“You don’t strike as a stalker, Skylar. Or at least what I had thought of you prior to this. It’s creepy.” There is always something that invites her to taunt him, a magnetic force driven by a sinister motive laced in fine curiosity that she would more often use as an excuse. It almost come off as a force of a habit, nit-picking at him like a young innocent boy (a front he’s always use) and his reactions are always amusing, more than irritating. He surprises her every time, as though she was relishing on a hard chocolate candy to find out that there’s a mint liquid at the center – that feeling that stings, but nevertheless pleasing still. That was how he had always been to her, an enigma wrapped in subduing layers, and with each peel she makes, he reveals a side always darker than the former.
The tapping ceased as each saccharine syllable fell from her red, red lips. If they weren't in public and he didn't have a facade to maintain, he would've allowed his annoyance to show more readily. But they were and he could do nothing but sneer at her, eyes darkening in utter disdain. "I don't strike you as anything other than a human blood bag, Lorraine, and you know it. I could care less what you thought of me—creepy or not. I highly doubt you actually give a shit deep in that nonexistent heart caged between your immortalized rib cages. So please, spare me the falsities."
Skylar rolled his eyes at her oh so astute observation, but didn't bother to thank her for her praise. He would never thank her for something he already knew. He would've been content to sit here in the warm afternoon sun and wallow in repressed wrath had he not jolted slightly at the unexpected ice cold touch of her hand. He'd barely had a chance to throw down a couple of wrinkled bills before he followed after her, albeit with feigned reluctance.
His eyes opened and gone was the near dilated state of concealed lust. In its place was cold, determination. Skylar moved closer, his arm sliding possessively around the curve of her waist as he leveled the couple with an appraising glance and a charming smile. But when he spoke, he made sure Lorraine did not miss the razor-sharp edge of his tone. "Of course, love." The animosity that arose from the casual usage of his birth name made him dig his fingers into the soft flesh of her hip in subtle warning. Don't push it, he thought fleetingly; knowing full well Lorraine could hear him loud and clear. Wouldn't want me to deprive you of my blood, now would you?
An empty threat, he knew. But that never stopped him from provoking her. He supposed his blood did something for her. Be it appease her thirst or heightened her addiction, he didn't know. But when given an opportunity to exploit her cravings, he would take it. Nothing amused him more than pushing her buttons. After all, revenge was always sweet. He smiled, all teeth and false courtesy, as he let go of her long enough to reach out to pull out her chair. "Please sit, my lady."
typist seems very inactive right now. much sorry. midterms start on today and i'm focusing majority of my attention on those bc must do well aye. it doesn't help that i'm sick either sigh. but i'll be here more frequently when spring break rolls around which starts on the 16th so-
will probs roll out some random starters too when i can english properly
like/reply if you wanna plot. i'll come derp in your inbox when exams are over o/
"Ah, I fuckin’ love it." He murmured to himself, too quiet to even be a whisper. The two souls shared thoughts so there was no need for Ziyi to share anything for anyone but his lover. He took a few quick steps, making his way to the next victim of the night. Death by lust, checked. Death by wrath — next.
The metallic stench of blood permeated the air; its smell a stark contrast to the rank scent of week old milk, urine and leftover food. A dog howled off in the distance. A car rumbled by with the thudding vibrations of bass cranked up high. A high-pitched scream died a half death amidst the cacophony of the ignorant, half asleep metropolis. The night was alive some two streets away, but still, Skylar remained hunched over the stiffening carcass beneath his trembling body. He’s got his knees planted on either side of the body for leverage when he reached out a hand and gripped the handle of the dagger. The slick, suctioning sound of flesh giving way to accommodate metal was sickening, but oh so enticing. Even more so when the blade dropped soundlessly amidst the strewn piles of rotting garbage nearby and he dipped his fingers into the still gushing wound. The accompanying squelch was disgusting, but the wet sound brought forth a maniacal curl to the edges of his lips and a string of broken laughs from deep within his chest.
His father had taught him never to play with his victims. His mentor had taught him he was allowed to play so long as they could not run. He smiled, amused. Playing with his food. Heh. He missed this.
There was a certain aspect of unsolicited glee that transcended the tiniest whispers of fleeting protest at the warm, sticky feeling of blood coating his slender fingers. This blood could’ve saved someone—his organs preserved and sold on the black market. His only good eye could’ve given someone back their sight (one eye was better than nothing, right?), his heart could’ve beat erratically for a little girl who had two months left to live, his bone marrow to a prepubescent teenager needing some sort of reprieve, his liver to an dying alcoholic and an abusive husband, his kidney to a single mom with two starving infants—had he deigned to slaughter him kindly and chose to deliver his slowly rotting carcass to the underground facility operating just across town.
Instead here he was, kneeling in the growing puddle of red, wrist deep in stomach acid and barely digested food, slender fingers curling around an intestine. If his father had been alive, he would’ve busted a blood vessel at the sight of him: white button-up shirt flecked in a disarray of splattered red dots, a smear of something slimy on one cheek, a cut on the other, and a bruising imprint of fingers caging the slender column of his neck. His victim had not met Death willingly—he’d fought tooth and nail. And for that Skylar would rate his reluctance to meet his end a solid sixty-five. Points off for his girly scream, the grating pleas and the whimpered offers of his finest possession in exchange for his life. Major deduction for being smart enough to defend himself with a shard of broken glass and managing to cut his face.
That alone sealed his fate.
His hand jerked backward with little hesitation, exposed intestine grasped between a closed fist. With a laugh, he let his hand open and watched as slimy organ slithered down the pale length of his forearm and fell with a nasty splat onto the floor.
Skylar knew his prey was nearby. His hawk eyes watched every move, calculating exactly when to show his face. Perhaps he’d had a little too much fun trailing the balding man from the posh restaurant he staggered out of to shadowing him across town, and finally herding him into a dank alleyway. He found it entirely amusing how increasingly terrified his target became when he realized just where he was. A dead end. He grinned, all teeth and pink gums, as a weak whimper tumbled involuntarily out of the man’s lips.
He always did love the hunt.
Gloved fingers dipped quietly into the depths of his pocket and pulled out his dagger, the weight of stainless steel familiar in his palm. There was a begging please, but Skylar was already gone, mesmerized as he was by the slow rise of his arm and the quick, graceful arc of thin metal whistling through air to penetrate through two layers of clothing. The sound of flesh ripping and the accompanied screams of agony was nostalgic—euphoric, even. But in the midst of maniacal glee, Skylar still remembered to plunge the knife further inward, free hand slapping across his victim’s open mouth to muffle his yells.
"Sh…don’t be a little bitch." He tsked mockingly, "It doesn't hurt. It’s just a scratch. Here, let me fix it for you."
Blood splattered all over the cement as he gripped the handle, whispered a taunting breathe, and dragged the blade down hard. He thrived on the labored gasps of pain and the diminishing light flickering in the depths of those pitiful eyes; it felt good. Very good. Smiling, he withdrew the blade. Only to plunge it into Jino’s stomach in rapid succession. One..two..three…four…five…six. He lost count eventually; immersed in the methodic motions of stabbing Skylar didn't even notice he wasn't screaming anymore. But still he didn't stop until his hands trembled from exertion and his chest began heaving; blood stained his clothes and crimson flecks dotted his face. But his eyes…they were alight with childish wonder and wicked pleasure.
The body beneath his hunched frame was beyond recognition: a myriad of bleeding slits and crisscrossing welts made up his face, a near mangled eye stared up at him—his look of terror diminished; its counterpart now sat amongst a pile of shredded newspaper and rotten food—a chunk of his nose was missing and his lips stretched eerily from ear to ear.
Skylar laughed. Vengeance was always sweet.
"Once a fool, always a fool."
So entrenched was he in his own merriment, he completely missed the flash of movement at the end of the alley; a fleeting shadow illuminated by the dim streetlight flickering weakly before blowing out.
One for the books. Indeed, it definitely would be and he gives a nod at that. A massacre without dirtying their hands, they would just sit back, perhaps in the shadows, away from the possible sight of others to point fingers towards the two males who wouldn’t be the least bit concerned of the situation and would simply watch, those amused grins plastered on their own faces. The fact they could turn all the guests against each other—ah, but wait. What about the target? Moonlight eyes drifted towards the latter and slightly quirked his brow before another idea strikes up as he lifted a digit, a smirk gracing his facial features, tugging at one corner of his lips. “The target though, let’s say he gets injured because of being accused for who-the-fuck knows what. We could be the heroes, to save him from the Hell. Only once he’s secluded from the rest; we’ll have our fun with him before returning to the show. So, sound good? Or do ya’ have something else crafting in your head?”
His eyebrow shot up in utmost curiosity—and, perhaps, in utter mischief. He liked that idea: singling out the target in the midst of chaos under the pretension of order and safety. How fun it would be to entice and beg sympathy and heroism on the guise of protection and security only to slaughter him when his guards were completely down and watch as his vulnerability gave way to horror and betrayal. Ah, yes. Now he knew exactly why he seemed to gravitate towards the other male. Their friendship was unconventional: theirs was a bond built on mutual (certainly debatable at times) support and excellent camaraderie. It certainly worked in his favor. Time and time again. He had no objections.
"He'd make a likely candidate for bait amongst the other dirty elite. He's new, he's fresh meat. Nobody seems to know a thing about him other than his infamous reputation as a businessman. Wouldn't be too hard to probe and maybe encourage a few of them to think negatively of the young foreigner hoping to kiss ass. Nothing like a little bit of malicious gossip to get a few fires stoking. Competition, after all, is deadly in their world."
The look he sent the other was full of appraisal, his grin positively wicked. "My, my. You've certainly given this some thought. I say we take him elsewhere. Take our time with him. After all, he is the intended prey. Everybody else...they're just collateral."
With the blade out in the open, he tilts his wrist for the tip of it to point directly at the latter, a grin forming on his lips; tugging by each corner as it plasters itself on those tiers. A soft chuckle emits, hues drifting away momentarily as if pondering this and that, though in all honesty, there was nothing shuffling in his mind as of late. Save for the subtle worries that can be directed towards the latter, though they were more silent than spoken. He clicks his tongue, the pink muscle peeking from between tiers as they dragged along his top row of teeth with moonlight hues fading close. He snorts at what the other said, Oh good one, shaking his head. “See that’s why you’re staying here and no, though it’s nice seeing this blade dripping crimson; stabbing you requires me to get my now lazy ass up—lucky you, eh?” He wouldn’t have done it even if he wasn’t lazy, the male and the wolf knew that much, he was sure. Letting out a yawn, he stretches all limbs before relaxing against the couch, glancing back to the latter. “Ya’ seem tired these days, do yourself a favor and get some rest, yeah? Alright that’s a good princess, heh.
He could provoke him further—after all, their entire friendship was entirely based upon the foundation of provocation and snarky conversation. It was intellectually stimulating (at times) and served as a huge distraction to the subtle pulsating sensations of pain that, as of these past few days, had been bothering him more than he wanted to let on. He knew, albeit innately, that his roommate had a keen sense and probably caught on faster than he wanted him to. He prided himself on being able to mask his pain well. But in all honesty, he'd begun to slip up.
"Lucky me, yeah sure. Lady Luck is smiling down on me today. I seem to have escaped Death once more." He was jesting, of course. The heavy burden of Death never quite dissipated no matter what he said or did. But he was a pretender. He was good at faking things. (Or so he thought.) "Mmm...you noticed, huh? Yeah, maybe I should. Sleep has been rather...elusive lately. Too noisy in my head, can't focus. But I'll try and get some shut eye now. We've got a few hours to spare."
He got up then, lanky body stretching languidly, joints cracking as he moved stiff limbs. He didn't wait for the latter's response, footsteps sluggish and a little unsteady as he made it to the door and disappeared down the hall, a two finger salute his only acknowledgement.
“Well… Hold up.” He halts his train of thought, shifting them all to one side to allow this new one to bloom in its place, center of his mind, the scene playing through his head like a movie in the editing process, taking bits and pieces from clips and molding them to fit the strip. He folds both limbs over his chest, lifting one limb to cup his chin as brows furrow before a light chuckle emits as he hops onto the back of the couch, legs lazily dangling before they halt as he leans back slightly a smirk gracing his facial features. “Think about this instead, why not both? Ya’ see…” He lifts a hand, two digits curling to beckon the male to come forth before he continues. “Lights off. We bring upon fear in them, chaos in the making, worried chitter-chatters from the occupants, enough for us to do mischief. Lights on. Drinks in our hands as we sit back and relax and watch them go against one another—best of both, if you ask me. Can’t tell me you weren’t thinking of it either or something remotely close, no?” Instill them with fear and watch them kill their own kind, one-by-one; to survive. Every man for himself.
His roommate looked rather comical in the midst of deep thought, a look of utter contemplation gracing his youthful features—he actually looked smart. For once. He suppressed the snicker lingering just at the base of his throat and, instead, disguised his brief spurt of amusement in a weak cough. He obliged at the beckoning of his fingers and leaned forward, expression expectant. This better be good. (And it was.) A devious smirk twisted his lips and he brought both hands together in an auditory show of admiration. "Brilliant idea and my wayward thoughts verbatim. Quite a sight to be reckoned with, no? Spilled blood splattering all over their fancy clothes and dripping onto shiny floors. Can you imagine the havoc this would cause? A single night of celebration slowly turning into a devastating tragedy for the ignorant public. But for us, this one will be one for the books."
Tiers part, but eventually and without a single word, they purse into a fine life. He could answer the question but figured to just drop it. It was a habit of his anyway, to dissect; analyze and whatnot of it (be it the other male’s words or any other individual he converses with). He chuckled; however, it was short and quickly fades as quick as it emits. He shifts within the room, moving over to the living room and plopping onto the opposite couch, eyes glancing around as if he wasn’t used to their home. He reaches into his pocket, letting the silence blanket the two in the room as he lets himself lean back against the couch, sinking into the cushions with a content sigh. Pulling the item out, he twists his wrists—twist, flip, twist—until the blade came into sight. He’s been noticing it (the weariness coming from the latter), but didn’t bother calling him out on it and simply shrugs as he continues turning the knife to different angles. “Nah, sadly you wouldn’t suffice for a cushion, I’d probably crush you, considering the floor we’re on, plus the concrete and then me—comment on that and this knife’s digging into your flesh.” Completely joking of course, such threats were always thrown between the two anyway.
The repetitive flicks of the latter's wrist didn't go unnoticed, his eyes immediately catching sight of the fleeting flash of stainless steel. It was both distracting and mesmerizing—his train of lame retorts completely dissipated in light of his lapse of attention. He could never win over his roommate in a battle of wit and sarcasm anyway. As much as he would like to believe his comebacks were equally as impressive as the latter, it really wasn't. Conversation did not come easily for him; words, to him, were as empty as air and to constantly muster up just the right amount of sass and bite to his rebuttals was, in fact, just a little frustrating. (Not that he would ever let the other male know—he'd never live it down.) So, he conceded. Just a little bit. "Then you better fucking put me back together if I shatter on the cold, hard ground. How else you gonna pay the rent? And I just did, what're you going to do now—stab me?"
Bursting into the room of the latter's, he's already having difficulty trying not to burst into a fit of laughter as he strides over to him and grips onto the collar of his shirt. With a serious expression, he looks straight into the other's eyes as he parted tiers. "I want you to become twisted enough for a twisted boy like me to like you." Letting go, he takes a few steps back whilst snorting, almost stumbling even. "Mate, tell me, who the fuck says that shit?"
[12:41:59 AM] paradisist: PMSL OMFGGGGGGGGGGGG HAHAHAHAHAHA sehun would first try to punch his lights out bc no one and i mean /no one/ interrupts his sleep looooooooooooool he's gonna be a little shit and all cranky ass
His knife is embedded an inch deep into her quivering body, blood oozing scarlet rivulets down the length of her gaping wound and dripping drip drop drip drip onto the cold, marbled floor. There's a dead look in her eyes--one of acceptance and innate fear that seizes her petite frame and manifests in involuntary tremors and pitiful whimpers. He likes that look. It reminds him just how much power he holds over them. One careless plunge, one calculated twist, can send the blade sinking deeper into ripped flesh. But he never gets the chance to when he's jolted violently out of his dream.
"You come bursting into my room at--" a cursory glance at the glowing red digits on his alarm has him scowling, fingertips digging into teh skin of his roommates' wrists. "--four fucking am to tell me this?"
A laugh bubbles deep within his chest and comes spilling out in the form of a gruff scoff and raspy chuckle. What the hell is he expecting? Obviously, not a rude wake up call. How fucking gracious of him--note the sarcasm. Fingers curl and straighten his wrinkled shirt and flops back onto the mattress, eyes shutting. "You, asshole. You said it yourself. And no thanks. Save that like shit for somebody else. Or tell me this when you're piss drunk. Maybe then you'll like me, twisted or not."
[12:42:02 AM] paradisist: oopsie hahahahah
[12:42:55 AM] 迷路。: OH MY FUCK DYING HAHAHAHAHAHAH
[12:44:26 AM] paradisist: yes uuhuhuhuhuhuhh rina tries to be literate after midnight ahahahahahaah wheeezes ;agjowlkj
[12:49:28 AM] 迷路。: tae would just laugh so much like
He snorts at what the latter had stated and simply shakes his head. "Nah, I simply repeated this shit line from some movie I caught while at the store." Cheeks lift wiht his grin most evident on chapped lips which then his pink muscle peeks out and swipes at the dry skin before reaching over and ruffling at the latter's locks, his grin turning into a wolf-like. "In your dreams, mate; only in your dreams. Speaking of which, sweet dreams. I'll try to refrain from disrupting the princess' beauty sleep."
then just walk off like shit didn't even happen i just--
[12:49:30 AM] 迷路。: HAHAHASDK;S
[12:54:52 AM] paradisist: "If you have time to even watch shitty movies like this, I suggest you use it to do something a little more beneficial--like maybe, cleaning the bathroom. I accidentally scared off the cleaning lady when she walked in on me peeing in the shower. Tch as if she doesn't have a teenaged son who probably does the very same thing." His mind is active, incredibly so. Even with eyelids closed and breaths even, his body is much too awake to lapse back into lethargy. But still, he's able to reach out and barely swat the other's hands away from his hair and groans, cracking one eye open. "Come back you, shit. You can't wake me up and then leave when I can't fall back asleep. You don't get to do that. HEY! Come back, shitface!"
yea lOOOOOOOOOOL
[12:59:45 AM] 迷路。: I'M CRY BECAUSE HOW TO NOT LAUGH THESE TWO I JUST--
"I don't, I was getting some food, line was long what do you expect. The fuck do I look like a maid? You do yourself, since you're the one scarring off the cleaning lady; slow claps for you, idiot." Fuck, that jolt must have seriously woken him up. Though he would be proud of it, he... Wasn't sure how he felt, his mind going completely blank before he blinks rapidly towards the other turning around to lean against he frame of the door. "Aye, who says I can't? I did and I'll probably do it again, every shitty line I pick up from random ass movies, whether you're awake or not. Heh, man go the fuck back to sleep."
wheezes skdfslj
[1:11:25 AM] paradisist: FAVE BROTP OKAY KEEEEEEEEPS SQUISHES THEM TOGETHER BC YES
"Actually, you kinda do look a little feminine nowadays. Let's get you into a maid outfit one day and see how you look in frills and lace, yeah? Fine, I'll hire another one. A male, this time. See if he'd scream and pray for my soul for being indecent in my own apartment." He rolls his eyes at that, sarcasm dripping from each word. Half-lidded eyes have already sharpened in the dark, spotting his elongated silhouette propped languidly against the open doorway. He looks much, much too relaxed this late in the night. But who was he to complain? He reaches out a hand and gestures for him to come over, palm slapping against the cool sheets in casual invitation. "Do it again and I will rip every page out of your beloved books. Now if you don't want that to happen, come the fuck over here and warm my bed. Let me strangle you in your sleep."
[1:21:43 AM] 迷路。: OMFFFF I'M CREY SO PRESH....ONLY WE WOULD FIND THIS PRESH THOUGH ISTG KJDFS
If his tail was visible or even show while in his human form it would spike right about now. Feminine. He clicked his tongue as if the sound would slice through the said word directed towards him. "The fuck, nah. Not about that cross-dressing life, never will be. Yes, hire one, cause I sure as hell ain't cleaning shit.... Tell me again how that woman was hired again?" The other was taking a shower for christ's sake, how was that indecent. He tips his head in thought before shrugging it off, quirking a brow as the mentioned of books came into play. Oh he was going play like that. "Go right ahead, I can always get replacements, pfft." He rolls eyes before striding over, kicking the door shut before jumping onto the bed, arms resting behind his head with hues closing before peeking one open to glance at the latter. "That's if I fall asleep before your princess ass."
[1:40:20 AM] paradisist: sADISTS 5EVER NO REGRETS NOPE
"I fell for her sob story, I guess." He grunts once when the bed bounces a little with the additional force of a jump, the soft mattress sagging to accomodate the added weight of another body. He closes his eyes once more and laughs. The sound is lighthearted, still raspy from the tiniest remnants of sleep. "Good, I've always wanted to try setting books on fire. Very Fahrenheit 451; I think I'll like it."
When he feels the prickle of awareness tingling down the length of his spine, he opens his eyes and meets the male's gaze. The proximity is startling and for the first time, he's fully aware that the latter has agreed to do anything he'd suggested. Sleeping with him, one of the rarest and randomest. He must be up to something. "What're you gonna do, eat me?"
[1:49:08 AM] 迷路。: YAAAAS. OMF MY SADISTIC KINDRED SPIRIT *^*
"..." He remains silent at that time, refraining from snorting as he shakes his head. What sob story could possibly accompany the fact the female had been scared from... Cut it, it's all too ridiculous and at that point, he couldn't help himself and simply let the fit of light laughter fall from his lips before shooting a look towards the latter, rolling eyes. "Oh those books, go ahead. Hah, good one.. Not really, but A for effort, mate."
He quirks a brow as he kept his eyes on the latter before shifting them to the ceiling, lips protruding momentarily as he hummed a random tune before shrugging, one corner of his lips tugging to form a faint smirk, almost apparent but not there, just yet. "Considering I could go wolf and eat you up, but nah. Killing's more my thing than eating up victims, plus who am I gonna bother if you're dead, nah. Not right now." Maybe not ever, but like he would ever say that.
[1:49:26 AM] 迷路。: I CHOKED A BIT WHILE WRITING BC WAS LISTENING TO FULL ALBUM OF BTS
[1:49:40 AM] 迷路。: JESUS TAKE THE PRNDL
[2:01:21 AM] paradisist: SHOWERS WITH LOVE <3
"Thanks, I do try my very best."
There's a curl to the edge of his lips as he waits for the faint echo of his laughter to dissipate, his eyes shining with a flicker of mirth. His roommate has begun to pick up on his habits. Or so it seemed. His eye rolling game is nearly on par with his. For a moment, he thinks he ought to mention it, but evidentally, he opts for a more mundane question. An innocuous one.
"I probably won't even taste good; you'd likely choke on my bones." Perhaps one day, I'll even let you snap my neck, rip out my heart. Gone is the initial bout of playfulness; his desire to provoke his roommate giving way to something a little more appropriate for discussion this late at night. After all, when have they ever had the opportunity to even speak like this? Never. Perhaps the knowledge of that alone makes him all the more weary, guards slipping just a fraction. "I'm glad to know I hold such high significance. I'm flattered, dear old buddy. If I were so inclined, I would tell you the same. But you and I both know I'd be lying." Maybe one day, when he's choking on a lungful of blood, vision completely gone, he'd finally admit he found a friend in him. But until then--
BB YOU'RE SO PRECIOUS LEMME HUG YOUR FACE ;UUUUUUUU;
[2:09:36 AM] 迷路。: He would roll his eyes but if he did, he would probably lose them. Instead he shuts hues momentarily, pink muscle clicking against the roof of his mouth a couple of times as he lets out a chuckle, faint, barely audible so to speak. He continued humming, soft enough to listen to the latter retort or speak whatever it was he desired to say. This moment was odd, too odd for him, yet he didn't reject and he could almost replay what had just happened. One minute he was leaning against the frame of the door then the next, he's jumping onto the bed as if it's his and pay no mind to the latter beside him.
"Eh, just the thought of having some human in my system, no thanks. I go for the kill, leave it as that; take a few organs but that's all for the money anyway. Unless we're talking about killing off gang members, those Italian, Russian ones; gotta get that finger with the tattoo." He halted, chuckling to himself how much he was rambling already, huh. What time was it really, four in the morning; insomnia. It's not a wonder to him why he's awake. He took a breath in before gradually letting out, a faint smile evident on tiers as he shifted to lay on his side, elbow propped with his palm cradling his head.
"I don't expect anything, I speak what I want; I don't expect it being reciprocated. Just know, you ain't dying on my watch. So, tired yet?"
[2:20:49 AM] paradisist: "Isn't it instinct when you're in beast mode to kill? To devour? I would think by now you'd be used to the taste of human flesh. Or have I got you all wrong? All those filthy human beings who prance around like they actually believe they are high and mighty. Wouldn't it be absolutely sinful if you left their bleeding carcasses out to rot? I'd much prefer rendering them to each individual part. Using their internal organs, experimenting with the human body. Dissecting them. There seems to be great pleasure for the likes of me. But for you, a hybrid, is it inherently complicated?"
There's a dull thrum beating at the base of his neck and it's not from nervousness or anxiety. He is never afflicted with either when in the latter's presence. He'd come much to far to even exhibit even an inkling of fear, of weakness, in light of his struggles. And yet, his late night curiosity has him running his mouth, making him ask nonsensical things. The likes of which is nearly unheard of. But it is only fair, is it not? A give and take of information through passive aggressive psychoanalyses disguised as questions. It'd been so long since he's been intellectually stimulated--sleep is now more than an arm's length away, no longer beckoning.
"I await the day I meet Death, fight it and win." The rustle of sheets is quiet as he turns, cheek now propped against his thin forearm. "Sleep has been long gone. Entertain me, indulge my incessant probing and nonsensical questions."
[2:36:55 AM] 迷路。: “It is. Ah, but who says I would leave the bodies to rot, that's too much of a hassle and the possibility of them being found then the police doing their Godly shit with the forensics and tracks, to find me ah well, framing an individual; you would need the body unfortunately. Long story short mate, I got a lovely lil' lady that takes care of the aftermath, pretty damn delicious and the funny shit is, humans are too damn fucking naïve to realize what they're eating is of their own kind. How about that for a picker upper in the morning; one order of Fei's lovely meat pies, they could be eating their missing loved ones and still wouldn't know about it. Pah, lovely.”
Well dissecting, conducting experiments on his victims wasn't something out of the ordinary, nor was it ever something he would pass up, but he's found himself either creating some sort of design with his victims or simply sending them over to the aswang, a horrid name laced in such beauty of the female; such a beautiful monstrosity. He halts his train of thought, contemplating whether or not he should call out the fact this was the first that Skylar has even talked about anything that didn't include insulting one another. Were they seriously having this conversation? He opts in confirming it by giving the latter a light pinch to his arm to seek out any sort of reaction, pursing his lips to keep from displaying a wolfish grin.
“Ah, scratch that. If there was anything I'd be expecting is to see you fighting Death, look right into its eye and say fuck you. That biological clock of yours will slow down or come to a halt. Yep, that day, I expect it...” The last bit fades, much like the darkness that accompanies the two, though he was still able to see the countenance of the latter before he shoots a look with hues narrowing, only slightly before he pointed to the area on his forearm with a light grin. “Consider that little pinch a form of entertainment, eh? Hm, what to do to subdue the boredom that was cast upon the princess.”
[2:52:33 AM] paradisist: "Lil lady, is it? I hope to meet her in the future. If she's able to dispose of these vermin in the most ironic and delectable of ways, I sure as hell want to look her in the eyes and congratulate her for a job well done. Saves Eden the hassle of cleaning up shit we don't have time to clean. How lovely, though. The notion of human beings eating other remnants of sinners. Makes it all full circle. Fei, is it? Sounds like one hell of a woman."
He flinches; it's a mere involuntary jerk of tensed muscle and accompanied by a sharp hiss that sounds a little too loud. It doesn't hurt, not really. But being caught by surprise is a feeling he is never accustomed to--let alone appreciated. The deadpan look that graces his features tells him exactly that. The fuck was that for?
"Ah, here is yet another pair of formidable enemies: Time, Death's loyal companion and Fate, Death's indispensable shadow. A wicked trio at work to create a phenomenon no sane human being would ever dare to counter. But then, what exactly am I? Here I lie, in spindled wonder and fractured dissonance, a human being shrouded in the miasmic scent of corruption and tantalizing sin. A provoker. A non-believer. A marked victim, nonetheless." He smiles then, out of derision and absolutely loathing. This is one thing he cannot change. But to hell, if he doesn't try.
And then, he's engulfed by a sense of something impenetrable just then--like a wall has just sprung up between the two of them. His mind quickly catching on to the diversion of subjects. "I would've never thought you would resort to such childish methods. What are you five years old? Pinching is for whiny ass little brats. Do I look five to you? Are you asking for a fight? I should punch you in the mouth right now."
[3:15:36 AM] 迷路。: “Oh right, you haven't heard of her huh? Weird, she's pretty damn famous for her meat pies, heh.” He pauses, well if the latter believes him to be a wolf, shouldn't be that hard for him to believe that this female; fairest, elegant, beautiful and everything in between; aswang, has been roaming the earth for not just a hundred or so years, but thousands. The cause of Death to a false guardian of his, still her presence still etches questions in his mind he has yet thrown to the female. Amazing, such abominations carved into beautiful beings. Was he considered one? The woman has gone through much more than he had, that's for certain. “Remind me to introduce you to her. She's as sadistic as we could be, if not worse. But you wouldn't think of such, with the looks of her.”
Oh, definitely not a dream; the flinch responding to the pinch from the latter easily confirmed that, the deadpan look only causing tiers to part, letting out a hearty laugh as he shook his head. Too amusing, it truly was. His lips form an innocent like smile but knowing the latter, he'd call it bullshit. Not that he cared, it was always a look he gives to others whenever throwing an incredulous look or any of the likes towards him. A simple comeback as if he did nothing wrong; well he didn't, a minor pinch was all.
He lays there, in complete silence though his hues drift off elsewhere from time to time, he was never one to keep his eyes fixed on an individual for too long, not in the sense of feeling uncomfortable he was as comfortable as he was from the time he threw such insults to cunning retorts towards him in order to shut his lips up for good until he decides to throw another remark which he would give him, yet, another A+ for effort. His facial features never faltered, though the innocent smile was long gone as he listened intently to the latter. When would be the next time such a situation like this, in the dead of the night... Or rather morning, where the two spoke of such subjects. He did realize something.
The words that flowed through the latter's lips were like poetry, in a sense or maybe it was just the choice of words. Spoken like a true scholar though the last time he checked, the latter barely attends class; just shows education isn't much of a necessity but a way for another to look good in job interviews. Several years under this, studied that. Of course, he always knew the male was smart, certainly nowhere being an idiot, as much as he throws that connotation towards him. He snickered, short and low as he shifted back onto his back, one arm resting behind his head. “We're all marked victims; though I tend to play with Death, surprise surprise, I'm not dead yet. Heh, he must be infuriated with me. Fate, I must be confusing, as for Time, it can kiss my ass.”
“Actually, I needed to make sure I wasn't stuck in my dream again; the pinch seems to work and it's not every day I can catch you off guard with just a itty bitty small pinch--” Lips parted more before clamping his jaws shut, the snickers resonating within the caverns of his mouth before letting out a sigh as he propped himself slightly, presenting his flawless cheek with his forefinger pointing to it. “Nah, you look like a fuckin' princess; I ain't lookin' for a fight, mate. But go on, throw the punch. Can't guarantee you won't be flat on your back and without the comfort of the mattress though.”
[3:46:13 AM] paradisist: "I haven't. I don't pay much attention to gossip. No time, not interested. Yada yada yada." The break in the latter's speech doesn't go unnoticed (all his nuances displayed like an open book for him to view--that is just how in tune he is becoming with his surroundings, aided as he is by the tangy taste of Iris), but he doesn't pry. Whatever caused the lapse in his train of thought ought to be interesting, but there is a time and place for questions; now is not one of them. So he waits, holding his tongue patiently until the male speaks once more. "All the more reason to pay a visit to her some time soon."
The laugh that rings loudly in the deadness of the night and echoes around the quiet room is insulting, mocking even. The scowl is more than a little petulant. To think he finds pleasure in administering pain...he now understands what it is that drew him to the other: their tendency towards affliction of pain and the oh so addictive thirst for blood. He smirks, feigned anger dissipating like smoke from an extinguished fire. He could never stay mad at him anyway. They've too much in common, too much at stake for either of them to lose their tempers over something so ridiculously trivial. But he's been known to be the more immature of the two. His recklessness and irrationality highlighted in the wake of provocation and one the latter seems to hold much pride in invoking. How ironic it is for him to have found a kindred spirit in the wolf when he's always been so adamant about detachment held peculiar reservations on unnecessary things like friendship. How ironic, indeed.
He regards now quiet male with an appraising look. He's thinking. Quite a bit it seems. Must be something profound for it to occupy his attention for what feels like ages; the silence dampening the room and only amplifies his sharp hearing. His heart is thumping steadily, its rhythmic beats masquerading as an impromptu lullaby that lulls his senses and relaxes him just a tiny bit. His eyes are drifting, his own heart now synchronizing with the latter. Two symphonic thump's beating in tandem. badump badump badump. His eyes are closing...until he speaks.
"No surprise there. You always seem to have an affinity for all things sinister. Maybe one day, I'll witness Death punching you in the face because its grown tired of seeing your face." He's joking now. But underneath the layer of jest lies a more ominous feeling, one that seems to forewarn something he, perhaps, is truly afraid of happening. Why? Because he knows that he's powerless to stop it.
"You're supposed to pinch yourself, you shit. And it's a one time thing. It isn't gonna happen again." An exasperated huff manages to slip out of his mouth before he could stop it and he sighs, rolling onto his back to avoid looking at the smug look on his roommate's face. He is testing him. His patience just on the verge of snapping, but he holds back. The latter wins this time. He'll concede. If only because weariness is beginning to settle in his bones, lethargy rendering him a little less sharp-tongued and a little more lax in speech. But nonetheless, he curls his fingers into his palm and knocks the other's cheek with a half-hearted jab. "If you flip me off the bed, I will throw you off the balcony. Now let me sleep, all this intellectual conversation is making me tired. Long day tomorrow. If you wake me one more time, I will shove a knife down your throat."
[6:04:47 AM] 迷路。: He gives the latter a firm nod, as if fully approving him in paying a visit to another individual he is, dare he says it, fond of. Perhaps the female's shop isn't as famous as he would think of it to be, then again, he too didn't pay much attention to the latest gossip and the likes. He finds no interest in it, just like the other didn't. I finds himself realizing small bits of detail that pieced puzzle pieces together. It is always a wonder to him. How in the hell is he putting up with a human, then again; dive into the thoughts of this human, they aren't that human after all. That's probably why he took such interest in them. That time when he found himself making a quick arrangement for the male to get their ass out of Japan without a single word but a stern look followed by him presenting the ticket out of the Hell situation, all but a simple, vague sentence. They're probably in Seoul, whoever the fuck you're looking for; now go. And with a quick blink, he was out of the male's sight.
Ah, right, he had to wonder. Did the male realize it already, did they already sit down and talk about it or was it still in the dark. The night where they not only met but even engaged in a fight against each other...wait a minute, the male, at the time, was aiming for the leader which was him. He knew it well enough, but did the latter? Did he realize the person who gave him the chance to flee out of the place; first class, giving the assumption they were just another step closer to whoever they were targeting or seeking for, was also the individual he was aiming for at the time. Sometimes, he would have to stop and think to himself, was he in control every single event that was taking place at the time (it was a nice fantasy to think of, being in control of events; as if everything was carved and planned by his own hands). He could have left the male to writhe in pain, pain he could have inflicted without laying a single finger on the human's delicate being.
He shakes the thought off, completely disregarding the questions that began fluttering in his mind. No, not right now, not anytime soon. Leave me the fuck alone. And evidently, his mind returned back to the room of the latter's, laying down with moonlight hues staring blankly at the ceiling before gradually shifting them to the corner of his eyes, glancing at the latter with the smirk most apparently on his lips, never faltering, not even for a second. How many times has he been successful in cheating Death. As the limb reached over to him. Time to go, Vincent, is what they said to him. Fuck off, he replied with a quick flick of his finger as he brought himself back to life. Why? He realized how exhilarating it was to see Death and look at it straight in the eye before throwing the Just Kidding card with a sardonic look.
“You witness the little shit punch me right in the face? Nah.” He shakes his head like to punctuate that stern statement. To Hell would he let anyone see the death of him, Death laughing its ass off for the stakes are too high and he finally meets his match. He laughs, but there was bitterness laced within the wave of it. “Hah, fuck that. Last thing I'd let you do is watch the last bit of pride I'd have left crumbling in my death bed.” Pride. It was all about pride, despite him carrying himself like some immortal being, he was nothing close to it; even he, as a wolf, had a biological clock that ticks then halts then ticks again, it was Death toying with his life for their own pleasure to which he retorts by claiming he cheats Death.
The jab to his cheek, though not as powerful as he expected the latter would usually land, brought a small chuckle; feeble, to the say the least, accompanied with a very faint smile. He does nothing, simply sits up as he stretched limbs whilst shifting off the bed, an obnoxious yawn falling from his lips before letting his limbs fall languidly by his sides, sleep spelling their magic on his eyes with eyelids no longer desiring to keep themselves up. Bed time. He yawned once more, glancing at the clock before glancing back at the latter, one foot already out the door. “Good, I'll keep a note on this for things to do so you'll go to sleep, before switching to the last resort; knocking you out, heh.” With that, one more step with both feet now out the door, he shuts it behind him before striding to his room, instantly dropping into his bed with a content sigh as he easily succumbs to sleep.
Middle finger gesture thrown right towards him gives him the evident affirmation. He did it again, shut the latter’s lips as they strain to retort back with something that could possibly defeat his own words. He snickers, amusement plastered on his features. This was golden, too golden for him to pass up as he folds limbs over his chest as he waited rather patiently, sneakers tapping against the floor out of mere habit, shouldn’t be any bother to the other for it was inaudible thanks to the carpeted flooring. “Any other day?” He questioned with a slight quirk of his brow, lips curving into a smirk before snorting and shaking his head. “Thank the cold weather mate, saved you from embarrassment.” His lips protrude as they formed an O-like shape before making a face, one as if his feelings were crushed, accompanying the expression was his limb lifting in order to clench at his clothed chest. “Owch, mate; right in this poor heart of mine. Go on though, that’d be one hell of a show for both of us. How about I take ya’ down with me, you can be a cushion for my landing.”
"Do you have to dissect every word that spews out of my mouth?" It was a rhetorical question and uttered in a tone so exasperated, he barely managed throwing up his hands in blatant frustration. But underneath the pretentious layer of sass was a thin, paper thin, layer of subtle gratitude. There were moments like these that Skylar appreciated—the casual shifting of topics when a bout of uncomfortable something passed over his face. His deliberate jabs and lame insults were merely fabricated defenses designed to distract and avoid things he had no wish to discuss just yet and so far, Skylar was grateful that his roommate was playing along.
"Do you even have a heart?" He retorted belatedly, body collapsing back on the worn leather couch and closed his eyes. He was getting tired more easily these days. That wasn't a good sign. "Tch, are you calling me fat, asshole?"
"As you should, mate." He gave firm nod before a hand lifts with digits stroking along his chin with a meager hum resonating within the back of his throat. His limb drops languidly by his side with moonlight hues fading into a bright moonlight, almost an electric blue like. The thought of hunting was the first to have his lips form into an impish smile, but never ceasing there, it only grew from the imagery etching itself in the blank canvas in his head, blood splattering, the screams of agony while the victim was at his— No, their, mercy was enough to fuel his blood lust. Snapping out of it and returning his attention back to the now, he chuckles and hums thoughtfully, the pad of his digit tapping against his chin. “Really? Where’s the fun with the lights off, tch can’t see their faces; you tell me.”
Ah, but he liked it better when their prey screamed in both panic and innate desperation. Having light extinguished, their sight robbed, amplified all their other senses—It made them fumble that much more because if they couldn't see, how were they to distinguish between friend and foe? He grinned. All the better for them. Self-annihilation would eliminate half the ballroom within minutes, maybe hours. Watching them kill for the need to defend themselves would be so much fun. "The fact that you implied that you find having the lights on more fun intrigues me. Are you suggesting that we play host to a bloody massacre? You do know that if that's your intention, no witnesses will be left alive. No survivors. No evidence." He raised a brow, expression calm. "I thought you liked your darkness."
The night was young, as those romantic poets would say. But the night to him would always be just the tiniest bit old, dreary; its luster dull in comparison to the radiant warmth of glowing sunlight in the daytime. Not that it mattered, really. Though, if anyone were to track his movements and his whereabouts throughout the day, they’d find a peculiar spike of activity during the wee hours of the night—his preferred time of day. Off in the distance, a clock chimed. Once, twice, thrice. That was his usual cue, but not today. Tonight, he was a little more lax in his endeavors—a little less reckless. After all, he did have company.
Skylar was so immersed in watching the black silk cloth sliding mechanically down the thin blade in smooth up-down motions, he almost missed the soft echoes of footsteps shuffling down the hall. Almost. When they stopped just outside the open door, he didn’t bother to look up. She’d speak her mind whenever she saw fit. He saw no reason to pry nor bait her.
"It’s time to choose."
His concentration never broke and there seemed to be no outward indication that he’d even heard her question. But the sardonic curl of his lips said otherwise. What made her think she had any right to say such a thing? But this was Irène. And that, of course, excused everything—not.
"What makes you think I haven’t already chosen?"
This time, he used her lapse in silence to straighten up, lanky body stretching from its hunched position; the crack of joints loosening as tension gave way to attentiveness was loud and foreboding. The knife gleamed ominously as he approached her.
One..two..three… Don’t walk away from me…
"Do you think I’m that indecisive, Irène?" Chuckling, he trailed the flat of the blade down the side of her cheek, down her pale neck and rested the pointed tip just above her heart. His darkened gaze, void of any sympathy and recognition, lingered on her upturned face. Hers was a delectably innocent face—all bright, doe eyes and rounded cheeks. She didn’t look frightened. He was going to change that.
"Between you and I…" The blade dug in a little harder. The wicked smile stretching his lips marred his stoic visage, the look on his face now almost feral, deranged.
