And yet you'd still call down that attention to yourself.
[she comes up short of scoffing, but pats the seat next to her in possibly the most cordial move she'll make this whole encounter.]
But the possibility of getting caught is just another part of the hunt, isn't it? Everything gets caught by something eventually, and won't it be a beautiful day when you meet something that's quick enough to get past you? [her teeth are flat, those of a mere human, but she flashes them anyway. her voice has a rasp to it that usually only comes out in the mornings, before she's spoken enough to settle it.] When you feel the hot breath of something else at your throat and you know that you're finally at the end of it all.
[ blythe's right enough, and their acknowledgement of that shows in the way they saunter over and take the offered seat and lean just ever so slightly against her with a wag of their tail.
what actually comes out of their mouth, though, in the most obnoxious voice they can muster, is: ]
[blythe laughs low in her register without taking her eyes off the hunt. it helps to quell the prickling at the back of her neck as She begins pressing her will into the world She inhabits once more.]
And betray my Lady? No, no. Let this be something that we know will end with the prey escaping.
[the touch of another against her, even a simple and innocent press of weight, sends a different sort of prickle through her body. it's easier to exert her own will when it's against others in her position; She understands their roles in the Balance and won't upset them. but She doesn't have to like it. blythe lids her eyes as her smile grows.]
But if it's working, far be it from me to stop, dear Hunt. Do you enjoy knowing there are some things that are out of reach even of your sharp, slender claws?
Respectfully, lady blight - [ it's said low and dangerous, nearly growled out ] - there's nothing that escapes this beast, only things that are harried until they fall into something else's trap. It's really a shame, but it is how it is. Some things would rather struggle until their last breath than find merciful passage into oblivion, and why wouldn't they? The world they live in does the same, patterning itself after the reality it exists in. But this beast supposes that the intent of your question was something like..."do you enjoy knowing it won't be your jaws that snap shut around this miserable thing humans call existence", and to answer that question...well, the things we want most are the things we can't have. And so the hunt continues.
[ they let out a wistful sigh, ears flattening against their head a little. their expression doesn't actually change from their relaxed toothy grin, though they now seem more preoccupied with tracing little circles on blythe's shoulder with a claw than anything. ]
You know, you would be much happier with me. Not nearly so demanding and unchanging. The hunt can be anything you want it to be, so long as things do eventually end as they should.
[the words come as honey, but nothing sweet is without its price. blythe entertains the thought for less than a fraction of a second before hissing and pulling away. something stabs inside her, under her ribcage; she bends forward and starts coughing again. the blood splatters on the ground between her feet, threatening to ruin the white she's wearing as the world's euthanasia.]
[there's a thin red line spilling down her chin when she raises her head. the pain begins to subside, and she takes a moment before speaking.]
I am not interested in abandoning my Lady. Respectfully. [she still aches, a stab into a throb. more, then.] The Plague is my shepherd; I do not want. She has given me everything I could ever ask before I knew to ask for it.
[the only pain that remains strong enough to notice is in her throat, and so she sits back upright. twin reservoirs of cortisol and adrenaline fill the emptiness behind her placid, golden eyes. words that should be angry come as a plea.]
[ they laugh again, reaching the hand at blythe's shoulder forward to drag their fingertips through the streak of blood left on her chin. ]
What a good pet you are for your master! So well-trained your body won't even let you consider the prospect of slipping your collar, and so obedient your mind thinks that's a good thing.
[ there's a measure of mixed condescension and pity in their voice, smoothly masking the disgust they're obligated to feel at devotion to this. ]
Well. If you insist on being prey, this beast won't stop you.
[there's no immediate outward reaction to being touched like this, spoken to like that. in these moments, she is nearly numb inside with the reminder that the woman she loves is still the one in control.]
[she takes the hunt's wrist in her hand and looks at the blood on their fingertips. her grip is light, her fingers bony. her voice barely raises above a steady, disaffected drone.]
When you have hunted the last mite feasting on the blood of the last rabbit, broken free from the chains of the last farmer, writhing to death in your mouth, I will remain.
[blythe remembers what certain things do to her. the touch of another is meant to tingle, to soothe, to bathe her in oxytocin after months deprived. that memory, that instant, that fraction between seconds is all she ever gets before her Lady overwrites what's being sent. tells her that this is anger, this is disgust, this is wretched when it is not with Her. her heartbeat spikes. it is not the first time that blythe has disagreed with the chemicals in her body.]
I am the endurance predator. And you will not ever know what is in my mind.
[ their wrist just hangs limply in blythe's hand. they don't move at all, staring right into her eyes with the same intensity their words carry. there's amusement in their gaze, mixed with recognition and - well - more than a little bit of pity. ]
Fine, fine. This beast will leave you to rot, then. But you still do owe me.
[basic facts perceived as threats is not anything new, nor is being mocked for stating them. she's come to expect this behavior from her dear Hunt. it's that damned stare she can never get used to, like they're boring holes directly through blythe's pupils like hollow-point bullets and taking the most precise, deliberate aim possible at Her—at She, who does not bother with the chemical flood at the thought. She, who allows her vessel to know that fear.]
Yes, very well. [she slowly releases her grip and glances away as though her movements are just as patient, as though she isn't a pretender to the throne that the Hunt looms atop.] Choose one of Ours, then. An eye for an eye. [she pauses, but finds it hard to meet their stare again. her fingers press against her leg to still its tiny bounces.] Unless you'd rather not deal with blind prey.
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no subject
[she comes up short of scoffing, but pats the seat next to her in possibly the most cordial move she'll make this whole encounter.]
But the possibility of getting caught is just another part of the hunt, isn't it? Everything gets caught by something eventually, and won't it be a beautiful day when you meet something that's quick enough to get past you? [her teeth are flat, those of a mere human, but she flashes them anyway. her voice has a rasp to it that usually only comes out in the mornings, before she's spoken enough to settle it.] When you feel the hot breath of something else at your throat and you know that you're finally at the end of it all.
no subject
what actually comes out of their mouth, though, in the most obnoxious voice they can muster, is: ]
My, are you flirting with me?
no subject
And betray my Lady? No, no. Let this be something that we know will end with the prey escaping.
[the touch of another against her, even a simple and innocent press of weight, sends a different sort of prickle through her body. it's easier to exert her own will when it's against others in her position; She understands their roles in the Balance and won't upset them. but She doesn't have to like it. blythe lids her eyes as her smile grows.]
But if it's working, far be it from me to stop, dear Hunt. Do you enjoy knowing there are some things that are out of reach even of your sharp, slender claws?
no subject
[ they let out a wistful sigh, ears flattening against their head a little. their expression doesn't actually change from their relaxed toothy grin, though they now seem more preoccupied with tracing little circles on blythe's shoulder with a claw than anything. ]
You know, you would be much happier with me. Not nearly so demanding and unchanging. The hunt can be anything you want it to be, so long as things do eventually end as they should.
no subject
[there's a thin red line spilling down her chin when she raises her head. the pain begins to subside, and she takes a moment before speaking.]
I am not interested in abandoning my Lady. Respectfully. [she still aches, a stab into a throb. more, then.] The Plague is my shepherd; I do not want. She has given me everything I could ever ask before I knew to ask for it.
[the only pain that remains strong enough to notice is in her throat, and so she sits back upright. twin reservoirs of cortisol and adrenaline fill the emptiness behind her placid, golden eyes. words that should be angry come as a plea.]
Do not ask me again, Hunt.
no subject
What a good pet you are for your master! So well-trained your body won't even let you consider the prospect of slipping your collar, and so obedient your mind thinks that's a good thing.
[ there's a measure of mixed condescension and pity in their voice, smoothly masking the disgust they're obligated to feel at devotion to this. ]
Well. If you insist on being prey, this beast won't stop you.
no subject
[she takes the hunt's wrist in her hand and looks at the blood on their fingertips. her grip is light, her fingers bony. her voice barely raises above a steady, disaffected drone.]
When you have hunted the last mite feasting on the blood of the last rabbit, broken free from the chains of the last farmer, writhing to death in your mouth, I will remain.
[blythe remembers what certain things do to her. the touch of another is meant to tingle, to soothe, to bathe her in oxytocin after months deprived. that memory, that instant, that fraction between seconds is all she ever gets before her Lady overwrites what's being sent. tells her that this is anger, this is disgust, this is wretched when it is not with Her. her heartbeat spikes. it is not the first time that blythe has disagreed with the chemicals in her body.]
I am the endurance predator. And you will not ever know what is in my mind.
no subject
[ their wrist just hangs limply in blythe's hand. they don't move at all, staring right into her eyes with the same intensity their words carry. there's amusement in their gaze, mixed with recognition and - well - more than a little bit of pity. ]
Fine, fine. This beast will leave you to rot, then. But you still do owe me.
no subject
Yes, very well. [she slowly releases her grip and glances away as though her movements are just as patient, as though she isn't a pretender to the throne that the Hunt looms atop.] Choose one of Ours, then. An eye for an eye. [she pauses, but finds it hard to meet their stare again. her fingers press against her leg to still its tiny bounces.] Unless you'd rather not deal with blind prey.