((Something to whet the appetite. We're only just getting started. *rubs hands together gleefully* >:D))
“Look me in the eye, Percy.”
The half-elven woman--Vex’ahlia--looks his host over, eyes steely and penetrating. Orthax cares little for most of this human’s companions, but this one...this one intrigues him. Not least because she has Percival quite under her thumb and is utterly unaware of the power she holds over him.
Orthax watches from behind Percival’s eyes as he struggles to meet Vex’ahlia’s gaze, feels Percival’s heart speed faster, his breath quicken, his skin prickle at her proximity. Orthax catalogues the familiar sensations impassively. This is what they call “attraction,” he observes, or more specifically, “lust.” Percival experiences it often enough in her presence.
Orthax takes a moment to consider.
He supposes she’s comely enough. He’s possessed enough humanoids to know that she’d be considered attractive by their standards--she certainly meets his host’s criteria. But that’s not what draws Orthax to her.
It’s the fierce intelligence in those snapping brown eyes. (Orthax has no use for dullards. It’s why he chose this particular prey, of course. Yes, the gaping wounds of grief and vulnerability in Percival’s psyche were what first caught his attention, but all that destructive genius? All that awful creative potential? How could he have resisted?)
It’s that edge of ruthlessness in her, the one that comes flaring to the forefront as she haggles, wheeling and dealing and talking circles around her victims until she emerges victorious, smirking and satisfied. (It should go without saying, but Orthax cannot help but appreciate one so accomplished in the art of making deals.)
It’s those fascinating hints of darkness in her, the minute cracks in her facade offering teasing glimpses of the roiling insecurities and clawing hunger she normally keeps hidden under layers of bravado. (She hides it quite well. No one else seems to see it, save Percival--who only notices because he too relies on hiding behind a mask--and of course, Orthax, who specializes in creeping into the chinks in one’s armor.)
Honestly, it’s that last bit that’s so enticing to him. Orthax so loves the broken ones. He delights in poking at all their weak spots, testing their defenses until he finds the fulcrum point, the crack at which he can dig in, providing just enough leverage so that they open for him, so trusting and desperate.
Percival had barely been a challenge at all. He’d practically thrown open the door and laid down the welcome mat for Orthax, and then fairly forgotten about him for 3 whole years. But this woman...he had the feeling she’d be an interesting challenge.
Right now though, she was a threat. She had an unfortunate knack for pulling Percival back from the brink of unfettered violence and he was far too eager to please her. Orthax would not suffer another pulling the strings of his puppet.
But perhaps...perhaps this was an opportunity.
The endgame was so close that Orthax could taste it, his hunger intensifying even as his patience grew short. But even so, Orthax understood the value of playing the long game--the importance of contingency plans, the advantages of misdirection, the usefulness of hideaways from which he could not easily be purged. His host’s companions were growing ever more suspicious and it was only a matter of time before the truth would out. It might even come to a direct confrontation. He was dangerous, but even he could recognize that 7 against 1 were not great odds.
Should he be defeated, let them think they’d vanquished him for good. He could bide his time, hunkering deep within his vessel. He’d done it before.
But maybe this time, instead of stoking the fires of Percival’s vengeance, Orthax might instead fan the flames of his lust.
(It would be so easy. Percival’s imagination is quite vivid and his fantasies shame him so much that he does his level best to shove them down into the deepest, darkest parts of himself, convinced as he is that he is unworthy of her affections.
Orthax is Percival’s deepest, darkest parts.)
It would be so poetic if Percival’s weakness for her turned out to be the engineer of his downfall. If his hunger for her were the vehicle for which Orthax would eventually devour them both.
Well, no time like the present to start laying the groundwork for his retreat.
Demons, Desires, and Dark Sides (1/?)
“Look me in the eye, Percy.”
The half-elven woman--Vex’ahlia--looks his host over, eyes steely and penetrating. Orthax cares little for most of this human’s companions, but this one...this one intrigues him. Not least because she has Percival quite under her thumb and is utterly unaware of the power she holds over him.
Orthax watches from behind Percival’s eyes as he struggles to meet Vex’ahlia’s gaze, feels Percival’s heart speed faster, his breath quicken, his skin prickle at her proximity. Orthax catalogues the familiar sensations impassively. This is what they call “attraction,” he observes, or more specifically, “lust.” Percival experiences it often enough in her presence.
Orthax takes a moment to consider.
He supposes she’s comely enough. He’s possessed enough humanoids to know that she’d be considered attractive by their standards--she certainly meets his host’s criteria. But that’s not what draws Orthax to her.
It’s the fierce intelligence in those snapping brown eyes. (Orthax has no use for dullards. It’s why he chose this particular prey, of course. Yes, the gaping wounds of grief and vulnerability in Percival’s psyche were what first caught his attention, but all that destructive genius? All that awful creative potential? How could he have resisted?)
It’s that edge of ruthlessness in her, the one that comes flaring to the forefront as she haggles, wheeling and dealing and talking circles around her victims until she emerges victorious, smirking and satisfied. (It should go without saying, but Orthax cannot help but appreciate one so accomplished in the art of making deals.)
It’s those fascinating hints of darkness in her, the minute cracks in her facade offering teasing glimpses of the roiling insecurities and clawing hunger she normally keeps hidden under layers of bravado. (She hides it quite well. No one else seems to see it, save Percival--who only notices because he too relies on hiding behind a mask--and of course, Orthax, who specializes in creeping into the chinks in one’s armor.)
Honestly, it’s that last bit that’s so enticing to him. Orthax so loves the broken ones. He delights in poking at all their weak spots, testing their defenses until he finds the fulcrum point, the crack at which he can dig in, providing just enough leverage so that they open for him, so trusting and desperate.
Percival had barely been a challenge at all. He’d practically thrown open the door and laid down the welcome mat for Orthax, and then fairly forgotten about him for 3 whole years. But this woman...he had the feeling she’d be an interesting challenge.
Right now though, she was a threat. She had an unfortunate knack for pulling Percival back from the brink of unfettered violence and he was far too eager to please her. Orthax would not suffer another pulling the strings of his puppet.
But perhaps...perhaps this was an opportunity.
The endgame was so close that Orthax could taste it, his hunger intensifying even as his patience grew short. But even so, Orthax understood the value of playing the long game--the importance of contingency plans, the advantages of misdirection, the usefulness of hideaways from which he could not easily be purged. His host’s companions were growing ever more suspicious and it was only a matter of time before the truth would out. It might even come to a direct confrontation. He was dangerous, but even he could recognize that 7 against 1 were not great odds.
Should he be defeated, let them think they’d vanquished him for good. He could bide his time, hunkering deep within his vessel. He’d done it before.
But maybe this time, instead of stoking the fires of Percival’s vengeance, Orthax might instead fan the flames of his lust.
(It would be so easy. Percival’s imagination is quite vivid and his fantasies shame him so much that he does his level best to shove them down into the deepest, darkest parts of himself, convinced as he is that he is unworthy of her affections.
Orthax is Percival’s deepest, darkest parts.)
It would be so poetic if Percival’s weakness for her turned out to be the engineer of his downfall. If his hunger for her were the vehicle for which Orthax would eventually devour them both.
Well, no time like the present to start laying the groundwork for his retreat.
They would never see him coming.