"Yes, feeding, but worry not, little one, we'll get to that soon enough," he brushes off the question, taking the glass from her with those long, spindly and dexterous fingers, "And thank you for the wealth of compliments you've been paying my home and self this evening, really you aim to flatter," he laughs, bringing the wine up to the bandages. He pushes the edge through the ragged folds, tilting his head back to take a sip.

He sighed softly, looking to the fire, "I suppose an ear for the music of words is something one must acquire, it's simply time and patience that develops this manner of speaking, no real work to be commended upon, haha..."

A hand came up to his forehead, removing his fedora, "You'll excuse me, of course, if I make myself a little more comfortable. I don't usually dress this way in the comfort of my home," the coat soon joined the hat, laid gently across the back of the chair. Beneath, his chest was crossed with several bandages but not enough to cover it fully, leaving the plate-like golden sections of his torso visible, the bandages covering his shoulders entirely and wreathing his arms down to the fingers.

"Yes, I suppose... Do you often come out to the forest merely to sing? I'm assuming you're rather new at the campus, as the last time I was here was many years ago and I don't recall any rosy haired maidens serenading the flowers. I could, of course, be mistaken, after all, no one's perfect," this seemed to amuse him greatly, laughing to himself.

His eye roamed down to the glass, watching the liquid climb the sides and fall back into the bowl of the delicately spun crystal before taking another sip, "I suppose I should explain myself, shouldn't I? You're likely rather used to the monsters of this island using you to satisfy animal lusts and it would be impolite of me to keep you in the dark as to the nature of my feeding, wouldn't it?"

The glass rested on the table and he folded a leg up in his lap, reclining back in the chair, the plated scales on his chest moving against one another like a segmented suit of armor, "You see, my dear, I am a being that feeds on emotion, on empathic energy. That is what initially attracted me to this island."

"Six month's bedrest? Oh, how unfortunate. Ah well, these things are certainly wont to happen at this school. It's a shame, really, but I suppose it comes with the territory," he swirled the last bit of wine in the glass and tilted his head back once more, finishing it off in a gulp and setting the wine down on the table before him.

"Myths and folk stories are favorite topics of mine. Not to boast, but I'm rather certain I might have inspired a few," he laughed, leaving the statement ambiguous so that it was difficult to tell whether or not he was serious or joking.

"But to answer your question," he said as he reached up and parted the bandages before what would be the mouth on any normal human being, "Like most creatures with highly specialized feeding habits, nature has blessed me with an adaptation to cater to my needs..."

He ended with a soft hiss, a black whiplike tendril extending out from the partition in the bandage, prehensile and slick. It twisted in the air, snapping before retreating back within, his fingers quickly rearranging the bandaging over it.

Upon further review, it was absolutely foolish for a kiss on the cheek to throw Plague for a loop. As she pressed her lips to the gauze, his mind reeled, wondering exactly what he had gotten himself into. Of course, a being that has lived as long as he did on its own tends to get good at living, and he immediately expected some sort of trap. It would make sense for one of his enemies to ply through his defenses, play to his ego by having what appeared to be an innocent girl lose a game of skill to him. Of course! Why didn't he see it before?

No, but that was ridiculous. It didn't make any sense. This island was hopelessly secluded on the planet itself, let alone so far removed from earth. That, and he was quite certain that none of his various acquaintances even knew of his presence here. They probably thought he was still living in that abandoned slaughterhouse near the river. So what did that make this?

It made his prey a very strange girl.

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Plague sprung the full compliment of surprises on her. While she was expecting an odd tongue, she was most certainly not expecting the eight thick tendrils to push out of the bandages, casting them aside as they wrapped around the back of her head, holding her face close.

She likewise could not be expecting the rigid beak that pressed against her lips instead of an ordinary mouth, pushing them open and working through her teeth. The tongue extending into her mouth, the surface horribly smooth and glassy to the touch. That much, he assumed, she had prepared herself for.

However, the proverbial nail in the coffin was his voice, emenating from somewhere within his throat as his mouth and tongue remained quite occupied.

"What have you gotten yourself into now, little one?" he sighed.

The tongue seemed hesitant as it slipped into her mouth, though at the touch it snapped quickly, wrapping itself around her pink muscle with a few soft undulations, the pores on its surface opening up, revealing a number of small pits on the glassy outside of the appendage.

Plague stood slowly, her head at first tilting up to follow him, locked with his as it was, straining her neck slightly before a flood of tentacles surged from his back, wrapping around her body and lifting her up to a more comfortable level with him. They moved quickly, with no hesitation as they crawled up her legs, wrapped her torso and around her arms, holding her body comfortably at his level as they continued to twist and bind her body, his eye watching her with considerable interest.

"Well, I was hoping for a few more minutes of idle talk before we got to the main event, but you seem very eager for that," he chuckled softly, the pincered tentacles soon making themselves known from over his shoulders and around his sides, snaking forward and making efforts to remove her clothing without shredding or tearing the garments. After all, she was so kind as to throw herself at him, it would only be polite to leave her something to wear after he was done with her.

Plague took a few steps over to the wall, carrying her weight easily despite his strange, scarecrow-like frame, the tentacles using very little effort to hold her body aloft as they carefully undressed her. With her scant vision she could see that they were even folding her clothes carefully before setting them on the table between the two chairs, leaving her quite exposed as she hung in the creature's grip.

"Normally I just shred. It's much more efficient in the way of time management. But I promised a safe passage back to the dorms, and one would imagine that includes a respectable state of dress as well, so there you have it..." he chuckles softly as she's left bare.

He presses her back against the warm rock of the wall, the surface heated slightly by the warmth from the fireplace, "Now, I want to know how you're feeling at the moment. But don't tell me, you'll ruin the fun..."

The pores on his tongue begin to drain at the emotional energy she releases, leaving her with a strange but not unpleasant drunken feeling, the sensations her nerves provide amplified in the wake of her departing senses.

Plague closed his eye for a moment, drinking in that strange cocktail of emotion, reaching up to pull away the rest of the dangling bandages from his face with an idle claw, leaving his visage completely exposed. That blend of feeling was strange, not quite what he was used to...

Still, the tendrils around her face tightened softly, pulling her head in closer before relaxing, the tendril between her lips stroking up and down along her tongue, the tip teasing the backs of her teeth and the roof of her mouth with little exploratory prods.

A single, enterprising tentacle slid up between her thighs, the other tendrils parting the way for its approach. It doubled back before it reached her sex, pushing the side of its length up against the tender lips as opposed to the tip, rubbing up between them with the wide side of its length.

Plague continued the slow draining process, leaving her with that muddled, pleasantly drunk feeling. He stroked down her side with one clawed hand, razor-sharp nails brushing lightly across the unblemished flesh.