#lookingforstatic

 Pot, meet Kettle. “You should already know.”

    “Probably hurt less than the ride down, though…” Broken bones, broken mind, and some nanomachine demon riding shotgun under his skin. Carrying that all wasn’t exactly easy as pie. At least he managed to make it to the surface, unlike those guys who found their grave in that fucking place.

They raise their eyebrows at him, then lower them, too lazy to shrug.

        Through fogged eyes Chris searches, following the stench of cheap cologne and the sound of scattered footsteps. The man-- the pig-- he sought out was a slippery one. The noises he made were sporadic at best, silence suddenly falling before he’d hear the faintest of footfall. Sometimes he’d even hear a whimper or the creak of a locker door, if he were lucky.

♃   Something smelled; rotting, festering, WRONG & CORRUPTED. Like a corpse, something left to decay by what once helped them strive. like flies to thus, they came. The type of smell that made on feel bloated just by IT’S EXISTENCE.

                                             THEY LIKED IT

♃   They wished to ENGULF the cause, play the taste around the tongue like a fine wine. or something like that. Lithe form traced themselves, FOLLOWING & FINDING but where did these feet bring them? To another HUMAN.

                                             NOW THAT SIMPLY WOULDN’T WORK                                                    THEY WERE NOT A NIBBLER

♃   To no no, but their stolen mass wouldn’t ALLOW DEVOURATION of something larger then them. actually, why was a mere man reeking of such a delectable scent? Atramentous body of Zherneboh came up behind them regardless, PERCHED atop some scaffolding and dust covered shelving. Unwelcomed words, PRODDING & PRYING. Assumptious to say the least.

if my muse prefers elegance or convenience

Send me a “🍞 “ for your muse to throw a loaf of bread at my muse.

-----

The cat growls after it hits him, his fur floofed up in a mix of surprise and fear.