multiversallogs | Recall the deeds as if they're all someone else's atrocious stories

Who: Jules, Hasi & an unfortunate Candlelighter (closed)
What: Jules has the Hunger.
Where: Docklands.
When: A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT. Well, a night. And dark. But not stormy. (Any day works for me so WHENEVER HASI IS AROUND THIS AREA I suppose. )
Warnings: Violence, gore, death. A candlelighter being eaten.

She'd put it off too long.

For days, pushing past two weeks and well beyond her normal time putting off feeding. The advantage of being merely the child of another hybrid, rather than a monster, meant that her need to feed was less frequent, could be staved off longer, but that generally required a stronger emotional state and peace of mind than she could even pretend to have, of late. Why she'd put it off, she wasn't sure; Baedal was confusing. Granted, discretely purchasing bottled blood had helped a bit, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't as satisfying as the sick crack of snapping bones to draw out the marrow, or wet ripping of muscle from bone.

That is, perhaps, why she is not more careful. Usually, there is something of a method, moving away from her own areas, careful actions to remove herself from suspicion, should it ever arise. Typically the people were isolated, and she lived on the move, so simply leaving in the night was easy. Simpler. (Perhaps it was no wonder that Em had considered her a monster all the while, despite reassurances. ) Here, there was no escape, just Baedal and the fog, and careful considerations to be made before a target could be selected. Things here were different from home, issues twisted around, and surely in the past she'd never have gone after someone who sought to kill the monsters around them, because humans were the weak and the tormented.

It wasn't difficult to lure him to an ally, she had to admit.
He'd screamed, at first; a pathetic sound, all too eager to condemn others to death, but far from ready to face his own. Her hand wrapped round his throat, and she gained a vicious satisfaction from sending a paralytic fear through his system as darkness spilled across her eyes like ink through water. This was part of what the monster craved, the panic of the prey and it's own pleasure at the man's shaking; the brief promise of release, before her teeth tear out his throat.

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Hasibe sometimes takes moments to wander the area unaccompanied. Playing whatever she is to Sandor is exhausting for reasons that have noting to do with the physical and emotional demands he places on her--and it's not that she finds lying tiresome in and of itself, since she's fairly accustomed to deceit. It's the level of hatred that the Candlelighters carry around that she finds so toxic and wearying.

It's the scream that catches her attention.

She follows the sound, heels curiously quiet on the ground. They shouldn't be so quiet, but it's one of her gifts, a simple rearranging of sound and its motion in the air's molecules. Telekinesis can be refined to a truly unsettling degree, if you're good at it, and she is.

She'd expected a mugging. Not someone she knows neck-deep in gore and what appears to be a freshly made corpse, caused by their own hand. So this is it, mute with surprise. This is the secret. She had known there was something, and now, confronted with it, she doesn't know what to say. Interrupting could put her at risk, and that man is clearly already dead or dying, but she can't walk away from what she's seen.

So she waits. And feels her heartbeat fluttering in her ribcage like a frightened bird's wings.

It's a messy business, eating a person. They stick out at odd angles, and while there are those that make a real meal of it, swallow large sections whole as their jaws unhinge, Jules prefers to approach it in pieces. And that's the only way to think about it, during the act; pieces. Not a whole, not something that is human, was breathing, living. Perhaps the sounds are the worst part, but she can lose herself to this for a time, savouring the splatter of blood, the pop-slap of his arm tearing from his body, and the torso dropping to the ground so she can pay attention to this one piece.

She turns as it drops, satisfied smile stretching her lips and baring those extra teeth that crowd her mouth, hidden at all other times. The smile, that fades with the familiar figure, but the teeth remain, the black pigment through her eyes, the blood coagulating down her jaw, neck, hands. Oh God.

There's nothing else she can process, just horror, and she looks at the limb in her hands, paling as her jaw works trying to think of some explanation, some excuse. Still, nothing.

The voice that rolls off her tongue is fresh from a nightmare, glass rattling in a storm and thunder clapping overhead, the groan and crack of great trees being torn up and split apart. "Hasibe." As if the force of her words could make her forget, could drive the memory of this out of Hasi's mind. "He was one of them."

In this moment, the idea of 'justice' seems more pathetic than usual.

Recall the deeds as if they're all someone else's atrocious stories

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