multiversallogs | (no subject)

Who: Gabriel & Random Meetings
What: Rogues do what rogues do best. Stalk people.
Where: Valhalla Inn -> Mafaton -> Who knows?
When: Sukkardi the 14th, Ruudary
Warnings: Some zombie gore.

Gabriel had never really expected anything else from this place, so the outrage from the violent scenes shown in the CiDs didn't bother him. Humans were evil, xenophobic assholes. Nothing new there. It just proved that this place was no different from Azeroth, and you could never be safe if you were a little bit different. (Then again, where was the fun in that?) If they acted this way towards the 'xenians', how would they treat the undead?

The fact that he could move almost anywhere unseen was a plus for someone that could be mistaken for someone far too interested in brains (not that he didn't mind a bite or two) but it made things a bit difficult when it came to moving Styx away from Valhalla. He needed to get away from that place and the multitude of confused newcomers, but the skeletal horse wasn't exactly easy to hide.... and it lacked Gabriel's stealthing skills. What kind of place would take such an animal, and how could he find out if he could not speak to people?

So what do you do about something like that? Beat up a guy, steal his clothes and hide yourself, of course! A hoodie was a bit odd for someone used to leather armor, but it covered up his rotted face quite well, especially combined with a scarf. Adding gloves and a baggy pair of pants, he looked fairly incognito. Enough to go out on the streets without hiding in the shadow, invisible for the naked eye... and hopefully he could meet people to wring out information from.

Even if they needed a sharp incentive.

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Gabriel makes a half-growl, glaring at Shrieky with his empty eyesockets. The little old lady's look is completely ignored, and he takes a step forward into the offending man's space. There's a rather strong odor of rotted flesh and embalming fluid, enhanced by the fact that he was ripping his cheeks in anger. A cockroach falls out from the hood, apparently ditching its hiding place due to sheer survival instinct.

"Shut your fucking mouth. I don't care what you are, but if you give me trouble, I will tear you open and strangle you with your own bowels."

The sound of that man's voice was irritating enough. Gabriel didn't need problems to go with it. Still holding his CiD, the walking corpse sticks his other bone-fingered hand in his pocket. Keeping his daggers strapped to his legs, the rogue knew he could incapacitate this idiot and stealth away. But that was a last resort.

Shrieky frowns. This encounter is quickly escalating into strange and slightly disgusting areas. He steps back automatically as the corpse steps forward into his space, without even really thinking about it.

"Why would I give you trouble? You're the one calling people humans and threatening to injure them and blocking the way to the clothes rack, I think if one of us was trying to distribute trouble, then it's fairly obvious which one of us that would be."

At this point, his natural instinct to argue vehemently and cause trouble has been trumped by his desire not to be disemboweled, so instead Shrieky distracts himself by studying the rotting face of the figure before him. Although it's clearly not the important part of this situation, he does find himself fixating slightly on the inevitable problems that this must pose.

"Also, sorry, could I ask... is there some way for your cheeks to heal, eventually?"

Gabriel growls again, reaching out to push Shrieky away so that he can leave. The man's second comment stuns him a bit, though. Why would someone like the living even give a damn? Glancing at the man, the undead rogue touches one torn cheek with an annoyed look.

"They'll be fine." He mutters bitterly, even though it was a lie. To fix up this mess, he needed needle and thread to fix the rips. That... or a nice meal.

Eying Shrieky once more, Gabriel's eye sockets focus on the strange man's skin. A pound of flesh or two should fix it right up. "Unless you want to help."

Shrieky pauses, tilting his head slightly and bringing a hand up to his chin thoughtfully. He certainly didn't owe any help to the menacing undead, and once Gabriel left, he'd likely forget all about him and his disturbingly open cheeks. Right at this moment, however, he couldn't escape the thought that having large holes in your cheeks would make it extremely hard to drink liquids (which he was quickly learning was essential).

"I would like to help." He hesitates, realizing that this is a complete reversal of his earlier tone and may require some explanation, "I feel as though I may have been somewhat rude to you, thus prompting your threats against my life. Also, your gaping cheeks bother me and I wish for them to be repaired."

Gabriel's demeanor changes a bit at that, and he seems to relax more, as if this 'apology' has placated his bitter, pincushion attitude. He pulls up the hood of his shirt more to hide his face from the employees in the shop.

"Oh, really? You have been very rude, so this is obviously your fault." Ripping off a chunk of flesh from this idiot wouldn't be too difficult, but the question was if the screaming and crying would be worth it. He preferred to do such acts somewhere dark and hidden, where nobody would find the body afterwards. (Because really, who would leave the snack alive? They could tattle.)

Shrieky might be prepared to make a token almost apology, but he's not going to encourage any more piling of the blame onto him than is entirely necessary. "I don't think that someone's cheeks tearing open is a foreseeable consequence of rudeness. It's not entirely my fault."

Still, the holes in his cheeks are disturbing, and Shrieky doesn't want to be distracted by reminders that he started this brief, upsetting argument. "So what can I do to help? Do you require bandages? Or... a needle and thread?" Because really, looking at the damage, he can't think of anything else that could hold the pieces of this man's face closed correctly.

He chuckles, shaking his head a little bit. This kid was hilarious. So easily ticked off, and it seemed like Gabriel could poke his buttons freely. Watching Shrieky, his eyes narrow a bit in thought. No, it would be too much of a hassle to deal with a body right now. A pity, though. He would have enjoyed to see how much pain this loud idiot could take.

"Heh. Needle and thread would work, but the best remedy is a meal."

Didn't mean he couldn't just verbally freak out this sorry sonofabitch, though.

It's probably for the best that Gabriel doesn't attempt to eat Shrieky. Even at the best of times he was fairly annoying, but this was nothing compared to the volume and pitch that his voice could achieve when under serious stress.

The comment about needing a meal doesn't immediately strike Shrieky as particularly threatening, because really, who doesn't need to eat at some point? It doesn't seem unreasonable to him that food would be important to restoring damaged tissue, and he doesn't have any specific reason to assume that what this particular creature survives off is the flesh of the living.

"A meal? I could buy you something to eat, if that would help?" Even as he says this though, a problem is occurring to him, "but won't it... won't food just fall out of your cheeks when you try to chew it?"

His words make Gabriel laugh, and it's a rather dark and mad cackle that escapes from the rotting man. Grinning widely, he shakes his head at the poor, delusional kid. Whatever this boy was, he sure seemed like a naive fool in the rogues non-existent eyes.

"Oh, you poor, confused living creature." He steps closer, baring all of those green-tinted teeth surrounded by dry, ripped flesh. "Nothing you could buy would satisfy someone like me."

He glances down at Shrieky's midsection. "A few pounds of your guts, however..."

As the walking corpse steps forward, Shrieky retreats a step automatically. He's not afraid exactly? He's just wary of being advanced on, and the tone of the laugh he just heard isn't exactly soothing.

His eyes widen when Gabriel mentions his guts, and without thinking, his hand drops down to cover his abdomen, as if doing so would protect the contents from harm, "If that's the help that you want from me then I rescind my offer!"

His voice has crept up in pitch and volume once more, and now the little old lady behind the counter is watching them closely, waiting to see if there's trouble to come from this.

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I was certain that I did these tags >>;

Late tags are like late birthday presents! Always a welcome surprise \o/

=D

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