Post by Hollow on Mar 28, 2012 19:18:53 GMT -5
Shrrrip. Snap. Pop. Crunch.
Hickory. Dickory. Dock. The mouse. Ran up. The clock.
Hmm. How did the next part go?
Marvelous, simply marvelous. Today had been an excellent day. Hollow giggled darkly to himself as he worked. The screams had long since stopped- It was rather hard to do so with no voice box, after all. The long, thin talons of his right hand pulled delicately at the thread that lay spooled on the ground next to him.
He pulled it through the eye of the needle in his right hand and then punched the needle through the fabric held pinned beneath his knee. His stitched, torn lips cracked and spread wide in an unholy grin as he looked down at the work of art he'd just created. There. Something truly beautiful.
The snow drizzling overhead did not worry him; no, he had done this in a crater on the pavement under an overhang, far from being exposed to the wind. It wouldn't do for the skinned body he was now towering over to be lost underneath the snow. He paused momentarily.
Then again, if it were hidden, it would be even longer before it was found, and the elements would surely help him craft this masterpiece. He reached over and pulled his scythe out of the dirt. Nimbly, he slung it over his shoulder and skittered up a drainpipe to the overhang.
He tore it open with his scythe and looked up at the clouds in the sky, dropping icy tears for one more lost child. He looked down with a sinister grin at the body one last time. Sometimes his job left him in... Stitches.
A sudden guffaw escaped his ruined throat and he crouched down to sit on his heels, clapping his normal hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud at his own pun. He put his hand down as the laughter subsided and he slung his scythe over his shoulder again, sliding it back into the slits in his fabric that kept it across his shoulders.
He wrapped his thin talons around the bar he crouched on and used his other hand to shield his red optics from the snow as he peered out over the horizon; He'd gotten lucky with the body below him, but the urge came over him to play his favorite stalking game. His eyes settled on a shape not far away, carrying something large and pointy behind it.
That would be a challenge, to be sure. He stood in a half-crouch and pattered nimbly along the bars of the overhang's frame, before jumping from them to a windowsill and from windowsill to ledge as he made his way towards the other stitchpunk.
Hickory. Dickory. Dock.
Hickory. Dickory. Dock. The mouse. Ran up. The clock.
Hmm. How did the next part go?
Marvelous, simply marvelous. Today had been an excellent day. Hollow giggled darkly to himself as he worked. The screams had long since stopped- It was rather hard to do so with no voice box, after all. The long, thin talons of his right hand pulled delicately at the thread that lay spooled on the ground next to him.
He pulled it through the eye of the needle in his right hand and then punched the needle through the fabric held pinned beneath his knee. His stitched, torn lips cracked and spread wide in an unholy grin as he looked down at the work of art he'd just created. There. Something truly beautiful.
The snow drizzling overhead did not worry him; no, he had done this in a crater on the pavement under an overhang, far from being exposed to the wind. It wouldn't do for the skinned body he was now towering over to be lost underneath the snow. He paused momentarily.
Then again, if it were hidden, it would be even longer before it was found, and the elements would surely help him craft this masterpiece. He reached over and pulled his scythe out of the dirt. Nimbly, he slung it over his shoulder and skittered up a drainpipe to the overhang.
He tore it open with his scythe and looked up at the clouds in the sky, dropping icy tears for one more lost child. He looked down with a sinister grin at the body one last time. Sometimes his job left him in... Stitches.
A sudden guffaw escaped his ruined throat and he crouched down to sit on his heels, clapping his normal hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud at his own pun. He put his hand down as the laughter subsided and he slung his scythe over his shoulder again, sliding it back into the slits in his fabric that kept it across his shoulders.
He wrapped his thin talons around the bar he crouched on and used his other hand to shield his red optics from the snow as he peered out over the horizon; He'd gotten lucky with the body below him, but the urge came over him to play his favorite stalking game. His eyes settled on a shape not far away, carrying something large and pointy behind it.
That would be a challenge, to be sure. He stood in a half-crouch and pattered nimbly along the bars of the overhang's frame, before jumping from them to a windowsill and from windowsill to ledge as he made his way towards the other stitchpunk.
Hickory. Dickory. Dock.