"Everybody has 'n animal." He smiled, leaning back in his rocking chair and pulling his worn blanket around his knees. Something creaked when he moved - old wood or old bones - she couldn't tell. "Their animal shows isself in diff'rent ways. Maybe they're 'n artist or writer, an' 'at animal is their muse. Maybe they're a scientist, an' 'at animal pulls 'em t'learn about living things. Maybe they're 'n occultist, an' 'at animal is their spirit guide or their animal totem. Maybe they're a furry, an' they think they chose 'at animal t'express 'emselves. Maybe they're s' hollowed out by the world around them 'at th' animal is just a favorite, a passing name or image, an' nothing more. Maybe they're s' worn thin an' grey-eyed 'at their animal died right along with their heart, years 'go.

"Or, sometimes, 'at animal isn't separate from us. 'At animal is us." He lifted a wrinkled, spotty hand, tremors racing through his crooked fingers. His fingernails were yellow and cracked, but they were thick and heavy and unusually rounded. "Our bodies start forgetting 'at they have t'be human, 'specially if we change a lot. My nails're a dog's claws now. Sometimes, my eyes don't go back t'blue for days an' days." He smiled again, showing off worsening teeth. "We live a long time, us animal-people. And 'ere's never any telling when an animal-person will find 'emselves an' figure it all out for th' first time.

"We ain't werewolves like in th' movies." The smile faded from his lined face. "We ain't monsters, an' we ain't looking t'hurt nobody. We're just animal-folk, living our lives as best we can. Some take it 'pon 'emselves t'help others find their animals, howe'er their animals show 'emselves. Most of us, we just live quiet. It's getting harder, what with th' world changing 'round us, t'keep normal folks from finding out 'bout us. But we're doing alright. Just a li'l underground people, like th' old Christians or th' new pagans, like th' Irish back in th' railroad days - just living our lives, not wanting trouble." He peered at her with white-clouded eyes. "D'ya understand what I'm saying?"

She nodded with a little smile. "I do, sir."

He chuckled raspily. "Don't need t'call me sir. I ain't a stranger t'ya."

Her smile widened, showing teeth. "Alright. It's just very wordy to call you Great-Great-Great-Grandfather all the time."

His eyes crinkled as he chortled, slapping his knee. "Then just call me Great!"

...I will now be doing three writing bits a week. Of no exact length, just three separate writing bits done by Sunday night.

Some of these will probably be evenings spent on novels, which may or may not wind up publically posted. Some others will appear on LJ.

Here's the first (and possibly my only for this week, since we're only started today).

( You know you're curious. )

Title-- Subreality: Proposal
Rating and Warnings-- PG. Little bit o' language.
Species and Characters-- Species are humans, modern-day on Earth. Specific chars are Sasha, a therian, and Jack, the ringleader of a vigilante force.
Summary and Notes-- This is a continuation of the subreality idea from earlier, though chronologically earlier than that piece.

( She'd known Jack for a month. )

Title-- Subreality: Shard
Rating and Warnings-- PG-13 for nongraphic death & violence. Oh, also vulgar language.
Species and Characters-- Species are humans, modern-day on Earth. Specific chars are Sasha, a therian, her unnamed boyfriend, and Jack, the ringleader of a vigilante force.
Summary and Notes-- Please note that this is the equivalent of a very rough sketch of an outline of a .. thing. I had to get the concept down in words so it would stop chewing on my brain. The situation is thus: It is possible, with enough willpower and training, to warp reality into something called 'subreality' - almost a different dimension that overlaps ours. Subreality can be manifested in the physical realm as almost a different layer of reality, and thusly normal people ('sheep') either avoid that area subconsciously, or don't see what goes on there even if they're present. There are several gangs who use subreality to wreak havoc and chaos in the world, bringing monsters to life and adopting terrifyingly surreal powers to get what they want. However, a man named Jack takes up residence in a particularly besieged city and begins gathering allies to him to combat these gangs. Training his recruits in the theory and manipulation of subreality, as well as combat techniques in subreality, where weaponry and technology are useless, Jack builds up a guerilla force - including a new recruit, Sasha, a therian who joins his side when he promises her that he can teach her to physically shapeshift. She agrees, on the condition that he doesn't let anyone she knows get dragged into this surreal war. Jack, so far, is the most powerful vigilante of his little group, but most of the others never thought about things like alternate realities before he found them; Sasha, on the other hand, is rather knowledgeable in such concepts and shows great promise.

( She'd been curled up... )

'So.'

Earflick, pause.

'You can so easily change your colors? Just like your name, your species, your mood?'

Heavy muzzle turns, nostrils flare. Teal eyes narrow.

'So you think you're stronger, now that the gold is out of you. You think you're braver, without that pacifism.'

Snort. Black-rimmed lip twitches, briefly baring thick ivory fangs.

'You think you can really let yourself go? Hah! You think you can fight.'

Muzzle curls upwards now in a full-fledged, silent, snarl. Muscular tail flexes and swings to one side. Strong claws grip the soil as considerable weight shifts.

'You are fooling yourself, cub. You are not independent, or in the right, and you will never be strong enough to stand up for yo--ggrrgghh!'

One bound is all it takes to close the distance between predator and naysayer. Powerful jaws seal around the hairless throat, and bones crunch loudly.

The stain of freshly-spilled blood matches the red stripes that cross the coal black pelt.

It had e'er been a small pack. Over four or five years, a loner had collected followers ... slowly. Slowly.

Until it became a pack of four, and it could be called a family. A family bound tightly by experience and time, by love and trust. The loner, the "alpha," provided for the other three who could not live as loners. It was a crippled pack, this, but a pack nonetheless.

The oldest was a deep grey wolf who had lost an eye and half a paw in a battle long ago 'gainst a bear. She was newest, still adjusting to the other three, but instantly loyal to the alpha. And she was wise in a way the other two were not, the other two who had been adopted into the makeshift family when they were but pups.

The oldest was Greyface, and in the alpha's long and frequent absences to hunt for the pack, she had begun taking leadership. When the alpha was gone for days at a time, she soothed the younger two and made sure they stayed safe. She would forage in the bones and the roots around the den to take the bite off their raging hunger.

The alpha came back one night exhausted, and slept for a full day. No prey was brought home. The younger ones, a rust-furred called Brighteye and a paler, cream-furred called Curltail, sniffed at their sleeping leader and whined for the hunger in their bellies.

Greyface saw, and sighed, and knew where the alpha's last kill had been buried, bones and dregs all. Nothing fit for a healthy wolf to eat, but if there was no food, then health would be a thing of the past very shortly. So she rose and walked over to the youths - Brighteye just a yearling, and Curltail barely older - and scruffed one. Brighteye yelped, but even that noise did not wake the alpha, as Greyface dragged her outside the den.

The two followed the elder as she trekked a short distance away and began digging. While the alpha slept, they ravaged the few remains of a good-sized kill that even the hungry pack hadn't been able to eat in its entirety some days ago. Brighteye was curled up against Greyface's flank, snoozing her meal off, and Curltail investigating the brush, when the alpha stepped out. This kill, these leftovers, had become the alpha's personal store.

Greyface looked up into the white muzzle and the lack of bared teeth, then bowed her head. The alpha was not angry - there was no smell of rage on the hot winds of summer. Only resigned, somewhere between disappointment and apology, that she had failed the pack.

In silence, the alpha led the other three back to the den, a silent promise in golden eyes to do better on the next hunt.

A note, scratched out roughly with a poor pen on crinkled paper. The script is large and casual, but the way the letters are connected is halting, as though the writer must think before etching each one on the page. About halfway down the page, it's a little less strained, but the flow is never truly properly established.


Ed'l piim la samj.

E zahjid wrod E ylit da cmaw. Pyd ed'l... lsawsu... kanemj pokc.

Lsawsu. Vihu.

E kom'd zemt dri dhomlsodah. Drel lottiml ni.

E hininpih wahtl. Mad dri dhomlsodeaml. Wahtl. Vytha "drel". Omt E ciib lwedkremj da Khraenian. "Vytha". Lrayst pi "seci". Seci, uil, E hininpah...

Hininpah. Wahtl ojoem. Omt ojoem! "Ojoem".

Drali az uay--uay!--"hiotemj" drel ohi bhapopossu vihu kamzylid. E'n lahhu.

Ed teldhokdl ni, uay cmaw?

Wahlt. "Cmaw."

Uay wess oss dremc drod drel el gyld o ldahu, lani seddsi beiki drod nioml madremj. Birobl ami az uay wess oddinbd da dhomlodi, omt wamtih od oss dri dubail drod E'n bhapopossu nocemj. Ed'l pikoyli E'n dremcemj az wahtl, mad dri siddihl. Dhuemj da hininpah.

E on kosnih maw, omt drod wol dri baemd az oss drel. E'ss ldab maw.

Jaatmejrd.

Faded, teal-hued eyes crack open and squint against the fading rays of the red sunset. The foliage looks so strange--broad-leafed in blues and greens, towering trees holding up the very sky with their gargantuan might. The soil is black, rich and fertile--smells of thick loam and decaying greens. The light is so bright to eyes that have not been unlidded in too long; pupils shrink until the black dots are lost in a sea of river-color.

Muscles that were once corded and thick flex experimentally, more sinew and withered strength than aught else--but the long-limbed Korat rises smoothly enough, massive tail strangely heavy behind her. Thick, dense fur has lost its gloss and shine, but the colors are still strong--deep coal-black streaked with greygold. A striped.

Cisekar is groggy from her long sleep and stumbles as she takes the first few steps towards the sound of running water, blindly seeking the liquid to wet her parched throat. She finds the stream and plunges her muzzle into the current, drinking deeply and heedlessly. The icy fluid freezes her throat and then chest as it passes through her, and she shivers.

'Finally waking up?' The voice is deep, thunder-like, but calm. The once-pretty striped lifts teal eyes to regard an impressive red Korat, all muscle and strong beauty... and nods slowly.

'I think so,' she answers wanly, straightening and then sweeping a low bow. The male snorts, then studies her with dusky indigo eyes and jerks his muzzle in a beckoning motion.

'Then let's go. You've work to do.'

So I do...

Cisekar follows the burgundy-furred male as he turns.

The realtor was a lady in a very chic, classy, and yet somehow friendly business suit and sturdy heels; she had permed blonde hair, pale skin, and green eyes with a polite smile on her face. Unlike someone who may have been less experienced, she didn't shift her weight where she stood next to an empty house's front door, and her smile never wavered as she watched the road attentively. She'd heard the car. Why they stopped at the bottom of the drive, she wasn't sure, but she'd heard the car.

And then she heard laughter--a woman and a man, laughing. A finely plucked brow was raised, but she quickly schooled her expression into courteous welcome as someone walked into view. Walked? He was a tall bear of a man, broad-shouldered and muscular, with shaggy blonde hair and a grin splitting his handsome face. She quickly stepped forward to greet him, rattling off her name and other polite nonsense as he shook her hand gently. He had to have been fairly young, mid-twenties or so--still dressed in jeans and a white shirt with a second, striped shirt open over that one. College faire, probably just graduated.

The realtor peeked around him, looking for the car or woman she'd heard, but there was no one else. The man's voice caught her attention--warm and laid-back--and she began her practiced spiel on why he should buy this house in this neighborhood. The spiel had yet to work, granted, mostly due to the land's rampant greenery and seclusion from other people, but it was still the best she could do.

In the acre of forest that made up the property's front lawn, there was a young woman moving like a wolf--high-stepping over soggy branches, deftly winding a path around trees and brush and rocks. Damp, curling tendrils of hair hid her eyes from a casual observer--not that there were any--and her own jeans and loose grey hoodie nicely camoflauged her among the greys of the autumn wood. The realtor wouldn't see her, and at the thought, a feral grin flashed white teeth at no one in particular.

The man seemed interested in the property, gesturing enthusiastically to the forested yard and to the small but sturdy house itself for more details. He hadn't talked prices yet, and the realtor took her chance to run with the extravagant descriptions--all true, but all sweetened to be more palatable. Perhaps the sales pitch would be enough to soften the inevitable talk of finances when it came.

The young woman stalked the entirety of the property, just a shadow among the trees. Every few strides, she would pause and tilt her head, close her eyes, and reach out a hand to touch a nearby tree trunk. May I? was asked, and the answers were yesses in various forms, occasionally startled. These lands had been alone so long that humility and respect were unheard-of, that being acknowledged at all was foreign. And she smiled as she continued circling the little house.

"Lookin' good to me!" the man announced jovially, putting his fingers to his lips to let out a whistle, as though calling a dog. Within a few moments, the realtor heard a car start, and the vehicle meandered up the drive, a young woman with brown hair behind the wheel. She parked, got out, and greeted the realtor with unexpected social grace. When the man hugged the younger woman and went off to take a closer look around the property, the newcomer smiled with unnerving sweetness at the realtor.

"So, what did I miss?"

With a deep breath, the blonde prepared to go through her spiel again. But perhaps she'd get lucky this time... if she could convince both halves of the pair, maybe she could sell this lonely house so many miles out of town.

It was that feeling again, that expansive joy, that sensation of her heart exploding out of her chest and dancing gleefully. A feeling like that brought tears to her eyes, and she smiled beatifically into the mingled warmth and cold of bonfire and winter wind.

The fire fed on nothing but spirit, flickering in a stone-rimmed ring around her as she stood, spine straight and shoulders proudly squared. She was dressed in silk and silver, iridescent waves of simply-cut cloth dousing her well-built frame as a peasant's sleeveless dress, and she laughed for sheer joy as the blue flames billowed around her with the currents of the chill wind.

The darkness beyond the fire was supreme, but as she looked up, she could see the moon, a slender crescent of light and beauty immersed in a field of diamonds. The faint, pale light filtered down like spider threads to coalesce into a pool of luminance at the girl's bare feet, untouched by the fire's wild sapphire glow. She smiled and opened her arms to the world around her, feeling the sheer life inherent in everything.

The wind coiled about her, a serpent's cool comfort, and laid a companionable pressure across her bare shoulders. The flames danced, convoluting and undulating like freedom and souls, and the blue light played across her skin like the reflection of sunlight on the ocean immersed in shadow. The pool of astral luminance at her feet grew and splashed against her shins and the hem of her silken dress, soft and sweet like the morning dew and the dawn's first light. The darkness around the fire dipped and weaved like trees and leaves dancing merrily in a good, stiff wind.

'Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Inanna...'

The chant began quietly, slowly, as the girl tilted her face to the moon and closed her eyes. As she began repeating it, two times to a loop, her voice became louder, faster, sharper until she was shouting her goddesses' names to the sky in a dizzying rush of power. Feeling the very air around her breathe in great gasps of life, she leaned back minutely, the fire rushing up in a bout of heat and blued strength to support her.

The darkness was no longer absolute beyond the fire's reach, a strange sort of golden light suffusing the greying shadows. The girl looked to the east with an eager expression, hardly daring to breathe for fear of spilling the gathered power. As the first tentative rays of sunlight reached out to impale drifting wisps of clouds, tiny, nearly inaudible notes of music sallied forth along the tracks of paler sky, falling to be heard like raindrops from pregnant stormclouds. The girl looked up blissfully as the Sun began to rise, and as the sky continued to lighten, the music swelled in tempo and volume until it consumed her.

She raised her hands above her head, feeling the power that she had raised wrap around her body more closely and more tangibly than her loose dress, and locked her eyes on the reborn Sun. "Welcome," she said simply, joyful tears glimmering along her eyelashes as she bowed deeply from the waist. Then, she released the life that she held in her hands, letting the surreal glow from moonlight and fire spiral upwards into the sky; the transparent luminance mingled with the golden sunlight, and they became as one.

The girl smiled as she dropped her hands to her sides, the sapphire flames dwindling and slowly flickering into nothingness. The Sun had returned, and her soul was warm with His light.

we shift
pulsing with the earth
company we keep
roaming the land while you sleep
"You know what, Andi? I feel really good tonight. Everything just feels so... alluring, you know?"

"Yeah... I feel the same way. Maybe it's the moon..."

An opalescent slice of the radiant moon hung heavy and creamy in the night sky, surrounded by a soft halo of light that made the sparkling, winter-clear stars pale by comparison. No clouds could be seen in the velvet-black expanse--only the glimmering diamondine stars and vivid half-moon.

"...only it's not full. But it feels so... so catching. Like the light's just pulling at my heart."

"Yeah."

The low thrum of studded tires on a clear, dry road was slowly overridden by the low, soulful thrum of a softly-picked electric guitar, and the driver reached down a hand to click up the volume. "Love this song," she murmured, a wide grin curving her lips.

"This is Metallica?" Her companion's flamboyant voice was incredulous, and the driver chuckled.

"Yep. Told you Metallica rocks." She cast a glance over at the lanky boy seated in the passenger side, his knees drawn up and one hand supporting his chin as he stared out the window at the moon. Her eyes flicked to the dashboard clock's neon green glow before returning to the empty, curving, hilly road that stretched for miles before them. There wasn't a soul to be seen, and she clicked the high beams on to brighten her view. "Getting tired? It's one thirty..."

"Yeah, I guess I am getting a little sleepy." The boy giggled, shifting his weight and crossing his legs effeminately. "I'd give anything to become a vampire right now. You know? I mean, if I was a girl, then I'd definitely go werewolf... but, I'm not." He sighed mock-dramatically, a teasing grin on his face. "What about you?"

"Werewolf, dude, werewolf. Vamps have no appeal to me. If I could shift werewolf... ahh." The driver grinned to herself, hooking a turn without bothering to apply conscious thought to the motions. She'd gone into auto-pilot in her mind half an hour ago, once they left the club.

"Yeah, you would be werewolf." The passenger giggled again. "The feel of your claws against the earth. You'd be able to terrify anyone and just tear them apart if you wanted. You could run free... find a pack of wolves and just stay with them."

"Totally ditch humanity."

"Yeah. Me, I'd want to fly. To feel the night air and the chill in the breeze and just... just soar with the clouds."

The girl laughed in a low voice. "I fly in my car. That's good enough for me."

"Yeah, well..."

"I know." The driver smiled in the darkness.

shape shift--nose to the wind
shape shift--feeling I've been
move swift--all senses clean
earth's gift--back to the meaning of life

Title-- First Hunt
Rating and Warnings-- PG-13 for graphic violence. Don't read if you're squeamish or a vegetarian. =D
Species and Characters-- Species is Korat--characters are Jath, male red, and Cisekar, female tan-striped black.
Summary and Notes-- Title says it all. =D Humor and blood rest within. Enjoy. XD (Note--I wrote this a while back.)

( A dusky indigo gaze was cast over a burly shoulder, thick burgundy pelt roiling with the movement of corded muscle 'neath the dense fur... )

Title-- Success!...?
Rating and Warnings-- G; no warnings.
Species and Characters-- Human and Korat--characters are two teenage girls--older Sheila and younger Debra--and Jath, a red male Korat, as well as Pezo, a tan female Korat. (Picture of a Korat is here.)
Summary and Notes-- Written as a part of daily_fic to prompt #50 and prompt #49. It took me almost 17 minutes to write these 814 words. You should probably view the aforelinked picture to get a general idea of what a Korat is before reading this. ^_^;;

poetrywolf and gileonnen--you guys should love this. XD.

( This is a rather amusing shidbit, but I doubt most people would get it. ^^;; )