.:|can i be your cain [abel]

[mokuran kurohyou.]

kurohyou mokuran
they left me here to die

[/size][/s]
drink from the blood fountain and call it perfection[/color]
what did I ever do aside from eating some weaklings?
cut out his eyes and devour the blasphemous desire[/i]
here in the carnival corpse[/size][/s][/font]


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.He hates it here. More than he hated moving to this god forsaken country, more than he hated his father, and infinitely more than he hated his sister before he killed her. This little shit hole, as he has loudly and frequently proclaimed it to be, is probably the worst little place in all existence. It isn’t the fact that it’s isolated or that he’s away from his darling mother (which was why he hated it so much for the first hour). Mokuran hates this place because there’s nothing to really do. Sure, he could go off on a raving homicidal spree, slaughter everyone he sees until he gets tired, then fuck the bodies until his bones feel like noodles and he can’t stand upright any more. But then he’d have nothing to do the next day or the day after that, would have to amuse himself with dorky pursuits and generally wouldn’t be getting any for a horrifyingly long time.

.That concept doesn’t sit well with Moku. At all.

.So he’s talking a walk, hands slung in his pockets and toothpick rolling in his lips. Moku’s got a hunting knife shoved down the back of his belt, more than capable of defending himself should any of his fellow psychopaths feel like fucking with the resident cannibal freak. To be honest he kind of longs for it, tips his head back and bares his teeth at the sun in an unspoken promise of violence. Mokuran’s a panther in a cage, stuck with the rabbits and occasional dogs, is beginning to pace the interior with the goal of escape. He snarls, lips curling back as he snaps the slender bit of wood in half in a fit of animalistic fury. But there’s nothing to vent his frustrations on save the plants, all the good little stoner children having fled when they saw him coming. It only serves to aggravate him further, makes him long for that one shining moment where he had that whore’s life in his hands and snapped it up.

.Moku runs his hand through his hair, knocks out the little bits of nature that tried to take up residence in his perfectly maintained mane, yawns out a sigh and makes a beeline towards a convenient bench. And he props up his feet, a vision of a sadistic Hades incarnate, pops his pretty knife and begins methodically cleaning the dirt from under his nails. At some point he’s going to have to grab one of those whores (or even a sodomite, it’s not like Moku cares) and threaten to kill him or her in the name of a manicure. If there’s one thing Moku’s kaa-san taught him, it’s that the star of the production simply can’t be allowed to look second best to anyone else in the show. So darling Moku is going to need a better wardrobe and a personal bitch for sex and all that jazz. After all, what else is he supposed to do with the rest of his life?

.So he’s going to take over the whole island and start his own little slave organization.

.Lesser men than Mokuran have succeeded at such simple goals after all. He stretches out, feels all his bones pop into place and closes his eyes for a nap. Or at least, he would have taken a nap if some little gardening fool hadn’t decided it’d be a great idea to trip over the side of Moku’s bench and land smack center in Moku’s lap. Well, seems his boredom wasn’t going to last for long. “Hello lovely… enjoy the afterlife.” And afterwards, when the corpse is soaking the wood with its last bodily functions and Moku is seated on the back of the bench while enjoying his impromptu snack of unseasoned tongue tartare from knife point, Moku reflects that he may just have to scale back his plots until after people have gotten settled. No point in becoming the local tyrant just yet. Besides, there are other things to do in this hell hole. Like kill people. And eat them.

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hollow art ||PORTRAIT
virt ||MASTER
can i be your cain ||CORPSE
680 ||BONES
disturbed – stricken || ORGAN