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In for a parcel, in for a Pack.

Discussion in 'The Hooded Crow Inn [Fiction]' started by Livvie Dell, Mar 12, 2012.

  1. Livvie Dell

    Livvie Dell Guest

    I inhale. Sulfurous Ash, Nightshade, Blood Moss and Black Pearl. Someone else has been here and it's recent. The breeze still carries the musk of parchment and the languid stench of ink. I wrinkle my nose. Whoever it was spends too much in books. I take one more sniff with the sensation that I just missed something. Sure enough there it is: Black Powder. It's not caked though but rather barely there. An ingredient not regularly used, this is a new one. I almost laugh hysterically aloud.

    This is a new one.

    In my hand are dark green shards of glass. Those and the streaks of red oozing from swath of flesh cut deep enough to form its own canyon are remnants of trying to steal my heirloom back from the blood elemental. The blue probably would have been better. As it stands, the yellow shows off my own fluid in a sharp contrast. Laughing, I throw my head back. It's not the first time blood has permeated my clothes. It won't be the last.

    I hear it then. My head snaps with the sound of a footstep in the distance and I drop to a knee. The new one. I may be vertical but my thighs are just as strong as they would be were I crouched lower. Poor thing.

    They need to have some sense and be gone when I get there. The one item capable of slowing the change has come to a wretched end.

    I'm hungry.
    Valek Typhoon likes this.
  2. Livvie Dell

    Livvie Dell Guest

    He was arguing with the cannon. He's either daft or he hates his job.

    I'm not hidden, but years of practice have made my footsteps lighter. That in conjunction with his obvious preoccupation keeps me just out of his line of sight. It wouldn't matter if he had seen me. I'm faster. The words are cocky in my own mind, but honest. He doesn't smell like one of my kind, which means I'm stronger too. I lower myself so that the tips of my fingers on my right hand touch the top blades of grass.

    He let's out a string of sailor oriented words and I hear a thud resound as his leg draws back. He's kicked the wooden frame holding the heavy metal in place. I watch him as he picks up that same foot a split second later and cradles it. In his frustration he's forgotten that hard wood and metal win out over flesh and bone. His foot just lost the contest.

    The smell of honeysuckle mixes in the air with his sweat and I check the impulse that says I can control it. It's disregarded quickly. Not today.

    Need, hot and demanding wreaks havoc as the Phalanges elongate. The pain is searing but I don't scream like I used to. My mouth waters and instinct takes over. I rear back on my haunches and push off....
    Valek Typhoon likes this.
  3. Livvie Dell

    Livvie Dell Guest

    A pound of beef really wasn't too difficult to knock over when you're moving at a good clip. I know, I had to have been pretty hard when I hit him. My hand remained at his throat, pinning him to the deck. Something halfway between fear and stun reflected in his eyes. He hadn't wet himself. A mark in his favor I suppose. I inhale once. He smells good, like seawater and sawdust. That is, once I got past the roll of sweat beading across his forehead and down his nose. I check myself, The fur says something.. "Yeah, it says... Hairball..." I give a half laugh- half growl.

    I feel him try to shift under me, but I know he isn't going anywhere.I open my mouth, leaning down. But there's nothing there but air. Without word I feel part of my back fur ripped and pulled as I'm pulled off and tossed to the side. My chin hits the railing before I land square in the saltwater I was above a moment ago. The water slips in, and I feel it caress the flesh now bare from the change.. the ache abiding from the sinew and muscle as it retracts.

    "Son of a...."
    I hear the splash rather than see it. Small but sturdy the rowboat drifts into view. I would reject the offering. Stubborn and pig headed as I am, but I really hate the water. And so, an arm, languishes on the side as I pop my head up to see who it was that took away the morsel I had chosen.

    "For the Love of Boura."
    Valek Typhoon likes this.