02-22-2018, 03:25 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-01-2018, 12:40 AM by King Ghidorah.
Edit Reason: Prettifying this homely business
)
To my dismay, I have to wait for nearly an hour before the willowy, face-painted lurker wakes up. In retrospect, driving him head-first onto the flat stone roof may not have been the best first step to learning his secrets. It's only after what seems like an eternity of pacing beneath the stars, feeling cold slate beneath my feet and wondering if I should perhaps just take this fool and dunk him in the lake until the bubbles stop that my patience is finally rewarded.
"UUuuuuurrrr..."
He rolls onto his side and immediately throws up. I watch with mild interest as the result pools on the tiles, and then I crouch down and grasp the man by his velvet collar with both scaly hands. I pull his face close to enough to mine that I can see my own half-human reflection in his pupils. His eyes are unfocused, the whites standing out comically against his grease-blackened skin, but they both point in the same direction, and he's holding his head up on his own. I'm not an expert on head injuries in apes - though I will be eventually if everything goes well, by sheer volume of experience if nothing else; Still, he seems lucid enough.
I say, "Hello."
My captive blinks hard, squinting and grimacing, kneeling like a supplicant before me, and then recognition and terror flash in tandem together across his face. He yelps and attempts to pull away from my grip, but the sudden motion nearly makes him swoon.
"Tell me about yourself," I command.
The prowler frowns, visibly gathering his wits, but doesn't say anything.
"What were you doing on the roof of the tax collector's office? Were you spying on me?"
Blood begins to leak from behind one of his eyes, but he says nothing.
"If you don't respond, I'm going to tear you in half. Specifically, I'm going to grab you by your collarbone and your pelvis, and pull in opposite directions until you come apart in the middle. It will be exquisite."
I pause for a moment, allowing him the time to understand that I'm serious. I've found that humans sometimes doubt my intention if I don't give them the opportunity to study my face. Fortunately, judging by the way his expression closes up, this one doesn't seem to share that particular challenge; He already knows who I am.
My prey remains silent, so I continue: "I can tell that you know this is something I can do. Now - tell me who you are. "
He doesn't say anything.
I clamp one hand over his mouth, pull him closer, and bite off his ear.
The task is difficult with a flat, muzzle-less face, but this body's jaws are surprisingly strong. When I'm certain he's done trying to scream, I spit out the the rubbery lump and remove my silencing hand from his mouth. Things go much more smoothly after that.
The stranger's first name is Heath; He can't currently remember his surname, the realization of which sends him near to panic, and makes him increasingly talkative. Heath works for Chatterly, and apparently he's one of several men who've been tasked with watching me. They've been following unseen whenever I'm in public since shortly after I first came to the castle, only rarely leaving me unobserved, and reporting on my behavior.
"We know all about you," he says, sitting on the tiles and clutching the bleeding hole on the side of what I can only assume is a horribly aching head. His dark hair pokes out between the fingers of his glove, the individual strands remarkably clear by the glow of the moon and stars. "Your temper; Your curiosity; The awful things you do when you're alone.... We've gotten pretty good at anticipating how you react: We thought you'd confront Cutter's group directly, not try to stalk them! You weren't supposed to find me!"
The look on his face is getting a little bit vacant now, and his bleeding eye is beginning to drift out of alignment. Something inside of Heath's head is damaged, and its getting worse the longer it goes untreated. I can't help but smile; It's like watching a burning building collapse with all the people still inside.
"Why," I ask him, "Did you want me to talk to Cutter?"
Heath doesn't answer. I grab him again by the soft, mottled fabric of his collar, fully prepared to threaten and cajole, but his eyes are pointing in completely different directions. His hand slides limply off the side of his head, and he begins to make a keening noise, like a rusted axle. Ten seconds later, without any further help from me he shudders violently, gives a rattling sigh, and expires.
"UUuuuuurrrr..."
He rolls onto his side and immediately throws up. I watch with mild interest as the result pools on the tiles, and then I crouch down and grasp the man by his velvet collar with both scaly hands. I pull his face close to enough to mine that I can see my own half-human reflection in his pupils. His eyes are unfocused, the whites standing out comically against his grease-blackened skin, but they both point in the same direction, and he's holding his head up on his own. I'm not an expert on head injuries in apes - though I will be eventually if everything goes well, by sheer volume of experience if nothing else; Still, he seems lucid enough.
I say, "Hello."
My captive blinks hard, squinting and grimacing, kneeling like a supplicant before me, and then recognition and terror flash in tandem together across his face. He yelps and attempts to pull away from my grip, but the sudden motion nearly makes him swoon.
"Tell me about yourself," I command.
The prowler frowns, visibly gathering his wits, but doesn't say anything.
"What were you doing on the roof of the tax collector's office? Were you spying on me?"
Blood begins to leak from behind one of his eyes, but he says nothing.
"If you don't respond, I'm going to tear you in half. Specifically, I'm going to grab you by your collarbone and your pelvis, and pull in opposite directions until you come apart in the middle. It will be exquisite."
I pause for a moment, allowing him the time to understand that I'm serious. I've found that humans sometimes doubt my intention if I don't give them the opportunity to study my face. Fortunately, judging by the way his expression closes up, this one doesn't seem to share that particular challenge; He already knows who I am.
My prey remains silent, so I continue: "I can tell that you know this is something I can do. Now - tell me who you are. "
He doesn't say anything.
I clamp one hand over his mouth, pull him closer, and bite off his ear.
The task is difficult with a flat, muzzle-less face, but this body's jaws are surprisingly strong. When I'm certain he's done trying to scream, I spit out the the rubbery lump and remove my silencing hand from his mouth. Things go much more smoothly after that.
The stranger's first name is Heath; He can't currently remember his surname, the realization of which sends him near to panic, and makes him increasingly talkative. Heath works for Chatterly, and apparently he's one of several men who've been tasked with watching me. They've been following unseen whenever I'm in public since shortly after I first came to the castle, only rarely leaving me unobserved, and reporting on my behavior.
"We know all about you," he says, sitting on the tiles and clutching the bleeding hole on the side of what I can only assume is a horribly aching head. His dark hair pokes out between the fingers of his glove, the individual strands remarkably clear by the glow of the moon and stars. "Your temper; Your curiosity; The awful things you do when you're alone.... We've gotten pretty good at anticipating how you react: We thought you'd confront Cutter's group directly, not try to stalk them! You weren't supposed to find me!"
The look on his face is getting a little bit vacant now, and his bleeding eye is beginning to drift out of alignment. Something inside of Heath's head is damaged, and its getting worse the longer it goes untreated. I can't help but smile; It's like watching a burning building collapse with all the people still inside.
"Why," I ask him, "Did you want me to talk to Cutter?"
Heath doesn't answer. I grab him again by the soft, mottled fabric of his collar, fully prepared to threaten and cajole, but his eyes are pointing in completely different directions. His hand slides limply off the side of his head, and he begins to make a keening noise, like a rusted axle. Ten seconds later, without any further help from me he shudders violently, gives a rattling sigh, and expires.