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+---- Thread: Retract the claws [o] (/showthread.php?tid=11135)
Retract the claws [o] - CAUSTIC. - 01-27-2020
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CAUSTIC
// CW for blood and violence!
Without his toxin, without the games, without test subjects, without Octane, what was Caustic supposed to do with himself? He needed gear, equipment, test subjects, and supplies. Caustic found himself limited on all fronts. His lack of hands possibly held him back the most. Even if he was able to collect everything, the chemicals, a mask, rats, beakers and various lab equipment, he could not handle highly-toxic poisons, fragments of a deadly, beautiful toxin that had be stitched together with the utmost care and gentle touch.
Caustic's only tenderness survived in his work, each trap and the toxin that filled them combined into a beautiful, gaseous death. He thought of Mirage's stupid face twisting into pain as NOX gas filled his lungs, skin peeling back and blood filling his lungs. Bloodhound's red eyes watching Caustic from outside the gas, the hunter locking onto him, feral snarl and all, emptying a Flatline into his chest, and the scientist Peacekeepered them in response. With Bloodhound down, he had turned his attention back to Mirage, the trickster attempting to crawl away. Caustic's boot slammed onto his back, telltale snapping of bones under his strength, Elliot coughing blood and meeting Caustic's crazed gaze out of the corner of his eye.
That's it. That's what Caustic lived for. The fear in the final moments before death, wide eyes and struggling to breathe. He knew, as fear froze on their faces in the moments before the kill, but Caustic knew they were thankful for the end of their suffering.
Revision of the memory brought a shudder through Caustic's body, his shoulders rolling, fur raising and falling. Few things brought Caustic genuine joy, chemistry and death. The bloody murder was his favorite part. Green smoke left his mouth, and Caustic stood from the mat he currently called a bed.
Oh, how he hated living in here. The treehouse was too exposed. It was too close to everyone else and the temples, and Caustic desired to be left alone with his work. Blue eyes scanned his empty home.
There wasn't anything here to work on. Caustic watched the green gas leave his nose, curling into the air and disappearing. A saving grace. An untested variable. He needed to know if the gas exuded from his face was still toxic, and maybe he could still have something to live for. Alexander's entire identity of Caustic relied on the power of his gas, without it, who was he?
Caustic left his home in the dead of night, carefully stepping down the stairs and trying to avoid tripping over his bad paw. His next task would be to make a prosthetic to replace his missing digits, he decided. His current quest took higher priority. He needed something alive. The wolf trudged his way into the jungle, mouth held closed to avoid revealing himself. Green still smoked from his nose, and he hoped it would not get it his way. He was severely limited on prey in the jungle- they had to be on the ground and most of the smaller animals could climb or fly. He had to be careful, quiet, and precise. Even something small would do.
It had taken him time, but Caustic's eyes were soon on a monkey. It couldn't be that old, especially if it was foolish enough to be on the ground. He thought of how to approach it, he would need to be fast, but he couldn't be forceful. He needed it alive. The wolf threw himself, paw landing on torso and jaws clamping- as gently as possible- on its chest. It screamed in his hold, slapping his face and biting his ear. Caustic moved, putting his weight on the monkey to hold it down, ripping his ear from its jaws in a squirt of blood. He sucked in a breath with gritted teeth. He held it down, as it continued screaming.
"Off! Off!"
It was prey. His test subjects speaking had never stopped him before. Caustic brought his face close, teeth bared. "Struggling will make it worse." It stopped for the briefest of moments, letting Caustic take in a large breath of air, and blow a cloud of green gas into the monkey's face.
His ears perked forward and expression softened, he was ready to hear the sounds of struggle, gasping, fear-
A cough, then screaming. Uninterrupted screaming. It started slapping his face and pulling on his lips as shock took over Caustic's brain.
It didn't work.
His vision went red, white hot anger filled his blood as his jaws snapped forward on the primate's skull, crushing it. Caustic felt the blood and fur fill his mouth, green gas spewing out in hot fury, filling the cavity of the primate. He threw it down, growling overtaking him biting into the prey's skin, ripping it away in a mess of blood. His face scrunched, consciousnesses giving him only the slightest moment of clarity-
What am I doing?
This was his test subject, already deemed a failure, but the wolf... killing in this way was barbaric. It was savagery in a way Caustic had never done. Punching and choking were one thing, but ripping, tearing, and biting were all too familiar to the body he now inhabited. He sat back, tail wrapping around him, gas smoking from his face in a sickly cloud as he looked at the remains of the primate, it was still mostly intact, except for its head.
"Observational studies of NOX gas post-transformation, number one," he sucked in air, letting another cloud bellow from him. "Test subject terminated. No reaction upon exposure to the chemical, further testing will be required."
// No need to match!
// TLDR Caustic feels he has no purpose in life without his gas and goes into the jungle to test it on prey (a monkey). It struggles, and Caustic blows the green gas from his body into it's face. It doesn't react, and Caustic crushes its skull in his jaws. He is now sitting and looking over the corpse, speaking the conclusion of the test to himself. You might be able to get a good gist of the situation from the last 2-4 paragraphs.
Without his toxin, without the games, without test subjects, without Octane, what was Caustic supposed to do with himself? He needed gear, equipment, test subjects, and supplies. Caustic found himself limited on all fronts. His lack of hands possibly held him back the most. Even if he was able to collect everything, the chemicals, a mask, rats, beakers and various lab equipment, he could not handle highly-toxic poisons, fragments of a deadly, beautiful toxin that had be stitched together with the utmost care and gentle touch.
Caustic's only tenderness survived in his work, each trap and the toxin that filled them combined into a beautiful, gaseous death. He thought of Mirage's stupid face twisting into pain as NOX gas filled his lungs, skin peeling back and blood filling his lungs. Bloodhound's red eyes watching Caustic from outside the gas, the hunter locking onto him, feral snarl and all, emptying a Flatline into his chest, and the scientist Peacekeepered them in response. With Bloodhound down, he had turned his attention back to Mirage, the trickster attempting to crawl away. Caustic's boot slammed onto his back, telltale snapping of bones under his strength, Elliot coughing blood and meeting Caustic's crazed gaze out of the corner of his eye.
That's it. That's what Caustic lived for. The fear in the final moments before death, wide eyes and struggling to breathe. He knew, as fear froze on their faces in the moments before the kill, but Caustic knew they were thankful for the end of their suffering.
Revision of the memory brought a shudder through Caustic's body, his shoulders rolling, fur raising and falling. Few things brought Caustic genuine joy, chemistry and death. The bloody murder was his favorite part. Green smoke left his mouth, and Caustic stood from the mat he currently called a bed.
Oh, how he hated living in here. The treehouse was too exposed. It was too close to everyone else and the temples, and Caustic desired to be left alone with his work. Blue eyes scanned his empty home.
There wasn't anything here to work on. Caustic watched the green gas leave his nose, curling into the air and disappearing. A saving grace. An untested variable. He needed to know if the gas exuded from his face was still toxic, and maybe he could still have something to live for. Alexander's entire identity of Caustic relied on the power of his gas, without it, who was he?
Caustic left his home in the dead of night, carefully stepping down the stairs and trying to avoid tripping over his bad paw. His next task would be to make a prosthetic to replace his missing digits, he decided. His current quest took higher priority. He needed something alive. The wolf trudged his way into the jungle, mouth held closed to avoid revealing himself. Green still smoked from his nose, and he hoped it would not get it his way. He was severely limited on prey in the jungle- they had to be on the ground and most of the smaller animals could climb or fly. He had to be careful, quiet, and precise. Even something small would do.
It had taken him time, but Caustic's eyes were soon on a monkey. It couldn't be that old, especially if it was foolish enough to be on the ground. He thought of how to approach it, he would need to be fast, but he couldn't be forceful. He needed it alive. The wolf threw himself, paw landing on torso and jaws clamping- as gently as possible- on its chest. It screamed in his hold, slapping his face and biting his ear. Caustic moved, putting his weight on the monkey to hold it down, ripping his ear from its jaws in a squirt of blood. He sucked in a breath with gritted teeth. He held it down, as it continued screaming.
"Off! Off!"
It was prey. His test subjects speaking had never stopped him before. Caustic brought his face close, teeth bared. "Struggling will make it worse." It stopped for the briefest of moments, letting Caustic take in a large breath of air, and blow a cloud of green gas into the monkey's face.
His ears perked forward and expression softened, he was ready to hear the sounds of struggle, gasping, fear-
A cough, then screaming. Uninterrupted screaming. It started slapping his face and pulling on his lips as shock took over Caustic's brain.
It didn't work.
His vision went red, white hot anger filled his blood as his jaws snapped forward on the primate's skull, crushing it. Caustic felt the blood and fur fill his mouth, green gas spewing out in hot fury, filling the cavity of the primate. He threw it down, growling overtaking him biting into the prey's skin, ripping it away in a mess of blood. His face scrunched, consciousnesses giving him only the slightest moment of clarity-
What am I doing?
This was his test subject, already deemed a failure, but the wolf... killing in this way was barbaric. It was savagery in a way Caustic had never done. Punching and choking were one thing, but ripping, tearing, and biting were all too familiar to the body he now inhabited. He sat back, tail wrapping around him, gas smoking from his face in a sickly cloud as he looked at the remains of the primate, it was still mostly intact, except for its head.
"Observational studies of NOX gas post-transformation, number one," he sucked in air, letting another cloud bellow from him. "Test subject terminated. No reaction upon exposure to the chemical, further testing will be required."
// No need to match!
// TLDR Caustic feels he has no purpose in life without his gas and goes into the jungle to test it on prey (a monkey). It struggles, and Caustic blows the green gas from his body into it's face. It doesn't react, and Caustic crushes its skull in his jaws. He is now sitting and looking over the corpse, speaking the conclusion of the test to himself. You might be able to get a good gist of the situation from the last 2-4 paragraphs.
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Re: Retract the claws [o] - fulzanin - 01-31-2020
decisions to decisions are made and not bought
Death was something that instinct avoided. Death was something that instinct existed to prevent. It was the preservation of self, the way that creatures could survive with little intensity of mental power. Instinct was what kept simple minded Astiar alive. He was a bug thrown into the body of a massive beast. He was horrifically simple. Driven by instinct in near entirety. The only exemption was curiosity, his sole deviance from the basis of survival. Curiosity was the mindset that drove him to prod at things that before he would have entirely ignored. Curiosity was the motivator for growth, usually. The desire to know what something was. It was simple curiosity, but the mentality nonetheless was possessed by the cicada. New people he was curious about. Were they truly part of the hive? Or were they visitors? Were they the same people that had burned down the jungle? Or were they simply arriving in the aftermath? All those questions were barely able to be formed by Astiar's simplistic mind. They all revolved around grouping. Cicadas, after all, were swarming creatures. They valued security in numbers. Knowing those in those numbers was a little bit beyond normal cicada comprehension. Astiar, of course, was no ordinary cicada. He was big, draconic, and while he looked like a cicada he also did not. His mind was that of one, but his body was that of another.
One thing that would forever and always remain the same was the diet that Astiar possessed. Trees, bushes, branches, roots - plant matter. That was all he could eat comfortably. Meat was an option, but it was not highly valued. The few attempts had either been entirely wrong (such as accidentally kidnapping a child), had tasted horrific, or had made the dragon feel uncomfortable. He stuck to eating plant matter. Such was hard when the jungle was burned, trees stripped of their nutrition. There was nothing for him to eat around here. Hearing screaming, noise, was what warranted his approach. Noisy as ever, buzzing rapidly. He remembered the other vaguely. New hive member. A new member of the collective, the many, the group that protects their own. Wasn't he? He was new, but Astiar's simple mind simply had to put two and two together in a way that was simple, efficient, and worked. His head craned down a little, mostly to try and figure out what was causing the screaming that had brought him over. The monkey was crushed. The implications didn't register in his mind. He'd seen plenty of prey in the food pile before, killed in various different ways. A loud chittering noise sounded from the cicada. Curious.
The clouds of strange gas confused him. He would have gotten closer to swat at the colored air, but he didn't want to accidentally swat another member of the hive. Hurting another member of the hive would have been horrific. The hive protected each other. Hurting was exactly against that implication, and Astiar's mind fully understood it. Another chitter, louder, burned leg clawing at the dirt. Confusion, curiosity. "SMALL NO FOOD HIVE BURN NO LIGHT SMALL GREETING BURN FOOD." Astiar hadn't spoken to this member of the hive yet - not in any comprehensible way. The buzzes, chitters, and movements were all methods of communication that only he understood. The mental screeching that the dragon used to communicate was just as loud and noisy as his physical presence was. He greeted and commented in his own simple way. Did he understand the scope of the other's dilemma? No. It was debatable if he'd grasp it even if he was told it. He simply was drawn in by noise, a concern that another member of the hive had been hurt and had warranted the noise. He knew the noises of pain well - the burn on his front leg having been the reason for grasping his own methods of submission. Astiar's head lowered a little more. Was the head gone? The hive member did not seem hurt. The prey, on the other hand, certainly wasn't moving around anymore. A softer chitter sounded, stark in comparison to the mental screech that the dragon presented moments prior.
One thing that would forever and always remain the same was the diet that Astiar possessed. Trees, bushes, branches, roots - plant matter. That was all he could eat comfortably. Meat was an option, but it was not highly valued. The few attempts had either been entirely wrong (such as accidentally kidnapping a child), had tasted horrific, or had made the dragon feel uncomfortable. He stuck to eating plant matter. Such was hard when the jungle was burned, trees stripped of their nutrition. There was nothing for him to eat around here. Hearing screaming, noise, was what warranted his approach. Noisy as ever, buzzing rapidly. He remembered the other vaguely. New hive member. A new member of the collective, the many, the group that protects their own. Wasn't he? He was new, but Astiar's simple mind simply had to put two and two together in a way that was simple, efficient, and worked. His head craned down a little, mostly to try and figure out what was causing the screaming that had brought him over. The monkey was crushed. The implications didn't register in his mind. He'd seen plenty of prey in the food pile before, killed in various different ways. A loud chittering noise sounded from the cicada. Curious.
The clouds of strange gas confused him. He would have gotten closer to swat at the colored air, but he didn't want to accidentally swat another member of the hive. Hurting another member of the hive would have been horrific. The hive protected each other. Hurting was exactly against that implication, and Astiar's mind fully understood it. Another chitter, louder, burned leg clawing at the dirt. Confusion, curiosity. "SMALL NO FOOD HIVE BURN NO LIGHT SMALL GREETING BURN FOOD." Astiar hadn't spoken to this member of the hive yet - not in any comprehensible way. The buzzes, chitters, and movements were all methods of communication that only he understood. The mental screeching that the dragon used to communicate was just as loud and noisy as his physical presence was. He greeted and commented in his own simple way. Did he understand the scope of the other's dilemma? No. It was debatable if he'd grasp it even if he was told it. He simply was drawn in by noise, a concern that another member of the hive had been hurt and had warranted the noise. He knew the noises of pain well - the burn on his front leg having been the reason for grasping his own methods of submission. Astiar's head lowered a little more. Was the head gone? The hive member did not seem hurt. The prey, on the other hand, certainly wasn't moving around anymore. A softer chitter sounded, stark in comparison to the mental screech that the dragon presented moments prior.
control yourself and take only what you need from it
TAGS 9/4/19:
Re: Retract the claws [o] - CAUSTIC. - 02-01-2020
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CAUSTIC
Caustic could hear the Cicada-Dragon long before its approach. He wasn't entirely a fan of it, and had little interest in it beyond scientific research. It was strange to him, and Caustic tried to recall some of the venomous creatures of Gaea, or the Volaticus locustodraco of King's Canyon. It was inconsequentially stupid. Caustic knew this was evident in it's lack of language, and the amounts of lights flickering in its eyes.
Maybe that's what he could entertain himself with, studying the creatures here. Why should he bother with studying a world he had full intentions to leave? This dimension wouldn't hold any significance to his work, and until Caustic knew it was impossible to escape, he would not bother with such trivial manners. Caustic found himself leaning back, gas pluming from his face.
When Caustic referred to his... acquaintances (not clanmates. He wasn't a savage. They did not mean anything to him.) as insects, he was talking about this creature in specific. It didn't hold any interest to Caustic besides being a nuisance.
Killing insects was his job once. Then Alexander needed living subjects. Then Caustic was born and the blood sport had never made him feel more alive.
"Greetings...." He didn't know its name.
Maybe that's what he could entertain himself with, studying the creatures here. Why should he bother with studying a world he had full intentions to leave? This dimension wouldn't hold any significance to his work, and until Caustic knew it was impossible to escape, he would not bother with such trivial manners. Caustic found himself leaning back, gas pluming from his face.
When Caustic referred to his... acquaintances (not clanmates. He wasn't a savage. They did not mean anything to him.) as insects, he was talking about this creature in specific. It didn't hold any interest to Caustic besides being a nuisance.
Killing insects was his job once. Then Alexander needed living subjects. Then Caustic was born and the blood sport had never made him feel more alive.
"Greetings...." He didn't know its name.
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Re: Retract the claws [o] - fulzanin - 02-09-2020
decisions to decisions are made and not bought
Astiar's simple mindset was clear with the glossy red eyes that he possessed. There was no pupil within the red void that allowed him to see the world around him. It was similar to that of the bug that he had once been, a compound set of eyes that easily allowed him to see in many different ways at the same time. Or, perhaps, the glossy red color was simply to protect his actual eyes within. Blinking was rare with him, done with a clear third eyelid that allowed for sight to constantly be vigilant and without pause with how he saw the world.
Slowly his head craned down a little more in order to better see the crushed article of prey. The blood surprised him, antennae flickering as his massive head recoiled back. Chittering noises parted from his mandibles, aiding the sharp movement backwards. Then they curled, noting the other's reciprocated word towards him. "GREETING," Astiar repeated. His name, not even he really knew of it. He responded to it, but it had been bestowed to him after a lengthy amount of time had passed within his presence in the Pitt. His tail curled, awkwardly resting on the ground behind him. A click of his mandibles and the tilt of his head, both movements seeking to convey a curious deposition. "IS FOOD," he then shrieked. Perhaps it was meant to be a question - accompanied by using his talons to gesture towards the crushed item - but his tone was still bland and monotonous. It was young and new to being used, and Astiar had yet to learn how tone worked other than interpreting the tones of other's. A short buzz of his wings followed his mental shriek, the set of four wings fanning briefly in the air before ceasing in their movement.
Slowly his head craned down a little more in order to better see the crushed article of prey. The blood surprised him, antennae flickering as his massive head recoiled back. Chittering noises parted from his mandibles, aiding the sharp movement backwards. Then they curled, noting the other's reciprocated word towards him. "GREETING," Astiar repeated. His name, not even he really knew of it. He responded to it, but it had been bestowed to him after a lengthy amount of time had passed within his presence in the Pitt. His tail curled, awkwardly resting on the ground behind him. A click of his mandibles and the tilt of his head, both movements seeking to convey a curious deposition. "IS FOOD," he then shrieked. Perhaps it was meant to be a question - accompanied by using his talons to gesture towards the crushed item - but his tone was still bland and monotonous. It was young and new to being used, and Astiar had yet to learn how tone worked other than interpreting the tones of other's. A short buzz of his wings followed his mental shriek, the set of four wings fanning briefly in the air before ceasing in their movement.
control yourself and take only what you need from it
TAGS 9/4/19: