HUNTER / HUNTED (LOW ACTIVITY)

i’m the dedicated one.

gold obsidian hues blink over those of mismatched, her stare following his.  response to such animalistic behaviour would’ve been to seek forth more, and though her fingers twitched for such, she sought not to do anything more than follow his movements, a brow arching upwards at such mannerisms.  there’s little need to talk when enduring such tendencies, yet she cannot help but tilt her head just a hair to the right as he came to respond to her, his words seeping into her flesh, bringing forth another rolling set of shivers.  ‘ no reason to be shy with me, darling.  i’m the last person you should be shy with. ’  it’s not as if she yearns for such teasing commentary, but it’s certainly a plus, her stare lingering on his at the way he seemed to toy with her.

‘ you make it sound as if you’re the most fucked up being there is, ’  a step forward taunted limited space, aware that the wolfish grin crossing mien was for only the charming bastard who reeled her in with such words, and not another,  ‘ but you’re not. ’  another foot nearer and she’d force her fingers not to touch at his suit, lush petals returning to a placid state.  ‘ tell me something, anything, can’t imagine it’s as terrible and fucked up as you think it is.  you tell me that and i’ll give you something better, promise. ’

There’s a certain amount of assumed familiarity that he finds curious in the way that she speaks to him, like her statements made in that borderline unnervingly attractive voice are things he should already know. Perhaps it’s designed to set him off-kilter, or perhaps it’s just some kind of flirtation with a monster, but Richie is slowly becoming more and more engrossed either way. His inexperience in certain things has long made him susceptible to the allure of a beautiful woman, and he’s less ashamed than his desires can overcome. He’s sure there’s more to it. There’s always more to it with people who talk like him, like bringing up inappropriate topics to strangers is commonplace. He knows what they’d call her isn’t to dissimilar from what they call him.

“You’re the last person I thought I’d encounter.” Thus far, anyway. Something scratches at his inner ear, and he cants his head to the side, a phantom tick that doesn’t come as a surprise.

So this is a game. Richie is good at games, or at least he likes to think he is. He assesses her again from behind the unnecessary lenses of his glasses, ignoring the smudge, and ignoring the dust, and ignoring all else aside from her features. Lovely, malicious, something beneath the surface that gnaws and writhes. He does believe he knows the feeling. Ignoring her approach for the most part --- he worries little about potential bodily harm she could do to him --- Richard clasps his hands behind his back and stands his ground.

“If you had to guess, what would you say your soul tastes like?” 

The question isn’t innocent, but he makes it sound like it is. Something normal to ask with that ravenous hunger flickering over his otherwise neutral features, set only with the slightest of smirks at either corner of his mouth. “I have my guesses. Peach and a hint of something floral, like lavender or baby’s breath, and violence. You seem violent. Have you ever tasted that? Have you ever had it fill your mouth?” He takes a step closer as he speaks, bowing his head down again, standing his full height just a bit too much for him to make his point. He isn’t close enough to touch, but he’s close enough to hint at it. That was mostly her doing, though.

‘ perhaps. ’  always with the quick witted answers came that of her own, obscure hues narrowing upwards onto that of a man who had the heartbeat of a thundering storm intermixed with the crashing waves against stone    -    he’s a near perfect concoction of something that smells equal to rage and violence, a cacophony of such beauty surrounding her mind and nearly fogging such over in response.  oh, he probably tasted like that of wrath;   a warm finery of whiskey and honey, with just a dash of blood on his lips.  and while temptation rattled her bones, her flesh prickling over in goosebumps, would she be all the more interested in the way he’d been slick with his retort.

‘ enough to help me get by. ’  there, would she wink;  a gracious yet more than obvious notion to the way he held conversation with her, of all people.  but it’d be the roll of her tongue over lower and upper lips that provoked such into a teasing sneer, sight seeking not to deviate from his,  ‘ and what about you, handsome?  any fucked up fantasies on your end?  or are you just playing shy? ’

Buzzing. Buzzing in his head like static mingled with voices, indistinct, distant, echoing between mountains and tall buildings; he doesn’t know what to do with the images that flash through his mind, not quite processing them, but feeling them in the place where his violence curls, tense like a snake about to strike. He keeps it under control for them most part, eyes flickering yellow only briefly before he casts them down, and with it he takes a couple steps to his left, running his tongue along the edges of his blunt teeth. No fangs yet. Maybe later. He circles back around, a predator contemplating the effort it’ll take to sink into the warmth of his prey. 

“Shy gets you places, when you need it to.” Comes his response, neither here nor there, but somewhere in the middle. He’s teasing at things, hinting but not latching on. It’s better to feel out what he’s dealing with than to jump in, one way or another.

                   “so you’re the infamous crazy gecko,  hmm?”  feline features curl into a candor grin with the tilt of her head,  eyeing him hungrily as if predator seeking out prey,  aware their species made the tables turned in the reverse of her favor.  but it wasn’t as if she feared death from his hand  ––  not at all:  she would have been a hell of a hunter if she’d decided to play for the right team.  “they didn’t say you were so handsome.”

Richie’s jaw clenching is the only visible sign that he’s been set off, and he tries to hide the rest well as he assesses the person in front of him with nothing less than disdain on his features. She looks as if she’s observing a fly caught in a trap, but she’d be wrong about that. The culebra takes a couple of steps to his right, keeping his gaze glued to her like he’s trying to work out if she’s friend or foe, but assuming the latter by default. 

mien veiled whatever expression would be there had she not be that blunt, yet the edges of plush lips remained curved at the attention to detail  -  not all are comfortable with such conversation, and not all are capable of holding up sadistic humour, suppose this had been the reason why she hadn’t halted herself when asking the man wearing the glasses such a gruesome question.  ‘ oh? ’  brow hitched without hesitation, succulent petals peeling back, reveling ivory canines beneath cheshire sneer,  ‘ ever considered doing it to a complete stranger? ’

Gallows humor is basically Richie’s specialty at this point, though there’s a fine line between the total detachment he feels towards the majority of the population and his lack of empathy making it easy for him to participate in conversations like this. He shifts his weight, his head bowed at a slight angle to look at her better. His eyes flick down to the curve of her lips, watching them shape around words like her saccharine voice is just begging for release. It’s strange, the aura some people project, and his curiosity is definitely piqued. He wonders what her soul would taste like. Sweet fruits with a bitter edge, perhaps; some kind of bite that kicks in when he doesn’t expect it.

‘ ever wondered what would happen if you skinned a person from head to toe? ’  so much for welcoming conversation, and so much for the brunette trying to be ‘ human like ’  -  it doesn’t suit her, whatsoever.  ‘ or is that a bit too awkward of a question to ask at a farmer’s market? ’    —    for:  @killedad​!

Wow. Richie turns to look at the person presumably addressing him, a smudge on his glasses that’s been irritating him all day catching his eye at first. He blinks her into focus after a moment, drinking in her appearance as he gets some sort of response in order in his head. It’s funny that she would broach this topic --- and strange, too. Richard’s had experience with watching someone be skinned alive. 

Shay has also seen a lot of SHIT.  Being a demon hunting witch kinda does that to you. But this case isn’t a demon at all, it’s a spirit. A really pissed spirited. Like, shaking walls and flickering windows kinda pissed. And it’s gotten a good twenty degrees colder in this room since she’d walked in. To round that all off, there’s a civilian. Something tells her that he ain’t no normal human. Perhaps it’s in the way he hides his panic right below the surface. Or the way her stomach feels, intuition on the matter.

‘ Gonna have to do a spell or find the bones. Because she isn’t letting us outta here anytime soon. Thing is, I certainly don’t see you helpin’ any. What are ya doin’ here anyhow? Ya look like a mortician. ‘

@killedad

“I’m here to collect the bodies.” Richie retorts sarcastically, tone having perhaps a bit too much bite to it. The sound of shattering glass somewhere in the building draws his attention, and he turns his head towards where the noise had come from as if he might be able to see directly through the walls. That talent isn’t exactly in his wheelhouse, even for his third eye, which has some impressive qualities of its own. When he moves, it’s like the predator that he is seeps out of the very motion of his body, making it clear he considers himself in control; he doesn’t get hunted, he’s the hunter.