Hungry for the kill, but this hunger, it isn't you

[toilandendure]

01
"You gonna eat that?"

Guy looks (and smells) homeless. Ratty hoodie over similarly ratty jeans; but he's big, brawny, face dirt and grease-smeared as if he's been rooting around in the Underground tunnels. But despite his altogether imposing physique and absolute inability to ken the social laws which govern personal space, he projects an air of almost polite harmlessness. Like an over-friendly dog who can't help but shove his big nose into someone else's business.

And he's staring hard at whatever nosh you happen to be mid-bite of.


02 / Full Moon
So he didn't get to see his witch in time for a dose to calm the beast, or duck onto a train headed outward of London. And now he's paying the price, and making others pay it too, hunting hard in the derelict shipping quarter he uses for his home in the unclaimed lands northeast of the river bend. You might come across the snarling, savage thing muzzle-deep in someone's loose dog, white teeth crunching through meat and bone.

Or worse: he could be hunting you.

[ Hop in with whatever you like, will certainly be adding more, and can do so on request! ]

Comments

02

[detectiveofthewest]

Foxes were opportunistic animals, not strictly predators, but nevertheless, Heiji's senses were sharp. Not that they would have to be to pick up the sound of crunching bone. Or the coppery smell of fresh blood.

He padded quietly along the streets. He was much bigger than an average fox -- about as long as a loveseat, with black fur that blended into the darkness. His ears were pricked for changes in the soundscape, but he was curious by nature...

[toilandendure]

hunger hunger hunger hunger hunger hunger

It cramped through his stomach 'til it made an ache in his spine, a blind, red need. Red smeared up from black lips and into the pale fur of his muzzle. His dark, wet nose shivered, drawing in another breath; heavy with the rain-dampened scents of the river, motor exhaust, birds and low animals, the lingering scents of what few men worked in and traversed the area over day.

And fox.

Already beginning to slaver again, he lowered his head, lapping hard along the torn-open ribcage of what small creature had failed to satisfy his hunger, chasing the fading warmth of blood, chasing after the last of the easy meat before he left it discarded.

And prowled out of the shadows to hunt this other, familiar scent.

[detectiveofthewest]

Heiji had never actually been nose-to-nose with a transformed werewolf; rather, he knew of them mostly from secondhand descriptions. There were few, if any, wolves where he'd grown up. Certainly no real ones, not since the start of the twentieth century at least. It was instinct that made his fur stand on end in the night air.

He could run, but the werewolf would then likely target someone else. So he circled around, not wanting to be downwind when the confrontation happened. He stopped by a parked Volkswagon Beetle -- just big enough to keep himself out of sight.