[hider=Salt, meet Wound. Wound, meet Salt]
Lord Chompy Bits stared at the fancy ball of yarn, his eyes narrowing to slits. A wry grin curled on the corners of his mouth as his gaze drifted lazily from the yarn to Zouyuu. It wasn't a pleasant smile or a happy one, where the rest of his expression followed. It was the kind of smirk that crawled over the skin, the kind that made people feel unclean, [i]dirty[/i] and a little violated. 

[color=#30D5C8][b]"Mmm'yes, your tribute is... acceptable."[/b][/color] He spoke in slow, sultry baritone. Then, his head and upper body peeled apart, splitting along invisible seams, and revealed a terrible visage. Crooked white fangs lined an ever-widening mouth that yawned infinitely into the abyssal chasm of his throat. The darkness within bent and bulged like someone passed over it with a magnifying glass. Meaty tendrils, dripping with thick slime, erupted from the warped space with a steamy hiss and dragged the ball of yarn into the mind-bending black pit. Then it was gone. Lord Chompy Bits was normal again, simply licking his lips. All that remained was a trail of putrid, yellow slime, which slowly evaporated.

He jumped down from the table with a purr and rubbed against Zouyuu's leg. To most, it looked like a sign of affection, but it was merely a cute facade, as he marked Zouyuu with his scent. Without saying a word, he had just 'claimed' Zouyuu as his own property, and anyone with a keen nose could smell the dominance.
[color=#30D5C8][b]"Since we are dear friends now, I shall keep your precious ball in my [i]personal[/i] sanctuary, where it will be treasured for [i]all time[/i]."[/b][/color] His eyes narrowed intensely at Zouyuu, before he wandered off, holding his tail high in the air. 
He was an avid collector of strange trinkets. What really gave a thing value was how badly someone else wanted it. There was no love for the yarn, but as long as Zouyuu considered it precious, he would keep it.
[@The Irish Tree][/hider]

[hider=A Watched Mimic Never Cooks]
The next few hours he spent wandering outside the Chateau, hunting anything that moved. He had taken it upon himself to slice the wings off every fluttering thing he could find, and rip a limb or two off a few rodents. He enjoyed watching them hobble along on bloodied stumps as he calmly trailed behind them, laughing and mocking them the whole time. If they played dead, he would bite them playfully to wake them up. He would conjure hiding places and herd them to it, just so he could appear from the shadows to attack them again. He tormented his prey endlessly, never eating any of them, and just left them to die in pieces. He had swallowed a few of the live ones, trapping them in his extradimensional stomach space. [color=#30D5C8][b]"I imagine Flan could use some fresh ingredients. Mmm'yes~"[/b][/color]

All the play time worked up his appetite, and he had grown hungry for something more than the tortured cries of his victims. Much to his own surprise, his current craving was quite mundane. A bowl of cream and a live mouse would do. He stared back at his trail of carnage in triumph, and sprinted away. Furry, white lightning bolted through the corridors with reckless abandon, gracefully dodging bone butlers in his way. His sprint slowed to a lazy stroll as he entered the kitchen. 

He sniffed at the air and began tracking down Flan, but found a golden-haired girl there instead... and she smelled of mimics. His eyes narrowed with curiosity. Without making a sound, he melted into the adjacent wall, and manifested atop a nearby counter. A lukewarm space between a knife holder and some spice bottles made an ideal, albeit impromptu lounging spot. Ears forward with interest, his tail flicked with glee as the mimic-girl fumed uselessly. His intense gaze followed her around, expecting to see a good show.

[@Enkryption],[@Iceheart]
[/hider]