hungry like the wolf

"Halloooo-ooo-ooo?" Winding through the stone pillars, his voice warped and twisted, unrecognizable, until it tapered out of existence. Snuffed out like a flame but without a smoke trail to signify it'd ever burned. Luca liked listening to its corrupted echo. He didn't really like this place, no, it gave him the absolute, ehhhh, how you say, heebie-jeebies, but humor was the antithesis to fear. Laughter made sinister forces less powerful, tricked children into delighting in horror tales. Made Luca braver than he presently felt, snaking through this terrible valley of grim and gritty greyness. 

With a deep inhale, he called out to nothing and no one in particular: "HEY EH, WHERE CAN A GUY GET A BURGER 'ROUND 'ERE-ERE-ere?" He laughed then, a sharp bark that cackled back at him, but really he was hungry. He just didn't have quite enough appetite for rocks to become a delicacy yet.

@Sinister

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Sinister stood at the edge of a jagged precipice, his brows drawing down, gaze narrowing as the absurdity echoed through the valley. The voice was loud, grating, and utterly lacking in the reverence his land demanded.

For a long moment, he said nothing, merely listening, allowing the fool’s own voice to betray their position. Then, with a slow exhale, he stepped forward, his presence pressing outward, looming over the idiot who had stepped so boldly in a land that was not his own. “You mistake this place for one that suffers fools,” he called out, his voice carrying effortlessly over stone. “It does not.”

The air seemed to shift, heavy with something unseen, something watching. The valley had long since learned to consume those who did not belong. If this one wished to play games, they would soon learn that amusement was a dangerous thing to seek in the spine-filled valley.

“You have three choices,” he continued, his tone deathly calm. “Leave, kneel and serve, or prove that your voice is worth the air it wastes. Lest I end you for your insolence alone.” His shoulders stiffened, taut in posture, the silent promise of consequence lingering in the air. “Choose wisely. My patience is thinner than your wit.”

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m - language

Of all expectations, a response was not among them. The jolly captain turned toward where it originated from, which was easily done. Guy's fucking huge. "Eh?" Unfortunately, Luca's self-preserving instincts were not his sharpest tools. They did nothing to warn him that this shadow-forged beast meant business, even with it being spelled out by the creature's words and authoritative tone. The thrum that sang through his limbs, this heart-chorus, was excitement, enticement. Danger had always been the foreigner's drug of choice. 

He did, miraculously, suspect that it'd be in his best interest not to interrupt the deliverance of threats and barely held his tongue. "Question first, 'migo? Yes, ehm, how do we waste air when it is everywhere and everything? Well, maybe this place, not so much air, true. You have not so many trees." At this realization his tone grew somber, apologetic, looking around with newfound pity at the desolate place and the curious fellow who thought it was worth protecting. What was there to protect? A ship, now that was a tangible thing, something he'd once possessed. Imaginary boundaries, those did not interest Luca nor had they ever stopped him from ransacking seaside communities. 

"Another question, sorry," he laughed a little sheepishly, "More explanation please? Who would I kneel to? What would I serve? These are important considerations, yes?" Cap'n Lobo didn't make a habit of bowing to anyone, but he at least wanted to know his options in their most complete capacities. 

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Sinister regarded the man with an expression that barely shifted, save for the faintest twitch of an eyebrow. He had expected defiance, perhaps even submission. What he had not expected was this.

The foreigner’s words tumbled out like a reckless tide, nonsensical yet deliberate, as though he danced at the edge of understanding but had no interest in stepping fully across. The silence was allowed to stretch between them after the man had finished, letting the weight of Sinister's presence press against the absurdity.

Then, finally, he exhaled—slow, measured. Irritated, to say the least. “You mistake me for a teacher,” he mused, voice laced with a bite of said irritation. “I do not waste breath offering enlightenment to those who squander it on foolishness.” But his comment would likely go ignored, for this one didn't seem to understand the concept in which he spoke of when mentioning the suggested use of air.

He took a step forward, the movement subtle but undeniable, as if the very air around him shifted in response. “You would kneel to me, of course—should I allow it.” His gaze flickered, taking in the stranger’s careless posture, the glint of amusement beneath his words. “But I suspect submission does not suit you.”

A pause. Then a subtle tilt of his head.

“So tell me, jester—what does suit you?” There was no humor in his tone, only an unsettling patience, a predator indulging the whims of a creature that had yet to prove its worth. “Because I have little tolerance for things that serve no purpose. If you remained in this valley, you would need to serve the covenant in some way.” Or he would be eaten alive by the corrupted souls that walked this land.

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