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homeless_npc) wrote2022-04-03 07:30 pm
homeless_npc) wrote2022-04-03 07:30 pm
I am not a kind man
Who: Lethabo, a serial killer
When: A bit before the decision to move to America.
What: A hunter makes a mistake.
They had a snug little house; a cottage really that had been in her family for generations. Nestled in the Lusatian Highlands life was usually rather ideal honestly. The nearest town was a good half day's hike, slightly less on their sturdy cart pony (the car was very emergencies) and they traded surplus mushrooms and herbs for other staples that couldn't be grown easily. He hunted, and with only one of them eating, well, a decent kill smoked and preserved lasted most a year honestly.
Whispers when they got into town this time were worrisome though; there'd been deaths locally. By which they meant within a twenty-five kilometer radius but still. Dead people, couples in houses usually, the women seated at tables, throat slit, and men dismembered and scattered across the countryside. Some people were whispering about a rogue shifter, but the medical examiner had put that rumor down ruthlessly; no ripping, no tearing, all clean cut wounds with a weapon. There wasn't even any damn blood missing so no one was whispering about vamps either.
Someone was just damn insane. People could do awful all by themselves, no infection needed really, and that was scaring people even more.
In light of that, well, "we should stay overnight, kipepeo, head back in the daylight." Yes, it made him tired and he needed to drink more, but better they not risk some psycho deciding to tail them down the road...
...he preferred hunts be far away from their home. There were fewer complications that way. His woman was a 'good' witch, people traveled to see them when they felt the need to consult a different power, and he'd not have that complicated by police coming to their home or yard.
And sirens scared the chickens, which were a solid bitch to retrieve from ravines and woods yes.
So yes, better to stay. "There will be rain tonight." He wanted to have a look at the area from above, see if he could spot this mad hunter.
There was a couple, the Behrs, that were always happy to lend their barn and garage for overnight guests; they'd crafted an apartment in the loft for their son before he went off to college so it was an easy thing to settle the pony in after explaining his worry to their friends. Tucking his adorable butterfly in for the night was a different matter though, she was giving him the look that meant she wasn't happy at his choice.
She worried.
"One of us is a hunter my kipepeo," he assured softly. "And people are afraid. Fear curdles without a target." And turned against people, like the strange 'neighbors'.
"One night, we will not stay longer. If I find nothing I find nothing and other authorities handle this." But he was a touch sensitive blood.
And honestly he had smelled it before in this town, it simply hadn't been any of his business as it hadn't been a full body's worth he scent back then. Given how scared people were now though this killer had stepped up his timelines, probably a stress or something had broken his control somehow. Need had stepped up and punishing men alone no longer worked was how he was reading it.
"I will be back in bed soon I promise," he chuckled, tucking the thick quilts around her and stripping down to crouch in the window. A moment longer and there was a great, black bird rising into the night sky, the low rumble of thunder starting at the mountains above.
Good hunters, proper hunters, were like bees. They harvested a distance from their home in a safe, comfortable ring. This town and several of the outlying farmsteads were the 'center' of the circle as it were.
The killer was in town. He lived and worked with none the wiser because he didn't kill where he slept.
Or he didn't take townsfolk. Either or. He might have strangers brought in quietly, but had recently lost ability to get such...hence the couples. As rain started striking the street below he followed the whisper thin scent of human blood. It wasn't fresh, no one bleeding tonight, no, but he was willing to bet the man took trophies. This wasn't bruised flesh, or couples fighting, this was fear and crusted, old pain...
...it was a farmhouse just outside of town. A place like a hundred others honestly, normal, quiet, and the barn was a horror show. He'd seen a great deal in serving his old master, and in fleeing north; but there were limits.
There were...limits.
No one was home so he settled on a roof and waited, patient as rain slicked down his feathers until a truck trundled up the road. It parked at the barn doors and a man eased out of the cab to limp to the bed, prodding something gagged and bound in there...
...well then.
The Hunter HAD found a victim tonight, just not a local, a hiker by the looks of it. He let them get inside, and the hiker was hung on a hook by bound wrists...
...and he dropped on the hunter from above when he stepped back out of the barn. The hiker would be alright there for a few hours after all, terrified, but better the authorities got to see it ALL properly hmm? But the hunter, well, great, long claws were wrapping around flailing arms to scoop him into the sky.
He had thoughts.
Justice was strange in any land you didn't grow in, but the man's life didn't belong to him. More that nebulous fear in town needed a target, so they were going to a hospital. Or rather the roof of the ER as rain pounded and lightning flashed, "you are an unlucky creature," he noted simply, dropping the man to the blacktop below, the curved apron where emergency vehicles drew in. "I will not kill you." So unlucky.
The man broke something in his leg when he fell, but a moment then he pounced again, catching the man as he tried to rise and stabbing that long, dangerous beak harshly just above the man's shoulder blades. There was a crackling crunch, and the man screamed, loud enough a nurse glanced out to see the great bird launching into the sky again.
Medicine wouldn't be able to fix that injury properly, no, if the man kept use of anything below his shoulders Lethabo would be surprised. More importantly, authorities would be called due to the sighting of a creature 'punishing' a man, and his home would be checked...
...it would wrap up nicely into becoming just another urban fairytale after the newspapers let the story of a psycho killer fade.
A good nights work, yes, and it meant he could curl up in a snug little loft in a warm bed once he got back.
When: A bit before the decision to move to America.
What: A hunter makes a mistake.
They had a snug little house; a cottage really that had been in her family for generations. Nestled in the Lusatian Highlands life was usually rather ideal honestly. The nearest town was a good half day's hike, slightly less on their sturdy cart pony (the car was very emergencies) and they traded surplus mushrooms and herbs for other staples that couldn't be grown easily. He hunted, and with only one of them eating, well, a decent kill smoked and preserved lasted most a year honestly.
Whispers when they got into town this time were worrisome though; there'd been deaths locally. By which they meant within a twenty-five kilometer radius but still. Dead people, couples in houses usually, the women seated at tables, throat slit, and men dismembered and scattered across the countryside. Some people were whispering about a rogue shifter, but the medical examiner had put that rumor down ruthlessly; no ripping, no tearing, all clean cut wounds with a weapon. There wasn't even any damn blood missing so no one was whispering about vamps either.
Someone was just damn insane. People could do awful all by themselves, no infection needed really, and that was scaring people even more.
In light of that, well, "we should stay overnight, kipepeo, head back in the daylight." Yes, it made him tired and he needed to drink more, but better they not risk some psycho deciding to tail them down the road...
...he preferred hunts be far away from their home. There were fewer complications that way. His woman was a 'good' witch, people traveled to see them when they felt the need to consult a different power, and he'd not have that complicated by police coming to their home or yard.
And sirens scared the chickens, which were a solid bitch to retrieve from ravines and woods yes.
So yes, better to stay. "There will be rain tonight." He wanted to have a look at the area from above, see if he could spot this mad hunter.
There was a couple, the Behrs, that were always happy to lend their barn and garage for overnight guests; they'd crafted an apartment in the loft for their son before he went off to college so it was an easy thing to settle the pony in after explaining his worry to their friends. Tucking his adorable butterfly in for the night was a different matter though, she was giving him the look that meant she wasn't happy at his choice.
She worried.
"One of us is a hunter my kipepeo," he assured softly. "And people are afraid. Fear curdles without a target." And turned against people, like the strange 'neighbors'.
"One night, we will not stay longer. If I find nothing I find nothing and other authorities handle this." But he was a touch sensitive blood.
And honestly he had smelled it before in this town, it simply hadn't been any of his business as it hadn't been a full body's worth he scent back then. Given how scared people were now though this killer had stepped up his timelines, probably a stress or something had broken his control somehow. Need had stepped up and punishing men alone no longer worked was how he was reading it.
"I will be back in bed soon I promise," he chuckled, tucking the thick quilts around her and stripping down to crouch in the window. A moment longer and there was a great, black bird rising into the night sky, the low rumble of thunder starting at the mountains above.
Good hunters, proper hunters, were like bees. They harvested a distance from their home in a safe, comfortable ring. This town and several of the outlying farmsteads were the 'center' of the circle as it were.
The killer was in town. He lived and worked with none the wiser because he didn't kill where he slept.
Or he didn't take townsfolk. Either or. He might have strangers brought in quietly, but had recently lost ability to get such...hence the couples. As rain started striking the street below he followed the whisper thin scent of human blood. It wasn't fresh, no one bleeding tonight, no, but he was willing to bet the man took trophies. This wasn't bruised flesh, or couples fighting, this was fear and crusted, old pain...
...it was a farmhouse just outside of town. A place like a hundred others honestly, normal, quiet, and the barn was a horror show. He'd seen a great deal in serving his old master, and in fleeing north; but there were limits.
There were...limits.
No one was home so he settled on a roof and waited, patient as rain slicked down his feathers until a truck trundled up the road. It parked at the barn doors and a man eased out of the cab to limp to the bed, prodding something gagged and bound in there...
...well then.
The Hunter HAD found a victim tonight, just not a local, a hiker by the looks of it. He let them get inside, and the hiker was hung on a hook by bound wrists...
...and he dropped on the hunter from above when he stepped back out of the barn. The hiker would be alright there for a few hours after all, terrified, but better the authorities got to see it ALL properly hmm? But the hunter, well, great, long claws were wrapping around flailing arms to scoop him into the sky.
He had thoughts.
Justice was strange in any land you didn't grow in, but the man's life didn't belong to him. More that nebulous fear in town needed a target, so they were going to a hospital. Or rather the roof of the ER as rain pounded and lightning flashed, "you are an unlucky creature," he noted simply, dropping the man to the blacktop below, the curved apron where emergency vehicles drew in. "I will not kill you." So unlucky.
The man broke something in his leg when he fell, but a moment then he pounced again, catching the man as he tried to rise and stabbing that long, dangerous beak harshly just above the man's shoulder blades. There was a crackling crunch, and the man screamed, loud enough a nurse glanced out to see the great bird launching into the sky again.
Medicine wouldn't be able to fix that injury properly, no, if the man kept use of anything below his shoulders Lethabo would be surprised. More importantly, authorities would be called due to the sighting of a creature 'punishing' a man, and his home would be checked...
...it would wrap up nicely into becoming just another urban fairytale after the newspapers let the story of a psycho killer fade.
A good nights work, yes, and it meant he could curl up in a snug little loft in a warm bed once he got back.