Encounterlogs
Alexanders Odd Encounter Sr Legion 240127
Alexander's evening takes a dark turn when he discovers a mysterious rock in his pocket, which remarkably resembles a statue he encountered earlier. Noticing the lack of phone signal and feeling an unusual chill, he throws the strange rock down the hallway only to be gripped suddenly by an overwhelming and insistent hunger. Visions of copious amounts of food torment him, and a sinister whisper suggests a bargain: hide the rock in the lodge's kitchen to be rid of the hunger. Resisting the urge to gorge himself, Alexander wonders whether keeping the rock or attempting to free himself from its curse is the choice he must make.
In the end, Alexander decides not to pass the curse onto others, despite the tantalizing smells of food from outside and an internal struggle heightened by the voice's mocking laughter. However, his control slips as the compulsive need to consume becomes unbearable, leading him to order an excessive amount of food. After eating past the point of pleasure, he winds up in the bathroom, purging and haunted by the echo of laughter, the rock no longer in his possession. Though he's been manipulated into gluttony, he's left questioning whether his decision was a victory or another step in a series of trials imposed by the malignant presence behind the rock.
(Alexander's odd encounter(SRLegion):SRLegion)
[Fri Jan 26 2024]
In the first floor hallway
Large enough to not be claustrophobic, this hallway stretches out on both
sides. The space is lit with metal wall sconces that give a dim, warm glow,
aided by any ambient light from the windows at either end of the hall. The
hardwood underfoot echoes steps from just about everything. Every now and
then a generic painting framed in brass can be seen.
It is night, about -13F(-25C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. There is a waning gibbous moon.
(Your target finds a cursed object that brings bad luck to anyone who possesses it. They need to find a way to get rid of it without passing the curse onto someone else.)
Alexander leans back on the wall, gazing out the window at the town. The only place he was reasonably sure was safe without being a claustrophobic as his room often felt.
Alexander waits for his phone to light up, but in lieu of that he just watches the town and tries to make sense of things
There's something odd: no signal on Alexander's phone, just that ugly little red zero bars marker at the top, and then, perhaps outside of his knowing vision, some curling, misty smoke that seeps into the corridor outside of Alexander's room. It's perhaps not noticeable: after all, it's the town and the phone that catches his attention. A brief chill, and then -- if he thrusts his hand inside his pants -- he might feel a rock there. It's large enough that surely he would have noticed it before now. How did it get there? What is it about?
Alexander shifts, uneasy. That no signal bar on his phone is as good a warning sign as any for someone as on edge as him. He stuffs his phone in his pocket, where he notices the rock. Uneasy, he pulls it out, and inspects it. "The hell...?" he mutters under his breath.
It's just a rock -- right? Right. Except the shape of it... as Alexander leans in, to look at it, there's something about it that seems uncomfortable familiar. It's crude, just some rough shaped lump, but it -reminds- the young man of the statue he was near earlier in the evening. It seems in shape and character like that fat, leering sculpture set just off to the side near the crossroads. It's hard not to think back to that terrifying moment, but perhaps thankfully there's a distraction. As Alexander looks at the rock, his stomach rumbles, suddenly.
Alexander turns it over in his hands. Just a stupid rock right...? He exhales sharply, annoyed at the mystery until recollection dawns. He throws the rock, hard, down the hall.
As Alexander throws the rock, it skips down the hallway, bouncing here and there -- and then as it leaves his hands hunger suddenly dawns. As it grips Alexander, that need is an insistent and primal sensation that permeates his being. It begins as a subtle gnawing in the pit of his stomach, a quiet reminder that his body needs nourishment. Rapidly, though, this feeling grows into a more demanding presence, an empty ache that seems to echo through Alexander's entire body. Your stomach begins to emit involuntary, rumbling protests, sending signals of its urgent need. Even as the stone tumbles down the corridor, it becomes to consume your thoughts, making it difficult to focus on anything other than the desire for food. There's a certain hollowness that accompanies this state, a physical emptiness that mirrors the lack of sustenance. Rapidly rising with each tumble of the stone is the need to satiate this craving -- sudden pressin thoughts that turn inevitably towards visions of satisfying meals, the imagined flavors and textures almost a torment in their intangibility. Alexander can feel that mental assault, growing in power as the rock tumbles away.
Alexander watches the rock sail with some satisfaction. Then the rumble in his stomach builds and he staggers. He lets out a weak groan and grabs at the wall to steady himself. "What...wha..." Trembling he considers the options. He moves towards the stone, wondering if this assault will abate if he moves back to it. But failing that the next thought is the lodge. Close. Food. Anything. He could slip them some money and just raid the fridge.
When Alexander approaches the stone, it seems to get more manageable. He hungers, still -- he needs it -- but he has some control. Some bare, low, self-control. As he stands over it, it's almost as if he can keep himself from fleeing to the lodge, from running to wherever he can find to gorge himself. Indeed, visions of stuffing his face seem to loom high in his mind, even as he hears a whisper: 'Pick it up.' The words seem to come with needy pangs, some desire to feel his belly swollen with too much food.
Alexander crouches down, using his sleeve to pick the stone up. "Go to hell..." he mutters, not realizing the joke, perhaps. Still it helped him to keep his thoughts in order, even if those thoughts are of all the food he could order. Pizza. Chicken. Fried. Beer. Oh god. Chicken wings, with an ice cold fountain soda. Medium spice, just so he can eat them more, faster than if they were spicy. "Fuck..." He knows this isn't right, right? He struggles and begins to move. He can't do anything here, he can't do anything from the hotel room. He peers at the mist and shakes his head. Doesn't matter. He has to do something. The water. Deep in the bay. Throw the rock in, do his best to weather it, resist? But he's walking and there'll be food, and if he gets enough that'll make it easier right?
Through the window of the hotel, the town's sounds arrive muffled, like a distant, subdued symphony. The usual clarity of everyday noises is softened, blending into a gentle hum that serves as a backdrop to the quietude within. The faint echoes of footsteps on pavement occasionally rise above this murmur, their rhythmic pacing hinting at the steady flow of life outside. The occasional distant laughter or the faint jingle of a dog's collar drifts through, providing a sense of normalcy and continuity.
Amidst these softened sounds, the most compelling presence is not auditory but olfactory - the tantalizing aroma of food. It seeps through the barriers, a teasing whisper of the world beyond the glass. The smell is a complex tapestry of scents: the rich, deep notes of simmering stew from a nearby diner, the sharp tang of freshly baked bread from the bakery down the street, and perhaps, the subtle sweetness of caramelizing onions from a neighboring kitchen. These fragrances intermingle, creating an invisible yet potent allure that stirs a sense of longing and comfort. They paint vivid pictures in the mind's eye - of bustling kitchens, steaming plates, and the sheer delicious quantity of food.
When Alexander's hand fixes on the stone, it's like the hunger comes in sharply. He has it, now: it's in him. It's not that he's out of control -- no. This is the best thing, his desire. In his head, a whisper: 'I know you don't want to gorge yourself until you vomit.' A pause. 'So let's make a bargain, shall we?'
Alexander trembles, his entire body. Fear and adrenaline both, twice in the same day, a fourth since he arrived here. His bodies system weren't built for this kind of strain but who needs to worry about cardiac arrest at age thirty when you're going to die within a week? He wants it. He wants it so badly. And if he hadn't just dealt with Marcus he'd probably have no awareness for the reality of a bargain. But the memory hangs in his mind as sharp as the pain on his lip, torn from that twisted from embrace. He tastes the coppery substance that hangs on the surface. Sore.
"...What's your offer..." he manages in a trembling voice, equal parts furious and terrified.
That whisper: 'Bring it downstairs and secret it in the kitchen in the Lodge.' A pause. 'Hide it there, and you be free of this feeling.' As the voice whispers, Alexander cannot stop but imagine some food -- it swims in his vision. Someone passes down the hall with takeout pizza, and the smell is intoxicating. Alexander can only imagine it, the pie a mosaic of colors and textures. Bright red pepperoni slices, glistening with a sheen of their own oils, are arranged in a perfect pattern. They slightly curl at the edges, where the intense heat of the oven has crisped them to perfection. Between these pepperoni rounds, molten islands of mozzarella cheese bubble and brown, creating a landscape of golden hues. The cheese stretches tantalizingly with each slice pulled away, revealing the rich, red tomato sauce underneath.
The smell, too: a heady mix with the sharp, tangy scent of the tomato sauce, a blend of sweet and acidic notes. The creamy, buttery fragrance of the cheese, and the spicy, slightly smoky smell of pepperoni, hinting at its savory taste. Underlying these are the warm, yeasty notes of the freshly baked crust. It's hard to think of anything else -- it takes will, effort, for Alexander to focus on the offered bargain.
That whisper again: 'Or do not. Do not, and all you will be is hunger.'
And then that whisper: 'Bring it downstairs and secret it in the kitchen in the Lodge.' A pause. 'Hide it there, and you be free of this feeling.' As the voice whispers, Alexander cannot stop but imagine some food -- it swims in his vision. Someone passes down the hall with takeout pizza, and the smell is intoxicating. Alexander can only imagine it, the pie a mosaic of colors and textures. Bright red pepperoni slices, glistening with a sheen of their own oils, are arranged in a perfect pattern. They slightly curl at the edges, where the intense heat of the oven has crisped them to perfection. Between these pepperoni rounds, molten islands of mozzarella cheese bubble and brown, creating a landscape of golden hues. The cheese stretches tantalizingly with each slice pulled away, revealing the rich, red tomato sauce underneath.
The smell, too: a heady mix with the sharp, tangy scent of the tomato sauce, a blend of sweet and acidic notes. The creamy, buttery fragrance of the cheese, and the spicy, slightly smoky smell of pepperoni, hinting at its savory taste. Underlying these are the warm, yeasty notes of the freshly baked crust. It's hard to think of anything else -- it takes will, effort, for Alexander to focus on the offered bargain.
That whisper again: 'Or do not. Do not, and all you will be is hunger.' (re)
Alexander takes a deep breath, and he's already walking, making his way down the steps. His expression is flat, his mind wandering. Delightful. He smiles softly in the imagination, even as it agonizes him. He trembles, he knows each step brings him closer to relief. The question doesn't dawn on him yet. This is a choice isn't it? This is a decision he gets to make?
He's in the lodge before he realizes it. Then he's left to stop and shift and he's still moving but he doesn't want to. He remembers, inbetween the spots of each maddening imagination of food, each delightful tangy taste, the complexity hidden in every bite of just godly delightful food all around this world. He remembers the gaunt hungering people, the chaos in the town when he arrived, his own hunger. That's the choice, he figures. Me or them. Me or them. Me or...them...? "I won't," he hisses under his breath. "Kill me if you have the power to, or turn me into some...fucking twisted animal, whatever you want. If this is a choice I'm saying no," he declares, but who knows, in the will of Alexander if he even has a choice to make. The fear of what he is becomining grips him, icy, even if the shame of being so worthless for even considering it hangs there. He desperately prays that someone might help him.
In Alexander's head, a whisper: 'Kill you?' The thing laughs. 'No, I won't kill you. But if you do not want them to eat -- well,' it murmurs. 'Then you can.' Suddenly, hunger is rising again, terrible and needy.
Alexander is trembling, and orders food from a waitress. He orders a few items, more food than anyone would probably eat in a sitting. He jokes about waiting for someone, but then adds another item. He sits down down in his chair and rocks gently, driving nails into his thighs under the table as he tries to fight the rising hunger. "Why, what do you want, why do this...?" he asks, trying to find anything to distract him from the wait.
...and the food comes. Clams, the special of the night at the Lodge. Alexander gets plate after plate, some endless supply of clams, each not enough to salve his hunger. Each clam, steamed to perfection, was a small treasure trove of the ocean's flavor, tender and briny. Initially, he savors each one, relishing the delicate balance of sea salt and mineral tastes, enhanced by a squeeze of fresh lemon. As the meal progressed, Alexander's eating became less about savoring and more about the challenge of consuming as many as possible. Plate after plate is emptied, the pile of discarded shells growing into a small mountain beside him. With each clam, the initial delight waned slightly, giving way to a sense of determination mixed with the expanding discomfort in his belly. Eventually, they reached a point of undeniable fullness, where the very thought of one more clam brought a wave of discomfort -- and then he eats another, and another, and another.
More and more, until at last, he is in the bathroom of the Antlers, puking, with some laughter ringing in his ears. In the pocket, the little stone is nowhere to be found.
The smell of vomit is everywhere in the bathroom, mixed with the scent of clams. That link may last, for Alexander a plate of shellfish may never, ever seem the same to the young man.
Alexander eats, and eats and eats. He tries to just shut his brain off, go on auto pilot, let it happen. It feels like a violation, it is. His body isn't his own, a puppet to his desires and his desires are POWERFUL. It's so painful, and it doesn't matter, food goes in and he swallows it, and he chews when he can, sore painful jaw and all. It doesn't matter. He just needs to eat. And when it's all done. Perhaps, there can be a little pride.
But it's hard to feel like this was a victory.
Pride -- isn't that one of the deadly sins, too? Well. Now that gluttony's done, there's always more to come.
In the end, Alexander decides not to pass the curse onto others, despite the tantalizing smells of food from outside and an internal struggle heightened by the voice's mocking laughter. However, his control slips as the compulsive need to consume becomes unbearable, leading him to order an excessive amount of food. After eating past the point of pleasure, he winds up in the bathroom, purging and haunted by the echo of laughter, the rock no longer in his possession. Though he's been manipulated into gluttony, he's left questioning whether his decision was a victory or another step in a series of trials imposed by the malignant presence behind the rock.
(Alexander's odd encounter(SRLegion):SRLegion)
[Fri Jan 26 2024]
In the first floor hallway
Large enough to not be claustrophobic, this hallway stretches out on both
sides. The space is lit with metal wall sconces that give a dim, warm glow,
aided by any ambient light from the windows at either end of the hall. The
hardwood underfoot echoes steps from just about everything. Every now and
then a generic painting framed in brass can be seen.
It is night, about -13F(-25C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. There is a waning gibbous moon.
(Your target finds a cursed object that brings bad luck to anyone who possesses it. They need to find a way to get rid of it without passing the curse onto someone else.)
Alexander leans back on the wall, gazing out the window at the town. The only place he was reasonably sure was safe without being a claustrophobic as his room often felt.
Alexander waits for his phone to light up, but in lieu of that he just watches the town and tries to make sense of things
There's something odd: no signal on Alexander's phone, just that ugly little red zero bars marker at the top, and then, perhaps outside of his knowing vision, some curling, misty smoke that seeps into the corridor outside of Alexander's room. It's perhaps not noticeable: after all, it's the town and the phone that catches his attention. A brief chill, and then -- if he thrusts his hand inside his pants -- he might feel a rock there. It's large enough that surely he would have noticed it before now. How did it get there? What is it about?
Alexander shifts, uneasy. That no signal bar on his phone is as good a warning sign as any for someone as on edge as him. He stuffs his phone in his pocket, where he notices the rock. Uneasy, he pulls it out, and inspects it. "The hell...?" he mutters under his breath.
It's just a rock -- right? Right. Except the shape of it... as Alexander leans in, to look at it, there's something about it that seems uncomfortable familiar. It's crude, just some rough shaped lump, but it -reminds- the young man of the statue he was near earlier in the evening. It seems in shape and character like that fat, leering sculpture set just off to the side near the crossroads. It's hard not to think back to that terrifying moment, but perhaps thankfully there's a distraction. As Alexander looks at the rock, his stomach rumbles, suddenly.
Alexander turns it over in his hands. Just a stupid rock right...? He exhales sharply, annoyed at the mystery until recollection dawns. He throws the rock, hard, down the hall.
As Alexander throws the rock, it skips down the hallway, bouncing here and there -- and then as it leaves his hands hunger suddenly dawns. As it grips Alexander, that need is an insistent and primal sensation that permeates his being. It begins as a subtle gnawing in the pit of his stomach, a quiet reminder that his body needs nourishment. Rapidly, though, this feeling grows into a more demanding presence, an empty ache that seems to echo through Alexander's entire body. Your stomach begins to emit involuntary, rumbling protests, sending signals of its urgent need. Even as the stone tumbles down the corridor, it becomes to consume your thoughts, making it difficult to focus on anything other than the desire for food. There's a certain hollowness that accompanies this state, a physical emptiness that mirrors the lack of sustenance. Rapidly rising with each tumble of the stone is the need to satiate this craving -- sudden pressin thoughts that turn inevitably towards visions of satisfying meals, the imagined flavors and textures almost a torment in their intangibility. Alexander can feel that mental assault, growing in power as the rock tumbles away.
Alexander watches the rock sail with some satisfaction. Then the rumble in his stomach builds and he staggers. He lets out a weak groan and grabs at the wall to steady himself. "What...wha..." Trembling he considers the options. He moves towards the stone, wondering if this assault will abate if he moves back to it. But failing that the next thought is the lodge. Close. Food. Anything. He could slip them some money and just raid the fridge.
When Alexander approaches the stone, it seems to get more manageable. He hungers, still -- he needs it -- but he has some control. Some bare, low, self-control. As he stands over it, it's almost as if he can keep himself from fleeing to the lodge, from running to wherever he can find to gorge himself. Indeed, visions of stuffing his face seem to loom high in his mind, even as he hears a whisper: 'Pick it up.' The words seem to come with needy pangs, some desire to feel his belly swollen with too much food.
Alexander crouches down, using his sleeve to pick the stone up. "Go to hell..." he mutters, not realizing the joke, perhaps. Still it helped him to keep his thoughts in order, even if those thoughts are of all the food he could order. Pizza. Chicken. Fried. Beer. Oh god. Chicken wings, with an ice cold fountain soda. Medium spice, just so he can eat them more, faster than if they were spicy. "Fuck..." He knows this isn't right, right? He struggles and begins to move. He can't do anything here, he can't do anything from the hotel room. He peers at the mist and shakes his head. Doesn't matter. He has to do something. The water. Deep in the bay. Throw the rock in, do his best to weather it, resist? But he's walking and there'll be food, and if he gets enough that'll make it easier right?
Through the window of the hotel, the town's sounds arrive muffled, like a distant, subdued symphony. The usual clarity of everyday noises is softened, blending into a gentle hum that serves as a backdrop to the quietude within. The faint echoes of footsteps on pavement occasionally rise above this murmur, their rhythmic pacing hinting at the steady flow of life outside. The occasional distant laughter or the faint jingle of a dog's collar drifts through, providing a sense of normalcy and continuity.
Amidst these softened sounds, the most compelling presence is not auditory but olfactory - the tantalizing aroma of food. It seeps through the barriers, a teasing whisper of the world beyond the glass. The smell is a complex tapestry of scents: the rich, deep notes of simmering stew from a nearby diner, the sharp tang of freshly baked bread from the bakery down the street, and perhaps, the subtle sweetness of caramelizing onions from a neighboring kitchen. These fragrances intermingle, creating an invisible yet potent allure that stirs a sense of longing and comfort. They paint vivid pictures in the mind's eye - of bustling kitchens, steaming plates, and the sheer delicious quantity of food.
When Alexander's hand fixes on the stone, it's like the hunger comes in sharply. He has it, now: it's in him. It's not that he's out of control -- no. This is the best thing, his desire. In his head, a whisper: 'I know you don't want to gorge yourself until you vomit.' A pause. 'So let's make a bargain, shall we?'
Alexander trembles, his entire body. Fear and adrenaline both, twice in the same day, a fourth since he arrived here. His bodies system weren't built for this kind of strain but who needs to worry about cardiac arrest at age thirty when you're going to die within a week? He wants it. He wants it so badly. And if he hadn't just dealt with Marcus he'd probably have no awareness for the reality of a bargain. But the memory hangs in his mind as sharp as the pain on his lip, torn from that twisted from embrace. He tastes the coppery substance that hangs on the surface. Sore.
"...What's your offer..." he manages in a trembling voice, equal parts furious and terrified.
That whisper: 'Bring it downstairs and secret it in the kitchen in the Lodge.' A pause. 'Hide it there, and you be free of this feeling.' As the voice whispers, Alexander cannot stop but imagine some food -- it swims in his vision. Someone passes down the hall with takeout pizza, and the smell is intoxicating. Alexander can only imagine it, the pie a mosaic of colors and textures. Bright red pepperoni slices, glistening with a sheen of their own oils, are arranged in a perfect pattern. They slightly curl at the edges, where the intense heat of the oven has crisped them to perfection. Between these pepperoni rounds, molten islands of mozzarella cheese bubble and brown, creating a landscape of golden hues. The cheese stretches tantalizingly with each slice pulled away, revealing the rich, red tomato sauce underneath.
The smell, too: a heady mix with the sharp, tangy scent of the tomato sauce, a blend of sweet and acidic notes. The creamy, buttery fragrance of the cheese, and the spicy, slightly smoky smell of pepperoni, hinting at its savory taste. Underlying these are the warm, yeasty notes of the freshly baked crust. It's hard to think of anything else -- it takes will, effort, for Alexander to focus on the offered bargain.
That whisper again: 'Or do not. Do not, and all you will be is hunger.'
And then that whisper: 'Bring it downstairs and secret it in the kitchen in the Lodge.' A pause. 'Hide it there, and you be free of this feeling.' As the voice whispers, Alexander cannot stop but imagine some food -- it swims in his vision. Someone passes down the hall with takeout pizza, and the smell is intoxicating. Alexander can only imagine it, the pie a mosaic of colors and textures. Bright red pepperoni slices, glistening with a sheen of their own oils, are arranged in a perfect pattern. They slightly curl at the edges, where the intense heat of the oven has crisped them to perfection. Between these pepperoni rounds, molten islands of mozzarella cheese bubble and brown, creating a landscape of golden hues. The cheese stretches tantalizingly with each slice pulled away, revealing the rich, red tomato sauce underneath.
The smell, too: a heady mix with the sharp, tangy scent of the tomato sauce, a blend of sweet and acidic notes. The creamy, buttery fragrance of the cheese, and the spicy, slightly smoky smell of pepperoni, hinting at its savory taste. Underlying these are the warm, yeasty notes of the freshly baked crust. It's hard to think of anything else -- it takes will, effort, for Alexander to focus on the offered bargain.
That whisper again: 'Or do not. Do not, and all you will be is hunger.' (re)
Alexander takes a deep breath, and he's already walking, making his way down the steps. His expression is flat, his mind wandering. Delightful. He smiles softly in the imagination, even as it agonizes him. He trembles, he knows each step brings him closer to relief. The question doesn't dawn on him yet. This is a choice isn't it? This is a decision he gets to make?
He's in the lodge before he realizes it. Then he's left to stop and shift and he's still moving but he doesn't want to. He remembers, inbetween the spots of each maddening imagination of food, each delightful tangy taste, the complexity hidden in every bite of just godly delightful food all around this world. He remembers the gaunt hungering people, the chaos in the town when he arrived, his own hunger. That's the choice, he figures. Me or them. Me or them. Me or...them...? "I won't," he hisses under his breath. "Kill me if you have the power to, or turn me into some...fucking twisted animal, whatever you want. If this is a choice I'm saying no," he declares, but who knows, in the will of Alexander if he even has a choice to make. The fear of what he is becomining grips him, icy, even if the shame of being so worthless for even considering it hangs there. He desperately prays that someone might help him.
In Alexander's head, a whisper: 'Kill you?' The thing laughs. 'No, I won't kill you. But if you do not want them to eat -- well,' it murmurs. 'Then you can.' Suddenly, hunger is rising again, terrible and needy.
Alexander is trembling, and orders food from a waitress. He orders a few items, more food than anyone would probably eat in a sitting. He jokes about waiting for someone, but then adds another item. He sits down down in his chair and rocks gently, driving nails into his thighs under the table as he tries to fight the rising hunger. "Why, what do you want, why do this...?" he asks, trying to find anything to distract him from the wait.
...and the food comes. Clams, the special of the night at the Lodge. Alexander gets plate after plate, some endless supply of clams, each not enough to salve his hunger. Each clam, steamed to perfection, was a small treasure trove of the ocean's flavor, tender and briny. Initially, he savors each one, relishing the delicate balance of sea salt and mineral tastes, enhanced by a squeeze of fresh lemon. As the meal progressed, Alexander's eating became less about savoring and more about the challenge of consuming as many as possible. Plate after plate is emptied, the pile of discarded shells growing into a small mountain beside him. With each clam, the initial delight waned slightly, giving way to a sense of determination mixed with the expanding discomfort in his belly. Eventually, they reached a point of undeniable fullness, where the very thought of one more clam brought a wave of discomfort -- and then he eats another, and another, and another.
More and more, until at last, he is in the bathroom of the Antlers, puking, with some laughter ringing in his ears. In the pocket, the little stone is nowhere to be found.
The smell of vomit is everywhere in the bathroom, mixed with the scent of clams. That link may last, for Alexander a plate of shellfish may never, ever seem the same to the young man.
Alexander eats, and eats and eats. He tries to just shut his brain off, go on auto pilot, let it happen. It feels like a violation, it is. His body isn't his own, a puppet to his desires and his desires are POWERFUL. It's so painful, and it doesn't matter, food goes in and he swallows it, and he chews when he can, sore painful jaw and all. It doesn't matter. He just needs to eat. And when it's all done. Perhaps, there can be a little pride.
But it's hard to feel like this was a victory.
Pride -- isn't that one of the deadly sins, too? Well. Now that gluttony's done, there's always more to come.