synopsychic | And Now the Wolf-Bear of Doom is Dead

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And Now the Wolf-Bear of Doom is Dead

I am dead.

Dead things should remain dead. Why am I now alive?

...congratulations on not being dead after all?

I am not the reason why I am no longer dead. You should not offer me congratulations.

But not being dead is a good thing! It's the best thing!

I mean, people magically getting better after death or not around here, I am still very glad I only got shot in the leg and not the head. That sort of thing's important.

But that which I kill will also not remain dead. I dislike this.

D-do you do a lot of killing often?

I kill many things.

Like what?

Food. Small creatures. Large creatures. Humans and sentient cryptids, when they deserve it and it is the appropriate time for carnage.

Wh-when do--when do you decide they deserve it?

[At least over the psychic network, no one has to hear your voice cracking.]

It is difficult to know. Humans are confusing. They wish to kill when I do not, and do not wish to kill when I do.

My friend Verity and my fiance Ryan let me know when carnage is appropriate when I am home. I am not home. I must instead let my friends here tell me.

...wait, you're not human?

[That is actually a relief. That explains so much. Kind of.]

Yeah, yeah, it's important not to go doing the carnage thing at the wrong time. Really important. Super important.

No. I am waheela.

Oh, alright.

...I have no idea what that is. But I'm a Lurkglider!

[See? See? Fellow nonhuman bond? That gets him not-carnaged, right? Right?]

Waheela are therianthropes from the cruel and frozen north. In my beastly form I am a giant beast of unending hunger.

[Sorry Jules, but Waheela are solitary creatures. They don't even bond with other Waheela. Even if Istas is supremely friendly for one, that won't count for much.]

I do not know of Lurkgliders.

Oh. That's...that's something, all right.

[Yes, some kind of Beast. Definitely a Beast. Called it.]

I'm kind of like a gargoyle, only I'm not made of stone. And I look human, but that's because I've got an illusion I can't take off. No big deal.

[Not that the illusion works at all with smell; Istas would be able to tell that he smells like a mossy old rock.]

And I taste terrible. Absolutely terrible.

I also appear human when I am not. [This is, in her world, not that unusual. Clearly Jules is simply another type of cryptid]

You would likely not know your own taste. But I do not eat sentient creatures. I particularly enjoy the consumption of Margherita pizza and chocolate coated bagels.