Beware the gabbleduck my son, beware the heroyne and shun, the murderous siluroyne
The three longbow agents huddled in the dead-end of an alley that was wedged in between two old, derelicted apartment blocks. The brickwork had been chalked white once, but what little chalk remained had long ago been blackened by sooth and countless grafitties. The only distinct colours in the alley were the red and white of the longbows' uniforms, and even those had been muted by a week's worth of dirt and grime.
Two of the agents were facing the mouth of the alley, guns at the ready. The third, a young woman with hair that had probably been blond the last time she washed it, was kneeling next to the end wall, working on a dented, red and white radiotelephone.
"They're still jamming our frequency, sergant. I can't get through." the woman with the radio said, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
"Keep trying, Thomson. But keep your voice down. This is a silent op." one of the other longbow hissed back at her, his voice hardly audible.
Three stories up among the shadows, Siluroyne hung from the underside of an old fire-escape like a red-skinned city-sloth, holding on to the old aliminum walkway over her with fingers and toes. She suppressed a giggle, craning her neck back for an upside-down view of the three longbow agents below. Silly people. They weren't being silent at all.
On a whim, Siluroyne decided to show them how to be silent, and let go of the walkway with her fingers. Swinging out from the wall she let go with her feet, falling in a graceful arch.
Agent Thomson squinted at the radio and turned it back to one of the backup frequencies. A few stray drops of rain landed on her head. For a moment her brain was a blank, the weariness of eight days with virtually no sleep slowing her down. Then she remebered the head-phones, picked them up and held them against her ear. Still just static. More raindrops landed on her and the radio.
Thomson squinted at the raindrops running down the side of the radio, her weary mind slowly gathering the energy to wonder why the rain was red.
"Sergeant?" Thomson turned around.
The sergeant and Tatcher lay crumbled up, each at opposite side of the alley. There was blood; a lot of blood. A teenage girl was sitting hunched down over Tatcher. Foot-long spikes of bone jutted from her knees; dark red, wet. Her face was mishapen, a horror of bone plates that extruded into rows of spikes and vicious barbs running down between her eyes, along the brows and jaw.
Thomson had seen worse. It was the eyes that got to her. Surrounded by needle-sharp thorns, the creature's eyes were the bright blue, innocent eyes of a child.
"You're very pretty." the creature said, and the whispering childish voice sent a shudder through Thomson. The creature's eyes hardened with the needle-sharp jealousy of a child.
"Do you want to play a game?" Siluroyne asked. Slowly, the longbow agent reached for her gun.
Siluroyne climbed slowly up along the wall of the building, leaving red smears along the hand-holds. She was pouting. The pretty lady hadn't been very good at playing. She had hardly even screamed.
Posted
Nice one, Leif.
Disclaimer: The above may be humerous, or at least may be an attempt at humour. Try reading it that way.
Posts are OOC unless noted to be IC, or in an IC thread.
Beware the gabbleduck my son, beware the heroyne and shun, the murderous siluroyne
The three longbow agents huddled in the dead-end of an alley that was wedged in between two old, derelicted apartment blocks. The brickwork had been chalked white once, but what little chalk remained had long ago been blackened by sooth and countless grafitties. The only distinct colours in the alley were the red and white of the longbows' uniforms, and even those had been muted by a week's worth of dirt and grime.
Two of the agents were facing the mouth of the alley, guns at the ready. The third, a young woman with hair that had probably been blond the last time she washed it, was kneeling next to the end wall, working on a dented, red and white radiotelephone.
"They're still jamming our frequency, sergant. I can't get through." the woman with the radio said, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
"Keep trying, Thomson. But keep your voice down. This is a silent op." one of the other longbow hissed back at her, his voice hardly audible.
Three stories up among the shadows, Siluroyne hung from the underside of an old fire-escape like a red-skinned city-sloth, holding on to the old aliminum walkway over her with fingers and toes. She suppressed a giggle, craning her neck back for an upside-down view of the three longbow agents below. Silly people. They weren't being silent at all.
On a whim, Siluroyne decided to show them how to be silent, and let go of the walkway with her fingers. Swinging out from the wall she let go with her feet, falling in a graceful arch.
Agent Thomson squinted at the radio and turned it back to one of the backup frequencies. A few stray drops of rain landed on her head. For a moment her brain was a blank, the weariness of eight days with virtually no sleep slowing her down. Then she remebered the head-phones, picked them up and held them against her ear. Still just static. More raindrops landed on her and the radio.
Thomson squinted at the raindrops running down the side of the radio, her weary mind slowly gathering the energy to wonder why the rain was red.
"Sergeant?" Thomson turned around.
The sergeant and Tatcher lay crumbled up, each at opposite side of the alley. There was blood; a lot of blood. A teenage girl was sitting hunched down over Tatcher. Foot-long spikes of bone jutted from her knees; dark red, wet. Her face was mishapen, a horror of bone plates that extruded into rows of spikes and vicious barbs running down between her eyes, along the brows and jaw.
Thomson had seen worse. It was the eyes that got to her. Surrounded by needle-sharp thorns, the creature's eyes were the bright blue, innocent eyes of a child.
"You're very pretty." the creature said, and the whispering childish voice sent a shudder through Thomson. The creature's eyes hardened with the needle-sharp jealousy of a child.
"Do you want to play a game?" Siluroyne asked. Slowly, the longbow agent reached for her gun.
Siluroyne climbed slowly up along the wall of the building, leaving red smears along the hand-holds. She was pouting. The pretty lady hadn't been very good at playing. She had hardly even screamed.