(no subject)
Prompts for the 2., 3., 4. and 5. of October.
2.10
Routine
Water splashed and dishes clinked beneath. White fluffy foam filled the sink and clung to the washer’s pale arms. Anarakan changed his grip on the brush to scrub off a particularly persistent remnant of porridge. One dip into the sink and the plate would be finished. He handed the dripping plate over.
Soundlessly white fingers grasped the side of the plate and Anarakan let go without even looking behind his back. Schizo wrapped a bright orange towel around the plate. His agile hands worked in a manner that showed practice and dedication. No matter what the malicid did, it was certain that the assassin made sure to do his best.
The orange towel was a strain on the eyes. Sitting on the counter top, Nox was attempting to discern a pattern from the twists and turns of the white stripe on the malicid’s black horns, but the mutt’s gaze kept dropping to the bright splash of colour within the malicid’s hands. Frustrated, Nox kept trying and trying to concentrate on the horns, only the horns, but to no avail. The towel would have to go, he decided. All of a sudden the plate appeared before his eyes. Giving a sheepish grin to explain his starting, Nox took the plate from Schizo and stood up on the counter.
The bat winged mutt was surprisingly agile when he balanced atop the kitchen counter, diving beneath open cupboard doors in search of the right place for the plate. Luckily the mutt was not bored enough to repeat his last antic, Anarakan thought. It had taken half the day to sort out the mutt’s various works of so called art he had constructed during the last dishwashing session. It was a small wonder how he had managed to balance more than one plate on their sides on top of each other. And the mugs! Icaros would have had a fit had he seen the predicament his favourite cup had been in. Somehow Anarakan couldn’t bring his mind over to seeing the melancholic gryphon having any sort of fit… Finding these thoughts useless, the taur turned his attention back to his work.
Gliding his hand through the water, his fingers touching the bottom of the sink, the lohard looked for the last remaining utensils. If his calculations were correct, only one spoon and one fork would be left. They were somewhere beneath all that foam.
Nox hovered on the edges of boredom. He would have loved to have seen Anarakan’s expression when the taur had noticed the constructions of last time’s work, but alas, he had been drawn to something… actually far more pleasant. His mind wandered over to the room next door, almost being able to smell the delicious aroma of… A spoon! Not again. He grabbed the spoon Schizo had held in front of his face and set work on finding the drawer he had just closed. There shouldn’t have been any more spoons left! The mutt grumbled to himself as he darted beneath a few open doors, catching his wing uncomfortably on the third. He almost fell from the counter but regained his balance, though it had brought him to a crouching position. Though it seemed to be a stroke of luck! The drawer for the spoon was right beneath his hand. Happily the mutt pulled it out, dropped the spoon into the knife section and closed the drawer. If he couldn’t do a dozen different towers from kitchen utensils, then this little prank had to do. Feeling disappointed, Nox sat again on the counter.
His rest was short. Nearly immediately a fork presented itself from the white hands of the young malicid. As Nox took it, he looked at the malicid’s face. He would have actually been quite handsome if it weren’t for those eyes… Ah well, Nox opened the same drawer and dropped the fork to its rightful spot.
With the dishes washed and the kitchen empty, Anarakan looked over to the lounge. It was quite, oddly quiet for the late evening. The taur smiled to himself and got to work preparing tomorrow’s breakfast.
684 words, 26 min
3.10.
Choice
Nox leaned nonchalantly to the kitchen doorway all the while eyeing the lounge and its current inhabitants. Who was here tonight? Bell, obviously with Dusty, the heiress was an easy sight to catch, since it seemed the whole lounge had decided that that one table was the bell’s and hers only. But no, she wasn’t what Nox was looking for, no matter how beautiful the lithe saluki was. The mutt’s pitch black eyes shifted to another white beauty. Laronna... The unicorn would have been such a catch. Nox grinned to himself, a cocksure gesture. No matter how cold and distant the ice queen seemed, Nox knew a little secret... Even now the unicorn had the laronna-flowers tied to her mane. Ah but, that meant that she had accepted them from someone. Nox eyed the surrounding males whether anyone looked particularly happy or smug about themselves... No... It seemed no one here was to be the unicorn’s bed mate tonight. Who could it be? A grey female canine was talking with her. Could it...? No, Nox was fairly certain Laronna didn’t sleep with females. Who even was that canine? An afghan hound, judging from her fur... She didn’t ring a bell in Nox’s mind, no matter how the mutt scoured his memory. Jawahir it was not, she was light yellow... The hound stepped away from Laronna and struck a pose. The unicorn looked at her expectantly. Frowning, Nox watched the afghan start to sway her hips...
Nox was hypnotized. The afghan had danced, she had danced and Nox hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her. She was still dancing, the tantalizing hips pulling at the mutt’s eyes. Only when she stopped, Nox noticed he wasn’t the only one staring. The whole lounge broke out into applause, but the afghan didn’t notice them. She was listening to Laronna, who spoke, every word said through a very rare sight, a smile.
Nox knew it.... There was no choice to it. Tonight he would get to know the dancing afghan.
339 words, 15 min
4.10.
Running
It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter. Run, far, far, far. Fast, run fast, must runfst. Fly, flee, farther, faster, faster, fly! Run! No rest, no hunger, no cold, no thirst. Only flight. Horror. Fly, flee! Run, fool, run! Hide and cover, be devoured! FLEE!
Run for your life!
No longer did the paws carry. No more could he run. No breath left in him, no more could his muscles carry. No more... It was over... It would be over. He would die.
85 words, 1 min
5.10.
Chase
The threat of falling grasped, he could almost feel an iron fist clamping to his ankle and yanking him down. The tree tops loomed over him, threatening the intruder. He had to get up. Safety in the tree tops, hiding, shelter.
Silent the hunter stalked. Not a movement wasted, not a breath drawn in vain. The hunt was on.
Shabriri had stopped at the edge of the forest.
“You go,” the gryphon had croaked to him. “You’ll get him...” The gryn had been vicious, bloodthirsty.
He tried to calm his hammering heart, flattening himself against the tree trunk, aware of all the eyes glaring at him. Every being in the forest had to know he was here.
Pacing restlessly at the edge of the forest, Shabriri hardly focused on her empathy, yet the fear of the escapee was strong. It was so strong, she couldn’t even pinpoint it. Chasing the man had been a delight. The fear fed her. His crime didn’t matter... his fear did. The mercenary paused and tried to pinpoint her partner for the seventh time today, hundredth time this week, an uncountable amount she had spent trying to find the young malicid’s emotions, but to no avail. Either he was a master of masking, or the impossible, that he didn’t have feelings...
The shadows flickered green and black against his skin. A bush rustled beneath him and he started, fearing his life to end. But it wasn’t his time... yet.
Shabriri sat and reminisced at the delicious flight of the criminal. It hadn’t taken long to get on his trail. She and her partner saw the man scampering away. They hadn’t even tried to hide themselves. They knew he couldn’t outrun them. The thought of the forest did cross her mind when they speeded to full pursuit, but it was too late to get her broad wings to turn and herd the man away from the trees. He was not stupid, the merc had to give him credit for that. But he didn’t know her partner...
He had him in his sight.
The leaves were rustling. The shadows were creeping. Light was fading. No, it wasn’t late enough. It wasn’t, or was it? Had he been sitting amidst the branches for hours, years or decades? Or just a few seconds?
He had to get out of there. It wasn’t safe. He’d stayed still for too long. Too long, too slow, too predictable. He started the slow climb down, but the shadows leapt at him from every direction. He started at the first lashes of dark, but continued his descent without pausing. The shadows grew fangs and he hastened the climb. A branch broke from beneath his feet. The man fell. The forest floor received him unceremoniously.
The hunter sneaked towards his quarry. The man had landed awkwardly, but a brief look at him confirmed that he was still alive. A whimper came from the escapees lips. He began to open his eyes. The pupils spun and searched for focus. Delirious words and fragmented sentences attempted to make themselves heard. All of a sudden it was clear that the man had regained full consciousness. His scream was evidence enough of that.
The hunter merely watched as the escapee clambered to his feet, his left leg sprained or broken, yet he tried to run with it. Fear makes men do fascinating things, the hunter thought as he almost lazily followed the lame man’s run.
Shabriri heard the commotion long before the man came to her sight. She smiled to herself. The contract said the escapee was to be alive... nothing was mentioned of his mental wellbeing. She gave out a hollow laugh as the man staggered out of the forest and sent an emphatic wave of horror at him. The man’s left leg gave way and he cried an inhuman shriek. What delight. Shabriri giggled as she closed in on him, her sick joy in the other’s suffering. The man staggered backwards and looked fearfully over his shoulder. He collapsed on the spot, fainted.
Shabriri gave gryn to her partner, the last sight the man had seen. The young malicid looked at her with those eyes, those horrible, horrible eyes...
704 words, 30 min
2.10
Routine
Water splashed and dishes clinked beneath. White fluffy foam filled the sink and clung to the washer’s pale arms. Anarakan changed his grip on the brush to scrub off a particularly persistent remnant of porridge. One dip into the sink and the plate would be finished. He handed the dripping plate over.
Soundlessly white fingers grasped the side of the plate and Anarakan let go without even looking behind his back. Schizo wrapped a bright orange towel around the plate. His agile hands worked in a manner that showed practice and dedication. No matter what the malicid did, it was certain that the assassin made sure to do his best.
The orange towel was a strain on the eyes. Sitting on the counter top, Nox was attempting to discern a pattern from the twists and turns of the white stripe on the malicid’s black horns, but the mutt’s gaze kept dropping to the bright splash of colour within the malicid’s hands. Frustrated, Nox kept trying and trying to concentrate on the horns, only the horns, but to no avail. The towel would have to go, he decided. All of a sudden the plate appeared before his eyes. Giving a sheepish grin to explain his starting, Nox took the plate from Schizo and stood up on the counter.
The bat winged mutt was surprisingly agile when he balanced atop the kitchen counter, diving beneath open cupboard doors in search of the right place for the plate. Luckily the mutt was not bored enough to repeat his last antic, Anarakan thought. It had taken half the day to sort out the mutt’s various works of so called art he had constructed during the last dishwashing session. It was a small wonder how he had managed to balance more than one plate on their sides on top of each other. And the mugs! Icaros would have had a fit had he seen the predicament his favourite cup had been in. Somehow Anarakan couldn’t bring his mind over to seeing the melancholic gryphon having any sort of fit… Finding these thoughts useless, the taur turned his attention back to his work.
Gliding his hand through the water, his fingers touching the bottom of the sink, the lohard looked for the last remaining utensils. If his calculations were correct, only one spoon and one fork would be left. They were somewhere beneath all that foam.
Nox hovered on the edges of boredom. He would have loved to have seen Anarakan’s expression when the taur had noticed the constructions of last time’s work, but alas, he had been drawn to something… actually far more pleasant. His mind wandered over to the room next door, almost being able to smell the delicious aroma of… A spoon! Not again. He grabbed the spoon Schizo had held in front of his face and set work on finding the drawer he had just closed. There shouldn’t have been any more spoons left! The mutt grumbled to himself as he darted beneath a few open doors, catching his wing uncomfortably on the third. He almost fell from the counter but regained his balance, though it had brought him to a crouching position. Though it seemed to be a stroke of luck! The drawer for the spoon was right beneath his hand. Happily the mutt pulled it out, dropped the spoon into the knife section and closed the drawer. If he couldn’t do a dozen different towers from kitchen utensils, then this little prank had to do. Feeling disappointed, Nox sat again on the counter.
His rest was short. Nearly immediately a fork presented itself from the white hands of the young malicid. As Nox took it, he looked at the malicid’s face. He would have actually been quite handsome if it weren’t for those eyes… Ah well, Nox opened the same drawer and dropped the fork to its rightful spot.
With the dishes washed and the kitchen empty, Anarakan looked over to the lounge. It was quite, oddly quiet for the late evening. The taur smiled to himself and got to work preparing tomorrow’s breakfast.
684 words, 26 min
3.10.
Choice
Nox leaned nonchalantly to the kitchen doorway all the while eyeing the lounge and its current inhabitants. Who was here tonight? Bell, obviously with Dusty, the heiress was an easy sight to catch, since it seemed the whole lounge had decided that that one table was the bell’s and hers only. But no, she wasn’t what Nox was looking for, no matter how beautiful the lithe saluki was. The mutt’s pitch black eyes shifted to another white beauty. Laronna... The unicorn would have been such a catch. Nox grinned to himself, a cocksure gesture. No matter how cold and distant the ice queen seemed, Nox knew a little secret... Even now the unicorn had the laronna-flowers tied to her mane. Ah but, that meant that she had accepted them from someone. Nox eyed the surrounding males whether anyone looked particularly happy or smug about themselves... No... It seemed no one here was to be the unicorn’s bed mate tonight. Who could it be? A grey female canine was talking with her. Could it...? No, Nox was fairly certain Laronna didn’t sleep with females. Who even was that canine? An afghan hound, judging from her fur... She didn’t ring a bell in Nox’s mind, no matter how the mutt scoured his memory. Jawahir it was not, she was light yellow... The hound stepped away from Laronna and struck a pose. The unicorn looked at her expectantly. Frowning, Nox watched the afghan start to sway her hips...
Nox was hypnotized. The afghan had danced, she had danced and Nox hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her. She was still dancing, the tantalizing hips pulling at the mutt’s eyes. Only when she stopped, Nox noticed he wasn’t the only one staring. The whole lounge broke out into applause, but the afghan didn’t notice them. She was listening to Laronna, who spoke, every word said through a very rare sight, a smile.
Nox knew it.... There was no choice to it. Tonight he would get to know the dancing afghan.
339 words, 15 min
4.10.
Running
It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter. Run, far, far, far. Fast, run fast, must runfst. Fly, flee, farther, faster, faster, fly! Run! No rest, no hunger, no cold, no thirst. Only flight. Horror. Fly, flee! Run, fool, run! Hide and cover, be devoured! FLEE!
Run for your life!
No longer did the paws carry. No more could he run. No breath left in him, no more could his muscles carry. No more... It was over... It would be over. He would die.
85 words, 1 min
5.10.
Chase
The threat of falling grasped, he could almost feel an iron fist clamping to his ankle and yanking him down. The tree tops loomed over him, threatening the intruder. He had to get up. Safety in the tree tops, hiding, shelter.
Silent the hunter stalked. Not a movement wasted, not a breath drawn in vain. The hunt was on.
Shabriri had stopped at the edge of the forest.
“You go,” the gryphon had croaked to him. “You’ll get him...” The gryn had been vicious, bloodthirsty.
He tried to calm his hammering heart, flattening himself against the tree trunk, aware of all the eyes glaring at him. Every being in the forest had to know he was here.
Pacing restlessly at the edge of the forest, Shabriri hardly focused on her empathy, yet the fear of the escapee was strong. It was so strong, she couldn’t even pinpoint it. Chasing the man had been a delight. The fear fed her. His crime didn’t matter... his fear did. The mercenary paused and tried to pinpoint her partner for the seventh time today, hundredth time this week, an uncountable amount she had spent trying to find the young malicid’s emotions, but to no avail. Either he was a master of masking, or the impossible, that he didn’t have feelings...
The shadows flickered green and black against his skin. A bush rustled beneath him and he started, fearing his life to end. But it wasn’t his time... yet.
Shabriri sat and reminisced at the delicious flight of the criminal. It hadn’t taken long to get on his trail. She and her partner saw the man scampering away. They hadn’t even tried to hide themselves. They knew he couldn’t outrun them. The thought of the forest did cross her mind when they speeded to full pursuit, but it was too late to get her broad wings to turn and herd the man away from the trees. He was not stupid, the merc had to give him credit for that. But he didn’t know her partner...
He had him in his sight.
The leaves were rustling. The shadows were creeping. Light was fading. No, it wasn’t late enough. It wasn’t, or was it? Had he been sitting amidst the branches for hours, years or decades? Or just a few seconds?
He had to get out of there. It wasn’t safe. He’d stayed still for too long. Too long, too slow, too predictable. He started the slow climb down, but the shadows leapt at him from every direction. He started at the first lashes of dark, but continued his descent without pausing. The shadows grew fangs and he hastened the climb. A branch broke from beneath his feet. The man fell. The forest floor received him unceremoniously.
The hunter sneaked towards his quarry. The man had landed awkwardly, but a brief look at him confirmed that he was still alive. A whimper came from the escapees lips. He began to open his eyes. The pupils spun and searched for focus. Delirious words and fragmented sentences attempted to make themselves heard. All of a sudden it was clear that the man had regained full consciousness. His scream was evidence enough of that.
The hunter merely watched as the escapee clambered to his feet, his left leg sprained or broken, yet he tried to run with it. Fear makes men do fascinating things, the hunter thought as he almost lazily followed the lame man’s run.
Shabriri heard the commotion long before the man came to her sight. She smiled to herself. The contract said the escapee was to be alive... nothing was mentioned of his mental wellbeing. She gave out a hollow laugh as the man staggered out of the forest and sent an emphatic wave of horror at him. The man’s left leg gave way and he cried an inhuman shriek. What delight. Shabriri giggled as she closed in on him, her sick joy in the other’s suffering. The man staggered backwards and looked fearfully over his shoulder. He collapsed on the spot, fainted.
Shabriri gave gryn to her partner, the last sight the man had seen. The young malicid looked at her with those eyes, those horrible, horrible eyes...
704 words, 30 min