Silent-Hunter shivers, the cold of the night seeping into his hide. Pulling his jacket tighter around him, the lone alien looks ahead. The alley to his right looks like a shortcut home, to his warm apartment, but he's never been that way before. It doesn't take him long to decide though, and as he enters the alley, it begins to rain...
 
It has been a slow day for Acetyl. The sky seemed to promise rain several times, but never quite delivered. He's spent hours lurking in an alley not far from the public park he's currently sleeping in, smoking and watching the sky. Now, finally, as he blows his last hit through his nostrils, the clouds slowly draw together, covering the sky. 'Cet can sense that, at last, the rain is finally due. Rising from his half-lying, half-sitting position against a relatively clean wooden box, he looks up eagerly; but just as the rain begins to fall, bringing a sense of relief with it, a new tension comes in the form of an unexpected intruder on Acetyl's previously undisturbed 'hideout'. Ears pricking, his head swivels down and around instantly, the kneeling pose becoming a coiled crouch with practiced speed. 'Cet has no idea who is coming down the alley, but he's in no mood to be bothered. People usually know better than to go this way. This one, for whatever reason, does not. 'Cet feels a growl in his belly, and decides it might be just as well. Muscles wound taut, ready to spring, the raindrake-anthro waits for the walker to get closer, secure that the shadows would conspire to hide him - at least until it's too late.
 
Silent grumbles, the alien disliking the rain. His planet very rarely had it, and it made him feel even more cold. Walking down the alley, he would feel a strange sensation, that odd sort of worrying sensation when one is being watched. "Who's there?", he asks, not one to dismiss such a thing. His sensitive hearing would be enough to hear 'Cet's stomach, if indeed the growl was audible at all. The vanguard's normally good nightvision was foiled by the light in the alley casting shadows, and washing out the nightvision with what his eyes thought was daylight.
 
'Cet's ears flex back - somehow, the other has sensed his presence. Perhaps only through the feeling of being watched. Nevertheless, it's a problem. He'd better act before the advantage of surprise is lost. The idea of responding, of acting in a human way, never occurred to the raindrake - all day, waiting for the rain, he'd spent lost in memories of older times, and older laws guided his actions now. The human part of him was very small and far away; it was the dragon that stalked now, and the dragon was hungry. A second low belly-rumble, definitely audible - and then the lurking one sprang. Though not a tall man by human standards, the claws on his hands and especially his hind paws were formidably large, and filed to a more-than-natural sharpness. These savage weapons gleamed in the light as he lunged at the alien, teeth bared in a silent snarl. Despite the sudden, rapid violence of the attack, it happened in almost perfect silence, with only the smallest sounds of motion.
 
Silent hears that second belly gurgle, and his ears twitch. "Hello?", he asks, before stumbling back at the sudden furry, clawed thing leaping at him. "Hey!", he exclaims, falling backward a bit but managing to stay on his feet, for now. The alien holds up all four arms in defence. "Stop, what are you doing?", he asks, attempting to hold the creature away.
 
Acetyl has never encountered anything with four arms before. This development almost takes him aback - but it's too late to back off now. He's committed. Much smaller than the alien, he finds himself knocking into one of those upthrown arms and latching onto it, or doing his best to anyway, digging his claws in for purchase, kicking out at the torso of the alien to keep from falling. Quick short snarls and barking roars deny any possibility of rational conversation - although walking on two legs, he acts like a beast. Bronze-gold eyes flare with savage purpose when the light happens to strike them, shrinking the pupils to tiny slits. The jaws snap repeatedly, trying to climb over the arm and get at the face - or, failing that, to seize whatever other bit of flesh could be reached and torn away.
 
Silent, despite his toughness, is no match for the sharp claws and teeth of this savage creature, and although he's in pain from the attack, he groans in an almost pleasured manner, likely further confusing 'Cet. Silent, however, continues to struggle, your hindclaws tearing his shorts as he shakes his arms. His flesh rips off in a large hunk, his black blood flowing from the wound, his dark grey bone visible. The alien shudders, and falls against the wall, sliding down. "Nnnnnngh...", he grunts a bit. It's not long before you would likely notice the spire of flesh sticking up from his groin. Or possibly not if you're too focused on food...
 
At first, the prospect of blood, of meat and food, is the only thing on 'Cet's mind. But when the first blood begins to flow, although still focused mostly on his attack, a thread of confusion goes through his mind - what the heck is that? It doesn't smell quite like blood should... but it IS blood. I KNOW it is. At first he pays little attention, assuming it's simply a sensory misperception in the heat of the moment - but then the first chunk of flesh gives way, and it turns out to be of a sort the raindrake has never before encountered. He almost loses his focus in surprise, but recovers quickly, assuming that any faltering will give his victim an opportunity to counterattack.
 
As the alien falls back, 'Cet clings on, now very curious to find out just what's inside this strange thing. Bloodlust is still present, but now supplemented by intense curiosity. Just what manner of beastie has wandered into my territory?
 
The weird four-armed thing hits the ground, its body - so much larger than 'Cet's - making a solid thudding sort of slap. It emits that oddly pleasured-sounding grunt, and at the same time, 'Cet notices another unusual aspect of the thing's smell - if he didn't know better, he'd think... then he glances back, over his shoulder.
 
Well then. There have been willing victims in the past... but nothing quite like this.
 
Now thoroughly fascinated, 'Cet turns back around, eyes narrowed, ears pinned back, a look of intense curiosity on the bestial face. One hook-taloned hand reaches out now, flexing in the face of the four-armed thing as he crouches on its torso. He feels very aware of the fresh, hot scent of the strange black-blooded creature's wounded arm as he growls a warning: "Don't... move." Even those two words come out as a sort of guttural hiss, as if speaking is difficult, something only rarely done and maybe partly forgotten. His metallic-irised eyes stare hard at the face of the odd being as he speaks.
 
Silent definitely notices the draconic creature's confusion, and he lays back against the wall, panting slightly from excitement. Eyeing that hooked talon, the vanguard nods. "This one won't...", he says, his arm still oozing blood quite copiously, nothing done to stem the flow, although it's not an immediately lethal amount of bleeding. Not taking the command not to move literally, he does slip his tongue out, licking over that hooked claw before grinning. "Who are you?", he asks.
 
Acetyl's snarl deepens and he pulls his hand back reflexively. This was not at all the normal reaction of someone attacked and bleeding. It made the raindrake suspicious. It made no sense, unless the four-armed thing was stronger than it seemed and mocking him. Acetyl's own tongue flicked out, running across his upper fangs briefly, but it was an unconscious gesture of stress and anxiety. "Who am I?" The echoed sentence ends with a note of incredulity. "Who are -you-? WHAT are you? What part of the Mirror Lands did you crawl out of?" At this point, with the weird anatomy and black blood, 'Cet has decided this must be a manifest spirit of some sort. It's the only way he can make sense of the experience so far. The smell of its - well, his, the thing is unmistakably male - blood is weird, not like that of humans, yet similar enough to make the raindrake feel restless. Raindrops flow over 'Cet's weird 'scale-fur', running down the strands without soaking in like it would over a duck's back; this peculiar effect shows the difference in texture and makeup between 'Cet's 'fur' and that of a mammal. Though it's not likely either of them were in a frame of mind to notice such a detail...
 
Silent peers into the eyes of the snarling beast, and smiles lightly. The pain doesn't bother him so much, masochist that he is. "This one is Silent-Hunter, and this one is a Vanguard. This one doesn't know what Mirror Lands are, but this one is from another planet, far away from here," he adds. The alien is certainly not protesting his position as much as most would, lifting up his arm to lick at his wound. "Why did you attack this one though?", he asks again, the alien indeed not noticing the water on 'Cet's back, at least not yet. "This one isn't going to try to hurt you you know, you can stop being all defensive."
 
Acetyl almost lashes out when the other raises its arm to lick at the wound - a visible shudder runs over the thin frame. not of fear but of resisted action. There's a thread of longing in those molten metallic eyes as they shift to follow the motion of the wounded arm. That rasped tongue darts out again, tasting the air. He doesn't understand. "You're material? No way," he shakes his head, denying the idea. "Flesh doesn't bleed black. It's red, alive..." His voice trails off as a bit of saliva escapes the corner of his mouth unnoticed. Narrowing his eyes, 'Cet growls, bristling a little. "Is it food, or not?" Now he's talking to himself, seeming unaware of having spoken aloud.
 
Silent grunts a bit, looking into those eyes again. He thinks he sees sadness, mistaking the longing for something else. "This one is a real living being, if that's what you mean. This one's blood is black because it uses a different chemical to carry oxygen.", he says, the alien yawning a little, tired from the slight bloodloss. "Food? This one is... edible, if that's what you mean... do you want to eat?" He asks, a grin forming on his mouth. The alien fidgets, uncomfortable in his clothing suddenly. "This one doesn't mind..." He says, the alien's shorts still holding his arousal. "This one is a bit masochistic..."
 
"Yesss..." The affirmative slips out in a hissing whisper. Acetyl clicks his teeth, staring with intense curiosity at the alien's face. At this point, he's just going to go with it, just like he would if he got lost in the spirit world and got stuck in some strange scenario there. Besides, his stomach feels so empty now - with every second that goes by, it gets a little harder to think clearly, in a humanlike way. More and more, the beast inside wants to assert itself again. The big claws on 'Cet's hind paws dig into the alien's flesh without consciously meaning to as his tension grows. "Yes. I am the hunter, the empty one. You came into my place. So I kill you. Eat you. Same as everyone who comes through my place when I'm hungry." The words are spoken fiercely, but there's an odd wavering of conviction at times, apparently due to confusion at the whole situation. 'Cet eyes the alien closely as he speaks, snapping off each word with a click of his sharp teeth. The fingers of one hand begin to run over the hilt of a big single-edged knife hanging from 'Cet's belt.
 
Silent shivers. "And you don't mind that this one... enjoys it?" He asks, the alien grunting as those claws dig into him. He looks over the beast, realizing his new 'friend' may become feral. "Is there anything this one can do to keep you... lucid?", he asks. The alien squirms a little. "If you're going to eat this one... please do it..." He says, the alien eyeing your knife. "Why do you have a knife? You have claws.", he says, the alien fidgets some more, you could likely smell his arousal, although it would also likely be more confusing.
 
"If it means you won't fight me, all the better," he replies slowly, watching the alien's face. 'Cet wasn't sure he was reading the alien creature's expressions accurately. They seemed similar to those of humans for the most part, but... Ugh! Too much thinking for an empty belly.
 
Acetyl ignores the comment about lucidity, not being sure what to say to it. Instead he starts to lean forward, eyes on the alien's throat with its temptingly large and visible blood vessels, but stops when asked about the knife. A rather slanted, sadistic grin crosses the raindrake's face, and he sits up again, pulling the blade from its sheath on his belt. The rain begins to come down harder as he does this, though 'Cet shows no sign of noticing or minding the rain.
 
Toying with the blade, placing the tip against one finger, the raindrake tells the alien, "This? This is my friend. It gets hungry, too. I feed it. It helps me. It can bite across the boundary. It knows things."
 
Teasingly, the raindrake draws the tip of the blade over the alien's flesh now, across the collarbone region just in front of where 'Cet perches on the mid-torso. "Should I eat the black-blood thing? Is it tricking me, Far-Bite? Is it food, old friend?" The blade glimmers dully in the low light as it slides over the gray flesh. It begins to cut, angled to leave only a shallow mark... for the moment. "Taste it, old friend. Tell me." In the moment, as this cutting is going on, the raindrake's eyes look suddenly distant, detached, as if he were in deep thought. It's a creepy contrast with the intensity of the rest of Acetyl's expression, with its bared teeth and hard-set facial lines.
 
Silent nods. "This one won't fight you," he says, the alien smiling. His expressions are mostly the same as human ones, adjusted for his odd muzzle shape. The alien watches as you pull out that blade, playing with it some. "But it's a knife, how can it get hungry, or be a friend for that matter?", he asks. The alien shudders, and feels that strange blade passing over his skin, the alien moaning a little. "Mmmmh... that feels rather... nice," he says, enjoying the sensation of the sharp knife sliding across his skin. At that shallow cut, the alien hisses and winces, but it doesn't hurt nearly as much as the tear in his arm did. The alien listens to you talking as if the blade was alive. He peers into your eyes, as more of that oozing black blood dribbles down his chest, almost steaming in the cool air. The rain spatters across his body, washing the blood down his chest.
 
Acetyl chuckles to himself. The strange being is not lying - the raindrake can smell his reactions, even feel an empathic echo despite the vast difference in their two forms of life. Having tasted Silent's blood and allowed the knife to do so, 'Cet is more able to 'detect' the alien on a mental/emotional/spiritual level. What a find! He'd never had such a toy before. It was enough to make him regret the necessity of killing it... even to consider investing in bringing it back again. It was costly, but he was sure it could be done. The ways he could play with this creature, over and over again, without any of that bothersome screaming and fussing that humans were wont to indulge in!
 
A sly look crossed the dragon-anthro's face as he considered his options, idly drawing with the tip of the blade in the alien's flesh. After a few seconds, he says slowly, "Everything is alive. Most things, most people... they're asleep. Far-Cry is awake. If you were awake, you could hear it too." There's an odd almost absent-mindedness in the way 'Cet speaks and the look around his eyes as he focuses on whatever he hears from the blade. He begins to cut more deeply, leaving long, carefully juxtaposed cuts. A sort of pattern or drawing is beginning to take form, but one with no apparent meaning - spirals and zigzags and parallel lines.
 
Silent's sensitive ears hear that chuckle, and the alien grins. "Enjoying yourself?", he asks, the alien listening to your explanation. "That sounds... interesting." The alien looks down, watching as you carve such intricate, beautiful, yet seemingly meaningless patterns into him. "Mmmmmmh... it is strange to you that this one enjoys being cut?" The alien's spire throbs between his legs at the neverending stimulation from Far-Cry. "That's a nice name..." He adds, the vanguard's flesh splitting easily under the sharp knife. "Please don't stop..."
 
Acetyl humphs to himself under his breath. "Humans don't like it. Screaming, crying, noise." He sets his ears back in distaste, though his eyes and focus are otherwise on his 'work' of 'drawing', working up the torso. He won't let this one's spirit be stolen by hungry ghosts when he's dead. Hopefully, the Ghost Tree will consent to reform the alien for more play in the future, but for that to be possible, Acetyl knew he had to keep the alien-thing's spirit from departing after death. He did not, however, mention a word of explanation, simply going about his business as if its purpose were obvious.
 
The raindrake-man does grin with some amusement at the last. "Don't worry. I will definitely not stop..."
 
Once the alien's torso is covered with arcing lines and weird symbols, he turns around to be facing the alien's lower body, the lower portion of the stomach, where he'd previously been sitting, now perched more atop the chest. He feels the blood welling up from his carvings and wiggles his toes, enjoying the warmth and stickiness of it.
 
"No more time for talking now," he murmurs, voice almost a whisper. A tension rises in the small body. "More talk later. For now..."
 
And then the knife is plunged in, quick and hard and sharp, not cold but weirdly warm and somehow alive-feeling. With the blade so deeply in his flesh, Silent can subtly but definitely feel the knife as a living presence, and even a faint backwash of its enjoyment in piercing his body, its desire to feel his blood and flesh against its steel form.
 
Silent nods, knowing how humans were, having tried to eat one when he first arrived on this planet. He hadn't actually killed him, but definitely gored him deep on his tusks. The vanguard shivers, examining his many spiraling, arcing, beautiful wounds. "Mmmmmh... you've made this one's hide so pretty," he says, the alien closing his mouth once you tell him the time for talking is done. Feeling your furry form shift around, the alien reaching with his three good arms to rub and feel over your fur, enjoying the rain cooling his hot flesh. The alien shudders, and a soft "Hrrrk..." comes from his mouth as that blade slides right into his guts, cutting and nicking them as it sinks deep. The alien indeed feels the presence of the blade's soul, and he smiles.
 
Although knowing the alien's pleasure is genuine, Acetyl still puzzles at the creature's reactions to his work. Even the willing ones, before, were simply acquiescent. This eagerness is... he doesn't know. He isn't sure how to react to it. It doesn't fit within the paradigms he understands, neither the human nor the draconic. Prey either submitted or fought. Sometimes it came to die because it was suicidal in pain or sadness. Sometimes it simply recognized the futility of resistance. But sapient beings did not seek to be killed with this kind of pleasure. It defied all past experience.
 
'Cet realized he was smiling a bit in response to the compliment. It was peculiarly gratifying to have the canvas appreciate what had been drawn on it. 'Cet was having trouble depersonalizing Silent the way he usually did his victims, but the alien's obvious sincere enjoyment allowed the raindrake to continue regardless. Besides, he is too hungry to stop now. The knife would feed as soon as it pierced the alien's flesh fully, but his own belly was still empty... A low hiss of tension escapes.
 
Just before he inflicts that deep wound, he feels a touch and tenses up, freezing in instinctive expectation of attack. Surely at the penultimate moment... but the gesture is only a caress, and no attempt is made by the alien to stop the knife's downward plunge. For some reason, the touch adds a deeper, richer character to the sensation of the moment.
 
Acetyl shudders with the intensity of it for a few moments, leaning on the hilt of the blade so that it sinks in as deeply as possible. It was not designed for stabbing, but the awakened spirit of the knife contributes its own will, allowing the point to slide in first followed by the decurved slashing-specialized blade. The serrated back edge grates in last. As 'Cet shivers through the initial reaction, the knife revels in the warmth and novelty of the alien's body and energy. Never before has it pierced such a being, and like its master-friend, it too relishes the newness.
 
Wanting to explore more, it nudges 'Cet empathically, and he responds, pulling the blade free and high before slamming it down again, this time further up, and tilting the blade at an angle. He knows (or, at least, hopes) that he will have another chance to examine the thing's entrails in detail - for now, he simply wants to tear it open. The time to feed is soon.
 
Turned around as you are, Silent could not see that smile, but he could feel it. The vanguard continues feeling over your fur warmly, the alien enjoying the texture. It feels dry, despite the rain, and he smiles. His own skin almost soaks up the rain, the alien's desert dwelling anatomy wanting to not waste any water. It stings as it seeps into his wounds, making Silent hiss. He shudders with each plunge of the blade, sinking deep and tearing his skin on the serrated edge. "Nnnnghrll..." he grumbles, before that blade is slid out of him. He sees it flash shiny and black with blood above your head, before feeling the sharp, radiating pain of that blade ripping back into his flesh, opening him up a little as you twist it. Blood spurts and gushes thickly, slowing quickly to an oozing flow as the rain washes over and into the wound.
 
Sex had never done much for Acetyl, on the rare times he'd engaged in it. It could be socially valuable, improving bonds, expressing dominance and so on. But he'd never understood the human fascination with sex for its own sake. This, now... this was oddly like sex, in its intimacy. Even as he pierced the huge creature beneath him, at least eight or nine feet tall to his five foot four, its big hand stroked his fur. The smell of its blood hit him with heart-hammering force. The knife-thrusts became quicker, shorter, less controlled, a ripping frenzy. Bits of flesh and gore began to fly.
 
Silent spasms, the alien gurgling and his stroking of your fur becoming less smooth, the alien's limbs jerking and flopping at his sides from the intensity of the sensations from his belly. The alien's blood smells sweet and somewhat metallic, but slightly less so than human blood. The knife's serrated part rips chunks of his flesh, flinging some to the other side of the alley as a loop of his intestine starts to spill out, the abdominal pressure gradually releasing as the wounds get bigger, some of the stabs wounds getting connected.
 
Acetyl isn't aware of when, but at some point he lets go of the knife, leaving it sticking out of the mutilated flesh, and dives in with tooth and claw. The monster in Acetyl drives him to feed. The smell, sweeter than human blood, is too tempting to resist any longer. Despite it lack of a stimulating red color, its warmth and savor are exquisite. Reaching deep into the alien's body with both arms, he grabs and pulls at slimy, squishy things, chewing his way into the body. The great teeth snap down with inhuman jaw force again and again, claws flexed to slice through tough bits of gristle as hunk after hunk of meat is ripped away and swallowed. 'Cet revels in the different textures and flavors of muscles, organs, crunchable bones with their savory marrow... Like a lion or hyena on the African savannah, he has no compunctions about eating his prey while it's still alive.
 
Silent shudders, gurgling a little as you tear right into him, the knife still sticking out of his ruined belly. The alien tastes blood, some of it spilling from his mouth. He moans deeply, a pathetic, gurgling sound as he slumps a little, feeling rather weak as his guts are pulled and tugged, his liver having a more rich, metallic taste as you rip out bits and pieces of it, his intestines smelling sweeter, and being rather sticky and gooey.
 
The vibrance of the meat leaves 'Cet no doubt that its source is still alive. He is rather impressed by the thing's tenacity, although it can't last much longer. Only a small part of his mind has time for those kind of reflections; the rest is lost in an ocean of sensory stimulus, every nerve awake to the smallest details of this new flesh. Its texture is not the same as that of a human, but it's similar enough to be thrillingly exotic while still being satisfyingly tasty. It was made of flesh and bone, all right, hot and nourishing. The color, as it turned out, made no difference.
 
With the immediate edge taken off his hunger, Acetyl's vicious rending slowed and came to a stop. He ran the back of one arm across his face, doing absolutely nothing to clean himself. Though he was still hungry, he felt a little better. Really, he'd consumed several pounds of meat, but he was feeding more than just his small human body. For now, his dragonsoul demanded more, consuming what the man ate almost as quickly as it hit his stomach - hence 'Cet's ability to consume so much food at once. Even by 'Cet's standards, the alien was a feast, but the raindrake-man was equal to the task.
 
Acetyl feels his somewhat swollen stomach grumble and shift as the meat settles, already dissolving into spirit-energy to fuel his soul. Within a few minutes it will be empty again. While he was gorging, the flesh dissipated even faster, to make room for the new morsels coming down. When the dragonsoul is finally sated, 'Cet's physical belly will fill like any human's, and then he will finally feel satisfied for now. The raindrake knows his meal is not yet over. But the hunger is less painful now, less maddening. Manageable.
 
 'Cet climbs out of the hole he has made. Raindrops fall into the cavity, sluicing off shredded tatters of muscle and remnant chunks of organ. A warm mist rises, billowing up as if the alien's opened body were a steam grate.
 
Standing on the alien's undamaged upper chest, the raindrake examines his handiwork, the knife still sticking out haphazardly to one side, twitching and shuddering in unison with the rest of the creature. An impulse strikes, and Acetyl turns. The alien's throat is so big, compared to his usual human prey... will he be able to fit his jaws around it?
 
Silent shudders a little, clearly still alive as he's still moving, weakly. The alien gurgles, coughing up a bit more blood, and letting it spill down muzzle and throat. The alien's blood is very hot, his internal temperature of one hundred fifteen quite a bit higher than a human's. The alien can't even lift his head to look now, his head lolled backward, throat already exposed. He coughs again, both his hearts spasming in borderline shock as the alien's blood continues to spill lazily.
 
Looking down at the dying creature, the raindrake figures it's a bit redundant. The alien will bleed out soon. The impulse is still strong, though. So he drops to his knees on the much bigger creature, wrapping his jaws around as much of the exposed throat as he can. Knowing he has little time, he bites down almost immediately, without waiting to feel the pulse against his tongue - it's weak and thready by now anyway.
 
The hot blood dripping through his fur sends more steam into the air, mixing with the cold rain.
 
Biting down, pulling back, tearing... he can't take the whole throat in a single chunk as he would with a human, but a significant piece of flesh is lost, pulled free in ragged shreds through Acetyl's pale pointed teeth. With slow, luxurious savor, Acetyl swallows, and the chunk of throat slides down his own throat. The taste of it arouses his inner dragon again. Thunder cracks overhead, and the city thinks nothing of it - but in that moment 'Cet hears not external thunder but the roar of his inner dragon. For him they are one and the same.
 
Slavering, mingled blood and saliva running freely from his gaping jaws, 'Cet lunges for another bite, and another, ripping at the flesh of his prey. The big vessels are torn open, spilling yet more hot black blood to mix with the cold and unsympathetic rain.
 
The four-armed alien's flesh is so sweet. And its body is so big. Even with Acetyl's prodigious appetite, Silent's body was large enough to provide more than one meal's worth of food. And its anatomy was so different than that of a human. Acetyl begins to feel an odd, distant sort of fondness for the dead alien. It has given him so much, and will give him so much more in the future.
 
Sometime soon - once Acetyl's belly is full both spiritually and physically, after he's had time to sleep and digest this exotic feast - he will drag what is left of the body to the Ghost Tree and he will ask for Her help.
 
Until then, it's time to see to the filling of said belly.