redshiftlogs | I know now what thickened the breath, what blackened the wound.

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I know now what thickened the breath, what blackened the wound.

Who: Angel + Anyone who would ignore warning signs.
What: A unassuming morning, pre event.
When: Mumbles into the microphone.
Where: Agricultural Level.
Warnings: This log consists of Ange eating animals, thoughts about eating people, blood, guts and gore. So, be warned.

The sign that she leaves up is simply put:

i'm hunting, please don't come close until the screaming stops. Angel.

The fits of hunger begin to gnaw. Eating cooked meals helps. Surrounding herself with those she cares about to hang onto humanity helps. Drinking. Kissing Connor until she felt drunker than the Tequila could make her, sate the hunger for contact, connection, that she used to enforce the difference between love and hunger. The strange things Anchor brought, too, fill up the days, the weeks, so she can put it away from her.

But nothing ever kept it away forever. Eventually, she knows the shape of her thoughts - that to look at people is to crave the sensation of her teeth in their throat. That to touch them is to want to pierce their skin in the shape of her hard, black claws. She hangs suspended, holding it all inside of herself like a gut wound threatening to spill out so she can get the warning up that she needs, carve out a space to hunt, tell whoever needs to know - a simple message to anyone she has made friends with, or might be fatalistic curious enough to just follow the sound of screaming ( Kabal and Jacob she is looking at you ).

Then she goes about what is part of her, good or bad. She chases a herd of deer, until her limbs distend, long and powerful, her mane grows thick, her fur spreads further over her body as she begins to tower at some six feet of height, though she runs at times on all fours, at times on two legs. Cutting between terrified animals to single out the one deer. Running it down. Striking against the ground in heavy footfalls, gouging the dirt in the curve of her hooves. Until the animal is panting too hard, run out of the ability to run any more and -

Angel has utterly lost her mind in the hunt.

The deer goes down with a piercing scream of a bark. She tumbles, dragging it, ripping at it. It's legs kicking in the air. It's terrified eyes rolling for a way out. Panicked bleating pitching up and up, Angel leans over it like a terrible, wretched beast she is and she should always should have been and she will have her hunger, her blood, her earth and this death the way it should have been. Roll herself through her heavy bones, her own weight like the divinity she had been denied, and let it all rot.

Then there is a crack of bones, a neck snapped, the tear of skin, and it's dead. A silence after screaming as terrible as everything that follows. Filled only with the ripping of flesh from bone. The grinding of teeth as she takes into her cavernous, cave-like hollow. A being of bones, by their nature supposed to hold something together, blood and organs - soaks itself fully in the mess, to take some(one)thing elses, and call it being whole again.

In time, the rate at which she consumes, slows, blood smeared on her torn clothes and white fur, but despite that it should be repulsive to something saner mind that demands good things look healthy, bad things look sickly, she is a monster and she is restored completely. Her skin clear, her hair coming thick and black over her shoulder, the fur coat of her body a glossy white and black, her strange tattoos that pour with light like the sun through a stained glass window.

Her knees in the dirt, she watches anyone who approaches her with a maybe-humanity, star-filled eyes that take in whatever company that elects to come close with a passive recognition of who they are. Her claws grown long and distended as she licks the blood from their tips, blinking big black eyes. A satisfied sigh on her lips as she closes lips around them to take the bits of viscera from them. The danger is behind, as it were, just her tail flicking in enjoyment.

But it comes to the same, whether she should be or not, she is utterly contented. It is a glorious thing, she finds, to be wretched.

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Listen.

It's not like Zer0 is stalking Angel, but he does like to keep a fairly close eye on her because of Reasons. There are actually kind of a lot of reasons right now and not a single one of them is because he feels guilty about that one thing that happened that one time (all of his reasons are this, don't listen to his lies). Whatever his reasons are, you can bet your ass that he popped into the Agricultural area as soon as he found that note.

He doesn't interfere with Angel's hunt, she's just kicking a deer's ass so there's no reason to. Although let's be honest, he might not even get in the way if it was a person's ass she was kicking. It isn't until she's all chill and uh, just fucking munching on this freshly killed deer that he finally drops out of whatever tree he'd been chilling in and approaches, hand cautiously hovering above the hilt of his digistruct sword juuuust in case.

"That was super gross. / ...Yeah, I think that's all I've got. / Nice kill, bee-tee-dubs."

If he's looking for the usual eloquence - it's slow to come. Just a slow snaking of her tail back and forth, drawing idle sweeps of the dirt, staining her white fur. Her claws resting on her lip, holding him in haze, dark and seeing him, but not at all.

Pandora got under the skin in so many ways. But there is a comfortableness to her madness, to be this, boundless and without restraint. Perhaps it got to her in the same way. Had to, maybe, some proof of all the things she'd seen and done. But her laugher is sweet, low in her throat.

"A Vault Hunter would know."

Oh good, she seems pretty chill. He'll just cross his arms all casual like and lean against a tree while he takes in the carnage, the whole blood and guts thing way more familiar to him than anything else this place has to offer.

"Well, of course I would, / I am a professional. / Are you feeling well?"

She shakes herself, prideful animal that she is - or has become - has always been. But she does look well. She looks better than she will be again until this day again, in a month or two. Despite the blood, despite the mess, her fur shines, sleek white and black, her eyes bright, her skin clearer. Not in that sickly way Eridium healed her perfect and dead, but flushed with life.

"I always feel better. This is what I am, and I do not have to make any excuse for it, to anyone."

It's not like Zer0's never been covered in blood and gore before. The occasional blood splatter never bothered him, though he suspects Salvador rolled around in that shit on purpose because he's a weird little gremlin.

"Good, fuck the police. / Has anyone here complained? / Or are they all chill?"

Because if they're not chill, Zer0 can always cut their heads off.

"Not here. But there were monster hunters. Bandits, in the Pandoran sense. Cultists. But not here, not here."

There is an echo in this removed way, of how she once spoke to him - I am here to help. But sharpness in that distance as her tail sweeps the ground. She watches him in that particular way, looking for that pulse, that pressure. If he runs, she'll chase, but as long as he is steady, she is steady.

"Here - they're kind, as long as I obey my own rules."

Zer0 is so goddamn steady right now, it's kind of ridiculous. Well, maybe it's ridiculous to anyone who's never been to Pandora before. Zer0's stared down things that are way scarier than Angel, just for shits and giggles. She could probably tear him limb from limb in her current state if she felt like it, but eh. This is fine.

"These people seem... nice. / Almost too nice, I would say. / But that works for you."

If anyone had a problem with Angel doing whatever it is she does now, Zer0 would probably cut them. Just sayin'.

There is a comfort to the company of killers and killed things, that way.

The blood hangs still thick in the air as much on her skin. She lifts her fingers to her lips as she goes about her task again, licking them clean in slow curls of her tongue against the hard black surface.

"That's them. So kind. Utterly unaware. They're like a flock of birds before a skag gets in the middle. All about to rip them apart."

Gross, Angel. Not super weird for someone from Pandora, but still kinda gross.

"It makes me wonder, / are they able to stop you / as you are right now?"

Could they defend themselves from a big badass monster Angel? On one hand, it would be super entertaining to watch her maul these clowns, buuut on the other hand she probably wouldn't like that, sooo.

She hums.

"I warned them. I told them all what they had to do. How to do it. They were so kind, so forgiving. They promised to save me. I don't know if they know what it means." She laughs, it shouldn't be funny, but it is. "But at least now there is you. You know. You've already done it. I'm sure we can do that dance again, if we needed to."

She watches out briefly, to the open field - that others see this place as a prison, Connor least among them, this way of being thrust without will into terrifying new places.

It isn't to her. To her: it is freedom that life had never given her. That the same Zer0 knows it now. It is freedom that exists in every breath she takes.

But yet...

"What do you suppose it is, that I can come so far, and yet it is the same. I have to be killed to stop me hurting the ones I care about?"

Rules were meant to be broken. Even ones that ask nicely.

Because that is a lot of screaming and Kabal is definitely curious. Someone is sure doing a hell of a lot of murder, and he's not a part of it. Feels weird man. By the time he actually finds her, bloodied and licking her fingers like a cat that finally caught a mouse after tormenting it for fun, he's realized that the screams aren't from a person but from animals.

So he's slightly less interested, but not enough to leave. He'd spent days up here killing wild boar because they were the only things that fought back. So on some level he gets it.

"I was right." He tilts his head, lighted eyes taking in her sitting there amidst the gore and looking ever so content. "Hot as fuck."

Her fingers drag on her lips, over her chin as she watches him with black eyes fixed on his face. Blinking slowly as they hang like black holes to the glimmer of stars that float in suspended orbit.

Recognises him and does not. His voice, perhaps, but having not met him person to person she pauses - his scent is new, his heartbeat not one she has learned. So it's enough to make her pause in the way she ripes and bites flesh, though the blood still trickles along her arms, from the edges of her lips. The tip of her tongue against her hard flat white teeth that scrape against her lower lip.

Pushing up onto her hooves she stands straight. Stepping over the body of the dead animal that she walked utterly dissimilar too, a particular tentative daintiness to each step. Delicate, in so much for how can break the earth to pieces as she takes each little movement forward.

"You."

With a flat hand she braces on his chest, she comes into his space. The delicacy has always been a lie, even if he didn't know it all. "You like the blood."

He doesn't move, lets her rest her hand on him. His heart betrays nothing, he's not afraid (nor actually aroused), he's just watching her. But this close she'll be able to hear his breath, raspy and strange, lungs that don't quite function anymore, the respirator keeping him from suffocating.

"I like the fight, the blood just comes with it. I know someone who's very into blood though. Rips it out of people and uses it to make weapons. Pretty fucking rad. Except when she uses it against me."

That he's not nearly as fond of. But he appreciates a good fight nontheless.

"Hungry? Or having fun?"

"Why does it have to be different?" Angel laughs, softly, quietly, leaning into him. Nosing around the edge of his mask, tracing with the tip of her nose, the brush of her lips. How intimately she learns, slowly, unnoticing if she sinks her claws into his chest. Ripping at his clothes.

The words he fills the air with is just that - words, she has no care for them like this. Small, mortal trapped things.

"I'm always hungry. This is the only time I get to enjoy it."

"Two for one huh?" The lighted eyeslits in his mask glow brighter as he watches her. The blood reminded him of Skarlet, but this... this reminds him of Sareena.

Fuck.

There's claws going through his jacket, digging into the skin beneath (shirts are for other people), small rivulets of blood trickling along his scarred flesh as if it's a maze.

"You should enjoy yourself more often. Someone here holding you back?" This is dangerous, even a thick-headed bully like Kabal can sense that. But he also can't find it in himself to care. "Cuz you might wanna remove that obstacle. Living free is the only way to be."

One hand reaches up to drag a thumb through the blood by her lips. "Still hungry?"

There is a mirror here, from a moment long ago, when she had touched mad, demonic thing, entranced by the familiar horror of it all. That it just feels right as she follows it now, though the places is reversed.

Would Vaas be proud?

She permits the first touch. But with its price, her teeth catch on the pad of his thumb, clicking against nail, lips closing around to hold fast, and it's skin. Sweet to her tongue as she swipes it against his. A heady rush through her limbs with the temptation of alcoholic of one more drink.

Because if it's lust, it's not the kind anyone should stay around for. Her warnings were warnings for a reason.

She wants to devour him, any which way she pleases.

"Always." her voice is sweet, despite it all - but maybe that's the point. Because his hand against her cheek easily cups her littler features, neither broad, nor of presence, she only came up to what -? Mid chest on most people even after her legs had grown to their new form? she was soft all over, no scars, no marks, so utterly untouched by anything and everything.

The point had always been that her voice would sound sweet. That she could curve so easily against him. It was better that way, because it let her do the familiar job of hiding the simple, constant thought.

How badly she was empty, how badly she wanted to consume everyone she met. To that, he was one more meal. "The only obstacle is how far you'll run. How hard you'll fight even when my teeth tear your throat."

He hadn't been aroused before, he most definitely is now, and that bite does nothing to diminish it. There's a sense there that the hunger she's talking about isn't related to food, but to everything else, the hunt. The kill. The excitement and adrenaline rush of it all.

Not precisely what he's thinking about in this moment, but he gets it.

"I'm real fast. Faster than you, but I don't run away. I chase." He doesn't sound like he's gloating, more simply stating a fact. That masked head tilts to regard her, both wanting to pull her closer and shove her away. Cat and mouse where they both think they're the predator.

"Guessing I'm a little pre-cooked for your tastes." He takes a step back, waiting to see if she'll press it, if she'll follow.

What was the name of the game where everyone had too many teeth? Because he's right - and she doesn't care to know the difference. Hunt from bite from lust to consumption. This, this the one time she doesn't have to pick apart those pieces. She can simply be, ask no questions, tell no lies, drunk with being soaked in this so often denied part of herself.

"No, you're not. You're perfect." Being short did have one perk when in comparison someone so much taller than her. It takes nothing to lean forward and down, to where she had sunk her claws in and there, she lowers her head as she truly puts her strength into it, to rip his jacket away and his rend his skin with it. The fresh blood like a drug, and she was a long term recovering addict quoting some old piece of scripture: what do you do to cure a cocaine addiction? A heroin addiction.

"You'd make me work for it. You'd run and I'd find you because I never get lost. I'd grab you and throw you down and I wouldn't hear you because I wouldn't care because I'll be what I always should have been. I miss - I miss - " Her mouth drags hotly over his heartbeat that she breaks skin to reach, tasting the blood, the flesh, the sweat and living, beating feeling of another person and she shivers all over. Call it affection only no one would. Anyone else would run as a monster savours a first taste. A choked sound where all she had to do is sink her teeth in. Wants to lose what was left of her mind, all over again. That endless sprawl in the forest when she had answered to nothing and no one.

Because she's no vampire, a little bit of blood won't do the trick.

And she hasn't devoured anything remotely human in so long.

( His heartbeat so loud in her ears she could feel nothing else but the tip forward of that great descent into that endless pit of consuming in each beat,beat,beat. )

"Perfect huh." Oh he likes the sound of that, but it also sounds wrong. Wrong in a way that's all too intimate, the kind of thing said drunk in a dingy bar with only enough lighting to keep from being completely blind.

He jerks slightly as she tears at his skin, deep gouges down his scarred chest, blood flowing freely. For anyone else that would be a major injury, something to avoid. But not for Kabal, for someone who thrives on fighting the pain is almost welcome because it's what he expects.

"That's what you need isn't it? Someone to chase. Someone to kill. I know that, I know that real good." His hand reaches to her face again, another soft caress but he ends it with something rougher, pushing her away. "It won't be me though. Much as that'd remind me of old times and all that."

This is so damn familiar and he both loves and hates it. He doesn't want to be reminded of everything before Anchor, of what he had even once he'd lost it all. He doesn't want to go back, going home means a life of undead servitude even if the company was precisely what he'd always dreamed of.

No, this isn't for him anymore. Not this.

"Sorry, I'm probably the only one here who'd give you a run for your money. Make you work for it." He pulls one of the hookswords off his back, holding it out towards her to keep the distance between them because he's not sure if Angel is past the point of even listening to him anymore. "You'll have to find another snack."

The response is predictable - like a starved dog that had to guard its food and someone was trying to take it off it. Her fur bristles, her body shivering as the growl lifts her lips back in something that might be a smile if not for the deep, echoing sound that booms out of her chest. It demands and it will take.

And that's all the warning he gets before she launches herself full pelt in a huge leap. The ground shuddering with the strength of her strike.

He's not even going to pretend that doesn't look cool as hell. Because it really does, the way her fur stands on end to make her look larger, more menacing, teeth bared in a snarl.

It's fortunate for him that he's inhumanly fast or he would have been tackled to the ground and ripped to pieces. Instead he runs forward, towards her, sword swinging before he disappears into a purplish cloud of energy and pops out a few feet beyond, twisting immediately to be on the defensive. He's not escaping this one unscathed, he can feel it, but he never feels more alive then when he's fighting.

"Gonna have to be faster than that." He taunts as he keeps on bleeding all over the place. He's a smart one.

Her hooves leave drags in the dirt as she churns it up. Kicking the dirt in a cloud as she skids to a hault when her pray is out of her grasp with a deafening, shuddering bellow of irritation.

Not that she looses him, the second he reappears, she turns on a dime, shifting her weight on her back leg, striking in another heavy rear and toss of her head, as her body distends when she rolls forward. Walking on two straight legs wasn't a skill she had anymore - and she is better when she bends lower, moves her center of gravity to gain speed and traction.

Driving forward, harder this time, and her body shudders as bones breakthrough skin, extend out of her body like teeth through her flesh. Blood tipped as she hoves in between forms.

This is just the kind of fight he's been longing for. Something to get out his aggression and get the blood pumping. Granted he hadn't anticipated it would pump right out of his body, but hey, can't have everything.

She's a lot faster, and smarter, than he anticipated and that kick connects, sending him stumbling back before he recovers, swords crossed in front of him defensively.

"Well that sure is a thing..." He eyes the blood that's now dripping from her, momentarily curious about what the fuck is going on. It's enough for him to be distracted and she slams right into him, all teeth and claws and pain before he spins and disappears again.

This time when he reappears he's clearly staggered, his jacket torn to shreds not to mention the skin beneath it. Worse one of the tubes that connects his mask to the respirator has been torn free, a purplish mist hissing out of it.

He grunts and reaches back to adjust something, keeping the pressure up in the other one.

"I'm the only one allowed to fight dirty."

Her body shudders as it changes, her ribs protruding as her shoulders broaden and her legs extend. The form the Fog extended all those she changed. That even after so long, it feels like being herself. Unfettered and consuming, rotten, and unable to be hurt.

Like this, if she was of her right mind, she might call herself beautiful. The way she understood it at least, something terrible.

He doesn't get a verbal response, but he probably didn't want one. She just huffs a deep and hot breath as she tilts her head to the different sound from his mask, the change in his breath.

But she is oh so ready to keep going, and the next bellow is at least a signal that she is about to move again, but the ground more easily made up now that she has longer legs to do it with.

He's all about being yourself and self confidence, so long as it doesn't interfere with his desire to fight and break things. Which.. this kind of is. Bracing his boots against the dirt he holds his ground as she charges, fully intending to dodge to the side and bring those hookswords down and if not decapitate her, at least make her next charge far bloodier and off balance.

There's something primal and satisfying about seeing that white fur marred with blood.

Annoyingly the phone in his pocket is buzzing at him, but that's a problem for later Kabal, current Kabal has some monster to slice and dice.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I know now what thickened the breath, what blackened the wound.

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is this sexy or cannibalism idk just have a content warning

Vore but make it pretty

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