Where the heck are you? How the hell did you even get here? Stone everywhere. Water dripping. Lava boiling pleasantly behind a wall of glass. You're not hallucinating again, are you? You shake your head once, twice, three times. Still, nothing changes. And besides, your vision isn't even blurry. No, you actually feel a slight headache coming on. First you ran away from the darkness in the swamp, then you ran away from the darkness at the ocean. Unfortunately, the junction between those two places has been the only place you've seen your previous vines growing. And so, while you were able to refill your stock the last time you were there, the number of vines you have left has been running dangerously low. Even with rationing you're running on fumes. You shudder to think of what will happen when your supply runs completely out. Detox... You're not sure you can handle it.

Starting to walk, enjoying the way your hooves click on the stone floor, you decide to try and find a way out of this place. You've got to go searching, you've got to go on a mission. There are plenty of places you haven't explored. Maybe.... no, you dare not hope. You shake the thought from your head. To hope that you will find your vines somewhere else and then not find them... it would be torture, it would be the death of you. So you won't hope, but you'll look, and perhaps you will find. From your shoulder bag, your wisp laughs in your head, mocking you for your addition, for your failures. You hate her. Stealing her from Ampere was, perhaps, the worst thing that ever happened to you and you make sure that she knows this, adding in a few thoughts about how she's lucky you're kind enough to take care of her. You could have crushed her and you didn't. She should be grateful.

As you walk, you feel parts of your body begin to moisten ever so slightly. The sweats. Opening your bag up, you shove your overly-large nose into the leather, inadvertently letting the obnoxious, mostly-invisible wisp out of her prison, but for now you don't care. Your plants are in there. You nose through them, counting. One, two, three, four... No, that's it. Just four. Four might have lasted you half a day before this tragedy of the blackness. You're going to have to make it last a lot longer than that. You carefully bite half of one of the plants off, chewing on it slowly. You're trying to enjoy it, to mash every last ounce of juice out of it, maybe to give you the sensation that you're eating more than you actually are. But psychological tricks aside, your body knows when it's not getting the dose it wants.. no, needs. And this half-vine won't last you very long, but it's better than nothing, at least.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you see him. Well, the back end of him. The crazed maniac you ran into at the beach, the man that had a huge gouge down his neck, the man who dared you to attack him. You didn't then, you were on a mission that you ultimately failed at. But this time... This time you will not fail. Of course, your mission has unexpectedly changed.

Perhaps driven by the frustration at losing your vines, you don't even try to give the man fair warning. You take up a trot, trying to head towards the left side of his rear end, ignoring the warning bell in your head, the mind of your feeble wisp, sending you thoughts of pain and then a reminder that your vines are running low. You'll have pain relief. You ignore her, potentially in an effort to spite her, but mostly because you are just angry. So angry. If the man has not moved, having taken your four or five large steps, your right shoulder should be just about even with his hip. You thrust your shoulder to the right then, trying to crash into him and use your massive size against his tiny body, perhaps knock him off balance on the slippery floor. At the same time, you reach your head down to his back, mouth open, trying to bite your teeth into his whithers, shaking your head for good measure as you close, like a dog trying to break the neck of his prey.

Motions done, you attempt to widen your stance, lowering your head slightly, fighting to stay standing against the difficult footing. In your head, your boggart broadcasts her fear. She doesn't know what you're doing, has never seen you fight. Well good, you think to her with a snort. You should be scared of me.

WC: 799
Post: 1/3 + 0/1