10-21-2018, 08:21 PM
With every morning came a refreshed preconception of certain grief, each passing day never failing to deliver on expectations. Whether it was political tribulation, or coming across a cadaver baring but a mere portion of untouched skin, the rest eaten or wounded, Sunhaven’s status as a comfortable spot to live was quickly faltering. It was rare of the mustelid to leave his house now, owing to the incredulous magnitude of fear he was fed on a daily basis, for the possibility of becoming this mystery-predator’s next snack always held its place in the atmosphere. Every now and then, when the wolverine dared to escape the foundations of his crash pad for a breather, tosh like this transpired. Whomever dwelled in the shadows and preyed on unsuspecting Sunhavensfolk, Wendell wished to say to their ugly mug, that they were as bent as a nine-bob note. Lives were meeting their ends in a similar fashion to a fly to a flyswatter; it seemed that there was a chance you could go, just like that, murdered by a being who had much more control than you did.
Six. Six piles of flesh and bone free for anyone’s eyes to see, the rotten stench of carrion nauseating the mustelid. Six. Now, that was a little overboard, wasn’t it? He didn’t wish to look, didn’t want to see - yet he couldn’t help himself. His chocolate hues gaped at the sight, a half-dozen once-alive ‘Haveners now limp in form, remnants of their last moments fading away with each coming second. Wendell lusted for soppy tears to stream down his bristly cheeks. None came.
His lower jaw hung ever so slightly, awe at the sight plagueing his brain. This was not an act of hate, it was an act of exhilaration. He could read it by the bodies’ positions, the plentiful sod bodily fluids enclosing the stretch, and the visible feature that every body unwillingly wore: bite marks, and missing chunks of meat. Those also present included the Ichigo fellow, along with another two he hadn’t met before; and, in the corner of the horrific scene, one could spot Marina, hauling along a seventh lifeless husk.
Shock overtook forlorn Wendell. Seeing as how he was too late to do anything to save these poor sods, and of too low of status to actually call for an action that would make a change, he’d lay down, the humble chin of a wolverine’s noggin resting haphazardly on his large paws. Too weak to actually speak any words, his overwhelmed eyeballs did all the talking for him - ”please,”, they shrieked; and that was all.
Six. Six piles of flesh and bone free for anyone’s eyes to see, the rotten stench of carrion nauseating the mustelid. Six. Now, that was a little overboard, wasn’t it? He didn’t wish to look, didn’t want to see - yet he couldn’t help himself. His chocolate hues gaped at the sight, a half-dozen once-alive ‘Haveners now limp in form, remnants of their last moments fading away with each coming second. Wendell lusted for soppy tears to stream down his bristly cheeks. None came.
His lower jaw hung ever so slightly, awe at the sight plagueing his brain. This was not an act of hate, it was an act of exhilaration. He could read it by the bodies’ positions, the plentiful sod bodily fluids enclosing the stretch, and the visible feature that every body unwillingly wore: bite marks, and missing chunks of meat. Those also present included the Ichigo fellow, along with another two he hadn’t met before; and, in the corner of the horrific scene, one could spot Marina, hauling along a seventh lifeless husk.
Shock overtook forlorn Wendell. Seeing as how he was too late to do anything to save these poor sods, and of too low of status to actually call for an action that would make a change, he’d lay down, the humble chin of a wolverine’s noggin resting haphazardly on his large paws. Too weak to actually speak any words, his overwhelmed eyeballs did all the talking for him - ”please,”, they shrieked; and that was all.