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Sheep's Clothing Would Be Too Inelegant

Isn't it delightful how lifelong relationships can be formed through simply bumping into people on the street?

In my normal form, I like to spend the stalking period swooping around and perching high to observe, sometimes dipping in closer to scent the sweetness of my prey from inches away, wrapped in illusions to hide my great form. But when I'm like this, I walk among them instead, the wolf in sheep's clothing. Playthings can be chosen as they look back at me: how will those eyes appear contorted in soul-crushing terror? How will the faces look as they drip with tears? As they speak, react, move, live... I watch.

Until we begin.

And here we are. I've always had a soft spot for vulpines, particularly those of a certain slender, gentle build and temperament. Those ears cry out to be nibbled on. Those tails beg to tickle the back of my throat.

A creature like this isn't underendowed in either. He's a bat-eared fox, the large beautiful triangles even longer than most by about an inch, standing fluffy and proud of that skull. The tail is thick and luxuriant, all a twitch in the chilly winter. Overall he must stand about 5'5", slim frame sheathed against the cold in silky fur the colour of desert sand at dusk. It darkens beautifully on those ears and the tip of his tail... perhaps his paws are a similar colour as well?

He's moving ahead, coming forwards now through the tide of early Christmas shoppers. I've been examining his body before now, of course, trying to catch his scent on the wind... but then I see those eyes, and I know he's mine. Deep, large, the colour of a perfect emerald sea, glittering in flawless clarity... my, my, my. He's perfect.

How shall we do it? I could just take him here, shifting the perceptions of all around him to stop them hearing any cries. Or maybe not even that. A few deaths of innocent bystanders will be enough to make him see me, and then walk towards him as the crowds flee screaming, letting him quail, letting him watch his new god come nigh.

...or maybe something like this ought to be savoured more.

I approve, and smile, slinking forwards to claim my prize.

***

Three weeks later.

He was waiting for Geta.

Of course he was. He'd said he considered it a point of pride to be prepared before anyone else.

His date leaned against a pillar, fingers arching over his sleek chest and eyes closed. As always his beak was pulled into a radiant smile - the overall effect really was quite breathtaking. Yet again Geta found himself wondering how this Adonis could be remotely interested in him.

The gryphon stood a total 6'4" tall, his body perfectly sculpted and proportioned - at once elegantly streamlined, and considerably powerful. He was wingless, but still a sinuous tail wound around those graceful ankles, the end tipped with a gorgeous explosion of long, fluffy fur. This Vitruvian anatomy was covered, at least: his plumage and fur were mostly the pure silver colour of a glowing moon, shifting to a beautiful powdery sky-blue on chest, throat, tail- and ear-tips. He'd said his pawpads were the same colour as well - for some reason, Geta had blushed at that.

There was no need to announce his approach. The moment the vulpine spotted him, the beautiful creature's eyes opened. The effect was completed. Eyes like jewellery, like precious gems, sparkled as they met his own. It was the most extreme and the most dazzling case of heterochromia Geta had ever seen: one dark, iridescent purple, the other presumably what had been his namesake: golden and liquid and almost seeming to glow.

These were the eyes that locked onto Geta as he approached, and the beak's grin spread. Goldeneye pushed himself off the wall with graceful ease, striding delightedly forwards. He was almost a foot taller than his companion and had no trouble literally sweeping Geta off his feet, enclosing the vulpine in a passionate, firm hug which pulled both paws from the ground.

Nearly a squeak of protest escaped Geta's lips, but Goldeneye silenced it with a short kiss, his tongue darting out to lick playfully at the fox's lips. He smiled again, almost regretfully setting him down. "Merry Christmas, foxy."

Geta smiled, his tail wagging. "You too."

There was a table waiting for them - how such a thing could have been reserved at such short notice Geta had no idea. The gryphon offered him a chair first, sitting opposite. He had his cane, the fox noticed, the elegant amethyst orb on the top twinkling happily in the restaurant's lights, but as he sat he leaned it against the table. Both of them had dressed up for the occasion. It had only been three weeks, after all, and on the first real date impressions were important. Goldeneye, for his part, had chosen a sleek waistcoat in embroidered purple, stark against the pure white of his shirt, collar unbuttoned to let the thick heaviness of his chestfeathers peek out from inside.

The gryphon grinned at the shy glance, long, elegant ears flicking playfully as Geta picked up his menu. He made no move to pick up his. "Ah..." he stretched luxuriously, pulling one leg up to rest in on top of the other. "Mmm. Have you been here before? They have a wonderful pan-searing method. It's unbeatable anywhere else, really."

"I... no, of course not. It's so generous of you to bring me..."The fox nodded thoughtfully, glancing back down. It would be a difficult choice as well. Goldeneye had been the one to ask him here, Goldeneye was intending to pay, and Geta's nervous little soul felt he shouldn't choose something too expensive. Um...

The gryphon watched him deliberate for a moment, and sighed playfully, reaching across to stroke a hand. "Shall we order drinks first, perhaps?"

They talked quietly for a few moments, the conversation at once whimsical and perfectly enjoyable. It was these moments that made Geta appreciate just how much sheer charm the gryphon possessed. Intelligent, interesting, interested, charismatic beyond belief... even his voice seemed perfect, the smooth rich rumble of it already feeling like music to the fox's ears. How could he ever have resisted?

He was falling in love. He was sure of it.

After a few moments, though, he noticed that Goldeneye still hadn't touched his menu. The vulpine frowned. "Goldie?"

"Hmm?" The gryphon looked up, twirling a fork between his claws. "Yes?"

"Are you ready to order?"

"Oh, I've chosen already." He replaced his cutlery, pushing the menu aside. "We don't need to order it, though."

"We don't?" Geta smiled, his tail instinctively wagging again. "Is it a special? Come on,Goldeneye. I'm not one for surprises."

Goldeneye smiled. "No..." he murmured. "Alright, then. It's going to be absolutely delicious, you know." the gryphon paused, leaning forwards, a claw beckoning. "Come on. Geta-faux, come closer. Strain those beautiful beautiful ears a little."

They leaned close to each other, close enough to feel the heat of the gryphon's body as he drew in a breath, hands holding Geta's back, and whispered into his ear,

"It's you."

He might have had a chance to react, but Goldeneye didn't give him one. Before the fox could even register the words, his grip had shoved the fox forwards, and straight into Goldeneye's kiss.

This one wasn't quick or short in the slightest. The gryphon's arms shifted up to Geta's neck, still holding him against his beak until he almost seemed to be impaled on it. The kiss was brutal, all-engorging. He could feel his mouth melting into it, helplessly submissive to the dominance of the gryphon's beak. There was no way to breathe through the passionate affections, nothing he could do except feel as Goldeneye seemed to explore and adore every inch of his muzzle. Geta's lungs were starting to burn. His eyes were dimming. He tried to raise his hands, to try and pull away, but they were unresponsive and slack and anyway the sheer heated greed of that beak arms was holding him prisoner. He managed to make a whimpering noise as the pain peaked... and then Goldeneye let loose his own breath, exhaling a hot, musky cascade straight into Geta's system. The scent was heady, dazingly deep, rich and exotic. Geta's desperate lungs consumed it all the same, and thus as he was finally released, he slumped backwards with his head spinning, limbs suddenly feeling weighted and leaden.

Goldeneye sat across from him, smiling pleasantly. He reached out an elegant hand to catch Geta's chin before it slumped onto the table. "Sssh. That's better. Come on, little fox."

The little fox managed to raise himself onto his elbows, still breathing hard. "W... w...what... what was that?"

"The kiss? It was just a kiss." Goldeneye smiled, leaning back again in his chair and curling his tailtip into his lap. "The "eat you" part was real, however."

Geta grinned weakly back, but for whatever reason, there was a faint, faint tingle of nervousness in him. "Okay... that did feel like a devouring sort of kiss."

The gryphon chuckled. "Yes. But that's not what I'm actually talking about. Geta, I am going to eat you. In a very, very literal sense."

This time, the joke seemed overstretched. Geta felt himself looking blank. "I'm... not following you."

Goldeneye watched him for a moment, cool and amused. And suddenly, in a movement almost unnaturally fast, he'd slipped sideways on his chair, leaning melodramatically with a claw on his forehead."Ohhhhhhhhh. And that is what comes from taking this form, I suppose. I never get taken as seriously as I would be if I came in all my feathery glory. Oh well, that's part of the fun of it." He nodded at the quizzical expression of his partner. "The thing is, Geta, I've been lying to you this whole time. I'm not a stage actor, I'm not from West London, and... well, I'm not even actually a gryphon."

All this was said in such a friendly, cheerful tone that Geta could only giggle at it. "Alright. What are you, then? A really, really well disguised kangaroo?"

"Might try kangaroo sometime. But no, I'm not." The gryphon leaned forwards, his long, elegantly muscled arms reaching out to close firmly around Geta's unresisting, uncomprehending wrists. "I'm an ancient composite creature born out of the splintered fragments of untold trillions of minds throughout the vast cosmos, with the essential powers of a god and no concept of morality whatsoever, and I approached you for no purpose but to amuse myself by seducing you before I started my real fun, and by "fun", I mean that I am going to take you, torment you, shrink you to a size so easily swallowable that I can hold you in one claw, and then seal you away within the furnace of my throat, to suffer the world-ending agony of digestion as you slowly melt away, and become simply a few ounces of fleshiness on my belly."

He was millimetres away from Geta's frozen nose by the time he finished. The gryphon flashed a grin, slipped his tongue out to lick the tip of his partner's nose, and sat back. "Comprendre?"

The vulpine stared at him. "That is... Goldeneye, I don't get this. It's starting to sound creepy. Could we... could we move on? The joke's past."

Goldeneye looked at him, then away, then back again. "Geta. It isn't a joke. You're mine, you delicious vulpine. Completely."

"Oh, for god's sake, of course I don't believe you!" the fox snapped, starting to feel annoyed. "Is that really surprising?"

In a smooth, seamless movement, the cane was in Goldeneye's hand, he was on his feet, and the amethyst orb at the end was flying round in a perfect, devastating arc. It hit Geta on the side of his chin with the force of what felt like a wrecking ball.

He couldn't manage to scream as he was toppled out of his chair - the pain and shock was too much. The fox only managed an inarticulate, confused squeal as he hit the ground, rolling over and over until he smacked unpleasantly into a pillar, legs in the air, staring dazedly and upside down as Goldeneye stood from his chair, undoing another button on his crisp shirt from the exertion.

His voice felt raw and bruised. No-one seemed to be reacting - they must be as stunned as he was. "What... t-the hell..."

Goldeneye squatted by his head, stroking one clawed head along the sore part. "You're going to die painfully today, my dear. But I'm very good at exploration of the word "painfully". It can mean the horrendous agony of a slow acidic death. Or," he patted his cheek tenderly. "it can be much worse. Which way we go is dependent on how soon you can stop refusing to be part of my games."

Shakily, the fox pulled himself round. Still no-one had even looked at them, and he slowly realised that the conversation and clatter of cutlery were exactly as normal. "Wh... what... Goldeneye, this is insane. I'm not... you... you're completely deranged!"

"Oh, you've no idea." The gryphon pulled him firmly to his feet with no effort whatsoever, leaning forwards to press Geta to the cold stone behind him. "Dear morsel. Darling little preything. You might have noticed that no-one seems to mind me savagely assaulting people. This is standard where I usually reside, actually, but right now it's because I'm broadcasting a wide-range perception filter to everyone on this side of the city which allows me to reshape their perception of reality." He gave Geta's nose a playful kiss, and reached down with one hand, grasping his collar and then lifting him single handedly from the ground. The feat of strength might not have seemed so ludicrous, if it wasn't for the complete ease with which the larger creature manipulated him. The vulpine pawed helplessly at him, breath coming in short gasps, as Goldeneye sauntered back towards their table, in full view of the packed restaurant. There was nothing.

His "date" sat on the edge of the table and drew him closer, letting the half-choked fox collapse into a warm, feathery embrace. Geta's head was spinning. This was insane. Maybe the gryphon had drugged them - that he could, at a pinch, believe. But the idea of Goldeneye Masters (real first name, he'd confessed, was llwglyd... Welsh, and the reason he usually went by his nickname) being anything extranormal was... at once ludicrous, and when he looked into the jewelled gleam of those eyes, horribly, maniacally conceivable.

These thoughts, as well as confusion, pain and frustrated fear, were what led to his reply when Goldeneye snuggled him close to his powerful chest, wrapped his tail around the vulpine's waist and murmured "Time's up now. Geta, my darling, is this enough to convince you? Will you renounce all things, including life, to serve me? It may be less pai-"

The fox squirmed free and slapped him as hard as he could across the beak.

If Geta had been much stronger, his hand would very likely have broken. He yelled in pain, clutching it and feeling the throbbing fingers vibrate like a tuning fork. There was no give whatsoever. The pain only heightened the confused, scared anger. "You're a bloody maniac! W-what the h-hell is going on? If you think this is funny, I'm damn well going to end our... our relationship... right here!"

Goldeneye watched him calmly for a moment, relinquishing his steel-hard grip. He drew his legs up and sat cross legged on top of the table the table, shrugging. "Alright. Geta, I would have liked to be nicer. Sort of. In the same way, I would have liked to make it even worse. I'm complicated like that. But, this is... a little demonstration."

He snapped his fingers, the sound completely unnoticed yet again. And then Geta's legs were walking. He tried to hold back, grunting in effort and disbelief, but his body was manipulated as easily as a mannequin dancing on its strings. He took another step towards the insane creature, his mental resistance ignored completely. Yet was the impossible grip weakening? This time, Geta's foot moved a smaller distance, his body carried less. Or was he going down?

Wait, what?

He blinked, breathless and confused and scared, and looked at the quite horizontal floor. His paws seemed closer. And smaller. A lot smaller.

By the time the vulpine looked up again, his already short stature had passed beneath five feet. He realised the truth as four and a half was clipped. It was insane, but against every law of physics, he was simply... shrinking.

"W-what... what on earth..."

Now four feet. Goldeneye had leant forwards slightly, utterly motionless as he watched. his expression was horrifying, a dreadful intense hunger etched on that face as he drank in the sight.

Geta's next step carried him about four inches. He had clipped three feet, and there was no sign of it stopping. Every part of his body was normal, felt normal... but he was a cub again. And still smaller. The step afterwards was about half that distance.

He drew helplessly towards the table legs, now two feet tall and staring horrified at his needlelike fingers. There was no room for crying or weeping - Geta was simply too shocked for any of it.

One foot. He felt a sudden swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach, tripped, and fell straight forwards into the table leg. But there was nothing to grab onto, for as Geta fell his body shrank and shrank until he had collapsed in a dazed heap. Five inches tall. Shorter than the forks on the table.

He might have said something, but he couldn't think of any words. The astonishment had blasted them out of his suddenly tiny head. Geta could only raise himself up, breathing in small, shaky gasps.

Before he could dodge aside, the gryphon's taloned fingers had scooped him up, wrapping delicately around his body and legs. Goldeneye lifted him up to eye level, his gleaming orbs even more mesmerising at this sudden vast size. His fingers flexed over Geta's form, each slender appendage squeezing him lightly in succession as he was turned this way and that, examined, greedily given up to the murderous creature. The fox simply whimpered in shocked, choked surprise as he was lowered again, held now by the scruff of his neck between forefinger and thumb.

The gryphon spoke, his voice actually sending thrums through Geta's body with the power. His prey's microscopic eardrums tickled slightly. "Excuse me?"

Geta squirmed around, trying to kick free from the firm grasp, looking up at him. But Goldeneye wasn't even glancing at him. He had been dismissed, his frantic gasps and wriggles nothing but a faint distraction.

Geta watched in stunned silence as a waiter came up, a red-feathered hawk who towered over the table, smiling politely at the other avian. "Hello, sir. Are you ready to order?"

"Not exactly." Goldeneye leaned closer, his free hand tapping lazily on the wooden surface. "I have a special request, you see. Could you possibly do me a one-off, just tonight?" And as if it was the most normal thing in the world, he raised the minute fox up and proffered it to the hawk.

Geta yelled, of course. He waved and screamed for help, flailing frantically in the painful grip of the gryphon to be seen. "H-help me! He's... oh god, please, help! HELP!" The exact reaction he wasn't clear on, but his astonished terror would have been a good place to start... following by getting him away from the horrific, confusing, (still incredibly handsome shut up please god someone help me) lunatic.

The bird looked straight at him, his eyes widening slightly... and... he smiled. Polite, professional, very clearly intelligent and fully in command of his senses... except uncaring of the flailing five-inch fox before him. There wasn't even a moment of hesitation before he said, "Oh... Interesting, sir. Well, it's... not our usual style, but I could see what the kitchens could do. Do you have any preferences?"

There was a slight rumbling purr from Goldeneye's throat as he considered, ignoring the squirming vulpine just as much as if he possessed no idea either. "Hmmm... you know what, surprise me. My tastes are very varied. I have," a sly grin, "confidence in your ability."

He was handed over from one set of scaled avian claws to the other, grasped again firmly in the hawk's claws. Geta's frantic shouts might as well have been silent. The waiter bowed slightly, clasped his fingers more firmly around the terrified life he held, and trotted away.

The walking motion shook him crazily, but a hysterical fox was nothing if not persistent. Geta wailed and squirmed desperately, kicking his minute legs against the firm grip. There wasn't even a twitch of a response. He could only watch as the avian swept through the restaurant and from the quiet murmur into a bright, noisy place, deafening his ears with the cacophonous symphony of loud conversation and work. The kitchens.

The hawk holding his life strode through the melee confidently, reaching out with his free hand and tapping a white-clad figure on the shoulder. "Oi. Kevin. We've got a special request here."

"Kevin" glanced around, wiping his paws on a towel. He looked to be an alsatian of some kind, tawny furred with a slight oriental tang - and a playfully exaggerated weariness - to his voice. "Great. I'm supposed to be doing the souffles in five minutes, you know. We're not a band, Jem, we're a restaurant. We don't officially do requests and if-"

He saw Geta waving and wriggling, already panting from the terror and the exertion. For a moment his eyes widened just a fraction. Surely he could see him. The fox managed to break from his shocked trance of dread just in time to hope desperately - and then the eyelids relaxed again. Kevin sighed, leaning forwards slightly and examining Geta with the same calm, detached interest the waiter had shown. He shrugged. "Alright, alright, I'll do it. As long as they want something quick, mind."

The hawk - "Jem" grinned. "Lifesaver, you are. Do make it quick, yes - he said to surprise him, but I don't figure he's the kind to be kept waiting."

Again, he was handed over, this time to a set of softer, fleshier pawpads. Geta's stuttered squirms were ignored once more as the canine squeezed him experimentally, as if testing the ripeness of a fruit. "Hmm. We've still got plenty of rice on the hob, and if Emma hasn't dropped it this time-" a collective chuckle between them "-I'll get some of that sauce for it. Bit of seasoning, and we'll have a nice little morsel."

"Sounds great. I'll be back, alright? Work is never done... good luck." The hawk turned away, his eyelids twitching just a little before he said. "And don't tie him. Let him squirm."

Jem raised a paw as his friend walked away. "Will do."

In his paw, still wriggling, Geta watched him walk away. His hysterics were fading, no replaced by a weak, open-mouthed astonishment. He didn't even notice when he was set down momentarily on the cool metal of the counter, an opportunity lost just as quickly as the alsatian picked him up again, handled gently but firmly, like an eggshell, and placed him on a board.

Humming to himself, Kevin placed the trembling fox on a chopping board, one hand still holding him steady while the other drew over a horrible selection of knives hanging from the wall. He seemed to pause at a cleaver, and Geta's heart felt like it might burst, and then hound moved on again, selecting instead a small, one-edged blade like an old-fashioned razor. He reached down, holding his cringing prey steady, and laid the sharp, horribly cold edge of it against his dish's tiny flank. Geta did not even dare squirm. And then it moved, and the fox.... did not hurt at all. He gulped off his scream and looked down, seeing the enormity of steel scraping his fluffy chest and shaving it. After the shock, he could feel the itch of his tender flesh being bared. He was being... cleaned, like a cut of meat. The horrible irony was that now, he did not dare move, in case the blade did hurt him. So he lay there trembling, and the innocent chef hummed, blind to the life he was shaving naked of precious seconds, while he was skinned of the thick, soft dusky fur which had held him for so long. All around was noisiness, clanging and shouts and - he daren't even think of them - sizzling of the kitchen in full swing.

There was an evident professionalism to the alsatian's movements, quick, clean and efficient. Geta could feel his fingers holding him steady, now carefully maneuvering the blade over the dimpled curve of a shoulder. He reached across with his other paw, clasping the clipped claw at the with a tiny, quivering hand, and stared up into the pretty hazel eyes of Kevin, biting back tears, unable to speak above a whisper lest that dreadful knife slip. "P-please... y-you... you have to see me... you're... you're not u-understanding... please, please, please j-just see me!"

The alsatian smiled down at him, and looked away. "Emma! I still haven't got a reply from you about next Thursday. You are covering, right?"

Someone far, far away called back. "Though it break my heart. But you'll owe me, Kev."

The Alsatian waved his knife lazily, grinning at her. "Yes, yes. Thanks. That's great then." He turned back to his work, now flipping Geta over onto his front - grunting weakly beneath the painful grip, his belly pressed against the cold plastic - with the elegance and ceremony of a vegetable being turned over to peel the other side, and began to peel his other side, shaving tail and legs until the board was covered with soft, fluffy piles of tiny hairs, prickling Geta's newly sensitized body. The fox tried to pull an arm up, and had it pinched back in place by forefinger and thumb. He was crying now, but even the tears didn't feel real. It was a surrealist nightmare. He wasn't going to be... he... was... going to be..

The reality of Geta's situation suddenly and slowly rose over the fox in a tide of adrenaline-laced ice. Not only that he had been shrunken against all the laws of the universe, not only that his apparent boyfriend had become a raving lunatic and with the abilities to support his lunacy; he was going to be prepared, and eaten, like any other meal in the restaurant.

He screamed, tried to wriggle, and Kevin nicked his thumb. "Damn!" he snapped, giving the wriggly vulpine a moment's respite as he cradled a stinging paw. "Blasted little... if that happens again I'll have to cut something off to keep it still."

Geta went very, very still, breathing in minute whimpers of dread. The canine seemed to approve, and continued his work. The sheer level of his blindness was becoming sickening apparent to his captive. How could Goldeneye possibly do something like this? How could such total control be achieved?

The last few traces were all that remained now, and Kevin was working swiftly, impatient to finish the job. The fox tried to cry without curling up or cuddling his de-fluffed tail, and his life was shaved away.

***

There is a tendency among creatures of the Void to develop extreme lack of emotional control, becoming ruled by the sheer beauty and intricacy of the minds which they might themselves have ruled. Already capable of experiencing increased emotions - zeniths of bliss and nadirs of despair far beyond normal living things - many become entirely predictable due to their inability to have logical thought triumph over emotional desires.

Goldeneye was not one of these. He navigated back to his emails with a taloned claw, scrolled down a few lines, and found the correspondence he'd been having with a brilliant young physicist in South America. A few more suggestions from the anonymous "retired dimensionologist" calling himself "Emperor_Goldeneye" and the charming little ferret would be inspired to try a new way of electromagnetic spectrum analysis which would eventually lead to discovery of the Void, thus allowing this universe to begin a new age of enlightenment and wonder. It would also, over the next century or so, increase the proportion of Voidseers by up to several million percent. They might even start a war with another dimension.

He tapped out a reply proposing a small part of the equation of magnetic dissonance which a genius in a different world had invented two decades ago, added the usual embellishments, and sent, smiling to himself. He'd have to spend a little while longer here. There was a rather delectable love triangle developing between the leaders of two volatile nations in the Middle East, someone on a lonely island near Greece was just now planning a novel based directly on Goldeneye's experiences of the exquisite Na'tyr civilisation in their delightful crystal universe, and of course he would have to see if Geta whetted his appetite.

Oh, dear delicious Geta. He should have nibbled his ears more while he had the chance. The gryphon laid his phone down, feeling the sear of hunger, not in his slim abdomen, but in the firestorm of his mind. Geta was nearly shaved now, almost ready for the next part. Soon. The fox had been food ever since his ancestors had evolved into multi-celled organisms. Goldeneye would show him his true calling, that was all.

He opened up a new application - oh,"app", blast it, what had he been thinking when he introduced acronyms into this language - and began looking for the results of an architectural competition in Paris. Passing time. His meal was coming.

***

The little fox, now even littler, was finally released. Kevin stood over him for a moment, dusting his hands of the stray fur. Geta squirmed round to watch him, finally able to curl up and hug himself close... but then that paw snatched him up again, moving him away he knew not where. The vulpine felt weak with terror. "G-goldeneye..." he whispered as Kevin ducked past a white-clad figure with a tray of bread rolls. "I... I-I'm sorry I doubted you. P-please, please j-j-just let me g-ARRGGGHFFL!"

Kevin had thrust him under a torrent of freezing liquid, the icy blast drenching Geta's oversensitive body in seconds. He could barely breathe, choking and spluttering as his limbs kicked desperately at the hound's fingers... and suddenly he was free, a wet, bedraggled thing nestled in the Alsatian's hand, gasping for breath. Kevin turned the tap off with a grunt, moving on with his prey now fully washed... to the hob.

Geta's blood ran even icier than the tap water. "Goldeneye," he whispered, holding the edge of the hound's paw. "G-goldeneye, I'm... I'm begging. I... I had no idea... I c-can... I can make it up to you. You'll... I'll... p-please, please, oh my god, no, no nonono..."

There wasn't even a reply. The impossible gryphon no longer needed to bother with him. Kevin reached up, pulled down a sleek black frying pan and placing it on the hob. He twisted a dial and there was an audible whoomph as blue flames lapped beneath. The pan was warming up instantly.

Geta screamed out loud, yelling frantically at the entire kitchen. "HELP ME! OH G-G-GOD, PLEASE, HELP, HELP, OH NO, NO, NO, HELP!" His voice, quiet as it was, should have been heard, should have drawn attention. There was nothing. Kevin reached over now, dashing a small quantity of clear liquid into the pan and sloshing it around. After a moment, it began to sizzle slightly.

"I.. I..." The words wouldn't come. Geta squirmed round, trying to hold on to the fingers which he had tried to escape so long and so shortly ago. He felt his throat actually seizing up with the terror, his voice cracking and drying into wordless inarticulate chokes of absolute horrified dread. "G..."

Kevin shook him slightly to get the last remains of the water of him, and tossed him lightly in.

Some small part of the fox's fevered brain had vaguely, weakly thought that some pains were simply too major to actually be felt. Like gunshot wounds which just registered as a colossal blow, but not a flesh-tearing agony. He would have appreciated now that this was not one of those situations, but the little vulpine had no brainpower left to devote to other thoughts.

The pain was titanic, and yet intimate, closing in on him with searing iron caresses. He screamed, tried to scramble up, and a new area of bare, tender flesh was brought into contact with the sizzling pan, and he screamed again and fell forwards, and now it was his chest frying, the smooth skin covered in a thin layer of boiling, top-quality olive oil. He managed to draw a choked breath, and screamed again.

Less than two seconds had passed.

Kevin flicked the pan up, shaking it to let the contents swirl around evenly. Geta felt a second of lack of contact, when the only pain was from the sizzling oil coating his skin and the burns themselves, and then he smacked painfully into the other side of the pan, shoulder bruised as well as seared. This time there was barely enough time to draw breath before he was shaken around again, rolling over and over and covering himself in agony, and then the other side, another smack in his head now which left his ears filled with a roaring whiteness of sound and pain.

After a few more seconds, the fox began to notice the fiery tension in his limbs every time they flailed. He felt stiffer, not in the bone but on the surface. His skin, crisping, becoming drier and darker in the sizzling hell in a small frying pan. He was being cooked.

Already, the heat was worming it's way into Geta's body. It didn't just disperse instantly as his skin blistered and burned, after all. He could feel his muscles tearing under the pain, his throat feeling shredded as he screamed again and again. The agony was ethereal, omnipresent. It wasn't just his sizzling skin, it was his boiling bones, his fried muscles... him. Meat. Food. Prey.

Another swirl around the cauldron. He tried to look up at the elegant canine muzzle, make those eyes see him with sheer force of anguish, and was promptly thrown upside down again, charring yet more of him. Goldeneye. It couldn't really true, could it? That he was some impossible dimensional alien, a monstrous sadist who had... who had only chosen him for this...

His tear ducts hadn't shrivelled yet. Geta began to weep, the minute tears burning and stinging his raw flesh until he began the howls and gurgles again. He'd found himself utterly captivated by the exotic, magnificent character. Goldeneye, he could simply sense, was unique. Special. Extraordinary. And my, that was true. Geta flexed his fingers and clenched them harder, now digging into his softening flesh, and wailed a great howl of pain and cruelty.

And time finally ran out, and the juddering stopped. Suddenly Geta was left to lie limp, too paralysed by agony to squirm further as one arm sizzled and popped in his ruined ears. He stared up, mouth dry - all the saliva was evaporating in the sweltering heat - at the bustling kitchen, full of manslaughterers under the madman telepath's spell. He hurt unimaginably.

Kevin moved back, something blurredly white in one hand. He smiled down at the whimpering, seared little tangle of fleshy limbs which had been only fifteen minutes ago another Sentient of this world, and picked him up by the tail between finger and thumb. Dull, crackling pain tugged at Geta's rump, but he couldn't do more than whimper as he was swung through the blissfully cool air, finally set down carefully on something which was no more than uncomfortably warm - and more than that, it was soft. The little vulpine keened with relief, sinking himself into the mound of grains, each the size of a hand. He barely had the strength to keep his eyes open as Kevin returned, making some vague movements around him. Some liquid was lightly drizzled over him, and for the first second he could appreciate the coolness of it.

Then the chilli in the sauce kicked in on the fox's raw, seared flesh. It was as if certain neat lines of him were back in the hellish pit of a frying pan, burning all over again. He gasped, shaking all over, his muscles less able to squirm than simply convulse. Kevin frowned down with concentration, applying a last, carefully-choreographed drizzle of the agonising liquid, and setting the bottle down. He leaned back, and smiled at his creation. Geta could imagine it: himself, laid, spread-eagled, on a bed of pure white rice, unseasoned save for the elegant ripple of deep red sauce across the plate.

He had to flee, escape, run. He would be eaten, consumed, murdered, in the most impossible way imaginable. He had to run, but Kevin, or the insane gryphon, had been clever. Geta was trapped by his own exhaustion, strength sapped and swallowed by the burning of his flesh, and he couldn't do more than twitch and wriggle uselessly as the hound picked up his plate, a rush of g-forces giving the morsel vulpine a swooping sensation in the put of his belly as Kevin moved through the clatter and bustle of the kitchen, pressing the pale thing into Jem's hand. "And there you are," his voice sounded strangely far away, "Could you take it back as soon as possible, mind? I don't think he'd stand for that."

The hawk glanced down, and grinned. "Beautiful. And nice and quick, too. I'll nip across right away." Geta was no longer surprised when his eyes passed over him without a flicker. Kevin vanished away, already calling to someone else, and Jem swerved around, taking them instantly from the loud, bright kitchen to the subdued murmur of the restaurant. Geta had to get up and run. Geta had to get up and run. Geta... just couldn't. He felt tears sizzling his seared face, his skin creaking as he began to cry.

They weaved through tables, the fox barely aware of the seconds ticking down... and then Jem turned past another group, and he saw Goldeneye, seated on crossed legs, his eyes closed as if meditating. Finally, Geta's muscles twitched a little more, and he wailed feebly, trying to scramble back across the plate, only succeeding in slipping over on his bed of rice, watching with terrified eyes as the hawk laid him down in front of the vast form of the gryphon he thought he might have loved. Jem gave a bow. "Your special order, sir."

Goldeneye opened his eyes. Before, they had seemed exotic... no, there was an alien, insectoid sensuousness to the slow parting of lids, his golden and amethyst glittering as he looked down. He cocked his head slightly, staring at Geta, who didn't dare breathe. The monster smiled, not looking at Jem once. "Perfection. Now, leave us."

THe bird bowed, walking away. Geta noticed him pause for a moment a few metres back, give his head a shake as if clearing it, and then walk on. He was free of the gryphon's influence once more... now that it was too late.

He looked back at Goldeneye, breathing coming small and fast and completely terrified. The gryphon smiled back. No-one spoke for a moment.

"Should I say I told you so?"

The fox bit his lip, and started to cry. Goldeneye's eyes narrowed with greedy pleasure. "Hush, hush," he purred, picking up a fork. "If you had believed me from the start, if you had knelt the second I kissed you, you might have gained a more pleasant end. Surely you can agree it was your own fault."

"I-I..." Geta tried and failed to lie. "That's... why w-would I-I-I have believed you? It was j-"

He yelled in terror, cringing away as the gryphon passed the metal instrument under his body... but it was just a forkful of rice, and Goldeneye smiled, bringing it up to his beak. With a slurp of grey, it was gone. A moment later, the sleek throat rippled, and the rice had vanished. Nothing left of it, nor would there ever be. Geta whimpered, trying to squirm back into the mound of rice. The gryphon snickered softly, licking his beak. Another forkful was taken; eaten. Geta ad never imagined how horrifying the process could be. But it was his process now. Goldeneye never chewed the food, merely tasting it, enjoying the flavour, and then gulped it down in an instant. The power of it seemed somehow godlike.

"Maybe," he continued thoughtfully, picking up the pepper grinder and liberally seasoning his meal, the spice making Geta cough and sneeze, now managing to raise himself onto his elbows, "maybe I would have even let you live then. You are a darling little creature, and when I take my normal, feral form, you would have fitted wonderfully beneath my paws." He shrugged, swallowing another forkful. "But it's not to be. You'll just vanish forever now. You know that no-one knows I exist? I like to keep a clean slate, so I've already wiped the memories of your friends of me ever being here. They'll never even be aware you met me.You'll simply disappear of the face of the-" another swallow, this time his other claw traced the bulge as it sank with a soft purr of delight, "earth. Don't be sad, little preything. You've never been anything but a temporary, sinking ripple in my gullet. It's just a shame you had your head filled up with ideas that you had worth."

"S... s-stop it..." the fox moaned, managing to crawl an in inch or so backwards... now his tiny paws were facing his captor, his body slid over the bulk of the rice... a rapidly dwindling bulk, as another few forkfuls consumed half his cover. "You... y-you're a l-lying... m-m-monster... Y-you... I... I c-can't believe it..."

The gryphon's eyes glittered, his beautiful plumage quivering as he leant closer. "Oh?" he breathed. And really breathed. The hot, humid, musky-scented wave cascaded over the fox, his head almost swimming with the scent. Geta groaned, slipping further over. Now he could roll over onto his belly, his skin still crackling and on fire, but at least it was movement.

Goldeneye smiled, and scooped up the rice beneath him, making him collapse in a pit of grains. "So," he purred softly, "how are things going at your end?"

Geta stopped his painful attempts at standing to stare at him. "W-what?"

"How are you?" A beautiful, beautiful smile. "I hear you've been having an unpleasant time recently, darling. I still say you can always let me take over." He smiled. "I'm happy to help if I can."

"I... w-what? W-w-what are... y-y-you..."

The gryphon's asymmetrical eyes gleamed at him, as he devoured more rice. "But if you're sure you're happy with it's going, that's fine. I suppose I just want an excuse to monopolise your life." He grinned playfully, his awareness of his own inanity very clear. "Muahaha."

The bewildering nature meant that Geta's terrified rage drained rather quickly, and was swiftly replaced by terrified terror. He bit down a furious yell, trying to keep his cracked voice steady. "I... I-I... o-o-okay, G-Goldeneye... I-I was wrong. You... you were t-truthf-ful... a-and... I-I'm s-s-sorry. I-I... I want t-to... t-to live. W-we... we c-c-could... I c-can..." he gritted his teeth, a horrible sickening surge of pain rising through his ruined body. "G-gah... I... I'll... I'll do... I-I'll do w-whatever y-y-you want... p-p... p-p-please. P-please, j-just... god, just stop e-eating!"

A soft smirk was the only reply. Goldeneye paused, swallowed audibly, and lowered his fork. "Oh? Shall I start on the main course already the-"

"NO!"

Another beakful was consumed. "Then I'll finish up first."

The fox sank back again, feeling his dreadful pain sizzling his flesh. There wasn't much left now anyway, and the next forkful collapsed his bed, sending him sprawling on the plate with clumps of rice scattered around. His bruised (braised, haha no, pan-seared, it hurts oh god oh god) shoulder thumped with pain. He managed to raise himself on one elbow, but the pain of his skin cracking - there was blood, a crimson trail smeared on the plate from his broken skin, and stared up at the gryphon. "P-please... I... okay, okay, I'm... I'm yours. P-please! I... I'll... I'll b-belong to you, i-if... please, n-no... I'm yours, I s-.. I s-swear..."

The last few grains of rice were picked up on a finger. Goldeneye licked it clean, and smiled down on the last item on his plate.

"Adorable," he breathed, hot, musky breath washing over his prey. "You're right. I know methods to accelerate your healing factor into seconds. I could restore you to perfect size. Then I can stop pretending with my financial situation in this world and admit that I'm effectively a multitrillionaire, and we could live a long and beautiful life together. There's be so much potential in you..."

Geta, weak and terrified, had the desperation to stare up as his colossal captor with some small degree of hope.

Goldeneye met his gaze... and shook his head. Geta felt the small degree of hope collapse, crushing him totally. Goldeneye watched with mild amusement. "But I won't let that happen. I'm going to devour you instead."

A finger flicked behind the fox's back, prodding him forwards and onto the gryphon's fork. Geta collapsed against the cool tines of metal, barely able to move. He clung to it in terror, holding on as Goldeneye lifted him bodily from the empty plate. The gryphon lifted him up to eye level, holding the fork delicately, and cocked his head, his long, half-perked ears offering Geta a last question, or plea, or inarticulate sob.

The fox felt the inevitability of his death settle on him like a searing, choking shroud. He tried to say something, something which would show the horror of it, something which would leave a mark on the outside world as he vanished from it. He had friends, family, a thousand new dreams waiting for him. What words could leave something behind for them.

He gave a tiny, gurgling sob, his legs paddling slowly in mid air, and stung his eyes with the tears. The gryphon's beak twitched, and Geta realised that he had done this so, so many times before. So many last words.

Goldeneye nodded, wetting the edge of his beak, now slid back lazily in his chair. His breath was hot and musky. "So many, yours wouldn't even be remembered. Just another squirmer." He chuckled, flicking the fork forwards tenderly. Geta slid off, his burnt flesh prickling against the metal, and fell onto the wet, soft heat of the gryphon's tongue.

The sensation was electrifying. Goldeneye's flesh was slick, smooth, and sensuously, horribly alive. It rippled beneath him, curving as he slipped and his seared skin splashed into a pool of hot saliva. The sensation was almost soothing, at least until the tongue slipped over instead and Geta slipped off fully, his legs kicking out of the monster's beak, his thighs against the hard "lip", his body slipping and sliding as Goldeneye slowly grinded his tongue against the sweet little morsel inside. Geta could feel the hot flesh rippling over him, a slight roughness against his crackling skin indicating the rasp of tastebuds. He was being tasted.

"Oh, g-god, god... n-n-no..."

He moaned in terror, trying to squirm away, his arms still hideously stiff from the blistered, blood-smeared skin coating them, and Goldeneye gave a throaty chuckle and rolled him in. WIth a single movement, the gryphon's beak was all Geta could feel, the outside world gone. His feet squirmed, his paws kicking against the roof of the maw. Playfully, the gryphon swirled him around, squeezing the flavour out of his morsel's flesh. A low, rumbling sound shook through the slick flesh, a purr of pleasure, and causally, the gryphon tipped his head back. Barely a few degrees, but the slick slope yawned around Geta and he suddenly began to glide down the curve of Goldeneye's tongue... towards that dark, hungry abyss.

The fox whined, spluttering and utterly drenched now, trying to claw his way back to the slim line of light cresting the hill of rippling, caressing, tasting flesh before him. Every movement still crackled his flesh, the pain so bad that his vision had the sickening glassiness of a body on the verge of total blackout. But his muscles still slogged on, driven by terror as he clawed upwards, managing to counter gravity enough to keep himself about level.

Teasingly, Goldeneye cranked his head back another degree. Geta was no longer staying level. He yelled in frustration, gasping with pain but still clawing, but there was no further strength he could push into his frantic struggles. He kept sliding down, millimetre by millimetre, deeper into the gryphon's beak.

Aww...

The gryphons crooning murmur echoed, but Geta did not feel the flesh around him even twitch. He flinched, wide-eyed with terror, as he realised that his ears hadn't sensed a thing either. The voice was inside him.

Told you, said Goldeneye, and his voice was gleeful. Ancient composite creature with the essential powers of a god and no concept of morality whatsoever. Your mind is adorable.

Geta felt the walls around him slope a little steeper. Now he was squeezed against the tongue, his charred body desperately providing all the friction it could as he scrabbled and fluttered, and still he was sinking. In panic, he cried out again. "Y-you... you can r-read m-my m-mind?"

It worked. The vast wall of rippling flesh relaxed slightly, and Goldeneye's mouth was no longer quite so steep.

Mmmm... no. Reading is the wrong word. I can see your mind... all of it. Everything. And so fragile, so tender...

WIthout warning, he jerked his head in a swift, birdlike movement, like a heron snapping up a fish, and Geta lost his grip completely. The tiny fox fell, hit his head against the roof of the gryphon's beak, bounced off that slick tongue, and landed in a confused, terrified heap, right on top of Goldeneye's throat. One of of his legs simply hung into the black greedy nothingness. He barely managed to give a tiny, agonised whimper at the raw, chafing pain on his body, and the voice hummed in his skull.

...so easily snuffed out.

The gryphon swallowed.

Geta's arm was twisted painfully against his back, every part of his body suddenly surrounded by pressure which crushed him into a deformed ball. Goldeneye's throat engulfed him. The slick muscles rippled in an instant over his legs, body, head, his form making nothing but a small, sleek bulge in the gryphon's throat. Geta was immediately immobile, his raw body entombed in hot, slippery, squeezing flesh. He tried to twist himself upwards, hands grasping for the slightest ridge of rippling tongue to hold on to, but there was nothing to grasp. His ears popped unpleasantly as the darkness around sent him stickily squeezing downwards. Inch by inch...

"Nnnn..." he felt a rib crack like a delicate twig, and was sure his crisped skin was now being rasped off by the tight crushing, "...nnnno... p-pleeease, no..."

Flutter, little morsel, came Goldeneye's impossible un-voice, crooning and cruel. Geta flinched, his head stinging with the pain of it. There was a part of him wanting to deny the monstrous beast, but his body was choking and panicking, and his blood was singing with an appalling, unquenchable terror. He wailed feebly, kicking at the rings of muscle slipping slowly past him, writhing his tiny broken body. He managed to get a paw braced against the wall of the gryphon's clenching gullet, and somehow one wave of peristalsis didn't quite dislodge him. Then the second wave squeezed him free, and it was down again. Geta screamed in frustrated terror, squirming and wriggling, no longer conscious of whether he was trying to escape the dreadful embrace of the avian's throat or just hurt it, make it suffer a fraction for all the pleasure he was giving it, make it hurt...

"M-monster..." he mumbled, feeling the vastness pressing down, squeezing him further, deeper into the total dark of Goldeneye's body. "Y-you... you monster...."

Shhh, now, purred the gryphon delightedly. Food squirms more than it speaks, hmm? A sudden squeeze of pressure caressed Geta's body, and he understood that Goldeneye's talons were stroking the bulge he made in his throat, tender affection reaching him even in this descent to a churning gurgling hell. Gasping and groaning, his eyes burning with more tears, the vulpine raked his tiny clipped claws over the sticky, churning wall. There was no effect save that he became aware of the soft humming noise making the air around him vibrate and quiver: the gryphon's purring. He felt a crushing ridge squeeze past, and realised that he had entered the ribcage of the gryphon.

It took another three minutes for him to slide deep enough. Like before, there came a point where Geta's muscles simply seized up. He felt burning cramps, the worst he'd ever felt, run up and down his body, and his muscles seized up. The pain lashed through him as Goldeneye's gullet squeezed him deeper, uncaring of whether he squirmed for his life or just twitched feebly. Finally, he felt paws breach a wet, slurping set of valves, which lapped over his body as if kissing him, and fell a painful five inches into the churning pit of the gryphon's belly. The heat was furnace-like, the air so bitter that he could taste it. Geta landed in a thick pool of liquid which came up to his chest, hot as a bath. He landed badly, submerged in the soupy mix before surfacing, gasping for the acrid air. "N-no... no, no..."

Normally he might have some respite before the acids in the liquid worked through enough of his flesh to meet nerves, but Geta's flesh was already charred and blistered raw. He hadn't even managed to get his footing before the biting pain rolled over him in a great thundering wave. A small scream, almost sounding shocked, and the vulpine toppled again, clawing his way to the side. The walls of the beast's belly were ridged, flexing monoliths of flesh, and they offered no handholds whatsoever. And his drenched shoulders and head were beginning to bubble with agony.

The broken little creature who could barely be called a fox anymore howled with pain and despair, trying to scrabble up the abyss, but with a soft squelch, the flesh around him rippled, and sealed him.

***

While he could feel every wriggle of his sweet little preything, Geta's tickling, squirming passage into Goldeneye's stomach marked a turning point. Still smiling slightly at the edge of his beak, the gryphon opened his eyes, wiping them of the tears of extreme sensation, and stretched, sitting back in his seat. He crossed his cutlery on his plate, now cleaned of every trace of rice, sauce, or fox, and snapped his fingers quietly.

"Finished, sir?" The hawk had in fact been moving towards him for a minute now, acting on impulses not his own. Goldeneye smiled at him.

"Indeed. Excellently done, as well." He wiped the edge of his beak delicately, knowing that his voice would hum through his innards as clear as day - a deliciously cruel biological trick which he'd had to do quite some altering to ensure. "He was near-perfect, and your chef didn't try and change that. Just added a little kick."

A little kick which was nothing to do with the sauce made his stomach tingle, followed by a lot of furious punches which felt like the most delicate of massages. The gryphon's smile widened.

He let the slight flicker of confusion in the waiter's eyes happen at the word "he", before his dominant ego subdued it. The hawk, whose name was Jem, nodded politely, taking his plate. "I'll pass that on, sir. Would you like a dessert menu?"

"Sacrilege." Goldeneye stood,straightening his shirt and doing up the button he'd undone to feel his prey squeeze through his chest. "After such a main course, I'd only be satisfied if it was you joining him."

Jem blinked, and deep inside Geta seemed to stop, evidently horrified by the thought. Goldeneye let them both hang for a moment, then his mind flexed and the hawk's bowed like a twig. Taking his napkin, Jem gave a slight bow, and walked away. Goldeneye watched him, pulling on his jacket.

"That man was complicit in your murder, you know," he murmured, and felt the tiny vulpine's pained fury resume. "I wonder if you're scared enough to hate him... or are you just too nice, too sweet? You certainly tasted so." He chuckled, and adjusted his cuffs. "Mmmm. Jem, I'll pay now, if you don't mind."

He was speaking quietly and the hawk was a hundred feet away, but Jem turned, nodded, exited for a moment and returned with a white slip of paper. Goldeneye smiled at him again, and before he could give the receipt the gryphon pressed something into his hand. He winked, gave a last sweep of the little creature's mind, and released him. Jem straightened, taking a sudden deep breath, though he didn't know why, and stared at his hand as the tall, beautiful avian strolled leisurely out onto the streets of the night city.

The small statue of a swooping gryphon, carved perfectly from some strange clear crystal of yellow-veined violet, was beautiful, and would have fetched several million back where it was carved, even more so with the sculptor having undertook a new career as a layer of fat embracing Goldeneye's trim belly. Jem knew nothing of this, but he did treasure the little artwork, despite his conflicting memories of the sequence of events which had led him to acquire it. He wasn't even blamed when the finances for the night were totted up and found to be short - with the blurriness over which his thoughts had ran, he'd felt it best not to admit his fault.

Goldeneye was no longer thinking about him. He was walking briskly down the street, feeling the squirms against his sensitive belly walls with utmost delight. The night air was cool, and he'd planned this evening so that Geta would be firmly settled by nine, and give him time to stroll to the theatre. He checked the watch of a battered bloodhound (thinking about his secret drugs manufacturing, the naughty boy) sitting on a bench on the other end of the street, and sighed.

"I hope you're happy, little fox. I was going to enjoy walking with you. You should have slid down faster."

Geta, who wasn't sure if he could remember what the word happy actually meant anymore, cowered in the pit of the gryphon's belly. It was as if he'd been put in a frying pan which covered every inch of his body, a red-hot, oil-drenched suit of armour which gurgled as it ate away at his skin. "PLEASE!" he screamed, the sound not reaching a millimetre from Goldeneye's stomach. "P-PLEASE, G-GOLDENEYE... o-oh g-g-god..." He fell back into the mire of liquefied rice and liquefied fox, sobbing so hard his chest hurt.

"Aww... well, keep suffering. Your flesh hasn't even begun properly sloughing off yet." The gryphon clicked his tongue softly, and in less than a minute a taxi stopped straight in front of him. The driver quivered as his mind was casually tossed aside, and looked back as Goldeneye clambered in. "Where to, sir?"

The gryphon told him, enjoying the squirms as his movements made Geta fall over in his belly, managing to surface with some of his skin completely melted away. "No hurry. I've got a long life to savour."

With a rumble, the cab pulled away. The poor fox would be shaken off his feet by the vibrations, and Goldeneye's juddering belly helped the fluids churn, faint glorps and gurgles escaping from it in a way which the fox's howling wails of pain and despair could not.The driver, a short, pretty wolfdog called Tate, chuckled. "Nice to hear that for once." Somehow he felt instantly at ease in the exotic avian's presence. "You going to see a show?"

"Indeed," purred Goldeneye, who had stretched out, hands clasping his belly as Geta, finally above the churning lake and guessing he was talking to someone, began screaming for help. "Dinner and a show. I wanted to treat myself, you know?"

"All by yourself?" Tate whistled, drumming his fingers on the wheel at a red light. "Don't take offence, but I'd figure someone like you'd have at least one friend on your arm if you want it."

The gryphon smiled. "You're too kind. I did have someone, but he had to go early on. All I was left with was food." He stroked his flat abdomen lovingly.

Geta heard it, and the dismissal sent, strangely, a new flood of tears from his cracked eyes. The casualness of the dismissal, the teasing realignment to food. The monstrosity of it all. He moaned, leaning against the wall and pounding it futilely. "How... I-I loved you... y-you monster..."

Goldeneye's eyes glittered. "Eh," he purred, his voice booming oddly through his pulsing insides, "It was just a bit of playing, really. I was planning to end him tonight."

"Ahh." The feline turned a corner, and inside Geta was sent rocketing into one wall of Goldeneye's stomach, his wrist snapping tenderly ait twisted. He hunched in the searing soup and screamed so hard he felt his ears pop again,cradling his hand. Goldeneye chuckled, and Tate said, "Well, at least you had some time together. Good meal as well?"

"An excellent meal." The gryphon stroked his gullet absently. His inner fox was being squeezed now, muscular action sending Geta flopping around the room as he hobbled on bleeding paws. Every few moments Goldeneye's inner nerves detected the pleasant weight of a body falling helplessly against some portion of his belly. "Shame it was a special, though. One of a kind." Geta screamed, and he licked his beak again at the memory.

By the time Tate reached the theatre the skin on Geta's body was mostly sloughed off completely. The gryphon, this time, hadn't had to do more than caress the wolfdog's mind, and he was considering making him a meal sometime, so he paid as normal, feeling generous and giving double, and left another statue, this one of the same swooping feral gryphon, clad in magnificent battle plate. While Tate murmured confused thanks, Goldeneye got out, feeling his prey jostling in his belly, the bouncing sending Geta crashing to the floor and glancing his snapped wrist agonisingly on a ridge of rippling churning flesh. "Mmmm." He waved off the cab, making a note of the driver's pretty ears - they would tickle his throat very nicely, he'd have to get in touch - and strolled into the theatre. On time, at least.

Geta felt his throat give out as he screamed, the howl ending in a horrible reedy wheezing wail, and collapsed again. There was nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. He had never felt so claustrophobically trapped as he was in this sweltering darkness. All he could do was float in the boiling pit of liquefied him, sobbing silently now as his vocal chords ached. The gryphon's belly had seemingly begun it's serious work, and now it gurgled and sloshed as its prey was sent from one wall to another in the noisy, clenching soup of himself. "P-please..." he moaned, but he could barely form another word. Every movement added to it as well, the gryphon's smooth pace and even breathing sending quivers through his stomach which shook through Geta's body. He mumbled a curse, trying to fit the figure in his head into the box labelled hatred. So kind, charming, so intoxicatingly brilliant, and it had all been a lie. That was the worst. This hadn't even been a whim. From the first word, the agony and suffering had been all the... monster had ever wanted from him.

He slipped into the soup of his own flesh, whimpering, and realised that he could no longer tell the difference between when he was submerged in the burning fluid and when he wasn't. His flesh had been eaten away too badly.

"I should swallow something luminescent," the voice of the monster echoed through the squeezing chamber, and this was a pain which Geta definitely noticed. He flinched away, cowering against the walls as Goldeneye's movements sent him slipping sideways, as if the gryphon was leaning against something. "And a mirror. Just to let you see what you look like now."

"I... I-I hate y-you," the vulpine moaned, trying to rake a weak, broken claw over the beast's tough belly walls. Goldeneye's stomach shuddered as he laughed.

"Mmm... nope, you don't. You're trying so hard, but you still can't quite put me in there. Something like this is too big, too horrific, for your little prey soul to comprehend... and besides, I did pour on the charm, didn't I?"

The fox screamed at him.

"Aww, don't be like that. I-" he broke off, then returned. "No, sorry. Just lost in thought."

A pause during which Geta thought he felt his leg's bones being exposed, the flesh simply melted away, then the voice boomed again. "I know, I'm sorry. It's a terrible habit. I was just talking to "someone who happens to not be here". Don't worry, I promise I'll keep quiet during the performance."

The fox realised. He was talking to someone again. Someone totally blind to the screaming hell beneath that clean white shirt, as innocent of the truth as if Goldeneye had used his impossible powers on them. Now the soup was shifting, as the gryphon walked. "Tell you what. How about you stay close, so you can check on me and make sure I don't start talking? I checked, the seat besides was spare."

Clutching at his skull, for there didn't seem to be much else left, Geta howled with despair. His legs gave out, his raging inferno swirling towards its inevitable end.

"No, no-one else. Just me here. Come on, I insist. It's a really good play."

Goldeneye paused to usher his new friend into the box seat he had reserved, and paused a moment. He raised a hand to his beak, stifling a slight, muted belch. The sweet little seared morsel in his belly was still at last. For a second, he closed his eyes, letting his vast, incomprehensible soul gorge itself on Geta's mind as it faded into utter and total oblivion, still trailing the shrieking agony.

He licked his beak, and stepped inside, already talking about something else.

Goldeneye 05/09/2014