F R E A K S H O W [Nexu]

[Modicum Mortem]

He hadn’t been able to speak (or, at least try to) with the strange creature he’d found in the woods alone. There was always someone else around. If it was not Crevan, it was Maugrim. If not him, it was Astarael. He was growing antsy, wanting to figure out what she actually intended to do in Sylva (other than feed, which was fine with him).


An early summer downpour had caused the forest to grow hot and humid. The autumnal forest was soaked, and him with it. New smells rose from the forest floor (strong oils from the beech trees, earthy petrichor) and he slopped through the muddiness to find her. Each step felt like quicksand, it took nearly every ounce of effort he had to find her.


“Nexu,” He says, breath hard and fast, when she comes into view. He is still so fascinated with her (and not even in a sexual way, like he is with most females). He stares in awe at the armor that panels her body, the alien-shape of her head, the tail of knives that curves around her. There is not much else for him to say until she acknowledges him, so he watches her movements and waits for her response.

Modicum Mortem

@[Nexu]

[Nexu]

.

.

.

She loves thunderstorms.
(drip, drip, drip — BOOM — drip, drip, drip.)

There is something about the electricity that surrounds them, coating each lungful of air they take in. It’s crackling and white-hot in her lungs and then into her vessels. The entirety of nature knows when a storm is rolling in — the birds settle down before the sun has disappeared, the forests get eerily quiet in preparation, the trees begin to whisper as if encouraging one another — and she becomes nothing more or less than the rest of the forest-life (just another creature preparing for the winds and rain and lightning).

(drip, drip, drip — BOOM — drip, drip, drip.)
(silence.)

He finds her in this silence (she knows he’s coming, hearing his struggles through the aftermath of the thunderstorm), the leader-Prey. She’d slipped away from emerald-Prey’s cavern as the skies had brightened, warm from nestling against decomposing bodies and (though she won’t admit it to anyone at this point in time) his spotted side. There’s content in her chest, warm and rumbling, and not even the leader-Prey will be able to unsettle it.

“Nexu.”

She chitters in response, aware that he has seen her and not entirely caring. Her mood is casual, having ate while the storm raged outside the mouth of the cavern and Partner had crafted water-fawns she had easily splashed through. She drags herself away from the damp undergrowth, mud drying on her inky chest. She attempts their slippery language, though her words are rudimentary and clumsy. “Wha’... wan’... you?” The letter ‘t’ has been more difficult, with the expense of her tongues, while the letter ‘n’ carries an easier skill with the position of the tongue. Nonetheless, her words should be audible and decipherable as she looks at him, two intelligible eyes peering at the leader-King with pinpoint intensity.

credit to fangs of bearbones.

@[Modicum Mortem]