the hunter in me awakens. @rabidhumanitarian - Tumblr Blog

Adrenaline spikes, making his blood hot and heavy with the need to chase.

Right now, he's the one being chased -- but he likes to think he's leading the chase to something better. Towards a truly thrilling climax. Heavy boots thumping against asphalt, thick moss green coat fluttering as he fearlessly makes the leap between buildings and lands on the other side, hunkered down. The stranger with short-cropped spikes has a moment to look up once more to the neighboring building, a crumpled cigarette pinched between abnormally long eyeteeth. His eyes are wide, wild, as he sneers and catches the silhouette of his pursuer.

Half a second later, he lurches to the side as a warning shot makes the brickwork beside him explode. That wasn't meant to be a warning shot, he's willing to bet. They got a special hole for a beast like him, and they're aching to put him in his place. Well, he's aching to pin the cop down like prey, too.

What if he could put Blake in a situation he isn't expecting, would he show fear? He has a feeling this one wouldn't break down as easily, but that just makes it more fun to see what he can do with him.

Scrambling into a sprint, he's on the move again before he sustains a real injury. A gritty pipe tangled in bloodstained military dog tags drags along with him. His file says something along the lines of a former soldier with brutal tendencies, but many of his victims looked like they were mauled to death by a wild animal. Teeth marks on their necks, their shoulders, claw marks on their hips.

A graveled and deep voice carries across the rooftops, "Ya sure like the idea of the scent of blood, officer! Ya wanna taste my blood, you're gonna have to try harder-!" He roars, taunting the other man into suggesting that maybe they're more alike than he would think.

@gotusedtoit

#gotusedtoit

Oh, this blog is old as shit. Everything before this is archived. It’s time for a new awakening for this old boy.

#*tag dump;#✖ ɢʀɪɴᴅ. (headcanons)#✖ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ-sᴛᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴇᴇᴛʜ. (kiriwar)#✖ ᴄʟᴀᴡᴇᴅ ʙʀᴀᴛ. (gunji)#✖ ᴅᴇᴠᴏᴜʀ. (musing)

vvellington-deactivated20221124

█░ *⊰ dead eyed dogs.

In the precocious years, the early years, years of straining on the toes of black leather shoes to reach his nose above the varnished table top, these were precisely the sorts of streets his mother would have warned him of, slapping his wrists as he reached for Father’s orange marmalade or an extra spoonful of strawberry jam, the sugar cubes nesting and docile as white doves on their prized china dish. The place for clumsy little thieves, his mother warned him, was in the gutters, in the streets; down with the dregs of society, in alleys so dark even the finest polished silverware would refuse to shine, and even mommy’s precious pearl necklace would lose its luster — And you wouldn’t like that, would you?

At the time, such scoldings had seemed a small price to pay for an extra spot of apricot jelly, or a spoonful of sweet cream to dissolve on his errant tongue. Besides, Richard had never been much fond of his mother, who was large and flighty and smothering, and for all her airs, always a bit bourgeois. Her lips were too red and her voice was brayingly operatic, and Richard knew that precious pearl necklace was only a precious reproduction.

Now, however, he found himself wondering if there hadn’t been some strain of the prophetic in his overbearing, powder-scented mother. Now, he was as far from the kitchen table, the platters of jam, and the smell of warm toast as his wildest childhood fantasies could have taken him. And he found that it was very dark, very cold, and very unsettling.

He was not a little thief — certainly not a clumsy one — though his occupation did leave him on the other side of ‘legal,’ and was, in part, to blame for his arrival in these dingy streets. Still, it was necessary, now and then, to solidify connections with other men of dubious reputations; to shake hands and negotiate. His little circle of con-men and double-dealers was constantly broadening. That he had been chosen to make liaisons was to be expected, and it wasn’t the first time he’d been called to some remote, unsavory location to rub elbows with men whose hands he’d rather not shake, or even touch. But after arriving at the designated location and finding nothing but the abandoned husk of what appeared to have once been a quick-mart, he had begun to doubt. And after making subtle inquiries at a certain bar and receiving nothing but confused stares and shaking heads, he had begun to suspect, with a sinking paranoia, that perhaps this rendezvous was nothing but a trick, that perhaps someone wanted him out of the way —

That perhaps this was one outing from which he was never supposed to return.

In the cold air, his breath clouded a dismal, fume-yellow beneath the lurid glow of the occasional street light. Night was drawing on, and already there were voices echoing now and then down distant alleys, shadows dancing on graffitied walls. Richard folded his arms tightly across his chest. If he could only find his way back to the station at which he’d arrived — or a hotel to sleep in that didn’t look as though it housed more cockroaches than human beings — ! Down the street ahead of him, a sharp cry rang out — then fell suddenly silent. The sound of metal scraping brick scratched for entrance at his ears. He turned briskly on his heel, and walked quickly in the other direction.