No, not that. It could still be called a blood-lust, but not with the intent of eating the person; if he gets into a serious fight while wearing it, it's possible that he won't be able stop himself until there's nothing left but piles of meaty gobbets*. Not unless someone distracts or calms him, anyway. Thankfully, he almost never uses it, so he might never know.
The closest Trowa had (or could) ever come to flying is tearing down an empty road on his bike, but it isn't the same--and even though he'd been in more planes and shuttles and flying mobile suits than any person had a right to, they were just more enclosed spaces. If he were to be honest with himself (and that is not something he's very good at) he would have to admit that Hiruma's abilities to go where nearly no-one could follow and actually feel himself slicing through the air sometimes inspired a bit of jealousy.
Not that thinking such things necessarily translate into actually saying them as well.
The quiet hffs turn into a single irritable snort, his ears tilting back and down at being called out on his actions; he picks up another tine between two claws and holds it in place a little to the left of the second, pressing it in with the help of the flat metal bar in the other. It's almost like watching someone jam a toothpick into butter. And speaking of:
"Not hungry."
Mind you don't step down without looking, Hiruma. The end of his tail--as well as the silver blade attached to it--is twitching back and forth by the chair's legs. Might've hit a nerve somewhere.
Y. It was a long, glorious thing. Woke up, realized it wasn't IRL, and went >:| Also, bad LJ!
The closest Trowa had (or could) ever come to flying is tearing down an empty road on his bike, but it isn't the same--and even though he'd been in more planes and shuttles and flying mobile suits than any person had a right to, they were just more enclosed spaces. If he were to be honest with himself (and that is not something he's very good at) he would have to admit that Hiruma's abilities to go where nearly no-one could follow and actually feel himself slicing through the air sometimes inspired a bit of jealousy.
Not that thinking such things necessarily translate into actually saying them as well.
The quiet hffs turn into a single irritable snort, his ears tilting back and down at being called out on his actions; he picks up another tine between two claws and holds it in place a little to the left of the second, pressing it in with the help of the flat metal bar in the other. It's almost like watching someone jam a toothpick into butter. And speaking of:
"Not hungry."
Mind you don't step down without looking, Hiruma. The end of his tail--as well as the silver blade attached to it--is twitching back and forth by the chair's legs. Might've hit a nerve somewhere.