<div class="floatright">(https://i.imgur.com/b7JTdk3.jpg)</div>Who: Cecile Feathermour (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=312486.msg15157451#msg15157451)<br/>Where: Random shanty town<br/>When: 3 days before opening to the public<br/>Wearing: Moldable skin<br/>Tagging: Engaro, Steve<br/><br/>Match: None<br/>Round: None<br/>HP: 25<br/>Status/Conditions: Noncombat<br/>Elliquiy User ID (for die roller): 70332<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Crenulated rooftop gazed over the winding alleys, crowded streets, and mighty blue afar, the luxurious scent of roasted meat wafting through the narrow avenues to lure in the drunken sailors, harlots and hungry adventurous alike. Untroubled by the cooling evening air, Cecile draped her onyx silk like overlapping rivers of sinuous darkness merging seamlessly with the soft skin of her body. Reclined against the canopy of a bustling tavern, she silently observed the everyday life of the humans she had come to appreciate for their delightful screams and nutritional values. Burly soldiers and grimy drunkards staggered in and out of the establishment, all oblivious to the predator lurking in the blackness above. The searing crimson shimmer of her blazing eyes shone brightly in the waning daylight, her mouth burning its noxious venom in gleeful anticipation. Flexing her dexterous legs, the stonework of the rooftop cracked and scattered into a shower of crumbled fragments.<br/><br/>There was a delightful and energetic atmosphere about the town, the perpetual, soft melody of babbling voices flowing freely through the serpent-like paths, only occasionally drowned out by the scattering impact of hooves, or the upbeat tunes of boisterous grog-holes. With its ceramic tile rooftops, Redstone walls and unusual asymmetry, the place had an almost otherworldly feel to it.<br/><br/>Cecile had always gone unnoticed among the inferior races. She was far from invisible, but her moldable skin perfectly projected the flesh others thought ideal. It made it easy for her gangly frame to weave through even the densest of crowds. Hitting the cobbled road with a predatory grace, she slinked through the empty streets, the shadows of her body blending seamlessly with the night. Her eyes glinted with a rapturous hunger within the gloom, though only the keenest observer would have noticed. Drunks, sailors, and harlots chatted in a nearby thoroughfare, blissfully unaware of the potential looming danger effortlessly disguised. She, on the other hand, saw them all with perfect clarity, and judged them with the most discerning eye.<br/><br/>Cecile’s gaze settled on a man lying in the gutter, a bottle of beet wine dangling from his loose hands. Ordinarily, the demon wouldn’t give a second thought to someone in his pitiful condition, but due to her starvation, she found herself desperate enough to consider the man, if only for a moment. It would be so easy. Too easy. There would be no thrill in the jarring action. All she needed was to lure him to one of the numerous alleys far from the glow of the street lamps.<br/><br/>The thought perished as she watched a cockroach scurried across the drunkard’s face. This was clearly a man too inebriated to feel. His arousal would be vague and muted, with none of the urgent attraction she loved to see in her victims before she brought them low. She might even flay an entire arm before he mustered a scream. This one was no good. And that was the problem. Over the course of countless feedings, Cecile had learned everything about her palate: She preferred – no… craved for her victims to feel every prick, every bite, every bit of flesh she peeled away from their wretched selves. A man in this condition would be dull and unfulfilling, scarcely worth her valuable time.<br/><br/>She dismissed the drunk and continued down the muddy promenade, past the windows of yet another dank, candlelit tavern. A fat, belching woman threw open its door and stumbled out into the night, grasping a half-eaten turkey leg. For a moment, Cecile considered the woman, how she might woo her into an embrace, and then into the unspeakable hell that would follow. The demon watched as the woman wolfed down the rest of the meat with a glutton rivaling her own. However, there was no enjoyment in the act. It had barely struck the tongue before it journeyed down the vile woman’s gullet. It threw her off balance. There was something deep inside her, a melancholy that would taint the experience. She couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Cecile preferred inflicting the pain herself, and this one, was clearly capable of doing that to herself.<br/><br/>The demon moved on, gliding through the shadows of the town, over two more drunks, past a beggar asking for alms, between a couple in the midst of an argument. Cecile found them all completely unappealing. They were all much too sour. Hurting them would be like plucking a flower that had already wilted. She preferred her daisies tall and healthy, for those were the most satisfying to cut down. She required joyful victims, at the prime of their times, strong, independent, and carefree with nary a thing to be concerned about.<br/><br/>The inner city grew out of the cracked sidewalk like the jagged gap-toothed grin of an elderly. The only splash of color in the grime came from the lurid windows that splayed sickly orange candle glows through their translucent protection of the elements. There was a sense of indecent exposure; the familiar sound of water gushing through gutters into grates, the dropping of pails and pallets from the harbor, the clink of coal shovels in the factories, the banging of doors, rambling voices. So many factors, cheek by jowl, so many squirming lives, so many yards, roofs and looming houses. It was as revolting as it was arousing. The attractive thought of the multitude of ways she could mettle with the natural cycle of life sent a tingling fringe through her and she resigned herself to it with a sadistic grin.<br/><br/>And then, she saw him…   The gentleman was positively beaming as he exited one of the high-end pubs. He was dapper without being flashy, proud without being snobby. He hummed a jaunty tune to himself as he set off down the street with a bouquet of flowers tucked gingerly in the fold of his arm. For the missus, undoubtedly. Cecile’s lashers writhed with excitement and her skin glistened with sensual desires. Even from a distance, she sensed the man’s complete content in his own skin. She dashed after the gentleman, going out of her way to remain hidden, her presence obscured behind the veil of darkness.<br/><br/>Soon after the initial hunt set in, the man turned down a gloomy alleyway, and Cecile held her unblinking gaze upon his broad back as he settled deep into the bowels of the city’s slums. Hardly seemed a place for a man of his stature, she thought with a smirk - just a small pouting of the lips; a narrowing of her viper-like eyes and a tilting of the head. A dark ribbon of hair caressed her barren shoulder as she gazed on.<br/><br/>Sufficiently isolated, Cecile crept out of the shadows, her dark, wispy limbs giving way to warm flesh. Her demonic lashers disappeared into her back, revealing a shapely female form, with curves too generous for any eye to ignore. Her hips waggled softly as she sauntered in front of the man. She was nearly arm’s length from him before she caught his undivided attention. Startled at the unexpected appearance, he gasped and fumbled his flowers. Cecile beckoned with a single finger, delicately motioning for the man come closer. The man crept nearer, tentatively and hesitantly investigating the strange beauty lurking beneath the underbelly of the city. He approached her with great apprehension, and greater anticipation.<br/><br/>“Who… are you?” he asked timidly. “I’m whatever you want me to be,” assured the demon with a sultry tone captivating enough to snare even the most stern and proper soul with promises of luxurious intercourse. As Cecile locked eyes with the man, she plumbed the depths of his soul and found exactly what she was looking for - that tiny lesion of discontent that festered within even the happiest person. There it was, she thought. All that he wanted and could not have. Such a pity for a fine man like himself to go to waste, withering away, untouched and left longing, much like herself.  “My family…” the man said, unable to finish his thought. The cunning temptress leaned close, her dazzling beauty capable of manipulating even the hardest heart. But this was no such case. “Shh. It’s okay,” she whispered in the man’s ear. “I know what you want, and the guilt you feel for wanting it. Let it go…” She pulled back to find the man hopelessly captivated. He needed no convincing. Though he was hesitant, he was practically begging for it, wide puppy eyes as deep as an ocean and just as uproared.<br/><br/>“Can I… have you?” he asked, ashamed of his brazenness, but overcome by a strange desire to take her right there among the trash-piles. “Of course, doll. That’s why I’m here,” said the demon in a dulcet tone. He touched her face with the tips of his fingers, caressing her cheek. It was crystal clear then. She held his hand firmly to her skin and released a soft, sultry chuckle that rolled off her inhuman tongue like a tricking stream of water.<br/><br/>This sweet, tender, happy man would be hers tonight. He had so much pain to give, and she would drink it all in with delight. Or so she thought…<br/><br/>From behind them, the shuffling of slippery feet sounded the entrance to the alley. The intertwined figures directed their attention towards the oncoming shade of clearly inhuman origins. Apparently mortified enough by the sight to enter a panicked frenzy, even in spite of this being’s meager status, the man set off with an impressive speed and a stunted squeal.<br/><br/>Cecile pivoted, primed to strike. Clearly this tiny morsel proved no danger to her, but it had derived her of a feast and it had her royal blood boiling with white-hot fury. Her back writhed with an undulant motion as a host of arachnoid legs pushed their way from her flesh. Her face cracked into a sly grin, the lashers twisting over her creamy shoulders as a dainty finger drifted across her enticed face – enticed by the prospect of shameless, petty vengeance. “What is a carpet-sniffer like you during here?!”<br/><br/>That’s when the most curious turn of events occurred. A few well-versed meanderings later, and Cecile found herself enthralled by what the little being’s supposed master ‘Engaro’ had to offer, and opted to give the strange opportunity a chance to prosper. After all, a chance to flay people alive in front of a live, uproarious crowd didn't present itself often. Now there was just one thing nagging Cecile’s otherwise razor-sharp mind as they left the cloying alley. What in the seven circles of hell was an ‘agent?’<br/>