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 Posted: Wed Dec 31, 2008 12:01 pm
When I see what I want, I'm gonna take it!
If it's against the law, you can bet I'll break it
My need to feed gives me the will to survive;
I gotta find it fast to keep me alive!
Oh, I can't believe my hunger
I want it so bad I can taste it
It drives me mad to see it wasted
When I need it so bad that it's burnin' me
I'm hungry!
My name is...Gluttony, and welcome to my world.
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Posted: Wed Dec 31, 2008 12:03 pm
Navigational Chart
I My Name is Gluttony, and Welcome to My World
II Navigational Chart
III All About Gluttony
IV Gluttony's Adventures
V Gluttony's World
VI Gluttony's Story
VII Excess Pet and Imp
VIII The Strange Incident at the Morgue
IX--XV Reserved
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Posted: Wed Dec 31, 2008 12:04 pm
 General Information:
Name: Cain
Aliases: Gluttony
Gender: Male
Quote: "SELFISH, adj. Devoid of consideration for the selfishness of others." --Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary
Likes: food, cooking, food, good smells, food, kits, food
Dislikes: religion, gods, starving, bowls
About: Cain was born in a religious household. After his mother was killed by a gang, his father went insane and started to abuse his children. Using religion as his shield, he basically neglected his children. Cain was lucky; he was only starved and beaten. When he was a teenager, Cain caught his father murdering his sisters. Furiously, Cain stabbed his father 13 times with a butcher's knife and left. As he died, his father cursed him to never be satisfied; as a result, the spirit of the original Gluttony was imbued in Cain's body. Afterwards, Cain took the name Gluttony for himself and wandered the world.
Due to his father's curse, Gluttony cannot sense when he is full and therefore eats and eats and eats. Also, he adores cooking. While he lived in the House of Mist, he allowed no one in "his" kitchen and wouldn't let anyone go hungry. Now that he's moved in with his mate, Beryl, he shares the kitchen with her. He still doesn't let anyone go hungry, however.
Relationships:
Parents: ??? x ???
Siblings: Jezebel and Sheba (both deceased)
Mate: Beryl
Offspring: Jasper, Citrine
Familiar: Excess
Friends: Ambrose Bierce, Cathair, Eyeraep, Finnbar
OOC Information:
Status: Happily taken!
Posts in: dark orange
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Posted: Wed Dec 31, 2008 12:22 pm
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Posted: Wed Dec 31, 2008 12:48 pm
Gluttony's World
Relations
Friends
Cathair--The first of my housemates that I met. A sweet, innocent kit, if a little nosy at times.
Matt--Finally, someone with a worse name than mine! Just kidding. He appreciates good food and also hates the cold. Maybe he didn't go through exactly the same thing I did, but I like him.
Eyeraep--An energetic kit who makes me want to laugh. So saucy, so spicy. Not so bad, and at least she doesn't stick her paws where they don't belong!
Finnbar--Finnbar Donut. His name alone is epic win. Other than that, he loves food, though not quite as well as I do. He's good company in the kitchen.
Enemies
Acquaintances
Housemates
Geyser--She courted me with cookies. Good girl.
Kyna--Finn's mother. She's not bad, I suppose.
Fogstep--I never thought I'd meet a nosy person that I didn't want to kill. He's kinda nice. Brings rabbits in sometimes that he hunts himself. I just need to teach him that you do not eat it raw!! What was it that Samwise said? Something about only one way to prepare a brace of coneys? He's religious, but it's ancestor worship. Completely harmless.
Pwnage--Eyeraep's sister. She prefers meat. I'm not surprised. She's not bad, I guess. Someone to fly with if I get bored.
Montana--A Spartan, whatever that is. One of the few foxes in this house who will actually drink. What's up with that?! Anyway, she managed to save most of the stores of wine, and thank god for that.
Pi--Monty's...AI?! What the hell?! She doesn't care what I do in the kitchen so long as I stay away from..."her" chocolate-covered cherries. As if I would touch anything pre-packaged.
Yoake--He's enthusiastic and adores the Goddess. Screw him.
Vestia--Pi's daughter. She's much nicer than her mother, though I don't mind her mother any. At least Vestia has a sense of taste!
George--The doctor. Can be cynical and walks with a limp. But from what I've seen, he's a nice guy under it all. He's just had some tough times--as an adult.
Ahiga--George's son. Ditto, except he hasn't been through the tough times and can't hold his liquor worth a damn. Gets worried when I use wine in the cooking. For the last friggin' time, it's for taste, it cooks off!!!
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Posted: Wed Dec 31, 2008 12:49 pm
WARNING!! I got carried away on the gore and swearing in this. Probably best not to read for the faint of stomach/delicate of hearing.
How I got like this? Listen, pal, it’s none of your godsdamn business. Sitting around, bet you never had a hard day in your life besides the day your ******** iPod broke—
Oh, so whoever has the dough gets to tell everyone else what to do?! What if it’s too ******** horrible to say?! What if I can’t say it?! What if I don’t want to?! ******** off, man. I don’t owe you nothin’.
…Well, okay, fine, but besides the meal? Nothing. Certainly not some lousy story.
I don’t know! I’ll find a way to pay you back!
Listen…I just…I don’t want to, I, I can’t, I try not to think…well, it’s…it’s…it’s complicated…it’s… [Sigh] It’s a long story. Like, really long.
I don’t remember my mother much. She died when I was a bowl. I think she was a demonic, or angelic…no, wait, she musta been demonic, ‘cause the old man was a normal, or some s**t, I think…hell, maybe he was a halfbreed, it doesn’t matter. She was real pretty, and real sweet, and real kind, but she wasn’t too big on religion and stuff. The old man was, though, he was very religious. b*****d used to worship gods every day. And he was one of those real nutty religious shits, the ones who believe in, well, in sins, and gods who hate mortals ‘cause we’re not gods, but maybe if we hurt one another enough, or we’re more pious than the rest, pray on our knees and our neighbors and stuff…I dunno, something like that, I just stopped listening to him after a while.
So she went shopping with some friends or some s**t and she was wearing some real pretty stuff the old man gave her as a present, and she hears some…sound, I dunno, in the alley or something, I don’t really remember the story real well. She goes in with her friends or something like that, I don’t remember, maybe she did have friends, maybe she didn’t, doesn’t make sense if she did, but I’m pretty sure I remember something about friends. Forget the part about friends, okay? Anyway, she goes into the alley and there’s some gangsters there, or maybe they were “gangstas,” you know, those idiots who just run around with some real stupid s**t and stuff, listen to rap, which rhymes with crap for a reason—can’t spell “crap” without “rap”—and they wanted her stuff, so they knifed her, or maybe they shot her, I don’t remember, but anyway, she’s dead and stuff.
Oh yeah, that’s where the friends came in! They heard her scream or something like that, so they went in and tried to rescue her, only they got shot at, and one of ‘em called the police and s**t. The old man took us down to the morgue to identify her—why? I don’t know, her friends already had, but anyway, he went down to the morgue and he was all like, “Gods, why did you do this, there’s evil and s**t in the world, that must be why, and my kids will never know her, and they’ll never appreciate her, and why did she go in there…” Oh yeah, I think she might’ve been shopping for some stuff for us, or something, at least, that’s what I always assumed, since from the moment we emerged, it was just hell.
Something snapped in the old man when she died; suddenly, he believed that everything was evil, and we were the most evil things in the whole world. I don’t want to tell you the details—
No, seriously, Arthur or—oh, whatever, Ambrose, whatever—I don’t want to tell you. It hurts to remember. It would be like if you broke a leg and I asked you to explain the breaking of every cell or s**t. I dunno, you’re a rich kid, you’ve probably never had this trouble, but it was…bad. Jessy and Sheena—well, their real names were Jezebel and Sheiba, but they liked Jessy and Sheena better. The old man wanted to give us evil names. He wanted them to reflect the ugliness of our souls. He thought we’d be sinful, so he gave us our names—representative of Lust, Greed, and Wrath, or some s**t. Ironic, isn’t it?
Man, this stuff is good, thanks.
Anyway, it was real bad s**t. We were let out on Sundays to talk a little to each other, and he’d read some holy verses at us, and we’d have a little food—at first—but the rest of the week, we were in our rooms, Jessy and Sheena in their room, me in mine. I don’t know what he did to them; I could only hear their screams. I think he beat them. I think he cut them up. He probably tied them to the bed. I could hear their screams all the time…begging for mercy…praying…but they never did it right, or hard enough…He used to beat me, too. I didn’t scream as much. Their screaming tortured me; I didn’t want to torture them back. I think he did worse to them. He certainly did in the end, when we were just barely adults—you know, that little tiny intermediate phase some people call teenagehood, or something like that.
He did worse. His own daughters. Goddess…He up and did it to ‘em. Sick, twisted, monstrous, hypocritical b*****d…I still can’t believe it.
I’ll be okay, my hand’s just stinging a little…No, I’m almost at the end, I might as well say it.
Well, he snapped their necks and dumped them on the kitchen floor, then he called me out. Unlocked the door and told me to come out. I walk out, and the first thing I see is Jessy and Sheena, naked on the floor, mussed up, heads at right angles…and I just sink down. I sink down, and I grab Sheena’s paw, and I just started rocking back and forth…back and forth…back and forth…The old man said that they’d tempted him. Tempted him, my a**, he wanted to be tempted, sneezing could have been construed as lewd by him, sneezing by a goddamn 99.7-year-old eunuch could’ve been lewd to him, that b*****d!!
So he said that he was tired of us stinking up the world, being sinful and s**t, and he was gonna end it. He grabbed me by the hair and slowly lifted me up—I didn’t weigh much, I hadn’t had much to eat in weeks, I had never been what you might call robust—and he grabbed my collar and my chin and he said that it’d all be over, and my soul’d be saved…
And that’s when I saw the knife on the table. One of those really big ones, a butcher’s knife…well, not a cleaver, per se, but those bigass, sharp mofos, the ones that have a nice stabbing point. I grabbed the knife in one paw and I just rammed it right into his ribs, right into his liver. He gasped and dropped my neck, and I grabbed a chair to stay upright. “That was for Sheena,” I whispered. Then I stabbed him again. “And that was for Jessy!” I screamed. I started to get really into it. I just stabbed him over, and over, and over, and over, and over again, just stabbed him again and again and again and again. One for Mom, and one for me, and then I started to run out of ideas. I just had to have a reason for each stab, for each. And every. Satisfying. Stab.
I stabbed him for the neglect, I stabbed him for the abuse. His Wrath at killing us. His Lust for what he did to my sisters. His Greed at keeping what we needed from us. His Envy for people who were good people, like we were good and he wasn’t. His Vanity of thinking he was the best. His Sloth, ‘cause, well, it fitted, you know? And he was sort of slothful, neglectful, anyway, which is pretty much the same thing, so far as I’m concerned. And then I just stabbed him. And I couldn’t think of anything to say. And he was still alive at this point—still just barely clinging to life, the tough old b*****d. His chest was just ripped. Right. Open. I could see his beating heart, and he was dying. So he reached up and, with a bloody hand, grabbed my bloody wrist, and he said, “You missed one. Gluttony. Open-stomached, black-holed Gluttony. Just like you. Gluttony’s never satisfied when he’s still got food to eat, and so’ll you never be satisfied, no matter how much food you stuff down your fat maw.” And then he died.
Still want to hear the rest? ‘Cause this is where it gets gory, And—Ambrose.
‘Cause I was suddenly starving. I thought I was starving before? That was nothing. That was just peckishness. I just doubled over and cried, my stomach hurt so hard. And it hurt so hard my throat was aching, and my cheekbone felt like someone’d driven a truck into it. I couldn’t hardly breathe, and the whole world spun like a top at light speed. I fell over onto his body and I saw something. Something big and red and fleshy and it looked so. Damn. Tasty. I couldn’t help myself. I reached into his chest, yanked it out, and ate my father’s heart.
I had strength—well, for the time being. I went through the kitchen and ate everything in there. Nothing else mattered. Pickles. Chicken. I found some stale cookies that a mouse had nibbled on, and dried pasta. Mayonnaise. Uncooked ground beef. I just snarfed the whole lot, practically inhaled it. Everything. Whole jar of salsa, mustard, soy sauce, rotting cabbage, yogurt past its expiration date. I eventually vomited it all back into a jar of half-finished raspberry jam. And I was so hungry, I tell you, I ate up the sick. I was that hungry.
I think I passed out for a while. Twenty, thirty minutes or so tops—and when I woke up, I found myself staring into Jessy’s eyes. Blank, blue eyes, dead, glassy, corpsy eyes. That got me up quick, and I felt so ashamed of myself. So I washed off my hands and carefully arranged them in bundles made out of the sheets from the old man’s bed. I hoisted them onto my shoulders and carried them off to the morgue. I couldn’t think of anything else I could do. It was all I could think of to do for my sisters.
I was still hungry, but I tried to push it back, push it back by thinking about it. I didn’t know it then, but I know it now: my dying father’s curse locked the spirit of Gluttony in my body, locked it in so tight that my body isn’t so much a container as my very soul is. Gluttony is wound into who I am; I’m not just the carrier of the sin, I am the sin, as surely as any who were always the sin.
Now…are you gonna finish those fries?
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Posted: Wed Dec 31, 2008 12:52 pm
Name: Excess
Species: Pig
Drink: Orange-flavored ramune
Gender: female
Noodle: Gluttony
Type: Pet/Companion
About: Poor Gluttony…Excess had to be locked away in a cupboard by his mate so that he wouldn’t accidentally drink her while he had a craving for sugar. Now that she’s out of that dangerous edible phase, Excess and Gluttony enjoy spending time with each other, whether it’s flying (it’s amazing how such small wings can keep her afloat!), taking a walk, or, of course, eating. The one thing Excess is careful to do is to stay on Beryl’s good side and not take away from her master’s mate’s time with him.
Posts in: saddle brown, dark orange underline
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Posted: Wed Dec 31, 2008 12:53 pm
Whenever Marcus told people he worked at the morgue, they asked him if it was frightening, or at least, well…morbid working there. Well, sure. You were working with corpses; it was natural to feel sober there. Was he frightened? No. Marcus enjoyed a good horror movie on occasion, zombie movies included, but he had never felt frightened while working there. Except once.
He could remember the night clearly; a cold, bitter December when the weather didn’t have the decency to properly snow, and instead covered the ground in a black sheet of ice; treacherous, murderous. There had been several accidents in the past week alone, though thankfully none of them resulted in visits. It seemed people were staying out of the cold, and thus the morgue was silent that night, just four scant days before Christmas. Not that it was usually noisy; at this time of night, the only calls were police usually, but tonight…tonight it was quiet. Until the door opened.
It felt like a bad horror movie cliché, only it was real. A young male demonic stepped in the door bearing two bundles on his shoulders. His true coat color was impossible to tell; the filth and grime that covered it was, in turn, covered in a thick plastering of blood and gore. Marcus could smell the overwhelming stench, practically see it sweep over him in a wave like the breath of Hell. He didn’t need to ask what the youth carried on his shoulders; the pitiful bundles were small, about the size of a small female fox about the youth’s age. When he looked up at Marcus, the only thing in his empty gold eyes was shock…and hunger. Marcus felt himself shrinking away from the sight (and, not least, the reek) of the emaciated noodle in front of him.
“I…I didn’t know what to do…” the stranger croaked. He looked around the room and looked back at Marcus. Marcus just stared back at him and slowly stared at the bundles on his shoulders. “My sisters…” the stranger added quietly. “I didn’t know what to do, and I thought…well, c…the b…” He stared at the ground and swallowed, hunching up one shoulder to swiftly run the edge of one of his gory paws across his eyes. “The…they should come here. They’d come here anyway.” He continued staring at the ground.
Marcus wrenched his eyes away from him and peered at the bundles. “What…what happened?” he asked. One hand reached for the call button for security. Whatever was going on, it made his flesh crawl; the police would need to hear about this, and he certainly wanted protection in the meantime.
“Their necks are broken…” His voice was as hollow as his eyes. “He broke their necks…”
“Who broke their necks?”
There was no answer; only a long silence. Finally, slowly, with the gentleness of a mother with her kit, the bloody-furred fox set down the bundles and gave each of them a slow, gentle hug. “The…the brown one is…Her name’s Jessy.” The demonic gave a dry sob. “And the beige one, she’s…She’s Sheena. At least…That’s what they’d want to be called. That’s what they should be known as, and all.” He stood up and stared at Marcus. Their gazes locked, gold in green, and Marcus realized that he hadn’t yet called for security. And he couldn’t. It didn’t feel real. He didn’t feel as if there was really a pair of bodies tied up in bed sheets in front of the desk; he didn’t fully believe that there was a noodle standing there, caked in blood and untold other filth, that had brought them in. He could hardly believe that the fox was quietly slipping out into the winter night.
Marcus would never see him again. Whoever he was, he was correct; both girls had had their necks snapped, and from the looks of their bodies, those had been mercy blows. There was no sign of any blood such as was seen on the male who had brought them in. The police never found him.
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Posted: Fri Jan 02, 2009 11:50 pm
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Posted: Fri Jan 02, 2009 11:52 pm
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Posted: Fri Jan 02, 2009 11:53 pm
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Posted: Fri Jan 02, 2009 11:54 pm
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Posted: Fri Jan 02, 2009 11:56 pm
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Posted: Fri Jan 02, 2009 11:57 pm
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Posted: Fri Jan 02, 2009 11:58 pm
Breedings
Beryl: Jasper (m), Citrine (f)
[url=http://i294.photobucket.com/albums/mm97/TheLuckyNoodle/Uncerted/Angelic/Beryl3.png]Beryl[/url] x [url=http://i285.photobucket.com/albums/ll74/Geyser39/Gluttony.png]Gluttony[/url]
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