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@devouringteeth
Picture. :)
There's Something Else in the water today. Moving in the still reflections, the thing bounced from still pool to water droplet to place in between ripples.
When it surfaced, it had no scent, but it smelled of petrichor and the chill of a cold breeze. It was a million old reflections, ice and metal and glass, but also a figure that could be mistaken as human. It climbed out of the reflection in the swamp, choosing to sit nearby.
It doesn't speak, but it lets out a brief hum of an insect as a replacement for the moment. Some old thing that dipped into a pool looking for a drink and never resurfaced.
-make-your-choices
Something Else sits unbothered by the equally buzzing actual insects - they do not register it as potential food and continue with their miniature guts aching with hunger.
It is almost peaceful, like this. A light breeze upon the grass. The gurgle of water and gas as plants quietly rot beneath the surface. Somewhere, a crane calls. The Hunger of the Swamp creeps up along the edges of its myriad reflections and settles there like condensation, quietly gnawing.
It takes a little while for the Devourer to take note of the new presence, but he eventually does. Its massive head surfaces near Janus with a spray of water from its nostrils, silently eyeing the strange shape that has found its way into his domain.
A creature that was only a man in the most surface sense of the word slowly made its way through the street. It walked bent, stopping every so often to people-watch. The people in question dutifully ignored his staring, his horns, how the evening light reflected off of his yellow eyes, the way the bones under his skin shifted as though it was an ill-fitting suit.
It was so easy to ignore when it wasn't about you. Only once or twice he received unsettled and confused glances.
The Devourer itself didn't know what it was looking for. The urge to leave the Swamp after its recent conversation, to escape the stagnant air for just a fleeting moment had been overwhelming.
But now, he was simply following his nose.
He could smell the Archives throughout the town its many-layered aroma of deliciousness like a lure. But there was something new, too. Not enthralling like a good meal - but thick with the touch of Fear regardless.
Eventually he comes to stand in front of an unremarkable looking door. Out of pure curiosity he gives an experimental push against it, claws making a scratching noise.
"Mmrgh...?"
[One of Lady Regina's guards cracks the door, then immediately slams it. The Devourer hears frantic whispering coming from inside, and a few seconds later the door is opened by a young woman wearing a wide smile, though her eyes tell of irritation. For a moment. Her eyes scan up the Devourer until they meet his, and the irritation vanishes into something much more familiar to it. Panic. The smile does not falter.]
Ah. A very esteemed guest indeed. Please. Do come in. :}
[She opens the door fully, inviting it in. She does not bother giving her spiel about security measures. It wouldn't matter. And may make things worse by coming across as a threat. She is still smiling.]
Do you know what you're in the market for, or did you come to browse� :}
[The Devourer in turn eyes the Lady openly, her practiced smile and confident posture. It briefly flashes a hint of teeth in amusement at the panic and the surprising treatment, but doesn't seem particularily eager to shove her inbetween said teeth.]
[Instead he tilts his head as he steps inside, examining the room, the counter. Eyeing the wards with a flick of his ear.]
Ah... you sell? [Its tone indicates surprise, voice carrying a hard to place accent.] I did not. Know this was a shop. I was... merely curious about the. Scent.
Mmh.... what do you sell?
The scentā¦yes, I'm sure there is quite a strong trail to follow for one of your distinction! :}
[Despite her style of dress, despite the cool temperatures of a QuƩbecois spring night, sweat is beading at her brow. Her men seem to be on standby, not leveling their firearms at the Devourer the way they had the Archivist. Again. Presenting as a threat would only make things worse here.]
I am a buyer, seller, and trader of Artifacts--that is to say, objects of esoteric and supernatural origin! Right now much of my stock deals in addressing Spiders, Spinners, Weavers, being that that's what the local market calls for, but if you have another interest, I'm certain I can find something to suit you.
[It is indeed a very good idea to not present as a threat, even if humans weren't his main course anymore. The Devourer knows the sight of guards, knows what they were here for, and he feels the wards on his skin. He didn't need more explanation or demonstration of the level of security in this place. He merely eyes the man that had opened the door with placid curiosity, keenly aware of the nervousness and panic choking the air.]
[His lip curls with a little entertained huff when the Lady mentions "distinction". She was right, of course, but it was terribly funny to be addressed like that.]
Does the. Flattery sell lots? Just... Devourer is fine. They call me. That. Nowadays.
Weavers... [he echoes, running his thumb over his jawline in thought before looking at the Lady again. His fingers seem to have a fourth joint.]
Do you... have something to. Find a Weaver?
[The Lady watches the monster eye the guard who had slammed the door in his face. She makes no move to stop it. But she IS thankful when it turns its attention away from the man.]
The flattery eases nerves, loosens pockets, and helps keep me safe, Devourer. :} If you want to find a Weaver, and I'm assuming you don't want to harm them? Just based on your phrasingā¦
[She ponders for a bit. And her eyes light up in excitement for a moment, the fear disappearing for only that instant, and she hops over the counter, opening a glass closet that had a bookshelf within. She counts the books on one of the shelves, and pulls out the 18th from the left, a very old looking journal.]
Step with me outside a moment? :}
[And outside her own wards and security measures, she reads aloud from the book.]
"We must take care lest we beget more monsters on this earth. If you do not desist, she will take to you, and you will transform if you do this--"
[During her last several words, the shades of moths, clearly spectral, begin spilling from her mouth. Her grin looks triumphant, pleased with her own genius.]
Where there are Weavers, there are Strings that you can follow back to them. The moths aren't real, but that's okay, because neither are the Strings. They will be caught, and give form to the Web you can't see.
Justā¦do be careful around any friends who walk Alone. The little guys ARE looking for a new home⦠:}
[The Devourer gives an amicable shrug at her explanation, finding itself agreeing with her take on flattery. He watches with interest as she pulls out the journal, following outside.]
Ah-...
[The old avatar seems mesmerized by the moths, beyond simple fascination. He briefly reaches out to one, but then thinks better of it.]
Hm...I do not know if there are. Any Strings left...
[It sighs briefly, something like sadness creeping into his expression before it focuses on something else.]
...Will it. Work for a Weaver that... does not use webs? She's... older than the spiders. We lost. Contact a long. Time ago. [He elaborates on his request.]
Ah, I see...
[Older than the spiders??? There were documents describing the "Great Spider" dating back as far as the 17th century. This was terrifying in a way that she wasn't used to. This was a whole new experience. The grin remained.]
Hmmm. Do you have anything of hers? Any belongings? A true name, even? Or are we operating purely off of memories?
[The clearly ancient avatar didn't pay attention to her newfound terror, deep in thought as he pondered her question with a furrowed brow. Belongings, belongings... did he? Perhaps clothing-...No, no, it all got lost in the haze.]
[A name... he does remember something about that, a memory renewed by the Archivist. She had two, and he once knew both but used only one.]
A true name... perhaps. Maybe....
[He idly taps the side of his face with a claw in thought, one arm folded under the other.]
If you... do not have anything that. Works with only memories. I'd be willing to try. Something that works... with a true name. I don't remember it... but perhaps some day. I will.
...I do recall. Places in which she may be. If proximity matters?
[Lady Regina drops into a squat, resting her elbows on her knees. Her smile does finally drop, replaced by a thoughtful contemplation. She wanted to provide the product the Devourer needed, and it was only like 60% because she was worried about getting eaten if she didn't. This was a puzzle to be solved.]
Give me a minute, let me thinkā¦
[Hunting something based just on MEMORIES of it wasā¦well, nothing was impossible, but she didn't have anything that did that in her current stockā¦True names played into the way the Stranger manifested as the Faeā¦]
ā¦I have a Mask. It likes to become interesting people. Likes for those people to wear it, to be their face until they become its face. It'sā¦predatory. If you can make this person sound fascinating enough to it, it may very well want to hunt them down so that it can become them. Which, with their true name, I think it would be able to find them? It's of the Strange, the Inhuman, I Don't Know You. They work within those strange rulesā¦
You'd have to kill it before it found its way onto them and into them, of course. If that isn't agreeable, then I don't think I can help you with my current stock.
[The Devourer's eyes rest on her as she squats down, but he's looking past her. He lets her words roll around his head like marbles. And, eventually, something seems to have produced a spark.]
Perhaps... [he slowly replies, clicking his tongue. Perhaps he could request something from his latest "aquaintances"... though he would loathe to owe.]
[He straightens up a little, having made a decision]
I will. Take it. If... you have something that. Cages and protects. From influences. I can kill it with. Ease. But. I will not... need it immediately. And I worry that it may. Grow Hungry. In my home.
[The capital H is audible in his tone, and as he says the word at least one of the guards would begin feeling a little peckish. Something else occurs to the Monster in the meanwhile.]
...I have. No money to pay. Will. An exchange suffice? Artifact for. Artifact?
[The power behind his words can be felt as he speaks, and for just an instant, her lip involuntarily curls--if you weren't looking right at her when it happened, you would miss it.]
I can bind it. Seal it in an attache. Sealed internally and externally. But. Probably better if it's Hungry before it hunts. It'll be more motivated that way. Desperation breeds ingenuity.
[Her head cocks to the side in an unintentional mimickry of the Devourer. The smile is back.]
I accept trades! What are you offering?
[He sees the momentary snarl, but only acknowledges it with a small turning of his long ears.]
I would...appreciate the attache. I will have. Few. Problems giving it the right... motivation. When the time comes.
[At her question he leans back on his heels, giving a brief hum in thought. What would the mask be worth?]
I can offer.... a dagger-tooth. Stab it into. Anyone you want. And they will. Know. Hunger like. Never before. Leave it in. Long enough and... they will starve. Even without. A stomach.
Or... [And here he gives a sardonic smile, for reasons only known to the monster itself.] A piece of Flesh. Irresistible and. Delicious. If eaten whole... it will turn one. Into a twisted shape of. Monstrous looks. It is an. Agonizing process, too.
Your choice.
[The choice was made instantly.]
"The tooth, then!"
[The flesh would be a remarkably niche object. Only a handful of potential buyers. And the type of people who would be willing to buy are the type of people she was very eager to keep it away from.]
"All sales are final at my discretion, no guarantees are made regarding theorized usages, et cetera. Let me go bind up an attacheā¦"
[All too happy to exit the EXTREMELY tense interaction now that the Devourer seemed pleased with an idea, the Lady briskly moved back into her shop, her men following. She fetched a decent quality case from the back--waterproof, shock resistant, reinforced--and began to etch onto it. Eyes on the outside. Linked, crossing the seams of the case. Watching. The Strange mask would be safe inside the case. Outside it would be Watched. It would be able to feel that. Safer inside the case. Don't try anything funny.]
[Inside the case, Spiral sigils. The mask would feel safe, in good company. And base, animalistic desires like Hunger would get lost in the Swirls well before they truly made it inside. And she explained these safety details to the Devourer a few minutes later, as she presented the case to him.]
"ā¦Sound good to you?"
[The old avatar follows the Lady and her entourage, long ears perked up with visible interest. He patiently watches as she carves the sigils into the case, vaguely recognizing one or two of them.]
[He nods at her explanation, finding it sensible. And a very interesting practical application of Fear theory, too.]
It does.
[The Devourer runs a too-long finger over its surface before seeming satisfied and taking a step back.]
Now.. my end of. The deal.
[It turns its head away from the Lady and opens its mouth. The odd fine indent running from the corners of his mouth down along the sides of his neck parting to reveal jaws where there shouldn't be jaws and teeth where there shouldn't be teeth.]
[He reaches under his shirt where some anatomical abomination strains against the fabric. He grips something, pushes, pauses. Frowning in irritation. The Devourer readjusts its grasp and there is a Really Bad cracking noise as it winces slightly.]
[He is considerate enough to wipe the tooth with its root partially intact properly dry on his shirt before placing it on the counter. The thing is a dull white, longer than her hand and cone-shaped with a sharp tip. Rows of tiny, backwards-facing hooks are on the inside.]
[He readjusts his jaw back into a normal position before speaking.]
All it will need. Is a strip of leather...for good handling. Take care to. Not cut yourself.
[Gas masks conceal the disgust and fear of the Lady's entourage. Her own face does not flinch, though at the Horrible Noise, the smile does momentarily look much less genuine in a way hard to describe. She very calmly reaches under the counter and pulls on the thick glove she retrieves before picking up the tooth.]
Thank you very much for the business, sir! Please do remember us when you have a situation you'd like help resolving, any letters addressed to me do have their way of finding me eventually! Enjoy the rest of your evening. :}
[He takes the case, holding it close to his chest for a moment before looking back at the Lady when she bids her farewell.]
Mh.
[The Devourer replies with a singular noise and a polite nod, apparently suddenly tiring of talking. He gives one last absent-minded glance at the fearful guards, then shuffles out of the shop.]
A creature that was only a man in the most surface sense of the word slowly made its way through the street. It walked bent, stopping every so often to people-watch. The people in question dutifully ignored his staring, his horns, how the evening light reflected off of his yellow eyes, the way the bones under his skin shifted as though it was an ill-fitting suit.
It was so easy to ignore when it wasn't about you. Only once or twice he received unsettled and confused glances.
The Devourer itself didn't know what it was looking for. The urge to leave the Swamp after its recent conversation, to escape the stagnant air for just a fleeting moment had been overwhelming.
But now, he was simply following his nose.
He could smell the Archives throughout the town its many-layered aroma of deliciousness like a lure. But there was something new, too. Not enthralling like a good meal - but thick with the touch of Fear regardless.
Eventually he comes to stand in front of an unremarkable looking door. Out of pure curiosity he gives an experimental push against it, claws making a scratching noise.
"Mmrgh...?"
[One of Lady Regina's guards cracks the door, then immediately slams it. The Devourer hears frantic whispering coming from inside, and a few seconds later the door is opened by a young woman wearing a wide smile, though her eyes tell of irritation. For a moment. Her eyes scan up the Devourer until they meet his, and the irritation vanishes into something much more familiar to it. Panic. The smile does not falter.]
Ah. A very esteemed guest indeed. Please. Do come in. :}
[She opens the door fully, inviting it in. She does not bother giving her spiel about security measures. It wouldn't matter. And may make things worse by coming across as a threat. She is still smiling.]
Do you know what you're in the market for, or did you come to browse� :}
[The Devourer in turn eyes the Lady openly, her practiced smile and confident posture. It briefly flashes a hint of teeth in amusement at the panic and the surprising treatment, but doesn't seem particularily eager to shove her inbetween said teeth.]
[Instead he tilts his head as he steps inside, examining the room, the counter. Eyeing the wards with a flick of his ear.]
Ah... you sell? [Its tone indicates surprise, voice carrying a hard to place accent.] I did not. Know this was a shop. I was... merely curious about the. Scent.
Mmh.... what do you sell?
The scentā¦yes, I'm sure there is quite a strong trail to follow for one of your distinction! :}
[Despite her style of dress, despite the cool temperatures of a QuƩbecois spring night, sweat is beading at her brow. Her men seem to be on standby, not leveling their firearms at the Devourer the way they had the Archivist. Again. Presenting as a threat would only make things worse here.]
I am a buyer, seller, and trader of Artifacts--that is to say, objects of esoteric and supernatural origin! Right now much of my stock deals in addressing Spiders, Spinners, Weavers, being that that's what the local market calls for, but if you have another interest, I'm certain I can find something to suit you.
[It is indeed a very good idea to not present as a threat, even if humans weren't his main course anymore. The Devourer knows the sight of guards, knows what they were here for, and he feels the wards on his skin. He didn't need more explanation or demonstration of the level of security in this place. He merely eyes the man that had opened the door with placid curiosity, keenly aware of the nervousness and panic choking the air.]
[His lip curls with a little entertained huff when the Lady mentions "distinction". She was right, of course, but it was terribly funny to be addressed like that.]
Does the. Flattery sell lots? Just... Devourer is fine. They call me. That. Nowadays.
Weavers... [he echoes, running his thumb over his jawline in thought before looking at the Lady again. His fingers seem to have a fourth joint.]
Do you... have something to. Find a Weaver?
[The Lady watches the monster eye the guard who had slammed the door in his face. She makes no move to stop it. But she IS thankful when it turns its attention away from the man.]
The flattery eases nerves, loosens pockets, and helps keep me safe, Devourer. :} If you want to find a Weaver, and I'm assuming you don't want to harm them? Just based on your phrasingā¦
[She ponders for a bit. And her eyes light up in excitement for a moment, the fear disappearing for only that instant, and she hops over the counter, opening a glass closet that had a bookshelf within. She counts the books on one of the shelves, and pulls out the 18th from the left, a very old looking journal.]
Step with me outside a moment? :}
[And outside her own wards and security measures, she reads aloud from the book.]
"We must take care lest we beget more monsters on this earth. If you do not desist, she will take to you, and you will transform if you do this--"
[During her last several words, the shades of moths, clearly spectral, begin spilling from her mouth. Her grin looks triumphant, pleased with her own genius.]
Where there are Weavers, there are Strings that you can follow back to them. The moths aren't real, but that's okay, because neither are the Strings. They will be caught, and give form to the Web you can't see.
Justā¦do be careful around any friends who walk Alone. The little guys ARE looking for a new home⦠:}
[The Devourer gives an amicable shrug at her explanation, finding itself agreeing with her take on flattery. He watches with interest as she pulls out the journal, following outside.]
Ah-...
[The old avatar seems mesmerized by the moths, beyond simple fascination. He briefly reaches out to one, but then thinks better of it.]
Hm...I do not know if there are. Any Strings left...
[It sighs briefly, something like sadness creeping into his expression before it focuses on something else.]
...Will it. Work for a Weaver that... does not use webs? She's... older than the spiders. We lost. Contact a long. Time ago. [He elaborates on his request.]
Ah, I see...
[Older than the spiders??? There were documents describing the "Great Spider" dating back as far as the 17th century. This was terrifying in a way that she wasn't used to. This was a whole new experience. The grin remained.]
Hmmm. Do you have anything of hers? Any belongings? A true name, even? Or are we operating purely off of memories?
[The clearly ancient avatar didn't pay attention to her newfound terror, deep in thought as he pondered her question with a furrowed brow. Belongings, belongings... did he? Perhaps clothing-...No, no, it all got lost in the haze.]
[A name... he does remember something about that, a memory renewed by the Archivist. She had two, and he once knew both but used only one.]
A true name... perhaps. Maybe....
[He idly taps the side of his face with a claw in thought, one arm folded under the other.]
If you... do not have anything that. Works with only memories. I'd be willing to try. Something that works... with a true name. I don't remember it... but perhaps some day. I will.
...I do recall. Places in which she may be. If proximity matters?
[Lady Regina drops into a squat, resting her elbows on her knees. Her smile does finally drop, replaced by a thoughtful contemplation. She wanted to provide the product the Devourer needed, and it was only like 60% because she was worried about getting eaten if she didn't. This was a puzzle to be solved.]
Give me a minute, let me thinkā¦
[Hunting something based just on MEMORIES of it wasā¦well, nothing was impossible, but she didn't have anything that did that in her current stockā¦True names played into the way the Stranger manifested as the Faeā¦]
ā¦I have a Mask. It likes to become interesting people. Likes for those people to wear it, to be their face until they become its face. It'sā¦predatory. If you can make this person sound fascinating enough to it, it may very well want to hunt them down so that it can become them. Which, with their true name, I think it would be able to find them? It's of the Strange, the Inhuman, I Don't Know You. They work within those strange rulesā¦
You'd have to kill it before it found its way onto them and into them, of course. If that isn't agreeable, then I don't think I can help you with my current stock.
[The Devourer's eyes rest on her as she squats down, but he's looking past her. He lets her words roll around his head like marbles. And, eventually, something seems to have produced a spark.]
Perhaps... [he slowly replies, clicking his tongue. Perhaps he could request something from his latest "aquaintances"... though he would loathe to owe.]
[He straightens up a little, having made a decision]
I will. Take it. If... you have something that. Cages and protects. From influences. I can kill it with. Ease. But. I will not... need it immediately. And I worry that it may. Grow Hungry. In my home.
[The capital H is audible in his tone, and as he says the word at least one of the guards would begin feeling a little peckish. Something else occurs to the Monster in the meanwhile.]
...I have. No money to pay. Will. An exchange suffice? Artifact for. Artifact?
[The power behind his words can be felt as he speaks, and for just an instant, her lip involuntarily curls--if you weren't looking right at her when it happened, you would miss it.]
I can bind it. Seal it in an attache. Sealed internally and externally. But. Probably better if it's Hungry before it hunts. It'll be more motivated that way. Desperation breeds ingenuity.
[Her head cocks to the side in an unintentional mimickry of the Devourer. The smile is back.]
I accept trades! What are you offering?
[He sees the momentary snarl, but only acknowledges it with a small turning of his long ears.]
I would...appreciate the attache. I will have. Few. Problems giving it the right... motivation. When the time comes.
[At her question he leans back on his heels, giving a brief hum in thought. What would the mask be worth?]
I can offer.... a dagger-tooth. Stab it into. Anyone you want. And they will. Know. Hunger like. Never before. Leave it in. Long enough and... they will starve. Even without. A stomach.
Or... [And here he gives a sardonic smile, for reasons only known to the monster itself.] A piece of Flesh. Irresistible and. Delicious. If eaten whole... it will turn one. Into a twisted shape of. Monstrous looks. It is an. Agonizing process, too.
Your choice.
[The choice was made instantly.]
"The tooth, then!"
[The flesh would be a remarkably niche object. Only a handful of potential buyers. And the type of people who would be willing to buy are the type of people she was very eager to keep it away from.]
"All sales are final at my discretion, no guarantees are made regarding theorized usages, et cetera. Let me go bind up an attacheā¦"
[All too happy to exit the EXTREMELY tense interaction now that the Devourer seemed pleased with an idea, the Lady briskly moved back into her shop, her men following. She fetched a decent quality case from the back--waterproof, shock resistant, reinforced--and began to etch onto it. Eyes on the outside. Linked, crossing the seams of the case. Watching. The Strange mask would be safe inside the case. Outside it would be Watched. It would be able to feel that. Safer inside the case. Don't try anything funny.]
[Inside the case, Spiral sigils. The mask would feel safe, in good company. And base, animalistic desires like Hunger would get lost in the Swirls well before they truly made it inside. And she explained these safety details to the Devourer a few minutes later, as she presented the case to him.]
"ā¦Sound good to you?"
[The old avatar follows the Lady and her entourage, long ears perked up with visible interest. He patiently watches as she carves the sigils into the case, vaguely recognizing one or two of them.]
[He nods at her explanation, finding it sensible. And a very interesting practical application of Fear theory, too.]
It does.
[The Devourer runs a too-long finger over its surface before seeming satisfied and taking a step back.]
Now.. my end of. The deal.
[It turns its head away from the Lady and opens its mouth. The odd fine indent running from the corners of his mouth down along the sides of his neck parting to reveal jaws where there shouldn't be jaws and teeth where there shouldn't be teeth.]
[He reaches under his shirt where some anatomical abomination strains against the fabric. He grips something, pushes, pauses. Frowning in irritation. The Devourer readjusts its grasp and there is a Really Bad cracking noise as it winces slightly.]
[He is considerate enough to wipe the tooth with its root partially intact properly dry on his shirt before placing it on the counter. The thing is a dull white, longer than her hand and cone-shaped with a sharp tip. Rows of tiny, backwards-facing hooks are on the inside.]
[He readjusts his jaw back into a normal position before speaking.]
All it will need. Is a strip of leather...for good handling. Take care to. Not cut yourself.
[Gas masks conceal the disgust and fear of the Lady's entourage. Her own face does not flinch, though at the Horrible Noise, the smile does momentarily look much less genuine in a way hard to describe. She very calmly reaches under the counter and pulls on the thick glove she retrieves before picking up the tooth.]
Thank you very much for the business, sir! Please do remember us when you have a situation you'd like help resolving, any letters addressed to me do have their way of finding me eventually! Enjoy the rest of your evening. :}
[He takes the case, holding it close to his chest for a moment before looking back at the Lady when she bids her farewell.]
Mh.
[The Devourer replies with a singular noise and a polite nod, apparently suddenly tiring of talking. He gives one last absent-minded glance at the fearful guards, then shuffles out of the shop.]
A creature that was only a man in the most surface sense of the word slowly made its way through the street. It walked bent, stopping every so often to people-watch. The people in question dutifully ignored his staring, his horns, how the evening light reflected off of his yellow eyes, the way the bones under his skin shifted as though it was an ill-fitting suit.
It was so easy to ignore when it wasn't about you. Only once or twice he received unsettled and confused glances.
The Devourer itself didn't know what it was looking for. The urge to leave the Swamp after its recent conversation, to escape the stagnant air for just a fleeting moment had been overwhelming.
But now, he was simply following his nose.
He could smell the Archives throughout the town its many-layered aroma of deliciousness like a lure. But there was something new, too. Not enthralling like a good meal - but thick with the touch of Fear regardless.
Eventually he comes to stand in front of an unremarkable looking door. Out of pure curiosity he gives an experimental push against it, claws making a scratching noise.
"Mmrgh...?"
[One of Lady Regina's guards cracks the door, then immediately slams it. The Devourer hears frantic whispering coming from inside, and a few seconds later the door is opened by a young woman wearing a wide smile, though her eyes tell of irritation. For a moment. Her eyes scan up the Devourer until they meet his, and the irritation vanishes into something much more familiar to it. Panic. The smile does not falter.]
Ah. A very esteemed guest indeed. Please. Do come in. :}
[She opens the door fully, inviting it in. She does not bother giving her spiel about security measures. It wouldn't matter. And may make things worse by coming across as a threat. She is still smiling.]
Do you know what you're in the market for, or did you come to browse� :}
[The Devourer in turn eyes the Lady openly, her practiced smile and confident posture. It briefly flashes a hint of teeth in amusement at the panic and the surprising treatment, but doesn't seem particularily eager to shove her inbetween said teeth.]
[Instead he tilts his head as he steps inside, examining the room, the counter. Eyeing the wards with a flick of his ear.]
Ah... you sell? [Its tone indicates surprise, voice carrying a hard to place accent.] I did not. Know this was a shop. I was... merely curious about the. Scent.
Mmh.... what do you sell?
The scentā¦yes, I'm sure there is quite a strong trail to follow for one of your distinction! :}
[Despite her style of dress, despite the cool temperatures of a QuƩbecois spring night, sweat is beading at her brow. Her men seem to be on standby, not leveling their firearms at the Devourer the way they had the Archivist. Again. Presenting as a threat would only make things worse here.]
I am a buyer, seller, and trader of Artifacts--that is to say, objects of esoteric and supernatural origin! Right now much of my stock deals in addressing Spiders, Spinners, Weavers, being that that's what the local market calls for, but if you have another interest, I'm certain I can find something to suit you.
[It is indeed a very good idea to not present as a threat, even if humans weren't his main course anymore. The Devourer knows the sight of guards, knows what they were here for, and he feels the wards on his skin. He didn't need more explanation or demonstration of the level of security in this place. He merely eyes the man that had opened the door with placid curiosity, keenly aware of the nervousness and panic choking the air.]
[His lip curls with a little entertained huff when the Lady mentions "distinction". She was right, of course, but it was terribly funny to be addressed like that.]
Does the. Flattery sell lots? Just... Devourer is fine. They call me. That. Nowadays.
Weavers... [he echoes, running his thumb over his jawline in thought before looking at the Lady again. His fingers seem to have a fourth joint.]
Do you... have something to. Find a Weaver?
[The Lady watches the monster eye the guard who had slammed the door in his face. She makes no move to stop it. But she IS thankful when it turns its attention away from the man.]
The flattery eases nerves, loosens pockets, and helps keep me safe, Devourer. :} If you want to find a Weaver, and I'm assuming you don't want to harm them? Just based on your phrasingā¦
[She ponders for a bit. And her eyes light up in excitement for a moment, the fear disappearing for only that instant, and she hops over the counter, opening a glass closet that had a bookshelf within. She counts the books on one of the shelves, and pulls out the 18th from the left, a very old looking journal.]
Step with me outside a moment? :}
[And outside her own wards and security measures, she reads aloud from the book.]
"We must take care lest we beget more monsters on this earth. If you do not desist, she will take to you, and you will transform if you do this--"
[During her last several words, the shades of moths, clearly spectral, begin spilling from her mouth. Her grin looks triumphant, pleased with her own genius.]
Where there are Weavers, there are Strings that you can follow back to them. The moths aren't real, but that's okay, because neither are the Strings. They will be caught, and give form to the Web you can't see.
Justā¦do be careful around any friends who walk Alone. The little guys ARE looking for a new home⦠:}
[The Devourer gives an amicable shrug at her explanation, finding itself agreeing with her take on flattery. He watches with interest as she pulls out the journal, following outside.]
Ah-...
[The old avatar seems mesmerized by the moths, beyond simple fascination. He briefly reaches out to one, but then thinks better of it.]
Hm...I do not know if there are. Any Strings left...
[It sighs briefly, something like sadness creeping into his expression before it focuses on something else.]
...Will it. Work for a Weaver that... does not use webs? She's... older than the spiders. We lost. Contact a long. Time ago. [He elaborates on his request.]
Ah, I see...
[Older than the spiders??? There were documents describing the "Great Spider" dating back as far as the 17th century. This was terrifying in a way that she wasn't used to. This was a whole new experience. The grin remained.]
Hmmm. Do you have anything of hers? Any belongings? A true name, even? Or are we operating purely off of memories?
[The clearly ancient avatar didn't pay attention to her newfound terror, deep in thought as he pondered her question with a furrowed brow. Belongings, belongings... did he? Perhaps clothing-...No, no, it all got lost in the haze.]
[A name... he does remember something about that, a memory renewed by the Archivist. She had two, and he once knew both but used only one.]
A true name... perhaps. Maybe....
[He idly taps the side of his face with a claw in thought, one arm folded under the other.]
If you... do not have anything that. Works with only memories. I'd be willing to try. Something that works... with a true name. I don't remember it... but perhaps some day. I will.
...I do recall. Places in which she may be. If proximity matters?
[Lady Regina drops into a squat, resting her elbows on her knees. Her smile does finally drop, replaced by a thoughtful contemplation. She wanted to provide the product the Devourer needed, and it was only like 60% because she was worried about getting eaten if she didn't. This was a puzzle to be solved.]
Give me a minute, let me thinkā¦
[Hunting something based just on MEMORIES of it wasā¦well, nothing was impossible, but she didn't have anything that did that in her current stockā¦True names played into the way the Stranger manifested as the Faeā¦]
ā¦I have a Mask. It likes to become interesting people. Likes for those people to wear it, to be their face until they become its face. It'sā¦predatory. If you can make this person sound fascinating enough to it, it may very well want to hunt them down so that it can become them. Which, with their true name, I think it would be able to find them? It's of the Strange, the Inhuman, I Don't Know You. They work within those strange rulesā¦
You'd have to kill it before it found its way onto them and into them, of course. If that isn't agreeable, then I don't think I can help you with my current stock.
[The Devourer's eyes rest on her as she squats down, but he's looking past her. He lets her words roll around his head like marbles. And, eventually, something seems to have produced a spark.]
Perhaps... [he slowly replies, clicking his tongue. Perhaps he could request something from his latest "aquaintances"... though he would loathe to owe.]
[He straightens up a little, having made a decision]
I will. Take it. If... you have something that. Cages and protects. From influences. I can kill it with. Ease. But. I will not... need it immediately. And I worry that it may. Grow Hungry. In my home.
[The capital H is audible in his tone, and as he says the word at least one of the guards would begin feeling a little peckish. Something else occurs to the Monster in the meanwhile.]
...I have. No money to pay. Will. An exchange suffice? Artifact for. Artifact?
[The power behind his words can be felt as he speaks, and for just an instant, her lip involuntarily curls--if you weren't looking right at her when it happened, you would miss it.]
I can bind it. Seal it in an attache. Sealed internally and externally. But. Probably better if it's Hungry before it hunts. It'll be more motivated that way. Desperation breeds ingenuity.
[Her head cocks to the side in an unintentional mimickry of the Devourer. The smile is back.]
I accept trades! What are you offering?
[He sees the momentary snarl, but only acknowledges it with a small turning of his long ears.]
I would...appreciate the attache. I will have. Few. Problems giving it the right... motivation. When the time comes.
[At her question he leans back on his heels, giving a brief hum in thought. What would the mask be worth?]
I can offer.... a dagger-tooth. Stab it into. Anyone you want. And they will. Know. Hunger like. Never before. Leave it in. Long enough and... they will starve. Even without. A stomach.
Or... [And here he gives a sardonic smile, for reasons only known to the monster itself.] A piece of Flesh. Irresistible and. Delicious. If eaten whole... it will turn one. Into a twisted shape of. Monstrous looks. It is an. Agonizing process, too.
Your choice.
[The choice was made instantly.]
"The tooth, then!"
[The flesh would be a remarkably niche object. Only a handful of potential buyers. And the type of people who would be willing to buy are the type of people she was very eager to keep it away from.]
"All sales are final at my discretion, no guarantees are made regarding theorized usages, et cetera. Let me go bind up an attacheā¦"
[All too happy to exit the EXTREMELY tense interaction now that the Devourer seemed pleased with an idea, the Lady briskly moved back into her shop, her men following. She fetched a decent quality case from the back--waterproof, shock resistant, reinforced--and began to etch onto it. Eyes on the outside. Linked, crossing the seams of the case. Watching. The Strange mask would be safe inside the case. Outside it would be Watched. It would be able to feel that. Safer inside the case. Don't try anything funny.]
[Inside the case, Spiral sigils. The mask would feel safe, in good company. And base, animalistic desires like Hunger would get lost in the Swirls well before they truly made it inside. And she explained these safety details to the Devourer a few minutes later, as she presented the case to him.]
"ā¦Sound good to you?"
[The old avatar follows the Lady and her entourage, long ears perked up with visible interest. He patiently watches as she carves the sigils into the case, vaguely recognizing one or two of them.]
[He nods at her explanation, finding it sensible. And a very interesting practical application of Fear theory, too.]
It does.
[The Devourer runs a too-long finger over its surface before seeming satisfied and taking a step back.]
Now.. my end of. The deal.
[It turns its head away from the Lady and opens its mouth. The odd fine indent running from the corners of his mouth down along the sides of his neck parting to reveal jaws where there shouldn't be jaws and teeth where there shouldn't be teeth.]
[He reaches under his shirt where some anatomical abomination strains against the fabric. He grips something, pushes, pauses. Frowning in irritation. The Devourer readjusts its grasp and there is a Really Bad cracking noise as it winces slightly.]
[He is considerate enough to wipe the tooth with its root partially intact properly dry on his shirt before placing it on the counter. The thing is a dull white, longer than her hand and cone-shaped with a sharp tip. Rows of tiny, backwards-facing hooks are on the inside.]
[He readjusts his jaw back into a normal position before speaking.]
All it will need. Is a strip of leather...for good handling. Take care to. Not cut yourself.
The creature that wants to kill you will not growl.
The function of a growl is as a warning. It is a communication that violence is available as a tool, but is not preferred. Other outcomes, besides your death, are available and should be considered.
But the creature that wants to kill you will not growl.
If your death is the goal, then growling will only serve as a delay and may result in your escape, which runs counter to the goal. There will be no growl, no warning. There will be no snarl or hiss or bluster. The creature that bares its teeth with the intent to kill only does so to bring closer its fangs to your demise.
The creature that growls does not want to kill you, but will if it must.
I advise you to appreciate the warning. You may not receive another.
#writing#Iām way more terrified of an animal looking at me the way I look at baklava than I am of growling and snarling#grace makes art
so glad i checked the tags on this one
A creature that was only a man in the most surface sense of the word slowly made its way through the street. It walked bent, stopping every so often to people-watch. The people in question dutifully ignored his staring, his horns, how the evening light reflected off of his yellow eyes, the way the bones under his skin shifted as though it was an ill-fitting suit.
It was so easy to ignore when it wasn't about you. Only once or twice he received unsettled and confused glances.
The Devourer itself didn't know what it was looking for. The urge to leave the Swamp after its recent conversation, to escape the stagnant air for just a fleeting moment had been overwhelming.
But now, he was simply following his nose.
He could smell the Archives throughout the town its many-layered aroma of deliciousness like a lure. But there was something new, too. Not enthralling like a good meal - but thick with the touch of Fear regardless.
Eventually he comes to stand in front of an unremarkable looking door. Out of pure curiosity he gives an experimental push against it, claws making a scratching noise.
"Mmrgh...?"
[One of Lady Regina's guards cracks the door, then immediately slams it. The Devourer hears frantic whispering coming from inside, and a few seconds later the door is opened by a young woman wearing a wide smile, though her eyes tell of irritation. For a moment. Her eyes scan up the Devourer until they meet his, and the irritation vanishes into something much more familiar to it. Panic. The smile does not falter.]
Ah. A very esteemed guest indeed. Please. Do come in. :}
[She opens the door fully, inviting it in. She does not bother giving her spiel about security measures. It wouldn't matter. And may make things worse by coming across as a threat. She is still smiling.]
Do you know what you're in the market for, or did you come to browse� :}
[The Devourer in turn eyes the Lady openly, her practiced smile and confident posture. It briefly flashes a hint of teeth in amusement at the panic and the surprising treatment, but doesn't seem particularily eager to shove her inbetween said teeth.]
[Instead he tilts his head as he steps inside, examining the room, the counter. Eyeing the wards with a flick of his ear.]
Ah... you sell? [Its tone indicates surprise, voice carrying a hard to place accent.] I did not. Know this was a shop. I was... merely curious about the. Scent.
Mmh.... what do you sell?
The scentā¦yes, I'm sure there is quite a strong trail to follow for one of your distinction! :}
[Despite her style of dress, despite the cool temperatures of a QuƩbecois spring night, sweat is beading at her brow. Her men seem to be on standby, not leveling their firearms at the Devourer the way they had the Archivist. Again. Presenting as a threat would only make things worse here.]
I am a buyer, seller, and trader of Artifacts--that is to say, objects of esoteric and supernatural origin! Right now much of my stock deals in addressing Spiders, Spinners, Weavers, being that that's what the local market calls for, but if you have another interest, I'm certain I can find something to suit you.
[It is indeed a very good idea to not present as a threat, even if humans weren't his main course anymore. The Devourer knows the sight of guards, knows what they were here for, and he feels the wards on his skin. He didn't need more explanation or demonstration of the level of security in this place. He merely eyes the man that had opened the door with placid curiosity, keenly aware of the nervousness and panic choking the air.]
[His lip curls with a little entertained huff when the Lady mentions "distinction". She was right, of course, but it was terribly funny to be addressed like that.]
Does the. Flattery sell lots? Just... Devourer is fine. They call me. That. Nowadays.
Weavers... [he echoes, running his thumb over his jawline in thought before looking at the Lady again. His fingers seem to have a fourth joint.]
Do you... have something to. Find a Weaver?
[The Lady watches the monster eye the guard who had slammed the door in his face. She makes no move to stop it. But she IS thankful when it turns its attention away from the man.]
The flattery eases nerves, loosens pockets, and helps keep me safe, Devourer. :} If you want to find a Weaver, and I'm assuming you don't want to harm them? Just based on your phrasingā¦
[She ponders for a bit. And her eyes light up in excitement for a moment, the fear disappearing for only that instant, and she hops over the counter, opening a glass closet that had a bookshelf within. She counts the books on one of the shelves, and pulls out the 18th from the left, a very old looking journal.]
Step with me outside a moment? :}
[And outside her own wards and security measures, she reads aloud from the book.]
"We must take care lest we beget more monsters on this earth. If you do not desist, she will take to you, and you will transform if you do this--"
[During her last several words, the shades of moths, clearly spectral, begin spilling from her mouth. Her grin looks triumphant, pleased with her own genius.]
Where there are Weavers, there are Strings that you can follow back to them. The moths aren't real, but that's okay, because neither are the Strings. They will be caught, and give form to the Web you can't see.
Justā¦do be careful around any friends who walk Alone. The little guys ARE looking for a new home⦠:}
[The Devourer gives an amicable shrug at her explanation, finding itself agreeing with her take on flattery. He watches with interest as she pulls out the journal, following outside.]
Ah-...
[The old avatar seems mesmerized by the moths, beyond simple fascination. He briefly reaches out to one, but then thinks better of it.]
Hm...I do not know if there are. Any Strings left...
[It sighs briefly, something like sadness creeping into his expression before it focuses on something else.]
...Will it. Work for a Weaver that... does not use webs? She's... older than the spiders. We lost. Contact a long. Time ago. [He elaborates on his request.]
Ah, I see...
[Older than the spiders??? There were documents describing the "Great Spider" dating back as far as the 17th century. This was terrifying in a way that she wasn't used to. This was a whole new experience. The grin remained.]
Hmmm. Do you have anything of hers? Any belongings? A true name, even? Or are we operating purely off of memories?
[The clearly ancient avatar didn't pay attention to her newfound terror, deep in thought as he pondered her question with a furrowed brow. Belongings, belongings... did he? Perhaps clothing-...No, no, it all got lost in the haze.]
[A name... he does remember something about that, a memory renewed by the Archivist. She had two, and he once knew both but used only one.]
A true name... perhaps. Maybe....
[He idly taps the side of his face with a claw in thought, one arm folded under the other.]
If you... do not have anything that. Works with only memories. I'd be willing to try. Something that works... with a true name. I don't remember it... but perhaps some day. I will.
...I do recall. Places in which she may be. If proximity matters?
[Lady Regina drops into a squat, resting her elbows on her knees. Her smile does finally drop, replaced by a thoughtful contemplation. She wanted to provide the product the Devourer needed, and it was only like 60% because she was worried about getting eaten if she didn't. This was a puzzle to be solved.]
Give me a minute, let me thinkā¦
[Hunting something based just on MEMORIES of it wasā¦well, nothing was impossible, but she didn't have anything that did that in her current stockā¦True names played into the way the Stranger manifested as the Faeā¦]
ā¦I have a Mask. It likes to become interesting people. Likes for those people to wear it, to be their face until they become its face. It'sā¦predatory. If you can make this person sound fascinating enough to it, it may very well want to hunt them down so that it can become them. Which, with their true name, I think it would be able to find them? It's of the Strange, the Inhuman, I Don't Know You. They work within those strange rulesā¦
You'd have to kill it before it found its way onto them and into them, of course. If that isn't agreeable, then I don't think I can help you with my current stock.
[The Devourer's eyes rest on her as she squats down, but he's looking past her. He lets her words roll around his head like marbles. And, eventually, something seems to have produced a spark.]
Perhaps... [he slowly replies, clicking his tongue. Perhaps he could request something from his latest "aquaintances"... though he would loathe to owe.]
[He straightens up a little, having made a decision]
I will. Take it. If... you have something that. Cages and protects. From influences. I can kill it with. Ease. But. I will not... need it immediately. And I worry that it may. Grow Hungry. In my home.
[The capital H is audible in his tone, and as he says the word at least one of the guards would begin feeling a little peckish. Something else occurs to the Monster in the meanwhile.]
...I have. No money to pay. Will. An exchange suffice? Artifact for. Artifact?
[The power behind his words can be felt as he speaks, and for just an instant, her lip involuntarily curls--if you weren't looking right at her when it happened, you would miss it.]
I can bind it. Seal it in an attache. Sealed internally and externally. But. Probably better if it's Hungry before it hunts. It'll be more motivated that way. Desperation breeds ingenuity.
[Her head cocks to the side in an unintentional mimickry of the Devourer. The smile is back.]
I accept trades! What are you offering?
[He sees the momentary snarl, but only acknowledges it with a small turning of his long ears.]
I would...appreciate the attache. I will have. Few. Problems giving it the right... motivation. When the time comes.
[At her question he leans back on his heels, giving a brief hum in thought. What would the mask be worth?]
I can offer.... a dagger-tooth. Stab it into. Anyone you want. And they will. Know. Hunger like. Never before. Leave it in. Long enough and... they will starve. Even without. A stomach.
Or... [And here he gives a sardonic smile, for reasons only known to the monster itself.] A piece of Flesh. Irresistible and. Delicious. If eaten whole... it will turn one. Into a twisted shape of. Monstrous looks. It is an. Agonizing process, too.
Your choice.
Decadent
A creature that was only a man in the most surface sense of the word slowly made its way through the street. It walked bent, stopping every so often to people-watch. The people in question dutifully ignored his staring, his horns, how the evening light reflected off of his yellow eyes, the way the bones under his skin shifted as though it was an ill-fitting suit.
It was so easy to ignore when it wasn't about you. Only once or twice he received unsettled and confused glances.
The Devourer itself didn't know what it was looking for. The urge to leave the Swamp after its recent conversation, to escape the stagnant air for just a fleeting moment had been overwhelming.
But now, he was simply following his nose.
He could smell the Archives throughout the town its many-layered aroma of deliciousness like a lure. But there was something new, too. Not enthralling like a good meal - but thick with the touch of Fear regardless.
Eventually he comes to stand in front of an unremarkable looking door. Out of pure curiosity he gives an experimental push against it, claws making a scratching noise.
"Mmrgh...?"
[One of Lady Regina's guards cracks the door, then immediately slams it. The Devourer hears frantic whispering coming from inside, and a few seconds later the door is opened by a young woman wearing a wide smile, though her eyes tell of irritation. For a moment. Her eyes scan up the Devourer until they meet his, and the irritation vanishes into something much more familiar to it. Panic. The smile does not falter.]
Ah. A very esteemed guest indeed. Please. Do come in. :}
[She opens the door fully, inviting it in. She does not bother giving her spiel about security measures. It wouldn't matter. And may make things worse by coming across as a threat. She is still smiling.]
Do you know what you're in the market for, or did you come to browse� :}
[The Devourer in turn eyes the Lady openly, her practiced smile and confident posture. It briefly flashes a hint of teeth in amusement at the panic and the surprising treatment, but doesn't seem particularily eager to shove her inbetween said teeth.]
[Instead he tilts his head as he steps inside, examining the room, the counter. Eyeing the wards with a flick of his ear.]
Ah... you sell? [Its tone indicates surprise, voice carrying a hard to place accent.] I did not. Know this was a shop. I was... merely curious about the. Scent.
Mmh.... what do you sell?
The scentā¦yes, I'm sure there is quite a strong trail to follow for one of your distinction! :}
[Despite her style of dress, despite the cool temperatures of a QuƩbecois spring night, sweat is beading at her brow. Her men seem to be on standby, not leveling their firearms at the Devourer the way they had the Archivist. Again. Presenting as a threat would only make things worse here.]
I am a buyer, seller, and trader of Artifacts--that is to say, objects of esoteric and supernatural origin! Right now much of my stock deals in addressing Spiders, Spinners, Weavers, being that that's what the local market calls for, but if you have another interest, I'm certain I can find something to suit you.
[It is indeed a very good idea to not present as a threat, even if humans weren't his main course anymore. The Devourer knows the sight of guards, knows what they were here for, and he feels the wards on his skin. He didn't need more explanation or demonstration of the level of security in this place. He merely eyes the man that had opened the door with placid curiosity, keenly aware of the nervousness and panic choking the air.]
[His lip curls with a little entertained huff when the Lady mentions "distinction". She was right, of course, but it was terribly funny to be addressed like that.]
Does the. Flattery sell lots? Just... Devourer is fine. They call me. That. Nowadays.
Weavers... [he echoes, running his thumb over his jawline in thought before looking at the Lady again. His fingers seem to have a fourth joint.]
Do you... have something to. Find a Weaver?
[The Lady watches the monster eye the guard who had slammed the door in his face. She makes no move to stop it. But she IS thankful when it turns its attention away from the man.]
The flattery eases nerves, loosens pockets, and helps keep me safe, Devourer. :} If you want to find a Weaver, and I'm assuming you don't want to harm them? Just based on your phrasingā¦
[She ponders for a bit. And her eyes light up in excitement for a moment, the fear disappearing for only that instant, and she hops over the counter, opening a glass closet that had a bookshelf within. She counts the books on one of the shelves, and pulls out the 18th from the left, a very old looking journal.]
Step with me outside a moment? :}
[And outside her own wards and security measures, she reads aloud from the book.]
"We must take care lest we beget more monsters on this earth. If you do not desist, she will take to you, and you will transform if you do this--"
[During her last several words, the shades of moths, clearly spectral, begin spilling from her mouth. Her grin looks triumphant, pleased with her own genius.]
Where there are Weavers, there are Strings that you can follow back to them. The moths aren't real, but that's okay, because neither are the Strings. They will be caught, and give form to the Web you can't see.
Justā¦do be careful around any friends who walk Alone. The little guys ARE looking for a new home⦠:}
[The Devourer gives an amicable shrug at her explanation, finding itself agreeing with her take on flattery. He watches with interest as she pulls out the journal, following outside.]
Ah-...
[The old avatar seems mesmerized by the moths, beyond simple fascination. He briefly reaches out to one, but then thinks better of it.]
Hm...I do not know if there are. Any Strings left...
[It sighs briefly, something like sadness creeping into his expression before it focuses on something else.]
...Will it. Work for a Weaver that... does not use webs? She's... older than the spiders. We lost. Contact a long. Time ago. [He elaborates on his request.]
Ah, I see...
[Older than the spiders??? There were documents describing the "Great Spider" dating back as far as the 17th century. This was terrifying in a way that she wasn't used to. This was a whole new experience. The grin remained.]
Hmmm. Do you have anything of hers? Any belongings? A true name, even? Or are we operating purely off of memories?
[The clearly ancient avatar didn't pay attention to her newfound terror, deep in thought as he pondered her question with a furrowed brow. Belongings, belongings... did he? Perhaps clothing-...No, no, it all got lost in the haze.]
[A name... he does remember something about that, a memory renewed by the Archivist. She had two, and he once knew both but used only one.]
A true name... perhaps. Maybe....
[He idly taps the side of his face with a claw in thought, one arm folded under the other.]
If you... do not have anything that. Works with only memories. I'd be willing to try. Something that works... with a true name. I don't remember it... but perhaps some day. I will.
...I do recall. Places in which she may be. If proximity matters?
[Lady Regina drops into a squat, resting her elbows on her knees. Her smile does finally drop, replaced by a thoughtful contemplation. She wanted to provide the product the Devourer needed, and it was only like 60% because she was worried about getting eaten if she didn't. This was a puzzle to be solved.]
Give me a minute, let me thinkā¦
[Hunting something based just on MEMORIES of it wasā¦well, nothing was impossible, but she didn't have anything that did that in her current stockā¦True names played into the way the Stranger manifested as the Faeā¦]
ā¦I have a Mask. It likes to become interesting people. Likes for those people to wear it, to be their face until they become its face. It'sā¦predatory. If you can make this person sound fascinating enough to it, it may very well want to hunt them down so that it can become them. Which, with their true name, I think it would be able to find them? It's of the Strange, the Inhuman, I Don't Know You. They work within those strange rulesā¦
You'd have to kill it before it found its way onto them and into them, of course. If that isn't agreeable, then I don't think I can help you with my current stock.
[The Devourer's eyes rest on her as she squats down, but he's looking past her. He lets her words roll around his head like marbles. And, eventually, something seems to have produced a spark.]
Perhaps... [he slowly replies, clicking his tongue. Perhaps he could request something from his latest "aquaintances"... though he would loathe to owe.]
[He straightens up a little, having made a decision]
I will. Take it. If... you have something that. Cages and protects. From influences. I can kill it with. Ease. But. I will not... need it immediately. And I worry that it may. Grow Hungry. In my home.
[The capital H is audible in his tone, and as he says the word at least one of the guards would begin feeling a little peckish. Something else occurs to the Monster in the meanwhile.]
...I have. No money to pay. Will. An exchange suffice? Artifact for. Artifact?
A creature that was only a man in the most surface sense of the word slowly made its way through the street. It walked bent, stopping every so often to people-watch. The people in question dutifully ignored his staring, his horns, how the evening light reflected off of his yellow eyes, the way the bones under his skin shifted as though it was an ill-fitting suit.
It was so easy to ignore when it wasn't about you. Only once or twice he received unsettled and confused glances.
The Devourer itself didn't know what it was looking for. The urge to leave the Swamp after its recent conversation, to escape the stagnant air for just a fleeting moment had been overwhelming.
But now, he was simply following his nose.
He could smell the Archives throughout the town its many-layered aroma of deliciousness like a lure. But there was something new, too. Not enthralling like a good meal - but thick with the touch of Fear regardless.
Eventually he comes to stand in front of an unremarkable looking door. Out of pure curiosity he gives an experimental push against it, claws making a scratching noise.
"Mmrgh...?"
[One of Lady Regina's guards cracks the door, then immediately slams it. The Devourer hears frantic whispering coming from inside, and a few seconds later the door is opened by a young woman wearing a wide smile, though her eyes tell of irritation. For a moment. Her eyes scan up the Devourer until they meet his, and the irritation vanishes into something much more familiar to it. Panic. The smile does not falter.]
Ah. A very esteemed guest indeed. Please. Do come in. :}
[She opens the door fully, inviting it in. She does not bother giving her spiel about security measures. It wouldn't matter. And may make things worse by coming across as a threat. She is still smiling.]
Do you know what you're in the market for, or did you come to browse� :}
[The Devourer in turn eyes the Lady openly, her practiced smile and confident posture. It briefly flashes a hint of teeth in amusement at the panic and the surprising treatment, but doesn't seem particularily eager to shove her inbetween said teeth.]
[Instead he tilts his head as he steps inside, examining the room, the counter. Eyeing the wards with a flick of his ear.]
Ah... you sell? [Its tone indicates surprise, voice carrying a hard to place accent.] I did not. Know this was a shop. I was... merely curious about the. Scent.
Mmh.... what do you sell?
The scentā¦yes, I'm sure there is quite a strong trail to follow for one of your distinction! :}
[Despite her style of dress, despite the cool temperatures of a QuƩbecois spring night, sweat is beading at her brow. Her men seem to be on standby, not leveling their firearms at the Devourer the way they had the Archivist. Again. Presenting as a threat would only make things worse here.]
I am a buyer, seller, and trader of Artifacts--that is to say, objects of esoteric and supernatural origin! Right now much of my stock deals in addressing Spiders, Spinners, Weavers, being that that's what the local market calls for, but if you have another interest, I'm certain I can find something to suit you.
[It is indeed a very good idea to not present as a threat, even if humans weren't his main course anymore. The Devourer knows the sight of guards, knows what they were here for, and he feels the wards on his skin. He didn't need more explanation or demonstration of the level of security in this place. He merely eyes the man that had opened the door with placid curiosity, keenly aware of the nervousness and panic choking the air.]
[His lip curls with a little entertained huff when the Lady mentions "distinction". She was right, of course, but it was terribly funny to be addressed like that.]
Does the. Flattery sell lots? Just... Devourer is fine. They call me. That. Nowadays.
Weavers... [he echoes, running his thumb over his jawline in thought before looking at the Lady again. His fingers seem to have a fourth joint.]
Do you... have something to. Find a Weaver?
[The Lady watches the monster eye the guard who had slammed the door in his face. She makes no move to stop it. But she IS thankful when it turns its attention away from the man.]
The flattery eases nerves, loosens pockets, and helps keep me safe, Devourer. :} If you want to find a Weaver, and I'm assuming you don't want to harm them? Just based on your phrasingā¦
[She ponders for a bit. And her eyes light up in excitement for a moment, the fear disappearing for only that instant, and she hops over the counter, opening a glass closet that had a bookshelf within. She counts the books on one of the shelves, and pulls out the 18th from the left, a very old looking journal.]
Step with me outside a moment? :}
[And outside her own wards and security measures, she reads aloud from the book.]
"We must take care lest we beget more monsters on this earth. If you do not desist, she will take to you, and you will transform if you do this--"
[During her last several words, the shades of moths, clearly spectral, begin spilling from her mouth. Her grin looks triumphant, pleased with her own genius.]
Where there are Weavers, there are Strings that you can follow back to them. The moths aren't real, but that's okay, because neither are the Strings. They will be caught, and give form to the Web you can't see.
Justā¦do be careful around any friends who walk Alone. The little guys ARE looking for a new home⦠:}
[The Devourer gives an amicable shrug at her explanation, finding itself agreeing with her take on flattery. He watches with interest as she pulls out the journal, following outside.]
Ah-...
[The old avatar seems mesmerized by the moths, beyond simple fascination. He briefly reaches out to one, but then thinks better of it.]
Hm...I do not know if there are. Any Strings left...
[It sighs briefly, something like sadness creeping into his expression before it focuses on something else.]
...Will it. Work for a Weaver that... does not use webs? She's... older than the spiders. We lost. Contact a long. Time ago. [He elaborates on his request.]
Ah, I see...
[Older than the spiders??? There were documents describing the "Great Spider" dating back as far as the 17th century. This was terrifying in a way that she wasn't used to. This was a whole new experience. The grin remained.]
Hmmm. Do you have anything of hers? Any belongings? A true name, even? Or are we operating purely off of memories?
[The clearly ancient avatar didn't pay attention to her newfound terror, deep in thought as he pondered her question with a furrowed brow. Belongings, belongings... did he? Perhaps clothing-...No, no, it all got lost in the haze.]
[A name... he does remember something about that, a memory renewed by the Archivist. She had two, and he once knew both but used only one.]
A true name... perhaps. Maybe....
[He idly taps the side of his face with a claw in thought, one arm folded under the other.]
If you... do not have anything that. Works with only memories. I'd be willing to try. Something that works... with a true name. I don't remember it... but perhaps some day. I will.
...I do recall. Places in which she may be. If proximity matters?
A creature that was only a man in the most surface sense of the word slowly made its way through the street. It walked bent, stopping every so often to people-watch. The people in question dutifully ignored his staring, his horns, how the evening light reflected off of his yellow eyes, the way the bones under his skin shifted as though it was an ill-fitting suit.
It was so easy to ignore when it wasn't about you. Only once or twice he received unsettled and confused glances.
The Devourer itself didn't know what it was looking for. The urge to leave the Swamp after its recent conversation, to escape the stagnant air for just a fleeting moment had been overwhelming.
But now, he was simply following his nose.
He could smell the Archives throughout the town its many-layered aroma of deliciousness like a lure. But there was something new, too. Not enthralling like a good meal - but thick with the touch of Fear regardless.
Eventually he comes to stand in front of an unremarkable looking door. Out of pure curiosity he gives an experimental push against it, claws making a scratching noise.
"Mmrgh...?"
[One of Lady Regina's guards cracks the door, then immediately slams it. The Devourer hears frantic whispering coming from inside, and a few seconds later the door is opened by a young woman wearing a wide smile, though her eyes tell of irritation. For a moment. Her eyes scan up the Devourer until they meet his, and the irritation vanishes into something much more familiar to it. Panic. The smile does not falter.]
Ah. A very esteemed guest indeed. Please. Do come in. :}
[She opens the door fully, inviting it in. She does not bother giving her spiel about security measures. It wouldn't matter. And may make things worse by coming across as a threat. She is still smiling.]
Do you know what you're in the market for, or did you come to browse� :}
[The Devourer in turn eyes the Lady openly, her practiced smile and confident posture. It briefly flashes a hint of teeth in amusement at the panic and the surprising treatment, but doesn't seem particularily eager to shove her inbetween said teeth.]
[Instead he tilts his head as he steps inside, examining the room, the counter. Eyeing the wards with a flick of his ear.]
Ah... you sell? [Its tone indicates surprise, voice carrying a hard to place accent.] I did not. Know this was a shop. I was... merely curious about the. Scent.
Mmh.... what do you sell?
The scentā¦yes, I'm sure there is quite a strong trail to follow for one of your distinction! :}
[Despite her style of dress, despite the cool temperatures of a QuƩbecois spring night, sweat is beading at her brow. Her men seem to be on standby, not leveling their firearms at the Devourer the way they had the Archivist. Again. Presenting as a threat would only make things worse here.]
I am a buyer, seller, and trader of Artifacts--that is to say, objects of esoteric and supernatural origin! Right now much of my stock deals in addressing Spiders, Spinners, Weavers, being that that's what the local market calls for, but if you have another interest, I'm certain I can find something to suit you.
[It is indeed a very good idea to not present as a threat, even if humans weren't his main course anymore. The Devourer knows the sight of guards, knows what they were here for, and he feels the wards on his skin. He didn't need more explanation or demonstration of the level of security in this place. He merely eyes the man that had opened the door with placid curiosity, keenly aware of the nervousness and panic choking the air.]
[His lip curls with a little entertained huff when the Lady mentions "distinction". She was right, of course, but it was terribly funny to be addressed like that.]
Does the. Flattery sell lots? Just... Devourer is fine. They call me. That. Nowadays.
Weavers... [he echoes, running his thumb over his jawline in thought before looking at the Lady again. His fingers seem to have a fourth joint.]
Do you... have something to. Find a Weaver?
[The Lady watches the monster eye the guard who had slammed the door in his face. She makes no move to stop it. But she IS thankful when it turns its attention away from the man.]
The flattery eases nerves, loosens pockets, and helps keep me safe, Devourer. :} If you want to find a Weaver, and I'm assuming you don't want to harm them? Just based on your phrasingā¦
[She ponders for a bit. And her eyes light up in excitement for a moment, the fear disappearing for only that instant, and she hops over the counter, opening a glass closet that had a bookshelf within. She counts the books on one of the shelves, and pulls out the 18th from the left, a very old looking journal.]
Step with me outside a moment? :}
[And outside her own wards and security measures, she reads aloud from the book.]
"We must take care lest we beget more monsters on this earth. If you do not desist, she will take to you, and you will transform if you do this--"
[During her last several words, the shades of moths, clearly spectral, begin spilling from her mouth. Her grin looks triumphant, pleased with her own genius.]
Where there are Weavers, there are Strings that you can follow back to them. The moths aren't real, but that's okay, because neither are the Strings. They will be caught, and give form to the Web you can't see.
Justā¦do be careful around any friends who walk Alone. The little guys ARE looking for a new home⦠:}
[The Devourer gives an amicable shrug at her explanation, finding itself agreeing with her take on flattery. He watches with interest as she pulls out the journal, following outside.]
Ah-...
[The old avatar seems mesmerized by the moths, beyond simple fascination. He briefly reaches out to one, but then thinks better of it.]
Hm...I do not know if there are. Any Strings left...
[It sighs briefly, something like sadness creeping into his expression before it focuses on something else.]
...Will it. Work for a Weaver that... does not use webs? She's... older than the spiders. We lost. Contact a long. Time ago. [He elaborates on his request.]
A creature that was only a man in the most surface sense of the word slowly made its way through the street. It walked bent, stopping every so often to people-watch. The people in question dutifully ignored his staring, his horns, how the evening light reflected off of his yellow eyes, the way the bones under his skin shifted as though it was an ill-fitting suit.
It was so easy to ignore when it wasn't about you. Only once or twice he received unsettled and confused glances.
The Devourer itself didn't know what it was looking for. The urge to leave the Swamp after its recent conversation, to escape the stagnant air for just a fleeting moment had been overwhelming.
But now, he was simply following his nose.
He could smell the Archives throughout the town its many-layered aroma of deliciousness like a lure. But there was something new, too. Not enthralling like a good meal - but thick with the touch of Fear regardless.
Eventually he comes to stand in front of an unremarkable looking door. Out of pure curiosity he gives an experimental push against it, claws making a scratching noise.
"Mmrgh...?"
[One of Lady Regina's guards cracks the door, then immediately slams it. The Devourer hears frantic whispering coming from inside, and a few seconds later the door is opened by a young woman wearing a wide smile, though her eyes tell of irritation. For a moment. Her eyes scan up the Devourer until they meet his, and the irritation vanishes into something much more familiar to it. Panic. The smile does not falter.]
Ah. A very esteemed guest indeed. Please. Do come in. :}
[She opens the door fully, inviting it in. She does not bother giving her spiel about security measures. It wouldn't matter. And may make things worse by coming across as a threat. She is still smiling.]
Do you know what you're in the market for, or did you come to browse� :}
[The Devourer in turn eyes the Lady openly, her practiced smile and confident posture. It briefly flashes a hint of teeth in amusement at the panic and the surprising treatment, but doesn't seem particularily eager to shove her inbetween said teeth.]
[Instead he tilts his head as he steps inside, examining the room, the counter. Eyeing the wards with a flick of his ear.]
Ah... you sell? [Its tone indicates surprise, voice carrying a hard to place accent.] I did not. Know this was a shop. I was... merely curious about the. Scent.
Mmh.... what do you sell?
The scentā¦yes, I'm sure there is quite a strong trail to follow for one of your distinction! :}
[Despite her style of dress, despite the cool temperatures of a QuƩbecois spring night, sweat is beading at her brow. Her men seem to be on standby, not leveling their firearms at the Devourer the way they had the Archivist. Again. Presenting as a threat would only make things worse here.]
I am a buyer, seller, and trader of Artifacts--that is to say, objects of esoteric and supernatural origin! Right now much of my stock deals in addressing Spiders, Spinners, Weavers, being that that's what the local market calls for, but if you have another interest, I'm certain I can find something to suit you.
[It is indeed a very good idea to not present as a threat, even if humans weren't his main course anymore. The Devourer knows the sight of guards, knows what they were here for, and he feels the wards on his skin. He didn't need more explanation or demonstration of the level of security in this place. He merely eyes the man that had opened the door with placid curiosity, keenly aware of the nervousness and panic choking the air.]
[His lip curls with a little entertained huff when the Lady mentions "distinction". She was right, of course, but it was terribly funny to be addressed like that.]
Does the. Flattery sell lots? Just... Devourer is fine. They call me. That. Nowadays.
Weavers... [he echoes, running his thumb over his jawline in thought before looking at the Lady again. His fingers seem to have a fourth joint.]
Do you... have something to. Find a Weaver?
A creature that was only a man in the most surface sense of the word slowly made its way through the street. It walked bent, stopping every so often to people-watch. The people in question dutifully ignored his staring, his horns, how the evening light reflected off of his yellow eyes, the way the bones under his skin shifted as though it was an ill-fitting suit.
It was so easy to ignore when it wasn't about you. Only once or twice he received unsettled and confused glances.
The Devourer itself didn't know what it was looking for. The urge to leave the Swamp after its recent conversation, to escape the stagnant air for just a fleeting moment had been overwhelming.
But now, he was simply following his nose.
He could smell the Archives throughout the town its many-layered aroma of deliciousness like a lure. But there was something new, too. Not enthralling like a good meal - but thick with the touch of Fear regardless.
Eventually he comes to stand in front of an unremarkable looking door. Out of pure curiosity he gives an experimental push against it, claws making a scratching noise.
"Mmrgh...?"
[One of Lady Regina's guards cracks the door, then immediately slams it. The Devourer hears frantic whispering coming from inside, and a few seconds later the door is opened by a young woman wearing a wide smile, though her eyes tell of irritation. For a moment. Her eyes scan up the Devourer until they meet his, and the irritation vanishes into something much more familiar to it. Panic. The smile does not falter.]
Ah. A very esteemed guest indeed. Please. Do come in. :}
[She opens the door fully, inviting it in. She does not bother giving her spiel about security measures. It wouldn't matter. And may make things worse by coming across as a threat. She is still smiling.]
Do you know what you're in the market for, or did you come to browse� :}
[The Devourer in turn eyes the Lady openly, her practiced smile and confident posture. It briefly flashes a hint of teeth in amusement at the panic and the surprising treatment, but doesn't seem particularily eager to shove her inbetween said teeth.]
[Instead he tilts his head as he steps inside, examining the room, the counter. Eyeing the wards with a flick of his ear.]
Ah... you sell? [Its tone indicates surprise, voice carrying a hard to place accent.] I did not. Know this was a shop. I was... merely curious about the. Scent.
Mmh.... what do you sell?
*the Archivist stands at the edge of the Swamp, Eyeing the line where the snow begins to melt, the harsh Canadian climate gradually ceding place to a much warmer, more humid, and much Hungrier air. It hesitates for a moment before stepping across it.*
*itās better dressed for a hike through a bog, this time - that is, not wearing a skirt, and equipped with good rainboots. It helps to know where youāre going for the day, rather than rushing out in office clothes to go save a reckless child.*
*it tries not to think about the reckless child in question and makes its way deeper in, the unnatural warmth and the buzzing of the insects a discordant note compared to the fresh early spring air it just left.* *it does not bother calling out for the Devourer. With every step pulled out of the sucking mud of his Domain, with every hunger pang, it knows that he has noticed its arrival. So it waits for him to make his appearance.*
[And indeed it doesn't have to wait for long. He was expecting it, after all.]
[A beetle settles on the Archivists hand, small jaws nipping into the flesh before it gets flicked away and searches for an easier target.]
[A wet huff to its left is heard by the Archivist, in time with a faint, crawling sensation of hunger. The Devourer is lifting its head from the water, regarding it with yellow eyes as he lazily swims towards the patch of semi-solid land.]
[It can tell that there is an initial greedy instinct, that he would like nothing more than to have a taste, why are you sitting still when this predator is coming closer do you Want to be eaten do you Want to be Meat maybe a sacrifice would have been a good idea feed someone else to- but he shakes himself, whiskers twitching, and settles into the muck. The Archivist knows he has eaten not too long ago. The urge is bearable, for now.]
You've come.
*the Archivist stays very, very still as it watches the Beast approach. It knows he isnāt quite a Hunter, that if he decided to eat it he would not care if the meat ran or not, but the instinct to show no fear, make no noise, cause no disturbance in the water is still strong as a vice, keeping it frozen like a deer in headlights.* *it breathes deep, and mentally scolds its hindbrain like a misbehaving cat until the panic scuttles away to hide in shame in the back of its mind.* *Still, its fingers tighten briefly on the handle of its Umbrella. Reassuring. Grounding. It pardons itself the pun.*
I could never have turned down such an intriguing invitation :)
How can I be of use to you, o Terrible Teeth?
The invitation... to my home within this place. Is still open. Is it not.. intriguing enough?
[There is something like an offended tone in his voice - but not quite. He stares down at the Archivist for a few seconds before he lets out a low, barking laugh that reveberates through the air, lifting a few claws.]
A.. joke. Don't mind. Me.
[He sobers up.]
I have called you.. to come. Words for words. But. First.
Do you remember... what you said to me? When I. Gave chase. And took the arm.
Of course.
*it hesitates for just a split second before saying the words - dangerous words, or at least they were, last time. But theyāve already been said, and surely they wonāt cause such wrath this time, will they?*
āYou had a daughter, once.ā
[The reaction is almost immediate. A low alligators bellow, subsonic vibrations travelling through the Archivists marrow. But.. he remains in place, only turning his head to the side.]
[His expression changes, and though he is limited by his inhuman face it can tell that the sentence put him in a somber mood.]
Yes.
I had.. almost. Forgotten.
...The Flesh eats...what it doesn't need.
[He rolls his myriad eyes upward to the sky, sighing as he repeats the words spoken to Amara - and the unspoken implication with it. Then the monstrous avatar looks back down at it.]
Words for...words. I know the. Watchers thirst for them. Though it.. was not always such.
I will. Tell you a.. story. Your role... will be to. Help me remember. The story. And so.. we will both. Benefit.
*the growl buzzes down the Archivistās spine along with the shiver it causes, and for just a split second the Archivist thinks it made a mistake, that the monster before it is about to shred it between his teeth like meat in a grinder - but he doesnāt move. And so neither does it.* *It keeps its breathing even and focuses on the hunger gnawing at its belly. Hunger has always been a bit of a fascinating sensation to it, how the ache brings a buzzing, desperate sort of focus, drowning out fear and fatigue for a last hurrah before the crash. It always brings back memories of its Becoming; the crackle of pages turning under trembling fingers cutting through the quiet of the library, the faint smell of death wafting from downstairs gradually worsening, the sleepless ache filling its skull and the burn of its parched throat and the ravenous pit in its stomach harmonizing with the alien energy coursing through it for the first time* *Itās not something it usually tries to lean on - not exactly a healthy practice. But right now, it helps.*
*the sense of danger passes - or at least ebbs - as the Devourer begins talking again. It nods along, curiosity burning in it indistinguishable from hunger.*
I can promise you that. Archiving is my Role, after all.
Iām listening ššššššš
In that case... I also ask for you to. Let me recall the story...if needed. To be my. Library for the words I.. speak.
[He rumbles before standing up from the mud. The movement is too slow to be predatory - the monster merely does a circle before settling again with his paws in front of his chest, this time a bit further away from the Archivist. The ever-present Hunger lessens slightly.]
[He runs his fingers along a whisker, thinking for a long moment.]
...Once. Upon a time...there was me. And... my daughter.
We travelled... throughout the english isles. We did not settle. For long anywhere. I was not the type to. Stay put for long. And she... [he pauses here. There was something, some kind of incident.] People. Disagreed with her. Us both.
Especially when. I grew Hungry.
[He frowns to himself, looking to the Eye.]
We were not of the same... blood. Or patron. I remember... the silk. But. The details...?
*it nods at the question in his voice, fear and hunger completely forgotten now* *Seeing this far back would be a challenge. Such a scale would normally be out of reach even for it - if it didnāt have a conduit right in front of it.*
*this is thrilling.*
*its Eyes focus on the Devourer, Staring through his yellow eyes, and it Looks as far back as it possibly can, as far back as these old reptilian pupils have seen*
*and it Sees⦠hazy, no clear face yet, a figure. A lanky young woman with dark hair, spinning silk golden with fate.* *its mouth open and a Tale spills out like water.*
Once upon a time, there was a girl who Wove. She was not a Spider, for Arachneās brood had not yet become the face of Manipulation. Itās mothsā silk she spun - silk, and Silk, and Luck. Chance and minds bent to grant her wishes, until her neighbors grew so fearful of their own uncomprehending servitude, so envious of her Fortune, that they cast her out. And so it went, over and over again, everywhere she went.
Until she wished for a father.
[He listens attentively to its words, silent as a statue. His expression is impossible to read as he tilts his head in response and closes his eyes. Silk. Soft silk...]
Until... she wished for a father.
...That. Sounds right. That is what.. happened.
I. Never thought ill of her... for it. The meeting was.. Luck. But the emotion. Was genuine.
[He opens his eyes again, sighing as some details return to him, like pieces dredged up from thick sucking mud.]
...There were. Many Hunters up there. The old... forests and its. Beasts. Called to them. We never. Truly ached for Food. Thanks to.. her. But. Security in numbers. We were often... temporary packmates to. Others.
Not all. Hunters are social. Sometimes we were. Driven out, too.
But we never. Minded much. Never.. stayed anywhere. For long. Be it because. Of people.. or avatars... or our own urge. She would. Stay in the villages. And... visit me in the forest.
Once...I met a pack. Flesh and Hunt... much like me. Though the. Distinction didn't. Matter much then.
I remember... They had. A heart. Beating red, without a body. Irresistible. Delectable. They would.. Mnnh.....
...Their deeds and. Reasoning.. escape me.
I believe I did.. not care much for it....
[The Devourer's speech is slowing down, looking once again to it to complete the puzzle.]
*the Archivistās Eyes donāt focus back into the present even as the Devourer talks, busy Watching the images his low growling voice is narrating* *this time, following the natural flow of reminiscing, of the story, it takes no time at all to find what is needed to fill the holes in his memories*
In thick dark woods dwelled a Pack of once-men with teeth sharp and legs swift as the best hounds, and minds more vicious. They guarded a Heart, alive and dripping a crimson that awoke Hunger in the bellies of men and beasts. From this source which healed and never diminished, they cut strips of meat too appetizing to resist, and tricked poor souls into accepting the cursed meal. Those who did were changed, twisted and warped into horrors none could look upon and recognize as son, sister, father or lover; and when the wretched things ran to the woods to hide away the monsters they had become, the cruel Pack would set upon their favorite quarry.
Ah-! Of course.. that was it. [He bobs his head sharply in confirmation, as though he did know of it but had been missing the bridge between the pieces.]
...The Heart... they showed it to. Me. Once. As a solidarity... between Hunters. Perhaps.. they were. Hoping for a new member. But I did not... care for it. It was. Not my taste.
[Something twangs in his words like a half-forgotten lie he told himself long ago. He frowns, worrying at a gap between his teeth with his tongue.]
...Perhaps. I would have joined. If I were... a younger man. [He admits after a moment, surprised at himself.] But... they in turn. Did not care for anyone. That wasn't a Hunter. It was easy... to tell. So...I never. Spoke of her.
I told her.. to stay away. And. She did. She.. knew when I. Was serious. But....
...
[He closes his eyes briefly, tangles of forgotten, disconnected memories slotting back into place like a puzzle. It was starting to hurt.]
...But even. Luck. Is no match to. A determined. Predator.
She did not. Eat of the Heart - I know.. that much. Perhaps they grew. Irate... about it. Smelled the. Silk. Thought her. An easy target. I do not... know.
[The Devourer's memory offered nothing here. He did not witness that part.]
I stumbled into her. As she ran in the.. forest. Luck. She had managed. To lose them.. briefly. Luck. But they would... find the trail. Easily.
....I made a decision.
[The Archivist can tell he remembers it, but is leaving the memory for it to uncover and witness. His voice was tiring, too, growing raspy and strained.]
Fatherhood is not a right of blood; it is a title of love. No true father could hesitate to do as the Lucky maidenās did when he found her hounded as prey; he took her place. To afford her an escape, he hid and waited, ambushed, to make quarry of the Hunters.
Just as the fox, terror of the rabbits, falls itself under the houndās teeth, the Heart-Bearer was slain and his prize taken. The father ran, his mouth red as his beating trophy; and the frenzied Pack followed with vengeful teeth.
[The Devourer stays silent as it so elaborately recounts his memories. He stays silent for so long one might start to think he had fallen asleep open-eyed--]
And so it was...
[He mumbles it, before raising his voice, tone grim.]
And. So it was. That the.. father. Did not know the region as well as. His pursuers. And for... all his speed. And wit. They chased him. Into a dead end.
But they did not expect. How far he was. Willing to go.
Five to one is... an impossible fight. And were they to win - they would go for her next. He couldn't allow it.
And so. He ate. The Heart. Whole.
[ The memory is a blur after that point. The agony of transformation, blood and gore and bites and bones twisting and Hunger and tearing and guts and a near-century of mental fog until the rampant forces of Flesh and Hunt and Hunger settled into a thing that could once again begin to reason and think.]
[His two hearts beat ever so slightly out of sync as the Devourer looks at the Archivist with tired yellow eyes.]
And I. Never saw her again.
The end.
*the Archivist tries to See further, to follow the golden thread of the Fortune Spinner, but the Hungry madness is too much of a draw, filling its brain with Famine and Teeth and Ripping and Tearing and Meat and Feasting Feasting Feasting-*
*it closes all of its Eyes abruptly, tearing itself away from the vision, keeping them shut tight until it comes back to itself enough to remember it is very much not in a place where it wants to be blind* *thereās blood in its mouth, a deep pain shooting through its tongue - bit almost clean through. It loosens its bloodstained teeth and blinks the haze out of its vision.*
Thank you. This was fascinating. Iāll remember, I promise. And if you ever need your memory refreshed, Iāll be there.
*its enunciation is a little clumsy from the wounded tongue busy knitting itself back together, but still comprehensible* *it hesitates for a moment, before adding:*
⦠I canāt See where your daughter went off to. But if by chance I hear or Know of her, youāll be the first informed.
[The Devourer grunts in affirmation at its promise without moving, evidently deep in his own thoughts. But at the offer he lifts his head a little.]
It's... appreciated.
It would be... terribly Lucky. [ His whiskers twitch briefly at the small pun.] If she is still out there. After. All these centuries.
Go now, Archivist.
[The monster gets up, mud squelching beneath its claws as it turns to the stangnant waters of the swamp.]
I am...growing hungry.
*the Archivist stands at the edge of the Swamp, Eyeing the line where the snow begins to melt, the harsh Canadian climate gradually ceding place to a much warmer, more humid, and much Hungrier air. It hesitates for a moment before stepping across it.*
*itās better dressed for a hike through a bog, this time - that is, not wearing a skirt, and equipped with good rainboots. It helps to know where youāre going for the day, rather than rushing out in office clothes to go save a reckless child.*
*it tries not to think about the reckless child in question and makes its way deeper in, the unnatural warmth and the buzzing of the insects a discordant note compared to the fresh early spring air it just left.* *it does not bother calling out for the Devourer. With every step pulled out of the sucking mud of his Domain, with every hunger pang, it knows that he has noticed its arrival. So it waits for him to make his appearance.*
[And indeed it doesn't have to wait for long. He was expecting it, after all.]
[A beetle settles on the Archivists hand, small jaws nipping into the flesh before it gets flicked away and searches for an easier target.]
[A wet huff to its left is heard by the Archivist, in time with a faint, crawling sensation of hunger. The Devourer is lifting its head from the water, regarding it with yellow eyes as he lazily swims towards the patch of semi-solid land.]
[It can tell that there is an initial greedy instinct, that he would like nothing more than to have a taste, why are you sitting still when this predator is coming closer do you Want to be eaten do you Want to be Meat maybe a sacrifice would have been a good idea feed someone else to- but he shakes himself, whiskers twitching, and settles into the muck. The Archivist knows he has eaten not too long ago. The urge is bearable, for now.]
You've come.
*the Archivist stays very, very still as it watches the Beast approach. It knows he isnāt quite a Hunter, that if he decided to eat it he would not care if the meat ran or not, but the instinct to show no fear, make no noise, cause no disturbance in the water is still strong as a vice, keeping it frozen like a deer in headlights.* *it breathes deep, and mentally scolds its hindbrain like a misbehaving cat until the panic scuttles away to hide in shame in the back of its mind.* *Still, its fingers tighten briefly on the handle of its Umbrella. Reassuring. Grounding. It pardons itself the pun.*
I could never have turned down such an intriguing invitation :)
How can I be of use to you, o Terrible Teeth?
The invitation... to my home within this place. Is still open. Is it not.. intriguing enough?
[There is something like an offended tone in his voice - but not quite. He stares down at the Archivist for a few seconds before he lets out a low, barking laugh that reveberates through the air, lifting a few claws.]
A.. joke. Don't mind. Me.
[He sobers up.]
I have called you.. to come. Words for words. But. First.
Do you remember... what you said to me? When I. Gave chase. And took the arm.
Of course.
*it hesitates for just a split second before saying the words - dangerous words, or at least they were, last time. But theyāve already been said, and surely they wonāt cause such wrath this time, will they?*
āYou had a daughter, once.ā
[The reaction is almost immediate. A low alligators bellow, subsonic vibrations travelling through the Archivists marrow. But.. he remains in place, only turning his head to the side.]
[His expression changes, and though he is limited by his inhuman face it can tell that the sentence put him in a somber mood.]
Yes.
I had.. almost. Forgotten.
...The Flesh eats...what it doesn't need.
[He rolls his myriad eyes upward to the sky, sighing as he repeats the words spoken to Amara - and the unspoken implication with it. Then the monstrous avatar looks back down at it.]
Words for...words. I know the. Watchers thirst for them. Though it.. was not always such.
I will. Tell you a.. story. Your role... will be to. Help me remember. The story. And so.. we will both. Benefit.
*the growl buzzes down the Archivistās spine along with the shiver it causes, and for just a split second the Archivist thinks it made a mistake, that the monster before it is about to shred it between his teeth like meat in a grinder - but he doesnāt move. And so neither does it.* *It keeps its breathing even and focuses on the hunger gnawing at its belly. Hunger has always been a bit of a fascinating sensation to it, how the ache brings a buzzing, desperate sort of focus, drowning out fear and fatigue for a last hurrah before the crash. It always brings back memories of its Becoming; the crackle of pages turning under trembling fingers cutting through the quiet of the library, the faint smell of death wafting from downstairs gradually worsening, the sleepless ache filling its skull and the burn of its parched throat and the ravenous pit in its stomach harmonizing with the alien energy coursing through it for the first time* *Itās not something it usually tries to lean on - not exactly a healthy practice. But right now, it helps.*
*the sense of danger passes - or at least ebbs - as the Devourer begins talking again. It nods along, curiosity burning in it indistinguishable from hunger.*
I can promise you that. Archiving is my Role, after all.
Iām listening ššššššš
In that case... I also ask for you to. Let me recall the story...if needed. To be my. Library for the words I.. speak.
[He rumbles before standing up from the mud. The movement is too slow to be predatory - the monster merely does a circle before settling again with his paws in front of his chest, this time a bit further away from the Archivist. The ever-present Hunger lessens slightly.]
[He runs his fingers along a whisker, thinking for a long moment.]
...Once. Upon a time...there was me. And... my daughter.
We travelled... throughout the english isles. We did not settle. For long anywhere. I was not the type to. Stay put for long. And she... [he pauses here. There was something, some kind of incident.] People. Disagreed with her. Us both.
Especially when. I grew Hungry.
[He frowns to himself, looking to the Eye.]
We were not of the same... blood. Or patron. I remember... the silk. But. The details...?
*it nods at the question in his voice, fear and hunger completely forgotten now* *Seeing this far back would be a challenge. Such a scale would normally be out of reach even for it - if it didnāt have a conduit right in front of it.*
*this is thrilling.*
*its Eyes focus on the Devourer, Staring through his yellow eyes, and it Looks as far back as it possibly can, as far back as these old reptilian pupils have seen*
*and it Sees⦠hazy, no clear face yet, a figure. A lanky young woman with dark hair, spinning silk golden with fate.* *its mouth open and a Tale spills out like water.*
Once upon a time, there was a girl who Wove. She was not a Spider, for Arachneās brood had not yet become the face of Manipulation. Itās mothsā silk she spun - silk, and Silk, and Luck. Chance and minds bent to grant her wishes, until her neighbors grew so fearful of their own uncomprehending servitude, so envious of her Fortune, that they cast her out. And so it went, over and over again, everywhere she went.
Until she wished for a father.
[He listens attentively to its words, silent as a statue. His expression is impossible to read as he tilts his head in response and closes his eyes. Silk. Soft silk...]
Until... she wished for a father.
...That. Sounds right. That is what.. happened.
I. Never thought ill of her... for it. The meeting was.. Luck. But the emotion. Was genuine.
[He opens his eyes again, sighing as some details return to him, like pieces dredged up from thick sucking mud.]
...There were. Many Hunters up there. The old... forests and its. Beasts. Called to them. We never. Truly ached for Food. Thanks to.. her. But. Security in numbers. We were often... temporary packmates to. Others.
Not all. Hunters are social. Sometimes we were. Driven out, too.
But we never. Minded much. Never.. stayed anywhere. For long. Be it because. Of people.. or avatars... or our own urge. She would. Stay in the villages. And... visit me in the forest.
Once...I met a pack. Flesh and Hunt... much like me. Though the. Distinction didn't. Matter much then.
I remember... They had. A heart. Beating red, without a body. Irresistible. Delectable. They would.. Mnnh.....
...Their deeds and. Reasoning.. escape me.
I believe I did.. not care much for it....
[The Devourer's speech is slowing down, looking once again to it to complete the puzzle.]
*the Archivistās Eyes donāt focus back into the present even as the Devourer talks, busy Watching the images his low growling voice is narrating* *this time, following the natural flow of reminiscing, of the story, it takes no time at all to find what is needed to fill the holes in his memories*
In thick dark woods dwelled a Pack of once-men with teeth sharp and legs swift as the best hounds, and minds more vicious. They guarded a Heart, alive and dripping a crimson that awoke Hunger in the bellies of men and beasts. From this source which healed and never diminished, they cut strips of meat too appetizing to resist, and tricked poor souls into accepting the cursed meal. Those who did were changed, twisted and warped into horrors none could look upon and recognize as son, sister, father or lover; and when the wretched things ran to the woods to hide away the monsters they had become, the cruel Pack would set upon their favorite quarry.
Ah-! Of course.. that was it. [He bobs his head sharply in confirmation, as though he did know of it but had been missing the bridge between the pieces.]
...The Heart... they showed it to. Me. Once. As a solidarity... between Hunters. Perhaps.. they were. Hoping for a new member. But I did not... care for it. It was. Not my taste.
[Something twangs in his words like a half-forgotten lie he told himself long ago. He frowns, worrying at a gap between his teeth with his tongue.]
...Perhaps. I would have joined. If I were... a younger man. [He admits after a moment, surprised at himself.] But... they in turn. Did not care for anyone. That wasn't a Hunter. It was easy... to tell. So...I never. Spoke of her.
I told her.. to stay away. And. She did. She.. knew when I. Was serious. But....
...
[He closes his eyes briefly, tangles of forgotten, disconnected memories slotting back into place like a puzzle. It was starting to hurt.]
...But even. Luck. Is no match to. A determined. Predator.
She did not. Eat of the Heart - I know.. that much. Perhaps they grew. Irate... about it. Smelled the. Silk. Thought her. An easy target. I do not... know.
[The Devourer's memory offered nothing here. He did not witness that part.]
I stumbled into her. As she ran in the.. forest. Luck. She had managed. To lose them.. briefly. Luck. But they would... find the trail. Easily.
....I made a decision.
[The Archivist can tell he remembers it, but is leaving the memory for it to uncover and witness. His voice was tiring, too, growing raspy and strained.]
Fatherhood is not a right of blood; it is a title of love. No true father could hesitate to do as the Lucky maidenās did when he found her hounded as prey; he took her place. To afford her an escape, he hid and waited, ambushed, to make quarry of the Hunters.
Just as the fox, terror of the rabbits, falls itself under the houndās teeth, the Heart-Bearer was slain and his prize taken. The father ran, his mouth red as his beating trophy; and the frenzied Pack followed with vengeful teeth.
[The Devourer stays silent as it so elaborately recounts his memories. He stays silent for so long one might start to think he had fallen asleep open-eyed--]
And so it was...
[He mumbles it, before raising his voice, tone grim.]
And. So it was. That the.. father. Did not know the region as well as. His pursuers. And for... all his speed. And wit. They chased him. Into a dead end.
But they did not expect. How far he was. Willing to go.
Five to one is... an impossible fight. And were they to win - they would go for her next. He couldn't allow it.
And so. He ate. The Heart. Whole.
[ The memory is a blur after that point. The agony of transformation, blood and gore and bites and bones twisting and Hunger and tearing and guts and a near-century of mental fog until the rampant forces of Flesh and Hunt and Hunger settled into a thing that could once again begin to reason and think.]
[His two hearts beat ever so slightly out of sync as the Devourer looks at the Archivist with tired yellow eyes.]
And I. Never saw her again.
The end.
*the Archivist stands at the edge of the Swamp, Eyeing the line where the snow begins to melt, the harsh Canadian climate gradually ceding place to a much warmer, more humid, and much Hungrier air. It hesitates for a moment before stepping across it.*
*itās better dressed for a hike through a bog, this time - that is, not wearing a skirt, and equipped with good rainboots. It helps to know where youāre going for the day, rather than rushing out in office clothes to go save a reckless child.*
*it tries not to think about the reckless child in question and makes its way deeper in, the unnatural warmth and the buzzing of the insects a discordant note compared to the fresh early spring air it just left.* *it does not bother calling out for the Devourer. With every step pulled out of the sucking mud of his Domain, with every hunger pang, it knows that he has noticed its arrival. So it waits for him to make his appearance.*
[And indeed it doesn't have to wait for long. He was expecting it, after all.]
[A beetle settles on the Archivists hand, small jaws nipping into the flesh before it gets flicked away and searches for an easier target.]
[A wet huff to its left is heard by the Archivist, in time with a faint, crawling sensation of hunger. The Devourer is lifting its head from the water, regarding it with yellow eyes as he lazily swims towards the patch of semi-solid land.]
[It can tell that there is an initial greedy instinct, that he would like nothing more than to have a taste, why are you sitting still when this predator is coming closer do you Want to be eaten do you Want to be Meat maybe a sacrifice would have been a good idea feed someone else to- but he shakes himself, whiskers twitching, and settles into the muck. The Archivist knows he has eaten not too long ago. The urge is bearable, for now.]
You've come.
*the Archivist stays very, very still as it watches the Beast approach. It knows he isnāt quite a Hunter, that if he decided to eat it he would not care if the meat ran or not, but the instinct to show no fear, make no noise, cause no disturbance in the water is still strong as a vice, keeping it frozen like a deer in headlights.* *it breathes deep, and mentally scolds its hindbrain like a misbehaving cat until the panic scuttles away to hide in shame in the back of its mind.* *Still, its fingers tighten briefly on the handle of its Umbrella. Reassuring. Grounding. It pardons itself the pun.*
I could never have turned down such an intriguing invitation :)
How can I be of use to you, o Terrible Teeth?
The invitation... to my home within this place. Is still open. Is it not.. intriguing enough?
[There is something like an offended tone in his voice - but not quite. He stares down at the Archivist for a few seconds before he lets out a low, barking laugh that reveberates through the air, lifting a few claws.]
A.. joke. Don't mind. Me.
[He sobers up.]
I have called you.. to come. Words for words. But. First.
Do you remember... what you said to me? When I. Gave chase. And took the arm.
Of course.
*it hesitates for just a split second before saying the words - dangerous words, or at least they were, last time. But theyāve already been said, and surely they wonāt cause such wrath this time, will they?*
āYou had a daughter, once.ā
[The reaction is almost immediate. A low alligators bellow, subsonic vibrations travelling through the Archivists marrow. But.. he remains in place, only turning his head to the side.]
[His expression changes, and though he is limited by his inhuman face it can tell that the sentence put him in a somber mood.]
Yes.
I had.. almost. Forgotten.
...The Flesh eats...what it doesn't need.
[He rolls his myriad eyes upward to the sky, sighing as he repeats the words spoken to Amara - and the unspoken implication with it. Then the monstrous avatar looks back down at it.]
Words for...words. I know the. Watchers thirst for them. Though it.. was not always such.
I will. Tell you a.. story. Your role... will be to. Help me remember. The story. And so.. we will both. Benefit.
*the growl buzzes down the Archivistās spine along with the shiver it causes, and for just a split second the Archivist thinks it made a mistake, that the monster before it is about to shred it between his teeth like meat in a grinder - but he doesnāt move. And so neither does it.* *It keeps its breathing even and focuses on the hunger gnawing at its belly. Hunger has always been a bit of a fascinating sensation to it, how the ache brings a buzzing, desperate sort of focus, drowning out fear and fatigue for a last hurrah before the crash. It always brings back memories of its Becoming; the crackle of pages turning under trembling fingers cutting through the quiet of the library, the faint smell of death wafting from downstairs gradually worsening, the sleepless ache filling its skull and the burn of its parched throat and the ravenous pit in its stomach harmonizing with the alien energy coursing through it for the first time* *Itās not something it usually tries to lean on - not exactly a healthy practice. But right now, it helps.*
*the sense of danger passes - or at least ebbs - as the Devourer begins talking again. It nods along, curiosity burning in it indistinguishable from hunger.*
I can promise you that. Archiving is my Role, after all.
Iām listening ššššššš
In that case... I also ask for you to. Let me recall the story...if needed. To be my. Library for the words I.. speak.
[He rumbles before standing up from the mud. The movement is too slow to be predatory - the monster merely does a circle before settling again with his paws in front of his chest, this time a bit further away from the Archivist. The ever-present Hunger lessens slightly.]
[He runs his fingers along a whisker, thinking for a long moment.]
...Once. Upon a time...there was me. And... my daughter.
We travelled... throughout the english isles. We did not settle. For long anywhere. I was not the type to. Stay put for long. And she... [he pauses here. There was something, some kind of incident.] People. Disagreed with her. Us both.
Especially when. I grew Hungry.
[He frowns to himself, looking to the Eye.]
We were not of the same... blood. Or patron. I remember... the silk. But. The details...?
*it nods at the question in his voice, fear and hunger completely forgotten now* *Seeing this far back would be a challenge. Such a scale would normally be out of reach even for it - if it didnāt have a conduit right in front of it.*
*this is thrilling.*
*its Eyes focus on the Devourer, Staring through his yellow eyes, and it Looks as far back as it possibly can, as far back as these old reptilian pupils have seen*
*and it Sees⦠hazy, no clear face yet, a figure. A lanky young woman with dark hair, spinning silk golden with fate.* *its mouth open and a Tale spills out like water.*
Once upon a time, there was a girl who Wove. She was not a Spider, for Arachneās brood had not yet become the face of Manipulation. Itās mothsā silk she spun - silk, and Silk, and Luck. Chance and minds bent to grant her wishes, until her neighbors grew so fearful of their own uncomprehending servitude, so envious of her Fortune, that they cast her out. And so it went, over and over again, everywhere she went.
Until she wished for a father.
[He listens attentively to its words, silent as a statue. His expression is impossible to read as he tilts his head in response and closes his eyes. Silk. Soft silk...]
Until... she wished for a father.
...That. Sounds right. That is what.. happened.
I. Never thought ill of her... for it. The meeting was.. Luck. But the emotion. Was genuine.
[He opens his eyes again, sighing as some details return to him, like pieces dredged up from thick sucking mud.]
...There were. Many Hunters up there. The old... forests and its. Beasts. Called to them. We never. Truly ached for Food. Thanks to.. her. But. Security in numbers. We were often... temporary packmates to. Others.
Not all. Hunters are social. Sometimes we were. Driven out, too.
But we never. Minded much. Never.. stayed anywhere. For long. Be it because. Of people.. or avatars... or our own urge. She would. Stay in the villages. And... visit me in the forest.
Once...I met a pack. Flesh and Hunt... much like me. Though the. Distinction didn't. Matter much then.
I remember... They had. A heart. Beating red, without a body. Irresistible. Delectable. They would.. Mnnh.....
...Their deeds and. Reasoning.. escape me.
I believe I did.. not care much for it....
[The Devourer's speech is slowing down, looking once again to it to complete the puzzle.]
*the Archivistās Eyes donāt focus back into the present even as the Devourer talks, busy Watching the images his low growling voice is narrating* *this time, following the natural flow of reminiscing, of the story, it takes no time at all to find what is needed to fill the holes in his memories*
In thick dark woods dwelled a Pack of once-men with teeth sharp and legs swift as the best hounds, and minds more vicious. They guarded a Heart, alive and dripping a crimson that awoke Hunger in the bellies of men and beasts. From this source which healed and never diminished, they cut strips of meat too appetizing to resist, and tricked poor souls into accepting the cursed meal. Those who did were changed, twisted and warped into horrors none could look upon and recognize as son, sister, father or lover; and when the wretched things ran to the woods to hide away the monsters they had become, the cruel Pack would set upon their favorite quarry.
Ah-! Of course.. that was it. [He bobs his head sharply in confirmation, as though he did know of it but had been missing the bridge between the pieces.]
...The Heart... they showed it to. Me. Once. As a solidarity... between Hunters. Perhaps.. they were. Hoping for a new member. But I did not... care for it. It was. Not my taste.
[Something twangs in his words like a half-forgotten lie he told himself long ago. He frowns, worrying at a gap between his teeth with his tongue.]
...Perhaps. I would have joined. If I were... a younger man. [He admits after a moment, surprised at himself.] But... they in turn. Did not care for anyone. That wasn't a Hunter. It was easy... to tell. So...I never. Spoke of her.
I told her.. to stay away. And. She did. She.. knew when I. Was serious. But....
...
[He closes his eyes briefly, tangles of forgotten, disconnected memories slotting back into place like a puzzle. It was starting to hurt.]
...But even. Luck. Is no match to. A determined. Predator.
She did not. Eat of the Heart - I know.. that much. Perhaps they grew. Irate... about it. Smelled the. Silk. Thought her. An easy target. I do not... know.
[The Devourer's memory offered nothing here. He did not witness that part.]
I stumbled into her. As she ran in the.. forest. Luck. She had managed. To lose them.. briefly. Luck. But they would... find the trail. Easily.
....I made a decision.
[The Archivist can tell he remembers it, but is leaving the memory for it to uncover and witness. His voice was tiring, too, growing raspy and strained.]
*the Archivist stands at the edge of the Swamp, Eyeing the line where the snow begins to melt, the harsh Canadian climate gradually ceding place to a much warmer, more humid, and much Hungrier air. It hesitates for a moment before stepping across it.*
*itās better dressed for a hike through a bog, this time - that is, not wearing a skirt, and equipped with good rainboots. It helps to know where youāre going for the day, rather than rushing out in office clothes to go save a reckless child.*
*it tries not to think about the reckless child in question and makes its way deeper in, the unnatural warmth and the buzzing of the insects a discordant note compared to the fresh early spring air it just left.* *it does not bother calling out for the Devourer. With every step pulled out of the sucking mud of his Domain, with every hunger pang, it knows that he has noticed its arrival. So it waits for him to make his appearance.*
[And indeed it doesn't have to wait for long. He was expecting it, after all.]
[A beetle settles on the Archivists hand, small jaws nipping into the flesh before it gets flicked away and searches for an easier target.]
[A wet huff to its left is heard by the Archivist, in time with a faint, crawling sensation of hunger. The Devourer is lifting its head from the water, regarding it with yellow eyes as he lazily swims towards the patch of semi-solid land.]
[It can tell that there is an initial greedy instinct, that he would like nothing more than to have a taste, why are you sitting still when this predator is coming closer do you Want to be eaten do you Want to be Meat maybe a sacrifice would have been a good idea feed someone else to- but he shakes himself, whiskers twitching, and settles into the muck. The Archivist knows he has eaten not too long ago. The urge is bearable, for now.]
You've come.
*the Archivist stays very, very still as it watches the Beast approach. It knows he isnāt quite a Hunter, that if he decided to eat it he would not care if the meat ran or not, but the instinct to show no fear, make no noise, cause no disturbance in the water is still strong as a vice, keeping it frozen like a deer in headlights.* *it breathes deep, and mentally scolds its hindbrain like a misbehaving cat until the panic scuttles away to hide in shame in the back of its mind.* *Still, its fingers tighten briefly on the handle of its Umbrella. Reassuring. Grounding. It pardons itself the pun.*
I could never have turned down such an intriguing invitation :)
How can I be of use to you, o Terrible Teeth?
The invitation... to my home within this place. Is still open. Is it not.. intriguing enough?
[There is something like an offended tone in his voice - but not quite. He stares down at the Archivist for a few seconds before he lets out a low, barking laugh that reveberates through the air, lifting a few claws.]
A.. joke. Don't mind. Me.
[He sobers up.]
I have called you.. to come. Words for words. But. First.
Do you remember... what you said to me? When I. Gave chase. And took the arm.
Of course.
*it hesitates for just a split second before saying the words - dangerous words, or at least they were, last time. But theyāve already been said, and surely they wonāt cause such wrath this time, will they?*
āYou had a daughter, once.ā
[The reaction is almost immediate. A low alligators bellow, subsonic vibrations travelling through the Archivists marrow. But.. he remains in place, only turning his head to the side.]
[His expression changes, and though he is limited by his inhuman face it can tell that the sentence put him in a somber mood.]
Yes.
I had.. almost. Forgotten.
...The Flesh eats...what it doesn't need.
[He rolls his myriad eyes upward to the sky, sighing as he repeats the words spoken to Amara - and the unspoken implication with it. Then the monstrous avatar looks back down at it.]
Words for...words. I know the. Watchers thirst for them. Though it.. was not always such.
I will. Tell you a.. story. Your role... will be to. Help me remember. The story. And so.. we will both. Benefit.
*the growl buzzes down the Archivistās spine along with the shiver it causes, and for just a split second the Archivist thinks it made a mistake, that the monster before it is about to shred it between his teeth like meat in a grinder - but he doesnāt move. And so neither does it.* *It keeps its breathing even and focuses on the hunger gnawing at its belly. Hunger has always been a bit of a fascinating sensation to it, how the ache brings a buzzing, desperate sort of focus, drowning out fear and fatigue for a last hurrah before the crash. It always brings back memories of its Becoming; the crackle of pages turning under trembling fingers cutting through the quiet of the library, the faint smell of death wafting from downstairs gradually worsening, the sleepless ache filling its skull and the burn of its parched throat and the ravenous pit in its stomach harmonizing with the alien energy coursing through it for the first time* *Itās not something it usually tries to lean on - not exactly a healthy practice. But right now, it helps.*
*the sense of danger passes - or at least ebbs - as the Devourer begins talking again. It nods along, curiosity burning in it indistinguishable from hunger.*
I can promise you that. Archiving is my Role, after all.
Iām listening ššššššš
In that case... I also ask for you to. Let me recall the story...if needed. To be my. Library for the words I.. speak.
[He rumbles before standing up from the mud. The movement is too slow to be predatory - the monster merely does a circle before settling again with his paws in front of his chest, this time a bit further away from the Archivist. The ever-present Hunger lessens slightly.]
[He runs his fingers along a whisker, thinking for a long moment.]
...Once. Upon a time...there was me. And... my daughter.
We travelled... throughout the english isles. We did not settle. For long anywhere. I was not the type to. Stay put for long. And she... [he pauses here. There was something, some kind of incident.] People. Disagreed with her. Us both.
Especially when. I grew Hungry.
[He frowns to himself, looking to the Eye.]
We were not of the same... blood. Or patron. I remember... the silk. But. The details...?
*it nods at the question in his voice, fear and hunger completely forgotten now* *Seeing this far back would be a challenge. Such a scale would normally be out of reach even for it - if it didnāt have a conduit right in front of it.*
*this is thrilling.*
*its Eyes focus on the Devourer, Staring through his yellow eyes, and it Looks as far back as it possibly can, as far back as these old reptilian pupils have seen*
*and it Sees⦠hazy, no clear face yet, a figure. A lanky young woman with dark hair, spinning silk golden with fate.* *its mouth open and a Tale spills out like water.*
Once upon a time, there was a girl who Wove. She was not a Spider, for Arachneās brood had not yet become the face of Manipulation. Itās mothsā silk she spun - silk, and Silk, and Luck. Chance and minds bent to grant her wishes, until her neighbors grew so fearful of their own uncomprehending servitude, so envious of her Fortune, that they cast her out. And so it went, over and over again, everywhere she went.
Until she wished for a father.
[He listens attentively to its words, silent as a statue. His expression is impossible to read as he tilts his head in response and closes his eyes. Silk. Soft silk...]
Until... she wished for a father.
...That. Sounds right. That is what.. happened.
I. Never thought ill of her... for it. The meeting was.. Luck. But the emotion. Was genuine.
[He opens his eyes again, sighing as some details return to him, like pieces dredged up from thick sucking mud.]
...There were. Many Hunters up there. The old... forests and its. Beasts. Called to them. We never. Truly ached for Food. Thanks to.. her. But. Security in numbers. We were often... temporary packmates to. Others.
Not all. Hunters are social. Sometimes we were. Driven out, too.
But we never. Minded much. Never.. stayed anywhere. For long. Be it because. Of people.. or avatars... or our own urge. She would. Stay in the villages. And... visit me in the forest.
Once...I met a pack. Flesh and Hunt... much like me. Though the. Distinction didn't. Matter much then.
I remember... They had. A heart. Beating red, without a body. Irresistible. Delectable. They would.. Mnnh.....
...Their deeds and. Reasoning.. escape me.
I believe I did.. not care much for it....
[The Devourer's speech is slowing down, looking once again to it to complete the puzzle.]