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National Park || Late Afternoon [55]
Maroon eyes followed the dragon’s movements, their owner’s body otherwise totally motionless until his lips curved in a small but quietly triumphant smirk. Latias, past all her blind rage was still an emotive being, suddenly guilty as she sought to make amends with the Abra. Just when he’d thought the female couldn't be any more interesting, she went and revealed her weakness in the form of a bleeding heart – albeit determinedly disguised until now. But Hannibal had glimpsed it, confident that despite the female’s brutal façade she was in fact totally controllable. Good.
The young otter soon quieted to perfect the scene.
It took him a moment, the hound enamoured with the new-found stillness now enveloping his slender form, but Hannibal soon became aware that he was being watched – or rather, stared at, perhaps even analysed He saw Lalita out the corner of his eye, turning his head to offer the fox a better look of his dark features only to find he had acted too late. Yet the sensation remained. Her pretty eyes were elsewhere, ruling her out as the latest observer. Hannibal, attention wandering across the group, eventually glimpsed flash of two red points in the trees. Eyes; perhaps a shade or two darker than his own.
Something screamed; Hannibal didn't flinch, didn't even move, as his attention remained cemented on the creature in the trees. Yet this stranger wasn't as steadfast in its nature. It fled, a rustle of leaves marking its exit as it went rushing off in pursuit of an unseen victim, the screamer presumably. The Houndoom lost his target within the leaves, left staring at the foliage until his thoughts were rudely interrupted.
"What was that?"
Hannibal turned calmly to witness Lalita rushing towards the sound rather than the mystery spectator, Buck soon stumbling after her as the distant screams began to register in the canine’s mind. Too distracted before to recognize the owner’s species, the Houndoom now stood smiling wickedly to himself upon realization that it was a human; a terrified, maybe even dying, human.
“Haven’t heard that sound in awhile…” Hannibal muttered to himself, face alighted with a twisted joy as he strained to hear more of mankind’s fear. It was beautiful, a mesmerizing soundtrack that evoked a pang of nostalgia in the pit of his stomach. He could almost feel the warmth of those glorious flames completing the memory.
As delightful as a moment’s reminiscence of his finest hour was, Hannibal was aware it would be short-lived. No doubt Lalita and Buck had gone in search of the imperilled human, drawing the canine’s brief spell of satisfaction to a close with the creature’s imminent rescue. It was a shame. He would much rather extend the performance. The man was creating a musical masterpiece, bettered only by an accompanying visual spectacle of torture.
As Hannibal escaped his artistic appreciation of the distant chaos, smile dissolving away for his charade’s sake, he turned to the remaining group. The Abra was recovering quickly, his young friend and Latias also calm.
“I’ll see they stay safe,” He called definitely, a blunt statement as he offered a departing nod of his head. He would keep his promise… to an extent. Lalita would come to no harm, Buck a little at most, but the mystery human – that was another matter entirely. He would be better off dead than alive in Hannibal’s company.
"Back off, you creep!"
He trotted onto the scene, stance awkward as he braved using the crushed, though now thankfully numbed paw. It was the lanky human he saw first, the pathetic creature cowering behind the fox and weasel, whilst an equally miserable specimen of avian lay cradled in the man’s arms. He did not stand with Lalita and Buck. Memories of man’s cruelty reawakened, the undead reptile was a mere pest in comparison to the repugnant man Hannibal failed to take his narrowed eyes off. His silent greeting was sufficiently murderous.
”Krookodile are weak to ice moves,” He called, voice unsettling level given the circumstances. Whilst his attention was almost entirely absorbed by the human, the stench of decay in the air reminded him of the problem at hand. The canine himself had no intentions to bring down the infected foe, the muzzle rendering his attacks limited at his current range and also proving a generally credible excuse not to get his claws dirty. Yet he wasn't past offering advice to the duo he didn't want to see dead yet. Besides, the Weavile seemed likely to have an advantage.
