07-23-2018, 08:19 PM
Shantotto squealed in agony as fresh blood gushed from her many wounds, exciting the monstrous clown to no end. Instead of prompting her partner to spit her out, the tiny mage’s thrashing brought to the fore the keen interest of a predator. Nostrils flaring, Pennywise’s eyes rolled back into Its skull, the thrumming of Its deadlights building into a steady, satisfied purr.
Oh, how It had missed this! The terror of a creature so utterly trapped within Its grasp, heart beating hummingbird-quick and threatening to burst from their chest! The pleasure that came with tasting another being’s Fear, that delectable nectar off of which It thrived… Pennywise shivered, jaws flexing around the small body caught within Its gaping maw. Pure heaven.
It could not let her go, and truthfully? It didn’t want to.
Before It could gnash Its mighty teeth and seal the deal, however, a wide object became lodged between Its hideously straining jaws. Tongue lolling about to taste this foreign object, the demented clown’s confusion built as It roved over the splintery, magicky-flavored item that kept Its mouth from clamping shut.
“Pennywise!” Shantotto screamed, struggling to keep her staff in place where it was precariously jammed between either side of Pennywise’s fanged maw. Her surroundings were dark, slippery, and sharp, the stench of rotting meat and burnt sugar causing her stomach to churn violently. Nausea and bright, searing pain threatened to overcome her as numerous teeth bit into her skin, slicing along her body from head to toe. To add to her unfortunate situation, Shantotto had been practically bathing in rivers of drool since being chucked into Its mouth. As a result, her spit-coated fingers often slipped away, failing to regain purchase around her staff.
If she couldn’t hold the staff in place any longer… well, that would be the end of Shantotto.
Gagging in disgust as another string of drool slid down her face, the mousy magician attempted to center herself. Her ally was long gone, ostensibly lost to predatory instinct and hunger. If she truly wanted to survive, she needed to play hard-ball. And she understood just what she had to do.
The tarutaru hunched in on herself, feet dragging across the slithering, worm-like appendage that was Pennywise’s tongue. She clenched her jaw as hundreds of teeth dug in and created fresh lacerations, suppressing the harsh groan that threatened to escape her throat. Although they slid through a slimy topcoat of frothing, pinkish spittle and blood, her hands finally found their familiar positions on her trusty mage’s weapon, tightening in a white-knuckled grip around it.
Noxious fluid erupted from the end of her staff, thick like pea soup and colored a murky eldritch black. The disgusting liquid flushed down Its throat like bitter medicine and, once the gut-churning flavor and acidic properties registered, the clown was quick to cough the contents of Its stomach up. A chorus of gagging and hacking paved the way for Shantotto’s return to the relative safety of the forest floor, her body hitting the ground with an unceremonious splat.
Landing in a puddle of bubbling sick and miscellaneous body parts, Shantotto could only lay there, shaking like a leaf after her close brush with death. To the proud tarutaru’s immense horror, tears began to sting at her eyes!
“This is no time to cry,” she chastised herself, scrubbing a palm furiously across her face. “Look at yourself-- you didn’t die!”
As she heaved in ragged breaths, mind taking stock of her injuries, the navy-colored night sky swam into view. It was dappled with stars, the spiky tops of pine trees fringing around it... The tarutaru reluctantly acknowledged that Camp Crystal Lake might actually be quite pretty when one wasn’t being stalked by a serial murderer.
Speaking of serial murderers, Shantotto could hear the only two combatants left standing duking it out in the background. Craning her head to the side and wiping a bit of her partner’s vomit out of her eyes, the tarutaru blinked at the vicious struggle taking place behind her.
Pennywise was at it again with the shapeshifting, it seemed. Clad in a bright orange letterman jacket with someplace called ‘Derry’ printed on it, the clown had sprouted brownish, matted-looking fur all over Its body, complete with two pricked ears and a pointed muzzle. Deep, guttural growls erupted from Its throat as It snapped and snarled at Jason Voorhees, sharp canine teeth flashing a stark, feral white in the darkness.
The hockey-masked golem was unfazed by Pennywise’s wolfish display. Despite having abandoned his machete moments ago by impaling Handsome Jack with it, Jason didn’t seem at all bothered by the werewolf’s loping approach, nor was he particularly troubled when Pennywise’s enormous maw champed down on his arm, tearing through the tattered material of his jacket and clawing ferociously at whatever part of Jason’s body It could reach.
In fact, the undead revenant just stood there, the soulless eye holes of his mask staring down at the cosmic devourer-- still as a scarecrow being swarmed by a flock of angry crows.
Oh, how It had missed this! The terror of a creature so utterly trapped within Its grasp, heart beating hummingbird-quick and threatening to burst from their chest! The pleasure that came with tasting another being’s Fear, that delectable nectar off of which It thrived… Pennywise shivered, jaws flexing around the small body caught within Its gaping maw. Pure heaven.
It could not let her go, and truthfully? It didn’t want to.
Before It could gnash Its mighty teeth and seal the deal, however, a wide object became lodged between Its hideously straining jaws. Tongue lolling about to taste this foreign object, the demented clown’s confusion built as It roved over the splintery, magicky-flavored item that kept Its mouth from clamping shut.
“Pennywise!” Shantotto screamed, struggling to keep her staff in place where it was precariously jammed between either side of Pennywise’s fanged maw. Her surroundings were dark, slippery, and sharp, the stench of rotting meat and burnt sugar causing her stomach to churn violently. Nausea and bright, searing pain threatened to overcome her as numerous teeth bit into her skin, slicing along her body from head to toe. To add to her unfortunate situation, Shantotto had been practically bathing in rivers of drool since being chucked into Its mouth. As a result, her spit-coated fingers often slipped away, failing to regain purchase around her staff.
If she couldn’t hold the staff in place any longer… well, that would be the end of Shantotto.
Gagging in disgust as another string of drool slid down her face, the mousy magician attempted to center herself. Her ally was long gone, ostensibly lost to predatory instinct and hunger. If she truly wanted to survive, she needed to play hard-ball. And she understood just what she had to do.
The tarutaru hunched in on herself, feet dragging across the slithering, worm-like appendage that was Pennywise’s tongue. She clenched her jaw as hundreds of teeth dug in and created fresh lacerations, suppressing the harsh groan that threatened to escape her throat. Although they slid through a slimy topcoat of frothing, pinkish spittle and blood, her hands finally found their familiar positions on her trusty mage’s weapon, tightening in a white-knuckled grip around it.
Noxious fluid erupted from the end of her staff, thick like pea soup and colored a murky eldritch black. The disgusting liquid flushed down Its throat like bitter medicine and, once the gut-churning flavor and acidic properties registered, the clown was quick to cough the contents of Its stomach up. A chorus of gagging and hacking paved the way for Shantotto’s return to the relative safety of the forest floor, her body hitting the ground with an unceremonious splat.
Landing in a puddle of bubbling sick and miscellaneous body parts, Shantotto could only lay there, shaking like a leaf after her close brush with death. To the proud tarutaru’s immense horror, tears began to sting at her eyes!
“This is no time to cry,” she chastised herself, scrubbing a palm furiously across her face. “Look at yourself-- you didn’t die!”
As she heaved in ragged breaths, mind taking stock of her injuries, the navy-colored night sky swam into view. It was dappled with stars, the spiky tops of pine trees fringing around it... The tarutaru reluctantly acknowledged that Camp Crystal Lake might actually be quite pretty when one wasn’t being stalked by a serial murderer.
Speaking of serial murderers, Shantotto could hear the only two combatants left standing duking it out in the background. Craning her head to the side and wiping a bit of her partner’s vomit out of her eyes, the tarutaru blinked at the vicious struggle taking place behind her.
Pennywise was at it again with the shapeshifting, it seemed. Clad in a bright orange letterman jacket with someplace called ‘Derry’ printed on it, the clown had sprouted brownish, matted-looking fur all over Its body, complete with two pricked ears and a pointed muzzle. Deep, guttural growls erupted from Its throat as It snapped and snarled at Jason Voorhees, sharp canine teeth flashing a stark, feral white in the darkness.
The hockey-masked golem was unfazed by Pennywise’s wolfish display. Despite having abandoned his machete moments ago by impaling Handsome Jack with it, Jason didn’t seem at all bothered by the werewolf’s loping approach, nor was he particularly troubled when Pennywise’s enormous maw champed down on his arm, tearing through the tattered material of his jacket and clawing ferociously at whatever part of Jason’s body It could reach.
In fact, the undead revenant just stood there, the soulless eye holes of his mask staring down at the cosmic devourer-- still as a scarecrow being swarmed by a flock of angry crows.
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