𝐈 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐭

Their ears perk when he emphasizes prepared.

They could be prepared. That's what nice clothes are for.

There's something about that look in Alastor's eyes, something scary. Pen's slit pupils blow out, like dinner plates. Big and black, they lean forward. Like a fly, to the sweet scent of the venus trap.

Heartbeat visible under their skin, especially in their neck. The way they lean forward cleaves their soft chest, supple. Something to be bitten and ripped apart.

It's embarrassing, to admit certain things.

"Do you know what I'm thinking, or do I have to say it aloud?" Barely above a whisper, tempting fate and teeth alike. They breathe shallow, fast. They feel lightheaded, and look a little drunkenly at him. He'll recognize his desire reflected back, like a fun house mirror.

                     CRIMSON   EYES   GLITTERED   WHEN   HE   MOVED   JUST   RIGHT   IN   THE   lights   overhead.   Something   passed   in   his   eyes   again,   a   gleam   of   recognition   and   certainty.   His   lips   widen   even   more,   displaying   those   razor   teeth   in   a   most   charming   way.   Alastor’s   whole   body   seemed   to   be   at   ease,   a   body   language   that   read   as   interest   with   strong   intent.   

                  You’re   a   fawn   in   wolf   fur.   Yet   the   teeth   and   claws   conclude   it   to   be   reversed.   

               THE   SMILE   THAT   SHOWED   DEADLY   TEETH   TURNED   SWEET,   AND   COLD   eyes   became   innocent.   He   didn’t   move,   and   let   them   move   closer.   As   they   always   do.   Alastor   hummed,   a   small   buzzing   that   was   hardly   audible,   was   meant   to   draw   others   in   out   of   pure   curiosity.   His   gaze   lazily   swept   down   their   neck   and   back   up   again   only   added   to   that   calling,   “   Why,   I   believe   I   do   know   what   you’re   thinking.   ”   His   tone   shifted,   thick   and   warm   like   sweet   tea   on   a   warm   Summer’s   night.   

Talking, to the Radio Demon. They were too busy trying not to vibrate out of existence, to notice the shift in his expression. It was only as the static settled in their pointed ears, that Pentious managed an awkward laugh.

Okay, okay it's fine! Chill, even.

"I have always been curious about the intersection of vampirism and cannibalism! What's keeping you from drinking the blood, before or after you flense the meat?" And they regret it, immediately. None of this is information they want to know, even if their cheeks are a shifting mélange of purple and red.

Ah, yikes. Even the freckles are glowing a bit.

                  STEADY   EYES   TOOK   IN   ANXIOUS   MOVEMENTS,   AND   THE   COLORING   OF   cheeks   adorned   by   a   subtle   glow   of   the   freckles.   Alastor   always   found   a   sinner’s   physique   interesting;   curious   as   to   why   they   were   shaped   into   what   they   were   now.   Some   were   to   humiliate—   ironic   punishments   to   cause   more   distress   to   the   sinner   while   some   played   with   how   they   died.   You   get   both.   How   lucky.   

                     THE   RADIO   DEMON   EASED   HIMSELF,   MIND   ALREADY   FOCUSED   ON   THE   conversation   to   care   about   causing   intentional   discomfort,   “   Intriguing,   I   suppose,   ”   he   said   thoughtfully,   “   If   you   think   about   it,   blood   happens   to   get   consumed   when   I   take   a   desired   piece,   ”   a   red   talon   tapped   at   his   own   chin,   “   I   prefer   to   eat   the   meat   raw,   but   once   and   a   while   I’ll   let   myself   enjoy   a   prepared   dinner.   ”

Yet...  a  sinner's  body  is  quite  a  RESILIENT  thing,  is  it  not?

               HIDDEN   GENTLENESS   BY   A   PREDATOR’S   EXTENDED   CLAW   SAW   TO   CONFIDENT   ears   lowering,   and   for   the   fur   to   bristle   while   the   single   digit   proceeded   to   prod.   The   wound   wails   with   each   passing   second   his   muscles   tighten;   ready   to   spring   forward   and   attack   when   necessary—   cornered   prey   either   fight   or   roll   over.   You   sad   silly   deer!

                  THE   PROMPTED   INQUIRY   STUTTERED   HIS   MIND,   VISIBLY   SHOWN   AS INNOCENTS   replaced   steel   edged   expression.   His   gaze   dropped   to   what   he   could   see   of   his   wound.   It   was   grotesque   in   appearance:   red   with   agitation,   matted   fur,   and   wet   with   a   steady   drip   of   blood.   It   just   wouldn’t   heal.   Indeed,   he   lacked   a   stable   source   of   his   power,   but   this   was   a   holy   wound.   Count   it   as   poison   for   a   damned   being   such   as   himself.   Yet,   the   idea   set   before   could   work,   couldn’t   it?   It   would   be   painful   to   cut   the   infection   out—   you’ve   had   worse.   True.   

Bloody.

A terrible, horrible, selfish part of herself was secretly the teeniest, tiniest bit relieved that this wasn’t an angel, dead at the sinner’s feet. Not that it was okay for it to be another sinner, of course. But that part of Oriya was pretty sure she would be in much more danger if he’d just killed an angel. As it was, she could feel the sinner’s amusement radiating off of him in waves. And, beneath that amusement, something darker.

She swallowed thickly. Forced herself to meet his gaze, rather than continuing to stare at the body and all the blood. Walking talking sacks of blood. “I, um…suppose that’s…true?” Not quite the nicest way of viewing the world, of course. Biting her lip, she wrang her hands anxiously in front of her, taking the smallest of steps backwards. “Oriya.” Her voice was small, soft, nervous. Was it smart to be giving him her name like that? “It’s…nice to meet you, Alastor.” Though she certainly wished it’d happened under different circumstances.

               HER   DISCOMFORT   WAS   IMMEDIATELY   OBVIOUS,   AND   A   PANG   OF   GUILT   had   settled   between   his   ribs.   The   feeling   was   fleeting, or rather pushed aside soon after it arrived.   But eventually, he  decided   to   grab   a   handkerchief   from   his   breast   pocket   to   clean   his   bloody   hands;   Alastor   knew   it   wouldn’t   do   much   given   the   severity   of   his   violent   attack, but the point was to make her feel a little at ease.  

                     WHEN   SHE   STEPPED   BACK,   ALASTOR   STAYED   ROOTED   IN   PLACE.   THE   malicious   gleam   behind   his   monocle   faded   to   something   kind   instead.   His   head   dipped   to   the   side   as   fingers   worked   the   piece   of   cloth   around   his   hands.   It   was   clear   she   was   no   demon,   and   that   meant   she   had to be   a   glorified   pigeon   from   above.   A   bold   move   to   come   down   here   unescorted,   but   Alastor   could   appreciate   boldness.   Despite   that,   she   was   still   anxious.   She   masks   herself   like   you   do!   

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