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A thick coat of clouds painted the sky, dark shades of grey mixing in a hazy blend. Rain threatened to pour down, the distant scent of a downpour overbearing. Pursuer huffed, dragging his body along the forest floor in a lazy manner. Claws stretched out as he dragged them against the dirt and pine needles of the ground, black scales blending well with the muted colours, spare for small wildflowers or interesting fungi that grew in the nooks and crannies of what little sunlight there was.
The predator was on the hunt for something much more than just fresh meat, however. Being keen on not being caught in the rain, Pursuer trotted in search of some kind of shelter, maybe an abandoned house. There was an odd amount of those; not enough to be common, but enough to be noticeable. Maybe it was because of his feeding habits, or rather the growing amount of kills being made within the forests he resided in.
Maybe Pursuer would be lucky and find an occupied house, satisfying both his need for a meal, and a dry place to spend his time in while the rain passed. That would be nice.
Or maybe he could come across the strange not-good-tasting civilian.
Artful– was that his name? The two had met under… unpleasant circumstances, to put it lightly. Pursuer, being hungry and craving the flavour of blood on his tongue, had attempted to hunt who he thought was easy prey. The… magic, civilian had put up a decent fight, having bashed him with… bricks, a stick of sorts, and walls that left bruises on his body for days, though having managed to live only because of the incredibly disgusting flavour of his white skin. It wasn’t salty, it wasn’t sweet, it was worse than bitter, but wasn’t sour. It was absolutely, undoubtedly putrid.
But, if he ignored the day they… met, the backwards civilian was way more willing to run than fight. Every. Single. Time. A part of the predator was disappointed at the fact, while the other… He felt glad.
That reminded him of how that… Artful attracted many more huntable civilians. He didn’t know why– maybe they hated how he tasted as well, so they hunted him down? Or maybe it was because of how he smelled– he barely smelled of anything other than… dirt? Paint? Something like that.
But even through all of that, Pursuer didn’t exactly… dislike him, per se. He just confused him. He confused him by how even after he tried eating him, he still somewhat trusted Pursuer. Even enough to take off the… white, paint? Skin? What even… What was it? Nevertheless, it still confused him.
The beast let out a huff.
Why are civilians so… confusing?
His long, thin tail whipped around as he rose from a simple trot to a gallop. He didn’t know why he wanted to go quicker, maybe it was just the underlying fear of getting absolutely drenched and wet and gross that made him rush. Bushes and leaves and random plants on the ground whipped along with him, his speed jostling the groundcover.
Pursuer was tired.
He eventually reached a fairly large clearing, grass grown long with the lack of trees. It looked nice; the low, blueish lighting accompanying the green well. Pursuer would’ve appreciated it more if it weren’t for the fact he was in an urgent rush to find shelter before what seemed like an atrociously devastating downpour.
He wished he was eating right now.
The sight of trees blurred together as Pursuer ran, in some random direction away from the storm. He distantly hoped that maybe just someone– or something familiar would show up.
He could even tolerate the magic civilian right now.
The predator willed his muscles to relax as wind nipped at his sides, speed overwhelming the air around him. The atmosphere lacked any real scent– the heavy yet distant smell of the storm invading his nearly unnoticeable nostrils.
His running slowed to a stop when he noticed a simple, brick house under the cover of an aesthetically pleasing tree, probably maple, but Pursuer didn’t know of any difference. He willed his bones to shift to accommodate the physical stress of going practically invisible, his talons shifting on the grass with no more than a soft brush. He approached the shelter, looking for anything that resembled a window, or door, eyes narrow in hunger.
There was a small space where there was missing bricks– allowing for the beast to peer within the shelter. A small, comforting fire flickered within, but there wasn’t any good view of anyone inside the little house. The only thing that gave away that there was any sort of life was the sound of blankets shuffling, and the sound of staggered breathing, most likely from sickness.
And the unbelievably familiar scent of paint.
Pursuer circled the little shelter further, finding a wooden door that probably didn’t have a lock on it. He fumbled with the handle for a moment, eventually having the contraption creak open as a very startled Artful stared at the doorway.
Oh. Yeah, he was. Not visible right now.
His bones creaked, scales and feathers and whatever else was on his body shifted back into a more comfortable position. He crawled through the doorway, staring the magician down as he laid on the floor across from him.
Artful coughed, looking away before grumbling something in French, standing up with a blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, heading towards the door to shut it. Pursuer let out a low rumble, extending his arms in front of himself and using them as a makeshift pillow.
“...Why are you even here?”
Pursuer opened an eye at that, staring at Artful with an unamused expression.
The latter huffed through his nose, opting to just stare at the small fire in the middle of the room. He took a piece of kindling set against a wall and poked at the fire, catching the thin piece aflame and shoving it inside without a second thought.
“Rooms… Warm. Feels safe, good.”
Artful stared at the predator. Pursuer grumbled, tail wrapping around himself like a blanket. The magician rolled his eyes, rubbing his– still makeup covered– face with a palm.
Pursuer stared at the magician. Really stared. He examined how rigid the magician was, how tense, how tired he seemed to be. Was he sick? Hurt? Dying?
Pursuer snapped himself out of his thoughts. Why does he care?
He and the magician were never close by any means, in regards to Pursuer's perspective. He simply saw Artful as more a… an ally, in his life. He attracted civilians, allowing him to feed. He provided shelter, even if unwilling. It was pleasant. He felt a light, fleeting sensation of safety with the magician. Maybe because he was hospitable. Or maybe because he knows the pathetic excuse of a civilian wouldn’t actually hurt him. He's much too strong to be taken down by a mere stick that can summon brick walls.
The beast wondered if the magician would lend him a blanket. He figured that if he didn’t, he could just take one. They looked soft, warm even. They looked comfortable, like a fresh patch of moss on the forest floor. He wouldn’t mind trying to nest in one. To curl up in them and sleep. It was a nice idea.
Pursuer continued to scan the small living space. Artful laid snug in an attempt of a bed, a mattress on the floor with pillows. He was nestled in blankets, as Pursuer had already noted. On the side of a wall, wood of numerous different sizes sat still, comfortably awaiting their demise in the firepit. Speaking of the firepit, it seemed to just be a large indent in the floor with stone around it as to keep the fire from spreading to the rest of the floor. In some other corner of the room, a shelf of sorts held what Pursuer believed to be books. All of different sizes and colours, it looked like a montage of random items the beast did not care enough about for it to actually pique his interest.
Pursuer turned his head to the magician as he let out a yawn, stretching in his bed before mumbling. Pursuer tilted his head, narrowing his teal eyes.
“Ah. Apologies, I forget you don’t… understand French. I was just saying good night.”
Pursuer continued to stare at the backwards civilian, bewildered. At the same time, however, he felt like he had expected that answer. He growled a low pitch, curling up in the corner opposite from Artful.
He really wanted one of those blankets. Really, really wanted one. He stared at the blankets with the best “puppy dog eyes” he could muster, wishing that they would just magically appear on top of him. Alas, that was not the case. The blankets laid still on Artful’s resting form, mocking him. Taunting him.
Pursuer took action after what felt like a millenia. He dragged himself closer to the magician, careful as to not make a sound. As to which he was familiar with, but he was still cautious. He snuck closer, reaching for a blanket.
To, despite his many efforts, was stuck in the terrifying grip of a sleeping Artful. Pursuer attempted to grab the blanket without jostling the magician, but to no avail. He stayed fast asleep, clutching one of his many blankets like a lifeline. The beast huffed.
Maybe, just maybe, he could sneak next to him, just enough to be affected by the covers, but not enough to startle the magician too much. He felt it was a fair deal.
Sleeping next to each other was safer, afterall. It allowed for more protection, warmth, and the ability to wake the other up faster. It was a perfect trade off for the cannibal. He preened random smudges of dirt off of his body, glaring at rougher patches before giving up. He slid next to the magician, a low rumble of content escaping his throat. His thin, spiked tail swished around on the floor, legs dangling off the mattress as Pursuer attempted to lay on the bed without waking the magician.
His body decompressed as he made himself comfortable, half his body on the floor, the other next to Artful. His head rested on the pillow, face mere inches away from the others. His arms were tucked under his chest, almost like a loaf.
Before the beast knew it, his exhausted frame and mind entered a thick slumber.
Pursuer awoke to a startled scream. He raised his head, blinking almost like a frog. His hazy vision cleared, now focused on a frightened Artful. His body was spread across the floor, a single foot remaining on the mattress. The man was panting, eyes blown wide with shock. There was still a blanket wrapped around him, even if the beast was on most of them. Pursuer grumbled, settling back down onto the mattress. A huff from the magician could be heard, expressing his frustration within the situation.
“…Why are you in my bed.”
The predator growled, uninterested. His tail flicked lazily, spikes grazing along the floor. Artful groaned, a palm raising to rest on his forehead. Rain pattered outside, a few droplets entering the shelter through the small window, and the hole in the ceiling let out smoke. It was calming, peaceful even, to hear the simple patter of water against the roof. The sound was grounding, if not for the fact that it was one of the most unpleasant things on the planet. It made his body sting and ache– and while he could survive it, he didn’t want to deal with it. Whatsoever.
The magician stood, fiddling with the blanket draped over his own shoulders. He glanced over to the wood pile, sighing, then dragging a piece to throw into the fire. He sniffled, eyes dreary. The wood sat there for a moment before catching flame, bark and excess pine needles burning along with it. Pursuer watched it with lazy concentration, blinking as smoke stung his eyes. Artful huffed out a cough, attempting to wave the smoke out from his face. It was an amusing sight.
It stayed like that for a while; Artful poking at the fire, Pursuer resting in the bed he stole from the magician, and the repetitive sound of rain against the ceiling. It was… nice. Comforting, is what he would probably say if it were more… or, rather, less rainy.
…However, the predator felt… empty. Not hungry empty, just… empty. Hollow. Like he was missing something, someone or just… He didn’t know.
He took another glance at the magician, it being long and dragged out. It was borderline staring.
Pursuer stretched out from where he laid, body creaking and snapping. He crawled over to the magician, half a thought in his mind. He avoided the fire, a smooth curve from the mattress to where Artful sat. He said something the predator didn’t understand, so he ignored it. He sat next to Artful, face nearing the others, breathing him in.
Still that dirty yet blank scent of his skin. Plus the salty tang of sweat and smoke, probably from the fire. All in all, it smelled undoubtedly like the backwards civilian. A pleased grin replaced his usual uncanny one. Pursuer wondered if Artful would taste different without the white on his skin, preferably good tasting. Maybe he tasted sweet, tart, bitter, delicious. Or, he tasted like paint, throughout his whole body. Pursuer dreaded that result.
Artful coughed, sitting still with an awkward air between them. He kept his eyes off of Pursuer, staring at the fire. The beast followed his eyes, huffing with a slothful interest. He looked back at the magician.
It still confused him. He didn’t understand why he was so interested in the man. Maybe it’s because he attracted food, or because he can provide shelter so easily. Or, maybe, it was because an unknown part of the back of his mind was plotting on killing him and consuming his flesh. Maybe it was because he felt comfortable in the company of the man. There were so many different reasons for why he liked the others company, but he didn’t know which one felt right. He grumbled.
His body inched closer to the magician, a subconscious act that, from what Pursuer observed, made the man shiver. He paid no heed to it, resting his head on Artful’s shoulder. He could feel the man's heartbeat, rapid and panicked. It was somewhat addicting, the feeling of something huntable beneath him, limp. He pushed the man down, body flattening atop him. The only thing that separated them was the blanket that Artful still wore around his shoulders, and his clothes. Pursuer grumbled, a low noise almost like a purr from his chest.
Artful was uncharacteristically still, spare for shallow breathing. This, while the predator had never… worried, about anything before, concerned him mildly. The man, he had watched, was much more prone to breathing heavy. When he ran, when he stood, when he laid, when he slept. He never was quiet with his breathing. But now? He was nearly silent. It was confusing, too out of the ordinary.
The beast shifted, body moreso pressed against the magician's side than anything. There was a subtle gulp of air, along with a relaxed yet shuddered sigh.
Was he choking him?
Pursuer would have probably been let known before the man could’ve died, though. He knows the backwards civilian was smarter than that. And, while Pursuer isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, he knows when something is wrong with someone.
Whatever. It was all brushed over. He didn’t need to worry himself over it too much. His tail flicked in a lazy swish, spikes clanking against each other and against the floor. It was an unsettling feeling, and sound at that. They scratched unevenly, sound coating over sound in a disarming mirage. He felt the man grumble beside him.
Pursuer couldn’t help but notice that Artful was warm. Not unbearingly sweaty warm, but warm. It was like sleeping next to a freshly mauled body in the dead of winter when he was so rudely awoken from hibernation. But, all in all, the man was comfortable. Not only as another set of eyes, but a heated pillow the beast was strangely determined to protect.
The man raised a shaky arm to Pursuer’s shoulder, rubbing the strange texture. The mix of natural slateskin with the random feather thrown here and there was… interesting, but not… unpleasant. It was swampy, and just… Pursuer. And, even with what seemed to be an absolutely disgusting hygiene routine, he was surprisingly clean.
The fire crackled as Pursuer laid next to the seemingly petrified man, if it weren’t for the hand rubbing shapes into his shoulder. It felt nice. A warm reminder that someone else was looking out for him.
Trust.
It was a silly yet crucial word in Pursuers life. He never relied on anyone, never needed to. It was something he decided to ignore for his entire existence, as if the word was foreign. He had no use for it, letting it simmer and rot in the back of his mind as he allowed himself prey to his own instincts. You don’t trust in the world he's in.
All up until he had met the backwards civilian. It was still… confusing. The idea of trusting a person that shared skin and flesh with his prey was… awkward. It wasn’t bad, though. He was smart. Strong, even if he was spindly in appearance. He was pretty even.
…Pretty?
Pursuer never thought he would use that word. But, against all odds, he did. And he used it right. The man, despite countless bruises and imperfections, was pretty. The beast had never had enough time that he willingly gave himself to look over the man. The way his face curved, the way his body folded and crumpled in different places. It was all so pretty. He was pleasant to look at, the beast concluded as he set his head back down. He wrapped himself around the magician, a confused noise being dragged out of him.
Pursuer enjoyed holding the magician. Soft, squishy, warm, and living. He also enjoyed being held by the man. He was sure, that in any other circumstance, he would have shredded the man apart and eaten him, but he didn’t. And that, to the beast, showed himself that he shouldn’t.
The beast nearly fully jumped off the floor when a screaming slap of thunder was heard. His hackles raised, standing still. Artful stared at the beast, eyes blown wide and shocked. Pursuer could feel his eyes burning holes into his body. It wasn’t comfortable in the slightest.
“…Pursuer, are you alright?”
The beast looked down, staring Artful in the eyes. The magician lifted a hand slowly, as not to startle, and rested it on the cannibal's cheek. Pursuer leaned into it slowly, still horrified from what assaulted his eardrums. The magician sighed, taking his hand away to mess with his blanket, and threw it over the beast with a half-restrained grimace. The magician sat up, legs crossed.
Pursuer settled back down, lowering his head onto Artful’s lap. The man made a startled, choked squeal, before pressing a hand on top of the cannibal's head. Pursuer couldn’t help but appreciate the gesture. It was comfortable.
The two laid like that for what seemed like hours. And it probably was hours, considering that the heavily filtered light through the clouds darkened. Every time a crack of tunder sounded, Pursuer would have flinched, and Artful brought it upon himself to calm the beast down. To the cannibal, that was the best reaction the magician could’ve had.
Pursuer eventually drifted off again, stressed and utterly freaked out. The man’s lap was warm, the blanket draped atop him was soft, and the rain had… mostly subsided, with only distant thunder rumbling the shelter. The beast, for once in his life, felt safe. And that was all he needed to enter a deep, unperturbed slumber.