Justric

Never Lose Your Hat!

Jötz woke with only a slight start at the sound of screaming. He yawned widely, his length of his fangs and the size of his maw made all the more apparent by the reflex as he stretched. Screaming. It dawned on him that he should be concerned about that. That made him grumpy. Jaegers should be causing screaming, not waking up to it. Calmly he scratched his ass where he sat, then went to automatically to adjust his hat... which wasn't there. Oh, yes. He remembered now. The attack of the toads, the loss of his hat, the severing of Ivy's arm... It had been a rough night, and the latter suggested it was going to be a tougher morning!

Leaning against the ruined wall, he watched calmly with a look of annoyance as Ivy yelled and cursed at him, condemned him with her glances and fear as she tried to get as far away from him as possible. In his experience, it was best just to let her get it out of her system. Still... her ravings did more than annoy him. There was actually a pang in his heart at the sight of her crying and afraid. It wasn't even the fear itself that bothered him, but the knowledge that Ivy's fear was of him.

"Ja, sorry 'bout dat, Mizz Ivy," he yawned again casually. He kept his tone nonchalant, relaxed, despite the ache in his chest to see her so distressed. "Chou vast in der Mad place und it vasn't a good idea to vait too long. Made a pretty goot job of eet, I'm tinking. Didn't think chou vould vant a diet oft flies fur da rest of chou life. Eet's over der, iff'n chou vants to take a look." Jötz waved vaguely in the direction of the severed limb, heavily covered in the thick blue rubbery skins and warts. Keeping his relaxed demeanor, the Jaeger stood and stretched, and the sound of numerous joints and bones and tendons cracking back into place filled the air. "Ve'll need to get chou some clean clothes, I'm tinking. Amputations ist kinda messy."

He looked about the floor to see if his hat had revealed itself yet in the morning light, the frown on his face clear as he realized that wherever his headgear had gone, it was beyond his reach. Kneeling to gather up the cloak and the rest of the gear back into his back, Jötz kept talking as though nothing major was wrong. "Ve get chou to Beetleburg. Dey can make chou new arm der. Or... hey, maybe ve go to Mechanicsburg! I bets dey can grow you new one! Vorse comes to vorse? Ve find resurrection men somevhere on da road. Dey usually gots spare parts cheap."

Never Lose Your Hat!

No, you're right. I was figuring it was just about pre-dawn the day after. And thanks for the compliment! After your last post, I really felt inspired! I would have posted sooner, but I had to wait for the Benadryl I was taking to wear off so my brain would work the way it's supposed to.

The Highwayman Came Riding

Take your time, please! It sounds as though you and yours have both an exciting and time consuming month ahead of you, and the last thing you need to do is worry about this! (Grins) Believe me when I say that I am incredibly patient, and for a writer of your caliber I am more than willing to wait! Enjoy yourselves, and rest assured that barring the unforeseen I'll still be here when you have more time on your hands.

The Daemon Lover

As the two lady birds chatted, a small circle of would be suitors surrounded them at a respectable distance - young men (and some not so young) all wishing a dance, most with the Swan Queen but some with the Sparrow Maiden. As forlorn and hopeful as their postures and what could be seen of their visages might have been, they found themselves thoroughly ignored as the two young women found some small common ground.

For the Sparrow Maiden’s part, she had become rather shy and humbled once the dance was done. It was as though some lever had been thrown to change her from the brazen and confident woman that had danced to the shy and embarrassed girl that now stood before the Swan Queen. Seraphina lead their conversation, with the Maiden replying modestly to any question or comment laid before her. When asked for an introduction, her sparrow beaked masked look up at alarm at the black feathered Queen; large, innocent eyes looked out the eye holes as if in worried fear.

“My partner… Your Majesty, I will introduce you as you ask, but… I fear I may be doing you no favors.” She glanced to where the slender figure stood upon the stairs, his weight against the bannister as he surveyed the crowd with a combination of curiosity and amusement. The golden fiddle was safely tucked beneath one arm. The Sparrow Maiden shuddered briefly as she stared up at him. “As for who he is… I do not know. But I fear he may be the Devil Himself to bring me to dance as I have done, Your Majesty.”

Having said so, the meek Sparrow Maiden led the imperious Swan Queen away from their disappointed swains and suitors. The males looked on in sorrow as though the light of the lives had just been snuffed to leave them pining in frustrated and futile darkness. Yet as the girl moved towards the Cuckoo, something about her once again changed. That same lever had been flipped back once more. Her meek and mild mannered steps evolved into something more confident again, her walk becoming a hip swishing sashay as she placed one delicately slippered foot before another. Chin held up high, back straight and shoulder back as though to make the best of her womanly attributes, the Sparrow Maiden was quite the wanton by the time she eased up to The Devil Himself. Even the curtsy she made before the dark lord of chaos was scandalous. Her lips twisted in a seductive and knowing smirk as she bent over, the coppery feathers about her breasts exposing the depths of her cleavage. “Your Majesty,” she drawled to her dark feathered better, “May I present to you The Lord of Mischief, The Cuckoo Incarnate… The Devil Himself. My most dark and dear lord? Her Majesty, the Queen of the Night and of Beauty… the Swan Queen.”

The Cuckoo masked figure smiled broadly at the introduction, standing one step above them both on the marble casement. In a fashion that was a twisted parody of fatherly affection, the man ran a hand slowly about the Maiden’s hair and around her jaw to cup her chin. The effect on the Maiden was nothing short of electric. Her eyes closed and lips parted as though in ecstasy at the feeling of his touch, her head lolling into the curve of his palm affectionately. “Go, now. Leave her black-feathered Majesty and I to talk,” the Cuckoo commanded softly, “Do as I brought you here to do, and you shall earn your rewards, my Sparrow.”

Somewhere deep inside of herself, Feather was appalled and fascinated by the feelings being stirred within her. She had been raised to be a good girl, a moral girl. Now she felt unfettered, as though every secret desire and longing she had ever had and denied herself had been unleashed. Yet she smiled sweetly all the same and nodded. Without another word, she bowed to them both and departed off into the crowd, headed directly for the knot of young men who had gathered themselves so hopefully behind them.

The Cuckoo, on the other hand, remained calm and collected. There was no overwhelming sensuality about him in the least. In fact, he appeared to be a rather ordinary if somewhat mischievous character in the devil’s disguise. And the voice from behind the mask? There was no doubt that it was none other than the strange minstrel with his stranger manners and ways. He greeted Seraphina with a smile more genuine, nodding his head in an acquiescing recognition of respect rather than a full and proper bow as was required by law and custom. Whether the Baron’s daughter or the Swan Queen, Seraphina would outrank a mere vagabond! Only now that vagabond was the Devil Himself, and he bowed to no one.

“Your most gracious Majesty,” he drawled dryly, “You dance quite marvelously. A little stiff perhaps for my tastes, but you know what they say: courtly dancing is but a pale imitation of its countryside origins .”

Were his word meant to mock her thoughts? And how had he known them? The answers to those mysteries laid behind his mask and his soft smile, unspoken. Instead, he held up an arm with elbow crooked for her to take. “Will you walk with me upon the balcony, your Majesty? The moon light is lovely tonight, and would be lovelier still should you add your beauty to it.”

Never Lose Your Hat!

From the Jaeger's point of view, it was over in seconds. The heavy knife chopped down to neatly slice through muscle and bone to make a clean amputation, yet while leaving enough of a flap of skin on one side to later help clove over the exposed bone. There was no time for reflection or self-recrimination. Later on, Jötz would mentally debate in anguish on whether or not there was anything else he could have done at that point: Ivy had seemed oblivious to the danger, they were trapped in some forgotten room of some forgotten town or city, there was nothing even remotely resembling an antidote about, and the metamorphosis had been progressing so fast that waiting until they could seek help was out of the question. Yet when she whimpered that she was left handed, Jötz closed his eyes and swore in every language he knew plus some he wasn't so sure on.

There was no time to dwell on it now, though. Ivy was losing blood rapidly, her already pale face growing whiter as she slipped into unconsciousness. With a deft motion, Jötz whipped off his belt to lash a tourniquet just below her elbow and above the truncated arm. A warrior by choice as well as design, the monster had an excellent gasp of battlefield medicine. He also had a few supplies for just such an emergency. The blood made the floor about her slick and warm, an annoying distraction as he fumbled through his kit for what he needed: a large needle, a small ball of sinew twine, and a clear vial containing a vivid green powder. This last he sprinkled liberally across the wound. The medicine would provide a sealant for the amputation, keeping it clean of infection while helping the flesh to knit close in a matter of hours instead of days or weeks. Once applied, the remaining flap of skin was sutured over the stump. When all was done and Meddleson's Miraculous Medical Powder had done its job, the stump where Ivy's lower arm once was would be healed without pain or agony... although there was the side effect that her eyes would glow purple for a day or so, but you couldn't have everything.

Having done everything he could, Jötz picked her up and wrapped her in his cloak to keep her warm. The bedroll off of his pack made an impromptu pillow for her head. An examination found her breathing shallow but steady, and the color slowly ebbed back into her cheeks. Finally he sat back and stared at the severed limb while he took stock of the situation. It looked as though he had acted just in time. The rubbery azure flesh had reached well past the left wrist, turning her delicate hand into an amphibian's claw. Oddly enough, there was no shrinkage. Considering the size of the creatures, he thought there would have been. Unless of coarse Ivy had been about to transmogrify into another of the big ones. A queen perhaps? Had the big one once been a Spark as well, maybe even the one responsible for all of this? He shook his head grumpily. There was no use on dwelling on it now.

Jötz finally stood and carried the severed limb out of sight, kicking dust and debris over the pool of blood that splattered across the ancient stone floor. Confident she was out cold but stable, he stripped the sticky and soaked clothing from off his furry body and discarded it in the direction of the arm after ripping off the buttons and anything else of use or of value. His second and only other set of clothes were not quite as rugged. The Jaeger could only hope they would hold up during the long journey to the nearest town. Brown woolen pants with leather patches at the knees, an off-white shirt that looked as if it belonged more on a poet than a green furred creature of destruction and a knee length vest of dark forest green. It was a fashion several decades out of date. Then again, he hadn't needed them in some time.

Dressed in clean clothes, he sat back down besides Ivy. There was going to be shouting later, he knew. The girl was going to be upset with him, he was positive, and he hated the thought of it for some reason. It bothered him that she might be angry with him, and he did't quite know why. With a sigh, he took up her right hand and held it while he closed his eyes and did something he had not done in quite some time. He slept.

The Highwayman Came Riding

Reynard chuckled as he took her hand to lead her back towards his horse. "Is it near half gone so soon? Actually, I think the night is just beginning, lovely. And 'nothing but a Bess,' you say? No. That is like saying it is nothing but the moon, or nothing but the sun! No, you may be Bess. But I think I shall always remember you, my savior, as the beautiful and gracious Greensleeves." It seemed that whatever else might happen, the Highwayman was not letting go of their melodrama just yet.

The massive horse stood snorting as they approached, casting a steady eye towards Bess before returning to his diet of nettles and brambles. A quick flip of his wrist, and the tether was released. In an easy smooth motion, one that belied the notion of a slender man not being strong, he swept her up to place her sidesaddle on his mount. Just as gracefully, he then swung up behind her in the saddle with both arms around her to keep her close and safe. It was as though he was born to the saddle. The girl quite safe in his embrace, he took up the reigns professionally as he smiled all the while. The horse made no recognition of their combined weight upon his back; it was as though they were naught more than two file who might have lit upon his saddle, so strong was the beast. "Grab the jug handle there on the front of the saddle," he advised, his breath hot and mischievous in her ear, "There, by the pommel. I shall not let you fall, be assured, good Greensleeves."

With that, Reynard gave a tug on the reins and turned the horse towards the far road. At first, it was a slow and easy trot as the beast threaded its way between the close trees and heavy underbrush. But as the way opened before them into a deer trail, Reynard spurred the horse gentle on until they were at a trot and then a fast cantor. Soon they hit the open road and the scenery blurred before them! Such power and freedom! Reynard's horse carried them so quickly that the stars above seemed to blur even as the moon made as if to follow them! More over than the exhilaration of speed, there was the sheer primal smell that surrounded Reynard and Bess - it was all animal and leather, unrestrained muscles let loose in the liberation of the horse's urge to run free. Ditches and stiles were jumped as though they were nothing, granting the country girl a dazzling display of what just a monster might accomplish at his master's gentle command.

Only the intoxicating odor of the horse was not the only scent in the air. Reynard smelled of lime and bay rum, polished leather and brushed suede. And he reveled in her scent as well, inhaling the fragrance of her hair as the wind sought to tickle his nose with it. She was twice as warm and pleasant in his arms as she had been the other night when she unwillingly provided him with succor, and as much as he played the gentleman to keep his hands about her calmly he truly wished he might let those hands rove. Yet again, Reynard would not prove himself the cad. He was good at playing the gentleman, and if their little play was to continue happily enough then the fox was glad enough to keep to his self assigned role.

After some time and quite some distance from either their forest grotto or her home, he brought the horse to heel. Atop the highest hill on the road, they might look about the moonlit landscape in all its romantic and nightly splendor, the ponds and streams that dotted the landscape twinkling the stars reflections back up at their origins merrily. It was a peaceful night. Only a cool breeze was left to disturb the tranquility even as it added something to the atmosphere.

"There, now, Greensleeves," Reynard asked politely, "Was that to your liking then?"

Never Lose Your Hat!

His green and fanged face arranged itself from brooding curiosity to outright alarm. He could see[//i] the blue bumpy flesh advancing millimeter by millimeter around her hand, a thick webbing edging out from between her fingers to connect them. More worrying was that her nails was turning the same black-brown color as the claw!

Clinically, Jötz realized why the townsfolk hadn't drained this swamp for their own use; anyone who tried got converted into one of the blue toad creatures that had attacked them. It was a great idea for a defensive army, he approved mentally; attackers would be forced to come to them, their wounded quickly turning against them as they joined the toads. No need for recruiting, no need to build clanks. And judging about how easily the toads had died, keeping the force the right size probably hadn't been too much of a concern. No, the real concern would be what would happen of the defending monsters started attacking allies... not to mention, the people they were supposed to be defending! Which... was probably what happened. The toads were wildfire weapons, wonderfully designed but improperly applied.

Emotionally, all of these acute and detailed observations were shunted to the back of Jötz's mind as he stared at the creeping blue flesh with horror. There was no time for rational explanations. The girl he had just saved, twice now, was in danger again and [i]she didn't seem to realize it! Was she that sheltered?? Or had the Madness taken her so completely as to be unaware of anything but the scientific splendor of it all?? This young woman was going to bear watching, he realized, before she got into real trouble! Better still... she might cause some real trouble that he could at least take part in later on! And that was when it dawned on him that while Ivy was not a Heterodyne, she acted enough like one to fill a small aching part of his twisted soul.

He did not ask permission. His ape-like hand with its impossibly long fingers reached out to grab her wrist and pin it tightly to the stone floor at their feet. The other hand drew the heavy scramaseax knife with its one chopping edge, the blade kissing her skiing just below the elbow. A thin trickle of blood, bright and red instead of blue and dark, appeared. Jötz breathed a slight sigh of relief. The infection or whatever it was had not traveled far, although he did not doubt that it would take too much longer. Looking up into her eyes, he gritted his teeth.

"Dis is gonna hurt, Miss Ivy."

The knife flashed so quickly that for several seconds there was no blood or pain as it several her arm below the elbow.

Never Lose Your Hat!

I'm starting to think amputation is the way to go; I just can't see him taking any other action but that. He might delay it for a little bit, but if it gets half way to her elbow...

In the Land of Gods and Monsters

Watching with interest...
Purple.

The Orphan's Wedding

Victor clicked his teeth in irritation, his eyes glaring after Feather and the news that she had bore. Not that it was her fault, he knew. Never shoot the messenger, at least not unless you were a captain or higher... Still, he had felt that he and his houseguest had been shared what he had heard called 'a moment', and the lamed soldier was loath to end it. Even as he helped her down from the wagon from where he sat, his fingers lingered on hers but reluctantly let them go. Her questions, however, he could not dismiss. Turning his head to look towards the setting sun, he squinted his eyes.

"Oh, his prices are good enough," he extemporized through his teeth, "I'll grant you that."

Looking down at Kijani from his perch upon the wagon, he scowled. "Man was a quartermaster in the army. Stayed safely behind the lines for most of the war. Got the job by claiming poor eyesight, but he can count every coin in your purse from across the street in a blink. Anything but ammunition and rum had to come out of our pay before we even got paid, and you can be sure that he gouged us hard for every biscuit and bootlace we needed, damn the man. He wasn't the worst of them, not by a cannon's shot, but thank the Gods that I didn't have to see his smarmy face more than once a year at best. He did his best to be nowhere near where the action was, because he knew we'd shot him in the back before the enemy even opened fire. Only about five years ago, there was a bit of scandal with a lieutenant and a captain's daughter that he had a hand in, next thing we know Brandleman's cashiered out with pension. Didn't see that ruddy face of his again until he stopped in Arbordale not long after I arrived. Set himself up as a sutler. Buys goods from the city and sells it in the country. Usually has a band of tinkers following him to patch pots and pans, sharpen knives, and the like."

He looked back out again at the horizon. "Maybe he's turned honest. I wouldn't say for sure, but I doubt it. What I would say is to check anything that catches your fancy with a close eye. Say... small mended tears? Maybe with dark stains about them? Or things that looks too fancy for a sutler's cart? Or things that might have fallen off a wagon?"

"Then again, the folks of Arbordale don't know enough what to look for." Victor sighed, conceding the reality of the services that Brandleman brought to his neighbors. His voice was softer, resigned to how things were. "Even if they did know, it's not like they could afford any better than what Bandleman brings. So I keep my mouth shut and avoid the man. What else can I do? I open my mouth about Brandleman and my neighbors, honest folks all, would stop doing business with him. They're that good a folk around here. But if I do that, they have to truck to Miles Cross or Rail Yard or one of the there larger towns where they'll have to pay twice as much if they're lucky."