(FIC) Psych_30 prompt 18) Instinct (Letiche)
I am spamming the flist tonight. I'm sorry! I finally got a POV that satisfied me for this story, so here it is.
Fandom: DC animated
Title: Letiche
Characters: Waylon Jones aka Killer Croc, Swamp Thing
Rating: G
Prompt: 18- Instinct
Word Count: 528
Spoilers: Based on the events of Batman #501 and #502, where, according to Wikipedia “Killer Croc was summoned by a strange paranormal force to break out of Arkham Asylum and make his way to the Louisiana swamps. Batman followed him there only to find that the mysterious force was actually the Swamp Thing, who offered Croc a place in the swampland where he could finally give in to his animal side and live free from human persecution.” A somewhat different take on those events.
Summary: The Calling of the Swamp is imperious.
Disclaimer: I don't own the rogues, but I could probably use a holiday in Arkham
A/N: The table is here. Not beta'ed, point, I shall correct!
“[…]the first official report of the Honey Island Swamp Monster, but the stories of this enigmatic beast date back for hundreds of years. Native Americans called this creature the Letiche, "a carnivorous, aquatic-humanoid" which they believed was once a once an abandoned child who was raised by alligators in uncharted regions of the swamp.”
It has always been there, the Calling. We are never silent, but we know we are unheard by many. Most can only hear us when they are close, so close that their skin gets wet with the slowly moving waters and the smell of azaleas fills their nostrils.
Those who cannot hear us, we do not understand. They left our waters too long ago, and they have brought change upon themselves and their surroundings, forgetting the language of the Swamp. But we call them still, for we know not how we could ever stop. In the recesses of their souls, they still belong to the Swamp, they still remember us. We just have to keep calling.
He, among all two-foot, is different. He was born different, his soul still open to our song. He remembers us, his body changing as he matures. We can feel him, deep into the grey stone and poison waters' domains. We call for him, to return him where he belongs.
They day he starts hearing the Call, we rejoice.
The Swamp Keeper listens to our song intently, and prepares for the arrival of our brother. He knows he will not be without questions, and he will offer him what we cannot. We have no answers other than the Swamp, but we have no questions that the Swamp cannot answer.
We lay at a moss-covered sand bank when he arrives. He speaks as a two-foot, though it is harder for him now to think and talk as one. When he joins us, he will need to struggle no more. The Swamp Keeper is kind, for he is always kind to the Swamp dwellers. We do not understand their two-foot conversation, but we can sense confusion and fear in our brother. Beneath it all remains hope, for he too wants to belong.
The Calling of the Swamp is strong. We could not leave it if we wanted to, that much we understand. The Green supports us and keeps us alive, with fish and bird and turtle and deer. We swim and we lay down under the Sun, we mate and we die and return to the Swamp. We know not how to wish for more, when we are one with our brothers and one with the Swamp, we know no confusion or pain.
We sing for our brother all the praises we know, we share with him the contentment of the Swamp.
He can hear us.
He sheds the garments that belong to another life, one had among grey stones and toxic fumes, and for a moment he hesitates to dip into the waters. He has finally noticed us, all awaiting him, and he cannot help but stare at us. We fear there might be still too much of the life under the clouded Skies and the hardened Earth in his heart for him to accept us, but in time, he smiles.
All teeth and scales and joy, he dives into the Swamp, our Swamp Keeper hovering behind us. He approves.
We join our brother in his first swim through the waters of the Swamp. We sing the Calling of the Swamp.
He sings with us.
We rejoice.
Fandom: DC animated
Title: Letiche
Characters: Waylon Jones aka Killer Croc, Swamp Thing
Rating: G
Prompt: 18- Instinct
Word Count: 528
Spoilers: Based on the events of Batman #501 and #502, where, according to Wikipedia “Killer Croc was summoned by a strange paranormal force to break out of Arkham Asylum and make his way to the Louisiana swamps. Batman followed him there only to find that the mysterious force was actually the Swamp Thing, who offered Croc a place in the swampland where he could finally give in to his animal side and live free from human persecution.” A somewhat different take on those events.
Summary: The Calling of the Swamp is imperious.
Disclaimer: I don't own the rogues, but I could probably use a holiday in Arkham
A/N: The table is here. Not beta'ed, point, I shall correct!
“[…]the first official report of the Honey Island Swamp Monster, but the stories of this enigmatic beast date back for hundreds of years. Native Americans called this creature the Letiche, "a carnivorous, aquatic-humanoid" which they believed was once a once an abandoned child who was raised by alligators in uncharted regions of the swamp.”
It has always been there, the Calling. We are never silent, but we know we are unheard by many. Most can only hear us when they are close, so close that their skin gets wet with the slowly moving waters and the smell of azaleas fills their nostrils.
Those who cannot hear us, we do not understand. They left our waters too long ago, and they have brought change upon themselves and their surroundings, forgetting the language of the Swamp. But we call them still, for we know not how we could ever stop. In the recesses of their souls, they still belong to the Swamp, they still remember us. We just have to keep calling.
He, among all two-foot, is different. He was born different, his soul still open to our song. He remembers us, his body changing as he matures. We can feel him, deep into the grey stone and poison waters' domains. We call for him, to return him where he belongs.
They day he starts hearing the Call, we rejoice.
The Swamp Keeper listens to our song intently, and prepares for the arrival of our brother. He knows he will not be without questions, and he will offer him what we cannot. We have no answers other than the Swamp, but we have no questions that the Swamp cannot answer.
We lay at a moss-covered sand bank when he arrives. He speaks as a two-foot, though it is harder for him now to think and talk as one. When he joins us, he will need to struggle no more. The Swamp Keeper is kind, for he is always kind to the Swamp dwellers. We do not understand their two-foot conversation, but we can sense confusion and fear in our brother. Beneath it all remains hope, for he too wants to belong.
The Calling of the Swamp is strong. We could not leave it if we wanted to, that much we understand. The Green supports us and keeps us alive, with fish and bird and turtle and deer. We swim and we lay down under the Sun, we mate and we die and return to the Swamp. We know not how to wish for more, when we are one with our brothers and one with the Swamp, we know no confusion or pain.
We sing for our brother all the praises we know, we share with him the contentment of the Swamp.
He can hear us.
He sheds the garments that belong to another life, one had among grey stones and toxic fumes, and for a moment he hesitates to dip into the waters. He has finally noticed us, all awaiting him, and he cannot help but stare at us. We fear there might be still too much of the life under the clouded Skies and the hardened Earth in his heart for him to accept us, but in time, he smiles.
All teeth and scales and joy, he dives into the Swamp, our Swamp Keeper hovering behind us. He approves.
We join our brother in his first swim through the waters of the Swamp. We sing the Calling of the Swamp.
He sings with us.
We rejoice.