the porch drew her from her reverie and she dried her eyes and cheeks.

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The trip back to the kitchen, even with lugging the platter back, revealed not even the slightest of sway in her step. As a lightweight this was odd but not exactly a priority or concern with the other events of the day. Though the chicken was smelling wonderful it wasn't quite finished yet. Taking a post leaning against the counter she poured another glass, this one without the strawberries as they'd run out. The taste was somehow still beyond her expectations. It might possibly be she was feeling the effects after all. Corking the cask she set it aside and sipped her last glass until the chicken reached it's perfect golden brown. Serving herself a thigh, piece of breast, and some of the vegetables she headed back to the porch. Although she'd spent the time and effort to make dinner she hadn't expected to actually be hungry. Sitting down on the chairs Johnathan had made for them and looking at the meal she was encouraged that she actually had an appetite.

The first bite reminded her she hadn't actually eaten since the morning, and even as she made this realization her body was already shoveling the rest of the meat into her mouth. Now licking her fingers and staring at the vegetables she knew they weren't going to cut it. Another trek to the kitchen and back, this time with some minor wobbles, brought out a new thigh and breast slice. As the first few bites came and went, then the rest of the meat she began to feel a bit worried. Taking the path back to the kitchen again the wobbling had gotten even worse despite having finished the last glass before the first plate. Better to just stay in the kitchen she shrugged. Slicing a few more pieces of the breast, even more meat actually than the first two plates, she sat at the workbench and forced herself to slowly and methodically eat them. The closer she got to the last bit the more aware she was of it's failure to fill her. Even as the last bit of meat was gone she knew the hunger wasn't.

Trying to distract herself she looked to her hud, but was only angered by the still increasing count on the icon, now even flashing at her. Standing up grumpily she paced toward the living room but even as she did a deep weighty thrum of emptiness inside her again made it's presence known. Almost fearfully she turned back. laying her eyes on the pan and it's contents caused a reverberation to spread outward from her midsection as if grabbing hold of her body. With the stillness of a predator her legs moved into a crouch as her arms came up ready to fight for a meal. A small portion of her mind that was still sapient noted "what in the fuck was in that vodka". Then she leaped at the pan, nearly knocking it to the floor. Hands clenched and fingers pierced into the meat. That self aware part of her worried she might sear her hands from the still quite hot meat. This wasn't a concern for long though as what followed horrified Susan more than her husband dying. Like a starving animal she tore every piece of meat she could find from the carcass. That being what she thought of it as now. Similarly wrenching bones out to access the meat between.

As the last bits of meat were being picked off Susan felt a bit of relief but something told her it wasn't over. The last bone was being scraped of the tiniest visages of meat and her body again stopped cold looking at the pile of bones and slowly tonguing the one in it's mouth. From her belly came a growl unlike any she'd heard, and immediately the bone in her mouth was cracked and the marrow was being sucked out. As the cracking and crunching of bones continued what little sane portion of her that was left took a rain check. The leftover shell tucked in even faster if that was possible and before long was not just sucking the marrow but munching and swallowing even the bones themselves. Through all of this more notifications came and were added to the counter. As Susan's body stood drooling and staring off into space it seemed for a moment that she would come back to herself. Then a scent hit the nose and the hunger controlling her was in control again.

With an almost bird like jerky stagger Susan walked out into the yard. There next to the stump where dinner had started was the basket and bucket containing the feathers and blood. Another growl escaped Susan but this time not from her stomach. Although dinner had started here this is also where it would end.