Murderhobo of Nod
The Antisocial Alpaca
Echo glanced at food present at the banquet. For anyone else, it would've been quite a grand feast. But. . . the meat was cooked and not raw and bloody. Not that she couldn't eat it, per see. It just lacked in a certain degree of appealing freshness. Sniffling, she began to pick up a feint scent of something delectably coppery and began to wander, sauntering over to that delightful, beckoning fragrance. While everyone else was either too busy eating, or chatting, or brooding, alone, by their lonesome ---Echo had slipped out with her awkward gait. Eventually disappearing into some kind of a kitchen. Sniffling more, she found trace amounts of blood on a nearby counter top. Drooling happily to herself, she greedily began to lick up remnants of that sweet, sweet ichor, but alas, it served little but to tease her appetite even further. Sniffling more, she wandered over to what appeared to be a pantry. . .
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