The Art of the Kill [Ask To Join]

Oh, what another glorious day it was. This world had grown so amazing vibrant since last Yaksha had been in it, and it was hard not to spend time simply...luxuriating, for the time being. After all, there were now so many millions of people, and he barely even had to try hiding himself. Those who did see him rarely ever did so for a period of time lasting longer than the duration of time it took for their eyes to dilate and their mouths to open. It would hardly be fitting for him to get slaughtered just for another stag night, would it? And so he stuck to the outskirts for now, dipping along between the people. He would only step out for a split second or two, just long enough for the gentle susurrus of voices to wash over him.

To drown out his own susurrus. These voices were all so varied, so rich with their own unique harmonics. It was a singularly ecstatic experience, being this close to so many diverse, unique people. Being able to reach a hand out, to point a finger at someone randomly, and pick up the faintest snatch of conversation. Of life. It was enough to remind him that life as a hermit wasn't quite worth it.

Of course, it's hard to be a hermit when you carry in excess of a million people as passengers. That susurrus wasn't anywhere near as pleasant for him. He could close his eyes and stab into the dark, anywhere in the dark, and it would be the exact same. Those same hateful, spiteful words, the same venom and malice directed towards him. It was like sliding a hand through a bathtub, one that had been left lying too long, and had congealed into some hideous mess. But this, the real deal...it was like looking at the ocean. The waves flowed and eddied and whirled, and it was fascinating and hypnotic and so very real. Yaksha would find a way to harness it, eventually. As soon as he managed to figure out the starting path towards shutting up these wretched voices.

For now, simply quieting them would have to do. He closed his eyes once more, trying to listen in on a hundred conversations at once, trying to break each one down, to fill in the gaps, to create a new and exciting story for each one. He stopped after about twenty minutes when he realized how little good it would do; most of them simply didn't have interesting lives. They lived a life of ghosts and heaven and hell and they still went around blabbering about a bunch of gibberish! It was enough to break a man's heart.

He closed his eyes once more, claw sliding over his face slowly, carefully, seeming almost to sink into a hibernation. It took only two words to pierce through his defenses, and suddenly get his attention.

Curiosity. A human would that wanted answers. Well, when it came to answers, they could hardly do worse than to ask their elders. He lurched out from his spot in the alleyway, his movements clumsy and weak at first. How long had he been standing there? A few minutes at the most, surely.

Yaksha was reminded of the time he'd spent 'a few minutes' listening to that one CD. That had spanned almost an entire decade, and he still had trouble reconciling that fact. It was simply absurd that he could've gone on autopilot that long. Yaksha wasn't some slavering, babbling, mindless beast. Just because that was what others saw when they looked at him, that didn't make it what he was.

He continued to lurch along slowly, with clear intent, towards Britannia. This time he wasn't even trying to hide himself, and no small number of people had noticed him. His movements hectic and jerky, his eyes so fixated, it was hard to see him as anything but a wild animal, prepared to strike.

He approached the girl's table, enormous white claws skittering across the table. He spoke, in a surprisingly soothing, polite voice. It was the kind of voice one would expect to hear from a slightly overaged librarian, who fairly oozed slightly strained politeness.

"Wonder no longer. I'm at your service. And while I've got your attention...isn't 'susurrus' such a nice word? Doesn't it just make you think of what it means?"