Sassy
Chop-chop-chop-chop-chop-scrape. The sheen of a knife as it was laid over to brush chopped onions into a hot skillet. The smell of sizzling meat, boiling and roasting vegetables, and a faint whiff of cigars. It was another steamy evening in the kitchen as Sidney Stratterfield prepared for the dinner rush at the Silver Rock Bar & Grille. Downstairs in the general dining area was the usual requests for hamburgers and hot wings, while upstairs in their more posh and luxurious quarters dined various businessmen and romantic couples. The owner, Alexandria Boskov, saw an opportunity with the recent economic turmoil and had renovated the upstairs to cater to the more affluent citizens of Wynfall without the price tag of the fine dining a premium restaurant had.
Sidney's degree in culinary arts was finally being put to use, and to some extent she was grateful to her old roommate and current employer for letting her indulge in delicately glazed meats and perfectly sautéed vegetables, but also cursed her for the extra workload of having to manage both an upscale kitchen and gutter griddle.
"Get those wings out of the fryer and into the sauce, you're late!" Sidney snapped as she expertly minced another pile of vegetables. The kitchen staff scurried to stay on top of the requests of the hungry workers plopping down for a hot meal and cold brew. "I don't get paid enough for this," Sidney grumbled under her breath. But, who does these days?
"Order in! I need a triple dipped teriyaki cajun barbecue with extra cheese, hold the celery, double the fries, and..." began an attractive waitress with a low-cut top.
"Write it down or dip it yourself!" Sidney bellowed as she deposited her vegetables into five different pots. The man handling the fryer was as rushed as she was and wouldn't have been able to remember that many details on top of the other things he was remembering. With a roll of her eyes, the waitress scribbled it down, pinned it with a clothespin to the string running into the kitchen, and stormed off to go flirt for a good tip. "Every. Single. Night. I'm not sitting on my ass playing on my phone back here. She's got a notepad, she needs to learn to use it!"
The rest of her shift went by in a haze of steam, oil, and boiled things until the staff began to leave one by one, and finally Sidney was alone in the kitchen. They had straightened up well enough, but there were still fingerprints and a few disheveled items. Sidney eased the throbbing in her head with the methodic and rhythmic cleaning routine she had established, carefully polishing the surfaces free of fingerprints and lingering debris, setting cookware and flatware straight, and tidying up until her kitchen could almost rival that of the fancy restaurants. Alexandria should nearly be finished with the books by now. Tiredly, Sidney walked downstairs to the staff-only part of the basement where Alexandria's office was. The heavy wooden door creaked under it's own weight and a need of a long overdue oiling. Alexandria was just locking the safe.
"Another good night?" Sidney asked as pleasantly as she could.
"We've secured another mortgage payment!" Alexandria said triumphantly. "We just might turn a profit when that loan's up."
"I'm not sure I can handle another fourteen years of this," Sidney sighed and sat down in one of the old brass-studded, leather-padded wooden chairs.
"You're not obligated to stay, you know," Alexandria said with a glance from the corner of her eye, her back still turned to her old friend.
"Where would I go? Back to my grandparents on their farm, hoeing weeds, slopping hogs, running cotton through the gin to later weave into towels for ritzy bitches who like 'farmhouse chic life'?" Sidney asked bitterly. "Or I could start my own catering business, so then I'd have all the work of food preparation and herding unreliable idiots on top of doing all the advertising and accounting, or exporting it out so I have two more incompetent numbskulls to nanny. I'll pass."
"So jaded and cynic the youth these days," Alexandria muttered and cleared her throat. "Our other chipper companion has already left for the gym. Something about a MMA fight coming up."
"Ah, geez, I had forgotten!" Sidney groaned and squeezed her eyes tight as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's this weekend. And we've got that big reservation for that computer geek to show off his latest gadget to the investors."
"In other news, ol' Bobby told us a riveting tale about a raccoon that crept into his truck, ate his lunch, and he was none the wiser until he found it asleep in his paper sack," Alexandria said with a grin.
"You should rename this place 'snout to tail' because we serve anything to everything," Sidney said with a mild annoyance.
"Keeps the bills paid, dunnit?" Alexandria asked coyly. "C'mon, let's go home. You've got a day off tomorrow and I'm sure you're eager to get to it."
"Yes, and come back to a disaster that will take nearly a day to clean back up," Sidney growled and followed her boss out to the car. Alexandria gave her purple mohawk a flip out of her eyes and locked the office and restaurant behind them. It was another thumping car ride home as Alexandria bebopped at the wheel to some new indie band. Sidney rested her head against the glass and stared out the window, absent-mindedly watching the city lights pass over them. She winced and closed her eyes as the lead singer suddenly started making juvenile howling and growling noises. That is so not singing... She didn't dare criticise it to Alexandria, who was quick to defend her alternative choices. "We must reconnect with our primal instincts!" she would argue. "That's why we have kurach, goblins, and other creatures in the city!" Sassy would counter and then the discussion would descend into species politics. Sidney was so sick of politics.
How'd it all come to this? Sidney wondered as the tall parking garage of their apartment came into view. Around and around the spiraling vehicle staircase until they arrived on the sixth floor which corresponded to the floor they lived on. The bass finally quieted but the throbbing continued in Sidney's head. She fumbled for her purse and stepped out of the car, trudging slowly behind her ever energetic friend. Alexandria lead them through the revolving glass door, down the hall, and unlocked their door. She always let Sidney shower first since she was very sweaty after working so many hours in the kitchen.
The cool water felt good on her tired muscles and she rested her head against her arm on the wall. Her therapist believed she was struggling with depression, but she was too angry to be depressed. She still had too much fight in her to be on a commercial where people are followed around by goopy, mopey mud puddles. She rinsed for a moment longer before beginning to wash her hair. A chill finally began to set in after she had shampooed and conditioned, and she turned up the heat while she bathed. Mostella had soapboxed many times on the importance of cold and heat on tired muscles. With a name like 'Mostella' I'd call myself "anonymous", too. What were her parents thinking? Motel hostel? What a cheap name. A quick shave of her legs while she was lathered up, a rinse, and she turned off the water. "I'm out," Sidney called as she wrapped herself in a towel and walked to her bedroom.
Bubbles was curled up in a happy ball on her bed and stirred when Sidney shut the door to get dressed. The cat stretched, yawned, and hopped off the bed to rub against Sidney's legs and purr. "I certainly hope you haven't been stressing Mostella's fish again," Sidney said as she rubbed the cat with her foot. "I had to switch to chicken and turkey chunks because you wouldn't stop pawing the glass." Bubbles meowed and headbutted her foot. "Of course you want fed. You're as much a bottomless pit as everything else I deal with."
Entering yet another kitchen as if she didn't spend enough time in them already, Sidney got down Bubbles' bowl and filled it up with a canned gravy concoction made for pet cats that certainly had to be considered cruel and inhumane treatment for the cat, the owner, or both, somewhere out there. Sidney wrinkled her nose against the smell as Bubbles reared up on her hind legs and pawed at the counter, wailing pitifully.
"There! You have kibble available all day, it's not like you're going to starve in the three seconds it takes for me to set it on the ground, you know," Sidney scolded the cat as it began to greedily lap up the gravy and nip at the meat chunks. Sidney glanced at the time on the microwave. It was past eleven o'clock. Her brother would already be in bed. At least he was able to pass out drunk in the bed instead of slumped over in the recliner. She fixed some chamomile tea and sat down at the table. I'm fed, I'm clothed, I'm healthy, the bills are paid, I have a small handful of friends and family I can talk to. I should not complain. Sidney chanted her evening mantra to herself.
Alexandria came out of the shower wearing nothing but a long tshirt and boxer shorts, flopped down on the couch, and turned on the television to watch her favorite late-night show.
Wonderful, more noise. Sidney took a big swallow of her tea.
A commercial break came on with the usual nonsense of overly hyped products and services. An ad for an exorcist came on and Alexandria quickly muted it with a scowl. It was an unpleasant silence as she glared at the flickering images and Sidney closed her eyes against memories.
Has it really been twelve years since then?
Twelve years ago the three of them and a few others had been roommates in a spacious dormitory that was more like their own private house at the Swan's Down college as they finished highschool and worked on their "core" classes for their upcoming degrees. It had all the usual drama of burgeoning adulthood in an academic, mixed-species setting. Then, like some cliché teen paranormal horror series, they were swept up in a whirlwind of a plot concocted by a demon with a vampire lackey as Hunters countered. Sidney's brother, Rusty, had been one of many kidnapped for a feast. A guest of honor in the worst way possible.
He'd be well marinated for the first course now, Sidney thought bitterly as his current alcohol problem came to mind, no doubt in part due to having been in a cage hanging over a banquet hall full of hungry ghouls. To add insult to injury, the public officials continued to deny the existence of beings like demons and fairies. Her mind strayed to a more friendly ghoul. One of their roommates, Shanku, a kurach from the Nyre forest across the plains, had been unafraid to leap headfirst into danger to rescue "that insufferable leech". Sidney glanced at the dish towel hanging on the drying rack. It was made of the softest spun and woven wool, raised by the very vampire that Shanku had beat to within an inch of his unlife to learn the whereabouts of the gluttonous party before the pending demon invasion. For whatever insane reason, Alexandria liked to buy his products. "'Only the tastiest sheep make the best wool', he says! Vanson still has all those scars ol' Shank' gave him too." Well, of course he does. He had to go to the spook doctor and get more stitched up than a ragdoll after that beast got finished with him! The Hunters had permitted him to remain unalive, undead, or whatever vampires these days like their existence to be called, and to begin raising sheep in the pastoral countryside. Shouldn't the undead by the alive and the unalive be the dead? Gah, I hate all these labels and just-so words these days.
Alexandria clicked off the television, yawned and stretched as loudly as the cat, and went to bed. Sidney's roving thoughts were interrupted by the change. She finished her tea and went to bed. As she pulled her covers up to her chin, the last thought through her head was one of the last things Shanku said before she disappeared after the horrible event. "It's just another day." What kind of life did you live for that to be normal for you?
Anonomous
Pa-pa-pa-pa-thwop. Beads of sweat ran down Mostella Fenton's face and body as she rained a flurry of blows on her stuffed leather victim. Her boxing had gotten a little weak and she was brushing up on her techniques after the big match yesterday. Breathing heavily, she finally paused, and rested a hand on the bag. She listened to the sound of other bags being assaulted, the kiyais of other martial artists, the clink and scrape of the weight lifting equipment, and the incessant nagging of the spotters, trainers, and coaches. Her prize money was only gathering dust and a paltry sum of interest in the bank. What she was paid for being a bouncer at the bar covered her living expenses and gear, food, and fees. Mostella didn't have a lover and hadn't started a family, she had no plans to have her own place, so what was the point in saving it?
Fear, perhaps. There might be enough in there now to let her finish her degree to achieve her dream job of being a crime scene investigator. But at the same time, dealing with the ridicule from her teacher and peers about her language disorder would be humiliating and degrading. They didn't care how well she flourished in her classes or how the government agents had been impressed at her abilities during some of their trial field work. Grammer and spelling wasn't her strong point, and not everything that she had to record could be done by speaking into a digital transcriber. As one of her ex-classmates had so eloquently stated before she had to drop out from lack of financing, "MMA is better suited to a brainless meathead like you."
Mostella growled and socked the bag one more time. How pointless it was for them to do that. What, did they think she was arrogant and had to be "taken down a peg"? She didn't flaunt her skill or sneer at the others. Her work was all that mattered to her, and it was their own fault if they thought otherwise. Were they jealous then? Mocking her limitations to make themeslves feel better about their own shortcomings? With a huff, she turned to go to the showers and ignore the memories, dutifully starting with an ice bath and then finishing with a hot shower.
It was very late when she exited the gym and hailed a taxi. The same old man that always drove her home. Probably one of her bigger fans considering the way he would casually remark about her matches he had seen, and the "go get 'em" parting line he would always say when he would drop her off from the gym for the last time before her next match. Mostella couldn't help but wonder if his loyalty was bought since she always tipped him generously.
The apartment tower stood before her when she stepped out of the cab. Windows were lit up intermittently, but her own were dark. Alexandria and Sidney must already be in bed. She swiped her passkey before the sensor and heard the click of the door. She pushed the heavy door open and carefully closed it behind her. The reception area was quiet and vacated, the only other soul about would be a security guard in his office watching the cameras. Most of the third-shift workers had already left for the night. Mostella walked past the elevators and opened the door to the stairwell. Six stories of stairs with her gym bag. Every night. Even after "leg day". Her fellow trainees asked her how she had developed such powerful kicks, and she would simply smile.
She noted the silence in their shared apartment and eased herself inside as gently as possible to keep from waking her roommates. Sidney's stupid cat purred and came trotting up as soon as she heard Mostella come home. Mostella had to remind herself that she would probably injure the insipid pest if she kicked it out of the way, so she tried to tolerate its infuriating habit of walking very slowly right in front of her and frequently stopping. Sometimes she wondered if the hairball had a deathwish because it would try to get between her foot and the floor when she tried to step over it.
"You're fed, you're watered, your litterbox is clean, Sassy gave you cuddles. Go away," she snarled when she arrived to her bedroom. The cat meowed at her again and she closed the door in its face. Cats were so annoying. Unlike fish. They floated in their glass box and didn't bother anything. Mostella sat down on the bed and looked at her monstrous 50-gallon tank. Colorful freshwater fish and dull bottom feeders floated and flicked in and out of the myriad of plants and rocks she had provided for them. Smiling softly, she took the colorful flakes and wafers from inside the stand's cabinet and sprinkled some food into it. Some of the dozing fish woke up and a small feeding frenzy began. As per the directions, when they had eaten all they desired, she removed the excess food to prevent disease. Most of her fish fed on plant matter as well, and was another reason she kept so many plants in her tank. Thus satisfied, Mostella undressed and crawled into bed. It was back to work tomorrow.
Alexandria rotated out their days off throughout the week so each of them could have some alone time at the apartment without the others around. None of them were particularly social and neither of them complained about the consideration. Mostella was also grateful that she was willing to work with her match days and training sessions. Of course, Mostella rarely spent a free day at the apartment. The empty rooms merely echoed how empty her life was. All her free time was spent at the gym. This worked out well during the day where she could train, spend the evenings at work, and only go "home" long enough to sleep and shower.
Her roommates had already left for the restaurant when Mostella got up the next morning. The ticking of the kitchen clock distracted her from her thoughts as she was preparing her protein shakes and meals for the day. How much longer could she keep up this lifestyle? Some athletes were active well into their older years, but most became trainers and coaches if they remained involved at all. How much longer would her body hold up to the stresses she was putting on it? Would all her prize money and savings cover the surgeries she would eventually need on her joints?
"Don't borrow tomorrow's troubles when you have today's worries," she muttered and finished packing her fabric cooler. Staff ate for free and Sidney would surely prepare a meal befitting of Mostella's diet as always, but she always felt so guilty letting them look after her like that. She was the strong one. It was her job to look after them, wasn't it?
Mostella caught a cab back to the gym for a quick workout and later to work. This driver ran her route frequently as well. An energetic younger fellow with all sorts of strange gadgets on his dash and his phone constantly lit up with notifications from the plethora of apps he kept on it. Life certainly was less noisy before all these trinkets exploded on the scene. Mostella quickly got out of the taxi to get away from the racket. She never tipped him much. The cabbie gave her an animated wave and sped off to his next fare.
Inside the restaurant was quiet with the midday lull. The dinner rush would be starting soon, followed by night drinkers until closing. There was usually some loud "debating" that required her to give a stern glare a few times. That was usually sufficient to keep a fight from breaking out. Thankfully those were infrequent. Many of their regulars were aware of her competitions and some would get a little too excited when a stranger would become too rowdy and need to be escorted from the building. She dreaded the weekends. During the week, they closed around 10 PM. On the weekends, they were open until 2 AM. Inebriated and sleep deprived, the patrons needed more babysitting than bouncing.
A warm greeting was called out and Mostella turned to find one of her regulars waving her over to his table. She complied and nodded when she arrived. He began to gush congratulations about her victory over the weekend, made the usual starry-eyed comments on her techniques, and prattled on about his comparisons of her to the other fighters. She smiled and nodded politely at all the times she was supposed to and made a few banal observations on the match during the pauses where he expected a reply. He would finally wave a hand and say "don't let me keep you from work". She would fake a laugh and leave to clock in. Those conversations were so predictable and tiring. There would be more to have as other regulars came in later that night and for the rest of the week until they would leave her alone. And then the next match would come and the cycle repeat.
"What a way to live," Mostella sighed as she swiped the screen on the time-keeping gadget on the wall. "Let's do it all over again this week."
New Kid
Chimes clanged and dinged from a flat, rectangular box on the bedside. Alexandria Boskov grumbled and tapped the yellow snooze icon on the glass facing of her phone and rolled over. Five minutes to come to my senses. Five minutes later, the chimes sounded again. With a sigh, she slapped the red cancel icon and stretched her arms above her to begin her morning chorus of creaking joints. Up the fingers, past the elbows, through the shoulders, down her spine, in her hips, on her knees, and settling with her feet. I'm going to be a breakfast cereal mascot long before the old people are, she grumbled to herself as she fumbled with the sheets and stepped onto the ladder of her bed. Ever industrious, her bed was a loft bunkbed, but instead of the lower bunk having a mattress, it was a working desk area, and the supports were made more thickly than a standard bunk bed because it had shelves and cabinets built into it. A rather tidy, space-saving set-up in the corner. Which left more room for her to have her own private living quarters. A comfortable recliner was in front of a large television, or seemingly large television based on the size of the room, where she could indulge in gaming on the evenings she had the free time for it.
She staggered to the closet and chose a white button-up shirt, black slacks, a smart deep purple vest, and a red tie. While as a businesswoman she was required to adhere to the business-casual style for work, that didn't mean she had to give up her beloved purple. It was a warm summer day, so today instead of the tidy arm garters, she rolled up her sleeves. The modern bartender preferred suspenders, but they didn't sit comfortably with her breasts and the vest accentuated her figure better. She combed her purple mohawk over the right side of her head, not feeling like fighting the hair gel today to have it stand up so nicely, donned a black fedora, and left her room for breakfast.
A rather late breakfast. It was already 9:30 AM. There was that little voice in the back of her head echoing the nasty comments of a society past about how the only proper lifestyle was to rise at 5:30 AM, go for a jog or do some form of exercise, shower, be at work at 9:00 AM most likely doing some kind of boring office chore, work until 5:00 PM, and be in bed no later than 9:00 PM, while maintaining an active social life, a grasp of all the latest celebrity gossip, local news, national news, international news, while raising a family, keeping a perfect house instead of an apartment, and all family activities of homework, sports, activities, play dates, and goodness knows what all else. Granted, she was doing plenty of office work as a small business owner and all related adminstrative duties, but there was a certain stigma around start-ups and self-employment. Food service, no less! A lady with no desire to settle down and breed was even worse. Society can just stuff it.
Her roommates and two of her employees, Sidney and Mostella, were already at the table. Sidney had settled for some low-sugar cereal, toast, and juice, while beefy Mostella was finishing a protein shake and a pile of scrambled eggs. She still had a black eye from the ongoing tournament.
"People are going to think your job is more dangerous than it actually is!" Alexandria said and laughed. "But one more victory on the way to the title match, eh?" Mostella grunted and took another long draught of her bland concoction. Alexandria grabbed a granola bar and a banana, and washed it down with an energy drink.
"You're gonna rot your kidneys like that," Mostella warned.
"Caffeine makes the world go 'round," Alexandria grinned. "Let's seize the day and conquer it!"
Sidney sighed and put her empty dishes into the dishwasher and followed her old college roommate out to the parking deck. Mostella would be joining them later in the evening after she'd had her usual training session at the gym. Alexandria cranked up the car and the radio, and took them to her beloved Silver Rock Bar and Grille. It had been a slowly dying establishment her uncle had owned and passed it over to her when he decided to retire, and she had wasted no time in breathing some life into it. She began by renovating the menu and establishing a nice dress code, and as people began trickling back in to try their fare, she reinvested profits into renovating the building itself. Fresh paint, new floors, energy-efficient lighting, and plenty of modernizing. Her uncle had paid off the original mortgage, but she needed to take out one herself just to get many of the repairs done to the walls, floors, equipment, and other aging problems.
Now there were dainty, rust-resistant metal chairs and tables out back in a curated garden for the lunch crowd, and twinkle lights hanging from various posts for the lovebirds on romantic dates. Inside, various booths and tables for the dinner rush and not-so-outdoorsy lunch munchers. Sturdy stools lined the bar for her patrons to indulge their vices. The upstairs had been the most difficult and expensive. Financial troubles had ransacked the country, yet some people still expected to have a certain lifestyle despite a more limited budget. With the most modern and elegant interior decorating she could muster, she had made an upscale dining area for her businessmen needing to charm potential investors and partners, and for those that just wanted to indulge in fine dining. Some still complained about having to use the stairs, no matter how nice the stairway was, to which Alexandria would politely mention with a sharp grin that the only way to have fine dining at a bar was to not be below the dancefloor.
To further cut costs and increase profits, she handled all of the advertising, record-keeping, and repairs herself. Her first few hours would be spent at the computer in her office checking the stats on her various advertising campaigns and tweaking, dropping, or starting new ones, pulling up her massive spreadsheet to record current expenses and income, compare financial progress against prior years, and dealing with any emails and messages in her inbox, and voice messages that had been left on her answering service. It would be nice if everybody would just type instead of talk. It's such a waste of time to have to dial in, wait for an answer, and deal with the mundane greetings before getting to the important part.
When the office work had been completed, she would go to the bar where her passion actually lay. She loved mixing and pouring drinks, gossiping with patrons, and watching the nightlife as the televisions tuned to various sports would chatter in the background. Behind a partition away from the bar was the dance floor, karaoke machine, and pool tables. Her uncle said she had way too much going on from attic to basement, but she didn't care. She loved it all. Her customers must love it to, otherwise she wouldn't slowly but surely be increasing her bottom line.
The first off-key wails of the night came from behind the thin wall and Alexandria smiled. She nodded to some of her security staff to move to the back to better keep an eye on the singers and dancers. She had to call them "security" because "caregiver" tended to offend her rowdier customers. The drunken buffoons would trip and fall, becoming a tripping hazard themselves, and it would be the job of the bouncers to assist or drag them off the floor to make sure they hadn't given themselves a bloody nose or concussion when hitting the ground. Surprisingly, the goblins were the ones who used her karaoke machines the most and she ended up having to order smaller microphones that were easier for them to hold.
"Slow down, you'll fall!" Alexandria reprimanded a green blur that darted past her knees. "Those bugs are chilled and won't be going anywhere."
"Aye, aye, cap'n!" squealed the tiny goblin waitress as she raced off to serve her fellows.
Alexandria chuckled as she remembered what Sidney had once said. "You should rename this place 'snout to tail' because we serve anything to everything." But it added to the excitement and thrill she got from watching her patrons. If she had the space in her pantry, she would have set up a place for the larger creatures in Wynfall such as the gryphons and centaurs, but they ate entirely too much for that to be feasible. Could I open a second location and call it Silver Rock Bar & Stable? What lip service other establishments had made about their services being friendly to all who entered, Alexandria had made an honest effort at it. Her bar stools were custom built with ladders up the side so the shorter customers like the goblins and kirshani could scramble up and sit at the bar with the taller people. She had narrower and taller stools available, but they almost always insisted on having the same kind of seats as their neighbors. The small flying creatures had not objected to suspended tables along the walls where they could perch or dangle. She had to buy special elongated and jointed straws so they could enjoy their upright drinks when they where upside-down, but it was worth it.
An elf in a burgundy waistcoat gently cleared his throat and Alexandria turned his attention to her. "There was a request for two Island Sunsets upstairs," he said politely. Alexandria nodded and prepared it for him promptly. Only wines were stored upstairs as there was rarely a request for a mixed drink, and the staff had to come downstairs for them. He bowed his head and gracefully returned to his table.
There was a brief pause in orders and Alexandria stood back with her arms crossed, looking out at the lively and greatly varied scene before her. All was right in her world and she couldn't be happier.
Confused
Blinding lights and scratchy clothes. A dress? A gown.
"Jane Doe 1387 is awake."
She sat up in bed and blinked against the lights. "Where am I?"
"Back at the hospital. You escaped, again, last night, and went howling through the woods, frightening small children. Again," said a nurse flatly and shoved a small plastic container with colorful pebbles to her. Vitamins? Pills.
"I don't remember that. What should I do with this?"
"You never remember anything. Swallow these," said the nurse sternly. "Maybe you'll stay in your cage tonight like you're supposed to, you animal."
Animal...? A flicker of colour and pain in the back of her mind. She quickly obeyed the nurse and swallowed the medication. She was left alone in the stark white room and before long she knew nothing.
Darkness. A sliver of light. A stopped car? The moon.
She sat up and looked through the barred window to the glistening moon hanging in the night sky. Another flash of colour and pain in her mind. She shook her head to stop it. Nothing ever made sense. Everything passed in a blur and a haze, her feverish brain always disconnected from reality.
But not tonight.
Tonight, again, after another mental flash, clarity returned to her. She had to get out of here. Away from those indecent gowns, sterile walls, and the colourless interior decorating. She created a decoy in the bed of blankets and pillows, and hid by the door until the nurse came by to do her nightly rounds. Such a tired old ploy, but it worked, didn't it? The door cracked open. The nurse suspected something was wrong with the bizarre figure laying in bed, stepped inside, and out dashed the brazen patient.
A nurse sighed in exasperation as the wild haired young woman flew past her. "We've got another one on the loose!"
"Time for this to end," she muttered under her breath as she ran full speed through the halls in bare feet.
The security guard braced to catch her, but with a quick bound off the walls, she rolled in midair over his head, landed, and kept going. "Who decided on keeping an acrobat?" he fumed and chased after her.
The old metal lock on the wooden door couldn't bear her weight and flew open when she leapt into the air and hit it with her momentum focused into her feet. She tumbled, rolled herself upright, and bolted for the lounge. The front door was heavily built but there were no bars on the windows of the waiting room. Another guard was prepared to catch her at the door when she suddenly veered into the reception area and hurled herself through a window.
"I'm gonna get all sliced up doing that someday," she said gingerly as she stumbled to her feet and took off into the field nearby, aiming for the woods. By now, the whole facility was lit up and sirens were heard in the distance. Today was not a day to get treed or bitten by hounds, again, and she darted for the craggy hills leading to those foreboding mountains nobody dared enter for fear of angering the Highland kurach. The police wouldn't search for her far in there. She just had to keep moving.
The rumble of an engine alerted her to a vehicle with offroad tires.
"For the love of rawhide!" she cursed under her breath and doubled-down on her efforts to get to the trees just a quarter of a mile away. Luckily for her, a prairie dog village was nearby in some uneven ground, and she skirted through it. The holes would cause trouble for the all-terrain tires not meant for such rough, lobby territory. "Don't fail me now, you big ass rats."
The burrows slowed her down as well, needing to pick her way more carefully so she wouldn't snap an ankle. The rescue team stopped on the other side of the sprawling minefield of holes and brought out their dogs. She was under the safety of the branches when she heard the baying of the hounds. That stupid gown kept catching on bramble, so she removed it and threw it to the side. What did she care if a kobold barked at her nakedness? Her kind was meant to be free anyway. Now was as good a time as any to call to the others. She threw her head back and howled inhumanly as she fled through the trees.
Her heart skipped a beat as she finally heard that long awaited sound: an answering howl. She slapped a hand on the trunk of a young tree to help her spin into a new direction and bolted for the worried calls in the distance. Her hand was raw and torn now, but it would be worth it this time. The hounds were barking savagely behind her and gaining ground, but so were the padded paws of those who lay before her. The soft human feet kept indoors for too long weren't ready for so much punishment and the bloody trail would surely make it easier for the dogs to find her. But tonight was the night she would finally be free. She howled again to long forgotten family.
Hammering paws behind and before. The thundering of so many feet coming to a single point. A flash of eyes in the moonlight signaled the end of her flight. She fell to the ground face-first into soft fur and warm tongues as a furious clash of fangs fought behind her. The hounds with gashed flanks and ribboned ears fled crying back to their masters as she was welcomed home by her family.
Mioak licked his daughter's face affectionately, so glad to have her back home again. A stupid mistake had lead to a foul curse on his cherished pup, causing her to forget who she was and roam lost in the human world. But he had the antedote with him at all times should they ever meet again. The werewolf shifted to his human form and took a vial off a string from around his neck and urged her to drink it quickly before the full moon set. She did as was told, cringing against the bitter taste. The oily liquid sent a warmth from her throat throughout her body and cooled her hot, roiling mind. Finally, at long last, the confusion was gone, and she remembered who she was.
"You would not believe what I've been through!" she said excitedly.
"You can tell me all about it after we've had a day to bask in the warm sunshine and have a good hunt, Mira," Mioak promised. He returned to his wolf form, and for the first time in twenty years, she did too. How good it felt to feel the earth under her paws! To smell the intricities of the forest. The wind in her fur as she ran between the trees... There was nothing confusing about how right the world felt again. Well, just one thing was still off and missing, and she would soon remedy that.
Guest
Rusty rubbed his tired eyes as he stared at the softly glowing monitor before him with a screeching angry customer squawking in his ear piece. The ever unreliable delivery service had once again misplaced a customer's package, blamed the sending company for it, and now Rusty was expected to catch the brunt of it as the front line of the tech company he worked for. Don't people realize I have no more control over the mail than they do? Perhaps this was his divine punishment after getting disowned by his parents for breaking into a building he shouldn't have? It wasn't really breaking and entering or even hacking when they used such simple passwords though. Then there was the illegal substance he was found with while planting it in the locker of the jerkwad who had been tormenting his little sister. Rusty hadn't been blessed with a strong figure, so what else was he supposed to do when nobody else would stand up for her?
The past was the past and his present was miserable enough without ruminating on previous wrongs. The expulsion from college had knocked him out of his degree and his little sister had taken him in at her dorm after she had been rejected by their parents for taking his side. Sidney had always had his back.
The chair creaked as he leaned back after the blissful click of the customer finally hanging up. Another fifteen minutes and he could clock out to leave for the day. It was pay day and the end of the week. It was time to make his weekly visit to the Silver Rock Bar and Grille where his sister worked. Not to mention owned by an old crush. Who always hated me and never liked me back. Yet, some part of me won't her go. I wish it would so I could finally move on...
One more angry phone call and his time was up. Rusty pulled up the time app on his phone, pressed the shiny "clock out" button, and gathered his belongings. His coworker Jerry magically appeared by his side out of seemingly nowhere.
"Weekend! Partay!" he exclaimed and looped an arm around Rusty's neck. "To the Grille?"
"Yes. I need something to relax after today," Rusty replied.
"And we're gonna have fun! Karaoke and dancing, right?" Jerry asked.
Rusty extricated himself from his younger and eerily energetic friend. "No. All yours. I'm old and boring, remember? I will have an old boring beer, hail an old boring cab, and sleep off an old boring hangover past noon tomorrow."
"You said it, not me," Jerry shrugged.
"I'm repeating what you've said several times in the past," Rusty said flatly.
"But didn't say today! Meet you at the Grille!"
Rusty made his way outside, caught a cab, and soon found himself outside of the familiar restaurant. The perky young woman at the front knew him instantly and took him to the bar straight away. He wasn't sure if he should be embarrassed or feel welcome. Rusty's usual stool in the corner was empty and he sat down tiredly as a menu was presented to him. He didn't make eye contact. He knew who it was.
"The usual, good sir?" Alexandria smirked. Rusty nodded glumly and was soon presented with his favorite lager. She seemed to delight in teasing him. She would say it was nothing personal as she torments all her clientele. It still seemed to him she took additional pleasure when she did it to him.
A plucky waitress came around to ask what he wanted to eat. Boneless hot wings, of course. Crawfen Mruhan style, full of spices, honey, and soy sauce. She nodded and vanished, leaving him to brood into his lager.
"One platter of sizzling hot chicken nuggets, just for you!" Alexandria said cheerily through thinly veiled contempt as she set his order before him. He glared at her out of the corner of his eye. "Oh, we all know the reason we have to call pre-dipped breast meat 'wings' is because grown men can't swallow their pride long enough to admit they like the same chicken nuggets and dipping sauces they did as little boys."
"Gimme them fried chicken butt nuggets o'er toast," growled a hobgoblin next to him.
"One fried egg sandwich, coming up," laughed Alexandria and called for a waitress.
What did I ever see in her? Rusty sighed and numbly ate his meal. When he finished, he turned slightly to the side to watch the night life, including Jerry make a fool of himself at the karaoke machine in a pitiful attempt to flirt and "partay", as he worked through five pints before he was cut off for the night. Sweet, sweet whiskey waits at home. Mostella patiently escorted him to the door in case he stumbled and saw him off safely, not because of any threat he posed that required her attention as a bouncer, but out of consideration for his worrying sister she lived with. The sun had long set when the cab came to take him home. He undressed from his work clothes after locking the front door, grabbed a bottle of the dark liquid and a tumbler, and sat down in his lonely chair at the kitchenette. His tiny apartment was more like a hotel room with a private bedroom. In fact, down in the gulf, he had stayed in a hotel room that was exactly the same size and layout as his apartment, except he had a couch and television where the hotel room had a second bed. Cheap rent, though.
The night passed slowly and quietly, the silence broken only by the refilling of a glass and the ticking of a clock, as Rusty slowly drowned out the memories and thoughts in his head. Were the others really unaffected by what had happened, or was he just the least able to cope with it? What a mixed blessing that Confused can't remember shit. Sidney would surely remember him in the morning as she always did, and be over around noon to turn him out of the bed if he managed to make it there, and try again to inspire him to take better care of himself. The last groggy thought that crossed his mind before he knew nothing was how he wished he knew what had happened to their muddled roommate, and wondered what that strange figure was on his balcony railing before the world slipped away.
The Werewolf
The warm sun and light wind felt great in his fur and the soft ground massaged his feet as he ran through the meadow as carefree as a young deer now that his daughter had returned to the pack and ran with them again. The world was brand new to them both again now that the vile curse had been lifted from his poor daughter and she was learning how to be a werewolf again.
Yet, there was one surviving problem of the world she had returned from. Mioak skidded to a stop when he returned to the cave and clearing the pack called home. The "civilized" called it "the week end", and a mono-form was spending his "week end" miles away from the concrete nest he called home. He narrowed his eyes and sniffed derisively in the human's direction before entering the cave. The only reason Mioak tolerated his unwelcome guest is because his daughter was fond of it.
"Shoulda ate the boy when I had a chance," he grumbled and flopped down on the cool, clay floor.
Years of searching, years of catching faint scents... He had once caught scent of his daughter on the outskirts of that massive city of steel, glass, and fake rocks, had chased that boy down to demand where his daughter was, only to be knocked away by one of those infernal kurach. Mioak inadvertently growled. Kurach. Flying vermin of four forms! Only two were needed. Why couldn't they just turn into birds instead of flying wolves? He had lost track of his daughter again whan an infernal vermin had upset the city. Years passed and he had finally heard her calling for home. The pack had been swiftly assembled, glorious battle done with enslaved hounds, and his world had been set right again.
Until she kept a piece of that other world. Mioak laid his head on his paws and watched his daughter at the entrance chatting and flirting with the human. She claimed he had been very kind to her and taken her in for a few years, the most benevolent person she had dealt with while she was lost and confused. At any rate, she was happy, and he seemed genuinely friendly. So now he had a new problem. What was the longterm plan? This relationship had been going on for months with no sign of ending any time soon. That man even brought clothes so they could visit "civilized" towns and cities! The least he could do was be respectful take his off when he visited. He always left his shorts on. What was more frustrating is that he sometimes brought good cuts of meat with him "when he could afford it". What use did werewolves have of money? Or clothes? Or being bribed by succulent meat?
"Papa, we're going to a movie next weekend!" she said excitedly as she came bounding into the cave. "Can I go?"
Mioak groaned and turned his head nearly upside down to hide his nose.
"Pleeeease?" she pleaded.
"Common dogs beg, we do not!" Mioak roared.
"Oh, right, we state our intentions. I'm going to the movies next weekend!" Mira said giddily.
Mioak groaned and buried his face between his paws again.
"Oh, let them go, dear," his wife said as she came trotting up from the back. "You remember how much we loved the drive-in theatre and that sweet puffy corn."
"Don't encourage her," he grumbled.
"Go have a wonderful time, darling," Owynne said and licked her daughter's knee. "Bring me back a muffin!"
"A muffin?" Mioak demanded.
"On second thought, a nice dress. I want to go get my own muffin!"
Mioak got up and went deeper into the cave. All my questions lead to worse ideas!
The man looked away bashfully as Mira's mother assumed her human form and joined them.
"I should think you used to it by now," she teased.
"You're my future mother-in-law, and in my culture, we certainly never see our mothers-in-law naked!"
"Well this isn't your culture, is it?" she smirked. "I'll have a loose blue dress for my blueberry muffin when we are in your culture."
"Yes, ma'am," he said sheepishly.
"Keep this up and you two will be able to walk the two worlds with ease," Owynne said dreamily. "Sometimes I miss the unnatural world. I should want to sit at a stringed concert again."
"There's plenty during Winter Feast, we could easily get some tickets for it," Mira said excitedly. "We gotta go, too! Violins and snowfall are so romantic, don't you think so, Rusty?"
"Snow will also preserve your carcass if you ever mistreat my daughter, unwelcome law son!" howled an angry voice from inside the cave.
"I don't know how to answer that now," Rusty said nervously. But I guess now we both finally have a real home.
The Vampire
Newborn lambs are so slimy, Vanson frowned as the ewe licked her freshly delivered bundle of fluff and bonded with it. Or eventual fluff. It was still wet and gooey. Until it was soft and fluffy, there would be a nice, warm nursery for the new mother and new lamb. The shepherd made sure the ewe had plenty of good hay to eat mixed with clover, a bucket of warm water mixed with dark syrup, and fresh hay to rest in. After a little more maintenance, he left the happy pair behind to rest for the remainder of the night. He would be back over the next several days to make sure they were thriving.
A growl came from his stomach and he prepared to take an evening meal. He made it a rule to never feed on the ewes. They produced more tasty sheep and he couldn't afford for them to fear him. Vanson only fed on rams. Those elusive, rightfully skittish and frightful, yet so tasty rams. What cruel irony that he only fed on them in his wolfen form. Vanson felt that helped reinforce their fear of dogs and wolves, and hopefully keep them alert. He assumed the proper form and stalked into the night.
A foolhardy yearling had strayed from the herd. How delectable young blood was! The ram was fleet of foot, but Vanson was swifter. He pounced the ram when it became cornered by the fence. It bleated loudly and pitifully for a few moments before the vampire's hypnotic whispered spell silenced it. Vanson placed his paws on the exposed throat and sank his fangs into its neck as the ram stared ahead in a blind stupor. Of course, he wouldn't kill the stupid sheep. There were too many people that enjoyed the taste of mutton and he presently did not have a surplus of walking inventory. No, he would only take what the animal could spare, and rotate through the herd, as he always did.
Vanson released his prey and licked his chops. He stood, gave himself a good shake, and slipped away quietly to make sure the ram awoke safely and returned to the herd. Vanson was the only predator and parasite allowed to touch his herd, and he had enforced that on many occasions.
Centuries-old eyes glistened in the moonlight as they watched a beast stagger to its feet and wobble back to safety. He couldn't imagine attempting this as a much younger vampire. An older vampire wouldn't need to settle for livestock and could live on intelligent beings. They could mist in and out of sleeping quarters, enchant their victims to sleep or compliance, and slip away just as easily again. A very old vampire could live solely on intelligent beings and never be caught for they could encourage the body to heal itself and hide all signs of injury. Very old vampires were rare, as intelligent beings were more likely to rally and act on an attack than simply sentient beings, which lead to hunts and extermination. I just may yet to live to a very old age if I continue to resist the shorter, albeit cleaner and more regularly washed, necks of the more intelligent species in the world.
Vanson chuckled to himself as he trotted back to the farmhouse, a rather strange and gutteral sound coming from his canid throat. Some vampire rumours were amusing in this modern age. "They have no reflections!" No, dearie, we're just very stealthy to the point you're unlikely to see us in the mirror behind you. Mirrors just reflect the light particles bouncing off solid objects and we are solid enough objects for light to bounce off of, even as mist, else we could pass through anything, and also thus we'd never be able to feed! "Hallowed" ground, of course, was an issue. Despite what many believed, the Algod was neutral, but the myriad of spirits weren't always the same way. A blessing and protection from one spirit could be a curse and banishment from another, and trespassing into the wrong territory could be painful or fatal. Similarly this lead to beliefs that certain foods or symbols held sway over a vampire. A wooden stake through the heart or being beheaded would kill just about anything, and he found it hard to understand how that was ever believed to be a unique weapon.
He skipped lightly through a stream winding through the pasture, relishing in the cool water on the hot night. The spirits who "created" vampires were water spirits. Water was not a barricade; it was a fortress and source of strength. The weakness was having a diet limited to water, or blood. Those who ate bodies were protected by earth, those who stole breath were protected by air, and those who drained the life directly of course belonged to fire.
Faint sunbeams peaked over the trees and Vanson stopped in his tracks to watch the sunrise, thankful he also could not be incinerated by the sun, nor lose his powers in daylight. He had been careful not to anger any fire spirits. Darkness is merely a blessed covering for us to work freely against those who depend heavily on their vision, and we must "behave" when we are in their sight.
But the part most true was the frenzied Thirst. When it took hold, little could stop or control it, until the hunger had been sated. All the more reason he had to be very careful and not let himself become too hungry. If he had an incident with one of his customers, it could have severe consequences against his little haven he had built here.
Vanson entered his beautiful little cottage and assumed his human form once again. As he made his way to his bed where his clothes and blissful sleep awaited him, he stopped when he noticed his reflection. He most certainly had a reflection, and he caught sight of the scar on his left side, positioned between his ribs. Another dark truth was that vampires were the undead; those who died but didn't stay dead, and not because they were miraculously saved and brought back to life, remaining otherwise unchanged. He had died, and changed.
She had been beautiful. Oh, so beautiful... Presumably just a milk-maid. But that was just her ruse to lure naïve village boys on a misleading romp in the meadows at night. She had been crafty, and would bite in places other than the neck to deflect suspension. Such as the inner thigh. Vanson still blushed to think of those nights where she had managed to use his lust to her advantage. They were caught not by a village priest, but by a villager she had not charmed. He proclaimed she belonged to him and had stabbed Vanson through his ribs in a blind rage. He was far enough gone under her influence he would have risen after death if she was not killed before he was, and that jealous villager had sped up the process. I suppose I should thank the bastard for eternal youth and vitality instead of being an immortal geriatric, Vanson thought bitterly. She had killed the wretch there on the spot with the unnatural strength of her kind and was never seen again in the village, leaving Vanson to deal with the fall out of his undeath on his own. It was a true wonder he managed to escape as many times as he had over the centuries and hadn't been killed.
Then of course there were the other pale scars glinting in the morning sunlight. His chest, his arms, his back, his neck... What a grave mistake he had made, not so long ago, accompanying a friend to what should have been another harmless occult fetish by a misguided nobody believing themselves to be more powerful than they actually were, dabbling in forces that should have been left alone. But that idiot had figured out how to actually summon a demon, and the damned thing had latched onto Vanson after consuming that fool. For a while he had been able to satisfy it with sharing the livestock he fed on himself. Lambs, calves, and a few foals. It got greedy and wanted more, the more forbidden according to modern society, the better. Before he knew it, a whole extravaganza had been planned and the demon had managed to open a door to the other side so more of his cursed kind could cross over to the corporeal existence, and all planned to consume the city's residents.
Vanson wanted no part of it and tried to escape. A flock of little demonlets chased after him to end him, and he had been rescued by another creature hunting him. One of the bestial kurach scattered around the local continents, and had promptly turned her focus to him after banishing his pursuers. She had learned how to use her fangs in a very different way than he had learned to use his, and she used them quite well in unison with her claws... and fists, feet, knees, elbows, and Vanson cringed to think of the full-body assault he had been subjected to from a Feral knight-in-training. No doubt she had been knighted shortly after returning home after college. What had in olden days been a trial of survival had out of necessity been replaced by a test to survive the modern college expectation from all the intelligent species, and still retain skills learned to survive in kurach society. That kurach had extricated data needed from him to pass along to the Hunters to thwart the demons' gala and left him alive in case she needed more out of him. Vanson's partially willing turncoat confession had spared him of the worst of the Hunters' wrath, and he had been permitted to live.
Soft snores came from the room nearby. A Hunter, complacent in guarding a pacifist vampire who'd lost interest in intelligent blood decades past, and whom Vanson was dependent on to keep the farm running. As an immortal, the increasingly scrutinizing systems and technology would quickly flag him and cause complications with mortal government in the Age of Denial that did not want to believe in any more "fairy tale" creatures than was necessary. It just upset their limited worldview too much. So the Society would provide mortal Hunters as a decoy, to answer just enough questions more weren't raised to the identity of the farmer who lived there.
It was long past his bedtime and he shook his head against old ruminations. There was so much to do. Carding and spinning after a recent shearing, weaving goods for the next fair, and of course the milking and making of cheese for his year-round regulars. Vanson yawned widely and curled up in his soft bed, falling into a deep, restful sleep quickly.
The Elf and The Cat
A crossbow clicked as the safety was set back on it. Even in this day and age, a primitive weapon like that was most effective in dealing with rogue creatures. The one in question had been a rabid unicorn. Certainly the fearsome, agressive beast of old legends, certainly not the cute, mystical powderpuff that adorned the bedrooms of small children, or the acid trip teenagers depicted on their shirts, yet very much a common beast of the forest, susceptible to all the diseases and misfortunes of other forest animals. Due to its size, rabies in a unicorn was more concerning than rabies in a squirrel, and also considerably more labor intensive to dispose of properly. With the infected animal neutralized, Rook sent her companion to fetch the diggers who would create a hole so the poor thing could be returned to the earth and decay safely and naturally.
The elf sat down and began to pull out safety gear to deal with biohazard situations. She sprayed the carcass with an anti-parasitic to deal with fleas, ticks, and other unsavoury insects, and set up a small, portable fence to keep out most predators who may eat the diseased creature and become contaminated themselves. The hole was soon dug deeply by the team of dwarves, and Rook and Taboo donned their safety gear as a minocentaur nearby was harnessed to help them pull the unicorn into the grave, and all helped bury it.
"All in a day's work for a Hunter, no?" Taboo asked as they sat around to rest.
"Monster hunting is such an illustrious career," Rook growled and wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow with her arm.
"I imagine it's not easy dealing with a unicorn considering how you elves regard them," Taboo said gently.
Rook didn't respond and soon stood up to begin travelling again. The team disbanded and disbursed to their next assignments. Rook and Taboo hiked back to the trail so they could get to the road that wound through the Nyre forest. She tossed her gear into the back of the pickup truck and got into the passenger side. Taboo slid into the driver seat, started the engine, and began driving them to the nearest settlement. Rook rolled down the window partly to enjoy the forest air. As much as she wanted to, she didn't roll it down all the way. What little bit she had was ruffling Taboo's whiskers and making him lay his ears back in irritation. Pantheras generally didn't like strong, sidewise breezes.
"Can we kill that vampire yet?" Rook asked bluntly.
"He was deemed to be a victim, the same as the dinner that was being prepared. Innocent. No," Taboo said calmly.
"He should have been destroyed along with the demons," Rook said coldly. "That beast committed no crime but had to be put down. I don't see why that monster was spared and nothing could be done for..." She trailed off and her expression hardened as she stared out the window.
"It wasn't our decision to make. We're senior officers now, and weren't even junior officers or any kind of member then. That was why we got into this line of work in the first place. It should be easier to accept now," Taboo said gently.
"Well, it's not," Rook said shortly.
"Killing zombie kids are my least favorite," Taboo said softly. "I know their spirits are gone and animated corpses are left behind, but it still bothers me."
"I can't give you kits, Taboo," Rook said quickly. "Our species are not compatible."
"That wasn't a subtle guilt trip over that," Taboo said and looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Kits would be nice, but I'd rather have you, and it's irresponsible to start or raise a family while active Hunters. We can adopt a fuzzball or something when we retire."
"I don't intend to retire," Rook stated.
"Then I guess we won't be adopting any fuzzballs," Taboo said as light-heartedly as he could.
Rook continued to stare out the window and stopped talking again. Taboo tried to concentrate on the road as they finished the ride in silence. That night at the hotel after they had both showered, and Taboo had time to dry his fur, Rook curled up next to him in the bed and fell asleep with her head resting on his chest. Taboo softly stroked her hair with his thick paw, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, not hiding the sorrowful expression on his face while she slept. They had been working nonstop for months. Perhaps it was time to take some time off? They had earned plenty of vacation time. Perhaps he could take them to his home in the balmy southern Bhadarukian jungles, or her home in the frigid northern Mruhan forests. Something to get her mind off the awful assignment she recently had to carry out. A broad smile spread slowly across his hairy face. I know the perfect place! Taboo closed his eyes and went to sleep grinning.
Taboo was the first to rise in the morning and was busy packing their belongings when Rook woke up.
"What are you doing?" she asked groggily.
"Mountain retreat!" Taboo said cheerily. "Ice caps, hot springs, fresh tea, wind chimes, wooden flutes, and big-ass drums. And, might I add," Tabbo paused and turned a naughty eye toward her, "a healthy respect for us kitty cats."
Rook burst out laughing with the most genuine laugh Taboo had heard in a while. "Well, if it will make you happy to have your ego stroked more than your tawny fur, we'll go to the mountains," she said when she had composed herself.
Satisfied, and relieved, Taboo lead her downstairs to gather their receipt from the hotel clerk and make their way to the other side of the continent for some overdue and well deserved rest and relaxation.
The Demon
A grumpy little demonlet darted from one hellish flower to another, drinking fiery nectar and eating poisonous bugs attempting to pollinate those flowers. Bahelzuul had regained only a fraction of his strength after being "killed" in the mortal world, and had to subsist on fellow pests in the pits of the "realm of gods" until he was stronger, and regained the strength to be his preferred size. A fellow spirit, whom the mortals regarded as an angel, sat down on the blackened grass nearby and greeted him.
"Bugger off," Bahelzuul said shrilly. He at least still looked like himself, but a much smaller version, and the associated squeaking made his mood worse.
"Accept your punishment with a glad heart and lesson learned!" She laughed musically and stroked his head and back with a finger. Bahelzuul pulled away and bit her finger. "Ouch!" she cried and then sucked on her bruised finger with the tiniest little pricks from small fangs. "That was not nice!"
"Accept your punishment with a glad heart and lesson learned!" mimicked the vindictive demonlet.
"I suppose it was disrespectful to pet you, I am sorry," she said with a kind smile and tilt of her head. "Forgive me?"
Bahelzuul growled in frustration and sat down huffily.
"We'd be happy to provide better food than these shriveled plants and insects, you know," she said sweetly. "And we won't even expect you to change your nature."
"I would prefer it greatly if you angels were as vindictive and begrudging as the mortals believe you to be," Bahelzuul grumbled.
"It's not our fault they have us confused with common spirits," the angel shrugged. "After all, we know it's part of their life lessons to learn from the temptations and consequences of you demons, and at worst they'll have to start another incarnation until they become wiser."
"Why does their silly lessons have to mean I get shrank!?" shrieked the little demon.
"Mortals aren't the only ones who have to answer for their actions," the angel said with a wry grin. "Just like how our pacifism leaves us with more work to do by consoling the victims of vice and violence of either side."
"I think you secretly enjoy playing saviour," Bahelzuul said with contempt.
"It's not in our nature to be bitter or resentful, so I suppose by a certain perspective you're right," she said thoughtfully.
"The arrogance of your humility makes my head hurt," Bahelzuul said flatly.
"Well, only the Supreme Good is free of vices, just as only the Supreme Evil is free of virtues," she said with a wink.
"I suppose in the interest of vices then," Bahelzuul said with a mischievous grin, "I could accept your offer for some well-deserved pampering." He stepped into her extended hand and sat down. "After all, it takes a lot of energy to, er, teach those delicious mortals."
"That's the 'spirit'," she said gayly and stood up to carry him away to the more beautiful and delicate areas of their world.
"I sure wish bad puns were a vice!" Bahelzuul groaned.
The Kurach
Wassa, wassa, whispered the grasses and yellow and purple flowers as the prairie wind slipped by. Herds of bison and minocentaur snorted and stamped in the unrelenting midday heat. Prairie dogs barked at each other and darted in and out of their burrows. A rattlesnake shook its tail at a passing coyote following the trail of a jackrabbit, the distraction allowing a red-tailed hawk to make off with the prize over the next ridge.
Kya sat on a knoll and watched the herds and flocks on the reserve as she enjoyed her lunch. The plains kurach had remained passive and entirely too friendly for years while the migrants from the other continent had settled in tiny communities across their territory. When industry and commercial farming started having a more heavy presence on their fair grasslands, the kurach had finally stood firm and put the fear of bow and fang into the human settlers, along with the minocentaur, gryphons, and their kurach cousins from the forests and mountains.
Pressure continued to mount to convert the reserves into farmland as the conservationists continued to negotiate for responsible population control and argue the necessity of protecting as much of the natural world as possible. They were beginning to gain some ground as their supporters and workers in the cities began to cultivate rooftop farms and crafty architects began to revisit the concept of hanging gardens and make buildings with "branches" to shade the streets below and absorb sunlight for renewable energy. Locally grown food appealed to the residents, and there was something of a plant revolution as townsfolk began keeping gardens again and multi-story apartments became decorated with little pots of produce.
The pressure remained, and the natives of L'aernth had to work other angles to prove the value of keeping their land as untouched as possible by carefully disturbing it. This and other reserves offered camping, hiking, fishing, biking, guided tours, and unique cuisine. Colorful maize, gamey grouse, tender bison, berry pudding, knobby squashes, fry bread, succotash, turnips, wild rice... Kya's mouth began watering just thinking about it all and more the café offered. The humans who loved the land as much as the natives offered up other expositions, such as teaching curious visitors how to play traditional wooden flutes, weave cotton blankets more commonly found among the southern kurach, and go hunting with gryphons similar to how the native humans in the Bhadarukian deserts hunted for thousands of years. The kurach had been skeptical of it, but the gryphons enjoyed the chance to show off their fine flying skills. In the forests, the gryphons would also taunt and tease tourists with climbing boulders, partially to show off how impossible it would be to raid their nests in the low cliffs.
A flash of feathers. Kya watched as a gryphon secured a grouse and waited for the clumsy tourist to collect from it. The gryphon bowed up and hissed, making the tourist pause and look to their tutor, who then threw a piece of meat to the gryphon. It was an act, of course. The gryphon just wanted a treat and to give a reminder that it wasn't just a docile house pet.
The sun slowly began to leave the pinnacle of the sky. Kya spread her wings and made a quick flight back to the welcome center. It would soon be time to lead her next two tours of the day before the shadows would be too long to see the ground properly, and evening campfires lit to tell stories as the coyotes and crickets sang in the distance. She was not a storyteller and would not stay for that part. Kya's skills involved finding animals and showcasing the fauna of the prairie, and knowing their ways throughout the steady turn of the year so tourists could see things like a pronghorn doe with her fawn and fuzzy quail chicks chasing their mothers.
Today a very old plains kurach joined her tour. He had never seen a wild eagle or sandpiper except in photographs, and thought it odd Kya chose the traditional buckskin over manufactured cotton. He made a comment about the tattoos on her arms and the hoodlum ways of young people, and she took a moment to explain how she had earned her markings from taking down various animals, from prairie dog to bison. It pained her to see that there were kurach at his age who were completely clueless to the ways of his people.
When she had performed her obligations for the reserve, she returned home to her loving husband and two rowdy cubs. It was frustrating having to escort tourists around, but if it continued to remind Arnthians of the importance of their grasslands, then it was worth it so this beautiful land would be around for her cubs, grandcubs, great-grandcubs, and future descendents.
And Shanku?
"So, I hear they're getting ready for some serious space travel..."
