the day the earth stood still
05-20-2014, 03:50 PM
'Think' In the mass of his mocha pelt, a demon would thrive off of his insanity. From honey hued irises dripped thick metallic liquid, a dark crimson against his fur. His muscles would ripple as he would stagger further and further away from the Tortugan lands, until he no longer was, seemingly going in no certain direction. He would mechanically trudge through the thick layers of snow, eyes blank and emotionless, until the crude scent of blood would block his nostrils. He would give a wicked laugh of a drunk man, as the scent of a wolf would sting at his nostrils. The diseased voices within his head would instantly begin to speak. 'Murder the bitch. Slaughter her. She is trespassing on our grounds.' Blood would drip onto the sparkling snow as he would stand, two ideals clashing within the dark recesses of his mind. The smell was familiar yet so new. Who could be the one trespassing? Only would he soon find a timid damsel standing in the snowfalls. "Bitch. Do you know where the fuck you're at?!" Already was he twitching, beginning to witness a sudden surge of violence from his deliria. Each muscle of his body was mechanically twitching, locking into place as he would stand in the snow, knee deep. His body was shuddering from pure anticipation, as defenses would begin to settle. He would bare his fangs, narrowing his bloodshot eyes, and creasing his brows. Hackles would rise as his tail would begin to thrash. "No matter. I will slaughter you. Any words you'd like to say, say them now." Each voice within his mind would sing a wondrous chorus of hell, each speaking in its own venomous voice. 'Give her no time to speak, Gus. Slaughter her before she can open her jaws. Shred her into mincemeat.' Even through this melody of voices, the man stood still, body angrily twitching and pulsing, bloodshot gaze trained on the femme. He did not want to attack her. The consciousness within his diseased mind fought this ideal, but he could not seem to gain control. Instead, the silence was filled by the howling of the wind, as he awaited the femme's words. A sharp acidic taste would build in his throat, as vomit would begin to rise, and his eyes would cloud, but he still would watch the female, not showing any weakness, at least not showing any. |