#octadic

hello

>It has been... the third day... or second... He dowsn't know, he lost track... He has been in this dark room for the past several hours with no one to get him. HE still wonders how he got here. He can not hear anything, being in this room alone in full darkness, it just, unsettling.

>He needs to eat something.

This is gonna be the BEST day ever with my BEST FRIEND EVER, we are gonna do ALL the best friend things she always told me were WAY TOO RIDICULOUS TO DO!

Including but not limited to:

- Three Legged Race ( NEED COMPETITORS. )

- Wearing the Maplehoof costume I got us for Halloween but she refused to wear. ( She can even be the front legs!!! )

- PAINTBALL, otherwise known as ME-BALL.

- Kareoke duet?? ( TAKING SONG SUGGESTIONS. )

Felts comin' outta the woodwork all over the place.

Normally, heat is a welcome thing to him; wraiths are cold as clay by nature, bearing inside them no fire of true life. Always seeking out the heat of the living, wanting to steal it like a cat stealing a babe's breath. But this? This is fucking ridiculous.

Even though the sun's been down for half an hour now, heat still seems to shimmer off the macadam. He could fry a goddamn hunk of meat on the sidewalk with this summer weather. The only saving grace of this wretched heatwave is the fact that people are out in droves now that the sun's down, out to bars, to parties. Hell, even kids running about like damnfools. It'd be prime hunting, if it wasn't for the fact that separating a sheep from the herd is like pulling teeth tonight. That unnatural aura of danger that lingers around him - the same that makes the hackles of human, carapace and troll alike startle like deer even without knowing he's around - is working against him again.

Fuck it.

Slick wanders instead, his feet carrying him towards the south side of town, down to the docks. The air's cooler, sharp with sea salt and fish from farther down the docks. A breeze tugs at his shirt as he leans against the rail, staring into the water. Not too long ago he'd been in a fight in this very spot - in fact, the bullet wounds in his chest are still healing from that little scrape. No breaks, not for him, not lately. Such is undeath.