𓆃 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓.

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In response, he glanced down at himself slowly, feeling around one of the liberally dark-stained tears in his vest.

"... Just a smidge."

He wiped the blood away from his lips, gathering himself back up onto shaky feet.

"So no bandaid then?"
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ㅤ #OpenRP #HorrorRP #MVRP
ㅤ #OCRP #StarterPrompts ‼️
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What the sprite would come upon following the voice was not a person at all– but a silver fox, not much bigger than a kit, and caught in a snare. The animal screamed at him with abandon, desperately trying to free itself while contending with the possible new threat.
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In keeping with supernatural tradition, he has faded into existence suddenly behind the mage; a particularly pungent aura of '𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥' emanating off him, as his sultry voice echoes his hollow smile.

"Careful– you might find something better left unseen."
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The stranger stumbled a few paces; disheveled, clothing tattered. Seemingly oblivious to the other. A spatter of iridescent fluid as he coughed, buckling and hitting the ground on one hand and knee. Glancing up at Cosmo, he blinked furiously as though staring at the sun.

"... 𝘠'𝘨𝘰𝘵‐ 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘪𝘥?"
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The god inhaled softly in the quiet that followed a long, characteristically unintelligible tirade.

"... And 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 is why I need you to come with me to prevent the construction of the first Lithuanian Chili's."
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As Aiden progressed into the woods, the scattered sunlight through the thick canopy seemed to rapidly fade– as though time accelerated with how fast he ran. Soon leaving him enveloped by the pitch of night. Then, a scream a little further into the wood... the voice sounded like a young girl's.
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— to elucidate... intentional or otherwise. He seems to identify with the other's assessment of him, touching a fist to his chest in silent recognition. Yet, he clarifies– if it can really be called that–

[ Non-thing. ]
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— yet frequently allows pieces to fall from his jaw and methodically picks through the grass to find them. Leaving not a morsel untouched.

He eats like someone genuinely starved.

[ MeRcy. ]

He signs clumsily with his lower, less functional set of arms. The meaning of which he neglects —
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— harsh, shrill sound– like and unlike a whine or a bark– and just as suddenly all falls silent once more. The entity's mask unchanging, no visible expression, as he calmly dines. No longer watching the other bug.

He eats slowly, as if to still portray some inkling of etiquette, —
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With the presentation, the higher being remains so still it'd be entirely possible to forget there was life in that husk. Only the hem of his diaphanous cloak wavers softly with an unperceived breeze, the scarlet hue bleeding into the surroundings like a stain on the air itself. Then comes a —
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The corner of his lip twitched knowingly, and as he was feeling merciful today, he simply flipped one card in his hand so that she could see it– accompanying the gesture with a rough, glottal sound. Three seconds, then he flipped it back.
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— He glances upwards, disjointed limbs settling with an uncanny stiltedness into a criss-cross sit.

"𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨?"
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— Yet, somehow he seems to struggle with his answer. He sways ponderously, almost as though to better position himself to pick up some distant signal; head tilting side to side indecisively.

"Why." He repeats as he stills, his affect flat and noncommittal. "... I suppose because I can?" —
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— A 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, unladen by uniquely narrowed perspective.

The outsider returns her gaze, eyes a placid paradox of knowingness. Trapping the thoughts of the insects he'd encountered through his life, here and elsewhere, like amber. Questioning thoughts, not dissimilar to her own. —
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— Malice would not be a misattributation. Not for the one that took delight in 𝘢𝘭𝘭 outcomes, so long as they were novel to him. She had provided no cause for malice, and it was well within his power to defy his nature or heed reason. Should the choice be made not to, it would be an active one. —
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— of lesser minds embedded and left to fester at the core of whatever could be counted as a 'soul' for such a beast.

Yet, a defined goal could still be a generous assumption. How he moved through the world with vague intention, mercurial; subject to defend or defile on a whim. —
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If she were to debate the same about his kin, the answer would be strikingly different. And yet for him, he possessed many a trait that would be– and had been– considered woefully unbecoming of a higher being. And so rejected by them even in his loathsome servitude and sacrifice; bitter seeds —
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He straightens up, eyes closing as his soft smile reaches his eyes. "That makes no sense!"

He looks the other up and down, too quickly to seem like he's really studying him, yet...

"Nathan Gardner. At my service, huh? Perhaps you could do me a 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘺 favor then."
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ㅤ #OpenRP #HorrorRP #MVRP
ㅤ #OCRP #StarterPrompts ‼️
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"Are you..." Nathaniel leans in carefully, glancing left, then right. "... 𝙨𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙯𝙤𝙥𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙞𝙘?"

His brows raise subtly in expectation, the golden chains of his glasses chiming softly. "You sound schizophrenic. No offense. Some of my best friends are schizos."
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Slowly removes his glasses. Breathes. Squeaky squeak. Puts them back on. Squints in 4D.

"Are these 𝗙𝗼𝗥𝗰𝗘𝘀 𝗼𝗙 𝗰𝗛𝗮𝗢𝘀 in the room with us now?"
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Once the sprite was steadily on his feet, the man withdrew his hand and flashed a cheeky smile. "Well, Aiden."

He took a step back, starting to vanish like the Cheshire cat– along with the strange aura that kept the humans at bay. "𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬." He'd give his name if the other made it out alive.
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The stranger stooped to offer a hand, the metal behind righting itself in an instant as though it all was some elaborate illusion. Yet he was calm, seemingly unconcerned about the prospect of being caught.
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— though he does take delight in putting his company off-balance.

"Surely you are familiar by now with what happens to ordinary things that are touched by divinity."

He indulges, a note of sadistic mirth finally shining through his even tone.
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— witnesses her weapon stowed. "As I will not begrudge you your privilege."

He hooks a claw into the sizzling remains and sweeps them casually into the water, resetting his jaw and cleaning his face in much the same way a true mantis would. He considers whether or not to dignify the question, —
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If the entity felt anything for the smaller bug's reaction, it wasn't outwardly apparent. He had an almost remarkable stillness to him for something that had just engaged in such violence.

He gives only a curt hum in exchange for her explanation; gaze finally shifting away once he —
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His hand lingered atop the cage, index tapping the top of the cage ponderously. Like the ticking of a clock.

Then, he moved his hand, and the metal began to warp... subtly at first, then enough for the other's small body to fit through, with some effort.
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The man leaned forward, setting his foot down on the floor. His voice low like a distant storm. "... I trust you are keen enough not to take that chance."

He grinned, rising and pushing the cage back to where it was.

"Unless I'm wrong– in which case I have nothing to lose leaving you to it!"
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"At far ends of the Earth, there are three long-dead groves." He flicked his foot back and forth like a cat's tail, idly playing with one of his many gold bangles.

"... I would ask that you return them to fair health, so that I might retrieve specimens for my garden."
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