[ Whispers awaken her, a warning snarl rising up into a tenuous scree meaning Get away! I'll bite! Closer to seven-feet in height than six, she's the biggest and the fiercest. Others should beware.
She smells earth and wood, a whine curdling in the back of her throat as she groggily wakes up and tries to stand, a hiss irritably taking notice of the pain that lances down her ribs and her wounded leg, nervously cleaning the impact sites from the Big Other's teeth. The scent of food reaches her nostrils, flaring them as she hops unevenly over to a crate of fish to give it a disdainful sniff; it smells of prey and is already dead, but she is hungry and needs to eat. There is no Pack here to hunt, no whiff of their scents on the faintest breeze, and coupled with the walls holding her in it's all an exercise in stressing her out.
So she headbutts the flimsy door open, hobbling outside without touching the odd box of flesh-that-smells-bad, and freezes as another smell rises up on the wind. Sick-meat, bad-flesh, do-not-eat. Lowering her head and raising her tail is harder when her chest burns, but she stalks her way cautiously to the building that smells the most of good-to-eat prey, skirting the fences that surround the strange lands. Stuffing her nose into a bloodied jacket makes her chuff in dissatisfaction. There are large doors up ahead streaked with blood, old and dead too, and it's into the building that she paces with her heavy breathing rasping from widened nostrils, panting from a sharp-fanged mouth. The Big Other isn't in here either. This is a prey hole, where they squeal and run and hide and yes, she can smell their fear, this is where she can huntshredripfeed even without the Pack. The prey is everywhere, she just needs to find it.
So she starts opening doors. ]
2. compound
[ The prey is clever. This she learned from the Other Alpha, the one who tried to keep her caged and hunt down her pack (but she was smarter, she killed him and he tasted like a victory) so she doesn't underestimate what she finds when a room full of strange boxes and objects reveals itself. Plants are here. Turning her head side-on to get a better eyeful, she narrows her gaze at the sight of water trapped in containers for the prey.
Biting the first one sends it splashing all over the corridor's floor, startling her, but she's ready next time; gentler jaws pluck it out and she holds it down for a sickle-claw to pierce, hastily lapping up the burst of water that streams out. Three times she does this as her bloodied and wounded chest drips on the floor causing her to mewl and screech, thirst driving her to drink even if it hurts. It's better if she drinks more anyway, that means the prey has less.
She'll remember they keep water here and how to open it. ]
3. hollows, exploring the town
[ Eventually she makes her way north to the only other half-decent source of a food scent that doesn't come with guns and angry prey. It's quieter here and she breaks into a house or two to rip apart the animals inside, cats and dogs providing scant fare for a velociraptor but enough that the warm flesh and blood is welcome. It's not as if she can hunt properly when she chest is so painful, so they will do for now.
The mud tracks large chicken-lizard footprints to one of the houses where she makes a temporary nest of the soft skins that prey wears, laying down in exhaustion. Her ribs are too sore to let her curl up so she lies on one side, wheezing and thinking over the prey's den where they had been rife and confused. She should hunt there when stronger. Find the sheds with their sharp shooting teeth and destroy those first.
Silently, her head perks up from dozing when she hears a noise outside, attuned to the sounds nearby. ]
clever girl 彡 jurassic park, come getcher dinos
[ Whispers awaken her, a warning snarl rising up into a tenuous scree meaning Get away! I'll bite! Closer to seven-feet in height than six, she's the biggest and the fiercest. Others should beware.
She smells earth and wood, a whine curdling in the back of her throat as she groggily wakes up and tries to stand, a hiss irritably taking notice of the pain that lances down her ribs and her wounded leg, nervously cleaning the impact sites from the Big Other's teeth. The scent of food reaches her nostrils, flaring them as she hops unevenly over to a crate of fish to give it a disdainful sniff; it smells of prey and is already dead, but she is hungry and needs to eat. There is no Pack here to hunt, no whiff of their scents on the faintest breeze, and coupled with the walls holding her in it's all an exercise in stressing her out.
So she headbutts the flimsy door open, hobbling outside without touching the odd box of flesh-that-smells-bad, and freezes as another smell rises up on the wind. Sick-meat, bad-flesh, do-not-eat. Lowering her head and raising her tail is harder when her chest burns, but she stalks her way cautiously to the building that smells the most of good-to-eat prey, skirting the fences that surround the strange lands. Stuffing her nose into a bloodied jacket makes her chuff in dissatisfaction. There are large doors up ahead streaked with blood, old and dead too, and it's into the building that she paces with her heavy breathing rasping from widened nostrils, panting from a sharp-fanged mouth. The Big Other isn't in here either. This is a prey hole, where they squeal and run and hide and yes, she can smell their fear, this is where she can huntshredripfeed even without the Pack. The prey is everywhere, she just needs to find it.
So she starts opening doors. ]
2. compound
[ The prey is clever. This she learned from the Other Alpha, the one who tried to keep her caged and hunt down her pack (but she was smarter, she killed him and he tasted like a victory) so she doesn't underestimate what she finds when a room full of strange boxes and objects reveals itself. Plants are here. Turning her head side-on to get a better eyeful, she narrows her gaze at the sight of water trapped in containers for the prey.
Biting the first one sends it splashing all over the corridor's floor, startling her, but she's ready next time; gentler jaws pluck it out and she holds it down for a sickle-claw to pierce, hastily lapping up the burst of water that streams out. Three times she does this as her bloodied and wounded chest drips on the floor causing her to mewl and screech, thirst driving her to drink even if it hurts. It's better if she drinks more anyway, that means the prey has less.
She'll remember they keep water here and how to open it. ]
3. hollows, exploring the town
[ Eventually she makes her way north to the only other half-decent source of a food scent that doesn't come with guns and angry prey. It's quieter here and she breaks into a house or two to rip apart the animals inside, cats and dogs providing scant fare for a velociraptor but enough that the warm flesh and blood is welcome. It's not as if she can hunt properly when she chest is so painful, so they will do for now.
The mud tracks large chicken-lizard footprints to one of the houses where she makes a temporary nest of the soft skins that prey wears, laying down in exhaustion. Her ribs are too sore to let her curl up so she lies on one side, wheezing and thinking over the prey's den where they had been rife and confused. She should hunt there when stronger. Find the sheds with their sharp shooting teeth and destroy those first.
Silently, her head perks up from dozing when she hears a noise outside, attuned to the sounds nearby. ]