In my simmering rage, I wonder what it will feel like to drag cold metal across their stupid, nearly non-existent necks and watch them bleed out.
The slime on the right seems bored and is picking at the short claws rising from his webbed fingers with a single index claw.
I wonder whether it can come off easily if I pull the adjoining joint in the opposite direction hard enough. The thought of ripping off its claws and seeing if all of them can fit in one eye socket is almost enough to bring a smile to my lips.
Almost.
Bored Slime turns to Stupid Gaze Slime. "We're nearing the hunting grounds."
This causes him to shift his bulbous eyes away from the red-haired woman it was ogling to join the conversation. "I hear they stocked it with a whole new range of species this year."
The one on the left shivers like it just came on itself, like one of those half-crazy anime antagonists I used to see on streaming services back on Earth. And now I want to gag at the mental image I just scarred myself with.
I mostly tune them out for a while, my gaze shifting all around our sleek white cell, taking in the colorful features of all the women, then looking for a way out.
I note when they talk about a manticorid. A bit later it seems to excite and frighten them, which pulls my interest again.
"Won't it just kill all the rest?" Bored Slime asks, his body somehow still matching his name as he puddles closer to the floor.
Pissed off as I am, that sounds like someone to know. Ree and I share a look.
They keep talking, mentioning there are blocks loaded into the prey to keep them from harming each other, but apparently not the hunters. Tricky bastards.
Clearly, organized violence is not a human-exclusive trait.
Of course it isn't, dumbass, I chide myself.
This manticorid thingy sounds very good at it.
The idea that there is something capable of putting the fear of Hades into them is extremely satisfying, though.
I give Ree a cursory glance from the side of my eye and she seems to be engrossed in the conversation.
While I'd much prefer being the one making them shiver in fear like that, it won't be happening unless I find a way out of this cell, so I'll settle for the vicarious pleasure as I keep scanning.
I suppress a laugh when they talk about snack-sized cats, though I can tell it makes Ree sick. She's a cat lover, if I had to guess.
Idiots. With no fancy gadgets and doohickeys, I doubt they'd consider a full-grown adult tiger a harmless little snack.
That alone tells me a lot about their combat experience.
When you survive near-death experiences, it changes your worldview about a lot of things.
I can attest to that.
"Except with venom," scoffs Bored Slime.
I look over to Ree, and she turns to see that I am staring at her. A small smirk forms on my lips, and, as much as she is doing a great job of hiding it from the slimes, I can tell she's thinking violent thoughts.
They keep fanboying about bloodsport as I catalogue the likely places they are vulnerable, though it's hard to tell for sure since they continually change shape.
Eyes, head, neck, and gut are probably a good assumption regardless of species. Maybe?
Stupid Gaze turns back to us. "The pink one is poor entertainment. Ratings are going down. Bring out the red one."
They argue for a while as I share another long look with Ree. Her face is telling me not to resist, which either means she has no spine, or they have done terrible things to her. Or both.
"Go back to your chamber, pink slut."
