It was strange to Drak, how he perceived things differently now. The trembling, rippling eddies and whorls of power that flowed through this world were brightly limned before his senses, glowing in brilliant and subdued colors. Before he had come here, he hadn't..... understood colors the same way. As he drifted, he came across people, their minds a pulsing point of light to him, shaded with the mixes and whirls of their emotions and thoughts. Each unique, yet similar in their general form.
If they could see him, as he saw them, they would see a drifting green mist, gathered around a vague center, the core mists seeming to pulse with a.. mental heartbeat. To physical senses, in his "natural" form, he was immaterial and invisible, sometimes felt as one might expect to feel a ghost. The "shudders" or the hair on the back of someone's neck standing up as Drak's immaterial form slid around their mind, sampling the flavor of them. When he had first arrived in this world, from his home dimension, he had slain the first few minds he came across, accidentally, drinking in their energies until their physical bodies collapsed in brain-dead comas. He had learned much, in his centuries amongst "The Physicals" as he thought of them. He had learned to take on a physical form for a time, to sample their senses, their experiences, their.... rigid time and space. It was... stimulating.
His people were from a realm without matter, or strict concepts of time. They existed, they were, they were not. A freak accident or anomaly had drawn him to this world, so different from his own.
They didn't have words for "addiction" in his universe.
Of course, if they had to deal with the sweet release of an orgasm, or the mind blanking paroxysm of bliss physical senses can ignite, they would have.
Over the centuries, he had learned to relish physical pleasures and pains, wallowing in hedonism and decadence, his pseudo-bodies pliant and powerful, capable of marvelous feats. Today, in fact, was time for him to pay a visit to one of his lucky benefactors. These humans were his current circle of... confidants that he satiated his desires with. They were chosen for having particularly intense or "flavorful" minds, as well as interests in the things he could do to a human body.
None of them knew he fed upon them in so many ways.
Lucinda certainly didn't. She was one of his favorites.
He drifted into the small, neatly furnished apartment. He could sense her in the bathroom, and he smiles, knowing she was so confused by his miraculous appearances. A whirlwind begins in the center of the room, silent, barely stirring the air in the room somehow. In moments, a tall, well built man, with mocha skin and tousled black hair is standing in her room. A charcoal gray suit, impeccably cut, clings to him, and he steps forward, headed towards the bathroom door. Every movement was measured, precise. Almost inhumanly graceful, and dripping with a masculine sensuality. Wrapping his knuckles against the door, his warm, throaty baritone calls out to her, as his true essence, the ephemeral tendrils of his mind, reach out, caressing her own thoughts.
"Lucinda. It's Drak. I told you, you never know when I'll arrive."
