#tw dismemberment of a carcass

[toast-com]

Nature of Flesh (5-2-24)

Top Hat frowned at the blood-covered figure standing at his table, currently tearing apart an animal he had brought with him, alternating between eating said animal and staring intensely at its bones.

That figure was no other than Billy Shoepack, the eldritch deity Top Hat had foolishly struck a deal with.

"So, Top Hat." Billy spoke, twirling a femur between his fingers. "Tell me. What do you think the nature of flesh is?" Top Hat frowned at the question.

Did it have a correct answer? Or was Billy simply throwing him for a loop, as the god was wont to do, fickle as he was?

"...I'm not entirely sure." He admitted. "Something about mortality, maybe?"

He gave a disdainful sniff, frowning at the coppery smell of blood as it seeped into the wood of his dining table.

The sound of tearing flesh was loud as Billy sank his claws into the creature's corpse again.

He stared at the chunk of bloody meat, popping it into his mouth, before thrusting his hands back into the carcass, ripping the spine out of its body.

"Hm. You're surprisingly close to the answer." He bit down on one of the creature's kidneys with a growl, swallowing the hunk of meat. "For once."

He stuck his clawed fingers underneath the skin of the corpse's head, violently tearing it off, exposing the skull, gleaming with viscera.

"However, the nature of flesh is not wholly mortality." He balled his hand into a fist, bringing down on the skull with a loud crack.

"It is violence, and love. Sustenance and war!" He pushed pieces of the skull around, making more of a mess, and picked up the brain.

"It is rot and destruction. The flesh wars against itself, and in its arrogance..." Billy brought the brain to his mouth, brutally tearing through it with his viciously sharp teeth.

"It perishes. The flesh thinks he knows everything. But, in actuality, he knows nothing at all. He lives and he dies, over and over in an unending cycle of birth and decay!"

He cackled madly, before slamming his fist down on the creature's lower jaw, smashing it to pieces.

His hand came away bloody, and Top Hat couldn't tell if the blood belonged to the corpse or to Billy.

"He runs, living and dying for his entire pathetic, finite existence in a narrow, cramped burrow."

Billy reached for the the liver, claws gouging the flesh, his eyes blazing otherworldly in the dim light.

"Surrounded by others of his repulsive kind, he squeals in the dark and the damp. Inhaling his own sick. Consuming his own rot."

He attacked the rest of the intestines with a calculated savagery.

*And when he draws his final breath, he will die, as his kind does." Billy was breathing heavily, bright eyes unfocused.

"He is but a corpse in a rotting pit of corpses, and there is nothing distinguishing his dead body from the next."

Billy straightened from his hunched position over the table, claws leaving deep gashes in the intricately patterned wood.

He turned to look at Top Hat, a grin on his face.

"That, Top Hat, is the nature of flesh."

[that-guy-jin]

Day Sixteen: Third-rate

TW: Vulgarity, Blood, Dismemberment

Walking into the Centurio Clan hub centered in Kugane, Jin stops at the front desk, setting down a bloodied knapsack. "Three lesser blue oni. Sighted on the outskirt of Namai. Talked with the village chief and reassured him there wouldn't be anymore trouble and to contact me or the clan in the case of any new troubles."

The moment his hand let go to the sack, one of the heads rolled out, thick, black liquid staining the counter soon after. The current clerk glanced down, his expression twisting to one of slight disgust as he watched the area become dirtied. "You could have at least tied up the pouch."

"And you can pay me now. Thrice the original bounty, seeing as your trackers and scouts didn't realize there was more than one." Jin remarked.

The clerk's brows furrowed, "Excuse me? It's not our trackers, the-"

Jin had cut him off, "The villagers? No, it isn't. It's your third-rate men stationed there. You think just anyone has the experience to discern that kind of thing? Your people's job is to have the experience THEY lack. Being able to track, document, and hunt the dangers they do not have the capabilities to."

The attendant grew more upset at his words, trying to find anything to come back at him with, "And you think you're just a cut above the rest? Better than everyone else here? Get off your high horse before you get hurt, that arrogance will get you killed if you aren't careful."

Jin's expression hadn't changed, his stern tone remaining still, "Arrogance? It's sureness in knowing what I can and can't do, boy. And what I'm sure of is that the people you have stationed in Namai lack tracking experience. Lack knowing how to study their mark and how they travel, their habits. It's basic knowledge in this line of work."

Hearing the commotion, another Clan member walked over, recognizing the viara, "Oh, Jin, how are you doing? There a problem?"

Jin spoke up again, motioning to the bag on the desk, "Ah, seems the team stationed out in Namai needs to be adjusted a bit. They wrote that there was one oni when in fact there were three. The contract is fairly fresh, so the yokai wouldn't have time congregate like that between the time I picked up the bill and getting there. That and based on the camp I found, they'd all made their stay there at the same time. Any carcasses were thoroughly picked clean, given the size of these, one alone wouldn't have been able to do that."

The senior member rubbed at his chin, examining the heads, giving the clerk a side-eyed expression, "Mmm…well, I'm sorry about that. I'll make sure to get your proper payment, as well as talking with the head about getting a couple dedicated specialists out there to help out the others. Those men are admittedly newer, that's on me for thinking they were up to the job, I spoke up for them."

Jin shook his head, "No worries at all. Though, might want to put this young man somewhere else. He's a bit too hot-headed for this position."

The man in question hadn't taken his eyes off Jin, only breaking eye contact when he got a good slap to the face from the senior member, "Get that fucking expression off your face, you're the first person our clients come to when working with us. I have half a mind to let him beat the shit out of you."

Jin had begun walking off while the clerk got reprimanded, draping the hood of his cloak over his head, returning home.

[bubbas-chainsaw]

(( TW extreme violence, extreme gore, murder, dismemberment ))

Now fully immersed in his work, Bubba was removing the last of the guts. Those went to the floor, as blood dripped down the drain. Normally he would turn it upside down and let it bleed out by cutting the throat. It certainly wasn't as clean as October's artery stab. But it would bleed nonetheless. This time, he wanted to keep pace. The carcass was usually left to bleed for a few hours, but Bubba didn't mind the blood today. Red stained his arms up to the elbows. The apron only protected part of his clothes, which were now damp with blood and sweat. This kill was for fun. He could let it bleed as he went.

After the guts, came the organs--one by one taken out, and setting it aside. The heart specifically, he wrapped in a handkerchief, for safe keeping. Then came the face first, then the rest of the skin, keeping it as intact as possible. There was so much skin to use.

Once he'd grabbed a meat cleaver, he went to work hacking at the ribs. They would certainly barbeque very well. Partway through, he took a moment's break to catch his breath, and took a peek of October's work.

(( starter for @umbrafarmsteadspeaks ))

A warm breeze ruffled unruly dark hair, as the youngest Sawyer brother sat on the back porch. Sweat made his shirt stick to his back, but he had finally finished feeding the animals. With only two weeks between now, and the hunters coming knocking, Bubba’s bullet wounds were healing, slowly but surely. He was able to do most of the work he had, but he’d been told not to strain himself. Sitting on the stairs of the back porch, he watched the chickens pecking for grain and grubs. Two of the hens sat close instead, sides pressed together as they were shielded from the sun. It was a moment of peace. He’d been having more of those, lately.

At least three times a week, Bubba and October had been going on… He wasn’t going to call them dates. Not all of them. But the late night walks, sitting on the porch, going out to the sheep pen–even he was pretty sure those were dates. Holding hands was something couples did, and they did that pretty often.

Movement in the treeline brought Bubba out of his thoughts. Squinting in the sun, he tried to make out what it was. Once she’d made it to the end of the trail, Bubba realized it was October. Something in his chest felt lighter, seeing her. He couldn’t quite place it. Bubba got up from the porch, hurrying to meet her halfway.

As he approached, Bubba was making happy, tittering little vocalizations–he’d been getting much less shy around her, and was starting to speak his gibberish to her, too. His palms clapped together as they met, and he smiled down at her. Grandpa used to say, “Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.” October was far from a devil, but she had come nonetheless.