WHO: Lamb & OPEN
WHERE: Somewhere in the cirque grounds
WHEN: November 3rd
WHAT: Lamb's first meal back at the circus
WARNINGS: Murder (adult), quite descriptive gore, cannibalism, anything else tbd


Lamb had already been hungry when the announcement of the Wild Hunt went out, but with that knowledge she knew she could make herself hold out longer. Her mouth watered at the very thought of what it would be like this time.

In her previous romp with the cirque, Lamb had partaken in two delightful and blood-fueled Wild Hunts and that she was arriving for a third must have been Fate. (Lamb, as a rule, was a creature that only believed in Fate with a capital F when it suited her desires, and this would certainly meet that qualification.)

She was set up in the exact same caravan she had left, everything exactly as it was then but covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. She hardly found herself surprised; the cirque was like that. Surely her little home had just disappeared into some sort of magic space in the time between and waited, knowing its inhabitant would miss it before too long. (Fate. Capital F.)

But now the Wild Hunt had begun and Lamb's stolen skin tingled and stretched against the hungry spirit crouching inside, barely enough room under the tendons and sinews for it.

Outside fear was all around and Lamb wished she could taste it when she flicked her tongue out like a snake. A group of humans - being herded or just herding themselves like the dumb animals they were - rushed past her, and Lamb made her choice simply because he was within arm's length.

She grabbed the man from behind with ease, fingers of one hand first catching his shirt and yanking him back until he was pressed against her front, her other hand on his chest to hold him there. "Shhh, little one," she breathed in his ear, running her nose down her throat, taking in the scent of living blood and flesh. Her legs shuddered with desire as the man fought and swore and yelped. "Shhh," she said again, soothing and gentle. "I haven't even hurt you yet, little Lamb hasn't hardly touched you."

The smell of fear was wrapped up inside all that skin and Lamb wanted it. It marinated the meat and Lamb was going to dig it right out and sink her teeth in and-

Shhh, patience, she told herself, slowing her breathing. Patience and calm and be a good little Lamb.

Yes, she was a good little Lamb. She'd slow down. Savour this Meat. Yes, what a good idea, what a bright little Lamb.

(But it was so hard to be slow! Around her and the Meat there was a symphony of pain and terror, and Lamb longed to be its conductor.)

"You're hardly even fighting," Lamb told her Meat, mouth still close to his ear. "Don't you value your breath?"

He swore and kicked back at her, tried to spin in her arms to scratch at her, wriggled and spat and tried to headbutt her. It was uninteresting. He was soft and uninteresting. Not a natural fighter, not a predator of any sort. She would choose better next time.

She pushed the Meat down onto the ground, flipping him onto her back so that she could straddle him. Other humans ran past as movements and screams, pursued by nightmares. Her own Meat was whimpering more than screaming.

"I'm hungry," she told him matter-of-factly. "I have been waiting for days for you." She brushed the Meat's hair away from his forehead. "That's how special you are. We were meant to come together in just this way, with a Capital F, you see?"

The Meat did not see. The Meat was crying.

Lamb reached took hold of one of the hands he was weakly trying to fight her off with and pressed it against her mouth and nose, taking a long slow sniff. She couldn't feel the pulsing of the blood beneath the surface, but she knew it was there, waiting to gush, waiting to be tasted. She couldn't be patient any longer.

She yanked three of those fingers into her mouth to the second knuckle and bit down hard, the strength of her jaw enough to cut through tendons and make a sickening sound as she crunched through to the bone. Lamb moaned around her mouthful. The Meat renewed its screaming. Another bite and she'd severed the bones completely, drawing the hand out of her mouth as she chewed. With the length of such fingers it was difficult to close her mouth completely, and blood and gore escaped between her lips as she chomped her way through this first delicious entrée.

Lamb was still gripping the Meat's bleeding hand, which was waving a little as he tried to pull it back. It must have surprised him when suddenly the hand was moving towards him more rapidly, Lamb pushing it towards his face. "Try," she told the Meat around a mouthful, jamming the bleeding finger stumps into his own mouth. "Eat it, try it, taste it." The Meat choked and spluttered and cried as Lamb forced the hand harder and harder into his mouth. Which would break first, the hand or the jaw?

It was the hand, the remaining finger snapping back as he tried to scream, blooding bubbling over his lips. But she kept pushing his arm and then it was the jaw that broke, his mouth splitting garishly wide, cheeks tearing and his eyes rolling back in his head. Lamb spat the fingers out beside her, most of the good meat chewed from the bones, and yanked his hand out of the hole she'd made.

Then she let the hunger free, let it overcome reason and patience and fed her hungry hungry ghost. It was more animal and vicious when she darted down towards his face, one hand gripping his top teeth and the other hand the bottom, fingernails digging into the velvety warm of the inside of his mouth. Then she wrenched, tearing his face completely open and pushing her own into the bloody gap she'd made, devouring his tongue first and then the delicate soft tissues of his throat.

The Meat was lucky to be dead before this began.

Lamb ate until she was sated, but not until she was full. There were so many more victims and to fill up on the first was a beginner's error. She stood, shaking her hair like the mane of a waking lion, face covered in blood, and wondered where Fate would led her next.