violence
She teeters here, deciding what path would entertain her best. She had been drawn to him for the slick felinity she’d seen, hopeful at the idea of a predator, but the horse who emerged seems to prefer dry wit. Violence does not mind this, exactly, but their conversation wilts in these quips and she grows bored so quickly.
“I came here,” she says, her voice slow, considering, “to be entertained. I often find myself bored, Ion. Even with all I can do.”
She gestures to the bone creature, who dips its skull. She is proud of that part in particular – she’d fused elk horns to the horse’s skull, replaced its teeth with a mishmash of canines she had collected from a variety of creatures, giving it a terribly gruesome, patchwork smile. And still, even with craftwork such as this, she is bored!
“You can hunt,” she says. It is not a question. She saw him shift. She has never piloted such a creature herself, but she knows a predator when she sees one. But it is the only the cat, or does he have some dark part, as well?
“I’ve always enjoyed it, when I’m in a body equipped for such things,” she says. She is strongarming the conversation, now, chasing the sharp teeth and claws that had drawn her in. She regrets, for the hundredth time, that her own body is so ill-suited for the simple pleasures of a hunt. Her sisters had been good for that, easy, alien vessels for the taking, too stupid or scared to fight back. She misses those days.
these violent delights bring violent ends
