Monday, October 28, 2019

Rounding up more VSS


Orion was finally invited to join the Wild Hunt. Oberon and Titania took pity on him, tried to be helpful, but Cernunnos snubbed the visiting god as much as possible.

The rose patch by the fence grew better than any of the others. She smiled, sniffing deeply of their funerary scent. She'd need to plant more bodies before she set up the next garden.

Every snuggle and cuddle and play time is a living reverie. With over twelve years together, we have plenty of times to remember.

Shilax was an ancient dragon, covered in scars, with many generations of descendants. Regal, cruel, and wise, it was always amazing to watch her frolic in valleys of spring flowers.

"Time for more willow water," I tell my tree. She's a great grandmother of a beauty, long branches trailing in the stream behind my house. Every now and then, she lets me take some of her tips to help make my other plants grow. What would I do without her?

She sat behind them on the train, listening to them complain about all the wrongs of society, and how unfair life was, and knew they'd never known a moment of true struggle.
She touched one of her scars; passing through the crucible was the only way to remove weakness.

She stared at their forest of concrete and glass, filled with mindlessly milling creatures riding in their glass and metal conveyances. They didn't understand the injustice that had been perpetrated upon the natural world. She would teach them.

Found scrawled in the margins of A Slayer's Guide to Dragon Hunting: NEVER go for the belly. Tough as oak, it is. But the wings are vulnerable as you could ask.
Of course, then you have to deal with a grounded AND pissed off dragon.

She counted their money twice, did the calculations for gas, food, and the cost of admission. She looked at him, barely able to contain her excitement. "We can head the aquarium this weekend."
They didn't have much money, just a fortune in experiences.

I pull the braid tighter around his throat. He sighs, arching his back, pulling against his restraints. "Now the real fun begins."

He slammed the door and ran. No way the dragon could reach him down here. He'd be safe, unseen, and could wait until it left. Distant roars shook the stones, then came silence.
Then came the heated air, the slowly glowing rocks. He would die in a sea of magma.

Elf kneels by the rose bushes. "I love the feel of soil beneath my hands. The touch of leaves against my face. The smell of blossoms on the wind."
Dragon snorts, derisive. "Where are the flames and death and crunchy bones?" "Could you at least try?"

"Neat dog! Does he do any tricks?"
I made eye contact with Conn. He snorted, disdainful, and looked away. Humans were like this, assuming anything with four legs was some simple pet. Ignorant. "He knows how to make you disappear." Conn bared sharp fangs.

It's a long hunt. I need the correct vessel for this spirit. She hasn't had a body in far too long, but we're both patient. We browse car lots every day. I want something efficient, she wants something muscle.
We only agree that a Plymouth Fury is too obvious.

Embraced too young, right on the cusp of adolescence, many other vampires thought she would be hampered by those youthful features. Instead, she acted precious and weak, letting the big strong men protect her, becoming a parasite under their armor.

The tree had died long ago. Wind and rain have washed its bark to the ground, exposing the cause of death. Burrows and tunnels of the beetles that made a lacework of its wooden flesh. As beautiful in death as in life.

They've run the man to ground, have him pinned at the back of an alley. He kicks and yells, but my hellhounds simply growl and dodge. When he sees me, he begs for help.
I simply laugh, and settle my hands on my pet's heads. "Good boy. Good girl."

Their emotions pound me with a painful torrent. I try to drink it in, plucking out the juiciest bits, but it comes too fast. Better to just revel in the screams as my pack tears the people apart. I can always relive the moment later.

Dungeon Delve was supposed to be just a game. Click the mouse, move his rabbit toon, get digital treasure. Then he saw it. The grand pattern. The microcosm mimicking the macrocosm. He couldn't sleep. He had to know more. Surely there was more.

Dragon had a reputation as a monster. She killed without remorse, burned towns for fun, ate whomever annoyed her that day.
Elf watched her giggle and play with the kittens, knowing no one would ever believe she had a soft side.

I'm an Unlikely. Whether good or bad, if there's an outside chance of something happening, it will probably happen to me. Find a lotto ticket on the ground with a hundred dollar win? Me. Walk in on a drug deal in a public bathroom and get shot at? Definitely me.

They'd sought me, speaking praises, kind words upon my lips. Verdant mother was my favorite. They were surprised when I ate one of them. Had they truly blinded themselves to the duality of Nature? I'd need to taste another to know for sure.

"I'm grounded," Dragon complained.
Elf arched a brow. "What did you do this time?"
"Apparently when I fly, I just can't curb the instinct to hunt and light things on fire."
"And?"
She sighed. "And I apparently burned down the Dryad delegation, and now they want war."

Smoke stacks belched their poison into the air. Machines hummed and churned, devouring resources endlessly. Lights burned constantly, banishing night. Weak creatures scurried back and forth between their hovels and the factories, never questioning, but never content.

Elsewhere was unhappy. She had no sense of purpose, nothing to keep her from everchanging.
Elsewhen fell in love with her immediately. He finally had a reason to share himself.
They mated, and the material plane was never the same.

The Trickster gods met on very rare occasions. They traded stories of how they treated their human wards, of the farces they created, of the folly they used to teach lessons.
Raven and Loki tied, having teamed up to swing an election.

Humor is very subjective. Just being in a different mood can affect what you find funny. And you can't exactly explain the joke: someone either gets it or they don't. However, I'd kill to know why my cat thinks I'd laugh about a mouse in my shoe. Every day.

I talk to animals. People say I'm crazy, but they just don't understand: animals always answer with the truth. Even the most psycho of cats won't lie. No flattery, no prevarications, no judgment.
Although, it gets hard hearing how tasty you look.

Everyone thinks they've suffered the worst, that they've been through hell. They count themselves lucky to have survived such pain, that they'll never have to again.
But I see their past trauma, and know it is nothing compared to mine. It's time to teach them true pain.

"Just focus your intent," they say.
"Breath deep and concentrate," they say.
"Prepare the altar and wait outside," they say.
"Go sweep the hearth and make dinner," they say.
"Are you still here?" they say.

Dragon and Elf walk the city, disguised as mortals. Sometimes it's just plain fun to see how the humans live.
"Renounce meat!" someone shouts. "It's murder and cruel and unhealthy."
Dragon gave Elf a sidelong glance. "But plants aren't good hunting."

The indoctrination is everywhere. Don't stray from the life you're told to live. Don't look for the unusual or unexplained. Don't think, don't be yourself. Obey. Consume.
She's a goddess, but they don't see her. She'll teach them of war and rebirth.

"Look at the flock of dragons!" I smiled to hear the little girl's excitement. She was young, innocent, pointing at the winged silhouettes in the sky. Her mother gasped, on the verge of screaming.
I knelt by the child and whispered, "We're called a flight."

She crouches over his helpless form, knife to his throat. "How did you get past my guard?" he whispers, heart racing.
Her smile deepens. "There's this mistaken belief that royalty just live off their people." She slices his throat. "Queens will FIGHT for them."

"What is that?" he asked, pointing at the little silver and crystal affair at the side of my altar.
"It was originally a salt cellar. Now I use it as part of my blessings." I lift the little spoon, sprinkle it across the candles. "Arsenic is more useful these days."

I love the blood of the vanquished. Can't get enough of it. The flavor is always familiar, yet eternally unique. Some still hold hope, others terror, and some very few hold rage. I like those the most, cherish the fury even as I take what is theirs.

I've cracked their circle of protection. The stink of their pathetic offering fills the air. I growl, rounding on the cowering coven. "You don't understand. Fools. If you want to control a powerful demon, you must sacrifice something that MATTERS to you."

Giants get cocky when they've got an elf trapped, and I cower, letting them think they've beat me. They laugh, taunt, and never see Jupiter behind them. The corgi lunges, rips out their heels, and they collapse.
I rise and taunt them. "He's a titan-killer, you know."

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