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

[circumspector]

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.

Comments

[kaballin]

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.

is this sexy or cannibalism idk just have a content warning

[circumspector]

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. )

Vore but make it pretty

[kaballin]

"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."

[circumspector]

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.

[kaballin]

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.

[circumspector]

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.

[kaballin]

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."

[circumspector]

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.

[kaballin]

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.