Post by Kelly on Dec 25, 2010 12:16:13 GMT -8
Grocery Shopping
In between bouts of static the car radio spit out Christmas tunes. Yours Truly was driving along country back roads, skirting the mountains. Whenever one radio station faded into fuzz she'd poke at the dial until another appeared. It wasn't that she exactly loved Christmas music but it wasn't bad. Plus, years of exposure meant that of course she knew all the words and singing loudly in the car was one of her most favorite things in the world.
YT randomly took the next left turn onto a narrow road with a quaint little name: Butternut Lane. The sunlight filtered through naked alder branches creating dappled patterns on the ground. At the right side of the road, half in and half out of the ditch, YT spotted what she was looking for: a dead deer. "Sweet!" She exclaimed and quickly pulled the car over to the side. She pulled on her jacket and tumbled out of the car to inspect the corpse. She pouted, noticing that the eyes were gone but after a once-over she could tell that the roadkill had not been there long. She went back to the car and opened the trunk. She pulled out a big blue tarp and walked back to the deer. After a bit of a struggle getting the deer's body burritoed into the tarp she rubbed her hands briskly together and cast a bit of Legerdemain. She waved her hands and carefully levitated the deer up and into the trunk. Sooo much less messy than it used to be before I learned this, she thought happily.
Closing the trunk she started whistling "Jingle Bells". Today had been a good day. It was sunny and not too rainy and she'd found roadkill big enough to cook for Ulrim for Christmas dinner. She'd never had to cook for a troll before; granted she never usually bothered cooking roadkill for herself. She had a feeling it might all work out.
Migraines of Doom
Christmas morning peeked through the yurt window, casting week sunlight over Maria's bed. The Scathach groaned and rolled over to bury her face in the pillow. Since Yule she'd had a horrendously persistent headache. She knew what it meant, and was not pleased. Fate had gifted her with a ... unique connection to prophesy. The headache was a sure sign some big lightning bolt of revelation was going to hit. Maria just wished that it would happen sooner than later, and preferably with a reliable audience. Having seizures and speaking in tongues was only useful when the prophesy tumbling out of her mouth was heard by someone smart enough to remember it.
On the bedside table her boggan hosts had left her a mug of peppermint tea and a small plate of muffins. It was incredibly thoughtful of them but Maria couldn't manage to want to eat or drink. She rubbed her head and tugged the blanket closer. "I really hope this is something important." She grumbled.
A Christmas Visitor
Countess Marged meticulously checked the temperature inside the oven. She narrowed her eyes and added a few more hunks of coal into the back of it. Letting the oven temperature fluctuate too much was an apprentice mistake and not one she'd made in years. She wandered over to the window that overlooked the front pasture. Her eyes widened and she laughed. The chimerical moose that she'd seen hoofprints from for the past week was hanging out by the road. It was daintily (for a moose) chowing down on the willow trees she'd planted by the road up to the lodge. She checked the timer on the oven and then divested herself of her work apron and heavy oven mitts. She hung up everything exactly where it belonged before opening a cabinet and grabbing a small paper bag. Walking to the door she pulled on her big woolen coat.
The sidhe walked across the snowy yard towards the ungulate. The moose watched her approach with one eye and continued nibbling the wispy branches. Marged stopped a few yards away and examined the strange chimera. It was female and didn't have huge antlers but it was far from normal. Her dark brown fur was dappled with stars: what Marged had mistaken for snowflakes were in fact shining patches of star-shaped fur. The moose's hefty hooves were winged, like Hermes' feet.
"Good day, moose!" Marged said, breaking the silence. The moose chimera stopped eating and turned its massive head to regard her with both eyes. "I wouldn't have interrupted your lunch but I happen to have planted those trees there with a decorative, not culinary purpose." The moose lazily flicked an ear at nothing in particular, as if saying "Your point is...?". Marged took the paper bag out of her pocket and unwrapped its contents. The moose's nostrils flared in curiosity and it took a cautious step forward. Marged selected two big sugar cubes and laid them on her palm. She stretched out her hand. "I'm not a grinch, though. You're welcome to some of the horses' food if you like. And if you come up to the lodge there are more of these." The moose regarded her skeptically but its eyes were glued to the sugar cubes. It slowly walked forward and carefully took the sugar cubes from her hand. Marged grinned at the fuzzy, coarse feeling of the moose's lips. "Merry Christmas!" She said. The moose looked at her with a smile in its eyes.
Dark Dreams
Blood was everywhere. There was blood on Finn's claws. In his mouth, coating his fur, the smell preventing him from sensing any other scents. His vision was blurred and he realized blood was seeping into his eyes. Somehow he was in Crinos. He howled, a horrendous eerie sound that echoed strangely off of rock. Where was he? What was happening to him? Shapes moved in the darkness, many shapes, dark, clawed, scaled. He heard discordant howls ricochet off the rock around him, echoes of his own, or more? He felt the hair on his neck prickle, his hackles raised. From behind something large struck him, grabbing him. Darkness enveloped him, squeezing and encircling. He felt scales and slime wrap around him.
With a jolt Finn sat up in bed, digging Crinos claws into the mattress. His pulse pounded and he shook his head, the scent of blood from the dream clung to his waking mind. He looked wildly around the room, he was alone. He let out a sigh of relief. The last thing he needed was for one of the Seattle Sept's Kinfolk to be in the room while he was dreaming. He shifted back down to Homid. "Focus, Finn, Focus." He told himself. He looked down at the mattress and winced. The Seattle Sept had been very friendly and hospitable, he had been very lucky. The changelings had been very very welcoming, too, the Fianna thought with a grin. It had been a good decision to come West, even despite the setback of the Dauntain scientist.
Finn got out of bed and looked at the clock. 12:34. He had plenty of time. He could go out and hunt and be back in time for the Sept's Christmas party that evening. He had plans to pull some Ragabash trickery on them all, and at the very least he would torment Erzabeth and Winter's Edge with mistletoe. He needed to hunt, though. It helped with the dreams got too strong. He pulled on jeans and looked through his backpack for a shirt. Yes, Seattle was a good city to have come to, everything was going according to plan.
In between bouts of static the car radio spit out Christmas tunes. Yours Truly was driving along country back roads, skirting the mountains. Whenever one radio station faded into fuzz she'd poke at the dial until another appeared. It wasn't that she exactly loved Christmas music but it wasn't bad. Plus, years of exposure meant that of course she knew all the words and singing loudly in the car was one of her most favorite things in the world.
YT randomly took the next left turn onto a narrow road with a quaint little name: Butternut Lane. The sunlight filtered through naked alder branches creating dappled patterns on the ground. At the right side of the road, half in and half out of the ditch, YT spotted what she was looking for: a dead deer. "Sweet!" She exclaimed and quickly pulled the car over to the side. She pulled on her jacket and tumbled out of the car to inspect the corpse. She pouted, noticing that the eyes were gone but after a once-over she could tell that the roadkill had not been there long. She went back to the car and opened the trunk. She pulled out a big blue tarp and walked back to the deer. After a bit of a struggle getting the deer's body burritoed into the tarp she rubbed her hands briskly together and cast a bit of Legerdemain. She waved her hands and carefully levitated the deer up and into the trunk. Sooo much less messy than it used to be before I learned this, she thought happily.
Closing the trunk she started whistling "Jingle Bells". Today had been a good day. It was sunny and not too rainy and she'd found roadkill big enough to cook for Ulrim for Christmas dinner. She'd never had to cook for a troll before; granted she never usually bothered cooking roadkill for herself. She had a feeling it might all work out.
Migraines of Doom
Christmas morning peeked through the yurt window, casting week sunlight over Maria's bed. The Scathach groaned and rolled over to bury her face in the pillow. Since Yule she'd had a horrendously persistent headache. She knew what it meant, and was not pleased. Fate had gifted her with a ... unique connection to prophesy. The headache was a sure sign some big lightning bolt of revelation was going to hit. Maria just wished that it would happen sooner than later, and preferably with a reliable audience. Having seizures and speaking in tongues was only useful when the prophesy tumbling out of her mouth was heard by someone smart enough to remember it.
On the bedside table her boggan hosts had left her a mug of peppermint tea and a small plate of muffins. It was incredibly thoughtful of them but Maria couldn't manage to want to eat or drink. She rubbed her head and tugged the blanket closer. "I really hope this is something important." She grumbled.
A Christmas Visitor
Countess Marged meticulously checked the temperature inside the oven. She narrowed her eyes and added a few more hunks of coal into the back of it. Letting the oven temperature fluctuate too much was an apprentice mistake and not one she'd made in years. She wandered over to the window that overlooked the front pasture. Her eyes widened and she laughed. The chimerical moose that she'd seen hoofprints from for the past week was hanging out by the road. It was daintily (for a moose) chowing down on the willow trees she'd planted by the road up to the lodge. She checked the timer on the oven and then divested herself of her work apron and heavy oven mitts. She hung up everything exactly where it belonged before opening a cabinet and grabbing a small paper bag. Walking to the door she pulled on her big woolen coat.
The sidhe walked across the snowy yard towards the ungulate. The moose watched her approach with one eye and continued nibbling the wispy branches. Marged stopped a few yards away and examined the strange chimera. It was female and didn't have huge antlers but it was far from normal. Her dark brown fur was dappled with stars: what Marged had mistaken for snowflakes were in fact shining patches of star-shaped fur. The moose's hefty hooves were winged, like Hermes' feet.
"Good day, moose!" Marged said, breaking the silence. The moose chimera stopped eating and turned its massive head to regard her with both eyes. "I wouldn't have interrupted your lunch but I happen to have planted those trees there with a decorative, not culinary purpose." The moose lazily flicked an ear at nothing in particular, as if saying "Your point is...?". Marged took the paper bag out of her pocket and unwrapped its contents. The moose's nostrils flared in curiosity and it took a cautious step forward. Marged selected two big sugar cubes and laid them on her palm. She stretched out her hand. "I'm not a grinch, though. You're welcome to some of the horses' food if you like. And if you come up to the lodge there are more of these." The moose regarded her skeptically but its eyes were glued to the sugar cubes. It slowly walked forward and carefully took the sugar cubes from her hand. Marged grinned at the fuzzy, coarse feeling of the moose's lips. "Merry Christmas!" She said. The moose looked at her with a smile in its eyes.
Dark Dreams
Blood was everywhere. There was blood on Finn's claws. In his mouth, coating his fur, the smell preventing him from sensing any other scents. His vision was blurred and he realized blood was seeping into his eyes. Somehow he was in Crinos. He howled, a horrendous eerie sound that echoed strangely off of rock. Where was he? What was happening to him? Shapes moved in the darkness, many shapes, dark, clawed, scaled. He heard discordant howls ricochet off the rock around him, echoes of his own, or more? He felt the hair on his neck prickle, his hackles raised. From behind something large struck him, grabbing him. Darkness enveloped him, squeezing and encircling. He felt scales and slime wrap around him.
With a jolt Finn sat up in bed, digging Crinos claws into the mattress. His pulse pounded and he shook his head, the scent of blood from the dream clung to his waking mind. He looked wildly around the room, he was alone. He let out a sigh of relief. The last thing he needed was for one of the Seattle Sept's Kinfolk to be in the room while he was dreaming. He shifted back down to Homid. "Focus, Finn, Focus." He told himself. He looked down at the mattress and winced. The Seattle Sept had been very friendly and hospitable, he had been very lucky. The changelings had been very very welcoming, too, the Fianna thought with a grin. It had been a good decision to come West, even despite the setback of the Dauntain scientist.
Finn got out of bed and looked at the clock. 12:34. He had plenty of time. He could go out and hunt and be back in time for the Sept's Christmas party that evening. He had plans to pull some Ragabash trickery on them all, and at the very least he would torment Erzabeth and Winter's Edge with mistletoe. He needed to hunt, though. It helped with the dreams got too strong. He pulled on jeans and looked through his backpack for a shirt. Yes, Seattle was a good city to have come to, everything was going according to plan.