Lyra Adepha (Gluttony//Carried Over)[WIP]

Princess Lyra

5102.

Early twenties.

iSin of Gluttony.

.

166 cm

One never asks how much a woman weighs.

For the embodiment of Gluttony, she's got quite a thin, almost athletic build -- one who's unfamiliar with her history would have quite a difficult time guessing her association with the sin: no, she's definitely not what you'd expect. She stands to be around 164 centimetres and weighs 68 kilogrammes. Her complexion is fairly light, but not pale -- more of a snowy colour, with hits of rose peeking through her cheeks. Her skin tends to on the dry side, making her devoid of the "glow" most people seem to have, giving the slightest hint that she is far from any normal human being. The majority of her body is unscathed, save for a thin scar running vertically from her jugular, past her chest, and spans almost the entirety of her torso.

As far as she knows, no human has her red coloured eyes either. Her iris transitions from her coal black pupils quickly to a bright crimson outer ring, with the majority being a slightly off coloured maroon. The rest of her facial features are plain enough to be indistinguishable amongst any a group of people. The only other thing making her face stick out of a crowd would be the sparse, dispersed freckles favouring her right cheek ever so slightly over her left, there aren't many and they aren't very noticeable, but upon careful inspection, they provide a valid distinguishing facial feature.

Speaking of distinguishing features, perhaps the most distinguishing is her hair. It starts out from the scalp being an almost pale blonde, and quickly transforms into a dark blonde. Just past her shoulder, it changes to an almond colour slowly going toward hazel, and finally, where her hair ends (just above her lower back) it takes a very dark walnut. The transitions are seamless and in certain lights, more or less shades can be seen. The fringes of her hair are long enough to cover most of her face, and thus she keeps it in check by pinning it to the side of her head: of course, these are no where near secure enough to hold her dense hair back, and more often than no fall out of place, forcing her to, on more than one occasion, fiddle and brush it aside. She's usually too busy and cannot be bothered to do anything but let it hang freely, but she has been know -- on occasion -- to wear it in a braid

Her favourite colour is amber, and it shows in her clothes. Though she frequently changes the type of attire, she rarely changes the colour -- if it's orange, she'll probably wear it. She is most frequently seen in a causal gown of amber, with slight accents of white and crimson. Something she rarely (if ever) wears are trousers. She finds them restrictive and cumbersome. She prefers leggings or tights to cover her lower body, usually the same orange colour as the fabric covering her torso, but non-black leggings are a pain in the butt to find! .

Food
Death
Pain
Suffering
Eating
Playing with her "food"
Did I mention food?

Inedible things
Humans (Because they don't taste good)
People who ruin her fun

She places having "fun" over anything, often resulting in getting very little accomplished.
She's governed by her next meal, letting her hunger dictate her actions
She enjoys pain, both personal, and others'

-list at least three.

anything else you'd like to add about your character?

Kerberos -- The massive sword serves as her guardian, it's truly a sight to see as this modest sized woman tries to wield the behemoth. The length of the hilt alone is almost a metre long. Around the pummel of the weapon is a ring, just big enough for two fingers. The blade's width is an incredible 75 centimetres. It spans almost 2 metres from where the hilt meets the blade to the tip. Despite these incredible specifications, Lyra seems to wield the giant with the great integrity, swinging it back and forth as if it were no heavier than a stick. While there is no arguing that the destructive power of such a grand weapon would be unimaginable, the weapon shows its true colours when used defensively. The width of it effectively produces a wall between its wielder and any incoming attacks.

Engravings cover the entirety of the weapon, including the blade's edge, which seem to react to reiatsu and gain colour with energy input. The colours begin as a dim yellow, but as it receives more input, its lowly shifts toward the red end of the spectrum, vermilion being the colour indicating areas of the highest reiatsu density. The distribution of the energy within the weapon can be freely manipulated to increase or decrease the concentration at a specific area to strengthen the weapon.

Walking around with such a giant can be cumbersome, and draw unwanted attention, therefore, when not in use, she stores the weapon within her body. The scar down the middle of her torso acts as something of a portal, within which she stores the weapon. When summoning the beast, she simply digs open her scar with her hands and draws the weapon. When not in use she places the weapon back into her body the same way it comes out.

"Presence of the Princess" - Being the embodiment of Gluttony, she is surrounded with an aura which draws reiatsu from her surroundings. It resembles the Quincy's ability to draw on the reiatsu of their surroundings for attacks, but she lacks the ability to make the energy take a physical form. It serves the purpose to passively dissipate reiatsu attacks, reducing their power by a noticeable amount. She is able to sense disruptions within the aura, physical or spiritual. The dissipated reiatsu is channelled into her weapon Kerberos
-Kerberos has the ability to absorb (only the dissipated) reiatsu. Once the weapon has some form of reiatsu input, it will be able to transfer and utilize it in different areas of the weapon, changing the local composition of the weapon to strengthen it, lighten it, sharpen it, etc.... This ability can be used whether the weapon is inside her body, or external to it.

"Royal Guardian" - Akin to the Arrancar's "Hierro" ability. Instead of a layer of protective energy protecting the exterior of their body, her's is internal, just underneath her skin, around her bones and vitals. It is, by no means, impenetrable, but merely serve to provide an extra layer of protection

"Eternal Reign" - The platelets within the plasma of her blood are enhanced by the powers of hell, granting them superior regenerative capabilities, both in terms of speed and capability. The speed of regeneration is proportional to the extent of the damage, but she can allocate more or less energy into repair of certain portions of her body, increasing the speed at which regeneration occurs in once place while reducing it in others. Her regenerative abilities are limited to out of combat situations.

only available for sin embodiments. Do not fill out otherwise.

description: explain how the appearance of your character changes in this form and their basic ability.

type: either list an element, or something else that clearly represents the abilities this character will gain in their true form.

stat upgrades: which stats increase in this form and by how much? Only fill this out after you have been given your class/level.

techniques: may have 4 to start. Register these through creation before adding them to your application. Be aware that abilities do not stack, so all normal techniques are replaced with the true form techniques upon release.

How long had she been in the dark? The walls seemed to be closing in on her, forcing her out toward an opening. Slowly, the light poured in, and instantly she felt the chill air. Her appendages moved automatically to cover her body as she was simultaneously being pushed and dragged out into the cold. Her legs kicked in protest, but proved futile. She had yet to grasp the concept of controlling her eyelids to allow light into her retina, but that may have been for the best, as her newly developed lenses were still much too sensitive to the light. It's freezing she tried to speak, but all that came out was a loud cry. What she thought she knew of the world around her had come crumbling down as she was forced into a world without her consent. When her eyes finally did open, they were locked on what used to be the woman she was so forcefully ripped away from. Though she would never really understand their relationship, she knew intrinsically that they were attached in more than a physical way. Despite not knowing her, seeing the woman made her well up with emotion; she expressed it with a cacophony of cries, with a strong undertone of despair: she had just witnessed her mother pass away.

To say that her father did a poor job of raising would be an insult to the man. He'd done everything he knew how to raise her and teach her, but he could only do so much to provide her with a female influence. Despite his best intentions, she had always felt distant toward the man. The fact that he was always out amongst his men didn't exactly help the scene at home either -- whether she liked it or not, they were at war.

She never could understand why their nomadic clan set about procuring more land, but then again, she was lacking the Y chromosome her leaders possessed, among whom was her father. Though the man couldn't provide her the gift of a mother, he was more than capable of handling himself on the battlefield. Energy seemed to be pouring out of the man, even after a long day's quarrel, he'd take time to motivate his followers: this was perhaps why his influence was so strong. Not much of a speaker, he showed off his abilities with actions. Though she could never ask, she often found her childish self wishing he would spend less time with his men and more with her.

As she came into adolescence, the concept of power slowly began to crawl into her. The war her father fought was no longer "his war", but "their war". The day she came forward to join his army was perhaps the happiest she had ever seen him in her life. With each passing day, he would mould her into the warrior she would become. Their bond seemed to draw closer as the days past, and then it finally came: her first time.

Though it was merely a small skirmish, this was her first time and she was to make her father proud. Armed with a plain sword taken off the body of a deceased comrade, she leaped forward. The clashing of metal filled her ears, as her consciousness slowly faded away, allowing her muscles to recall all those hours of training. They pushed and pulled her appendages into positions and conformations which she previously thought impossible as they carried her narrowly between the blades of the enemy. At such velocities, there would be no possible way her movements were guided by methodical thought -- no -- she was on auto-pilot, and whom ever was doing the steering was doing a proper job.

A flash of metal materialized in front of her face. Before her retinas perceived the light being scattered, before said organs were able to transmit the signal to her brain, before her brain could decide that the blow would be fatal and stimulate muscular movement to prevent certain death, her body reacted, twisting in what appeared to be -- but was in no way -- an awkward position, allowing just enough room for her arm to upward, defecting the weapon away with her own. What was only minutes in reality seemed like decades in her adrenaline fuelled state. When the dust had settled, she found herself standing atop the soldier whom tried to deal her the fatal blow. She held her own weapon to the man's neck. This was the only validation she needed at the moment: the sense that she was the better of the two, the sense that she had more power than her opponent. This would be her first taste of what "power" was, and she was going to make it a memory not easily forgotten. To say her actions were still driven by reflex and not conscious thought would be bit of an exaggeration -- she had more than enough time to gather her thoughts, so some part of her, really wanted it to happen. Her fingers tightened on the hilt of her now blood stained weapon. As she raised the blade above his head, their eyes met for the briefest of moments. She could see from his reaction that he had submitted to her, allowing her to do with his most precious possession -- his life -- as she pleased. This sense put a slight smirk on her face. The tip of the sharpened metal slid easily enough into his jugular, blood sprayed out onto her boots, painting an unique mural on the leather. Her wrist began twisting, expanding the hole she had just made in the man's neck. This caused a larger volume of the crimson liquid to flow out of his rapidly cooling body. It was almost at the point where his head would have fallen off with another twist when his hand grabbed her's firmly.

"That's enough." His voice was as firm as his hold. She looked at him with the eyes filled with satisfaction, but saw no mutual feeling in her father. She tried to continue, but his grip tightened. She finally gave up, loosening her grip on her weapon until the metal fell to the ground. She looked at him once more with confusion before whipping her arm out of his grasp and storming away. It wouldn't be until his passing that they spoke again.

The memories from that day replayed within her mind. Over and over again the image of her standing atop the defeated soldier: her trophy. Why did he take that away from her? The feeling of power was overwhelming, far superior than anything she had ever experienced. They say that the physical expression of mutual feelings between lovers is the most euphoric feeling any human could experience. Well, what she felt when she proved her total dominance over her trophy provided her with much more gratification. She longed for the day she would be granted another opportunity.

"Longed" perhaps isn't the correct choice in vocabulary, "seeked" seems more appropriate.

In the coming battles, there was no keeping her off the slaughter field. Her performance only grew greater and greater, earning the respect of many of her peers. Despite this, her father seemed to demonstrate his authority with increasing disregard for her enjoyment. This did no favours for their relationship: she was unable to understand why he was so determined to prevent her from nirvana. Perhaps he hated her. During the later phases, it was so important to keep her in check that he ordered her to be placed in chains before and after the battle.

She stood in a sea of bodies, some of which she recognized as her peers, some she had just met and killed. Regardless, this was where she felt a sense of belonging: the sole entity amongst a sea of lesser beings, all of whom she disposed of. The chains he had placed around her wrists and ankles prevented her from any sudden movements, but allowed just enough freedom to walk freely -- as long as she took small steps. She looked at him with the cold distant eyes he had grown accustomed to.

He's weak. The thought she had tried to repress suddenly surfaced, brining with it a sea of doubt and anger. Images of his actions flooded into her mind, and indeed, his actions as of late showed undeniable signs of weakness. The pace at which he was expanding his influence was slowing at noticeable rate, if others have not yet figured it out, they will soon. With the acceptance of this recent realization, she understood his actions: he was afraid that his own daughter would surpass him. Unfortunately, you're a little late. She knew already that he was no match for what he had created.

It was not unlike any other time the father-daughter duo sparred to hone their skills. Spectators naturally formed an uneven circle around the pair as they began to size each other up, circling each one another, waiting for a wrong move to be made -- this was a rare occurrence, he'd trained her a little too well. Finally, the silence was broken by the younger of the two, her patience had just about ran out. There was no doubt in her mind her lacklustre strike would be intercepted. The sound of the distinctive metal on metal clash signalled a primal instinct within the pair. Soon enough, both were beginning to allow their bodies to take over. The patterns of contraction and relaxation have been embedded within their muscles, and without thinking their weapons met at almost predictable intervals. This harmony would be broken periodically in an attempt for one party to try and best the other, but neither of them faltered. The commotion they were making seemed to draw the crowd closer, allowing less room for the two of them to manoeuvre. This didn't seem to phase them, as their bodies automatically adjusted to the minor change. As she began to lose herself to the rhythmic motions, her thirst for power and her desire to best her opponent began to surface.

He's full of openings. The woman's grip tightened on her weapon as her overall movements became sharper. Each strike had added force as if she was drawing power from an external source. The effects of her improved motions were quite evident, with each step, she pushed him back. His regulated breathing broke down and was replaced -- shorter, more strained. Neither she couldn't notice in the heat of the moment, or she chose not to consider it, she kept the onslaught going, leaving him no space in between to rest. Times change.

He made a final attempt to stop her. With all his remaining strength, he shifted his weight, forcing her weapon to miss what used to be his torso and only allowing the metal to pierce his sleeve, slightly scraping the knuckle of his small finger. Placing his other hand on the pummel of his claymore, he used the weight shift to his advantage, driving the point of the blade toward her jugular.

She was barely able to recover the momentum of her own attack when her father came at her with his weapon poised to kill. She greeted this with a smirk and moved her own body as quickly as she could to avoid the incoming strike. Though her mind was there, her body was unable to respond quickly enough to completely avoid it. Where the blade contacted the side of her neck instantly became hot. She rolled her body so that the blade would only penetrate the skin, in the same motion, she positioned herself behind the man. This was it. She could see him turn his head back, his eyes trying desperately to meet hers: before they were given a chance to, she felt the tip of her blade make contact with the soft skin tissue of his back. It made contact with his vertebrae before stopping, it was then their eyes finally met. She stared into the hollow spheres with no sense of remorse, in fact, she was relieved that the constraints placed upon her was finally about to be relieved. She placed her free hand on the hilt of her weapon and with as much torque she could generate, moved the weapon laterally. The motion of the blade sliced through his torso, dividing the man in half. She walked toward the upper portion of her father, and knelt down beside it, he right hand reached for his claymore while her left hand brushed down his face, closing the man's eyelids forever -- those judgemental spheres will never be set upon her again. Finally free.

Naturally, after ridding the tribe of their leader, she took the position herself. At first there were some who opposed, but as their slain bodies began showing up, the objections quickly subsided. Under her strict regime, the clan's territorial enlargement occurred at an accelerated rate. Within the year she had doubled their influence in the land. Those who were considered neutral were quickly absorbed under her rule. Without her father's voice of conscious, there was no stopping her insatiable quest for power. Though the quest to gain ultimate power was enough to sustain her, many of her men were unable to follow with such dedication. The morale of her men had never been lower, and by the winter time, things were looking bleak. Casualties constantly climbed due to starvation and disease, but that wasn't her concern -- the only thing that she concerned herself with was how and when to take the next battle.

It was January, the bitter cold had taken its toll, her army was unable to move due to the lack of food, even the princess herself was feeling the pressure of an empty stomach. She wished to use the winter to her advantage to invade a neighbouring land, but without food her army would not march. This wasn't going to stop her, no, she's better than that. During one of the darkest nights, she strolled out into the slaughter fields. Amongst her was a sea of bodies: meat. The princess got to work, filleting the corpses as if they were cattle. The next day her army feasted, and the day after they began siege. Of course, it wasn't very long before some of the more clever men realized how she was providing for their feasts.

The food she'd provided served to motivate her army, with her leadership, they pushed forward into enemy territory. The cold had proven to be quite a challenge for her. At such low temperatures, even her well trained muscles had a hard time keeping up with her mind, it was as if her body was half a step behind her thought process, forcing her to make adjustments which in turn slowed her movements. All this didn't seem to phase her though, despite sustaining wounds she would have otherwise avoided, her spirits were as high as ever, watching her foes fall before her, staining the pure white snow with their crimson essence. Her movements were so automatic she gave no notice to the warm feeling starting upon her upper back. It wasn't until her lungs strained to draw air that she noticed it. The warmth she felt was her own blood, now flowing steadily out of the newly created cavity in her upper torso. The rapid loss of fluids caused her knees to buckle under her own weight, and within a moment's notice the woman came crumbling to the ground. Even then, she refused to release her weapon. Using her free hand she inspected the object she was impaled with. The rapid heat loss was causing her entire body to shake. She moved her trembling fingers using her torso as a guide, slowly moving them to the centre of her chest. When the cold metal met her hand she was met with a rather unsurprising find.

Try as she might, her digits would not cease to shiver, as she traced the path of the metal protrusion, she was met with not the hand of her assailant nor the hilt of their weapon but rather the tip. It was then she had realize that the one to bring her down was not an enemy that out did her -- this gave her some sense of satisfaction. No, it was no enemy of her's but one of her own. She tried to face the one who dealt her fatal blow, but her vision was losing focus. Colour began fading into grey scale, and the borders that previously defined figures began to blur into their surroundings, blending everything into a dark abyss. Those who survived the battle that day say they are haunted by the dying princess's sinister laugh as she faded into history, but she had no recollection of such an event.

Roller coaster.

How long had she been in the dark? The walls seemed to be closing in on her, forcing her out toward an opening. Slowly, the light poured in, and instantly she felt the chill air. Her appendages moved automatically to cover her body as she was simultaneously being pushed and dragged out into the cold. The hand that wrapped around her body was not that of a doctor delivering a newborn, no, this one was cold as morning frost, no trace of flesh could be detected on the skeleton that dragged her out through the abyss. So this is hell? A better glance at the skeleton revealed what ever it used to be it was non-human. The creature stood to be about 3 metres in height.It seemed to have read her thought, though not replying directly, she knew it was in agreement. Without notice, it tossed her into a sea of miserable souls, their arms reached out toward her, leaving no part of her body untouched. She shut her eyes. For a moment, the idea of amalgamating within the homogeneous sea of souls seemed enticing, but there was something digging within her, a feeling of.... hunger?

Her fingers quickly formed fists which forced their way through what would be the heads of the souls. Instinctively, she gripped one of the souls and brought it toward her mouth. She opened her mouth, but her jaw dropped far past what was allowed by her human form -- but she was no longer human. The woman forced the soul down her throat and swallowed. The first thing she noticed was the bland taste -- like plain oatmeal, similar consistency too. For the first time in a long while her hunger had been satisfied, albeit a small amount, she felt it, it was tangible. She reached for another one, then another. She had made a non-negligible dent in the density of souls around her before she was finally feeling somewhat satisfied.

The souls of limbo seemed to scatter in a synchronized manner, opening up what seemed to be a hallway to what she could only assume to be her destination. As she made her descent, she noticed a quick change in scenery. The bleak, colourlessness of limbo was quickly replaced with shades of blue. The residents of this level seemed to be stricken with desire for the unobtainable, be it a lover, fortune, or fame. Many of the souls were chained, just metres away from their greatest desires, but never reaching them. Many of the souls wander restlessly, being pushed to and fro by a wicked wind, blinding pushing some of the souls into their certain death, just so they may be reborn and suffer the same faith. She would later find out that this was the home of Lust, but for now, to be in this place was not her destiny.

Souls of the blue level formed a similar descending hallway and as she made her way into the next level the colour scheme changed abruptly once more to something she found relaxing: orange. The different shades of orange served to elevate her mood. Souls in this region had their eyes and ears covered, unable to interact with one another, the souls are given all the luxuries they desire, but no matter the amount, they will never reach gratification. She watched as a rather large soul indulged himself in foreign delicacies until his form could no longer contain him, bursting him at his seams. The souls once again formed a hallway, pointing her in the direction of her destination. This time however, it did not descend. As the souls scattered, she was greeted by what she thought only existed in legends.

The creature's mouths overflowed with its saliva -- was that because she was to be its food? It was supposed to be a mythical creature, a fictitious creature -- a dog with three heads?! Yet one was staring her in the eyes, mouth drooling, and waiting to pounce. Without a moment's notice, it shifted its weight onto its hind legs before pushing itself off the ground, charging full speed at her. Her natural instincts of reaching for a weapon to defend came into action, but there was nothing around her that could possibly stop such a creature. For the first time in her life she was frozen in fear -- but what was she afraid of, she was already dead. The dog picked up speed and about three metres away from her, it leaped into the air, rocketing itself directly toward the chest of the paralysed woman. She attempted to brace herself for the impact, but there was no impact force. She watched in amazement as the several storey tall creature disappeared into her. She took a moment to catch her breath, then her hands shot up to the spot where the creature disappeared: in the centre of her chest. The was no sign of the incident save for a ring sticking out of her body resembling one of the links in the chain the creature wore around its neck. She gave the ring a push, and it subsided under her skin, leaving no form of scar or mark. Remarkable.

There was however an itch where the creature had just entered her. She tried to scratch it, but it seemed to be underneath the skin. She dug deeper with her finger nail, and before long she had embedded her own hand within the middle of her chest. The discomfort provided her with a profound feeling of joy. Finally, her digits felt something. She wrapped them around the object and pulled outwards: the ring that used to be on the outside of her skin. It was then she noticed it attached to something. She pulled further, and a long rod began coming out of her chest. This was physically impossible, as the rod's length exceeded the depth of her body.

She continued to pull.

The long rod began elongate lengthwise, slowly morphing into a blade of enormous proportions. She had to arch her back in order to completely dislodge the weapon from her body. When the bulk of the behemoth had exited her body, she gripped the sides of the blade with her fingertips, and with a forceful jerk, she withdrew her weapon "Kerberos", eh? . The blade was many times larger than she herself was. She directed the tip of the weapon at the ground beside her and with some force, drove the tip into it. The weight of the blade itself helped do most of the work, digging almost the entirety of its length into the stone floor. The ground beneath her feet shifted, slowly raising in the form a chair -- no, not a chair, a throne.

She placed her hand atop Kerberos, petting the weapon's hilt and allowed her legs to relax -- finally, she took her rightful place as the embodiment of Gluttony.

The hot summer nights were beginning to get on Gluttony's nerves. How did the humans survive such miserable conditions?! The air was so moist, she could hardly breathe, let alone catch the scent of the most delicious prey in her area. To ascend to the material world is a luxury given only to a privileged few, and even then, the myriad of rules and restrictions imposed on her visits made it almost not worth her while. No, that's untrue, a good meal would always be worth the trouble. She slowly descended from her aerial perch. She allowed her toes to first meet the asphalt, then she slowly lowered the rest of her bodyweight onto the middle of the road. Now, where did that particularly delicious smelling soul go? She closed her eyes and tilted her head back slightly, sniffing in short intervals of threes, changing directions as she repeated the process. She had almost turned in a complete circle before finally picking up the scent again.

"Gotcha". Her tongue protruded from her within her mouth and proceeded to wet her upper lip, slowly, starting from the right corner all the way to the left, making sure to cover every crevice with saliva. Her quest for a meal brought her out from the safety of the deserted alley into the treacherous main streets of the city. Though she was no stranger to modern technology, the concept of a "cross walk" eluded her -- the same could have been said about street lights. The coloured metal containers rushed past her in a blur as she stood at one side of the road. What separated her from her meal was about 8 lanes of asphalt and several tonnes of aluminium and plastic, whizzing by at speeds well over the allowed limit set by the law.

The woman stared at the sea of metal rushing by, contemplating a way to get across without having to over-exert herself.

Wonder if.... With her index finger protruding, she slowly extended her arm, poking the passenger window of a passing van. It was an easy task for one with her heightened perception. In fact, she thought she was moving quite slowly, doing such a task in a fraction of a second was pretty ordinary. When her flesh contacted the glass, the mass of the vehicle was suddenly shifted in the direction of the new force imposed on it by the woman's finger. The driver would have had no time to react to the sudden addition of a lateral force. The friction of the asphalt refused to let the rubber of the tires loose, sloughing off the rubber as it moved horizontally across the surface. The forward kinetic force of the vehicle was quickly changed into heat and a loud screech. After moving an entire traffic lane over, it finally stopped. This seemed to do the trick. Like a dam in a river, she had completely disrupted the flow of traffic, slowing both sides to a complete stop as drivers rushed out of their vehicles to either help, or spectate. She merely stared blanking. That worked out well.... Unbeknownst to her, an overpass was mere metres away: walking a couple extra metres? The mere thought was absurd, she was already late for dinner! Oh well, what's done is done.

The look on her face was blank as she stepped past the safety rail, leaving the portion meant for pedestrians and making her way onto the asphalt meant for vehicles. Like a fish swimming upstream the woman pushed through the growing crowd, making her way across the now still main road to the last known location of her meal. The myriad of people made detecting the exact location of her prey difficult, as a million different scents flooded her sense of smell. Perfume, cologne, deodorant, cigarette smoke, these were just the less offensive scents she was detecting. None of them were as enticing as that one. She had just made it to the other side when the ambulances came blaring their horns. It wasn't for another few metres before she could pick up the scent again -- it was close.

The smell brought her down an alley, buried amongst tall buildings. Unlike the deserted street she started in, this one was well lit and full of life. Conversations mixed with laughter and cheer flowed out of the various doors with neon signs above them, flooding the street in a sea of noise, giving the impression of busyness. The alley was actually quite upbeat, one would be surprised to find such an oasis of sensual stimuli embedded in the greyness of the concrete jungle. Bright neon signs flashed in a rainbow of colours indicating that each establishment was in fact, open for business. Along with the audio stimuli pouring out of each door came the scent of barley and hops -- the distinct taste and smell of alcohol, beer to be exact. She placed her right palm upon the door and pushed it open, revealing an entirely new universe beyond the alley.

Within the gates was a dimly lit room filled with chairs and tables which matched the colour scheme of establishment: black and maroon. Along the back wall was a shelf, filled with various bottles, each with varying levels of liquid within them, some were almost untouched, while others were near empty, the contents were different too, some were clear, while others are a dark brown, some were even blue and green! She quickly scanned the wall, noticing the writing on the labels for each bottle, Smirnoff, Bacardi, Jack Daniel's, Jim Bean, Jaggermeister.... the list went on and on. Just in front of the wall stood a couple, one male, one female. They were secluded from the rest of the establishment by a counter a little lower than chest height. The woman had an oddly shaped metal container in front of her filled almost to the top with ice. Without turning around, she reached to the wall behind her and grabbed a bottle, poured what seemed to be an arbitrary amount in to the container, then replaced it. She repeated the process with several other containers of liquid, then slapped the lid onto the container.

"Ready, hon?" The female bartender picked up the jar and tossed it to her counterpart. The metal container made several twists and turns in the air before landing -- almost naturally -- in the man's hands.

"Cheers babe!" He gave the female a playful wink and got to work. He began by rigorously shaking the container within his left hand, after a couple shakes, he tossed it into the air. The trajectory of the container would mean it would eventually land behind him, but before it hit the ground, he moved his leg to break its fall. Like clockwork, the container landed on the back of his heel, not more like miraculously, it landed bottom down! With a slight kick, he launched it back up into the air, catching it again with his free hands. He gave it a couple more shakes, then rolled it along his arm, past the back of his neck, down the other arm, then into his left hand: another couple shakes. The male bartender passed the metal container, now covered with condensation, back to his main hand, then gave his wrist a twist, forcing the shaker to spin within the palm of his right hand -- Lyra counted 6 full turns before stopping in its original position. "Ready?" He looked back at his partner as he popped off the cap with his thumb.

Before the woman answered, the container was already in the air, spinning along its horizontal axis. The centrifugal force was keeping the liquid pressed up against he bottom of the container, preventing any spills. She quickly reached under the counter and emerged with a high-ball glass. With careful concentration, she placed the glass at the place she thought the metal container would land. The audible noise of metal meeting glass was heard by those seated around the counter as the two containers met perfectly -- metal container, lid off, top down into an upright high-ball glass. The pink coloured liquid poured out and stopped just before it touched the metal opening. With her free hand, she dislodged the two containers, tossing the metal one into a nearby sink filled with warm sudsy water. She reached for a coaster, and placed it in front of her customer, then the newly created drink on top of that. "Enjoy." She gave the seated man a playful wink.

Lyra's eyes followed the drink to the man who ordered its creation, the very same man that was to be her meal for the night -- just in time too, as she was beginning to get a little hungry. The embodiment of sin ran the fingers of her left hand through her hair, pushing her fringes to the side of her face, revealing those irresistible maroon eyes. Gripping her gown at the waist, she pulled it down slightly, revealing more of her chest. The index finger of her right hand dug into the centre of her chest and pierced the skin, it wrapped around the ring and pulled it out slightly, revealing only the ring, leaving the rest of her enormous weapon hidden within her body. The exposed ring resembled a necklace, or perhaps a piercing? She placed each hand beneath her breasts, pushed them up and together slightly. Show time.

As she placed each foot in front of the other, she made sure to place particular emphasis on her waist movement, rocking them back and forth, up and down as she approached the seat next to him. Since the chairs were higher than normal, she had to do a little push and hop to mount it. As she landed, she let out a soft "Oomph." By this point, her straightened gown was ruffled, riding slightly up her legs.

"What can I get you sweetie?" The male bartender laid his charms on her, but tonight, she was set on her meal. Though the thought of toying with his emotions and breaking the trust formed between he and his partner was tantalizing, she felt such a task was better left for Lust.

"That." She replied, nodding her head toward her soon-to-be dinner. The female bartender quickly added the contents in a new container and threw it at the male, this time more forceful, hitting him in the chest before he fumbled and finally managing to catch it.

"Catch, hon." The bartender's previous loving voice was replaced by something a little rougher around the edges.

As the entire show repeated itself, Lyra turned her attention back toward her meal, leaning to ward him, she placed her lips mere inches away from his lips. "I didn't mean the drink." She whispered, making sure only he could hear. Her hand fell to his lap as she moved away, gliding down from his thigh to his knees before it relinquished contact. She made sure his eyes were following, as her hand gripped the bottom of her gown. When she had his full attention, she slowly lifted the fabric off her legs, exposing her upper leg. Before he was able to catch a glimpse, she quickly pulled the fabric back down and flattened it by brushing her palms down her thigh.

"Enjoy." The woman behind the counter snarled, as she placed the drink on the counter.

"Thanks honey." She replied with a smiled and wink.

"S... so who might I be speaking to? I... I'm...." Her meal seemed to have a slight difficulty speaking to her. Adorable. She smirked and placed her left index finger on his lips.

"Cheers." Her free hand gripped her drink and moved it off the coaster and toward the man, gesturing him to do the same. As he brought his glass to his lips, the woman removed her finger, allowing him to join her in a drink.

The pink liquid poured down her throat, coating it in a sweet, peach flavoured syrup. In one swig, she managed to drain the contents of her glass before placing it back onto the coaster. She watched as her man did the same. "Sweet-heart?" She called out to the female bartender, forcing her to reply. "We'd like something a little," Though she called the female over, her gaze left her quickly and moved onto the male as she continued. "Stiffer." She winked at him.

In less than a second, a loud thunk was produced as the slightly angry bartender grabbed a full bottle of liquor and broke its seal. Under the counter, she grabbed two shot glasses and filled them to the brim with the hazel coloured liquid. "Here."

Lyra took both glasses. She placed one in front of herself and one in front of the bartender who just served her. "Oh, this one's for you." She smirked, knowing how irritated the woman must have felt. Gluttony brought the liquid to her lips and titled her head back allowing it to slide down her throat. That was a little better. "And sweetie, we'll take the bottle." Without waiting for a reply, she threw the bartender a wallet. She took the bottle and glasses in one hand and with her other she grabbed the wrist of the man beside her, taking them to one of the more private booths.

The bottle was almost three quarters empty before the man finally gathered up the courage to ask her to leave with him.

"Oh, your apartment sounds amazing!" Though she had consumed just as much alcohol as him, she felt no more than an iota of its intoxicating effects -- he on the other hand could barely stand. "I would love to see your new bed sheets." His sheets didn't interest her one bit, it was his flesh and soul she wanted.

"O...okay babe, l... let me get this." He reached in to his pocket, but was unable to find what he was looking for. "Sh... fuck. My wallet!" He jumped up, almost knocking over the table between them.

She also stood, placing her palm firmly on his chest, using him to support some of her weight. She brought her lips within inches of his. "I already took care of it hon." She whispered as she shifted more weight on him, forcing him back into his seat. "Now, lets go see that apartment of yours."

She quickly drained what was left in the bottle labelled "Jack Daniel's" as she gripped his wrist and pulled him away from the booth and out the door. The way the alley once bursting with life had quieted down was almost eerie, as if a plague had come and passed whilst they were inside the bar -- in a way it has, it's known as a "work day". The only ones left in the alley were the pair: her walking with almost complete composure, while he stumbled and shifted, often needing her just to maintain upright. After the most round-about way, they were finally approaching their destination.

"It...s just right here." He fumbled with his keys, having the hardest time finding the right opening for it to go in, then actually placing it in. Finally, with her help, he opened the main gate to the building. Although he lived merely on the third floor, there would be no way for him to make it up the stairs, thus the pair waited for the lift. It didn't take very long for them to reach the door to his apartment, in front of which he repeated the whole routine of fumbling with his keys. Finally, he got it in.

The pair navigated through the living room and down the hall leading to the bedroom. He leaned in for a kiss, but his lips were greeted with nothing but her index finger. "Patience," She placed the palm of her free hand on his chest, forcing him to fall onto the bed harshly with a firm shove. "Let me get into something more comfortable." She left the room, heading to the front door. She made sure chain was on, and all the windows and blinds were all closed firmly before heading back into the bedroom.

He had already began unbuttoning his shirt. Without a word of warning the woman pounced on top of him, placing her left hand firmly on his chest, disallowing him the freedom to move his torso and hindering his breathing slightly. "Let's begin." The nails of her free hand ran up from his stomach up to his neck. "Relax." She brought her lips mere centimetres away from his as her nails began to dig deeper and deeper into his jugular, slowly piercing the skin.

"W...wai...t" He tried to resist, but it was already too late -- she was knuckle deep in his throat.

"I love you too, sweetheart." Their lips finally touched. She thrust her tongue into his mouth, muffling most of his screams, which were already beginning to lose their tone due to her fingers obstructing his airway. Once the opening was large enough, she placed her other hand into the newly formed cavity in his neck as well, tearing his flesh away from the bone. The blood gushed like an unstoppable hydrant, covering the woman's neck, chest and clothes in the crimson liquid. His screams were finally silenced due to both the lack of blood and breath.

Her lips left his, which was now ice cold, deprived of blood flow. She lowered herself so that she and the gash she made in his throat were at eye level. What beautiful handiwork. She dug right in -- without even saying grace! But just because her lips and teeth were at work didn't mean her hands were free to rest, oh no. Her claws crawled down his body, digging into anything they came in contact with, ripping the flesh away from bone. The woman moved her way down until every last bit was consumed. By the time she was finished, the morning sun had began to rise. The beams of sunlight penetrating the shutters illuminated the room, giving everything a slight hint of colour. Had she paid attention to him, she would have know what the colour of his sheets were. But that didn't matter, they were crimson now. The creature laid amongst the still damp sheets, beside her was her partner, albeit nothing but his skull, but her "partner" none the less. She licked her lips, cleaning the blood around it. Despite the mess she had made on the bed, the woman was actually quite a clean eater, showing almost no sign of what had occurred during the night.

A knock on the door disturbed her peace. "You alright in there?" It must have been the neighbours hearing his muffled screams.

She quickly got to her feet, leaving his skull on the bed where she just had dinner. She could have used a nap before after such a feast, but she didn't want to be troubled with dealing with any witnesses. Opening the window just big enough for her to slip through, the woman leaped out onto the top of a near by telephone post from which she had a perfect view through his window and of the bed. She sat on her perch staring at the bed for a while until his door was finally busted open by several neighbours. Their piercing screams could be heard throughout the entire district. She had no choice but to admire her work. "Thanks for the meal, love."

The embodiment of Gluttony got back on her feet and slowly moved away from the scene of the crime, passing the authorities on her way. The summer air was beginning to get humid again, causing her hair to droop and her fringes were obstructing her vision once again -- what's worse was that she was still hungry. There's nothing worse than having a bad hair day on an empty stomach! The woman's hand moved to brush her hair away from her eyes when she spotted some crimson liquid remaining on her finger tips. She placed her lips around the residue and licked the remainder clean, making sure to get every last drop.

Muy delicioso.

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