Mechanical Minds (Phoenix & Dys) Feb 16, 2013 17:35:23 GMT -4
Post by Tobias 'Hybris' Kipling on Feb 16, 2013 17:35:23 GMT -4
Dogs, five in total, followed a figure in the fading light. Dusk would soon fall, a dusting of darkness before another night reigned superior over the day. They were mangy, feral creatures, dirty and scarred and barely holding any resemblance to their past selves. Most of them had been strays, not in a pack and never doing much aside from being scavengers and opportunistic eaters. The fall of humanity hadn’t been much of a stretch for them, even though they knew the lessers were neither food nor friendly creatures, but they had taken the change, understood it, and went about their routines as they always had. That was, until Hybris convinced them human flesh was as good as anything they could dig out of the debris, and he fed them on a regular basis to keep them loyal. Not much time had passed since he was given the gift of tongues by his Lord, but he had already brainwashed his own clean-up crew, who intermitted trotted closer to whisper questions. When would they eat, soon? Soon, would it be soon? Various whines escaped their matted maws, tongues hanging out and their teeth glinting in the dying daylight slightly. The small, twisted pack were not used to Hybris being so quiet, even though he was never much into talking to the animals past commands or well masked suggestion. It was true though, in how he walked, not keeping his gaze in front of him with confidence but searching the windows and signs for something. He’d pause, peering into broken storefronts or into cars, face composed of an odd hopefulness. Tucked underneath his right arm and resting against his side was already a small collection of items from the wasted city, jumbled and almost nonsensical but important to Hybris all the same. It was a project that didn’t involve the maiming and murder of innocent people, and to the simple minds of the dogs, it was utterly confusing.
The middle of Fourth Street was all but desolate, as it usually was when the sun began to dip below the horizon. It allowed him solitude to work, even though his personal scavengers had gained the attention of several lessers who regarded the animals as a good meal. As they advanced, parting around Hybris as if he was but a stone submerged in a river, they surged with primal hunger towards their targets. The pack barked nastily, shying away and trotting in the other direction, leaving their unofficial master with varied backwards glances of disappointment. He paid no real mind, only glancing back with a half smile and pleased the lessers had actually made themselves useful without his direct orders, before stopping in his tracks as a sign caught his eye.
An art store, the kind that looked out of place with its squat design while the rest of the city boasted taller architectural lines, held the shadowy glimmer of items still upon the shelves inside. There had been a decal of an easel and a paintbrush, with the name of the quaint store on the window, but that had long been worn away by time and weather. Now the glass was dusty and broken at the corner, but to Hybris, as he stood analyzing the store for a moment, it was perfect. The things he had with him were nonsensical, bundled up in their tarp wrappings and clinking slightly with each step. They were components to a ‘pendant’ for the adornment he sought to make for his reaver. A length of rounded metal from a car in the junkyard outside of the city, a small collection of stained glass from St.Peter’s church, they all were skinned in different materials, different shapes. It would hang at the hollow of her throat, more like a collar displayed for identification than for beauty, though. What he needed was something to hold the pendant around her neck, despite the lengths of chain hanging from his own throat that would have served it just fine, he needed more than that. The union of metal, cloth, leather, something to last for an eternity if it had to. His ingrained knowledge of art and its mediums made him decide it was worth a try, and without a second thought he proceeded to trudge through the disheveled doorway and into the art shop.
Gloom and enclosed darkness was something he was used to, as well as the chaotic disarray of broken ceiling, smashed shelves, and other things littering the ground floor. He looked over it all quickly as he passed along the section of the two chash registers, setting down his salvaged trinkets. The thought of how absurd this must look, a Kakai delving into the trash of humanity’s past to find crafting supplies for a necklace for his prized reaver. Not only that, but the very thought of him doing this for anyone else angered him. Two-Thirteen had made him make quite a lot of exceptions, and his only justification for it was based on the notion of rank. Others needed to know who she was, not just a common servant, a faceless enigma of strength and destruction. She was Number, and Number was his. He was proud of her, and therefore she deserved such privilege to wear his mark.