wackybutton: (muffin)
[personal profile] wackybutton
I know some of you on here are literary types, so I was wondering if you could give this a read through if you have a spare half hour and leave me some C&C.

I know that at the moment it appears slightly directionless (mostly because at the time I started writing it was for an RPG not a story) but I've a few ideas floating around and want to try and pull it into shape before going much further. So yes....



“And the same to your mother!” she screamed as she stormed out of the tavern, letting the door slam shut behind her. The slamming of the door and the insult did little to appease her, perhaps, a small part of her brain muttered, because of their pettiness. Despite being only 5'4” she radiated strength at that moment, and the mugger sat watching the door for easy pickings soon cowered back into his corner without her even noticing him. Grinding her teeth without thought, she swung her clenched fists by her side as she strode down the alleyway. "How dare they?" she muttered to herself pulling at the material of her green tunic, catching a loose thread and pulling on it unconsciously. "Why do people always assume? Why do they always do that?" her mutterings were getting louder, the rage she felt filling her voice, "Why do the..." she noticed that she was now holding a rather long piece of thread and had a hole across her stomach and her tirade was interrupted with a heartfelt curse.

The curse made her feel better and she looked around, taking in her surroundings for the first time. She was unsure where she was until she saw the sign above the door. That sign was enough for her to curse again, this time in a much lower voice. She did not want to be here. They'd told her as much when they'd tracked her to her lodgings of the time and held her against the bed with her own knife. The knife that had killed one of their own. And killed him slowly. She smiled at the memory, beginning to lose herself in the past when a voice in the present startled her out of her reverie.

The voice was low, gruff and the person it came from looked just as the voice suggested: tall, well built, dark, covered in scars. He was not somebody she had wanted to see for a second time this side of hell. The voice spoke again, "I'm not used to having to repeat myself Lyca, you will answer my question. What do you think you are doing down here?" She stared at him blankly, wondering if he'd believe the truth, that this was the last place on earth she wanted to be, but, seeing him reach to his side and stroking the long blade he carried there she decided not. Which left her with only one option, one she'd rather not have done, not in this tunic, it was one of her favourites. Then she remembered the hole and thought, "Sod it!” Her body visibly stretched, her face contorted in pain, ripples flowed up and down her limbs, her spine, there was a horrible cracking sound which caused even the thug to look away cringing. When he looked back Lyca had gone. In her place stood a beautiful leopard. Confusion was the only expression on the man's face, until he saw the leopard's eyes. He'd recognise those eyes anywhere. They were the same emerald green eyes that Lyca had. The same eyes that with their icy depths had looked into his own as they cut off his little finger. A curse once again echoed around the alleyway but this time it came from the dark slash that was the man’s mouth.

Tail flicking slightly, Lyca rolled her spine. She always loved the feel of her body in shifted form, the extra 8 inches it added made all the difference to her, even if a lot of that was tail. Her ears twitched and she picked up a low mumbling coming from the man, who seemed a couple of shades paler than he had been moments before, and the part of Lyca’s brain which remained human mourned the fact that she couldn’t understand what he was saying- she always loved hearing them beg for mercy. In actual fact the man was mouthing “Good kitty” as if she was nothing more than an oversized pet, so perhaps, it was a good thing for him that she couldn't - being patronised was never one of her strong points and she was already angry. Not with this man, but he was a lovely convenient target for the black rage currently tumbling around her because of the prejudiced idiots in the tavern. She stalked towards him, the new muscles of this form giving her movements that, if she’d still been in human form, would have had an almost sexual grace. Feigning boredom of the prey, her mouth opened into a yawn, the jaws stretching to seemingly impossible proportions showing the rows of sharp white teeth inside her mouth.

Pausing a few feet from her prey she yawned again, the flash of teeth threat enough. She did wish that this man would run though. His simply standing there, as terrified of her as he was, just wasn’t as much fun as it could be if he ran. She yipped, a short sound that wasn’t threatening at all; a sound used in the wild to berate disobedient cubs, but still the man jumped and a low growl of amusement rattled in her throat. The reaction gave her an idea. Standing perfectly still, the emerald of her eyes dulled with a film of hate which was plain to read even in the foreign features of the leopard, she growled low and deep. The rumbling sound came from her stomach, echoing in her throat and causing the big man across from her to leave a spreading patch of damp across his front. Having seen that, she scornfully tossed her head, deciding that this prey was more toy than worthy adversary, even if it was standing it’s ground. And toys get played with. With that thought she sprang at the cowering man, pulling herself up only inches short of him. The film of hate slowly fell from her eyes as instead they began to sparkle with amusement; never losing that icy touch that reminded everybody who saw them that she was dangerous. The man had finally stopped mumbling she noted with some distant part of her brain as she pressed her muzzle against the softening muscle of his stomach. That was too much for the man. A criminal who had caused his own share of suffering, a man feared amongst the underworld of the city who could rule the slums if he had the brains, he had managed to keep his tongue and stand his ground but the feel of that velvety fur through the rips in his grubby white shirt was more than he could bear. He squealed and slipping to one side ran down the alley as fast as his slightly overweight frame would allow.

Allowing him a few moments head start to make the chase more fun, Lyca began cleaning her muzzle, sensing the dirt from the man’s skin and clothing clinging to it. When she felt slightly cleaner she pushed her back legs forcefully and bounded after her prey. She loved the thrill of the chase, the air (as stagnant as the air in this city may be) ruffling through her fur, feeling her muscles strain as she twisted through alleys, avoiding the rubbish strewn through them. She followed his scent, the overwhelming stench of fear, sweat, ale and poor living and before long she could glimpse him as he rounded corners seconds after she reached the previous one. Seeing the distance begin to close she yipped once more, causing her quarry to glance over his shoulders and swear loudly before trying to increase his pace.

STILL RUNNING FULL PELT, THE HUMAN PART OF HER BRAIN WONDERED THAT SHE HADN’T SEEN ANYBODY ELSE. AFTER ALL, AS LATE AS IT WAS THIS CITY WAS FULL OF SEEDY CHARACTERS WHO WERE OUT DOING NEFARIOUS DEALINGS AT ALL HOURS. AS IT HAPPENED, THE SIGHT OF ONE OF THE MOST FEARED CRIMINALS RUNNING AS IF ALL OF HELL WAS AFTER HIM HAD SENT THEM ALL HIDING IN DARKENED CORNERS, BUT LYCA HAD NO WAY OF KNOWING THIS. SHE REALISED SHE COULDN’T SEE HER PREY AS SHE ROUNDED THE CORNER AND WAS MOMENTARILY BEWILDERED UNTIL HER SENSITIVE NOSE TOLD HER THAT HE WAS HIDING DOWN A BACK ALLEY. PLEASURE GLOWED IN HER EMERALD EYES AS SHE REALISED THAT THE ALLEY WAS A DEAD END AND THAT THE IDIOTIC THUG WAS NO BRIGHTER THAN HE LOOKED. HE OBVIOUSLY DIDN’T KNOW THAT BIG CATS USED THEIR SENSE OF SMELL AS MUCH AS THEIR SIGHT, IF NOT MORE SO. SLOWING RIGHT DOWN SHE STOPPED JUST BEFORE THE DARK ENTRANCE TO THE ALLEY AND NOTICED WITH A SMALL SNORT OF AMUSEMENT THAT OF ALL THE ALLEYS THEY’D PASSED THE MAN HAD PICKED THIS ONE, THE ONE WHERE SHE’D CORNERED HIS COMRADE. THE COMRADE SHE’D BEATEN. BEATEN AND KILLED. WITH THAT KNOWLEDGE FLOWING THROUGH HER, FILLING HER WITH A WARM FEELING OF CONFIDENCE SHE SLIPPED INTO THE ALLEY, HER EYES GLOWING IN THE DARKNESS, LOOKING AS THOUGH THEY WERE FILLED WITH ICY FIRES. COWERED IN THE BACK OF THE ALLEY NEXT TO A PILE OF RUBBISH AND THE OVERWHELMING STENCH OF HUMAN EXCREMENT ASSAULTING EVEN HIS DULL NOSTRILS THE ONCE IMPOSING THUG LOOKED ALREADY BEATEN.

Advancing slowly but surely Lyca’s teeth were bared, a low growl humming in her throat. She momentarily debated staying in leopard form but what she wanted to do to this man required more finesse than the teeth and claws allowed her. She willed herself to change, deliberately allowing the pain to show on her face as it transformed, hoping the man was watching her, seeing the pain she was capable of taking and hopefully getting slightly freaked out by the shifting bones and muscles forming. Eyes still closed she hoped her voice would shake less than she was and said, “Are you going to play nice now or will I have to hurt you for you to shut up?” A whimper was the only response from the man, which she took to be assent. Realising she was naked she stepped towards the man and removed his ragged white shirt, funny how she’d managed to forget her nakedness, normally she waited until she was somewhere with clothes before shifting back but apparently the promise of violence was more important than her modesty. Shuddering, she pulled the material over her. She looked like a whore but at least she had a little dignity, and looking like a whore had possibilities. It would allow her to find somewhere to have her fun. She knew there were many inns around which allowed the local whores to take rooms for themselves and their clients at reduced rates. Rooms where they wouldn’t be disturbed. No matter what the sounds coming from the room were. After all, who were the proprietors to stop people paying for things like that? Especially when they were receiving money from it themselves. Draping herself across the man, she blocked how filthy he was from her mind, instead remembering the fact that she once contemplated a life in prostitution. It could have been fairly lucrative; people were always willing to pay considerable sums to have their perversions pandered to. And she was more than willing to indulge the more masochistic of the males in this city. But she had realised that being a whore would lower her standing within the underworld and being a female within this male dominated class lowered it enough as it was.

Breaking from her reverie she noticed they’d recently passed one of the inns and manoeuvred the man back toward it, slightly shocked by his compliance. Handing over the meagre amount of money required for the room she pushed the man toward the stairs and then into the squalid box that passed as accommodation. Perching on the edge of a chair, not wanting to sit on it because of the suspicious looking stain in the middle, Lyca looked over the man once more. His eyes were glazed over, and he didn’t seem to be aware of his surroundings. It looked like he’d retreated to some place deep within his own head. Which made Lyca petulant. If she knew his name she could call him back, after all, names held power but the last time they’d met she’d not had chance to ask his name. Not that he’d have been able to answer between the obstinate silence he held and the screams he was making at the pain as his little finger was slowly cut off. Dismissing that thought she wondered how she could bring him back to himself and slowly felt an idea forming. A grin spread across her face showing perfect white teeth, unusual for this city. Standing up she closed the distance between her and the man in two steps. Pulling the tattered shirt over her head, feeling strands of brown hair coming loose, she pressed her naked breasts against the man’s chest and reached her hands to the trousers he wore. A slight tug to the rope belt and they fell to the floor. Glancing down, Lyca wrinkled her nose in distaste before closing her eyes and forcing herself to continue.

Extending her hand with trepidation she found his flaccid cock and giggled to herself when she realised just how small it was. She’d thought before that all his macho behaviour was trying to make up for something; now, unfortunately, she had the proof. She felt her stomach turn as her touch sent blood rushing, turning him hard and ready. Glancing at his eyes she hoped they’d have lost their far away look, allowing her to stop degrading herself like this, but they were still glazed. Squeezing her fist together gently she kept her eyes on his, waiting for the exact moment he came back to himself so she could stop her actions as soon as possible. As her hand slipped slowly up and down, she watched the dull grey of his eyes slowly become well; less dull was the only way to describe it as they didn’t exactly sparkle. Continuing the charade of sex, she pushed the man to the bed, ripping his shirt into strips as he lay looking at her naked body. She’d never understood the fascination with her breasts that most males seemed to have, but hell, if it made them comply she wasn’t going to complain! Leaning over him to tie one wrist to the headboard of the bed he raised the other hand to her breast, digging his fingers deep into the flesh. Biting her lip, Lyca didn’t say a word, but she knew he would be paying for that stupid action soon. Removing the offending hand, and resisting the urge to rub the sore area, she tied his other hand to the bed also. She hoped the bonds would hold, after all, she’d ripped his shirt easily enough. Reaching to tie his ankles to the bottom of the bed she realised there was no bottom stand, nor legs but a single wooden board. Swearing she decided to just tie his legs together, hoping it would be enough.

Still unclothed, she climbed onto the bed, trying to retain the grace she had in her jungle cat form, but failing slightly due to her size and the height of the bed. Sitting astride her victim she filled her sparkling eyes with all the anger and hatred inside of her and stared straight into his dead eyes. Purring slightly she spoke, her voice soft, full of promise, “Well, here we are again.” Her tongue flicked out of her mouth, running slowly over her bottom lip, “Do you remember last time?” As she asked him the question her hand stroked up his arm, reaching the hand with the missing finger. Reaching it she stroked the stump gently as she continued. “I do. You were one of my favourites. So determined not to make a noise, but I could see the terror, the pain, the despair written all over your face. Want to know why I stopped?” The man opened his mouth to speak but Lyca moved her hand from his and covered his mouth, continuing before he could protest. “I stopped because I wanted you to survive. I wanted you to be angry with me. I wanted another chance to play with you.” A slow, lazy smile spread across her face, making her look as if butter wouldn’t melt, until you saw her eyes. The cold, hard edge of diamond never left them.

She reached to her leg, her fingers finding her favourite gift. Given to her by a witch after not a small amount of torture, although Lyca had no idea where she had obtained it from herself, it was an enchanted sheath that allowed itself and the knife within it to undergo any magical changes that the wearer did. Which meant Lyca could keep her knife no matter how many times she shifted. That fact had saved her life many times. Now though, rather than saving her life it was going to cause a slight hiccup in somebody else’s. Gripping the beautifully carved handle of the knife, Lyca withdrew it slowly from the sheath; careful not to cut herself as she did so – she’d done that once before and it was painful as well as embarrassing. A slight tingle spread through her fingers and she wondered, not for the first time, just what had carved the handle to leave such a residue of power behind after all this time. Whatever had carved it had done a fantastic job though. There was a Celtic pattern winding it’s way down the whole length, which Lyca was determined to find the meaning of someday despite her earlier efforts being futile. Intertwined with these were the bodies of two leopards. It was these leopards, which almost looked alive when the light hit the handle right, which had attracted Lyca to the knife. The strength of the blade despite it’s almost 100% silver content had cemented her wanting of it. The silver had seemed a nicely ironic touch to Lyca. Especially as the main purpose of the knife was to be hunting down those who were opposed to those unfortunate souls afflicted with lycanthropy. And not just the lycanthropes she thought with a small snarl, the shapeshifters, the witches who chose to take the form of an animal through spells and potions, all were at risk from the small band of hunters that this man belonged to.

Still smiling she pressed the flat side of the blade against the man's bare chest. Her smile spread as he flinched, though whether it was through fear or the cold of the blade she couldn't be sure. “Stay still now,” she murmured to him, “I wouldn't want to hurt you now would I?” She laughed at her own comment; a fresh, pure noise that sent shivers up the spine of the man tied to the bed. Her original plan had been to cause him as much physical pain as she could manage but whilst thinking about the atrocities that he and his group committed she had come up with an even better plan. One that in the long run would cause him far more pain than she could ever manage with her knife alone. Very gently she pressed the tip of the knife to his breastbone and with a small flick of the wrist nicked the skin just so it began to bleed. Seeing the confusion in the man's lifeless grey eyes Lyca smirked before turning the blade upon herself. Just a small cut on her palm. The man's confusion deepened further until Lyca moved her hand face down to rest just above his bleeding chest. At that comprehension dawned and he began to struggle like a cornered animal. “Stay still just a little bit longer and it'll all be over.” Lyca placated the man. “Until the full moon anyway.” she added with a grin.

Pressing her hand flat against the filthy chest of the other man she made a mental note to clean her own cut as soon as possible. As their bloods mingled a triumphant look passed over Lyca's delicate features. The terror on the man's face had confirmed both her suspicion that he had had no idea that she was a shapeshifter, and also that like so many other bigoted idiots had no real knowledge of what he hated. If he truly understood what it was that he hunted, that is, lycanthropes, he'd have known that she shouldn't have been able to transform at will as she had done. He'd then also know that there was no way she was actually infecting him now. On top of that he'd also be a better hunter. Lyca thanked whichever gods were listening that that weren't the case – he was formidable enough as it was! One thing Lyca did hope he knew was that lycanthropy had an incubation period of up to 4 months. That way his torment at being turned into the very thing which he hated lasted even longer. Every full moon that came he would be wondering if his sense of smell was that little bit sharper, if that steak he'd eaten for dinner hadn't been just a little bit too rare. She wondered if he'd tell anybody, if he'd rather be hunted himself than have to live, in his view, like an animal. Of course he may well tell people just to out, what he believed to be, her true nature.

As she realised that Lyca had to swallow a curse. As she'd intended to kill this man, shifting in front of him hadn't been a problem - he wouldn't have been able to tell anybody anyway. Now however he would be able to tell anybody who would listen exactly what had occurred, or at least his edited version of it. She would be hunted down with even more fervour than when they had thought her just a sympathetic human. And the authorities would do nothing; despite official word being that lycanthropes were simply ill humans and were not to be harmed most officials despised them and thought them lower than animals. Many even donated money and weapons to the illegal hunting groups. And it wasn't unknown for members of those groups to “escape” from the jails even on the rare occasions that somebody had cared enough to arrest them.

Hiding the worry in her eyes she continued smiling at the overweight man. “If you tell anybody what I am, I will personally, despite the risk to my own life, tell these people that the only reason you know is because you watched me change during sex. At your request. So, not only will they no longer trust you in case you are infected, but they will also think you a sick pervert, getting his kicks from animals because he is incapable of attracting a real woman.” Hoping that between the threat of his own death and that of gaining a reputation for bestiality her secret was safe with this man, Lyca slowly slid off the bed trailing her bloody palm down his chest as she did so. As she reached the floor she brought her hand to her mouth and licked the blood from the wound. It wasn’t that she liked the taste of blood, more that she knew what an impact it would have on the man. The sight of her, naked, her impressive breasts taut as her hand reached upwards, brown hair hanging loosely around her hair where it had fallen loose would have been enough to impact upon anybody. Combined with the animalistic consumption of her blood and the cold depths of her emerald eyes fixed upon the man Lyca was fairly sure that he would be too scared to do anything about her for at least the next few weeks. Pulling the tattered remains of the man’s shirt over her head she headed for the door, blowing the man still tied to the bed a kiss as she exited.




Edit:please ignore the fact that a random paragraph is in capitals. No idea why it is, so just read it as if it wasn't :)
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wackybutton

June 2009

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