Post by nozomi on May 22, 2011 19:08:17 GMT -5
Warden and Senar thread: Into the office
He never stopped enjoying the role of hunter. Machi almost loved the way he could follow a person, track them as if they were truly the animals he thought of them as. So many of them ran like small creatures in the jungle, all uiet noises and violent death screams. Even their blood smelled different: it held a bitter taint to it, tasted more like salts then metals when droplets landed on his hands, face, his lips. He'd only seen a killers blood once - a fight, in the mess hall, and it ended with another man stabbed and the other back into the sharding jacket. Machi watched the entire skirmish with cold eyes and a flat face from his own seat. When the man was dragged past him, he'd reached out and touched the murderers noise.
Metallic, his blood. Not so salty. Machi preferred salt, just as he preferred to top, and to be the one delivering blows.
And when that large stone-gray building rose to view, still tall and unwounded from all the slaughter, Machi felt the familiar swell of heat when that title of 'hunter' once more settled onto his shoulders. It meshed with the Flightlust in a rather delightful weave of hate and hunger and want. Maybe later he would find that loud mouthed prisoner. He had liked him. No blood covered the walls, outside completely pristine, and through those large windows, Machi saw Warden stand. His mouth moved. Another in the room?
One more name to the list, then.
His heart slammed against bruised ribs. Machi nearly salivated, just thinking of him, gone. Eight under his belt just on the way to Warden's office, and those numbers meant little compared to the triumph.
Two heart beats away from the enterance, Warden stepped outside. The old man made his one mistake, then: to walk out with your front facing inside, back out to the elements, meant you were all but begging to be hurt.
Warden shut the door. "Put something up to block it." he said. Hungry. Warden turned. Machi dove for him, gave writ into a grotesque mask of rage.
To his credit, Warden did not scream - he snarled, lips peeled back to reveal those small, square teeth, thin lips pulled even tighter, the lines at his eyes and mouth deeper than what Machi imagined they should have been. The killer plowed Warden into the hard wooden door, the weight of their combined bodies bringing a creak. Machi knotted one of his hands in Warden's thick, lovely hair. The other slammed Jessan's gifted dagger deep into the Warden's side.
The man roared, brought a wide and twisted smile to Machi's sharp face.
"You have no idea how much I've-" Forehead of that thrice-cursed short bastard met Machi's nose. His eyes watered instantly, pain hot and rough in his face. He felt the Warden twist away through the haze of tears. The warden pushed at him, then a fist out and rock-solid knuckles against his jaw.
Machi spat at him, colored pink with his own metallic scented blood. Hands closed around his throat.
He never stopped enjoying the role of hunter. Machi almost loved the way he could follow a person, track them as if they were truly the animals he thought of them as. So many of them ran like small creatures in the jungle, all uiet noises and violent death screams. Even their blood smelled different: it held a bitter taint to it, tasted more like salts then metals when droplets landed on his hands, face, his lips. He'd only seen a killers blood once - a fight, in the mess hall, and it ended with another man stabbed and the other back into the sharding jacket. Machi watched the entire skirmish with cold eyes and a flat face from his own seat. When the man was dragged past him, he'd reached out and touched the murderers noise.
Metallic, his blood. Not so salty. Machi preferred salt, just as he preferred to top, and to be the one delivering blows.
And when that large stone-gray building rose to view, still tall and unwounded from all the slaughter, Machi felt the familiar swell of heat when that title of 'hunter' once more settled onto his shoulders. It meshed with the Flightlust in a rather delightful weave of hate and hunger and want. Maybe later he would find that loud mouthed prisoner. He had liked him. No blood covered the walls, outside completely pristine, and through those large windows, Machi saw Warden stand. His mouth moved. Another in the room?
One more name to the list, then.
His heart slammed against bruised ribs. Machi nearly salivated, just thinking of him, gone. Eight under his belt just on the way to Warden's office, and those numbers meant little compared to the triumph.
Two heart beats away from the enterance, Warden stepped outside. The old man made his one mistake, then: to walk out with your front facing inside, back out to the elements, meant you were all but begging to be hurt.
Warden shut the door. "Put something up to block it." he said. Hungry. Warden turned. Machi dove for him, gave writ into a grotesque mask of rage.
To his credit, Warden did not scream - he snarled, lips peeled back to reveal those small, square teeth, thin lips pulled even tighter, the lines at his eyes and mouth deeper than what Machi imagined they should have been. The killer plowed Warden into the hard wooden door, the weight of their combined bodies bringing a creak. Machi knotted one of his hands in Warden's thick, lovely hair. The other slammed Jessan's gifted dagger deep into the Warden's side.
The man roared, brought a wide and twisted smile to Machi's sharp face.
"You have no idea how much I've-" Forehead of that thrice-cursed short bastard met Machi's nose. His eyes watered instantly, pain hot and rough in his face. He felt the Warden twist away through the haze of tears. The warden pushed at him, then a fist out and rock-solid knuckles against his jaw.
Machi spat at him, colored pink with his own metallic scented blood. Hands closed around his throat.