Post by Yaksha Dokuja on Jun 12, 2019 23:08:58 GMT -5
Is this how it feels? This tearing, gnawing sensation? I thought it was bad before, but compared to now there's nothing that can make it go away.
Yaksha walked with a rigid posture that he never would've imagined himself having even a few weeks ago. His every limb swung with an exaggerated slowness, like a puppet on strings. He felt as if a stiff breeze would burst him apart at any moment, as if he were going to split apart along some invisible seam and start leaking all manner of hideous humors into the open air. Each person he passed caused him to start, limbs twitching faintly, almost imperceptibly, with leashed motion. It was as if stillness was beyond him, as if some lightning had suffused his body and left him without agency any longer. He was used to walking amongst humans as if he -belonged-, as if he were waiting at any moment for that glimmer of recognition that came in the eyes of a mortal who had spotted him, and knew exactly what they were looking at. Now, if someone were to spot him...he wasn't sure how he'd react.
Evolution is meant to make one more suitable for their preferred environment, isn't it? One doesn't evolve with the expectation of leaving their niche. But every time I look at them...
He focused on the image in his head, the place that he was heading at this very moment. He had gone there, or places like it, countless times in the past. Never quite with the same intent that he had today, but...times change, don't they? And people change, too. Yaksha certainly had changed. He glanced at his own shoulders, where the long sleek scales he had once grown seemed to have feathers peeking out of them in various spots. It gave him a feel rather like a dinosaur, or what he understood most people now claimed dinosaurs looked like. Some odd combination of avian features had entered into him since his last evolution, and now he looked far more at home on two legs than he had. So why, then, couldn't he -use- them? Why did every step leave him feeling like he was being crushed under his own weight? Why did he have to grit his teeth just to lift his head above the level he needed to glance at people's feet? Walking ramrod straight, head canted directly down, it was almost pitiful to watch. Like someone who feared touching a person near him.
How could it have been that simple? That easy? Five minutes, ten, perhaps twenty? No, there was no way it had been more than twenty. I remember that much, at least. The position of the sun, and...shadows...and other things. Yes, no more than twenty minutes. And the world had turned into Hell on Earth. How can humans always be resting -that close- to oblivion? How can anyone stomach that level of instability? Is this the cost of power? This...fire that consumes me, at the same time it compels me to feed it?
Finally, his destination in sight, Yaksha's resolve broke. He entered into a lurching gallop that left his limbs freely flailing, strings cut now. He charged forward, heedless of even the faintest distraction. His focus on the building was almost hideous in its intensity, almost as hideous as the faint drops of liquid that he left behind him, flung around by the stilted motion of his limbs. His shambling motion was deceptively fast, leaving him on the doorstep in only a couple of seconds, before he fell straight through the doorway, letting out an anguished wail that would've raised the hackles of most apex predators. He lifted both of his hands, staring at them. They had lost their bladed edges, turning into something nimbler, better-suited to manipulating objects, something that most people would've been happy to look upon. And yet for him, when he looked at them, all he could think of was Lady Macbeth.
"Out Damned Spot..."
He clenched his fists, hard enough that he could feel it all the way to his elbows, and then began to walk down the pews of unsuspecting humans. There weren't very many; it was apparently a bad time for religion. Oh, if only Yaksha could tell them...but then again, he'd probably have no idea what words to say right now. His mind was all scrambled, his command over tongues both alive and dead feeling as unsteady as his motion, as he stumbled towards the confessional booth, sinking into it without ever bothering to open the door. He expected no reply, but all the same there was something comforting about this secluded place, one designed for wicked souls to unburden themselves.
"Hail Mary, full of grace."
Yaksha walked with a rigid posture that he never would've imagined himself having even a few weeks ago. His every limb swung with an exaggerated slowness, like a puppet on strings. He felt as if a stiff breeze would burst him apart at any moment, as if he were going to split apart along some invisible seam and start leaking all manner of hideous humors into the open air. Each person he passed caused him to start, limbs twitching faintly, almost imperceptibly, with leashed motion. It was as if stillness was beyond him, as if some lightning had suffused his body and left him without agency any longer. He was used to walking amongst humans as if he -belonged-, as if he were waiting at any moment for that glimmer of recognition that came in the eyes of a mortal who had spotted him, and knew exactly what they were looking at. Now, if someone were to spot him...he wasn't sure how he'd react.
Evolution is meant to make one more suitable for their preferred environment, isn't it? One doesn't evolve with the expectation of leaving their niche. But every time I look at them...
He focused on the image in his head, the place that he was heading at this very moment. He had gone there, or places like it, countless times in the past. Never quite with the same intent that he had today, but...times change, don't they? And people change, too. Yaksha certainly had changed. He glanced at his own shoulders, where the long sleek scales he had once grown seemed to have feathers peeking out of them in various spots. It gave him a feel rather like a dinosaur, or what he understood most people now claimed dinosaurs looked like. Some odd combination of avian features had entered into him since his last evolution, and now he looked far more at home on two legs than he had. So why, then, couldn't he -use- them? Why did every step leave him feeling like he was being crushed under his own weight? Why did he have to grit his teeth just to lift his head above the level he needed to glance at people's feet? Walking ramrod straight, head canted directly down, it was almost pitiful to watch. Like someone who feared touching a person near him.
How could it have been that simple? That easy? Five minutes, ten, perhaps twenty? No, there was no way it had been more than twenty. I remember that much, at least. The position of the sun, and...shadows...and other things. Yes, no more than twenty minutes. And the world had turned into Hell on Earth. How can humans always be resting -that close- to oblivion? How can anyone stomach that level of instability? Is this the cost of power? This...fire that consumes me, at the same time it compels me to feed it?
Finally, his destination in sight, Yaksha's resolve broke. He entered into a lurching gallop that left his limbs freely flailing, strings cut now. He charged forward, heedless of even the faintest distraction. His focus on the building was almost hideous in its intensity, almost as hideous as the faint drops of liquid that he left behind him, flung around by the stilted motion of his limbs. His shambling motion was deceptively fast, leaving him on the doorstep in only a couple of seconds, before he fell straight through the doorway, letting out an anguished wail that would've raised the hackles of most apex predators. He lifted both of his hands, staring at them. They had lost their bladed edges, turning into something nimbler, better-suited to manipulating objects, something that most people would've been happy to look upon. And yet for him, when he looked at them, all he could think of was Lady Macbeth.
"Out Damned Spot..."
He clenched his fists, hard enough that he could feel it all the way to his elbows, and then began to walk down the pews of unsuspecting humans. There weren't very many; it was apparently a bad time for religion. Oh, if only Yaksha could tell them...but then again, he'd probably have no idea what words to say right now. His mind was all scrambled, his command over tongues both alive and dead feeling as unsteady as his motion, as he stumbled towards the confessional booth, sinking into it without ever bothering to open the door. He expected no reply, but all the same there was something comforting about this secluded place, one designed for wicked souls to unburden themselves.
"Hail Mary, full of grace."
