« Last post by Baneful on April 21, 2020, 07:55:14 PM »
Thor’s penthouse had a view of the skyline. He liked that about it, that it put him above everything else, able to see a large swathe of the city laid out at his feet, as if it was subservient, and as if it belonged solely to him. It did in a way, everything did as he saw it, all of it small and delicious and so exquisitely human. He liked looking down, because when you couldn’t fly it felt pretty close.
Black marble was the name of the game in as far as his interior decorating went, sleek minimalist lines flecked with gold and solid gold sculptures here and there, all of them depicting predatory scenes, all bared claws and dripping fangs. It did not look like the office of a man in charge of providing meat to the population, but that was what it was. There was plenty of money in slaughterhouses and wholesale, especially when you didn’t have to worry about trivial things like attending to the workforce’s human needs.
Of course most of the slaughterhouses were out in rural places in the back end of Iowa or North Carolina, but cities were where his goods ended up at the end of the supply chain. It was truly a wonderful business, and he could afford to spend his days overseeing the operation from a city that was well tailored to his specific...needs. Sometimes it was pleasant to rub elbows with his own kind in an open sort of way. Just because he hated other people didn’t mean he couldn’t get some enjoyment out of spending time with them anyway. Tearmann had its upsides.
It was a quiet evening, much like every other quiet evening and the streetlights wound a fairy light path through the streets as distant cars crawled like ants along their neat and tidy little paths.
Stepping outside, the wind licked at Thor’s long hair, bringing on the air the distant swirling scents of springtime. He had a truly fantastic sense of smell, better than his other senses by miles. He could smell colour in the way pigments and materials smelled, he could smell magic, he could smell things he didn’t even have words for. Standing here he could smell a man in the street below whose smell was swept up to him on the breeze and knew in a flash of keen knowledge that he hadn’t washed in three days, had sex two days ago and had an undiagnosed blood deficiency.
In this human form, Thor didn’t get to dress in the golden armour he preferred, instead like this it was something much simpler, finely tailored suits across his broad muscled chest and layers of restrictive clothing to control the facets of his anatomy he didn’t want to be aware of. His teeth were also restricted like this, only the set on his face able to move at all.
Dent didn’t live in Tearmann and that was a bit of a shame, it meant that on evenings like this , there was no one of a comparable intellectual level to him to spend time with. His relationship with the other demon was complicated, and he avoided dwelling too long on it, lest he slide into a state of misery. He was on his own, that was all there was to it, and he’d certainly dealt with that state of being before.
He was hungry, but let’s be honest, as a gluttony demon, he was ALWAYS hungry.
Pigs were cheap. He could slaughter hundreds of them in a week or two for chump change, but when it came to humans, those were a much, much more expensive type of meat, and of course, he had a taste for them. The additional problem was that he didn’t just want to eat ANY kind of human, he was a breeder of pedigree pigs, producer of artisanal meats. He knew what good meat was and you didn’t get good meat on industrial antibiotics and bone meal, you needed to really feed them well and treat them well. His favourite humans were adults - but not too old, beyond a certain age the meat got gamy - upper middle class, lean and fit with a diet of vegetables and exotic coffee.
He wondered if having a taste for hipsters, in turn made him one too?
The problem was though, that you didn’t simply just kidnap someone from that sort of background, irritatingly people would miss them. No one missed a homeless person, a runaway, a prostitute without a background, but they missed their trust fund raised offspring. Still, with the right money in the right places, things could be arranged.
He was still a few weeks out from his next contract though, and the hunger gnawed at him anyway.
Somewhere under his clothing there was a low growl, the sound of a stomach rumbling but larger and far more animalistic. It deepened and he turned away from the balcony’s view.
He didn’t normally go out, he didn’t like to mingle with the stink of humanity, but tonight would just need to be different. It would be one of those junk food nights, one of those nights where he chalked it up as a loss and slunk out to places he wouldn’t normally go. Dent wasn’t here and honestly, he needed sustenance in every respect.
Returning to the penthouse, he picked up his phone and dialled his secretary and arranged for the car to be brought around. He wasn’t sure where to go, but he was sure once he was out there that he’d figure something out. It was less playing it by ear and more playing it by nose.