Erik’s Room

[Erik]

The black bound journal was unremarkable on the outside, a little battered and scuffed on the outside, a thin cord wrapped around the outside to keep the pages tightly shut. Even when it was flipped open, Erik carefully moving through the pages it still looked like a typical one, line after line filled with a neat cursive script. It detailed stats from different races, his different experiments and the time it took him to break down every person that passed through his hands. Erik was proud of what was recorded in the journal, sometimes reading through them to remind himself of all the events and achievements he had managed to earn through his life.

The most recent set of stats ended a little over a week ago when the human plaything Lucian and Farryn had given him had finally buckled under the pressure and stopped being entertaining. It had been an interesting experience, Erik learning something new from the series of tests, as he did every time. Although he didn’t show emotion, he’d felt much relaxed this past week, still riding on the sensation of crushing another mind and body. There was nothing quite like it.

He stood carefully, closing the book and wrapping the cord back around the outside. Erik didn’t think anyone would be dumb enough to disturb the book but if someone came into his room and rooted, Erik wanted to know and so he aligned it perfectly on the table, knowing that it would be impossible to return it the same way without revealing themselves.

[Erik]

His dark shirt had long sleeves which fell a little way beyond his wrists. It wasn’t a fashion statement, or even a particular choice. Erik had simply been unable to summon up the energy to care that he’d bought a shirt a single size too large. The baggy cuffs at least allowed him easy access to the blades around his wrist, easy to reach if the need arose. Really, there was nothing he would like better than to be near Tyler with his blades and have that very need appear. The young werewolf’s thoughts often turned towards the fighter, imaging him in all sorts of painful situations, even when he wasn’t around.

After a few moments spent needlessly fiddling with the items on his desk, arraigning them and then rearranging them to his satisfaction, so that he would be able to tell if they were disturbed at all, Erik finally moved, step slow and even. He’d been so busy with his notes and his work that he hadn’t had time before now to eat. His stomach rumbled ferociously, Erik suddenly craving something nice and filling. Imagining murder and mayhem was hungry work.

Continued in: The Kitchen