you see a lot, doctor. - Printable Version

They were silent now, the voices. And she was desperate for them. She had not heard them, not in months. They had left her alone, but they were here, that was good, that was good...
xxxxBut as she thought of them, they did not come. Clarice ground her teeth together, gnashed her jaws. It had been a long time since she had felt so terribly powerful. She knew they were coming back to her, could feel them near, but they would not speak yet. Clarice lifts her head. She had been Freyja, for a while—
xxxxBut as they spoke to her again, she knew her name. She knew her name was Clarice.

(Someone is coming. They are moving. They are... old.)
xxxxHer head snaps as she hears the voice before she sees the man, smells the age before she knows he is even there; and then there is a second where she remembers nothing at all, a woman possessed. Clarice, Clarice!
xxxxBelow, she clarifies. I'd like you beneath me. She offers him a pretty smile, as though she were some well-mannered thing, not at all, not at all. It is good of you to come, she speaks, her voice loud for him, I'm quite afraid I need help. You see, I've lost someone. Many someones. I know you can help.

His advances were met blindly. She did not swat them away because of how utterly unaware she was; she was a yearling, not sexually ripe, and so could not understand his own intent. So she went with her own, a lost girl, a hungry girl.
xxxxCome with me, she murmurs, I know you have just the thing. I have just the place! How differently they thought. And so she turns, and darts toward a very particular tree that was not too far off. She would not speak along the way, audits twitching as she sought the voices that might guide her. Age meant nothing. Only the body.

He had followed the thin trail of her scent to this place; Lecter was fiercely protective of his Clarice, though he struggled and succeeded within himself in giving his daughter the space she craved. And so the pale madman had followed at a distance, scowling somewhat as her path crossed with that of a male.

At length, he lifted his head. He had been too far off to hear the words exchanged, but he saw the distant white form of Clarice drifting across the land, presumably toward a stand of trees nearby. And in her wake! in her very wake! a male followed. An older man, from the gait and goitered belly. Lecter felt anger fill him, a molten wave of fury that swept through his very core.

She was too young! too innocent! It was for her age that he thought these things, not his child's actions; she was more than capable of defending herself, and he suspected she had already brought death to many a creature.

But this knowledge did not stop the man in his tracks; Lecter was already lashing at the ground with swift, bloodied paws, his stride that of a younger wolf, imbued with the rage of a father and the power he had long thought forgotten.

A dark dirge poured from his lips; he came upon the pair swiftly, and saw that the strange male's body betrayed his intentions. Lunging for the closing gap betwixt the old fool and his daughter's hips, the shaman snarled, grasping his footing for one moment before he pivoted, teeth cutting in a flash toward the would-be thief of Clarice's maidenhead.

There was no mercy in his icewater eyes; Lecter fully intended murder this day.

To his surprise, to his anger, Clarice was unappreciative of own rage; she fluttered like a great pale moth around his form, attempting to distract him. In a fervor of irritation, he whirled, thrusting a shoulder in her direction as she reared; if his blow connected, perhaps the other would overbalance and fall. He turned back to the male, but it seemed his adversary had chosen the moment's respite to flee, and Lecter snarled.

Lashing out with hard forepaws, the shaman pushed his body into yet another sprint, attempting to outdistance his foolhardy girl and catch his prey, grind him into the ground.