Evolutionary instinct is often described as experiencing the urges and fears that ancestors once did. Why the dark becomes a source of fear, or being drawn to sources of warmth. It has a tricky little way of popping up regardless of its species of origin. Loud noises startle prey, bright lights stun sensitive eyes--they all move along the food chain one way or another and humans were never any different.
And so the good doctor had finally succumbed to ancient desire. Not out of a need for sustenance or resources, no, she had conquered those in her trial-and-error of trying to maintain her new state of being. The only thing she had failed to secure was the thrill.
After all, orb weavers and by association the Jorogumo spider, were hunters. No amount of synthesized protein and sustainable carbs could scratch the deep itch that was feeling the struggle of prey trapped by one's own design. The adrenaline and dopamine that rushed through the blood when venom sinks deep into meat and bone.
It makes her fangs itch as she crawled along metal scaffolding and signage. Neglect of her own needs to put those of others first, it had finally become detrimental. The darker urges of her mutated DNA rearing its ugly head as pale, unblinking eyes track a multitude of figures on the street below.
Each one plucks the string of her massive web, and she followed in pursuit. Silently, out of sight, yet those now pale green eyes never waver as she feels the thrum of another web draw her towards an individual. The creature in her smells a weakness--disoriented by the bright lights and perhaps one too many drinks at a bar draws the poor bastard ever closer to her.
Long, needle-like spindles help her displace her weight along thin surfaces as she starts to lure her target deeper into the older alleyways. A labyrinth in its own right without her directing the outcome. Her fingers twitch, limbs and head twitching unnaturally when she would sense her surroundings, spindles extending ever-so-slightly as she skittered along buildings. Her jaw clenches much like piercing mandibles would in anticipation, her fangs barely protruding from the soft pink tissue of her gums.
So close, not long now.
She watches, slowly descending as her target has fallen into the trap of isolation in a darkened, unfamiliar part of the city.
@iobartach asked/demanded: "can you just give me a break, for once?!"
"Whoa, whoa, whooooo~ooaaaa!"
Machine Head lifts his palms up like he's offering surrender, and the Spider'd be a fuckin' moron to ever think that this gesture's genuine.
"Buddy, if you want your fifteen minutes, you'd better fill out an application with the Wal-Mart by the interstate, am I riiiiiight? That's not how this works, Miggy, and you knoooOoow that. Need a Red Bull? Need a little something strooo~oonger? I can do that for you."
❃ - Fighting with their belt for some reason, showing off some hip/waist
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"Would you like me to get the hole-punch?" There's a thing that happens with a belt someone has been wearing regularly for a while; not just the way the fastening hole stretches and wears, but the indent that forms where the rest of the buckle sits. It's a marker, and a guide ... and sometimes a warning.
Thera definitely can't say that Miguel's gone soft around the middle, she doubts that's ever going to happen. But maybe he's getting a little bit broader, the narrow triangle helped along by figuratively eating himself with stress having eased, settled more comfortably into itself. Not by a lot (her legs still fit very comfortably around it, thanks) but enough that his favourite leather belt is starting to tell the difference.
The usual spot is a shade too tight, the next one loose enough for him to fit his thumbs underneath ... and yeah, sue her, but maybe she's been watching him twist, flex and fidget with it for around ten minutes now. Her head tilts, eyes on shifting obliques before she finally volunteers. "We could put an extra one in between the two?"
A sandwich is slid onto the desk in front of Miguel, although Rei has doubts the man will even spare it a small glance. His eyes are transfixed on the screens before him, tracking a new threat that no one has ever heard of before. What is even more disturbing is the strange, prehistoric looking bear-man has time travel technology. How did something so old get access to futuristic technology. "Working until you pass out won't make us figure out who he is any faster," he remarks, plopping into the chair next to Miguel. He gently swings back and forth as he joins Miguel in watching the recent footage. "Please tell me we've at least figured out which dimension he's originally from."
“ THE FANGS ARE so fucking cool, @iobartach. you're like a vampire & a spider all in one. totally called it, by the way. peacemaker said there was no such thing as vampires, but clearly he was wrong. ” / sc.
“ SO, YOU ALL just meet here, whenever you want? ” sapphire hues look to @iobartach, trying to make out an expression beneath the mask. so far, no luck. “ that sounds nice, to have a community like that. ” legs are drawn to her chest, arms wrapping around them as a form of comfort. “ i don't have a community like that. there's not really any other superheroes in paris. ” / sc.
"We should move the cable machines," Ilja admits, hands on his hips, studying the two units with exhausted frustration. A full day of work, only to realize the placement didn't leave enough room during the soft opening. Now, studying them as they prepare for hard opening, he's finally figured out the placement, but he doesn't think he has it in himself to manage this. He can't afford another injury, and his knee is already screaming at him.
Not that he's showing it. He's good at masking any pain he does feel. Too good. Catastrophically, as it's led to him pushing his body too far more than once.
He looks to Miguel, brows rising.
"I don't supposed you'd...?" He gestures to the cleared wall.
