life on the road

Bluewater Lake had been claimed by a new community, though she was in no hurry to speak with them or visit them. The road was lonely, true, but she felt they'd be a bit protective of their new claim and shoo away even friendly outsiders. Nikki didn't really feel the pull to visit the Lake again anyway. She couldn't explain it, feeling a bit of foreboding and hesitance. If only she knew for true that the pack there didn't allow religious belief; it would calm her down. Even make her go ah-ha! She had a feeling about that, though she preferred not to go with it unless she knew for true.

Not everyone believed in the same things, and that was fine. The world would be a boring place if so. Though to deny a belief of any kind was sort of suffocating, as bad as being overly zealous about it too. There was a healthy and happy middle ground that some did not practice. Nikki felt she was good at a middle ground. Walking the Heights, she hummed softly to herself as she went. The cold air was fickle. Sometimes it blew harshly, other times softly. She didn't like how fickle it was being, considering she had such short fur. Once it stopped, the air wasn't as cold. She got used to it before it was blowing again.

Shivering, she sought some shelter. Poking her nose into any hole or opening, she walked in near silence. Unaware eyes were on her, she continued in blissful ignorance.

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God, he’s been wandering. No end in sight. No destination in mind. Just death. His mind constantly blank save for when his teeth itch and his belly urns for flesh and gore. And even then, there is little going through the beastly wolf’s mind. Pleasantly distant from reality — just drifting and lifeless — yet somehow, his heart still beats.

Why? Why is he alive once more? He yearns for the painful lick of flames over his flesh once more — down in the pits of hell where he has been tortured for what feels like eternity. No, no, no, the devil has his sights on him. H must’ve sent him back for something. Perhaps to bring more souls back to him — a hellhound let out of the cage to round up the unfortunate.

Banesteppe is one of the unfortunate, but he’s always known that since the day his wretched mother forced him to live and breathe in another life — another time — another world. This one, this world, is not the same. No, it’s different. And still, he knows not who he is. Nothing but a name and the suffering he has endured in the depths of hell itself.

How annoying is that? Unimaginably so.

Especially when he still finds ways to suffer here too. His skin crawls — his body betrays him. Pain is his only reprieve. He seeks it, wants it, yearns for it. It is all that he knows.

And that exact thing shows itself today.

As he moves through water and land alike to no where in general. He doesn’t know these lands — doesn’t care to know them. Even here in the mountains he has no fucking clue where he is, but he doesn’t care and, further yet, he doesn’t think about it. He lets the scents of animals lead him. Killing them, he feeds until he vomits over and over again. Until eventually he kills only to satiate that itch in his brain that never seems to cease. The ever growing hunger that he feels both in his head and his belly.

Today though, the afternoon sun is hidden from view. It is the only thing that keeps him moving. He hates the light — the sun. Usually he only moves at night, but it seems his insignificant suffering has found him something.

A wolf of sorts.

He spots them in the near distance when he tops a small, tree heavy hill. The hellhound doesn’t know the difference between wolf and dog. He doesn’t care. A living creature is a living creature. Simple as that. But when he spots them, he stills. Bloody red orbs follow them as they walk, he connects their search for something, he doesn’t let the thought go further, his brain is too jumbled yet blank all at once.

Tall, ragged ears twitch and he shakes his head jerkily. They’re coming towards him — he doesn’t think they know he’s here. Though, just like the female wolf he met long ago, he feels curiosity strike his breast. Not that he knows what that certain feeling is, but it makes his stiff limbs move. Full tail hanging limply at his hocks, he drives forth, head lowered even with broad shoulders. Not stalking, merely walking.

His eyes are half-lidded — emotionless and dead. Even as they roam all over the creature’s fur and body, taking in the dark face and curled tail with interest.

His teeth itch. Fuck.

His teeth chatter as he repeatedly clenches and unclenches his jaw until it falls open and a serpentine tongue rasps over whiskered lips. His head jerks again — he shakes it impatiently.

The hound closes in, fully coming into view if he wasn’t already. There is no way he wouldn’t be noticed and when he is and the other’s eyes eventually land on him, he would still once more. The stare makes him uncomfortable…but he does nothing to remedy it. No, he simply stands there, poised and intimidating — a walking corpse.

What will the creature do?
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Perhaps she really was oblivious at times.

Nikki's eyes eventually glance the other's way. There is a moment of startle, but it is not shock or disgust. Just a pleasant surprise, at the core. Her lips twitch and she eventually smiles kindly at the man, as she did anyone. There is a fleeting moment of the man she had met at the Plains, she had never caught his name but hopes not to run into him again, and somehow strangely she... likens him to that one. There is no outward aggression, no stiffness to their steps like that one. He did not grumble and grunt at her like that one.

She just had a feeling. Aggression, perhaps, walked paw and paw with this one too. Nikki knows better than to ignore her gut feelings. She keeps a polite distance from this one, her tail still and offering no formal invite. "Hello," But she does speak, her voice gentle and soft "nice day is it not?" Her comment is neutral, and that is the only thing she offers; a conversation. She offers the man a chance to speak with her if he wanted it. Ignorance, they say, is bliss at times. She retains her controlled cheerfulness.

Unaware of anything else lurking in the man. Not treating him any different than others, even if others would proclaim he behaved oddly. He hadn't done anything to her, anyway. She saw no reason to treat him differently. Yet.

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Ignorance is bliss they say — though when any interact with the hellhound, there’s no way of telling how it will go. His moods vary and shift dramatically as the seconds tick by. He’s unpredictable — dangerous. Perhaps this creature can sense that. He doesn’t bother to read things beyond basic body language cues. He’s nothing but a mindless animal after all, so why would he?

To him, she’s giving neutral. That is until her lips curl into a soft, polite smile. Bloody orbs flick down to witness it. Curiosity strikes him once more before her voice — equally as soft and neutral as the rest of her — meets his ears. It makes them twitch, he shifts his head with it — a slight jerk of his massive head. He swallows deeply, licks his chops with a split, purple tongue.

He understands her words. He hardly cares to answer them despite her tone heightening in the tell tale sign of a question. The sound doesn’t grate on his nerves like the golden male he’d met however long ago. It seems like a conscious effort to keep him calm — to assume her as friend and not foe.

Oh, but she isn’t either to the hellhound. Usually she’d be prey, not saying she isn’t, but he’s not quite as hungry as he was earlier. That doesn’t exclude her from the category though…

It has been some time since he was treated with equality, but it doesn’t catch his ire that he usually isn’t. He’s a monster, he could care less. He doesn’t consciously make the decision not to immediately devour her, for his mind is still and broken, filled with nothing but the single image of her standing before him.

And so he moves to get closer. Heavy, ragged paws and stiff movements, head still hung at his shoulders. Demonic eyes never leave her form. Closer, closer, closer. His body language stays the same. Some could call it neutral, but there is no missing the odd feeling that comes with the hounds presence. He is a hunter, simple and true — savage and deadly. Not to be trusted by anyone or anything. That is how it’s meant to be.

And finally, if she doesn’t move away, he would be nose to nose with the smaller creature. Powerful muscles shift beneath a thick, blood crusted coat as he leans in further. His movements are surprisingly slow, as if he is the skittish animal in fear for his life even though it should be her. Despite that, he’d look her dead in the eyes before moving to some random spot on her plush pelt, a dry, leathery nose pokes at her then. Quick breaths rustle the fur of her neck as he takes in her scent almost curiously.

It’s been a an hour or so since the bugs underneath his skin crawled, but he’s not dumb enough to think they’re gone. He swears he feels them start to move when he thinks about it…
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Perhaps he cannot speak.

Nikki hadn't met anyone in this world that could not, or choose not. She chalked it up to the man unable or unwilling to answer. But unlike the one that had been outwardly aggressive at the Plains, this one was a bit more methodical. Or so, she was beginning to assume. He marched right up to her, unashamed and bold as hell. The woman squeaked a bit, surprised. Her back legs began to shift, giving her some space as she stumbled away from him.

It didn't stop him poking her with his cold nose. She felt it at her neck, the sensation of danger combined with curiosity. There is an inward vision. She cannot stop it nor control it. It merely comes for her, in her depths. Of the man closing his teeth around her neck, shaking her like a dog with a chew toy. Her blood and muscle exposed for all to see but! Her calling for help - and none coming. She tries not to shiver against his nose and tries not to give in fear and desperation.

Her calmness is not consent. She does not care if she is touched, but Nikita at least wants a warning. There had been none, even if his march had been purposeful toward her. She slips out from his touch, moving back again. Out of range of his jaws. His nose slips up her neck, potentially, past her face. Studying him with an unreadable expression, she tilts her head somewhat. "Do I look that weird?" she asks the vocally absent man, choosing to remain civil for the time being. Her question is concerned, but not for him. For herself. Deep inside, she is deathly concerned.

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When he approaches her, she lets out a squeak that, honestly, would’ve startled him if he had any type of good reaction time. His brain is wired horribly though and he continues with his sketchy attempt at sniffing her. The only evidence of his potential startle would be the way his eyes flick up to her own for the slightest of seconds — the flick of them quick and moving right back to the spot he’s sniffing immediately.

She backs away from him though. A good and obvious sign of being uncomfortable and fearful. Good. He’d have it no other way. It’s the ones that aren’t afraid of him that he finds an issue with. He wants to be feared and most of the time it comes effortlessly with his off-putting appearance. It seems she’s only a touch different, for she did seem to treat him normally until he tried his luck at getting closer.

So fragile and small — scared. He could eat her…it would be easy. Tasty even.

He focuses on the feeling of his stomach. He’s not hungry, but there’s always room for more when he throws up.

He’s not hungry-hungry though, so good for her.

But he is curious, probably one of his only neutral qualities and that’s only because his mind is so useless and broken that sometimes he allows himself to drift in the white space that is disassociating. It’s like he’s aware but everything is foggy and distant. He can’t comprehend it, but he tries anyhow — in vain attempt of course.

Yet, despite his fair mannerisms, she backs away again. That, he does comprehend. Further he looks at her face, she cants her and offers him a look that he doesn’t know how to place. Its nothing — sweet nothingness, neutral. It’s a safe road, but truly there is no security when around the hellhound…perhaps she’s fooled? Yet, somehow he thinks the way she moves and tiptoes away from him, she knows how dangerous he is.

And then she speaks once more…

Do I look that weird?

Yes. He wants to say, but doesn’t.

Her words force away his intimidating eye contact. They shift to her dark face, pale neck, and coat. Next is the curl of her tail. It would be obvious he’s looking at her, he even shifts his head to get a better look at said curly tail. Isn’t that a sign of dominance? He’s confused, on edge yet floating all at once. So he levels her with a curious, dead looking stare once more.

“Mhm.” Is all he hums out — an agreement to her statement.

But the hellhound looks just as weird if not worse than her. He doesn’t care for the difference between wolf and dog. They’re both canines to him. They’re both killable and can be equal in strength just as much as the other. He hardly even knows the difference — doesn’t care to know.

And then he blurts something out.

“I look weird too.” His deep, accented voice rasps back.

It almost shocks him too. The fact that he spoke to her. It weirds himself out so much he nervously starts feeling the bugs beneath his skin start to crawl. He’s gonna throw up.

Maybe she could tell too because he’s nervously licking his chops. Drool collects and droops from black, leathery lips as his tongue laps a forked, purple tongue over whiskers and nose. He continues to stare though, even as his teeth chatter slightly as he flexes and unflexes his jaw.

What is this feeling? He hates it.
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Oh!

He actually spoke to her. Nikki's eyes flicker with some shock, surprise, and relief. If he is able to be talked to, and with, then surely he isn't that bad? That's naively what she thought anyway. Still, the unease does not go away so easily. "That's okay," She attempted to be kind again "if everyone... looked alike, it'd be terribly boring, yes?" She assumed this to be true. Nobody looked truly like the next, except twins of course.

But the man looks uncomfortable and she backs further away to give him space. Yes, she notices his physical sickness. "Are you okay?" Nikki proceeded to ask, cautious and carefully sniffing the air between them. She's still nervous but retains concern for the other being. That much is clear. The woman falls silent, uncertain of what to say or do next. But she knows in her gut if he makes an untoward move - she was gone so fast.

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There, when he talks, he sees the flicker of shock in her eyes. Perhaps she’s surprised a behemoth beast as nasty and grim as him could even speak at all. Though, a mindless beast he is, he doesn’t quite think about what he says before it comes out. It always just…spews out of his mouth, only most of the time it’s usually threatening, not conversational.

This is conversational…he doesn’t like it for some reason, but he doesn’t like a lot of things.

Then she goes off by telling him that it’s okay. No, he doesn’t think it’s okay — truly he doesn’t think it’s anything. But her next words flow with the same kindness that he’s not used to. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t like it — it is unfamiliar to him. All throughout his previous life, his journey to hell, and back here, he has not received kindness that wasn’t hand in hand with the stink of fear. Nor has he retaliated with something so…tame.

It almost disgusts him in a way.

Though despite her kind words of explanation, he finds himself unable to reply back. So silence takes the air as his physical nervousness presents itself unwillingly — uncontrollably.

She backs away. Yes, she is still fearful, perhaps only cautious, but it would do her good to be petrified. To run while she still can — before his mannerisms sort themselves out and his nervous tick burns into fury. Which will happen eventually.

Then, as if it couldn’t get worse, she asks if he is okay. No. No, no, no. That’s the simple answer. The truth is that there’s so much wrong with him it’s not even funny and she wants to know if he’s just okay? He wouldn’t tell her in full extent, but it’s heavily implied.

And so his eyes would widen a pinch, hardly seeing, as if he’s looking right through her. Yet the eye contact is unmistakable.

“No.” He decides to say. His eyes shift away. “I’m sick aren’t I?” He asks with the slightest lilt of a question.

And then his eyes focus and he actually looks at her. He has a beastly intelligence, but one that only flickers and burns for death — one that is purely instinctual. Now though, there’s a realization swirling in his red hot eyes.

This is not him. This isn’t right. He is not himself. He is machine made for destruction, rusted and as broken as he still is, but he works nonetheless.

So with that realization comes clarity. His gaze drops and his body turns away. “I cannot stay here…”

His movements are slow and jerky as he shifts a few awkward paces away from her in the opposite direction. A massive head craning back but quickly looking away once more.
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Sick. "No?" She blinked, just one. Enough to display a bit of confusion toward his words. The man proceeds to fumble and stumbles, jerking away from her. Denying a conversation, but perhaps in a way controlling himself. If he thought she would run, he wasn't entirely wrong. She just needed a reason to run, not a feeling. Anyone could have uneasy feelings. She had not wanted to insult him with a premature opinion.

But she could not help it. The man turned and she edged back, away from him. And Nikki felt herself run. She picked up the pace until she dashed back toward the Lake, seeking refuge briefly along the strong scent of a forming pack. Once an hour passed, she finally settled down. Though never tip-toeing over the pack's line, she skirted the lake and continued forward. Onward. To perhaps another ill-fated encounter... With another unknown madman.

/end

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