ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Ouroboros

Vignette - Ouroboros
Dramatis Personae Isra
In Absentia	2013-11-07 Isra dreams. Warning: contains graphic violence. (Part of Infected TP.)
Location <XS> Isra's Room - FL3
The sky is a black dome dotted with lights. The forest is a vast expanse of shadows cast upon shadows. Between them, Isra glides on silent wings. Though the trees crowd close, their leaves not all spent, the gargoyle's luminous green eyes search the gaps in the canopy. The wind carries missives to her ears and nose in icy whispers. Her long tail flicks and she veers into the wind, losing a little altitude and then regaining it with a few beats of massive gray wings. She adjusts course again, more subtly, and begins to descend. Her lips draw back, baring fangs in a savage grin. At this distance, even a hunter without the advantage of Isra's keen senses might notice her quarry. It is picking its way through the forest with little regard for the noise it makes. A juvenile, perhaps. An easy mark. Isra swings out to the left to approach from behind while remaining downwind. She catches glimpses of it now and then, walking upright along a deer trail with much ducking and stumbling. The canopy is too dense for a clean strike from above, so she lets the quarry get ahead--for now. Selecting a robust snag whose smaller branches have fallen away, Isra hovers with a few mighty downward strokes of her wings before settling her weight on a spot where the main trunk forks. She climbs down the snag, talons sinking deep into decaying wood. Small animals scatter before her. Oblivious of the danger, her prey continues picking its unquiet way through the woods. The gargoyle stoops low and stalks onto the deer trail, wings tucked in close to her back. As she nears, she drops down to all fours and slows to a crawl until she catches sight of her mark. It /is/ a juvenile. Its garb is formal--a tailored gray blazer and matching pleated skirt--not suited to a nocturnal hike. Long, wavy black hair, much tangled, obstructs its peripheral vision. Small cuts on its face, hands, and knees perfume the air with blood. Isra's search has been long, and her hunger great, but she is a patient hunter. She stalks her prey, moving quickly when it makes a loud noise and going still when it stops scan its surroundings. Its terror has a flavor all its own. Closer and closer she creeps, then freezes, muscles tensing and pupils dilating. The young girl turns just in time to see the winged beast uncoil from the shadow of an oak and launch itself, fangs and talons bared. She shrieks and makes to flee, but hardly gets two steps before the monster slams into her shoulder, claws ripping through her blazer and the white blouse underneath into tender flesh. Both hunter and hunted topple to the ground, their fall coushioned by an abundance of leaf litter. The girl rolls onto her side, weeping and attempting to wrench herself free. The gargoyle's wings snap down to either side to prevent her escape. Another fearsome taloned hand seizes the girl's hair, immobilizing her. The girl seems to realize just how bad this position is, for she now thrashes with renewed violence. "Noooo! Please no!" The child's screams echo through the forest. "Mother! Khalida! /Help!/" The gargoyle's canines tear into her neck, severing a carotid artery. Blood, steaming in the chilly air, rushes out in surges timed to the frantic racing of the girl's heart. She presses tiny, dirty hands to the wound, but the bleeding continues unabated between and around her fingers. Already the rhythm is beginning to flag. In the thin starlight, Isra cradles her dying meal, studying its face. The hand holding the young human's hair unclenches slowly and starts stroking its head. Long black hair, sticky and wet, comes loose in clumps. A small, bloody hand reaches up to touch Isra's cheek. All pain and fear have drained from the child's hazel-green eyes. "S-sorry..." she whispers as her eyes slide shut. Isra's eyes open and do not blink for a good thirty seconds, though their pupils contact to block out the afternoon light. She levers herself up into a sitting position with one wing and looks down at her hands. The talons tipping her long, slender fingers are clean. Her ears twitch at a noise outside that might be a snarl, and a growl issues from her own throat. She shakes her head fiercely and gets up to pace the length of her room, but stops dead when she passes before the mirror. She stares at her reflection as though she has never seen it before. Green eyes, fever-bright, stare back at her from sunken eye sockets. Clad only in a black sports bra and boy shorts, her bones are plainly visible beneath ash gray skin. Her tail lashes the air and she frowns at it. Shaking her head again, like an animal trying to shed water from its pelt, Isra turns away from the mirror and begins to dress. Her movements are mechanical and she pauses often to examine her garments as one might alien artifacts. Clothed, at last, in an unbleached linen tunic and black twill skirt, she drapes a purple shawl over her folded wings and drags herself out the door.