violence
It speaks, and she recognizes the cadence of it, words forming from a mouth meant for more primal uses. She can understand him well enough, having had plenty of practice with her alien sister. She still thinks him a sibling, but it names its mother - mothers - and it is not a name Violence knows. Anaxarete. She frowns, annoyed at her misstep, but intrigued – are there other lines out there? Mother was never clear on how Cthulhu came to be, and, truth be told, Violence had never pressed the issue. She didn’t care for her bloodline’s history, her interest was focused on its powers, its monsters, and figuring out how they could best be used. And regardless, it seems that this monster is not her brother, after all.
Still, she clings on to a word.
“Creatures? Did they have names?”
She adds, “my sire…looked like you. But more monster. My sister, too.”
The attention is then turned to her own creature, and she smiles.
“Yes,” she purrs, “this is my little creature.”
She makes it nod its head in greeting to the monster, is considering making it bow when the girl sneaks in. He speaks his warning as the girl’s head darts forth, teeth grasping for a bone.
Violence forgets the alien for a moment, focused on the thief, and she makes her creature whip around, its head lowering, striking at her, antlers moving and teeth snapping. The movement is clumsy – she did not build it as a weapon – but the movement is fast.
“Touch it again and I’ll add your bones to the mix,” she tells the child, the purr with which she’s spoken to the alien a moment ago gone. This voice is rough and furious and ready to hurt.
these violent delights bring violent ends
