milliways_bar | (no subject)

Current Mood: hungry

Entry tags:

unicron

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There's a purple and white robot beast in the bar tonight, moving around the edges and occasionally weaving between patron and furniture.

Unicron.

And if it looks like Unicron is circling the bar like a shark scenting for prey, that's because he is.

Prowl around long enough like the eldritch abomination you are, and someone's gonna jump sometime.

Oh boy, does he hope someone will jump.

And then...

And then the fun can begin.

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Aside from the other pups the mun has staring at the eight foot tall robot roaming like a predator, Death smiles. He is hungry too, but that isn't ever news, he is always hungry.

He wonders what would satisfy this creature today. The rules of this world simply won't let either of them do much in the way of their natures, so what was the hunting for.

If Unicorn can see Death's true form, he actually can't fit inside the physical bar at all.

He hunts because he can. He hunts because he enjoys testing the boundaries of what will and will not be tolerated. What he can get away with.

No one's been hurt [yet], and no one with a badge has come to intercept, he's safe in his assumption that giving people a scare is within the rules. But really. He wants someone to bolt like a rabbit from its burrow at the scent of a predator in the warren.

What would satisfy him? That thing that everyone who's fixing for an altercation wants most: a terrified patron to chase. A run-in with bar law.

As for Death's appearance, he can see it just as well as Death could, if he could see that Unicron is also too vast to be confined to such tiny spaces like inter-dimensional bars.

"So, what do robotic beasts eat?" asks Death popping a fry into his mouth.

There's a laugh, but not one heard by the ears.

EVERYTHING.

"I see," he says, "I doubt that this establishment can give you that, however, I can offer you some dinner."

His voice is quiet and steady.

AND WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO OFFER AS NOURISHMENT?

Potatoes won't cut it.

"What would you like?" asks Death, "Fried paradoxes?"

I NEVER START OFF SMALL.

"What will you have then?" asks Death.

I HAVE DINED ON ENTIRE GALAXIES, he says, not at all humble. BUT WHAT I MOST DESIRE IS PURE, UNDISTILLED CHAOS.

"Then if you are patient, you will find this place can offer great chaos," says Death, "There always seems to be something going on, we are just between storms."

He recommends patience.

"That is if you can deny your appetites for a time."

AND WHEN THE TEMPEST RISES, I SHALL BE READY. AS YOU NO DOUBT WOULD BE, YOURSELF.

The beast bot laughs that silent laugh: low and ominous.

AND I SHALL WAIT, IF I MUST.

Not that he wants to, you know.

"I don't trouble myself with the business of my counterpart here," says Death, "I would caution against instigating the chaos though."

Oh, you are no fun.

INSTIGATOR IS WHAT I AM. FAR BE IT FOR ME TO DENY MY OWN NATURE, IF EVEN TO A MINISCULE DEGREE.

Until the badges show up, or he's talked out of it, he intends to continue rattling some mental cages.

Fear's not as good as chaos, but it's a delicious second.

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