Shifti - User contributions [en]

User:Azimuth/Examination no. 460

2009-07-09T03:11:49Z

Azimuth: Nobody here but us chickens

{{DEFAULTSORT:Examination #460}} [[Category:Story]] [[Category:Azimuth]] [[Category:Dragon]] [[Category:Comedy]] [[Category:Adult]] {{Comment tag}} {{XXX}}

{{author's note|Page with a different name due to technical limitations surrounding the #, hash, pound sign, or scene break. 2005 era: you may notice. Written for a brief portfolio of work I was intending to use to try and auction story commissions to willing furries. Purposefully done as an example, to display that although I can write erotic fiction, I should be allowed to avoid doing so. Meanwhile I thought this was very silly, but people enjoyed it anyway! In this, Riley and a rock become good friends, and an ancient, powerful, vaguely-draconic eldritch force does what any consenting adult would do after being trapped for a zillion years. Well, kinda...}}

{{title|name=Examination #460}}

About all that could be heard in the museum's office area at such a late hour was the ticking of the clock, a large and stately affair with a gold pendulum that didn't move and didn't actually need to. This was bad, knew Riley, because it meant that he wasn't hearing the sound of his own tapping on the computer's keyboard and, if he wasn't doing that, it meant he was getting closer and closer to his report's deadline and he wasn't writing any of it down. Naturally, if he didn't have to do any of his report, he wouldn't have decided to shut himself in his research area until way past the hours when even the curators have gone home, off to better things than wasting time, thinking about nonsense - until he realised that's what he was doing anyway. At that realisation, he stood up, gave a great sigh, and slid his chair back under the table with a screech. He needed a walk, and he had the quietest place ever to do it in, all to himself. That made him smile, actually.

He pulled at the door-latch and wandered out, torch with him because he didn't have the keys to get to the main lights circuit in the basement, nor did he fancy walking all that way. Kinda eerie, he thought, but he had his light source and so he didn't care much about it.

The place was indeed as mute as he had suspected, which was pretty standard: large rooms even in the back, no people, and no neighbours. Even if there were neighbours they'd be the sort that wouldn't be here at this hour, which meant peace, quiet, solace, and such. In fact, he could die in here and nobody would notice for at least two days; it was the start of the weekend, after all, and nobody but him had anything that would press them into overtime. Yes. He shivered and sighed. Beyond all that, it was boring as hell.

His torch found a statue in the darkness of the adjacent room, and Riley felt the need to stop in front of it. This was his report's focus, really; a strange, three foot object constructed of stone and clay. It was unclear what it was meant to be, but he did remember when it arrived: he was on hand, actually, and it hadn't been much longer than a fortnight...

A crate had come in, labelled from their digging team out in the middle of Africa somewhere; the source wasn't his business, but what was strange about it was that nothing had been sent with it to explain what it was or when they'd pulled it out or even where it was from. This was strange, and unhelpful, since it made his job harder.

Riley had been looking for a bit of extra money so he could finally throw off the shackles of work and country for a week or so and go visit family in Oz. Nice sun, nicer people, and strange coloured accents had all been part of his decision to study this unknown thing -- and he really didn't have any more news for them, which was bad, since he'd asked for a few more days to get the last bits finished and he'd not even started the 'last bits', it was just a bluff. Sigh. He leaned over the object and stared it in the whatever, trying to find another answer or so. This was his second night and he'd been doing this a lot more than he'd let on.

"Look at this, I'm willing a rock to tell me its life history." he said, nonchalantly, breaking the veil of silence over the room. Smile.

He decided he'd give it its 460th examination today, right now, planting both hands on the table beside it and leaning close. "Don't worry mister rock, I'll be back soon." nodding and heading towards the sink area, pulling some disposable forensic gloves from a box near it and slipping them on before heading back over, removing his work jacket, and rolling up his sleeves.
Riley had, though it wasn't obvious to him at this point, forgotten to put a lid on a large, mostly empty bottle of port he had in his office. This made the room smell faintly of wine turning into vinegar, and probably explained why he was talking to rocks in the early hours of a Saturday morning.

Still, he knew that he was steady as the rock he had now picked up, holding it gingerly and wandering off to the fridge, not because he felt like a snack, but because that was their pet name for the museum cold room, a nice neutral and somewhat chilly atmosphere where one was supposed to examine things like statues, relics, trinkets, and pointless bits of stone (like his!) without the risk that came from a more normal environment. Course, to avoid getting wet and cold feet, he put on wellingtons before opening the big steel door with a push of his nose on a button, smirking and watching the thing slowly open, fsssh of escaping cold air, ominous white dry-ice-like smoke. Looked like something from out of sci-fi, which thrilled Riley to bits.

The other 459 examinations had all been like this, really: Riley had to admit he was a little tipsy, but he'd done this spiel so many times that he might even have done it a few more times in his sleep and not realised, The rock seemed to change a bit when he wasn't looking, so he hadn't ruled it out. The cold room invited him and he wandered in, ignoring the thin heat jackets for now because the cold would wake him up a bit: he was feeling like yawning a little when he'd stood up, and he knew there was absolutely nothing of further interest to find of this blasted bit of stone.
Still, he was doing this to give him yet a little more to write about, so he wasn't ready for anything surprising. In fact, the only surprise he got was when his foot encountered something in the way just beneath the layers of white smoke, his other foot gave way on that useless rubber sole, and he slipped over with a shout of alarm, the statue being given its first taste of flight while Riley fell over.

Unfortunately, the young researcher knew precisely how brittle his current study was, looking back up just in time to miss its landing. The pieces were visible though, and he did swear quite loudly, and it echoed around as though the walls were swearing at his clumsiness. His boss would also do the same on Monday. He sighed. Still, at least he didn't have a report to do any more.
However, the cold whiteness of the floor started to spread away from the area of impact as a wind began to blow, getting quite strong in a manner of seconds, as smoke billowed up from the ground and spun around, and Riley just watched, quite confused. Now his hair was messed up too. Wah. It wasn't his day.

He heard a noise like a great rumble, which startled him: it wasn't quiet, nor was it his, nor was it pleasant sounding, and it really made him wish he had been to the bathroom before doing this. It settled down, seeming to enunciate into speech:

"You have freed me, mortal."

Being well versed in B movies, Riley knew that this was two things precisely: incredibly corny, and incredibly bad for him.

"In gratitude I shall set you above your peers, and put you at my right hand side. Remain kneeled, and receive your blessing," continued the voice. The smoke seemed to be coalescing slightly, although he could feel eyes upon him already, watching him, directed at him. Up to this point, he could have happily subscribed to the belief he was drunk.. but that was changed after white trails from the smoke flew at him, gripping strongly about his wrists and pulling them aside, suspending him in the air: another two gripped his feet, and instinctively Riley wriggled against it, though it was quite impossible to even begin to move his limbs. He could even see the imprints in the rubber boots pushed against his shin: it didn't hurt, but it was firm. His movie history again suggested this was even worse than really bad. But, he had two things in his favour: he wasn't female, and it didn't have tentacles.

The gloves on his hands started to feel very warm, before they actually almost felt like his hands were burning, and he shouted and wriggled at his arms uselessly, turning his head up to watch them. They were standard, white latex, and they seemed to be smoothing out over his hands.. before sharp jolts formed in his fingers and he watched as both whole hands grew, the fingers stretching and becoming misshapen, pointed at their tips, four forward and the thumb twisting and facing back as the stretchy material sunk into his skin proper. His feet started to feel warm as well, which prompted him to look down.

Held either side, his footwear was actually imploding, the rubber being pulled back up against his skin, clinging to his feet and holding them tightly, the sole and the rounded shape of the rubber boots progressively thinning, before he could see the shape of his toes, the yellow material pressing against him strangely, from boot to halfway up the shin. Then, the toes themselves bulged and the feet wiggled and got larger, the instep stretching while the toes bulged and spread out, two outer toes falling together and resulting in four large, smooth claws, menacing while actually not very sharp at all, pointed and tapered at the ends of his feet. Slightly overcome, he looked back to the whatever-it-was.

"What're you doing?! This is a blessing? I'm nobody, I- I didn't ask for this!" he spoke, jabbering on, because he really needed to say something.

The only response he was given was the feeling of rubber and latex swirling around his limbs, flowing up and along his legs and arms and then around his torso, constricting him. Eventually the two streams met at his mouth and warmed up his nose, forming into a smooth muzzle suspended a little ahead of his face, and then stretching over his nose and mouth, rubber flowing around his head and hair to keep it in place. Riley muffled a shout as his face was dragged forward to sit snugly up to the covering material, his sight disappearing as his eyes were covered by yellow and white, and so he had to just feel, while his entire form was slowly moulded around by the 'living' substances, busying themselves in claiming every square inch of his human form.

As they did so, he felt a certain sense of detachment, as his senses stopped picking anything up except for the smell of rubber, the sound of nothing, and the feel of it all over, completely ignoring his garments which had probably perished in the heat or something. Not long later, his eyes opened again without him trying: his sight had returned, and the feeling of movement was replaced by something sliding its way into him, through him from the skin down, bathing his insides in the warmth that had gone around his outside earlier. His legs were getting thicker, more suited to those large feet he had, quite powerful they felt to him, even while trapped in this grip and this 'cocoon'. Something poked its way out of his head on either side, and he could again hear!

The same seemed to be happening with his hands.. well, whatever kind of hands they were: white and stretchy with tracks of yellow beginning at the wrists. He even didn't feel as restrained any more, feeling the air on himself as though he had a second skin.. which when the pressure of the creature's grip returned to his limbs, he could see they were: his body was actively squashing under it. He bit his tongue, since he could again move his mouth, and it squished as well. The shock stripped anything he might have wanted to say just at that point, really.

Something grabbed the bottom of his spine and dragged it out, he leaning his head forward and shaking his head in contempt, before he felt himself moving his spine there, although he realised when he moved it and saw the tip barely appearing in his sight that this was a tail, and he wasn't even close to looking human any more. Well, that and being able to see his bright yellow muzzle right in front of his eyes. Kind of a giveaway.

Riley pulled at the bonds a bit while the force again pulled, this time at the back of his shoulders. Something actually connected with him there: he knew what those were, what his limbs were, what he now was - if a damn sight smoother and somewhat less 'alive'. While his wings were moulded into shape properly, and left to flop against his back, the hold on his limbs was quelled and the once-researcher was dropped to the floor, where he landed with a dull thud, the sort of thud only manageable by the two-feet drop of a shiny, supple, yellow and white, rubber-latex dragon. Impossible, thought he, but he could see, he could feel: he wasn't going to deny the basics. He also realised he'd never be able to explain this to his boss.

"Stand and be recognised as a dragon." announced the voice, while Riley shook a bit and dragged himself to his feet. They sagged a little on his weight, but that felt quite natural, and he quite able to bounce if he wished. Extending the wings tentatively, just to see what that felt like: the breeze blew right across their smooth sides like they weren't there.

".. woah. But um, um.. .. who are you anyway?"

The main question here, at least to him. He already knew that he was stuck like he was, purely from the aura this creature put out.

"I am myself. I am from long ago, when the mortal races were much newer. I have been sealed away for a very long time, even by my standard of time."

"So what do you want now that you're back?" wondered the smooth dragon. He was answered;

"Just to be free. I was used as a source of power while trapped, but I am not vengeful, and such mortals have long died. I must take a form again soon, it has been so long since mine was taken from me." he explained, carefully, as Riley spent more time examining himself, poking and prodding idly, though he was indeed listening.

"That is what you will do." it said, concisely, the mass of smoke drifting towards and enveloping the unsuspecting rubber-dragon, who looked up in surprise. "Eh?" and promptly shivered as something grabbed him and pulled at him, prying open his mouth, holding up his tail. Riley somehow knew that even as he'd lost mortality, no lunch was ever quite that free in reality, and he squirmed once more.

Then, the smoke started to flow into him, and the dragon could feel his actual movement diminishing, motor controls seeming beyond him but instead at the whims of this creature that he was absorbing, his own rubber arms twitching slightly and then their claws flexing, quite naturally, as he began to move without wanting to. Instinct told him to fight it, but actually he was being soothed: even as the creature took his body for itself, it wasn't being evil. Sure, it was putting himself above Riley, but why not; it would live forever and had unearthly powers. Nonetheless, even as it told him these things in thought, Riley felt naturally like he'd been given the hard end of the stick.

"I'm sorry. But I shall try and make it up to you." it thought back to him, stretching slightly as Riley's mind sat somewhere in free space, feeling but not acting.

The dragon sat down and then; "Feel." and ran his smoothened paw along his own belly. Riley wasn't expecting much, but if he could have he would have sat up straight and gasped at the sensitivity. It was being augmented, just for him, it made even the deific dragon shiver and shake a bit. Riley thought for not a very long time at all before he realised quite what was planned: something to make the Greek myths proud and ashamed at the same time. Something for him indeed? Without pause the dragon's paw slipped down between his legs and started to rub at himself. Riley was lucky not to have his own eyes just then, else they'd have popped out of his skull.

"Wait, you're not going to.."

The dragon pawed between its legs without care for Riley's tolerance, rubbing away and leaning back a bit, teasing at the edge of a fold of rubber that the once-human hadn't noticed was there before. Still, he could damn well feel what it was for, murmuring and being led on, unable to actually move himself at all as something poked out of the rubber sheath and instantly set upon by a single paw-finger. At least Riley was being allowed to forget about his troubles.

He sat, he felt, and he watched through the dragon's eyes while it gingerly played with its own tip, pulling a bit at the shaft as it slid out. The dragon gave a gag and let his tongue hang out; Riley felt kind of pervy really, but he wasn't even going to think about lying and saying he felt bad.

Eventually the dragon squeezed himself, moving the paw up and down, so Riley could feel that not a lot had changed for some things in the great expanse of history that this particular creature had existed through. He worked himself somewhat, licking the tip of his nose and shivering needfully. It finally occurred to Riley that if the smoke creature had been sat in that stone for a very long time, it would have been rather a long time since it had done this. The only reply the deity could come up with was to say "Not to be puerile, but the idea that mortals should enjoy procreation was based on the gods that came before." That kept him quiet.

It got faster and faster, the squeezing of the smooth rubber and its squirking against itself caused warmth, while the dragon fell on its back, turned to one side, squeezing its yellow rubbery self and pawing back and forth and back and forth again. It shook about, and Riley had stopped bothering to think independently any more, just slipping into what the dragon was thinking. It snorted rhythmically and stared ahead, tense and clinging to itself, the other hand fishing around its own tail-base absently; it was seeking a needful release.

It came, after a few minutes more, Riley far into it by then, a loud and guttural growl sounding as the dragon bucked once and then curled up, a stream of liquid rubber falling onto the floor beside it and being pumped into as it worked its way down, letting the once-human realise where he was and who he was and do the mental equivalent of a double take. If he wasn't feeling great when he began, he was certainly much better now. Not a word from him.

While Riley was getting reoriented, the dragon sat up and touched its rubber effluence. He quickly recovered, feeling it doing something and then, all his feeling disappeared, and he stopped being able to see. This was more than mildly frightening, but he waited, nowhere in space.

Meanwhile, knowingly, the deific dragon watched as a muzzle started to form out of the loose rubber that had been ejected just a few minutes ago, followed by the rest of a head. Two paws, followed by a torso. The dragon it was making now wouldn't be upright, like he was. Riley did notice he was regaining feeling in his mouth, and spoke.

".. what're you doing now?.." his eyes not yet opened.

"Something for you, like I said." it replied, smiling and pulling out a tail, as the rest of the rubber was pulled into newly forming hindpaws, leaving a lil' dragon no longer than half an arm, poking his head around in confusion, and sniffing scents through a rubber nose.

The taller dragon was quite pleased with that result, and already quite sure that Riley would have rather a lot of questions when his eyes reopened. It seemed to it that this once-human might actually be good company, which was something he hadn't noticed he'd been missing until that point. Perhaps this would be one of its better ideas after all.

{{separator}}

When the destroyed statue was found on Monday, the boss had indeed gone looking for Riley. Couldn't find him, though: nobody had seen him, his time-clock hadn't been stamped out, and the only things he'd left in the office that were at all unusual was the bottle of port turned vinegar, which woulda got him fired if he was ever seen again, and the last lines of his work report, unfinished, which just read 'on holiday, be back later'."

User:Azimuth/Examination no. 460

2009-07-09T03:10:29Z

Azimuth: #5, xxx-tagged and all that

{{DEFAULTSORT:Examination_#460}} [[Category:Story]] [[Category:Azimuth]] [[Category:Dragon]] [[Category:Comedy]] [[Category:Adult]] {{Comment tag}} {{XXX}}

{{author's note|Page with a different name due to technical limitations surrounding the #, hash, pound sign, or scene break. 2005 era: you may notice. Written for a brief portfolio of work I was intending to use to try and auction story commissions to willing furries. Purposefully done as an example, to display that although I can write erotic fiction, I should be allowed to avoid doing so. Meanwhile I thought this was very silly, but people enjoyed it anyway! In this, Riley and a rock become good friends, and an ancient, powerful, vaguely-draconic eldritch force does what any consenting adult would do after being trapped for a zillion years. Well, kinda...}}

{{title|name=Examination #460}}

About all that could be heard in the museum's office area at such a late hour was the ticking of the clock, a large and stately affair with a gold pendulum that didn't move and didn't actually need to. This was bad, knew Riley, because it meant that he wasn't hearing the sound of his own tapping on the computer's keyboard and, if he wasn't doing that, it meant he was getting closer and closer to his report's deadline and he wasn't writing any of it down. Naturally, if he didn't have to do any of his report, he wouldn't have decided to shut himself in his research area until way past the hours when even the curators have gone home, off to better things than wasting time, thinking about nonsense - until he realised that's what he was doing anyway. At that realisation, he stood up, gave a great sigh, and slid his chair back under the table with a screech. He needed a walk, and he had the quietest place ever to do it in, all to himself. That made him smile, actually.

He pulled at the door-latch and wandered out, torch with him because he didn't have the keys to get to the main lights circuit in the basement, nor did he fancy walking all that way. Kinda eerie, he thought, but he had his light source and so he didn't care much about it.

The place was indeed as mute as he had suspected, which was pretty standard: large rooms even in the back, no people, and no neighbours. Even if there were neighbours they'd be the sort that wouldn't be here at this hour, which meant peace, quiet, solace, and such. In fact, he could die in here and nobody would notice for at least two days; it was the start of the weekend, after all, and nobody but him had anything that would press them into overtime. Yes. He shivered and sighed. Beyond all that, it was boring as hell.

His torch found a statue in the darkness of the adjacent room, and Riley felt the need to stop in front of it. This was his report's focus, really; a strange, three foot object constructed of stone and clay. It was unclear what it was meant to be, but he did remember when it arrived: he was on hand, actually, and it hadn't been much longer than a fortnight...

A crate had come in, labelled from their digging team out in the middle of Africa somewhere; the source wasn't his business, but what was strange about it was that nothing had been sent with it to explain what it was or when they'd pulled it out or even where it was from. This was strange, and unhelpful, since it made his job harder.

Riley had been looking for a bit of extra money so he could finally throw off the shackles of work and country for a week or so and go visit family in Oz. Nice sun, nicer people, and strange coloured accents had all been part of his decision to study this unknown thing -- and he really didn't have any more news for them, which was bad, since he'd asked for a few more days to get the last bits finished and he'd not even started the 'last bits', it was just a bluff. Sigh. He leaned over the object and stared it in the whatever, trying to find another answer or so. This was his second night and he'd been doing this a lot more than he'd let on.

"Look at this, I'm willing a rock to tell me its life history." he said, nonchalantly, breaking the veil of silence over the room. Smile.

He decided he'd give it its 460th examination today, right now, planting both hands on the table beside it and leaning close. "Don't worry mister rock, I'll be back soon." nodding and heading towards the sink area, pulling some disposable forensic gloves from a box near it and slipping them on before heading back over, removing his work jacket, and rolling up his sleeves.
Riley had, though it wasn't obvious to him at this point, forgotten to put a lid on a large, mostly empty bottle of port he had in his office. This made the room smell faintly of wine turning into vinegar, and probably explained why he was talking to rocks in the early hours of a Saturday morning.

Still, he knew that he was steady as the rock he had now picked up, holding it gingerly and wandering off to the fridge, not because he felt like a snack, but because that was their pet name for the museum cold room, a nice neutral and somewhat chilly atmosphere where one was supposed to examine things like statues, relics, trinkets, and pointless bits of stone (like his!) without the risk that came from a more normal environment. Course, to avoid getting wet and cold feet, he put on wellingtons before opening the big steel door with a push of his nose on a button, smirking and watching the thing slowly open, fsssh of escaping cold air, ominous white dry-ice-like smoke. Looked like something from out of sci-fi, which thrilled Riley to bits.

The other 459 examinations had all been like this, really: Riley had to admit he was a little tipsy, but he'd done this spiel so many times that he might even have done it a few more times in his sleep and not realised, The rock seemed to change a bit when he wasn't looking, so he hadn't ruled it out. The cold room invited him and he wandered in, ignoring the thin heat jackets for now because the cold would wake him up a bit: he was feeling like yawning a little when he'd stood up, and he knew there was absolutely nothing of further interest to find of this blasted bit of stone.
Still, he was doing this to give him yet a little more to write about, so he wasn't ready for anything surprising. In fact, the only surprise he got was when his foot encountered something in the way just beneath the layers of white smoke, his other foot gave way on that useless rubber sole, and he slipped over with a shout of alarm, the statue being given its first taste of flight while Riley fell over.

Unfortunately, the young researcher knew precisely how brittle his current study was, looking back up just in time to miss its landing. The pieces were visible though, and he did swear quite loudly, and it echoed around as though the walls were swearing at his clumsiness. His boss would also do the same on Monday. He sighed. Still, at least he didn't have a report to do any more.
However, the cold whiteness of the floor started to spread away from the area of impact as a wind began to blow, getting quite strong in a manner of seconds, as smoke billowed up from the ground and spun around, and Riley just watched, quite confused. Now his hair was messed up too. Wah. It wasn't his day.

He heard a noise like a great rumble, which startled him: it wasn't quiet, nor was it his, nor was it pleasant sounding, and it really made him wish he had been to the bathroom before doing this. It settled down, seeming to enunciate into speech:

"You have freed me, mortal."

Being well versed in B movies, Riley knew that this was two things precisely: incredibly corny, and incredibly bad for him.

"In gratitude I shall set you above your peers, and put you at my right hand side. Remain kneeled, and receive your blessing," continued the voice. The smoke seemed to be coalescing slightly, although he could feel eyes upon him already, watching him, directed at him. Up to this point, he could have happily subscribed to the belief he was drunk.. but that was changed after white trails from the smoke flew at him, gripping strongly about his wrists and pulling them aside, suspending him in the air: another two gripped his feet, and instinctively Riley wriggled against it, though it was quite impossible to even begin to move his limbs. He could even see the imprints in the rubber boots pushed against his shin: it didn't hurt, but it was firm. His movie history again suggested this was even worse than really bad. But, he had two things in his favour: he wasn't female, and it didn't have tentacles.

The gloves on his hands started to feel very warm, before they actually almost felt like his hands were burning, and he shouted and wriggled at his arms uselessly, turning his head up to watch them. They were standard, white latex, and they seemed to be smoothing out over his hands.. before sharp jolts formed in his fingers and he watched as both whole hands grew, the fingers stretching and becoming misshapen, pointed at their tips, four forward and the thumb twisting and facing back as the stretchy material sunk into his skin proper. His feet started to feel warm as well, which prompted him to look down.

Held either side, his footwear was actually imploding, the rubber being pulled back up against his skin, clinging to his feet and holding them tightly, the sole and the rounded shape of the rubber boots progressively thinning, before he could see the shape of his toes, the yellow material pressing against him strangely, from boot to halfway up the shin. Then, the toes themselves bulged and the feet wiggled and got larger, the instep stretching while the toes bulged and spread out, two outer toes falling together and resulting in four large, smooth claws, menacing while actually not very sharp at all, pointed and tapered at the ends of his feet. Slightly overcome, he looked back to the whatever-it-was.

"What're you doing?! This is a blessing? I'm nobody, I- I didn't ask for this!" he spoke, jabbering on, because he really needed to say something.

The only response he was given was the feeling of rubber and latex swirling around his limbs, flowing up and along his legs and arms and then around his torso, constricting him. Eventually the two streams met at his mouth and warmed up his nose, forming into a smooth muzzle suspended a little ahead of his face, and then stretching over his nose and mouth, rubber flowing around his head and hair to keep it in place. Riley muffled a shout as his face was dragged forward to sit snugly up to the covering material, his sight disappearing as his eyes were covered by yellow and white, and so he had to just feel, while his entire form was slowly moulded around by the 'living' substances, busying themselves in claiming every square inch of his human form.

As they did so, he felt a certain sense of detachment, as his senses stopped picking anything up except for the smell of rubber, the sound of nothing, and the feel of it all over, completely ignoring his garments which had probably perished in the heat or something. Not long later, his eyes opened again without him trying: his sight had returned, and the feeling of movement was replaced by something sliding its way into him, through him from the skin down, bathing his insides in the warmth that had gone around his outside earlier. His legs were getting thicker, more suited to those large feet he had, quite powerful they felt to him, even while trapped in this grip and this 'cocoon'. Something poked its way out of his head on either side, and he could again hear!

The same seemed to be happening with his hands.. well, whatever kind of hands they were: white and stretchy with tracks of yellow beginning at the wrists. He even didn't feel as restrained any more, feeling the air on himself as though he had a second skin.. which when the pressure of the creature's grip returned to his limbs, he could see they were: his body was actively squashing under it. He bit his tongue, since he could again move his mouth, and it squished as well. The shock stripped anything he might have wanted to say just at that point, really.

Something grabbed the bottom of his spine and dragged it out, he leaning his head forward and shaking his head in contempt, before he felt himself moving his spine there, although he realised when he moved it and saw the tip barely appearing in his sight that this was a tail, and he wasn't even close to looking human any more. Well, that and being able to see his bright yellow muzzle right in front of his eyes. Kind of a giveaway.

Riley pulled at the bonds a bit while the force again pulled, this time at the back of his shoulders. Something actually connected with him there: he knew what those were, what his limbs were, what he now was - if a damn sight smoother and somewhat less 'alive'. While his wings were moulded into shape properly, and left to flop against his back, the hold on his limbs was quelled and the once-researcher was dropped to the floor, where he landed with a dull thud, the sort of thud only manageable by the two-feet drop of a shiny, supple, yellow and white, rubber-latex dragon. Impossible, thought he, but he could see, he could feel: he wasn't going to deny the basics. He also realised he'd never be able to explain this to his boss.

"Stand and be recognised as a dragon." announced the voice, while Riley shook a bit and dragged himself to his feet. They sagged a little on his weight, but that felt quite natural, and he quite able to bounce if he wished. Extending the wings tentatively, just to see what that felt like: the breeze blew right across their smooth sides like they weren't there.

".. woah. But um, um.. .. who are you anyway?"

The main question here, at least to him. He already knew that he was stuck like he was, purely from the aura this creature put out.

"I am myself. I am from long ago, when the mortal races were much newer. I have been sealed away for a very long time, even by my standard of time."

"So what do you want now that you're back?" wondered the smooth dragon. He was answered;

"Just to be free. I was used as a source of power while trapped, but I am not vengeful, and such mortals have long died. I must take a form again soon, it has been so long since mine was taken from me." he explained, carefully, as Riley spent more time examining himself, poking and prodding idly, though he was indeed listening.

"That is what you will do." it said, concisely, the mass of smoke drifting towards and enveloping the unsuspecting rubber-dragon, who looked up in surprise. "Eh?" and promptly shivered as something grabbed him and pulled at him, prying open his mouth, holding up his tail. Riley somehow knew that even as he'd lost mortality, no lunch was ever quite that free in reality, and he squirmed once more.

Then, the smoke started to flow into him, and the dragon could feel his actual movement diminishing, motor controls seeming beyond him but instead at the whims of this creature that he was absorbing, his own rubber arms twitching slightly and then their claws flexing, quite naturally, as he began to move without wanting to. Instinct told him to fight it, but actually he was being soothed: even as the creature took his body for itself, it wasn't being evil. Sure, it was putting himself above Riley, but why not; it would live forever and had unearthly powers. Nonetheless, even as it told him these things in thought, Riley felt naturally like he'd been given the hard end of the stick.

"I'm sorry. But I shall try and make it up to you." it thought back to him, stretching slightly as Riley's mind sat somewhere in free space, feeling but not acting.

The dragon sat down and then; "Feel." and ran his smoothened paw along his own belly. Riley wasn't expecting much, but if he could have he would have sat up straight and gasped at the sensitivity. It was being augmented, just for him, it made even the deific dragon shiver and shake a bit. Riley thought for not a very long time at all before he realised quite what was planned: something to make the Greek myths proud and ashamed at the same time. Something for him indeed? Without pause the dragon's paw slipped down between his legs and started to rub at himself. Riley was lucky not to have his own eyes just then, else they'd have popped out of his skull.

"Wait, you're not going to.."

The dragon pawed between its legs without care for Riley's tolerance, rubbing away and leaning back a bit, teasing at the edge of a fold of rubber that the once-human hadn't noticed was there before. Still, he could damn well feel what it was for, murmuring and being led on, unable to actually move himself at all as something poked out of the rubber sheath and instantly set upon by a single paw-finger. At least Riley was being allowed to forget about his troubles.

He sat, he felt, and he watched through the dragon's eyes while it gingerly played with its own tip, pulling a bit at the shaft as it slid out. The dragon gave a gag and let his tongue hang out; Riley felt kind of pervy really, but he wasn't even going to think about lying and saying he felt bad.

Eventually the dragon squeezed himself, moving the paw up and down, so Riley could feel that not a lot had changed for some things in the great expanse of history that this particular creature had existed through. He worked himself somewhat, licking the tip of his nose and shivering needfully. It finally occurred to Riley that if the smoke creature had been sat in that stone for a very long time, it would have been rather a long time since it had done this. The only reply the deity could come up with was to say "Not to be puerile, but the idea that mortals should enjoy procreation was based on the gods that came before." That kept him quiet.

It got faster and faster, the squeezing of the smooth rubber and its squirking against itself caused warmth, while the dragon fell on its back, turned to one side, squeezing its yellow rubbery self and pawing back and forth and back and forth again. It shook about, and Riley had stopped bothering to think independently any more, just slipping into what the dragon was thinking. It snorted rhythmically and stared ahead, tense and clinging to itself, the other hand fishing around its own tail-base absently; it was seeking a needful release.

It came, after a few minutes more, Riley far into it by then, a loud and guttural growl sounding as the dragon bucked once and then curled up, a stream of liquid rubber falling onto the floor beside it and being pumped into as it worked its way down, letting the once-human realise where he was and who he was and do the mental equivalent of a double take. If he wasn't feeling great when he began, he was certainly much better now. Not a word from him.

While Riley was getting reoriented, the dragon sat up and touched its rubber effluence. He quickly recovered, feeling it doing something and then, all his feeling disappeared, and he stopped being able to see. This was more than mildly frightening, but he waited, nowhere in space.

Meanwhile, knowingly, the deific dragon watched as a muzzle started to form out of the loose rubber that had been ejected just a few minutes ago, followed by the rest of a head. Two paws, followed by a torso. The dragon it was making now wouldn't be upright, like he was. Riley did notice he was regaining feeling in his mouth, and spoke.

".. what're you doing now?.." his eyes not yet opened.

"Something for you, like I said." it replied, smiling and pulling out a tail, as the rest of the rubber was pulled into newly forming hindpaws, leaving a lil' dragon no longer than half an arm, poking his head around in confusion, and sniffing scents through a rubber nose.

The taller dragon was quite pleased with that result, and already quite sure that Riley would have rather a lot of questions when his eyes reopened. It seemed to it that this once-human might actually be good company, which was something he hadn't noticed he'd been missing until that point. Perhaps this would be one of its better ideas after all.

{{separator}}

When the destroyed statue was found on Monday, the boss had indeed gone looking for Riley. Couldn't find him, though: nobody had seen him, his time-clock hadn't been stamped out, and the only things he'd left in the office that were at all unusual was the bottle of port turned vinegar, which woulda got him fired if he was ever seen again, and the last lines of his work report, unfinished, which just read 'on holiday, be back later'."

User talk:Azimuth/Andy

2009-07-09T02:51:57Z

Azimuth: reply reply

No, it doesn't need to be an external link. It's just that [[User:Bryan|Bryan]] didn't know you could format an internal link the way I've done it. Seeing as this was the first real complaint about them being external links… Well, I don't like seeing any complaints. :) -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 02:41, 9 July 2009 (UTC)

*No dice, there. I did that sneakily (by copying the template out and using the core code) before I posted one of my stories and it looks good on mouse-over, but actually gives you this:<br/>http://www.shifti.org/wiki?title=User_talk:Azimuth/Andy%3Faction%3Dedit%26section%3Dnew&action=edit&redlink=1<br/>which isn't quite right. It's a limit of the wiki software, according to Mediawiki. [[wikipedia:Template:Querylink|As per the Querylink template]] (which looks to be a styling edit only). -- [[User:Azimuth|Azimuth]] 02:51, 9 July 2009 (UTC)

Template:Comment tag

2009-07-09T02:46:43Z

Azimuth: I thought of that and tested it out, but it doesn't actually work - it'll try and make a new page called everything after the colon, as opposed to treating them as query vars.

{{float tag
|text-background=#e9ff8d
|icon=Speech balloon.png
|icon-width=30px
|text= [http://shifti.org/?title={{TALKSPACEE}}:{{PAGENAMEE}}&action=edit&section=new Add new comment] ([[{{TALKSPACE}}:{{PAGENAME}}|read old comments]])
}}

User:Azimuth/Old-Fashioned Lunacy

2009-07-09T02:15:26Z

Azimuth: #4

{{DEFAULTSORT:Old-Fashioned Lunacy}} [[Category:Story]] [[Category:Azimuth]] [[Category:Were-wolf]] [[Category:Horror]] {{Comment tag}}

{{author's note|Standalone short piece. In which I remember the existence of the #, or scene break. ;) TF fiction loves werewolves, and I had a crazy idea about an argument between the human and the wolf mental perspectives. (Actually, it wasn't quite that, but that would be an interesting narrative...) I invited the idea that a young lady, touched by the full moon month after month, might possibly imagine they actually have some way of fighting it. Inspired by pretty much every werewolf movie that's worth seeing (and a few that aren't), with a nod to Memento. I kinda liked it, which meant it didn't really grab anyone's attention when first I wrote it. Ah well.}}

{{title}}

It occurred to Jess that there shouldn't have been a little wolf prowling over her hand. Despite being impossible, she was a nice creature, white and grey with perky ears and a warm stare that made her smile. Her four canine paws felt soft and light against the palm of her hand. As compelling a daydream as it was, she was busy. A few blinks later, the wolf was still there, as if nothing had happened. Jess had never made anyone or anything disappear by blinking before, and it didn't seem she was going to be able to start now.

"Let's go outside," she said, clearly, though her little mouth didn't move at all.

Jess felt it was quite unreasonable for her to respond to a request from an imaginary wolf on her hand, and resumed whatever it was she had been doing before. Which, in all the excitement and confusion, she realised she had forgotten whatever it was she was just doing. Can't have been too important then, she guessed. A piece of paper was both helpful and not so, with some scribble on it in her handwriting.

'Don't listen to her,' it read. She had been rather in a hurry when she wrote it.

"Okay..." said the young lady, standing up and putting the imaginary wolf on her shoulder. "I think I won't. I'll stay indoors."

"So many pieces of paper telling you what to do and who to be," spoke the wolf, and Jess felt warm and faint all at the same time, her thoughts coming out as though they were steeped in warm treacle.

"Whatever happened to being free, Jess? To being alive, living for yourself?"

She stood up sharply, a hand covering her mouth as though to keep something in. The room shook around her; familiar, yet imposing. It wasn't right any more, and a loud noise sounded from under her feet, making the girl jump backwards, back against the wall, her body all tense now. It was just her chair falling over, and there was nothing to get worked up about. Nothing, really. The room was just a room, and Jess was just Jess, although with an extra headache and some trembles on the side. And the wolf on her shoulder was now a lot bigger, wrapped around her neck like a fuzzy scarf, tail dangling down onto her shirt. The little canine leaned up and whispered in her ear, more insistently this time. "I want to go ''out'', Jess."

Today was not a fine day to go crazy, Jess considered. Perhaps her mind would let her reschedule this. And yet the nagging of the wolf around her neck made some sense; she was too warm, this indoor place wasn't friendly any more. "I shouldn't, I couldn't-"

"Who says?" the wolf asked. Her voice was churlish and provocative, grating at the girl's patience carefully, with each further word. "You can do whatever you like. Go wherever you want. You don't like how life holds you back. The people at work don't respect you. But you can do something they can't. You can go out-"

Jess felt a burning in her chest as she wrenched the wolf off her shoulder, hands gripping tightly around its scruff as those small paws tried to grab onto her hair. She resisted, shaking the creature free. "I'm not going out! I don't have to listen to you."

Her fingers felt warm, and the wolf just smiled at her, infuriatingly. Even as little flecks of red trickled over her fur, and she winced and shook her tail. "Careful with those claws, pet. You don't know your own strength. But I think you're starting to get it."

Get it? Get what? Jess dropped the wolf, fur and blood and all, and looked at her hands. Very much like they'd always been, except for the sharp black points sticking out where the ends of her fingers once were. So subtle their appearance, she hadn't even noticed. Sniffing at the metallic red on her palm, that scent felt familiar. But why? What was happening to her?

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." she explained, crouching down to look at the wolf, who wiggled a bit and shook her head. "There's nothing to apologise for, since I'm not actually here." And Jess became aware that the creature on the floor wasn't a wolf. It was a cat, its features seeming to just change as it lay there, meowing and scratching at the floor. Somewhere in her forgetful mind she realised this was her cat, and then she settled down, kneeling back, smiling.

"I get it. This is a hallucination. Or a bad dream."

And suddenly Jess's thoughts were alive, perplexing and confusing ideas moving through her mind that she didn't quite understand; places, names, faces, a number of things she thought she could almost remember. Tellingly, she felt quite ashamed, since there had never been a wolf on her shoulder. It was where it had always been, of course, and that was ''inside'' her. The claws made more and more sense each second, and she licked them clean before even realising what she was doing. ''Ew'', ew, no. Of all the wrong things to do. The girl sat down, keeping her gaze away from the fresh kill, and instead focused on herself. This was all in her mind then, the wolf and the claws and the meal; this was something she could keep on top of. Whenever she heard of people having lucid dreams they tended to go off and fly, or marry famous people, or even wake up, and here she was killing her cat and keeping a wolf from going out.

The wolfy whisper crept upon her again, echoing in both ears at once, and Jess went tense. She sounded sinister, every instinct calling the tone dangerous, threatening. And yet it was sweet as could be.

"We do this every time, you and I. This is the natural game we play whenever the right night comes. Whenever the world is lit solely by the light of the full moon." Jess squeaked and closed her eyes, breathing more rapid upon hearing that ''word'', is that what this was about? Old-fashioned lunacy?

"It's all in my mind," she mumbled. The wolf laughed at her, making her stomach flutter in embarrassment.

"Oh, some of it, not all of it. I'm in your mind, I'm in your everything. I'm you, you see? Though I have never, ever cowered on the floor, scared of a little blood. Cat meat isn't great, but he should have been faster. Obviously."

Jess wasn't cowering, mumbling a protest, but the wolf went on.

"Oh, yeah. I'm you! So naturally I can do this." And the girl felt her body jump into life by itself, eyes wide now as she stood up... but she didn't want to stand up. She wasn't moving herself. Her arms and legs, they were going on their own, claws straightening her hair, legs a little unsteady. She wore no shoes, and hooked claws tapped on the floor from where her toes used to be.

"Now, I'm going out," she felt herself say, words passing through her lips. She was falling, merely a passenger now as the wolf walked her out of her bedroom, along the corridor, down the stairs. Slow, purposeful. Taunting her locomotion, now that she had it.

For a split second, Jess remembered this happening before. Many times. She wrote the note for herself a long time ago, but it never helped. She never remembered the change, nor the things she did during it, nor the things she did while she was out, and perhaps that was for the best. Less questions, less problems. Less confessing to authorities. A biological failsafe, she considered.

She was at the front door before she knew it. Pulling the bolts, turning the locks, the Jess who wasn't Jess opened the door. The moon looked on at her approvingly, evaporating her anxieties and drawing out a toothy, satisfied smile. It was almost as though the meaning of everything had been whispered to her, so soft, so perfect. The night-time greenery faded off into the distance. Scents and sounds and feelings rolled over and carried her dissenting hesitance away, to the quiet place where it usually went while the wolf was out playing. The last conscientious action she took was generous, but helpful; she closed the door behind her.

{{separator}}

A tense pressure built up all around her, making her yelp and tumble forwards. This small form wasn't right, these tiny hands and legs wouldn't do... and so they didn't, skin tearing and splitting as fur peeped out of the gaps, letting cool night air into her warm fur. Heavy, developing claws scraped away the feebleness to let her stretch, to let her breathe again. Stiff, clickity growth preceded the stretching of her arms and legs, the limbs getting leaner and yet fluffier, thick dark fur pouring over everywhere it could touch, every point it could spring out from.

There was no time for her to revel in her freedom, though, since her face was contorting forwards, flashes of necessary pain wrecking her enjoyment. Loud, inhuman howls filled the air as she complained noisily with the forming of her muzzle, heavy jaws beset with sharper, longer teeth as her nose flattened, eyes narrowing. Those small, useless ears quickly got bigger, flexing and stretching into taller flaps with fur up and down both sides. They pulled backwards, upwards, nestling against where her hair would have been if it wasn't being perpetually overran with the more wiry wolf-hide.

Her shoulders broadened and her skin thickened, her foot leaving a print before becoming longer, pushing away dirt underneath as it clenched, large and wicked, getting longer and shoving her balance forwards with a feral, lupine hunch. Balanced, not quite perfectly, but that would change with the growth of a wispy and fur-laid tail. A lingering dull ache pushed through her muscles, perhaps the changes would be quite painful to little girls but, she was a fine wolf, and a bit of change here and there never hurt anyone really - least of all her. Narrowed eyes bore no resemblance to human, and yet that was the biggest deception; even as a beast the wolf was calculating and smart. For instance, she knew how long she had out to play, and she knew where the best food was, and no cages or closing times would get in her way.

Hunger tickled at the werewolf's stomach, driving away the dull pain of metamorphosis. She pulled her soiled feet from the floor and dropped onto all fours, stretching legs before testing her agility, darting forward. The world was much quicker on fours, and she pitied the people who'd never know it. Of course, if she felt like it, she could let them know what it was like. Powerful, thoughtful ideas she had, the same as always. But that would be too much hassle, would create too much competition. She always had the option, but for now, the wolf had a dinner date. The ground was a little wet, and she left careless tracks as she ran along it, left careless sounds of breathing and running.

It didn't matter. She was over seven feet tall, nothing here could possibly challenge her.

User:Azimuth/Gemma

2009-07-09T01:53:44Z

Azimuth: #3, finally settled on a layout

{{DEFAULTSORT:Gemma}} [[Category:Story]] [[Category:Azimuth]] [[Category:Dinosaur]] [[Category:Modern_magic]] {{Comment tag}}

{{author's note|Part 3 of Esme's world, and the last of them I wrote. We're out of the shop before it even starts - but here's Gemma, a smart girl in a bad situation. Sometimes it's cathartic to set up a character before undoing them. Usually the time frame is a bit longer! I could claim naming these vignettes for their perspective character could be ruthlessly stolen from George R. R. Martin, hmm... There's plenty of potential hooks through here, and more thought than I explicitly wrote down (as ever), but nothing that really demanded to be a full story, and thus it isn't one.}}

{{title}}

Gemma woke up, and her arms were still tied to the pole. So this hadn't been any sort of dream, then. Well, drat.

Her sleeves had a few holes in them by this point. For some reason it seemed being held prisoner in a place aided the aging process of her clothing by a considerable amount. Gemma had only been here a few days, or that's what it felt like; at least the room had a window. Being transported from the shop had turned her hair white, and she had a cough, but she was very much alive.

Not stealing things from magic shops was now high on her to-do list. It was unfair, really. They could have asked her to put the statuette back, but nooo, as soon as she left the shop with it, the door had teleported her deep into time and space. And the indigenous peoples of whatever rock she'd ended up on, they seemed to know exactly what it was she'd got with her when she materialised in one of their big rooms. Quickly the item had been seized, and she had a few hundred spears in her face, and then Gemma was being led away to this room, where she would stay. Until someone decided differently, anyway.

That someone might well have been her. Over the last few days, she had come to spot imperfections in the pole she was tied to and the rope that bound her. Rubbing them together gave a nice grinding noise that sounded like progress in the making. She'd get back at that place somehow, oh yes she would. Narrow blue eyes showed her unhappiness. And yet the people of this place, they were quite fine. They fed her some sort of grains, and gave her something that seemed similar to coconut milk, and they didn't let her go but they weren't doing anything else, either. They probably didn't know how to deal with something that had just popped into existence holding what may have been a long lost rare treasure.

Admittedly, they were reptiles. That had surprised her, not just the spears they'd waved in her face, but the fact that they were all smooth-skinned and slightly feathery in places. Their faces were all weird, muzzly and smooth; their hands were nowhere near as limber as hers, which explained this form of restraint - and why she could get around it. She was in the spiritual successor to Jurassic Park and there wasn't a lot she could do about it.

But she could get free. The rope was definitely giving, bit by bit. A few hours later, it came apart in her hands, and she had to grab the pole to avoid falling backwards. Surprised, but happy, she set about the knots on her legs, but with her hands free they were quite easy to work out. Freedom! Shake some feeling back into her feet, find the door, and- run!

However, with her first two steps out of the door, her feet locked in place, and the ground underneath began to glow. Gemma looked down, uneasily, and saw there were footprints dotted outside. In two of these, her own bare feet were nestled, and they felt like they were melting, spreading out to fill the little impressions in the floor. The ground seemed alive, as thought it had been waiting for this. And nothing about the prints looked even remotely human. She yelped, and for the first time since arriving here, she felt properly scared. This wasn't the fault of her hosts - this was just her doing. Wasn't it?

A blue glow crept up the outside of her legs as she watched her feet crackle and shrink, toes squeezing together as pointed claws curved out where her toenails used to be. Somewhere between claws and talons, they glistened wetly in the squishy ground, as though the footprints had been freshly made. Gemma heard something in the back of her mind that said she had made those prints. It made no sense, but as the stiff hide began to wrap its way up her legs, it slowly seemed much more likely. The hard hide was a soft green colour, but was quickly taken over by feathers, coarse and heavy, dotting over her flanks much like a bird, but not like any she'd ever seen before.

Gemma's back crumpled up, and she lurched forwards, unable to fall over but very unbalanced. She was being scrunched like a discarded piece of paper, by relentless forces that shrunk her and tugged at her skin. Her fingers were pulled out, one by one, curving at the tips as feathers erupted down her arms, burrowing their way out and fanning into primitive wings. She was hunched over entirely now, forelimbs touching the ground and fitting perfectly into two more impressions in the soft soil. Renewed energy sprang up her arms, and Gemma felt a snarl in her throat. What sort of animal was this? She smelled it everywhere. Whatever it was, despite being much smaller than she, it felt powerful. Her clothes were getting baggy, dwarfing her small upper half. She didn't recognise her body any more. The legs bent too much and the arms weren't arms and something very rude was yanking her head out from between her shoulders.

Gritting her teeth, Gemma's neck got longer; her teeth grated and she swallowed a growl. Her hair bunched up, spreading out into a mane of feathers which travelled back down her neck, tickling her a bit. The pinna of her ears disappeared under this growth, and a throbbing pain rang through the girl's head as her nose and mouth grew forwards, lengthening and stretching to make room for sharp little teeth. She could see this new snout replacing her face, little tiny eyes squinting at the world. It was hard to think, difficult to do anything... something smelled like food nearby, but she was still rooted to the floor. That was inconvenient! Perhaps this shiny light would give her movement back and she could eat. It sounded appealing right about then.

Something was around her thoughts about escaping and freedom and whatnot, but she couldn't quite get her claws around it. Oh well, it wasn't that important now.

Piercing the back of her oversized trousers came a long, thin tail, that slowly thickened and gained a patina of feathers, much like the rest of her feathery-lizardy self. It stretched tall, much taller than she was now, and she clawed the odd cloth away from her legs so it could stretch out without hindrance. Much comfier. She felt the floor let her legs go and the little velociraptor hopped onto both legs, and tasted the good smells on the air.

Something in there was different, and something was still the same old Gemma. It all seemed strange, a bit wrong, a bit surreal. Tearing away the last of her clothes she wandered around the corridor, with high walls on either side. And then, suddenly, a number of larger creatures were upon her. They held her down and she shook and tried to throw them off, but it didn't work. Heavy straps were slung around her wings and shackles on her feet, much bigger than she could actually wear, and a little too heavy for her to just shake off, too. Hands clenched tightly around her neck, pulled her mouth up and open, and meekly Gemma stood and took it. The liquid they poured down her throat was sweet, and it dribbled on her cheeks. The leash they tied around her neck was stiff and strong, and the air smelled of metal. Gemstones began to glow, attracting her attention before she gave a low roar, as something stirred inside her soul.

The world was hot, and getting hotter. The raptor's heart beat quickly in her ears, pounding and drowning out her thoughts, simple as they were. Everything was colourful, but the sensations flowing through her began to enrage her. Gemma's claws shook and scraped the ground, docile snarls became loud and angry roars. Her skin felt like it was splitting again, as she shot upwards, head high as she gave a mangled shout. The shackles were beginning to be a better fit, her legs and wings growing. The reptile creatures were shouting their gibberish and the bindings went taut, driven deep into the ground with heavy tools. Again she was trapped, their prisoner. But it was worse than before; she had tasted freedom and then it had gone again.

This place was quickly becoming too small. Her head was forced against the ceiling, making her crouch down even more. She tried to claw at the walls but it did nothing; Gemma tried to scream at them, but that didn't seem to work either. She was becoming a large raptor, bigger than any textbook would show; the natives' rudimentary magic stretched to this level. Even while an animal, she had kept hold of the edges of intelligence, but like this she would have no use for it, and it started to slip away from her, disappearing and leaving her to the throes of pure instinct. She would still have responded to her name if they had known it, but even that was fading away, slipping beneath the rushing feathers and bone; crushed beneath her heavy taloned feet. Underneath it all was something much deeper, much less refined, truly primitive. Fear, and anger, and power. She was taller than everything here, and ever so hungry. And food was all that mattered to her right then.

Someone in the area held her leash, and they pulled on it, bringing the heavy raptor head down towards the ground level. Something bitter was inserted into her mouth, tasting of magic and sending waves through her brain. Someone, one of the creatures, wanted her to follow them. She cared not for any of that, willed her feet to tear great grooves into the tiny walls around her. And yet that didn't happen, not even a little. Powerless, unable to comprehend her subjugation, the monstrous velociraptor followed the irresistible force. Her footprints left great holes behind her, and the wall ahead crumbled as she walked into it, as though it were not there at all. Sunlight shone on the creature for the first time, but she could no longer care. Gemma would be put to good use, attacking neighbouring tribes and defending these lands. The last of her personality was gone, and so her roars were not even vengeful - just the jubilant calls of a raging beast. The bindings that had been driven into the floor came up easily under her movement.

For a beast shaped from such a small creature, she was very thick around the limbs. Still growing a little even now, her feet were each as big as one of her reptilian masters. The sweet magical liquid still hung on her tongue, fattening and toughening her up. No longer sleek and quick, she was a behemoth, more like a sauropod than a theropod. No littler raptor could have accidentally crushed someone, and yet she was doing so to anyone who did not get out of her path quickly enough. They had been nice to her - but she was beyond caring about that now. The chain about her neck hung tight as she followed the figure in front, way down below on the floor; he who held the shiny stone controlled the beast. Simple magic, but effective. No complaints, and no fuss. Just destruction.

User:Azimuth

2009-07-09T01:28:04Z

Azimuth: "Perfection, then, is a state where nothing is ever different."

{{author page}}
=Azimuth=
Hello, I'm Azimuth, I'm from the UK, and I'm a fruit bat with the oddly appropriate tendency to turn people into things via the multi-faceted art of fiction. Over nearly ten years of writing, I've had the pen-names Flashfire, Nall, Lilac, and Hazel. Now I have this one. We'll see how long it lasts.

I'm quite bad at conversations via forums and talk pages, but very good at them via email and IM. On AIM I'm '''azibat''', and if you know any of my other messenger details, great! You can use those too. On FurAffinity, I'm [http://www.furaffinity.net/user/azimuth Azimuth] as well, and that's where the vast majority of my work lives.

The scope of the transformation I write is limited to what I think up, and even then not so much. I take suggestions, if you're feeling generous, and commissions if you know exactly what you want and don't mind losing some pounds to get it. (British money, rather. My weight loss programs inevitably end in some sort of rodent transformation and ''of course'' nobody wants that...)

{{my stories}} If you're still here, you're not browsing through my story list. Part of the reason for that is because I've not compiled it yet; this page is fresh out of its protective plastic packaging, and the newness smell is disappearing fairly quickly. I'm still adding stories and if I come back here every time that's a lot of editing to clutter Recents with. So, in the meantime...

One thing I don't get enough of is critical commentary. Whether with TF stories or otherwise, I've got my eyes on submitting to short story magazines, so this becomes ever more valuable. But my sight isn't great as a bat, so all I ''can'' see is that the internet tends to somewhat enjoy everything and anything I produce. Naturally, I disagree, and I think you should too. But there's no such thing as a perfect story, and I am always quite content with the work I put out, so I hope and expect that it'll at least be fun. :) Happy reading!

[[User:Azimuth|Azimuth]] 01:13, 9 July 2009 (UTC)

User:Azimuth

2009-07-09T01:13:39Z

Azimuth: *first bio, intro, merge with SW's tags (thanks!), etc etc*

{{author page}}

Hello, I'm Azimuth, I'm from the UK, and I'm a fruit bat with the oddly appropriate tendency to turn people into things via the multi-faceted art of fiction. Over nearly ten years of writing, I've had the pen-names Flashfire, Nall, Lilac, and Hazel. Now I have this one. We'll see how long it lasts.

I'm quite bad at conversations via forums and talk pages, but very good at them via email and IM. On AIM I'm '''azibat''', and if you know any of my other messenger details, great! You can use those too. On FurAffinity, I'm [http://www.furaffinity.net/user/azimuth Azimuth] as well, and that's where the vast majority of my work lives.

The scope of the transformation I write is limited to what I think up, and even then not so much. I take suggestions, if you're feeling generous, and commissions if you know exactly what you want and don't mind losing some pounds to get it. (British money, rather. My weight loss programs inevitably end in some sort of rodent transformation and, ''of course'', nobody wants that...)

{{my stories}} If you're still here, you're not browsing through my story list. Part of the reason for that is because I've not compiled it yet; this page is fresh out of its protective plastic packaging, and the newness smell is disappearing fairly quickly. I'm still adding stories and if I come back here every time that's a lot of editing to clutter Recents with. So, in the meantime...

One thing I don't get enough of is critical commentary. Whether with TF stories or otherwise, I've got my eyes on submitting to short story magazines, so this becomes ever more valuable. But my sight isn't great as a bat, so all I ''can'' see is that the internet tends to somewhat enjoy everything and anything I produce. Naturally, I disagree, and I think you should too. But there's no such thing as a perfect story, and I am always quite content with the work I put out, so I hope and expect that it'll at least be fun. :) Happy reading!

[[User:Azimuth|Azimuth]] 01:13, 9 July 2009 (UTC)

Category:Azimuth

2009-07-09T00:34:38Z

Azimuth: Created page with '{{author category}}'

User:Azimuth/Esme

2009-07-09T00:32:23Z

Azimuth: Stop the pigeon!

{{DEFAULTSORT:Esme}} [[Category:Story]] [[Category:Azimuth]] [[Category:House_Cat]] [[Category:Modern_magic]] {{Comment tag}}

{{author's note|My first story of the 2009 crop. The aim of these short stories in the beginning was for me to dip in and out of various settings to find one I wanted to develop some more. Looking back; Esme's setting is not unique, I have some unspoken concept of how magic works, and it does admittedly go a bit "magic shop" in later stories, but I like her. She comes back, and that's always a bad sign. ;)}}

{{title}}

The sun was rising in view of the room's large glass window, and Esme was tired. It had been a long night, but the young apprentice felt really good about her latest project, stirring the contents of a huge cauldron pot. Its faint scent prickled the back of her neck, the liquid gleaming by candlelight. It was totally unnecessary, since she lived in modern times and the room did have a proper fluorescent overhead, but Esme the young witch felt it just added to the mood, you know?

She saw a slightly milky reflection of herself in the pot, her pink hair loose and unkempt, icy blue eyes tired but proud. Pink wasn't her natural, but one of her early spells had been to adopt this colour, and she quite liked it. The young lady was just over five feet high and when she had been without her bright hair, she tended to be easy to lose in crowds. Esme had not been able to perfect growth spells, and she dared not risk it - her test mice all ended up the size of badgers, and rather more purple. Soon, though, she would work it out.

But that wasn't what she had done today, no. Today was special, because her teacher had set her this one. 'Take this task and complete it with the utmost precision, Esmerelda', she had bade. But potions were like cooking, and she was quite good at that. Everything was weighed and measured, right down to the minutiae. Like all good, successful potions, the air was rank with magic; a sweet and eerie tint that made her head swim. This was its own payment for doing her teacher's errand work, which is what Esme's experience suggested this was. Even witches as famous as she have to make a living.

The young girl could taste the scent on the air, grinning to herself. Even if it usually did this, it was never quite so overpowering; here the scent took over, made her drowsy and warm. The boiler was off for the night, but she had been reduced to a simple nightshirt over the time of her potion making. Indeed, Esme was always so careful, she'd keep well away from the cauldron and just sleep soundly in her bed. But not today, no. Today was a risky business, as the shaky witch placed her hands on the rim and leaned over to take deep breaths, kicking her feet out and giggling unnaturally. Something was a little off here, certainly. Had she mixed up the instructions? That would be a first, but sometimes these things happened.

Occasionally with the magical arts, things just happened, that was how it was. Magically, they called it 'natural risk'. The inherent unpredictability of magic coupled with the complex workings of the humans who would marshal it. Or maybe that's what her textbook said - Esme just thought of it as luck. It took a certain kind of luck to perform a spell and not turn into a purple badger, although it was one of her first lessons. Be sane and sound. And above all, don't get lost in things.

Esme was definitely lost in things as she rested her weight on the cauldron lip. It was like it wasn't her; a giddier young girl had somehow stepped into her nightie and began doing these irresponsible things. Almost unreal, she would have thought, so when the obvious happened and she slipped, it was hardly her expectation that this was actually happening. Some sort of dream, perhaps, where she clambered up and fell into a potion cauldron. Slipped in, just like that, winding up in a surprised dampness at the bottom of the warm vat. The world felt heavy and Esme was wrested back into sharp reality, unable to breathe, flailing and trying to get back upright. Everything spun as she stood up, spilling some potion onto the floor; Esme gasped and held her chest, drawing breath. Panting, almost. Milky liquid dripped from her hair and trickled down her neck, and she gave a choking sigh. Carefully she tried to lift herself out, but then the potion scent stole her attention in a great assault on her senses, and she toppled out ungracefully, rubbing her head.

She oohed and aahed, making confused yelps as she suddenly became a lot warmer. The intoxicating scent came off her now, her nightie and her body soaked in the stuff, and she held her head.
(C'mon, think,) she thought. (I should... I should call for some help. Yes, that's exactly what I should do.)
It was so obvious, but her body just didn't want to go anywhere. Some of the potion was in her nose and mouth, and that would be easing its way into her system; most of it was being absorbed into her skin, a longer procedure but no less effective. Esme's sense of magic was well attuned, and as far as she could detect, something was definitely happening. It hung as an unknown, weighed through her hands and legs; it was an instinctive anticipation that made her fidget. An awkward frown fell on her features, and she found herself wishing it would just do what it was going to do already. Nonetheless, the wait made her heat up. It was too warm in here now, despite being the dead of night. Much too warm for even a nightie, and she considered pulling it off. It was wet and she'd only get more of a dose if she kept it worn.

(Oh, that's right... I was going to call for help!), she realised. Before giggling aloud, lifting her head and resting against the side of the cauldron. What was going on with her mind? Thoughts were sifting through it like water through a sieve. And all around her, this well of feeling crept up. An impending, a something. A point she was heading towards, and then a point she was on top of, turning and brushing hands against the floor, trying to stand up. And then the moment was gone, and the anticipation lifted, and Esme breathed a sigh of pent-up relief. This was it, then. A big spell for a small little girl.

It started with her skin. All at once, head to toe, Esme felt her flesh burn and ache and her hands tried to scratch the itches, but there were just too many! Like little prickles, over her chest and around her back and arms. For a few seconds she scratched, but eventually gave up, wriggling on the floor and whining. Opening her eyes she looked down her arms, seeing the sprouting fur in some confusion, fingers digging into the fluffy softness as she gasped in surprise. It was thick, luxurious, and everywhere! It was engulfing her as she watched, pressing the palms of her hands against cheeks - there too. Her nightdress felt strange pressed against it, and she fought between taking it off and staying modest. She would certainly have no problem getting lost in crowds now, for sure.

Her hands and feet began to ache too, fingers curling, resisting her attempts to stop them. Her hands seemed to get smaller under their layer of fuzz, getting softer as pads formed underneath, and she yelped as claws slid out of her fingers and toes. Meanwhile her feet got bigger; bones clicking against one another as she mumbled uncomfortably and tried to sit up again. Her thumbs felt like they were bent backwards, but she could see the dewclaws and unease filled her. She was becoming an animal? This worried her, a window of clarity in the delicious haze she'd been in since she completed the potion, and she brought her paws to her face and took deep breaths.

Perhaps a mistake, as her fur was warm with the potion's scent and she again felt detached from the world, breathing in the lovely air. Her face then felt warm and tense, as her mouth and skull shaped forwards, ears beginning to slide upwards and form fuzzy tips. The next wave of magical air hit upon developing feline senses, and her eyes left focus as she slid down to the floor, drifting along in pleasure. Whiskers pushed out of her cheeks like needles, but she was thankfully cut off from their sharp appearance. She could see them appear at the edge of her vision, where she could giggle at them and pat them with her paws.

Then Esme felt like she was being clutched very tightly. The air squeezed and her, and she coughed and curled up, flailing and hugging her knees. It was like a vice around her body, trying to crush her, although the giddy which felt that being smushed might be a wonderfully different way to spend the night. It was not that at all though, as her body gave in and began to shrink, legs and arms shrivelling and pulling in closer, head scrunched up against her body. Shuddering here and there as she compressed, smaller and smaller. The cauldron seemed pretty high, this room which was usually so small was just spreading out of control. The nightie became a blanket, and as she disappeared into it she felt trapped, and claws slid through the air, and she sliced and wriggled her way out; free! On the still air, her calls of complaint and discomfort were becoming more and more like the yowls and meows of a cat.

Most tellingly, Esme began forgetting things, as her mind tried to work out how she'd got here, and failed; the cat brain could only do so much, and she had no doubt that she was a... whatever she'd just said. Any apprehension she had at this point slipped away, as she became unable to process the idea. And yet she was still her, in as much as she didn't feel odd. Something about this form was similar now. The changes had been uncomfortable and new, but this was at equilibrium. And this was her room, for her scent was everywhere.

It was plain as soon as her legs had reached their size, thin and lithe with long feet. She could turn and wind up on all fours, and that felt natural to walk on, as she stood up for the first time and shook off a bit, fur fluffing. The parts of her that were obviously human were being rubbed away quickly and quietly; pointed ears, a smaller rear, her breasts were not so prominent but a number of teats presented themselves down her belly. Her tongue felt raspy and rough against her teeth, which were sharpening. Esme's stomach complained of being empty, but a faint warmth ran from head down her back, and culminated in the growth of a tail, weaving and working out of her rear and wrapping about to sit by her back feet.

She was white furred up and down, with a splash of pink around her head and down her back, and her eyes as bright blue as ever. The irises changed and spread, pupils turning to slits as she watched the world in a cat's light - it was quite dark, and so she had more clarity than she did before. Esme couldn't remember that much, other than she was Esme. And, strangely, she still knew what she had learned about magic. She could tell that the scent of some magic was suffused through her fur, and the cauldron, and that the magic was the same. It was a curiosity, but not one she dwelled on. More importantly, she needed to groom. So, sitting down, that is what the kitty did. Esme made herself comfortable on the remnants of her nightie, flopped over, and began grooming. And, before too long, she was napping.

When her teacher found her the next morning, she wasn't too surprised at the feline asleep in what had previously been her sleepwear. Nor would she complain - a good familiar was really quite hard to come by these days.

User:Azimuth/Andy

2009-07-09T00:30:33Z

Azimuth: another story, playing with formatting, wishing comment tag didn't trip the spam captcha but it can only be an external link...

{{DEFAULTSORT:Andy}} [[Category:Story]] [[Category:Azimuth]] [[Category:Rat]] [[Category:Modern_magic]] {{Comment tag}}

{{author's note|Here we learn I'm not very good with titles - or names, for that matter. Maybe I'll work some alternate out later, but we're stuck with Andy. I'm back in [[User:Azimuth/Esme|Esme]]'s world again, and she's playing the omniscient silent cat type that I like just a bit too much. Can't have a good modern magic setting without a proper magic shop, right? More characterisation practice, a few signs I've read The Witches one too many times, a nice friendly 'antagonist'...}}

{{title}}

It seemed that Andy's neighbourhood just wasn't one that lent itself to part time work. Winter was out in force, a rather austere Christmas had just passed, and the young ex-college student was really feeling out of sorts. He'd been laid off recently from his last job, and time was running out before the beginning of the next semester. Andy really didn't want to have to give up and go home, but that's what would happen if his luck didn't turn around soon. His local newspaper's classifieds section had crosses and pen-marks all over, and was now quite hard to read. Stressful times.

Today, the 28 year old was out again. He looked pretty fine, if he said so himself; sharp suit, low-key tie, worked well against grey eyes and dark skin. He also had curly brown hair that always proved hard to tame, but sat neatly to attention. The interview was half an hour from now, both to give him time to unwind and to offset any bad luck that might mock him. Andy had a good feeling about today's interview, and he wasn't going to let a useless bus service get in the way of that.

'Cassandra's Curatorium,' said the sign above the door. He didn't know what that last word meant, but suspected it wasn't what the owner had thought. The decor of the little shop was pulled straight out of the 1800s. Perhaps getting here a few hundred years too early was overdoing it, he thought. Grimacing at himself. Ha ha, lame jokes to calm his nerves. Being as early as he was, Andy thought it would be good to have a browse first. The sign was written in a heavy font he could barely read, but after some deciphering he worked out that it said 'Open'. So in he went.

A bell jingled above, and the smell of rose petals was thick on the air, like a garden was in full bloom inside the crowded store. There weren't many flowers on view though - mostly it looked like a room full of antiques. Large rows of candles sat to one side, while the back was full of various things; mirrors, bracelets, necklaces, books. Small fuzzy sheep figurines with clockwork keys spun around one another, their feet attached to rotating discs. A tall, wall-hanging plate of coloured crystal glinted a thousand different ways as Andy walked past it, looking at his bizarrely complex reflection. Spinning machines took beads and wove them with string, creating random necklaces which fell with a clatter onto a clockwork display rack. It was a place with charm, where old things lived, whether sedate or active. Together with the flower scent Andy felt like he was visiting his grandma rather than applying for a job. At least if he needed to whittle the hours away, there'd be no better place he could work than this. Was that the wrong way to approach this, he thought? Well, it was certainly too late to put the idea out of his mind.

Nobody had come to answer the jingle, which he found strange. It was only while looking around behind the counter that Andy noticed a pair of eyes blink at him. A cat stood tall, walking along the unit. It tiptoed around some velvet cloth draped over items on the counter, and moved to the front, peeking over at him, her fur white with her eyes a shade of blue. Of course, he thought, there simply had to be a cat somewhere in here. It felt entirely stereotypical, and he approached the animal and fearlessly rubbed behind its ears. A collar told that her name was 'Esme', and as cats went she was very cute. Andy might have thought she was pleased to see him, although he always saw cats with a smile on their face when he looked closely.

"Watching the store, eh?" wondered he, since it really did seem they were alone in here. Esme shuffled, like something had rubbed her the wrong way, and she suddenly hopped off the counter. The velvet from before was caught on her paw, and she rolled and scampered off into the back somewhere with it. Andy looked after her, and then back to the table, where he noticed a fresh smell from what was on it.

White chocolate. Dozens of different snacks, and all shaped like different animals.. that one was a little bird, wings outstretched and eyes piercing. That one was a ferret, long and wiggly and cleaning itself. Yet another must have been Esme, only in solid candy form, and they all smelled warm. Usually it was cookies that would be set out at his grandma's, wasn't it? But of course, the treats had to be something special from the lady who owned this place.

He found himself reaching over them, trying to pick one. Oh, she couldn't miss one, could she? Andy found himself peeking around, making sure nobody was watching this, not even Esme the cat. This was no way to prepare for an interview, with some petty theft, but... ah, he wouldn't hide it. It could be a complement! Maybe the cover was off and he thought they were snacks for waiting. Plenty of ideas, plenty of explanations, plenty of choice; carefully, the man picked one up and looked it over.

It was a rat, and it held something in its paws but it chose not to reveal this to him. White chocolate was dripped over it everywhere, except for the tips of her hind paws, which looked more like shaped cake. It was almost a shame to eat, but the eager Andy found his way around that, nibbling away the paws holding the mystery object. Mine now, he thought, before biting the small confection clean in half.

The inside was quite soft and fluid, and ran down his chin; he mopped it up with both hands. It seemed these treats were deliberately messy and indulgent, and they tasted quite warm, too. Licking inside at the soft centre he noticed a slightly spicy aftertaste, which developed into a burning sensation down his throat. Surprised, he peered inside and saw what he had been consuming. Small flamelets of purple fire were alight inside the half-rat, tickling his fingers, and he dropped it on the front desk in alarm. Coloured smoke was beginning to pour into the air, drifting from his nostrils and mouth as the heat raged on inside his body, causing his chest to tighten. Andy's heart was beating loudly in his ears now, as he quivered and fell to his knees, doubling over. What was this, anyway?! Frightened, nervous, he loosened his tie and his shirt and tried to breathe normally. Ohh, his thoughts raced, the smart and the daring from earlier was gone, he felt so foolish now...

Little dots of light appeared in his vision. He could feel his eyes being wrenched open, and then wider still, whites and greys filming over with a dark red that covered the whole of them both, and briefly tinted his sight a different colour. Then, it was like his ears were being ripped upwards, strong forces yanking them out longer and tighter, puffing them up in tones of fleshy pink. A similar hook gripped sharply around his rear and pulled. Whatever feeling was there slipped down his leg, feeling slimy and moist, and somewhat delicate...

Andy caught sight of the chocolate he had dropped, the rat's tail peeking out from behind it, and he began to guess at what this was. Any other situation, it would have been an insane idea, but right now?

Coloured smoke continued to fill his nose and mouth, and eventually it made him cough, hands close to his face. The back of his arms began to tingle, hair follicles working in overdrive; his skin changed as he watched it, many little purple hairs coming up here and there, as little whispers of purple smoke danced it along his skin, changing it, warping it, making it itch. He scratched all over, desperate and frantic, and then winced as he cut himself, drawing blood. Andy's fingers were getting sharper, needle-claws shaping themselves from his fingernails, which began to narrow down, looking dainty and petite.

Sure, he tried to tell himself it was a hallucination, and maybe he even believed it for a while. His shoes fell off, much too big for his feet now. He was shrinking, his clothing becoming looser as he watched his arms recede into the sleeves of his shirt, felt his body dwindle within the suit, a funny crawling sensation moving up his spine. His skin seemed to shed a few of the marks of age, a deeper colour to his eyes and much tighter skin formed in place on face and hands. The tail he now had turned and whipped about in the air, before draping over his shoulder, clearly rodentine, snaking out of his rear. Andy felt every inch of it with his soft, changed fingers. It was too much for him, and he let out a cry - which turned into a shrill squeak.

"Help! Somebody!"

A certain tinny pitch to his voice made Andy shudder, and his face ached, stretching forwards, pulling his nose and mouth with it. Longer front teeth gave him a cute smile, which he saw in facets in the long crystal wall-plate. Purple fur ran down his cheeks, and his hair grew longer and lighter. But there was no mistaking it even in the imperfect reflection, no way of explaining the rat face in the reflection other than to admit that's exactly what it was. But why purple? Hey, it was magic, why ''not'' purple?

His suit was now several sizes too large, and he wriggled his way out of the jacket and trousers and stood up - only for his briefs to fall down around his legs. Andy felt embarrassed, pulling his oversized shirt down to cover himself, feeling the blood run to his cheeks. Whiskers popped out of them too, shaking sensitively in the air, and only making him more self-conscious. He was so small, strange new scents were entering the air, and now his whole body was on fire as smoke continued to flow out around him.

"I'm sorry!" he said, running out of things he could say, nothing really seemed to be helping him any. It was easier not to listen to himself squeak, tail hanging down between legs. And never mind what would happen if he kept shrinking and the cat decided to come back...

Long hair bunched up around his shoulders and down his back. Unusually, it felt silky soft, and he leaned his head back and clung to the relaxing feeling, eyes shut. It was something good, at least. Andy's chest began to swell then, pushing out the front of the large shirt, and a soft tugging and poking between his legs made his eyes open again, shocked. Automatically, his hands went down, and found nothing - well, nothing to indicate being male, anyway. Claws brushed against something different entirely and made ''her'' shudder, clapping hands to her chest, feeling the growing of breasts - quite small, suited to her size. Now, it all seemed to make sense, in a crazy sort of way, and she laughed, because she didn't know what else to do. Andy sat down and disentangled the fallen briefs from her feet, taking her socks off too, to compare the ratty hands and feet, both in soft pink and tipped with sharpness. Nimble and light, like a little girl's ought to be.

Waves of purple fur felt silky and moist, and some areas poked out of tears and holes in the shirt she had made while scratching. It was a rich colour that came over her head too, although her hair remained the same curly brown it had always been, just longer. She blew a few rings of colourful smoke, but her large snouted nose and mouth were now free to breath again, deep and shaky breaths.Tongue licking around flattened teeth, especially the top and bottom front two. She had ''whiskers''. That was totally strange.

"I'm a girl," she mumbled, looking at herself in the colourful mirror, using her hands to feign having pigtails. Just to see how it looked.

"I'm... I'm ''really'' young."

The shakiness entered her voice now. Andy's mind felt slippy and unfocused, making her unsure and insecure, whispering worries at her and making her shiver. Usually she was quite independent, but the young ratgirl's mind was coming in, compelling her to act her age, and she pulled her arms around herself, eyes beginning to water.

"C'mon, Andy, don't cry..." she mumbled, shaking a bit. "Big girls don't do that."

"You must be Andy," said a voice from behind her, and the suddenness shattered the purple ratgirl's composure in one blow, and she squeaked and cried, and then dived behind the counter to safety, peeking out. Tail and whiskers twitching, metabolism firing up.

"Ah! W-what..."

"Oh, I'm sorry I scared you," said the voice - a woman, adult, red hair, green eyes, and a curious smile on her face. "You're the new hire, aren't you? I see you've moved things along a bit fast than I thought... hmmm. I smell a cat," she says, looking at the uncovered candies on the counter.

"I- um... y-you're the owner?" questioned Andy, peeking out and up at her. This Cassandra wasn't very tall, but still had a foot on her at least. "Yeah, I came here for the.. for the shop assistant thing you hired for..."

The woman smiled knowingly, and leaned over to pat the girl on the head. Her tail bobbed unexpectedly, and she tried to feel patronised, but... it just wasn't in her any more. This was her. Every movement and thought and feeling screamed her new identity, and although her past memories were intact, it didn't seem to matter.

"Relaxing, mmm. Good for you. If you're wondering what the magic was about, it's just business," she said. "I find people stay longer for cute shop assistants. So when you are due at work, you'll be a nice helpful little girl. And when not, you can be you again."

Andy looked briefly like she might protest, but Cassandra put a finger against her lips.

"Shhh. You wouldn't have been asked here if I didn't think you'd enjoy it. Plus, you're desperate... or you wouldn't have been able to see my ad at all. And I pay well."

After what she'd been through, the ratgirl wasn't entirely sure, but she looked and sounded truthful. And she had been right. This place would definitely not be the average job. It was bizarre, but could she honestly believe that this wasn't going to be fun?

"Can I start today?" she wondered, putting out a toothy smile.

"I think first, you need some clothes," said Cassandra, offering Andy a hand, which she took as they walked towards the back room.

Esme made sure she had a good, high point to keep watching over the shop floor. She had plenty to do even without having to do this as well. After all, mischief wasn't going to plot itself, now was it? Not to mention, what to do with all those leftover candies...

User:Azimuth/Esme

2009-07-09T00:07:23Z

Azimuth: *insert muttley-esque sounds here*

{{DEFAULTSORT:Esme}} [[Category:Story]] [[Category:Azimuth]] [[Category:House_Cat]] {{Comment tag}}

{{author's note|My first story of the 2009 crop. The aim of these short stories in the beginning was for me to dip in and out of various settings to find one I wanted to develop some more. Looking back; Esme's setting is not unique, I have some unspoken concept of how magic works, and it does admittedly go a bit "magic shop" in later stories, but I like her. She comes back, and that's always a bad sign. ;)}}

{{title
|name=Esme
|author=Azimuth
|user=Azimuth}}

The sun was rising in view of the room's large glass window, and Esme was tired. It had been a long night, but the young apprentice felt really good about her latest project, stirring the contents of a huge cauldron pot. Its faint scent prickled the back of her neck, the liquid gleaming by candlelight. It was totally unnecessary, since she lived in modern times and the room did have a proper fluorescent overhead, but Esme the young witch felt it just added to the mood, you know?

She saw a slightly milky reflection of herself in the pot, her pink hair loose and unkempt, icy blue eyes tired but proud. Pink wasn't her natural, but one of her early spells had been to adopt this colour, and she quite liked it. The young lady was just over five feet high and when she had been without her bright hair, she tended to be easy to lose in crowds. Esme had not been able to perfect growth spells, and she dared not risk it - her test mice all ended up the size of badgers, and rather more purple. Soon, though, she would work it out.

But that wasn't what she had done today, no. Today was special, because her teacher had set her this one. 'Take this task and complete it with the utmost precision, Esmerelda', she had bade. But potions were like cooking, and she was quite good at that. Everything was weighed and measured, right down to the minutiae. Like all good, successful potions, the air was rank with magic; a sweet and eerie tint that made her head swim. This was its own payment for doing her teacher's errand work, which is what Esme's experience suggested this was. Even witches as famous as she have to make a living.

The young girl could taste the scent on the air, grinning to herself. Even if it usually did this, it was never quite so overpowering; here the scent took over, made her drowsy and warm. The boiler was off for the night, but she had been reduced to a simple nightshirt over the time of her potion making. Indeed, Esme was always so careful, she'd keep well away from the cauldron and just sleep soundly in her bed. But not today, no. Today was a risky business, as the shaky witch placed her hands on the rim and leaned over to take deep breaths, kicking her feet out and giggling unnaturally. Something was a little off here, certainly. Had she mixed up the instructions? That would be a first, but sometimes these things happened.

Occasionally with the magical arts, things just happened, that was how it was. Magically, they called it 'natural risk'. The inherent unpredictability of magic coupled with the complex workings of the humans who would marshal it. Or maybe that's what her textbook said - Esme just thought of it as luck. It took a certain kind of luck to perform a spell and not turn into a purple badger, although it was one of her first lessons. Be sane and sound. And above all, don't get lost in things.

Esme was definitely lost in things as she rested her weight on the cauldron lip. It was like it wasn't her; a giddier young girl had somehow stepped into her nightie and began doing these irresponsible things. Almost unreal, she would have thought, so when the obvious happened and she slipped, it was hardly her expectation that this was actually happening. Some sort of dream, perhaps, where she clambered up and fell into a potion cauldron. Slipped in, just like that, winding up in a surprised dampness at the bottom of the warm vat. The world felt heavy and Esme was wrested back into sharp reality, unable to breathe, flailing and trying to get back upright. Everything spun as she stood up, spilling some potion onto the floor; Esme gasped and held her chest, drawing breath. Panting, almost. Milky liquid dripped from her hair and trickled down her neck, and she gave a choking sigh. Carefully she tried to lift herself out, but then the potion scent stole her attention in a great assault on her senses, and she toppled out ungracefully, rubbing her head.

She oohed and aahed, making confused yelps as she suddenly became a lot warmer. The intoxicating scent came off her now, her nightie and her body soaked in the stuff, and she held her head.
(C'mon, think,) she thought. (I should... I should call for some help. Yes, that's exactly what I should do.)
It was so obvious, but her body just didn't want to go anywhere. Some of the potion was in her nose and mouth, and that would be easing its way into her system; most of it was being absorbed into her skin, a longer procedure but no less effective. Esme's sense of magic was well attuned, and as far as she could detect, something was definitely happening. It hung as an unknown, weighed through her hands and legs; it was an instinctive anticipation that made her fidget. An awkward frown fell on her features, and she found herself wishing it would just do what it was going to do already. Nonetheless, the wait made her heat up. It was too warm in here now, despite being the dead of night. Much too warm for even a nightie, and she considered pulling it off. It was wet and she'd only get more of a dose if she kept it worn.

(Oh, that's right... I was going to call for help!), she realised. Before giggling aloud, lifting her head and resting against the side of the cauldron. What was going on with her mind? Thoughts were sifting through it like water through a sieve. And all around her, this well of feeling crept up. An impending, a something. A point she was heading towards, and then a point she was on top of, turning and brushing hands against the floor, trying to stand up. And then the moment was gone, and the anticipation lifted, and Esme breathed a sigh of pent-up relief. This was it, then. A big spell for a small little girl.

It started with her skin. All at once, head to toe, Esme felt her flesh burn and ache and her hands tried to scratch the itches, but there were just too many! Like little prickles, over her chest and around her back and arms. For a few seconds she scratched, but eventually gave up, wriggling on the floor and whining. Opening her eyes she looked down her arms, seeing the sprouting fur in some confusion, fingers digging into the fluffy softness as she gasped in surprise. It was thick, luxurious, and everywhere! It was engulfing her as she watched, pressing the palms of her hands against cheeks - there too. Her nightdress felt strange pressed against it, and she fought between taking it off and staying modest. She would certainly have no problem getting lost in crowds now, for sure.

Her hands and feet began to ache too, fingers curling, resisting her attempts to stop them. Her hands seemed to get smaller under their layer of fuzz, getting softer as pads formed underneath, and she yelped as claws slid out of her fingers and toes. Meanwhile her feet got bigger; bones clicking against one another as she mumbled uncomfortably and tried to sit up again. Her thumbs felt like they were bent backwards, but she could see the dewclaws and unease filled her. She was becoming an animal? This worried her, a window of clarity in the delicious haze she'd been in since she completed the potion, and she brought her paws to her face and took deep breaths.

Perhaps a mistake, as her fur was warm with the potion's scent and she again felt detached from the world, breathing in the lovely air. Her face then felt warm and tense, as her mouth and skull shaped forwards, ears beginning to slide upwards and form fuzzy tips. The next wave of magical air hit upon developing feline senses, and her eyes left focus as she slid down to the floor, drifting along in pleasure. Whiskers pushed out of her cheeks like needles, but she was thankfully cut off from their sharp appearance. She could see them appear at the edge of her vision, where she could giggle at them and pat them with her paws.

Then Esme felt like she was being clutched very tightly. The air squeezed and her, and she coughed and curled up, flailing and hugging her knees. It was like a vice around her body, trying to crush her, although the giddy which felt that being smushed might be a wonderfully different way to spend the night. It was not that at all though, as her body gave in and began to shrink, legs and arms shrivelling and pulling in closer, head scrunched up against her body. Shuddering here and there as she compressed, smaller and smaller. The cauldron seemed pretty high, this room which was usually so small was just spreading out of control. The nightie became a blanket, and as she disappeared into it she felt trapped, and claws slid through the air, and she sliced and wriggled her way out; free! On the still air, her calls of complaint and discomfort were becoming more and more like the yowls and meows of a cat.

Most tellingly, Esme began forgetting things, as her mind tried to work out how she'd got here, and failed; the cat brain could only do so much, and she had no doubt that she was a... whatever she'd just said. Any apprehension she had at this point slipped away, as she became unable to process the idea. And yet she was still her, in as much as she didn't feel odd. Something about this form was similar now. The changes had been uncomfortable and new, but this was at equilibrium. And this was her room, for her scent was everywhere.

It was plain as soon as her legs had reached their size, thin and lithe with long feet. She could turn and wind up on all fours, and that felt natural to walk on, as she stood up for the first time and shook off a bit, fur fluffing. The parts of her that were obviously human were being rubbed away quickly and quietly; pointed ears, a smaller rear, her breasts were not so prominent but a number of teats presented themselves down her belly. Her tongue felt raspy and rough against her teeth, which were sharpening. Esme's stomach complained of being empty, but a faint warmth ran from head down her back, and culminated in the growth of a tail, weaving and working out of her rear and wrapping about to sit by her back feet.

She was white furred up and down, with a splash of pink around her head and down her back, and her eyes as bright blue as ever. The irises changed and spread, pupils turning to slits as she watched the world in a cat's light - it was quite dark, and so she had more clarity than she did before. Esme couldn't remember that much, other than she was Esme. And, strangely, she still knew what she had learned about magic. She could tell that the scent of some magic was suffused through her fur, and the cauldron, and that the magic was the same. It was a curiosity, but not one she dwelled on. More importantly, she needed to groom. So, sitting down, that is what the kitty did. Esme made herself comfortable on the remnants of her nightie, flopped over, and began grooming. And, before too long, she was napping.

When her teacher found her the next morning, she wasn't too surprised at the feline asleep in what had previously been her sleepwear. Nor would she complain - a good familiar was really quite hard to come by these days.

User:Azimuth/Esme

2009-07-08T23:55:33Z

Azimuth: ShadowWolf: hey, insanity loves company :) good to be here!

[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Azimuth]] [[Category:House_Cat]] {{Comment tag}}

{{author's note|My first story of the 2009 crop. The aim of these short stories in the beginning was for me to dip in and out of various settings to find one I wanted to develop some more. Looking back; Esme's setting is not unique, I have some unspoken concept of how magic works, and it does admittedly go a bit "magic shop" in later stories, but I like her. She comes back, and that's always a bad sign. ;)}}

{{title
|name=Esme
|author=Azimuth
|user=Azimuth}}

The sun was rising in view of the room's large glass window, and Esme was tired. It had been a long night, but the young apprentice felt really good about her latest project, stirring the contents of a huge cauldron pot. Its faint scent prickled the back of her neck, the liquid gleaming by candlelight. It was totally unnecessary, since she lived in modern times and the room did have a proper fluorescent overhead, but Esme the young witch felt it just added to the mood, you know?

She saw a slightly milky reflection of herself in the pot, her pink hair loose and unkempt, icy blue eyes tired but proud. Pink wasn't her natural, but one of her early spells had been to adopt this colour, and she quite liked it. The young lady was just over five feet high and when she had been without her bright hair, she tended to be easy to lose in crowds. Esme had not been able to perfect growth spells, and she dared not risk it - her test mice all ended up the size of badgers, and rather more purple. Soon, though, she would work it out.

But that wasn't what she had done today, no. Today was special, because her teacher had set her this one. 'Take this task and complete it with the utmost precision, Esmerelda', she had bade. But potions were like cooking, and she was quite good at that. Everything was weighed and measured, right down to the minutiae. Like all good, successful potions, the air was rank with magic; a sweet and eerie tint that made her head swim. This was its own payment for doing her teacher's errand work, which is what Esme's experience suggested this was. Even witches as famous as she have to make a living.

The young girl could taste the scent on the air, grinning to herself. Even if it usually did this, it was never quite so overpowering; here the scent took over, made her drowsy and warm. The boiler was off for the night, but she had been reduced to a simple nightshirt over the time of her potion making. Indeed, Esme was always so careful, she'd keep well away from the cauldron and just sleep soundly in her bed. But not today, no. Today was a risky business, as the shaky witch placed her hands on the rim and leaned over to take deep breaths, kicking her feet out and giggling unnaturally. Something was a little off here, certainly. Had she mixed up the instructions? That would be a first, but sometimes these things happened.

Occasionally with the magical arts, things just happened, that was how it was. Magically, they called it 'natural risk'. The inherent unpredictability of magic coupled with the complex workings of the humans who would marshal it. Or maybe that's what her textbook said - Esme just thought of it as luck. It took a certain kind of luck to perform a spell and not turn into a purple badger, although it was one of her first lessons. Be sane and sound. And above all, don't get lost in things.

Esme was definitely lost in things as she rested her weight on the cauldron lip. It was like it wasn't her; a giddier young girl had somehow stepped into her nightie and began doing these irresponsible things. Almost unreal, she would have thought, so when the obvious happened and she slipped, it was hardly her expectation that this was actually happening. Some sort of dream, perhaps, where she clambered up and fell into a potion cauldron. Slipped in, just like that, winding up in a surprised dampness at the bottom of the warm vat. The world felt heavy and Esme was wrested back into sharp reality, unable to breathe, flailing and trying to get back upright. Everything spun as she stood up, spilling some potion onto the floor; Esme gasped and held her chest, drawing breath. Panting, almost. Milky liquid dripped from her hair and trickled down her neck, and she gave a choking sigh. Carefully she tried to lift herself out, but then the potion scent stole her attention in a great assault on her senses, and she toppled out ungracefully, rubbing her head.

She oohed and aahed, making confused yelps as she suddenly became a lot warmer. The intoxicating scent came off her now, her nightie and her body soaked in the stuff, and she held her head.
(C'mon, think,) she thought. (I should... I should call for some help. Yes, that's exactly what I should do.)
It was so obvious, but her body just didn't want to go anywhere. Some of the potion was in her nose and mouth, and that would be easing its way into her system; most of it was being absorbed into her skin, a longer procedure but no less effective. Esme's sense of magic was well attuned, and as far as she could detect, something was definitely happening. It hung as an unknown, weighed through her hands and legs; it was an instinctive anticipation that made her fidget. An awkward frown fell on her features, and she found herself wishing it would just do what it was going to do already. Nonetheless, the wait made her heat up. It was too warm in here now, despite being the dead of night. Much too warm for even a nightie, and she considered pulling it off. It was wet and she'd only get more of a dose if she kept it worn.

(Oh, that's right... I was going to call for help!), she realised. Before giggling aloud, lifting her head and resting against the side of the cauldron. What was going on with her mind? Thoughts were sifting through it like water through a sieve. And all around her, this well of feeling crept up. An impending, a something. A point she was heading towards, and then a point she was on top of, turning and brushing hands against the floor, trying to stand up. And then the moment was gone, and the anticipation lifted, and Esme breathed a sigh of pent-up relief. This was it, then. A big spell for a small little girl.

It started with her skin. All at once, head to toe, Esme felt her flesh burn and ache and her hands tried to scratch the itches, but there were just too many! Like little prickles, over her chest and around her back and arms. For a few seconds she scratched, but eventually gave up, wriggling on the floor and whining. Opening her eyes she looked down her arms, seeing the sprouting fur in some confusion, fingers digging into the fluffy softness as she gasped in surprise. It was thick, luxurious, and everywhere! It was engulfing her as she watched, pressing the palms of her hands against cheeks - there too. Her nightdress felt strange pressed against it, and she fought between taking it off and staying modest. She would certainly have no problem getting lost in crowds now, for sure.

Her hands and feet began to ache too, fingers curling, resisting her attempts to stop them. Her hands seemed to get smaller under their layer of fuzz, getting softer as pads formed underneath, and she yelped as claws slid out of her fingers and toes. Meanwhile her feet got bigger; bones clicking against one another as she mumbled uncomfortably and tried to sit up again. Her thumbs felt like they were bent backwards, but she could see the dewclaws and unease filled her. She was becoming an animal? This worried her, a window of clarity in the delicious haze she'd been in since she completed the potion, and she brought her paws to her face and took deep breaths.

Perhaps a mistake, as her fur was warm with the potion's scent and she again felt detached from the world, breathing in the lovely air. Her face then felt warm and tense, as her mouth and skull shaped forwards, ears beginning to slide upwards and form fuzzy tips. The next wave of magical air hit upon developing feline senses, and her eyes left focus as she slid down to the floor, drifting along in pleasure. Whiskers pushed out of her cheeks like needles, but she was thankfully cut off from their sharp appearance. She could see them appear at the edge of her vision, where she could giggle at them and pat them with her paws.

Then Esme felt like she was being clutched very tightly. The air squeezed and her, and she coughed and curled up, flailing and hugging her knees. It was like a vice around her body, trying to crush her, although the giddy which felt that being smushed might be a wonderfully different way to spend the night. It was not that at all though, as her body gave in and began to shrink, legs and arms shrivelling and pulling in closer, head scrunched up against her body. Shuddering here and there as she compressed, smaller and smaller. The cauldron seemed pretty high, this room which was usually so small was just spreading out of control. The nightie became a blanket, and as she disappeared into it she felt trapped, and claws slid through the air, and she sliced and wriggled her way out; free! On the still air, her calls of complaint and discomfort were becoming more and more like the yowls and meows of a cat.

Most tellingly, Esme began forgetting things, as her mind tried to work out how she'd got here, and failed; the cat brain could only do so much, and she had no doubt that she was a... whatever she'd just said. Any apprehension she had at this point slipped away, as she became unable to process the idea. And yet she was still her, in as much as she didn't feel odd. Something about this form was similar now. The changes had been uncomfortable and new, but this was at equilibrium. And this was her room, for her scent was everywhere.

It was plain as soon as her legs had reached their size, thin and lithe with long feet. She could turn and wind up on all fours, and that felt natural to walk on, as she stood up for the first time and shook off a bit, fur fluffing. The parts of her that were obviously human were being rubbed away quickly and quietly; pointed ears, a smaller rear, her breasts were not so prominent but a number of teats presented themselves down her belly. Her tongue felt raspy and rough against her teeth, which were sharpening. Esme's stomach complained of being empty, but a faint warmth ran from head down her back, and culminated in the growth of a tail, weaving and working out of her rear and wrapping about to sit by her back feet.

She was white furred up and down, with a splash of pink around her head and down her back, and her eyes as bright blue as ever. The irises changed and spread, pupils turning to slits as she watched the world in a cat's light - it was quite dark, and so she had more clarity than she did before. Esme couldn't remember that much, other than she was Esme. And, strangely, she still knew what she had learned about magic. She could tell that the scent of some magic was suffused through her fur, and the cauldron, and that the magic was the same. It was a curiosity, but not one she dwelled on. More importantly, she needed to groom. So, sitting down, that is what the kitty did. Esme made herself comfortable on the remnants of her nightie, flopped over, and began grooming. And, before too long, she was napping.

When her teacher found her the next morning, she wasn't too surprised at the feline asleep in what had previously been her sleepwear. Nor would she complain - a good familiar was really quite hard to come by these days.