He was standing, leaning really, against the wall. He had one foot planted against the wall behind him. Long and lean, he stood, and it couldn't be said if he propped the wall up, or the wall was propping him up. His left hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette to his mouth, the smoke curling up like a two headed snake let loose from a carnival side show.
His face, long and lean like the rest of him, was tanned and lined and had seen more than it's share of hard winters. His eyes, grayish steel, gazed out at the world with a curiosity that is seen in the eyes of wolves in the wild. The collar of his jacket was pulled up to brush against his shadowed cheeks as if to ward off not the cold of the night, but the cold of the world.
The people of the night passed by him, some glancing furtively in his direction and quickly looking off, pretending to see something of interest. They could see the predator in him, and smell the hunger and interest he showed in them. All of the passersby seemed to shrink from him by instinct, acknowledging that here lay "something to not be around".
---------------------------------------------Snippet 2-----------------------------
She lay in the clouds, floating, floating, floating. Light as a leaf, weightless as a breeze, carefree and loose as a kite in the wind. Her mind also drifted with the wind, seeking out tasty thoughts and tidbits of images that would catch her attention like a shiney thing for her to play with. When that happened, she would cast down to find it, and revel in the senses it would evoke in her.
The Succubus had a name, once. Long ago, it seemed she had a mother, had a father, and quite possibly siblings. She remembered laughter and play, innocent and sweet and she remembered warm times by a fire, the light making her world all bright and wonderous. Not like now, though.
Now times were filled with the brightness and darkness of feelings and dreams. She would find the sweetest dream, follow it down to the one dreaming it, and enter it. There she would play and dance in abandoned joy and sensual feasting.
Once in the dream, she would mold it and shape it to what she wanted most. She took the Soft pliable stuff of imagination and folded it, twisted it, fluffed and shifted it till it became warmer, happier and would follow her lead like a happy puppy, wagging it's tail and sniffing all over.
It didn't matter to her if the dream came from man or beast, woman or fowl, they were all wonderfully colored and full of flavor and easy to manipulate.
She floated above the ground, not quite above the tree tops. She liked it here, the greens and the yellows were cool and crisp and smelled of life. Succubi were not exactly alive, nor were they completely not alive, they were rather ...stuck... between the two, inhabiting that area of dreams that seem so real, the dream wakes feeling they done what was drempt.
Miria! That was her name.. or so she thought. The name came and went quickly, like early morning fog meeting noonday sun.
As she floated there, amongst the crisp green, she heard something crashing gently through the wood. It wasn't a harsh crashing, as in what a man would do, in their blundering clumbsy way. No, this was the gentle crashing of a beast of the wood, with respect for the wood and the growing things that lived in the wood.
She floated down and waited, for the visitor to come into sight. Her curiosity was only barely there. She just loved to watch the beasts come out and play and often following them to their dens to watch their children play, to wait until they were asleep and then to enter their simple dreams and relish in sensual delight.
Succubi tend to revel in the sensual, and if most of the sensual involved the inclusion of the sexual, so be it. It simply added to the spice, the feel, the flow and the sensation.
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