Chapter 4 part 3
After I brought him my (soon-to-be) friend Larry, Doctor Higgins had told me to come back if I ever needed his help again, because he “finds my psyche an interesting study.” I'm not sure rather to be flattered or insulted, since I personally find Higgins to be a little creepy. But just for argument's sake, I try to be flattered.
The thing is, Archibald Higgins is a very hard person to like. His mother was a mage, but his father was a (extraordinarily oblivious) human. Higgins's abilities are comparatively mundane, just being able to move things without touching them, minor intuition, and limited mind-reading, the latter of which helps him in his job as a shrink. Not that any of that has to do with my disliking of the man. It's just that I can't stand how he views everyone other than himself as a lab specimen, something to be studied. When he's around people, he scrawls down everything you say, and he watches every move you make, and you just know he's trying to listen in to your thoughts, and identify your personality, upbringing, level of sanity, and I don't know what-all. But, if he could help Calla, I was willing to endure a bit of his staring and brain-picking for three weeks or so. After all, he's been a big help to Larry.
Larry is an interesting study. He's a werewolf, with depression, and who came from the past. That sounds kind of complicated, so let me go back a bit. At the beginning of the 1900s, he was in his early 30s, and had gone to join his father in his ancestral home in a small corner of Wales. I don't know whether the werewolf who bit him there one night was human at the time, or had only morphed halfway, or what, but whatever it was, he obviously didn't do it right. Larry couldn't morph all the way. Instead, during the full moon he turned into this weird, biped, hairy creature, not completely wolf or human. And with absolutely zero self-control. He terrorized his village, without meaning to, for about 4 months, since nobody could figure out what the heck was going on. I mean, they found tracks and stuff, but nobody could find the wolf. Then they realized it only showed up during the full moon, put two and two together (at least, as much as they were capable, since they didn't know the full story), and decided to go out during the next full moon and kill the monster. Larry was asked to be part of the hunting party. By now, he was a nervous wreck; he'd figured out what he was, and felt absolutely horrible about the innocent people he had hurt and/or killed. He had come to think of himself as a monster. Well, yes, he is; but he saw that as a bad thing. Anyway, he'd decided that the only way his soul could be saved would be for the hunters to kill him, so he intentionally separated from the others, transformed when the moon rose, and came after them, as he’d known he would. His own father had raised his gun (filled with silver bullets; it’s incredible what kind of crazy additions to myths you humans think up) and was about to shoot- when the wolf man suddenly vanished, mid-leap.
Meanwhile, on the same night, only 70 years in the future, some teenage mages were fooling around in the town cemetery, doing conjuring spells, since it was the full moon (Supposedly it's the best time for magic, when a mages powers will be at their height; personally I think I’ll believe it when I see it). And, it figured that by accident they would summon Larry. He appeared, sprawled across the coffin they'd been chanting around, snarling and growling. Terrified, the teens ran away; thankfully he was too dazed to chase after them. The next morning, having changed back into a human, he managed to get out of the cemetery and wander into the main part of town, begging anybody who came within his line of vision to kill him, and thus end the curse. That, in fact, is how we met. I was out on an investigation with Morty (this was before he became lieutenant), and Ishida gave us a call, asking us to take a break and bring in some lunatic who was causing a disturbance near the corner of Karloff and Hitchcock. So, we went and picked him up.
The moment I saw Larry, I knew he was in shock. His pupils were extremely dilated, and he staggered down the road, staring with unfocused eyes at the passing monsters. He had this awful, pained expression on his face. When he saw us, he said in a ragged voice, "Hello. Will you kill me?" He didn't even notice that we weren't exactly human, he was so far gone. Needless to say, after bringing him to the station, we searched the yellow pages for the first available psychiatrist, who happened to be Doc Higgins. And now, after almost a year of therapy, a weekly meeting with Lycanthropes Anonymous, and a special spell that helped him turn into a complete wolf every full moon, Larry seems to have adjusted to his new life. It has done him a world of good to know that he's not the only one of his kind, and that he can go through life as a werewolf without killing, or even maiming, anybody. He has a job, and a home, and even the possibility of a family in the future. He still has that tortured, agonized facial expression every once in a while, but I think that's become second nature for Larry.
Higgins lives in the middle of Elm Street, in an ancient house called The Nightmare. I don't know who came up with the idea of giving old houses names, but it's a weird one. Higgins uses The Nightmare as his office; his patients go there for appointments, so that he never has to go out, unless they schedule it as a house call. It's funny, but his house is the only one on his block that actually looks like the sort of place a monster would inhabit, and he's the only one in his neighborhood who doesn’t look at all like a monster. Everyone else has these normal-looking, modern houses, and he has this big, fancy, kind of dilapidated mansion. I wonder if he does it just to be eccentric.
It was pouring rain, and that makes for very bad flying weather, so I had to walk. I strolled down the street, lost in thought, hands in pockets. Unfortunately, my mind was so focused on the case, and its detestable suspect, that I was not paying strict attention to where I was going. Suddenly, I was hit from the front by something both small and fragile. I stepped back in surprise, and beheld a young woman, dressed in jeans, a jacket, and a T-shirt with the initials H.N.M. on it, holding a collecting tin in hand. I could see, just by observing her, that she was a hybrid Light Fae, that one of her parents had been disinherited (probably following their marriage), that she worked for a monster welfare program, and that she spent some of her time gardening. How did I know, you may ask? The first part, about her being a hybrid fae, came from her eyes. The right one was a luminous green, but the left was silver. When two different species of fae marry and have children, the children have bicolored eyes, based off what their parents are (I guess it’s because the two differing genetic materials split them, or something). Hers had been a Floran and a T'sa, respectively. And, since the T'sai are by nature mostly snobs, and discourage their offspring from associating with other species, let alone marrying them, her T'sa parent had most definitely been disowned. Also, she was generating a bit of sunlight to keep herself warm, a skill basically only possessed by Flori. The initials on her shirt stood for Help Needy Monsters, an organization that had come into being recently in Styxburg, and gives help to the tired, poor, homeless masses yearning to have a place in the monster world. H.N.M. also defends interbreeding between species, protesting against segregation and bigotry that show up every once in a while. As for the gardening, her hands were kind of tough and callused on the palms and insides of the fingers, especially on her right hand, meaning she had spent time doing manual labor. Since Flori are talented in working with plants, that could only mean work gardening.
"Sorry," I muttered, trying to push past. To my surprise and annoyance, she stepped back into my way, brandished the collecting tin, and asked, "Are you aware that every day, hundreds of monsters starve in the streets, and thousands more are shunned because they are not pure-blooded monsters, or because they are not humans?"
"Well, yes, actually, I am. Now, if you'll excuse me..." I tried to squirm past, but she was persistent.
"Your contribution could help to feed just one of the homeless for a month, or help us to pass a law against discrimination on account of species! Only twenty dollars could-"
"Sorry," I interrupted through gritted teeth, "but I can't help you right now." With that, I bent my knees, and jumped right over her. I landed gracefully on my feet, and began to walk away. Don't get me wrong, I'm for justice and everyone having a home as much as the next monster. But I hadn't got any money on me, and I hate donating to charities. They annoy me, especially the overly zealous ones. The girl, obviously not believing I had nothing to offer her, stormed after me, demanding, "Have you no pity? While you sit in your comfortable home, eating 3 square meals a day and using hot running water, tens of thousands of poor, lost souls roam the streets crying out for the most basic necessities! They-"
That did it. My dander was already up on account of the case, and all the stress I'd been experiencing today. This girl made it worse. I snapped.
Whirling around, I snarled at her, "Look, lady! I've got my own problems right now; I don't need anyone else's! And furthermore, you have no right to judge me! Now LEAVE ME ALONE!!"
The girl stepped back in shock, looking as though I had slapped her. Without another word, I stormed on my way.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Monday, July 2, 2012
TANSTAV part 12
Chapter Four part 2
"Who are you?" the troll lady inquired in Jotun.
"Tristan Wormwood, detective; your brother sent me here to look for your husband." I just barely avoided another vicious jab for my eyes by the flamingo I was holding.
Mrs. Skald's enormous hand flew to her mouth. Then she snapped at the pernicious, plastic birds, "Go back to your places! This is a guest!" I released them, and they reluctantly did as they were told, giving me a few parting hisses. Then, in what seemed to me to be a very hurried manner, she brought me inside, closing and bolting the front door behind her.
"What's the rush?" I asked.
"Nobody outside you and our family knows Gunnar is missing. We would prefer to keep it that way. He hates being in the papers."
I gave the hallway a cursory glance. The house was as large on the inside as on the outside. It was also unnaturally tidy, looking as if it had been swept, mopped, and dusted almost every day since it had first been inhabited. It reminded me of another place, one I would prefer to forget. I shoved the memory away, and ordered myself to concentrate. I looked at the gold-framed pictures on the walls, the fancy glass chandelier on the ceiling, and other such obvious displays of wealth.
"Does your desire for anonymity have anything to do with the fact that your husband is a senator, Mrs. Skald?"
The woman looked surprised.
"How on earth did you know that?"
Managing to keep my eyes from rolling, I said, "His picture is on the wall; I recognize him from the newspapers."
Her eyes strayed to the photograph I meant, and then she rumbled with soft (for a troll) laughter.
"Oh, yes. I should have realized."
I was being expected to find a missing politician. It was all I could do not to express my disgust. Don't get me wrong, I know that not all politicians are bloodsucking, greedy, unscrupulous rats. At least, I’ve heard they aren't. But, as I have mentioned, I have bad experience concerning politicians. I was not overly enthusiastic about having to retrieve one, especially since he was probably just off with another woman, or something. Though why he would leave so early in the morning, and leaving behind one of his slippers, was beyond me, unless it was just an oversight.
Mrs. Skald and I sat down in a pair of fancy armchairs in the living room. The fabric was red velvet, with golden threads woven in so as to create a pretty, swirling pattern over the furniture.
"When was the last time you saw your husband?" I asked as I made myself comfortable.
"Early this morning. We got up at the usual time, and as I fixed breakfast, he went outside to get the paper. I saw him going down the path through that window-" she indicated which one- "-and I remember turning my head to glance at the clock. I was worried that he would miss his appointment with his secretary. When I turned around again- Gunnar was gone."
She choked down a sob, and quickly dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. I got up, and went into the kitchen.
"Where exactly were you standing?" I asked.
"By the stove-right there, I think," she sniffled. I stood where she had indicated. I scanned the area- there was a frying pan still on the stove, with pieces of bacon and eggs on it, burned to ashes. I presumed they had been forgotten due to the sudden disappearance of Senator Skald. That confirmed that she was probably being truthful. I looked up, towards the window she had mentioned. I could see the cement path-and the stupid flamingos-very clearly. I returned to the living room.
"Did-does Senator Skald have any enemies?" I asked, reseating myself.
"He does have some political rivals, but-"
"Anyone who'd want to harm him?"
"Well, you could examine his list."
"What list?"
"He made one of all the people he didn't like, or who didn't like him. It was his enemies list. He kept it in his study; I'll go get it."
Hmm, an enemies list. I rather liked the sound of that. I don’t have that many enemies, but there are a few people who hate my guts. With some of them, the feeling’s mutual. I decided that I would have to write one for myself. You never know when it might come in handy.
Just in case, I accompanied Mrs. Skald upstairs. I was taking no chances on her destroying evidence, or something like that. But the troll lady didn't seem to have that intention. Either she was innocent, she had a more sinister plot planned, or she was just stupid. Regardless of which it was, Mrs. Skald gave me the list. It was on ordinary paper, written by numerous utensils, proving he'd added to it at different times of life. And, of course, it was in Jotun. But I can read that, so it was no problem. I sealed it in another baggie, which I stowed in another pocket, bid Mrs. Skald goodbye, and left, being sure to stay on the concrete path, and trying to ignore the flamingos, who glared at me as I passed by. I had two more calls to make before I could go home: Doctor Higgins's place, and Galveston, Texas, home of the most securely guarded prison of the monster world.
"Who are you?" the troll lady inquired in Jotun.
"Tristan Wormwood, detective; your brother sent me here to look for your husband." I just barely avoided another vicious jab for my eyes by the flamingo I was holding.
Mrs. Skald's enormous hand flew to her mouth. Then she snapped at the pernicious, plastic birds, "Go back to your places! This is a guest!" I released them, and they reluctantly did as they were told, giving me a few parting hisses. Then, in what seemed to me to be a very hurried manner, she brought me inside, closing and bolting the front door behind her.
"What's the rush?" I asked.
"Nobody outside you and our family knows Gunnar is missing. We would prefer to keep it that way. He hates being in the papers."
I gave the hallway a cursory glance. The house was as large on the inside as on the outside. It was also unnaturally tidy, looking as if it had been swept, mopped, and dusted almost every day since it had first been inhabited. It reminded me of another place, one I would prefer to forget. I shoved the memory away, and ordered myself to concentrate. I looked at the gold-framed pictures on the walls, the fancy glass chandelier on the ceiling, and other such obvious displays of wealth.
"Does your desire for anonymity have anything to do with the fact that your husband is a senator, Mrs. Skald?"
The woman looked surprised.
"How on earth did you know that?"
Managing to keep my eyes from rolling, I said, "His picture is on the wall; I recognize him from the newspapers."
Her eyes strayed to the photograph I meant, and then she rumbled with soft (for a troll) laughter.
"Oh, yes. I should have realized."
I was being expected to find a missing politician. It was all I could do not to express my disgust. Don't get me wrong, I know that not all politicians are bloodsucking, greedy, unscrupulous rats. At least, I’ve heard they aren't. But, as I have mentioned, I have bad experience concerning politicians. I was not overly enthusiastic about having to retrieve one, especially since he was probably just off with another woman, or something. Though why he would leave so early in the morning, and leaving behind one of his slippers, was beyond me, unless it was just an oversight.
Mrs. Skald and I sat down in a pair of fancy armchairs in the living room. The fabric was red velvet, with golden threads woven in so as to create a pretty, swirling pattern over the furniture.
"When was the last time you saw your husband?" I asked as I made myself comfortable.
"Early this morning. We got up at the usual time, and as I fixed breakfast, he went outside to get the paper. I saw him going down the path through that window-" she indicated which one- "-and I remember turning my head to glance at the clock. I was worried that he would miss his appointment with his secretary. When I turned around again- Gunnar was gone."
She choked down a sob, and quickly dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. I got up, and went into the kitchen.
"Where exactly were you standing?" I asked.
"By the stove-right there, I think," she sniffled. I stood where she had indicated. I scanned the area- there was a frying pan still on the stove, with pieces of bacon and eggs on it, burned to ashes. I presumed they had been forgotten due to the sudden disappearance of Senator Skald. That confirmed that she was probably being truthful. I looked up, towards the window she had mentioned. I could see the cement path-and the stupid flamingos-very clearly. I returned to the living room.
"Did-does Senator Skald have any enemies?" I asked, reseating myself.
"He does have some political rivals, but-"
"Anyone who'd want to harm him?"
"Well, you could examine his list."
"What list?"
"He made one of all the people he didn't like, or who didn't like him. It was his enemies list. He kept it in his study; I'll go get it."
Hmm, an enemies list. I rather liked the sound of that. I don’t have that many enemies, but there are a few people who hate my guts. With some of them, the feeling’s mutual. I decided that I would have to write one for myself. You never know when it might come in handy.
Just in case, I accompanied Mrs. Skald upstairs. I was taking no chances on her destroying evidence, or something like that. But the troll lady didn't seem to have that intention. Either she was innocent, she had a more sinister plot planned, or she was just stupid. Regardless of which it was, Mrs. Skald gave me the list. It was on ordinary paper, written by numerous utensils, proving he'd added to it at different times of life. And, of course, it was in Jotun. But I can read that, so it was no problem. I sealed it in another baggie, which I stowed in another pocket, bid Mrs. Skald goodbye, and left, being sure to stay on the concrete path, and trying to ignore the flamingos, who glared at me as I passed by. I had two more calls to make before I could go home: Doctor Higgins's place, and Galveston, Texas, home of the most securely guarded prison of the monster world.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
TANSTAV part 11
Chapter Four
I have some clues, a suspect, and a therapist appointment for Calla (to say nothing of getting attacked by flamingos)
As I traveled to the address I’d been given, I asked myself, How could someone have kidnapped a troll, anyway? At least, in the method Mr. Jorgensen described? Because it sounded like whoever had done it had been using magic. Sorry, that’s kind of a ‘duh!’ statement; whoever it was had definitely been using magic. Trolls, despite not having any powers of their own most of the time, have the inherited trait of being resistant to any magic used against them. I’m serious; you can’t put any kind of spell on them, because it’ll just bounce off or something. Besides that, trolls are really big, and powerful, so anyone who tried to capture one would probably wind up with his head torn off. And yet someone had managed to kidnap one? I’d have to see if I could smell any chloroform or potions on the scene to show how he’d been subdued.
I found the homestead of Gunnar Skald, Mr. Jorgensen's brother-in-law. It was in one of the nicer districts of town, which made sense, since Jorgensen was rich enough to afford expandable pockets. It was 3 stories tall, with 12 windows on the front of the house, a neatly-cut lawn with two pink, plastic flamingos on it, and a sign with the words HOME SWEET HOME on the front door. All nice and normal, almost human. Except, of course, that the house was twice the size of a human house, the better to accommodate trolls, HOME SWEET HOME was written in Jotun, and the flamingos had fangs. And one of them had a piece of cloth dangling from its beak. I concluded that they were magically enchanted to guard the house against trespassers. My suspicions were confirmed when they simultaneously raised their heads and hissed at me as I approached. I held up my hands defensively, to show that I meant no harm. However, their beady black eyes still watched me with clear suspicion.
As I came close to the area where the newspaper was typically thrown, I scanned the ground. I surmised that, as protection from the territorial flamingos, the newspaper monster probably tried to land it on the sidewalk, and as far away from them as possible, so I checked at the very edge of the lawn. There was no newspaper there, but presumably it had already been taken indoors. I felt some annoyance at the removal of evidence from the crime scene, but decided to let it go, considering that I had been guilty of the same thing earlier. I could smell grass, troll (which is best described as a combination of mountains and grizzly bear), the very faint whiff of newspaper, proving my deduction correct, and- At the same moment as I recognized the smell, my eyes caught two other clues that distracted me from it. Floating in the air was some magical residue. Unlike Calla's, it was red shot with black, and very oily in nature. Quickly I pulled out one of my magically enhanced baggies, and ensnared it. It beat against the plastic walls for a moment, and then sagged limply to the bottom. Odd.
The other piece of evidence was just as interesting, and I crouched on my haunches to examine it better as I stuffed the baggie in my pants pocket. It was a set of footprints in the grass that started close to the sidewalk, and then vanished. The tracks were oddly unmatched; the left was that of a cloven hoof, and the right shaped like the claws of some bird of prey.
As soon as I saw that, my hands clenched themselves into fists, and my vision became tinged with red. I knew who those tracks belonged to, all too well. So he was involved! Funny, I would have thought a petty kidnapping was beneath him, but hey, who can fathom the mind of a felon? Pulling myself together, I gave them closer scrutiny. The footprints were several hours old; I would place them at about the time of day when Mr. Skald had disappeared. That was certainly incriminating. I reached out a hand to touch the tracks, in order to see if I could learn anything else, such as how he could have been there, anyway- and was immediately set upon by those bleeping-bleep-of-a-bleep flamingos!
Let me just say that I think it is very wrong of people to keep magic attack flamingos. It is not only inconvenient and obnoxious, but it is just plain rude! The stupid things completely misunderstood my intentions, and, assuming that I was attempting to desecrate their lawn, they began trying to peck my eyes out! Of course, I began defending myself, gouging and slicing, but it is very hard to destroy plastic enchanted flamingos that keep healing themselves. Finally, as a last resort, I pulled myself to my feet, and, hands over my head, I ran like heck across the lawn, with the blighted creatures right behind me. When I reached the front door, I slammed a fist against the doorbell, and then promptly turned and grabbed one bird around the neck, and used my foot to pin the other to the ground by the throat, thus halting the attack. The one in my hand squirmed furiously, stabbing again and again at my unprotected throat. Its metal legs were braced against my chest, and I could feel some burning pain there. Regardless, I hung on for dear life. Finally, the door opened, revealing a maternal female troll, about 7’11”, with long gray fur, and red-rimmed, orange eyes. Her gigantic ring finger had a gold wedding ring on it.
"Mrs. Skald, I presume?" I panted.
As I traveled to the address I’d been given, I asked myself, How could someone have kidnapped a troll, anyway? At least, in the method Mr. Jorgensen described? Because it sounded like whoever had done it had been using magic. Sorry, that’s kind of a ‘duh!’ statement; whoever it was had definitely been using magic. Trolls, despite not having any powers of their own most of the time, have the inherited trait of being resistant to any magic used against them. I’m serious; you can’t put any kind of spell on them, because it’ll just bounce off or something. Besides that, trolls are really big, and powerful, so anyone who tried to capture one would probably wind up with his head torn off. And yet someone had managed to kidnap one? I’d have to see if I could smell any chloroform or potions on the scene to show how he’d been subdued.
I found the homestead of Gunnar Skald, Mr. Jorgensen's brother-in-law. It was in one of the nicer districts of town, which made sense, since Jorgensen was rich enough to afford expandable pockets. It was 3 stories tall, with 12 windows on the front of the house, a neatly-cut lawn with two pink, plastic flamingos on it, and a sign with the words HOME SWEET HOME on the front door. All nice and normal, almost human. Except, of course, that the house was twice the size of a human house, the better to accommodate trolls, HOME SWEET HOME was written in Jotun, and the flamingos had fangs. And one of them had a piece of cloth dangling from its beak. I concluded that they were magically enchanted to guard the house against trespassers. My suspicions were confirmed when they simultaneously raised their heads and hissed at me as I approached. I held up my hands defensively, to show that I meant no harm. However, their beady black eyes still watched me with clear suspicion.
As I came close to the area where the newspaper was typically thrown, I scanned the ground. I surmised that, as protection from the territorial flamingos, the newspaper monster probably tried to land it on the sidewalk, and as far away from them as possible, so I checked at the very edge of the lawn. There was no newspaper there, but presumably it had already been taken indoors. I felt some annoyance at the removal of evidence from the crime scene, but decided to let it go, considering that I had been guilty of the same thing earlier. I could smell grass, troll (which is best described as a combination of mountains and grizzly bear), the very faint whiff of newspaper, proving my deduction correct, and- At the same moment as I recognized the smell, my eyes caught two other clues that distracted me from it. Floating in the air was some magical residue. Unlike Calla's, it was red shot with black, and very oily in nature. Quickly I pulled out one of my magically enhanced baggies, and ensnared it. It beat against the plastic walls for a moment, and then sagged limply to the bottom. Odd.
The other piece of evidence was just as interesting, and I crouched on my haunches to examine it better as I stuffed the baggie in my pants pocket. It was a set of footprints in the grass that started close to the sidewalk, and then vanished. The tracks were oddly unmatched; the left was that of a cloven hoof, and the right shaped like the claws of some bird of prey.
As soon as I saw that, my hands clenched themselves into fists, and my vision became tinged with red. I knew who those tracks belonged to, all too well. So he was involved! Funny, I would have thought a petty kidnapping was beneath him, but hey, who can fathom the mind of a felon? Pulling myself together, I gave them closer scrutiny. The footprints were several hours old; I would place them at about the time of day when Mr. Skald had disappeared. That was certainly incriminating. I reached out a hand to touch the tracks, in order to see if I could learn anything else, such as how he could have been there, anyway- and was immediately set upon by those bleeping-bleep-of-a-bleep flamingos!
Let me just say that I think it is very wrong of people to keep magic attack flamingos. It is not only inconvenient and obnoxious, but it is just plain rude! The stupid things completely misunderstood my intentions, and, assuming that I was attempting to desecrate their lawn, they began trying to peck my eyes out! Of course, I began defending myself, gouging and slicing, but it is very hard to destroy plastic enchanted flamingos that keep healing themselves. Finally, as a last resort, I pulled myself to my feet, and, hands over my head, I ran like heck across the lawn, with the blighted creatures right behind me. When I reached the front door, I slammed a fist against the doorbell, and then promptly turned and grabbed one bird around the neck, and used my foot to pin the other to the ground by the throat, thus halting the attack. The one in my hand squirmed furiously, stabbing again and again at my unprotected throat. Its metal legs were braced against my chest, and I could feel some burning pain there. Regardless, I hung on for dear life. Finally, the door opened, revealing a maternal female troll, about 7’11”, with long gray fur, and red-rimmed, orange eyes. Her gigantic ring finger had a gold wedding ring on it.
"Mrs. Skald, I presume?" I panted.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
TANSTAV part 10
Chapter Three part 4
Kisses are like soda: wet, and kind of sticky, but every one you have makes you want more. Xen was only too happy to oblige me. After a moment, we both sat down on the sofa, and did more of this for a while. I loved the feel of her long, spider-like fingers in my hair, and being able to stroke her wings with my claws. She washed and brushed them every day, making the fur as smooth as silk. I breathed in the combined scents of wild rose and campfire smoke until I felt giddy. You might want to skip over some of this if you’re one of those people who hates maudlin sentimentality.
Soon I was lying with my head in her lap, and Xen was running her claws lightly along my face. I could hear her heart; it was jackhammering away, probably as fast as mine was. Xen's eyes were closed, and she was smiling to herself.
"What are you thinking about?" I whispered.
"Nothing much. Just feeling happy," she murmured.
"That's good."
Not very eloquent, I know. But too much talking would have ruined the moment. Xen's fingers ran along my forehead, down my nose, over my cheekbones, and smoothed my eyebrows. Next she proceeded to comb my beard with her claws. Gently she separated the many strands, disentangled knots, and tickled slightly. Every time she did I jumped, and she giggled. When she finally finished, she traced my mouth. I kissed each fingertip. (Cool science fact: the most sensory receptors of the body are the face and the fingertips. It's true for both humans and humanoid monsters, such as gargoyles.)
Next Xen lowered her head close to mine, making me quiver with anticipation; suddenly she rubbed noses with me, an Eskimo kiss. It was nice, but it was not what I had in mind. So, I lifted my head, and kissed her properly. Much better.
I could have done that forever, it seemed. I certainly would have preferred to. But suddenly, I remembered something important.
"Oh, dang it!"
"What?" Xen frowned.
"I forgot, I have a case! I have to go to the crime scene, and see if there's any evidence left!" I looked up at her guiltily, and then over at Calla's room.
"It's okay, I'll stay here and look after her until you get back," Xen promised.
"Thanks." I sat up, and used my claws to comb my hair. Xen straightened my tie for me, and then said, "Just be back soon."
"I will." With that, I kissed her goodbye, and then hurried out of the apartment.
Kisses are like soda: wet, and kind of sticky, but every one you have makes you want more. Xen was only too happy to oblige me. After a moment, we both sat down on the sofa, and did more of this for a while. I loved the feel of her long, spider-like fingers in my hair, and being able to stroke her wings with my claws. She washed and brushed them every day, making the fur as smooth as silk. I breathed in the combined scents of wild rose and campfire smoke until I felt giddy. You might want to skip over some of this if you’re one of those people who hates maudlin sentimentality.
Soon I was lying with my head in her lap, and Xen was running her claws lightly along my face. I could hear her heart; it was jackhammering away, probably as fast as mine was. Xen's eyes were closed, and she was smiling to herself.
"What are you thinking about?" I whispered.
"Nothing much. Just feeling happy," she murmured.
"That's good."
Not very eloquent, I know. But too much talking would have ruined the moment. Xen's fingers ran along my forehead, down my nose, over my cheekbones, and smoothed my eyebrows. Next she proceeded to comb my beard with her claws. Gently she separated the many strands, disentangled knots, and tickled slightly. Every time she did I jumped, and she giggled. When she finally finished, she traced my mouth. I kissed each fingertip. (Cool science fact: the most sensory receptors of the body are the face and the fingertips. It's true for both humans and humanoid monsters, such as gargoyles.)
Next Xen lowered her head close to mine, making me quiver with anticipation; suddenly she rubbed noses with me, an Eskimo kiss. It was nice, but it was not what I had in mind. So, I lifted my head, and kissed her properly. Much better.
I could have done that forever, it seemed. I certainly would have preferred to. But suddenly, I remembered something important.
"Oh, dang it!"
"What?" Xen frowned.
"I forgot, I have a case! I have to go to the crime scene, and see if there's any evidence left!" I looked up at her guiltily, and then over at Calla's room.
"It's okay, I'll stay here and look after her until you get back," Xen promised.
"Thanks." I sat up, and used my claws to comb my hair. Xen straightened my tie for me, and then said, "Just be back soon."
"I will." With that, I kissed her goodbye, and then hurried out of the apartment.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
TANSTAV part 9
Chapter Three part 3
Xenobia Keller (or Xen) is- well, technically, she's not my girlfriend. My parents disapprove of our even being friends, because she's only half-gargoyle (her father is a Yoon), and an artist, to boot. The funny thing about my family: to put it nicely, we're old-fashioned, and to put it truthfully, we're snobs. My father is this big politician in the monster world, and has these ideas about "preserving purity of the species," and "unsullied blood," and a whole bunch of rubbish like that. But, having known Xen basically all my life, I feel that species or blood doesn't matter worth a darn in this world. This difference of opinion is part of what has led to my father and I barely speaking to each other in the past two years. And, since my relationship with him is already strained, I usually avoid bringing up Xen in conversation (since he usually starts ranting about what a bad influence she is), and certainly never call her my girlfriend. If he knew the strength of our relationship, he would explode with rage. And as entertaining as that would be, he would probably disinherit me first. I like having a little money on the side for when Ishida is slow with my paycheck.
Xen, due to her Dark Fae blood, is smaller and more delicately-boned than most gargoyles, coming up to my shoulder. She hates the fact that she looks fragile, since she is personally tough as nails. Her hands and feet are rather big, and she can climb like a Yoon, which I think is awesome. Other indications of her heritage are her hair, eyes, wings, and tail. Not that there's anything odd about her having them. But her hair is red on top, and brown on the bottom. It looks like she dyes it, but she doesn't. Typically she leaves it at shoulder length, which I love. Her eyes are a beautiful shade of purple, and look huge in her small, heart-shaped face. Xen's wings are brown and furry, and her tail has brown stripes, like a lemur. Lastly, Xen has the healing powers of a Yoon; however, her blood and tears can only be used on gargoyles.
Without preamble, I swept Xen into a hug. Because of our different schedules, I hardly ever got to see her. I tried to enjoy every opportunity I got; burying my face in her hair, I inhaled the lovely scent of her wild rose shampoo. I heard her give a small, contented sigh as her fingers played with some of the hairs on the back of my neck. When we finally came apart, she said, "Good to see you too, Tristan."
"Thanks. Now...what was the question again?"
Xen rolled her eyes. "What were those people here for?"
"It's a long story. It's a small issue with a case." With that, I related the events of the day.
"Three weeks?" Xen was as flabbergasted as I had been.
"I know. But under the circumstances, it was the best deal I was likely to get out of him. I'm thinking of having her see Doc Higgins."
"The shrink?" she asked skeptically.
"He's not that bad! He helped Larry, didn't he?"
"Yeah, but he's had almost a year! It will take years for the kid to fully recover from this!"
"Ishida doesn't care how much recovered she is, just so long as she can talk to him about what happened."
"That heartless, cruel-" Xen stopped herself before she could call him something naughty. I thought he deserved it, but admired her self control.
Suddenly, Xen asked me, "When did you eat last?" She gave me a disapproving frown.
"Last night!" I protested.
"And you haven't had breakfast yet?!" Xen was horrified. "It's almost noon! I'll make you some soup."
"You don't have to-"
"Tristan, you are not starving yourself. I forbid it. Both you and Calla, when she wakes up, are going to have some food in you, if I have to break every bone in your body!"
With that, she went to the kitchen, and began digging through my cupboards. We've known each other long enough for her to do breaches of etiquette like that.
"When is the last time you went shopping?!" she scolded. I shrugged; typically I don't worry much about things like that when I'm working.
Despite my deficiencies in foodstuffs, Xen was able to scrounge up salt, pepper, an old can of chicken broth, and a cooking pot and spoon. She went to her apartment, which is next door to mine (conveniently enough), and brought back celery, a green onion, soy sauce, minced garlic, ground ginger, eggs, and noodles. Setting these down, she scrubbed down my kitchen, and then started cooking. Soon delicious smells were emanating from the pot as she tossed in and stirred different ingredients. As she stirred the soup, I came up behind her. Gently I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and then stroked her neck, feeling her shiver.
"You're beautiful," I whispered in her pointed ear. I traced her jaw with my claws.
"And you are being very distracting," Xen scolded (though she did smile).
"Sorry." Caressing the side of her face one last time, I moved away to the sofa, so I could watch her from a distance.
Finally, the soup was done. Xen ladled out two bowls, turned off the stove, and brought our dinner over, along with two spoons. After saying grace, we dug in. Let me tell you something: Xen cooks the best food I have ever eaten. She can make the simplest meal taste like heaven, just by adding a dash of pepper, or a sprig of rosemary, or something like that. If she weren't focused so much on her art, she could be one of the greatest culinary chefs of the monster world. Before I knew it, my bowl was empty, and I wanted more. I quickly went and refilled the bowl.
"Don't forget to save some for Calla," Xen admonished.
"I dunno, this is so good, we should just eat it ourselves. She need never know."
"Tristan..." Xen gave me a no-nonsense look. I grinned impudently, and after a moment, Xen did too.
I finished the second helping, and started to get up for thirds. Xen caught my tail in one hand.
"Oh, no you don't, Mister Greedyguts!"
I tried to tug free, but Xen is stronger than she looks. So instead, I turned around and scooped her up, off the sofa. Xen gave a mild exclamation of surprise, but did not seem especially displeased. In fact, when I lowered my face to hers, she seemed as happy as I was.
Xenobia Keller (or Xen) is- well, technically, she's not my girlfriend. My parents disapprove of our even being friends, because she's only half-gargoyle (her father is a Yoon), and an artist, to boot. The funny thing about my family: to put it nicely, we're old-fashioned, and to put it truthfully, we're snobs. My father is this big politician in the monster world, and has these ideas about "preserving purity of the species," and "unsullied blood," and a whole bunch of rubbish like that. But, having known Xen basically all my life, I feel that species or blood doesn't matter worth a darn in this world. This difference of opinion is part of what has led to my father and I barely speaking to each other in the past two years. And, since my relationship with him is already strained, I usually avoid bringing up Xen in conversation (since he usually starts ranting about what a bad influence she is), and certainly never call her my girlfriend. If he knew the strength of our relationship, he would explode with rage. And as entertaining as that would be, he would probably disinherit me first. I like having a little money on the side for when Ishida is slow with my paycheck.
Xen, due to her Dark Fae blood, is smaller and more delicately-boned than most gargoyles, coming up to my shoulder. She hates the fact that she looks fragile, since she is personally tough as nails. Her hands and feet are rather big, and she can climb like a Yoon, which I think is awesome. Other indications of her heritage are her hair, eyes, wings, and tail. Not that there's anything odd about her having them. But her hair is red on top, and brown on the bottom. It looks like she dyes it, but she doesn't. Typically she leaves it at shoulder length, which I love. Her eyes are a beautiful shade of purple, and look huge in her small, heart-shaped face. Xen's wings are brown and furry, and her tail has brown stripes, like a lemur. Lastly, Xen has the healing powers of a Yoon; however, her blood and tears can only be used on gargoyles.
Without preamble, I swept Xen into a hug. Because of our different schedules, I hardly ever got to see her. I tried to enjoy every opportunity I got; burying my face in her hair, I inhaled the lovely scent of her wild rose shampoo. I heard her give a small, contented sigh as her fingers played with some of the hairs on the back of my neck. When we finally came apart, she said, "Good to see you too, Tristan."
"Thanks. Now...what was the question again?"
Xen rolled her eyes. "What were those people here for?"
"It's a long story. It's a small issue with a case." With that, I related the events of the day.
"Three weeks?" Xen was as flabbergasted as I had been.
"I know. But under the circumstances, it was the best deal I was likely to get out of him. I'm thinking of having her see Doc Higgins."
"The shrink?" she asked skeptically.
"He's not that bad! He helped Larry, didn't he?"
"Yeah, but he's had almost a year! It will take years for the kid to fully recover from this!"
"Ishida doesn't care how much recovered she is, just so long as she can talk to him about what happened."
"That heartless, cruel-" Xen stopped herself before she could call him something naughty. I thought he deserved it, but admired her self control.
Suddenly, Xen asked me, "When did you eat last?" She gave me a disapproving frown.
"Last night!" I protested.
"And you haven't had breakfast yet?!" Xen was horrified. "It's almost noon! I'll make you some soup."
"You don't have to-"
"Tristan, you are not starving yourself. I forbid it. Both you and Calla, when she wakes up, are going to have some food in you, if I have to break every bone in your body!"
With that, she went to the kitchen, and began digging through my cupboards. We've known each other long enough for her to do breaches of etiquette like that.
"When is the last time you went shopping?!" she scolded. I shrugged; typically I don't worry much about things like that when I'm working.
Despite my deficiencies in foodstuffs, Xen was able to scrounge up salt, pepper, an old can of chicken broth, and a cooking pot and spoon. She went to her apartment, which is next door to mine (conveniently enough), and brought back celery, a green onion, soy sauce, minced garlic, ground ginger, eggs, and noodles. Setting these down, she scrubbed down my kitchen, and then started cooking. Soon delicious smells were emanating from the pot as she tossed in and stirred different ingredients. As she stirred the soup, I came up behind her. Gently I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and then stroked her neck, feeling her shiver.
"You're beautiful," I whispered in her pointed ear. I traced her jaw with my claws.
"And you are being very distracting," Xen scolded (though she did smile).
"Sorry." Caressing the side of her face one last time, I moved away to the sofa, so I could watch her from a distance.
Finally, the soup was done. Xen ladled out two bowls, turned off the stove, and brought our dinner over, along with two spoons. After saying grace, we dug in. Let me tell you something: Xen cooks the best food I have ever eaten. She can make the simplest meal taste like heaven, just by adding a dash of pepper, or a sprig of rosemary, or something like that. If she weren't focused so much on her art, she could be one of the greatest culinary chefs of the monster world. Before I knew it, my bowl was empty, and I wanted more. I quickly went and refilled the bowl.
"Don't forget to save some for Calla," Xen admonished.
"I dunno, this is so good, we should just eat it ourselves. She need never know."
"Tristan..." Xen gave me a no-nonsense look. I grinned impudently, and after a moment, Xen did too.
I finished the second helping, and started to get up for thirds. Xen caught my tail in one hand.
"Oh, no you don't, Mister Greedyguts!"
I tried to tug free, but Xen is stronger than she looks. So instead, I turned around and scooped her up, off the sofa. Xen gave a mild exclamation of surprise, but did not seem especially displeased. In fact, when I lowered my face to hers, she seemed as happy as I was.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
TANSTAV part 8
Chapter Three part 2
When I opened the door, I was immediately enveloped in a cloud of smoke. Through it, I could see two pairs of glowing eyes: one in red, one in moonlight. I wasn't impressed; as I have mentioned before, many monsters, including me, have glowing red eyes. Furthermore, I was relieved that there were only two of them. And one of them was Morty. However, the other was Ishida, which might present a problem. And, as they showed themselves in, my stupid tongue started acting up.
"Is there a problem, officer?"
Instantly I knew the comment was a really stupid idea. Curse your bad habit of mouthing off, Tristan!
"You think this is a JOKE, Wormwood?!" Ishida demanded, as smoke poured liberally from his nose and mouth. It was filling my living room, and giving off a terrible scent, too. He gnashed his fangs, and a few flames spurted from his nostrils.
"Ssh," I whispered, "don't wake her up!" Quickly I went to the bedroom and closed the door. Then I went back to where they were standing.
"No, Chief," I said in a calm tone, "I don't think this is a joke. I don't even think this is funny. But I do think you need to leave her alone. She's not ready to be questioned just yet."
"I beg your pardon?!" the chief bellowed. "Since when is it your place to say whether or not a suspect is ready for questioning?! You insolent-"
"She's not a suspect, technically. We know for certain that she was the one who did it. But it was in self-defense. Besides that, she's in shock, because she just accidentally killed her dad. Give her a break!"
When he heard that, Ishida stopped ranting and raving. He looked surprised.
"She what?"
"Didn't the crew tell you?"
"...No. They were too busy ranting about how you'd flouted the rules...again." Ishida gave a small, bitter laugh. "You'd better tell me what happened."
I promptly did so, overlooking no detail.
"...So you see, she needs help. A chance to recuperate, after everything that's happened. She has nobody to go to. I can look after her until she is able to look after herself." Then, hating to do it, but seeing the necessity, I added, plaintively, "Please?"
After a long, tense moment, Ishida sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. Then, slowly he nodded.
"Three weeks. In your care. She does not leave this apartment."
"Three weeks?!" I spluttered. "It will take years for her to fully recover from this!"
"We don't need her to fully recover!" Ishida snapped, "We just need her able to answer questions!"
Having no other choice, I conceded. "Deal. Thanks, boss."
"Don't mention it. I'm already jeopardizing things by allowing this. She'd better be ready by the time those weeks are out." With that, he turned and stalked towards the door, gesturing for Morty to follow. As he did, the Reaper turned to me.
"Why are you so anxious to help the kid? Do you like her, or what?"
"No!" I cried with great indignation. He chuckled, and billowed his way out. I was left alone in my dark, smoke-filled apartment.
Or, so I thought. Without warning, I caught a familiar smell. It was smoke, but not the same brimstone-kind Ishida had been emitting. It was more outdoorsy, like a campfire. The scent all gargoyles have, since our blood is basically liquid fire. However, it was also tinted by the sweet, strong tang of wild roses. A voice behind me asked, "What were they here for?" I turned, looking upon a small, ethereal female gargoyle, in short-sleeved shirt and paint-splattered jeans, wielding a paintbrush. A wide grin spread involuntarily across my face.
"Hey, Xen."
When I opened the door, I was immediately enveloped in a cloud of smoke. Through it, I could see two pairs of glowing eyes: one in red, one in moonlight. I wasn't impressed; as I have mentioned before, many monsters, including me, have glowing red eyes. Furthermore, I was relieved that there were only two of them. And one of them was Morty. However, the other was Ishida, which might present a problem. And, as they showed themselves in, my stupid tongue started acting up.
"Is there a problem, officer?"
Instantly I knew the comment was a really stupid idea. Curse your bad habit of mouthing off, Tristan!
"You think this is a JOKE, Wormwood?!" Ishida demanded, as smoke poured liberally from his nose and mouth. It was filling my living room, and giving off a terrible scent, too. He gnashed his fangs, and a few flames spurted from his nostrils.
"Ssh," I whispered, "don't wake her up!" Quickly I went to the bedroom and closed the door. Then I went back to where they were standing.
"No, Chief," I said in a calm tone, "I don't think this is a joke. I don't even think this is funny. But I do think you need to leave her alone. She's not ready to be questioned just yet."
"I beg your pardon?!" the chief bellowed. "Since when is it your place to say whether or not a suspect is ready for questioning?! You insolent-"
"She's not a suspect, technically. We know for certain that she was the one who did it. But it was in self-defense. Besides that, she's in shock, because she just accidentally killed her dad. Give her a break!"
When he heard that, Ishida stopped ranting and raving. He looked surprised.
"She what?"
"Didn't the crew tell you?"
"...No. They were too busy ranting about how you'd flouted the rules...again." Ishida gave a small, bitter laugh. "You'd better tell me what happened."
I promptly did so, overlooking no detail.
"...So you see, she needs help. A chance to recuperate, after everything that's happened. She has nobody to go to. I can look after her until she is able to look after herself." Then, hating to do it, but seeing the necessity, I added, plaintively, "Please?"
After a long, tense moment, Ishida sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. Then, slowly he nodded.
"Three weeks. In your care. She does not leave this apartment."
"Three weeks?!" I spluttered. "It will take years for her to fully recover from this!"
"We don't need her to fully recover!" Ishida snapped, "We just need her able to answer questions!"
Having no other choice, I conceded. "Deal. Thanks, boss."
"Don't mention it. I'm already jeopardizing things by allowing this. She'd better be ready by the time those weeks are out." With that, he turned and stalked towards the door, gesturing for Morty to follow. As he did, the Reaper turned to me.
"Why are you so anxious to help the kid? Do you like her, or what?"
"No!" I cried with great indignation. He chuckled, and billowed his way out. I was left alone in my dark, smoke-filled apartment.
Or, so I thought. Without warning, I caught a familiar smell. It was smoke, but not the same brimstone-kind Ishida had been emitting. It was more outdoorsy, like a campfire. The scent all gargoyles have, since our blood is basically liquid fire. However, it was also tinted by the sweet, strong tang of wild roses. A voice behind me asked, "What were they here for?" I turned, looking upon a small, ethereal female gargoyle, in short-sleeved shirt and paint-splattered jeans, wielding a paintbrush. A wide grin spread involuntarily across my face.
"Hey, Xen."
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
TANSTAV part 7
We interrupt this chapter to bring you a special exposition of a species of monster.
There are seven different species of Fae Folk, known in human culture as 'fairies'. Personally, the Folk object to that term, seeing it as degrading, and prefer to be called either fae, or the Folk. Or even, heck, the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, though those names are pretty outdated. There are two main categories: Dark Fae, which are nocturnal, and Light Fae, which are diurnal. The only things they all have in common are pointy ears, and being generally attractive, which coincidentally are some of the only things humans got right about them.
Dark Fae are typically small, not exceeding 4 feet 6 inches in height. Their eyes are much larger than most people's, and glow in the dark, sort of like a bizarre lemur. All of them have a liking for sweets, and no matter how many they eat, they never get cavities, or get fat. That is the extent of their similarities. After that, there are four variations in coloring, personality, living conditions, etc. However, their diversity makes them all the more impressive.
The most common variety (and the friendliest of the Folk in general) are the Yoons. Their eyes are bright lavender-purple, and their hair tends to be on the red side, probably thanks to their spending most of the Middle and Dark Ages in Ireland, and the United Kingdom in general. This has led to myths about leprechauns. The hands and feet of a Yoon are disproportionately large, and have microscopic clinging hooks on them, like Spider Man, enabling the Yoons to cling to virtually any surface, and climb up trees, buildings, etc, like lizards. However, the thing that distinguishes Yoons most is their miraculous healing powers. Their saliva, when applied, closes up wounds, stitching together torn skin. Their tears heal burns (and do wonders for clearing up acne), and their blood (which, incidentally, is bright green, and tastes like Granny Smith apples) cleans infections and, if swallowed, cures diseases, even the common cold. Their sweat, applied once a day, acts as a salve for bruises and black eyes. And their hair, when boiled and eaten, can protect you from malnutrition. Basically, every part of the Yoons people have dared to try so far can be used to heal, making them walking panaceas. Their only known defense is their bite, which has paralyzing venom. It can take out anything, from a fully grown troll to a minor imp, and can last anywhere up to four days, depending on the length and power of their bite. Doctors use it as a type of anesthesia in monster hospitals.
Cynes live almost exclusively underwater; they have both gills (in the sides of their necks) and lungs, and their hands and feet are webbed, helping their swimming immensely. They all have bright blue eyes, and silvery-blue blood. When wet, or at least damp, Cynes can teleport from one watery place to another. They are just as good-natured and kind as Yoons, but generally are also rather shy, so they aren't seen as often. They have often been mistaken for merfolk.
Thals are, more than anything, the basis for human ideas about dwarves. They are dark-complexioned, stocky, pragmatic, and spend most of their lives underground (traditionally). Their eyes are multifaceted, like diamonds, which can be rather disconcerting, so they mostly wear goggles or dark glasses in the presence of non-Thals. Their blood is pure white, and when allowed to harden, it becomes a unique, flexible but indestructible metal. Thals, like goats, can eat almost anything; though their particular favorite foods are flowers and pizza (don't ask me why, I don't know). They can instinctively sense minerals, especially precious ones, like gold and jewels. Thals can also call them out of the ground, and change their shape, or manipulate them in similar ways. Personally, I think that is pretty darn cool.
The last species of Dark Fae are the Ghuls, and are the only fae that can really be considered evil, or at least purposefully dangerous. In fact, Ghuls have been banished from the Folk's main home, as punishment for breaking one of their oldest taboos, and eating the flesh of other fae. Over time, they have become feral, savage beings that rob graves, and live off corpses and roadkill. This almost exclusive diet of decaying flesh has turned their skin a mottled gray, and their eyes mustard yellow with red flecks. Their other not-so-nice features are black blood, retractable saber-tooth fangs (which are in need of a dentist, incidentally), and the ability to track any scent they find appealing. Mostly Ghuls can be found lurking by highways and in graveyards after dark. During the winter, they mostly hibernate in mausoleums (warning: under no circumstances should you go into a mausoleum during the winter, or early spring for that matter, unless certain precautions are taken beforehand).
There are only three types of Light Fae, but they are just as interesting and powerful as their nocturnal counterparts. They are taller than Dark Fae, and often more pale. All of them are the basis for myths about fairies, elves, etc.
The largest species (numbers wise) is the T'sai (singular: T'sa); essentially, they are the elite members of the Folk in general, since they are the most direct descendants of Oberon and Titania, the original fae king and queen (see Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. Thanks to unrest during the French Revolution, they have long since retired from the throne, and as far as we know, are living in a condo in the Bermuda Triangle; after that, until the Council of Six was established, the Folk were ruled by their three children). T'sai are able to create optical illusions; they are not tangible, only able to give off false sights and sounds. However, that doesn't stop them from being snobs about it. The only things they can't use illusions to hide are their eyes, which are silver. So, on rare occasions when they are forced to interact with humans, T'sai mostly wear dark glasses or colored contacts. Their blood is pale pink, which disgusts them, because it's so close in color to red human blood. It's the only thing they dislike about themselves. Like I said, real snobs.
Flori (singular: Floran), on the other hand, are decent Folk. However, they like plants better than sentient species, and so are kind of reclusive, mostly living hidden in the forests and jungles, caring for growing things. Their eyes are as green as the vines and leaves they help grow, and their blood is clear as chlorophyll. Flori have a natural affinity for plant life. They can make it come up anywhere on the ground, be it dirt, stone, or concrete. However, they have never managed making plants grow in air. Furthermore, they can bring dead plants back to life just by willing them, and giving up some of their blood for them. But their coolest power, I think, is that they can generate artificial sunlight. The way they do this is by absorbing real sunlight through their skin, so they can emit it in dark places. When they do, it causes their skin and hair to have a golden glow, and turn warm. It's quite pretty.
Next to Yoons, the friendliest species of fae are the Foni (singular: Fonin). All of them have wings; they can be feathered, furry, or like some kind of insect. Their eyes are golden orange, and their blood pale purple. The Foni's power is shapeshifting. They can become any animal they want, when they want. Unfortunately, regardless of shape, their wings and eyes stay the same, so they need to be careful. Fortunately, if they shift into animals with wings, they only keep the ones they already have, and can change them a little to suit whatever creature they've become.
All the Folk, except Ghuls and T'sai, have some degree of mischievousness in their system, giving them the desire to perform harmless pranks on others. But all in all, they're a decent enough breed of monster.
And now, back to our story.
There are seven different species of Fae Folk, known in human culture as 'fairies'. Personally, the Folk object to that term, seeing it as degrading, and prefer to be called either fae, or the Folk. Or even, heck, the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, though those names are pretty outdated. There are two main categories: Dark Fae, which are nocturnal, and Light Fae, which are diurnal. The only things they all have in common are pointy ears, and being generally attractive, which coincidentally are some of the only things humans got right about them.
Dark Fae are typically small, not exceeding 4 feet 6 inches in height. Their eyes are much larger than most people's, and glow in the dark, sort of like a bizarre lemur. All of them have a liking for sweets, and no matter how many they eat, they never get cavities, or get fat. That is the extent of their similarities. After that, there are four variations in coloring, personality, living conditions, etc. However, their diversity makes them all the more impressive.
The most common variety (and the friendliest of the Folk in general) are the Yoons. Their eyes are bright lavender-purple, and their hair tends to be on the red side, probably thanks to their spending most of the Middle and Dark Ages in Ireland, and the United Kingdom in general. This has led to myths about leprechauns. The hands and feet of a Yoon are disproportionately large, and have microscopic clinging hooks on them, like Spider Man, enabling the Yoons to cling to virtually any surface, and climb up trees, buildings, etc, like lizards. However, the thing that distinguishes Yoons most is their miraculous healing powers. Their saliva, when applied, closes up wounds, stitching together torn skin. Their tears heal burns (and do wonders for clearing up acne), and their blood (which, incidentally, is bright green, and tastes like Granny Smith apples) cleans infections and, if swallowed, cures diseases, even the common cold. Their sweat, applied once a day, acts as a salve for bruises and black eyes. And their hair, when boiled and eaten, can protect you from malnutrition. Basically, every part of the Yoons people have dared to try so far can be used to heal, making them walking panaceas. Their only known defense is their bite, which has paralyzing venom. It can take out anything, from a fully grown troll to a minor imp, and can last anywhere up to four days, depending on the length and power of their bite. Doctors use it as a type of anesthesia in monster hospitals.
Cynes live almost exclusively underwater; they have both gills (in the sides of their necks) and lungs, and their hands and feet are webbed, helping their swimming immensely. They all have bright blue eyes, and silvery-blue blood. When wet, or at least damp, Cynes can teleport from one watery place to another. They are just as good-natured and kind as Yoons, but generally are also rather shy, so they aren't seen as often. They have often been mistaken for merfolk.
Thals are, more than anything, the basis for human ideas about dwarves. They are dark-complexioned, stocky, pragmatic, and spend most of their lives underground (traditionally). Their eyes are multifaceted, like diamonds, which can be rather disconcerting, so they mostly wear goggles or dark glasses in the presence of non-Thals. Their blood is pure white, and when allowed to harden, it becomes a unique, flexible but indestructible metal. Thals, like goats, can eat almost anything; though their particular favorite foods are flowers and pizza (don't ask me why, I don't know). They can instinctively sense minerals, especially precious ones, like gold and jewels. Thals can also call them out of the ground, and change their shape, or manipulate them in similar ways. Personally, I think that is pretty darn cool.
The last species of Dark Fae are the Ghuls, and are the only fae that can really be considered evil, or at least purposefully dangerous. In fact, Ghuls have been banished from the Folk's main home, as punishment for breaking one of their oldest taboos, and eating the flesh of other fae. Over time, they have become feral, savage beings that rob graves, and live off corpses and roadkill. This almost exclusive diet of decaying flesh has turned their skin a mottled gray, and their eyes mustard yellow with red flecks. Their other not-so-nice features are black blood, retractable saber-tooth fangs (which are in need of a dentist, incidentally), and the ability to track any scent they find appealing. Mostly Ghuls can be found lurking by highways and in graveyards after dark. During the winter, they mostly hibernate in mausoleums (warning: under no circumstances should you go into a mausoleum during the winter, or early spring for that matter, unless certain precautions are taken beforehand).
There are only three types of Light Fae, but they are just as interesting and powerful as their nocturnal counterparts. They are taller than Dark Fae, and often more pale. All of them are the basis for myths about fairies, elves, etc.
The largest species (numbers wise) is the T'sai (singular: T'sa); essentially, they are the elite members of the Folk in general, since they are the most direct descendants of Oberon and Titania, the original fae king and queen (see Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. Thanks to unrest during the French Revolution, they have long since retired from the throne, and as far as we know, are living in a condo in the Bermuda Triangle; after that, until the Council of Six was established, the Folk were ruled by their three children). T'sai are able to create optical illusions; they are not tangible, only able to give off false sights and sounds. However, that doesn't stop them from being snobs about it. The only things they can't use illusions to hide are their eyes, which are silver. So, on rare occasions when they are forced to interact with humans, T'sai mostly wear dark glasses or colored contacts. Their blood is pale pink, which disgusts them, because it's so close in color to red human blood. It's the only thing they dislike about themselves. Like I said, real snobs.
Flori (singular: Floran), on the other hand, are decent Folk. However, they like plants better than sentient species, and so are kind of reclusive, mostly living hidden in the forests and jungles, caring for growing things. Their eyes are as green as the vines and leaves they help grow, and their blood is clear as chlorophyll. Flori have a natural affinity for plant life. They can make it come up anywhere on the ground, be it dirt, stone, or concrete. However, they have never managed making plants grow in air. Furthermore, they can bring dead plants back to life just by willing them, and giving up some of their blood for them. But their coolest power, I think, is that they can generate artificial sunlight. The way they do this is by absorbing real sunlight through their skin, so they can emit it in dark places. When they do, it causes their skin and hair to have a golden glow, and turn warm. It's quite pretty.
Next to Yoons, the friendliest species of fae are the Foni (singular: Fonin). All of them have wings; they can be feathered, furry, or like some kind of insect. Their eyes are golden orange, and their blood pale purple. The Foni's power is shapeshifting. They can become any animal they want, when they want. Unfortunately, regardless of shape, their wings and eyes stay the same, so they need to be careful. Fortunately, if they shift into animals with wings, they only keep the ones they already have, and can change them a little to suit whatever creature they've become.
All the Folk, except Ghuls and T'sai, have some degree of mischievousness in their system, giving them the desire to perform harmless pranks on others. But all in all, they're a decent enough breed of monster.
And now, back to our story.
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