Running Jackal
Title: Running Jackal
Author: Muninn
Story: Chicago Snow
Flavors:
Word Count: 899
Rating: PG
Summary: We meet the jackal.
She pulled hard on the chin up bar, angrily pumping her arms to the tune of the heavy, throbbing baseline of techno that blared throughout the house. Sweat dripped down her face, her back, the curvature of her legs. She'd already run five miles, and barely stopped to take a breath before launching up the five flights of stairs and throwing herself at the chin up bar.
Unsatisfied with the tension, she swung from the bar into the living room of her spartan apartment, throwing herself to the floor and pushing herself off with one hand. Over and over, her muscles twitching and throbbing, she pumped up and down, in mid-air switching hands. Nothing could satisfy this lust for an outlet, like a raging river gouging a new course out of rock, she pounded the floor again and again. Finally she collapsed to her hands and knees, tears mingling with sweat that stung her eyes. Her black running shorts clung tightly to her well-muscled thighs, her white shirt plastered to her back.
Her once beautiful face was contorted with tears and rage, and she wailed on the wood floor, at once screaming and crying, at another pounding the boards with anger.
A soft tone echoed through the apartment. Her head snapped up, sniffles stifled. She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand, drawing up to one knee and then racing into the bedroom. An ornamental metal vase in the corner was the source of the soft gong sound. She was shaking, afraid when she prostrated herself in front of the vase, braids bobbing as she spoke quickly in an unearthly language.
A projection appeared above the vase, yellowy and flickering. The image of an tanned Asian woman appeared, eyes closed, lips moving and hands folded beneath her breast. Her image stopped abruptly, as the still sweating woman slid back, sitting on her heels.
"Ashka. Report." The woman spoke, voice echoing throughout the barren chamber, devoid of any insulation save a simple mat and the beaten bronze vase. The woman's projection was static, waiting for a reply, her eyes still closed.
"Ashka reporting," the kneeling woman said formally. "Target White engaged a group of humans last night at approximately 2:15 am in the vicinity of the Wrightwood Tap, scaring off seven and then pausing before frightening an injured one. Target then departed the area southward and moved too quickly to allow pursuit. Target's whereabouts currently unknown, but may be in the Cicero or Brighton Park district, based on the previous observations." Ashka took a deep breath. Her wide, full lips were dry, but she did not lick her lips or shift her position, though her legs were beginning to cramp.
"Ashka," the tanned woman spoke again, her image flickering as displeasure darkened her fair face. "We are most displeased with this report."
"I'm sorry, ma-" The image raised her small, delicate hand to silence Ashka. Once she was silent, the image folded her hand again, her loose dress flowing smoothly like water.
"You know we need White's location. We have been after you for months now. Last time you let him escape, we could not find him for a decade. We are close, and you have been lax in your duties."
"No, I have been-" The image's hand went up again. Ashka's mouth clapped shut.
"You are the fastest we have. You were assigned to follow him wherever he goes at night. We have had the highest hopes for our utilization of you since the beginning, but it seems you are incapable of this task. What is your answer for this?" The image finished, returning to her usual placid face.
"His movements have become faster, his actions more defensive. He may be more aware of our movements," Ashka spoke in earnest now, afraid. She seemed smaller, as though she was withdrawing. "I believe someone is warning him."
The image was still for a moment. When she spoke, it was much quieter than before. "Then we have a leak. You are sure you have never been observed during our conversations?"
"Certain, my lady." Ashka relaxed slightly.
"Excellent. Pursue his friends. Find his work. Do anything you need to do to find White. I will contact you tomorrow for an update." The woman in the image unfolded her hands, reaching up behind her long black hair to pull forward a large bird mask with an enormous beak. "Do not fail us, Ashka. You have been warned." She slid the mask into place and feathers began to coat her body within range of the projected image. Golden eyes flashed underneath the massive mask as the image fizzled out.
Ashka unfolded her legs, her body now cold from sweat. She bit at the corner of her fingertip, her delicate dark skin tearing between her ivory teeth. This was not supposed to happen. She slammed her fist into her thigh angrily. He was not supposed to be so easy to find, and she couldn't protect him for long. A dog barked in the distance, young and impetuous, complaining about a lack of water when there was probably a dripping hose nearby. Ashka snorted as she stood, kicking off her gym shoes and peeling off her socks as she made her way to the shower. Tonight was going to involve a lot of work.
Author: Muninn
Story: Chicago Snow
Flavors:
- Flavor of the Day (somatic)
- Cayenne #7 (combat training)
- Blueberry Cheesecake #2 (high hopes)
Word Count: 899
Rating: PG
Summary: We meet the jackal.
She pulled hard on the chin up bar, angrily pumping her arms to the tune of the heavy, throbbing baseline of techno that blared throughout the house. Sweat dripped down her face, her back, the curvature of her legs. She'd already run five miles, and barely stopped to take a breath before launching up the five flights of stairs and throwing herself at the chin up bar.
Unsatisfied with the tension, she swung from the bar into the living room of her spartan apartment, throwing herself to the floor and pushing herself off with one hand. Over and over, her muscles twitching and throbbing, she pumped up and down, in mid-air switching hands. Nothing could satisfy this lust for an outlet, like a raging river gouging a new course out of rock, she pounded the floor again and again. Finally she collapsed to her hands and knees, tears mingling with sweat that stung her eyes. Her black running shorts clung tightly to her well-muscled thighs, her white shirt plastered to her back.
Her once beautiful face was contorted with tears and rage, and she wailed on the wood floor, at once screaming and crying, at another pounding the boards with anger.
A soft tone echoed through the apartment. Her head snapped up, sniffles stifled. She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand, drawing up to one knee and then racing into the bedroom. An ornamental metal vase in the corner was the source of the soft gong sound. She was shaking, afraid when she prostrated herself in front of the vase, braids bobbing as she spoke quickly in an unearthly language.
A projection appeared above the vase, yellowy and flickering. The image of an tanned Asian woman appeared, eyes closed, lips moving and hands folded beneath her breast. Her image stopped abruptly, as the still sweating woman slid back, sitting on her heels.
"Ashka. Report." The woman spoke, voice echoing throughout the barren chamber, devoid of any insulation save a simple mat and the beaten bronze vase. The woman's projection was static, waiting for a reply, her eyes still closed.
"Ashka reporting," the kneeling woman said formally. "Target White engaged a group of humans last night at approximately 2:15 am in the vicinity of the Wrightwood Tap, scaring off seven and then pausing before frightening an injured one. Target then departed the area southward and moved too quickly to allow pursuit. Target's whereabouts currently unknown, but may be in the Cicero or Brighton Park district, based on the previous observations." Ashka took a deep breath. Her wide, full lips were dry, but she did not lick her lips or shift her position, though her legs were beginning to cramp.
"Ashka," the tanned woman spoke again, her image flickering as displeasure darkened her fair face. "We are most displeased with this report."
"I'm sorry, ma-" The image raised her small, delicate hand to silence Ashka. Once she was silent, the image folded her hand again, her loose dress flowing smoothly like water.
"You know we need White's location. We have been after you for months now. Last time you let him escape, we could not find him for a decade. We are close, and you have been lax in your duties."
"No, I have been-" The image's hand went up again. Ashka's mouth clapped shut.
"You are the fastest we have. You were assigned to follow him wherever he goes at night. We have had the highest hopes for our utilization of you since the beginning, but it seems you are incapable of this task. What is your answer for this?" The image finished, returning to her usual placid face.
"His movements have become faster, his actions more defensive. He may be more aware of our movements," Ashka spoke in earnest now, afraid. She seemed smaller, as though she was withdrawing. "I believe someone is warning him."
The image was still for a moment. When she spoke, it was much quieter than before. "Then we have a leak. You are sure you have never been observed during our conversations?"
"Certain, my lady." Ashka relaxed slightly.
"Excellent. Pursue his friends. Find his work. Do anything you need to do to find White. I will contact you tomorrow for an update." The woman in the image unfolded her hands, reaching up behind her long black hair to pull forward a large bird mask with an enormous beak. "Do not fail us, Ashka. You have been warned." She slid the mask into place and feathers began to coat her body within range of the projected image. Golden eyes flashed underneath the massive mask as the image fizzled out.
Ashka unfolded her legs, her body now cold from sweat. She bit at the corner of her fingertip, her delicate dark skin tearing between her ivory teeth. This was not supposed to happen. She slammed her fist into her thigh angrily. He was not supposed to be so easy to find, and she couldn't protect him for long. A dog barked in the distance, young and impetuous, complaining about a lack of water when there was probably a dripping hose nearby. Ashka snorted as she stood, kicking off her gym shoes and peeling off her socks as she made her way to the shower. Tonight was going to involve a lot of work.