toothaches | RYSLIG IC INBOX

Things have been going well for Fiddleford lately. Incredibly well, in fact. He's fully untangled himself from the second cult he's found himself at the helm of, he's started seeing a doctor for the mess that is his head, and things have never been better with his boyfriend. Fiancé. That still doesn't feel quite real.

Of course no matter how good things are, there is still the unpleasantness of hunger. After two years he's become accustomed to the regular gnawing feeling and the insistent reminders from the foreign instinct he's dubbed his 'snake brain'. He doesn't like to think that killing people has become routine, but... killing people has become routine. It's had to for him to be able to keep doing it without losing his mind completely. He has to eat to live. He has to eat to keep in control of himself. It's not a wholly-evil act.

It's easiest by the water. Any human foolhardy enough to go down to the lake in the dark, alone, must know and accept the risks. It's not difficult to keep watch on the shore and intercept would-be fishermen before they can even cast off properly. Here in the dark and far from the city he doesn't have to worry about being interrupted when he's got a full-grown human halfway down his throat.

Usually. Usually he doesn't have to worry about that.

It had been a long, hard few months. He couldn't decide if he felt better or worse about being a monster out in public. About being known about. The green cast of his skin and his long weedy hair marked him as a waterhorse and everyone in Bavon who had a brain in their head made sure to steer clear of him in the rain.

Rain. Something it hadn't done in a while, not really since winter set in right and proper. Maurice was starting to feel a weird nagging feeling--a different one from the budding hunger that had sprouted in the back of his head. He needed to be near water. The hotel room tub just didn't do it for him, even now that he could properly fit in it. He hand't been this thin since he was eighteen years old and he wished he felt better about it. Instead when he saw himself in shop windows, he saw a stranger with loose skin and baggy eyes.

He needed to get out of the city.

And so he walked, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around himself, boots dragging in the slush one foot in front of the other. And he walked that way for...he couldn't even remember. He didn't even remember what day he'd set out. If Ryslig birthed zombies, he would have been a dead ringer for one as his shuffling footfalls echoed across the lake's surface. Maurice's ears twitched at the sound of birds. He hadn't realized he'd been missing that in Bavan. The trees smelled nice--damp bark, decaying leaves. Maybe this was where he was meant to be.

Then he rounded a large birch that leaned over the water's edge and beheld...some bullshit.

For the first time in months, Maurice Hutch's ears stood STRAIGHT UP and he let out a little squealing snort. It actually took him several hot seconds to process what he was seeing. Maybe if Fiddleford's head was more snake-like and less human-like, it'd be easier to digest. Haha. But no. The Kelpie froze with his breath caught in his throat.

It's probably a good thing that Fiddleford lost the lights that used to shine from his body when he cut his Arcade keycard in half, because when his slitted pupils snap toward the source of that snort they aren't accompanied by an eerie blue glow. This is already a disturbing enough image as it is, and he knows that, which is why he makes a sort of distressed gurgle around the legs sticking out of his bizarrely contorted face. He's never actually seen what it looks like when he does the whole 'unhinge your jaw and butterfly open your ribs and swallow a whole human' trick and he doesn't ever really want to, but he has to imagine it's very unfun to see without warning.

In the absence of any sort of ability to explain or reassure vocally, he holds up a hand in a way that might be meant to communicate 'it's okay, you're not next' or maybe just 'hold on a second my mouth is full'.

HEY BOSSMAN

BOSS

BOSSEROONIE

I KNOW UR THERE BOSS

_{[... yeah she's trying to text Greed for something really stupid, like another plea for permission to use dry ice again.]}

hello??????????????????????

_{[There is a long, long pause.]}

o shit lol ur not the boss

_{[For a moment Maurice thinks that's that but here comes another reply.]}

no im the hoss

i dont kno any of those

who r u

just a dude. wy artn you asleep

wait

i know ur screenname!!!

sleep is 4 the weak

wait a minute u do??

wow its a small world after all

your the one who kept saying stupid shit abt green beans!!

go awy

OH SHIT ITS U LOL

GREENBEAN

as soon as i find how im blocking u i dont need this on top of everything else!!!

did ur hair rly become green beans i have 2 kno

NO!!! ITS NASTY GRASS LIKE EVERY OTHER KELPY

but see i was rite about it bein a plant

i sewar 2 god if i find out what you look like im gonna eat you

if we have to eat people it might as well be you!!!!

cant eat me im a bear

i eat ponies 4 breakfast

_{[On the internet, no one knows you're lying about what kind of monster you are.]}

I WILLE AT U IF I HAVE TO EAT YOU ONE BONE AT A TIME!!!!!!!!

umwow ur dum dont u kno that bears dont have bones??

_{[On the internet, NO ONE KNOWS YOU'RE SPREADING FALSE INFORMATION ABOUT BEARS]}

The gesture ushers another little alarmed sound out of Maurice and he shakes himself. That gesture was so...familiar. In this unfamiliar situation. The colors and warped flesh and cloth all melded together in his vision as it blurred from hunger. But then another detail snapped into crystal clarity and that was the tiny lil glasses perched on the naga's nose.

So normal.

So out of place.

Just some fucko in glasses eatin' a dude in the woods. Just like Jhonez cooly adjusting his stupid glasses on public television as though he hadn't stabbed Maurice eight times. Some hair thin filament somewhere inside Maurice broke in two with a delicate ping sound.

In a fluid motion, Maurice whipped out a green arm, wrapped his fingers around the point of a cypress knee, and snapped it off to form a long, cruel club.

um!!!

actually!!!!

one of my friends is a bear and she super has bones so

nice try

im gonna make stew out of yours just like mom used to make

well ur friend must b a genetic anomaly bcuz i definitely dont have bones

gonna slither under ur door in hte night and chew on ur hoofs

i dont even have hoofes!!!

or a door!

i dont even know why im talking to you!!

bcuz its 5 in the morning and u obviously hav nothing better 2 do

how the fuck can u b a horse without hoofs

RYSLIG IC INBOX

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