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 Posted: Tue Jul 15, 2014 3:19 am
She'd mentioned to bring more food, and she enjoyed the pleasures of cuisine enough that it was well worth keeping up the promise to the 'General.' Whether he would like the offering or not, if he hadn't been supplementing his diet in the middle days with other meals and food sources, was a moot point. Hunger was the best sauce, and she could probably offer him just about anything and his body would desire it. Schörl like answering Wants with orgasmic offerings- she had a whole picnic basket, large and covered with a clothe-replication of The Chi Rho. It was still piping hot, wafting scent through the Rift as she walked to the many Youma who couldn't have the wherewithal to appreciate, understand or care about subtleties, delicacies, or what made life worth living instead of just sustaining it. Inside the basket was a full rack of ribs, dry rubbed, slow roasted. Fall off the bone pork ribs. They were finished wood grill fashion and glazed with sweet Carolina sauce before flash caramelizing. There was a whole pan of sweet corn bread. There were wilted, vinegared collard greens dressed with sliced shallots, thick cut and peppered bacon and infused with bacon drippings. Last was the desert, honey-poached apricots over sponge cake. And all of it would keep multiple days, for multiple meals, without refrigeration. And all of it was fairly convenient finger-food, doable with elongated, monstrous hands with more elegance that something that required utensils. He could spear things on claws daintily, or hold them and look no more ridiculous than anyone else eating barbeque did. The captain navigated her way to the bed-place she'd found him languishing in the first time, had heard others report he usually could be found at.
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Posted: Wed Jul 16, 2014 8:02 am
The Rift felt quieter at these times.
He assumed nightfall reigned on the surface, offering a boon of shadows to all creatures crawling through the streets, looking for prey wholly unaware of their existence or presence. Idly he wondered if feral youma possessed the capacity to look forward to any point in time, any event they knew to arrive in the near future. A portion of him suspected it was not so, that their existence afforded little consideration for pleasure or thought beyond compulsion. He created one before, and so little existed of the original woman that any onlooker would consider the two wholly unrelated. Had that meant, then, that most feral youma existed as civilians prior?
Ruminating on the place felt risky, given his recent inclinations. While part of him cherished the oppressive atmosphere, another part of him choked on it. Part of him gagged on its relentless emphasis on order and regulation, on obedience above all thought. While he cherished the few chaotic elements in the Rift - the crumbling structures, the vast expanses of cliffs, the sporadic presence of crystals - it simultaneously repelled him. Finally taking in enough of its atmosphere, the creature dismounted from his crystal perch and returned in the direction of the cathedral, where the hall of shadows stood between him and his typical haunts.
And each time he passed through that short hallway, he met gaze with a myriad writhing souls just beyond the glass. He remembered them far more averse to his presence as a lieutenant, less so as a captain, more disinterested as a general, and now? They looked as though they wanted him to join them in ceaselessly toiling at the glass. He sneered toward one, who ran old fingers down the surface. To his fortune, none offered any indication that they knew of the traitorous thoughts he entertained when in their presence. In a sense, it felt gratifying to defy so petulantly.
Once returning to the space claimed as his room, Bischofite wrenched the mask from his face in thick gouts of tar before it finally broke free of his face. By now he knew the wrestle well, came to know it as yet another portion of his life. It felt no different, no more disturbing than brushing his teeth given how often he repeated the act. Afterward he sat on the bed, fingers tracing the disintegrated portions on the side where so many years withered its surface. While the Negaverse offers no use, no interest in an officer half-warped by youma, this place embraced me in its own way. How dichotomous... While my allies revile my existence, the Rift and its occupants consider me a part of this place. Why mixed signals? Am I reaching?
It's hard to hold conviction for excising the chaos in this place. I wonder... In simply living here, does it encourage chaos to warp my thought processes in its favor? How curious...
While the auric energy struck him first, the scent of legitimate cuisine accosted his senses far more favorably to company. It stirred him from his thoughts, from the roundabout ruminations that he entertained on the edge of his bed, and he stood abruptly to indulge curiosity about the smell. Without first donning a mask, Bischofite cracked the door open to survey the hall for some sign of sustenance.
And partially to his chagrin, he discovered Schörl. "What is zat you haf', Officer?" He greeted, gaze dropping down to the cloth-covered basket before returning to her olive eyes.
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Posted: Wed Jul 16, 2014 10:21 pm
Through the c**k or through the stomach, there are always two ways sure to get a man's attention for at least a handful of minutes. Well...or a woman's. Really any human, predictable creatures we are on so many accounts. She smiled in reply to his query, lifting the basket a little in indication. "I believe its called a picnic. And its for you. May I come in?" Her eyes half lidded with anticipatory pleasure, "Hand crafted and all courses accounted for. If you're hungry." He looked far too thin. He always did.
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Posted: Fri Jul 18, 2014 8:10 pm
"Is zat so?" I wonder what she wants. What favors might she buy with food from one who lacks many uses now? Pushing open the remains of the door, Bischofite stepped aside to allow entry.
The creature leaned against the doorframe, ribs digging into a too-thin forearm while he entrusted most of his weight to his bony shoulder. He felt the index finger of one wing brush against the old wall, the humming sensation tracing up to his back. "I am not usually hungry, Schörl." His stomach seethed from the scent, churning in anticipation of some scrap of a meal. Already he swallowed saliva frequently. "However, I am always starved."
Ein Hungerkünstler. Perhaps I'll never find a food I like.
"You don't strike me as one to offer generosity, Schörl." Fingers laced together to form a loose knit over his stomach while he turned to watch her. "What is it you're looking for? Why do zis at all?"
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Posted: Sat Jul 19, 2014 1:38 am
"Generosity has its place along side Mercenary. Each in turn and time, luv. " She passed him, bringing the hallowed basket. She set it down atop his meager bed, if bed it could really be called. At a motion, the covering clothe was lifted, the full pungent flavors let out to bouquet the room. “De gustibus non est disputandum” "Alway's looking for the 'why' like there has to be reasons for everything- clinging to the 'rational' little world. Sometimes their isn't a reason. Sometimes, people don't like to share them. Sometimes a reason would only have meaning to the holder. Does it matter why? Is it going to change the fact that you're dying to have a look in my basket? That your tongue is a pool of want? I know you like sweet things, and this here is a planned adventure of the different bouquets of that taste designed to work well together. " It was tempting to tone basket as double entendre, but she politely refrained. Quenton had complained exactly once of it some time ago, but with enough fervency that she was certain of the truth of Bischofite's sweet tooth. Something about surely proteins would do his body better than refined sugars. Well, here is a ......sort of compromise.
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Posted: Sun Jul 20, 2014 9:51 pm
The Latin met only glazed recognition due to focus lying solely on the basket's contents. An impressive spread sat nestled among the cloth, filling the room with delectable scents both sweet and savory.
"Zere is always a reason," he responded, speaking around the growing pockets of anticipatory saliva. "It won't change zose facts, but it ma change if I partake." Some costs exceed my inclinations. And even so... I claim rank over her. I could always claim it and send her off, bid her out of here so I might eat in peace.
And I won't ask where she learned of my interest in sweets. Those few who know... Quenton, or Benitoite. Buddingtonite is possible, but distant. And her acquisition of that knowledge proves a mixed bag.
She may intend to poison me.
"It seems I lost track of which basket you're talking about srough zat, Schörl." Letting the door swing shut, he paced across the room toward the source of mixing flavors permeating the room. After drinking his fill of fervent smells, eyeing the pork ribs with mixed blatant want and reservation - of careful calculation of warped fingers against his long-time cultural inclination toward silverware, of which he found none. Now I know the weight of the oasis when trudging through endless desert.
To hell with the price.
Carefully Bischofite ran one nailed finger down the thick, sauced meat between the ribs, effectively segmenting off a pair. He considered a myriad of ways to eat for a moment, before deciding to learn as he went. Finally he plucked the pair from the pan in traditional barbecue fashion, excess fingers splayed outward in slight disgust toward feeling his food as he took the first bite.
And for a split second, he suspected that he might not survive the heavenly flavors meeting his starved taste buds.Ivynian hmmmm no i can't oh okay i guess i'll eat this
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Posted: Thu Jul 24, 2014 1:27 pm
The captain waited patiently, grin assuredly plastered despite his protestations of what may or may not feed into his feeding or not. You're not that much a master of yourself, Morpheus. Good try. His indulgence, after her refrain, from the innuendo drew a peel of delight from her. "If you can manage that sort of energy, I'd pay a wager for it. Even were you on bottom, you look more like you'd break- could you keep a sword sharp for more than thirty seconds? Starved, the body only has so much room for desires. " Food, water and sleep before anything and everything else. It was only once those needs were met that humans managed to make art, music, poetry, conversation or dance. His disgust splayed as much as his fingers before the first bite was as much pleasure as his expression once he did take a bite. "Have you gotten any food since last visit?"
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Posted: Wed Jul 30, 2014 9:31 pm
Bischofite shot her an exhasperated glance. "I wasn't offering." She already stated the barren absence of such desires in her own reply. Besides, that would beg the question of what else got altered... And by how much. Likely she fosters some fetishized interest in it. It's curious, to both of us, but...
I'd rather eat.Her question of food merited a quick laundry list of recent memories wherein lieutenants paid him a visit for odds and ends - sometimes toothpaste, sometimes books, sometimes nothing more than twisted company. But was there food involved? Closing his eyes, he attempted to pick through each of the instances that quickly simmered into a soup of monotony - he came up empty. Rather than offering a worded reply, he simply grunted in a negatory fashion. He found it far easier to eat without speech, and the ribs supplied tasted far better than the touch of morphine on a dreary day. To his reluctance, Bischofite slowed his pace to consider rationing the remains of the veritable feast she brought - while he possessed no method of refrigeration, he wagered that very few bacterias and fungi existed this deep in the earth, yet also recognized that all food inevitably staled or turned rancid despite favorable conditions. Additionally, he needed to eat throughout that time to maintain some anorexic's dream of normal until he could achieve better levels of muscle. Oh, how he loathed these convoluted considerations for best bodily benefit. Finally discarding a remarkably clean pair of ribs, Bischofite elaborated on some of the visitors received since her last pass through the ruined kingdom. "Not many haf' come. A corrupted by ze name of Lellouch, and I'f found Benitoite not long after. Neizer seemed to know what to do wis' me." I suspect that will be commonplace. I don't even know what to do with me.
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Posted: Fri Aug 01, 2014 2:01 am
For the pure sake of entertainment born of being contrary with a frenemy, Schörl returned to the exhasperation, "Maybe you should." She let him eat in peace, though, pacing a slow walk round his meager space to take in the sights- the bedding, the small collection of necessaries, the distinct lack of appreciable changes of clothes or deodorant. Our uniforms come on us pressed and laundered. But when are you out of yours for the magic to manage the dry cleaning? "Neither know what to do with themselves; they could hardly know what to do with a body so changed. " Line up some of our local blondes and you might end up with a wind tunnel. Alex CAN think when he gets his head of out the mud. I'm not entirely convinced that's possible in regard to YOU, though. Or Spazz. "I have met Lellouch. I'm surprised she has connections with you. She was an aimless feather as the wind blew. " "Convalescence have you birdsing of a feather?"
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