Post by Caden on Sept 26, 2015 8:05:33 GMT -5
The night was always young on or under the sands. One of these days it wouldn’t hurt for someone to ask just what had happened to the sun of this world, and why they weren’t all freezing their asses off because of it. Or maybe they could, and their just wasn’t any moisture to show that this was the case. After all, this was a desert. There weren’t even cacti. Just sand and stone as far as the eye could see. Your fruit was the flesh of your neighbor. Water flowed thick from his vein. And yet for the denizens, this would never be enough to sate them. Who cared about the cold if you could never free your belly from the tyranny of hunger, even for a brief respite?
Caden left a trail wherever he walked beneath the meager shade of the quartz trees. In some areas it was the flickering blue tongues of flame that were his calling card. In others, it was the broken bodies of those he had met along his walk. In some yet still it was both, those souls deemed to weak to bother calling forth the fire from some feet away to pour down their throats. But mostly it was the fire. Caden’s reiatsu, that blue and purple smoke that rolled from his body as freely as water and stained the air with the cloying essence of cherries, was enough to scare away most of those who were in his way. Caden couldn’t say for sure what had brought on this fratricidal mood. Probably his attempts to restrain himself in order to pursue conversation. It was only long that he could be the man of honeyed words, spinning words as thread. Now the harsher nature of spite found its avatar in the man.
Not to say he wasn’t open to conversation yet still. He was actually quite friendly in word to those he had disposed of. Talking with them about the weather or whatever banal subject had crossed his mind. A night spent with a woman searching for a lover either dead or nonexistent. An encounter in the American south with a god of death who so utterly failed at playing a game of simple words. Some encounter decades ago with a creature that could barely remember what it was, and what it was in the presence of. Or maybe that time he visited a library to chat about justice with an old adversary. The shade of an old adversary rather. Oh what fun that little nugget of his unending life was indeed.
The Arrancar of Spite looked down at his hand. He’d meant to make a fist mere moments ago, but the motion had elicited a wet squelch and caused something to drip from between his fingers. Ah, it was his lunch. A strip of muscle taken from the back of his last victim. As an arrancar, he could ignore his eternal hunger but if food was already on hand then he might as well eat as he walked and thought. Perhaps he wasn’t eating enough, and as such his thoughts had become dull enough to make him think it was ok for someone like himself to restrain his actions. He’d left the throne room to spread fear. So why not put it in the strong?
“Maybe I’m losing my touch. Arrancar of Wordplay? Amusing, but inaccurate. Maybe this will help balance the scales back into the spiteful one I am supposed to be. Though, I could just track down those women and give them a taste of pain and fear. Well, one of them. The other has sipped of that well far too deep for my current abilities to be of much use in drowning her. Ah, how I almost wish I could return to the form I lost in the removal of my masque. If only I wouldn’t have to wear her face yet again. I seem to spite myself far more than I spite others.”
The remains of his food were running down his chin. Caden stopped to consider cleaning himself or continuing his walk. No reason for only the one really. Some poached cloths from the world of the living were good enough at removing the blood and gristle enough for it to evaporate.
“If someone is following, do please come out. I won’t hurt you. I’m just looking for someone to chat with.”
For the moment.
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Word Count: 736
Gp Gain: 14
Gp Total: 14
