Skin Not My Own
Title: Skin Not My Own
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis - AU
Series: a little side snippet from the Magor ‘verse
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 1,961
Prompt: urt Comfort Fill: Loss of Voice
Dark Fantasy Bingo Fill: Inhuman
Summary: Jason is unable to ask for the help he needs to get changed back to himself.
Content Notes: No standard notes apply. Unbeta’d sorry for errors
Happy Holidays to padfootthegrim
“Get out of here! Go on! Get away from here, you beast!” the farmer’s wife shouted, throwing a lump of cow dung at him, then hurling another. “Go back to the freak tent!” Raising his arm, Jason blocked the crap from hitting his face, he had a lot of practice blocking things. He was also good at catching, sometimes they hurled food, and then he got something to eat out of the abuse.
He turned and lunged away down the road. It had been a chance, approaching the farmhouse. Sometimes, people took pity on him and gave him something to eat or let him drink from their well. That was the best, when he was able to have cool, clean water to drink. As a boy, he had taken that for granted; fresh water and unspoiled food.
He did not want to go back to one of the traveling road shows, but it was looking very much like he might need to seek refuge there once more. Jason hated it, he hated being the lure for people to come to the tents. The people gawked and stared at the golden curls that covered him from head to toe, the cloven hooves where his feet should be, the tiny horns protruding from his forehead. They laughed when he tried to speak and it came out as a bleating noise worthy of a farmyard.
It had been twelve years since Jason had spoken. Twelve long years since he had sat at a table and eaten a decent meal and shared conversation with people. The night his mother had died, he had died a little too, at least his life as a human person had died. He had seen too much. He had shown his hand when he tried to stop his stepfather from hurting his mother, when he had intervened and tried to use magic to stay his hand.
His show of bravado had been what his stepfather had been waiting for. The magic was turned back, twisted, darkened, mutated into a curse that had stolen Jason’s body and voice from him. Without his voice, he could not undo the spell. He could not beg for help in undoing it. The curse was sealed with his mother’s blood, Jason had watched in horror as she died at the hands of her cruel, unfeeling, greedy husband.
The hairy beast had been driven out, blamed for the death of the lady of the manor. Jason had been hunted by his own people, the tenants on his own lands. He had run, unable to defend himself. He had vowed to return and avenge his mother one day, but when he had gone back, full of courage and with a plan, he had found the lands sold off, his stepfather vanished. Thus he had begun to wander, a human soul a prisoner in an inhuman body. He was as familiar with the sound of terrified screaming as he was with the sound of laughter. He was feared and ridiculed in equal measure.
If only he could speak to someone, tell them of his problem, he might be able to find a way to break the curse. But the curse had stolen his ability to form words, he had no language beyond grunts and bleats.
Coming out of the woods, he heard music, clanking, jangling music barely in tune. A traveling show, no doubt about it. He lumbered along, his body in pain as it always was, his twisted feet not made to carry the bulk of his body upright. He refused to go on all fours. His hands might be hooves now too, but he kept them encased in mittens. Pride in what he knew himself to be on the inside kept him on his feet, though it pained him to take each step.
He did not recognize the markings on the wagons, this was a show he did not know. The draft animals were tethered at the edge of the camp, and at his scent, they made noises of distress. Something else that Jason was all too familiar with causing. No creature offered him true welcome, not even the lowliest of beasts. His face was hideous, the long fangs and the horns giving him an otherworldly and demonic countenance.
Slowly he edged close to the wagon that carried the feed for the animals. Sometimes he was lucky and could scavenge some droppings.
“Who's there?” a man called, making Jason freeze in place. He couldn’t answer, he would spook the animals into motion. “I see you there, come away from the trees!”
Move forward or run away? He dropped his head, embarrassed. He was starving, he had not eaten in days. The animal handlers sometimes took pity on him and fed him, perhaps this man would do the same. Shuffling forward, he kept his arms out at his sides, his head bowed, trying to look as unthreatening as he could.
“Well hello, what have we here? Are you man or beast?” the man stepped down from the door of the wagon and moved towards Jason. “You’re a big one, aren’t you?”
Jason kept his head down as the man circled him. He didn’t want to startle him or give him cause to fear him.
“You are quite an unnatural thing,” he said, and a hand landed on Jason’s furred arm, pressing into the golden curls. “Someone did you quite a mischief, didn’t they?”
The kindness in the man’s voice was almost Jason’s undoing. He nodded his head in big up and down motions, unmistakable as a nod. The man patted his arm and shoulder, then walked over to the wagon and picked up a large stein that was there. He went to the water bucket tied to the side of the wagon and filled it, returning to Jason and offering it to him. Gratefully and carefully, Jason took the large mug between his mittened forehooves and raised it to his lips. It clacked noisily against his fangs as he drank.
The man had kind eyes something else Jason had not seen in a long time. “Are you hungry, Big Fellow?” He nodded again as he offered the stein back to the man, bowing his head in thanks for the drink. “Well, I was about to have some beans and meat, come sit with me and share. It isn’t very fancy, but it will fill your belly.”
And so he found himself awkwardly sitting on the bottom step of the wagon, trying to daintily lick up the food from the bowl he had been given. He could not manage to hold a spoon. The food was flavorful and as filling as promised.
The man sat considering him as Jason ate a second helping he was given. “I sense a spell at work here. It makes my nose itch.” He sniffed at the air and then stuck his tongue in and out a few times. Then he pulled a face. “Oh, this is something nasty! My Auntie would never forgive me if I sent you on your way in such a state. Stay here, I will return soon.” With that, he vaulted down off the steps and ran off towards the other wagons in the distance.
He returned as Jason was licking the bowl clean. The woman with him was quite old, with hair as white as snow. She was leaning heavily on the man’s arm. “Oh my, yes. It is just as you say, my darling. I can smell the reek of it from here. Poor creature.”
“I suspect this is a man, Auntie Catherine, not a beast. He has manners and there is something in his eyes that suggests he is intelligent.”
Jason was very intelligent! He had been a scholar, before the spell had changed him and stolen books from him. He nodded at the man’s words, grateful for his insight. Perhaps he had finally found some people who could forgive his appearance and might tolerate his presence. Surely there was some work he could do to earn food and a sleeping place? He could haul water. And he could chase away thieves. And he could lure in customers.
The aunt moved closer, peering at him. “Oh this is a particularly nasty bit of business! Done by someone with no talent, probably a single spell in an amulet or vial, sold by an unscrupulous caster.” She clucked her tongue and fingered the curls at his throat and patted his furred cheek. “Well, this might be tricky, but we’ll see what we can do for you.” She turned away, talking to herself as she walked off towards a colorfully painted wagon. Noticing the man hadn’t gone with her she called, “Well, come along my darling, I’ll need you too, I can’t mix these things like I used to!”
With nothing else to do, Jason went and sat on the steps of the wagon again to wait. The sun was setting when the man emerged from the wagon alone and sauntered towards him, smiling. He stopped in front of Jason and held out a pottery mug. “You’ll need to drink that down. It probably tastes awful, our potions always do.”
Not caring what it tasted like if it works, even just enough to give him his voice back, so that he could talk and explain things and didn’t have to be away from people anymore, Jason took the cup and swallowed the thick liquid in a few gulps. His benefactor stared at him as he took the cup back.
It started as a tingling at the back of his throat and then spread quickly out and over his whole body. He would have laughed, if the pain didn’t envelop him soon after. He felt his body twisting, as it had the night his mother died when the spell had changed him. His last thought before he roared out in pain was the hope that he didn’t become something even worse.
He collapsed onto the ground and writhed there in pain as his body was transformed. He felt cold, so cold. His teeth were chattering as he wrapped his arms around himself. Realization slowly set in that he was so cold because he no longer had fur, and he was completely naked except for the mittens he’d worn over his hooves.
Excited, Jason rolled over and sat up, fumbling to get the mittens off. He held his hands up to the light from the lantern the man was holding. He had hands again. Fingers and nails instead of hooves. He touched his forearm, now covered with the normal hair a person normally had. He looked up and smiled, then let out a laugh of joy and delight. A human laugh, not the bray of a farm animal.
“Thank you!” he said, and the words came out clearly, in his old voice. “I’m me again!” he exclaimed, pressing his hands to his face and finding skin there too.
The man shrugged out of his cloak and crouched down, wrapping it around Jason. “Well, don’t let it be said that Langford and Stackhouse do shoddy potion work. I’m pleased to meet you...?”
“Jason. Jason Markham.”
“I’m Nate Stackhouse. Let’s find you some clothes and then you can tell me how you came to be wearing a fur suit, eh?” He stood and held out a hand, which Jason grasped gratefully. He was hauled to his feet, and when he swayed, Nate wrapped an arm around his shoulders to support him as they set off for his wagon.
The End
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis - AU
Series: a little side snippet from the Magor ‘verse
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 1,961
Prompt: urt Comfort Fill: Loss of Voice
Dark Fantasy Bingo Fill: Inhuman
Summary: Jason is unable to ask for the help he needs to get changed back to himself.
Content Notes: No standard notes apply. Unbeta’d sorry for errors
Happy Holidays to padfootthegrim
“Get out of here! Go on! Get away from here, you beast!” the farmer’s wife shouted, throwing a lump of cow dung at him, then hurling another. “Go back to the freak tent!” Raising his arm, Jason blocked the crap from hitting his face, he had a lot of practice blocking things. He was also good at catching, sometimes they hurled food, and then he got something to eat out of the abuse.
He turned and lunged away down the road. It had been a chance, approaching the farmhouse. Sometimes, people took pity on him and gave him something to eat or let him drink from their well. That was the best, when he was able to have cool, clean water to drink. As a boy, he had taken that for granted; fresh water and unspoiled food.
He did not want to go back to one of the traveling road shows, but it was looking very much like he might need to seek refuge there once more. Jason hated it, he hated being the lure for people to come to the tents. The people gawked and stared at the golden curls that covered him from head to toe, the cloven hooves where his feet should be, the tiny horns protruding from his forehead. They laughed when he tried to speak and it came out as a bleating noise worthy of a farmyard.
It had been twelve years since Jason had spoken. Twelve long years since he had sat at a table and eaten a decent meal and shared conversation with people. The night his mother had died, he had died a little too, at least his life as a human person had died. He had seen too much. He had shown his hand when he tried to stop his stepfather from hurting his mother, when he had intervened and tried to use magic to stay his hand.
His show of bravado had been what his stepfather had been waiting for. The magic was turned back, twisted, darkened, mutated into a curse that had stolen Jason’s body and voice from him. Without his voice, he could not undo the spell. He could not beg for help in undoing it. The curse was sealed with his mother’s blood, Jason had watched in horror as she died at the hands of her cruel, unfeeling, greedy husband.
The hairy beast had been driven out, blamed for the death of the lady of the manor. Jason had been hunted by his own people, the tenants on his own lands. He had run, unable to defend himself. He had vowed to return and avenge his mother one day, but when he had gone back, full of courage and with a plan, he had found the lands sold off, his stepfather vanished. Thus he had begun to wander, a human soul a prisoner in an inhuman body. He was as familiar with the sound of terrified screaming as he was with the sound of laughter. He was feared and ridiculed in equal measure.
If only he could speak to someone, tell them of his problem, he might be able to find a way to break the curse. But the curse had stolen his ability to form words, he had no language beyond grunts and bleats.
Coming out of the woods, he heard music, clanking, jangling music barely in tune. A traveling show, no doubt about it. He lumbered along, his body in pain as it always was, his twisted feet not made to carry the bulk of his body upright. He refused to go on all fours. His hands might be hooves now too, but he kept them encased in mittens. Pride in what he knew himself to be on the inside kept him on his feet, though it pained him to take each step.
He did not recognize the markings on the wagons, this was a show he did not know. The draft animals were tethered at the edge of the camp, and at his scent, they made noises of distress. Something else that Jason was all too familiar with causing. No creature offered him true welcome, not even the lowliest of beasts. His face was hideous, the long fangs and the horns giving him an otherworldly and demonic countenance.
Slowly he edged close to the wagon that carried the feed for the animals. Sometimes he was lucky and could scavenge some droppings.
“Who's there?” a man called, making Jason freeze in place. He couldn’t answer, he would spook the animals into motion. “I see you there, come away from the trees!”
Move forward or run away? He dropped his head, embarrassed. He was starving, he had not eaten in days. The animal handlers sometimes took pity on him and fed him, perhaps this man would do the same. Shuffling forward, he kept his arms out at his sides, his head bowed, trying to look as unthreatening as he could.
“Well hello, what have we here? Are you man or beast?” the man stepped down from the door of the wagon and moved towards Jason. “You’re a big one, aren’t you?”
Jason kept his head down as the man circled him. He didn’t want to startle him or give him cause to fear him.
“You are quite an unnatural thing,” he said, and a hand landed on Jason’s furred arm, pressing into the golden curls. “Someone did you quite a mischief, didn’t they?”
The kindness in the man’s voice was almost Jason’s undoing. He nodded his head in big up and down motions, unmistakable as a nod. The man patted his arm and shoulder, then walked over to the wagon and picked up a large stein that was there. He went to the water bucket tied to the side of the wagon and filled it, returning to Jason and offering it to him. Gratefully and carefully, Jason took the large mug between his mittened forehooves and raised it to his lips. It clacked noisily against his fangs as he drank.
The man had kind eyes something else Jason had not seen in a long time. “Are you hungry, Big Fellow?” He nodded again as he offered the stein back to the man, bowing his head in thanks for the drink. “Well, I was about to have some beans and meat, come sit with me and share. It isn’t very fancy, but it will fill your belly.”
And so he found himself awkwardly sitting on the bottom step of the wagon, trying to daintily lick up the food from the bowl he had been given. He could not manage to hold a spoon. The food was flavorful and as filling as promised.
The man sat considering him as Jason ate a second helping he was given. “I sense a spell at work here. It makes my nose itch.” He sniffed at the air and then stuck his tongue in and out a few times. Then he pulled a face. “Oh, this is something nasty! My Auntie would never forgive me if I sent you on your way in such a state. Stay here, I will return soon.” With that, he vaulted down off the steps and ran off towards the other wagons in the distance.
He returned as Jason was licking the bowl clean. The woman with him was quite old, with hair as white as snow. She was leaning heavily on the man’s arm. “Oh my, yes. It is just as you say, my darling. I can smell the reek of it from here. Poor creature.”
“I suspect this is a man, Auntie Catherine, not a beast. He has manners and there is something in his eyes that suggests he is intelligent.”
Jason was very intelligent! He had been a scholar, before the spell had changed him and stolen books from him. He nodded at the man’s words, grateful for his insight. Perhaps he had finally found some people who could forgive his appearance and might tolerate his presence. Surely there was some work he could do to earn food and a sleeping place? He could haul water. And he could chase away thieves. And he could lure in customers.
The aunt moved closer, peering at him. “Oh this is a particularly nasty bit of business! Done by someone with no talent, probably a single spell in an amulet or vial, sold by an unscrupulous caster.” She clucked her tongue and fingered the curls at his throat and patted his furred cheek. “Well, this might be tricky, but we’ll see what we can do for you.” She turned away, talking to herself as she walked off towards a colorfully painted wagon. Noticing the man hadn’t gone with her she called, “Well, come along my darling, I’ll need you too, I can’t mix these things like I used to!”
With nothing else to do, Jason went and sat on the steps of the wagon again to wait. The sun was setting when the man emerged from the wagon alone and sauntered towards him, smiling. He stopped in front of Jason and held out a pottery mug. “You’ll need to drink that down. It probably tastes awful, our potions always do.”
Not caring what it tasted like if it works, even just enough to give him his voice back, so that he could talk and explain things and didn’t have to be away from people anymore, Jason took the cup and swallowed the thick liquid in a few gulps. His benefactor stared at him as he took the cup back.
It started as a tingling at the back of his throat and then spread quickly out and over his whole body. He would have laughed, if the pain didn’t envelop him soon after. He felt his body twisting, as it had the night his mother died when the spell had changed him. His last thought before he roared out in pain was the hope that he didn’t become something even worse.
He collapsed onto the ground and writhed there in pain as his body was transformed. He felt cold, so cold. His teeth were chattering as he wrapped his arms around himself. Realization slowly set in that he was so cold because he no longer had fur, and he was completely naked except for the mittens he’d worn over his hooves.
Excited, Jason rolled over and sat up, fumbling to get the mittens off. He held his hands up to the light from the lantern the man was holding. He had hands again. Fingers and nails instead of hooves. He touched his forearm, now covered with the normal hair a person normally had. He looked up and smiled, then let out a laugh of joy and delight. A human laugh, not the bray of a farm animal.
“Thank you!” he said, and the words came out clearly, in his old voice. “I’m me again!” he exclaimed, pressing his hands to his face and finding skin there too.
The man shrugged out of his cloak and crouched down, wrapping it around Jason. “Well, don’t let it be said that Langford and Stackhouse do shoddy potion work. I’m pleased to meet you...?”
“Jason. Jason Markham.”
“I’m Nate Stackhouse. Let’s find you some clothes and then you can tell me how you came to be wearing a fur suit, eh?” He stood and held out a hand, which Jason grasped gratefully. He was hauled to his feet, and when he swayed, Nate wrapped an arm around his shoulders to support him as they set off for his wagon.
The End