A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF MAGIC! Kin Name: Where Only Spirits Roam Drabble:
Magic. It was one of those things that he could not seem to get enough of. It occupied his thoughts often, and led him into deep ponderances within himself. Magic, was one of those things that either you believed in, or you simply did not. He did. It was one of those things you could do. Or…well it was not as clear cut as you simply could not. He was…in a strange in between. He was neither good at magic, nor unable to accomplish it. It happened, sometimes. Never quite how he wished it to, or imagined it might. But then it also was not as bad as he expected it ought to be so that was a small sliver of something. Hope. Denial. It was hard to say. He was going about it all wrong he figured, trying to work out just what went wrong. Again.
And so, he merely closes his eyes, and he focuses once again on what he was trying to accomplish. Though while doing so his mind wanders yet again to magic, and other things of that ilk and he loses his train of thought. Which is exactly what he should and should not be doing. He needs to stop trying so hard, to stop over thinking it. Yet, when he realizes this is what he is doing, he needs to stop trying to correct himself. Trying to get his thoughts back on track. This only serves to pull him away from the magic, and the fantastical, and instead once more roots him within the here and now. The mundane. The ‘This is NOT going to work.’
Practice. Trial. Error. It was all a vicious cycle, to get what he wished to accomplish. The ability to do things, that many others could not. His name spoke of great things to come, and he knew deep within his soul, that he was supposed to make contact with the other side. To converse with those on the other side. Magic? Maybe so, but more than likely it was simply the fact he was emptying himself of things that prevented such connections from happening. An emptying of mind, of soul, of being. Becoming an open vessel for other voices, and other things.
Some would call this ability magic, others merely perseverance, and yet more he was sure would call it nothing but absolute foolishness, and yet he continued on. He knew that he could do this. He was not one to give up on what he wanted, and so he let his mind wander again, to things he had seen, and things he had learned. He let his mind be swept away by what magic he had seen, and what little he had done, and he simply was. This time, he let his mind go where it wished and he found himself in a myriad of swirling colorful mists. Sparks of life, and death both, and a smile crossed his face. He did not know if where he was, was magic but to him it sure felt that way. Magic, was as confusing, as it was beautiful, and he planned to become one with it.
WC: 527
Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2016 9:22 am
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF RUNNING! Kin Name: Fervent Drabble: The chase—she’d never been on this side before—thrummed within her body. The raging thump of her heartbeat, mingled with the quick puffs of breath, and the adrenaline that washed over her aching muscles was an intoxicating cocktail. It was little wonder that kin pursued each other in such a manic fashion.
Fervent had never played tag. She’d spent her life so enamored in dreams that she’d always been the one chasing—it was much harder to catch such fleeting, beautiful desires than kin. Speed was useless in that; in her experience it had always come down to determination and luck. The latter of which was hard to come by, even more elusive that dreams made real. In tag, however, she found speed was everything. (Well, only so much that the children continued to laugh and pursue; she didn’t want to be impossible!)
Hooves thundered as she darted forward. She felt the world around her dim, became a breeze that was in tune with her small, frequent breaths. Surprising that a game of tag would reveal how utterly out of shape she was! The ground slid out from beneath her, a spot of mud sending her scrambling to right herself. Only she did not see the root and tripped head first, until she was sprawled flat.
Front hooves crossed and sinking in mud, she turned her head to see a herd of foals coming straight at her. Oh, goodness! She tried to move but her back legs were spread wide and she ended up doing little more than look like she was trying to crawl in place. Of course, movement soon became the last of her worries when the first few fools hit the mud that had outwitted her. She tensed, dipping her chin towards her chest, as her eyes tried to duck behind her hair.
It was with whoops and shouts, hooves slipping and sliding, that she realized that she far preferred to be the chaser. It was utterly terrifying to find herself engulfed in a herd—though they were small in stature, she was lying down—that was completely out of control. And really the only thing she ended up doing, as the running came to end, was provide a very solid (if loud) wall for the little ones to hit as they all joined her in a pile-up. She supposed that was the end of that.
While it had lasted though, she let out a content sight, she’d felt such freedom. There was nothing but her and the wind’s caress. She was the only one that mattered; the exhilaration renewed all the hope and wishes that had become frayed by loss. She forgot, all the defeats of dreams remaining out of grasp—just close enough to nose, never enough to catch tight between her teeth—and she had only the sensation that she was closing in because she was in the lead. She was the star they hoped to catch. She laughed, maybe there were equal parts of good for both positions.
With a wide grin, she tapped her chin against a sky-blue kiokote foal, “You’re it!” And it began again.
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Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2016 11:17 am
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF TURTLE! Kin Name: Atone Drabble: It was pathetic. A wobbling overturned reptile that rocked in a haphazard circle in a poor attempt at righting itself. She sneered as it once more lazily pried its mouth open wide, neck stretching out, and then latched onto her tail. Did it not know she had been dreaming?
Atone did not dream; she had nightmares that punctured through her ribcage and clawed up her throat until she woke screaming, guttural cries that left her shaking for hours. And yet, she had dreamt. Of lifetimes so long ago, she did not know if they had ever been real. Until this, she seethed, failure had woken her.
"Stop it," she hissed as she whipped her tail up and away. She cringed as a few hairs were pulled loose. Wonderful; as if she needed to become a doe with a balding tail! She huffed. Vanity was not usually a concern of hers but she was moody and everything felt a slight against her. If only she had—she snorted, her boar did not care for turtles. Nor did she care to call it. She had been foolish to give it such a name. While a constant reminder had been her goal, she had not realized how the mantra would turn into a taunt. She huffed; it appeared the turtle would not be a meal. (Pity; properly cooked turtle was apparently delicious.)
She should right it. That'd be the so-called "good" thing to do. "Good" always managed to bite her in the a** and become a sin that needed to be punished. ("Evil" had never gone much better but the quick and easy sensation of winning had been addictive.) Oh fine, she'd help the damn thing.
Tail tucked close, she rose and pondered. She had a feeling it would attempt to bite her if she wasn't careful. She positioned it near its tail but its constant motion made it hard for her to get a clear shot at nudging it over. There was only one way that she could think of to steady it. Gently, she places a hoof on top of the reptile's hard shell that protects it stomach, and bends down to—
"Hey! What are you doing to that poor turtle?"
Atone glared—of course some idiot do-gooder would come and misconstrue the situation—then smirked, before grabbing hold of the damn turtle's tail and flipping it over. Then with a haughty look that dare the kin to say one word, she sauntered by. She damn well wasn't going to be a friend of turtles anytime soon. Hell, she wasn't going to be a friend of kin.
Although she may have to see about becoming a purveyor of turtle soup, or at least say she was, if she ever ran into that turtle or kin. Just to send a message. In all honesty, she'd be quite happy never to see either again. Perhaps she would move north, away from the more watery areas where such reptiles were partial and find herself a nice turtle-free residence to return to dreams. She laughed; she wasn't likely to dream. Oh no, as soon as she slept, the nightmares would return. (A damn good bet those would have turtles in them.)
Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2016 11:47 am
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF TURTLE! Kin Name: Smash-and-Mash Drabble: It was funny, thought Smash-and-Mash, that she'd so rarely seen any live turtles. She used their shells nearly every day; there were so few naturally occurring vessels that could compare to the utility of the reptiles' shells.
They were really beautiful objects. Form followed function in this case, and their tessellated designs swooped and curled around the flare of the shells' rims. Inside the bowl of the shell, the long-dead creatures' spine rose in a spiky ridge, cresting at the middle and tapering down towards the ends. The most prized turtle shells were those of the big ones- the long-necked creatures that didn't spend much time in the water. She'd seen them trailing kin; they were slow but had winsome faces with sharp-beaked smiles and sweet, gentle eyes that looked old, no matter what the beast's actual age. Even after death they served well; their shells could hold food to feed a crowd. But the smaller ones were useful, too; the flatter creatures that slipped into the water with surprising speed, considering the languid pace of their larger cousins. They made wonderful little mixing bowls and held small quantities really well; they worked for pigments, small stones, anything you wanted to put in there, really. There was something noble about it- that you could go on being useful, even after you were dead. The individual turtle might have been forgotten, but their contributions continued, sometimes for generations. She liked that. She liked that a lot.
Scaramouche Fandango
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Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2016 11:58 am
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF SMASH! Kin Name: Smash-and-Mash Drabble: What was it to smash?
Smashing was about more than just hitting something. It was certainly more than just cracking something; no, smashing was all about determination and using your sheer, primal brute strength. It was about rising up with that gleam in your eye- that fierce gleam, that unstoppable gleam, that gleam that roared to the skies "Hello! I am here! Here to SMASH THINGS!"- and bringing your full power down on the object that required smashing. It was all about harnessing your body and turning every fiber of it into strength.
There was pain involved, too. You could not smash without paying the price, and that price was pain. There were several kinds. First, the sharp pain that came when your hooves met the ground as they powered through the item that needed smashing. Then there was the moment of raw soreness in the muscles as you exerted them to their fullest capability. Which you always did, mind you. Even if the thing that needed smashing was a fragile egg, anything less than a full smash... well, that was just a tap, wasn't it? If you were smashing with your head- a slightly unorthodox style, but very useful in certain applications- there was that tension that built up in your neck as you rammed whatever it was in front of you, the dull thudding shock of impact. Your armor and bones could only do so much, and besides, you needed the pain. It reminded you were alive and that you weren't truly all-powerful; you only achieved this power in the moment of the smash itself, and that was only after gathering it and centering yourself. Good smashing ability came with practice; it was practice that Smash-and-Mash had certainly acquired over the years. She was an expert at smashing, and she thought about it a lot. You tend to think about things a lot when it's the action that defines you, the single action that earned you an identity and a place in the world.
The others had it easy, she thought. Their names were given to them, and their names didn't necessarily define them. Their names didn't point to one point of their history and say "yes, this is the most you will ever be." The Totoma did not dream in the way that their cousins did. They did not receive guidance from the Motherfather as they slumbered in the pre-birth dawn; they earned their names. But privately, when she thought about it, Smash-and-Mash couldn't imagine herself with another name. She dreamed of smashing and mashing; she dreamed most nights of that raw power as it built behind her eyes. She dreamed of smashing many things; in the bad dreams, she smashed monsters and kin. In some of those dreams, she was the monster. She didn't like to use her smashing for violence against others- not real violence. Though she loved to spar and have mock battles, she didn't much care for the idea of actually hurting anybody. In her good dreams, she smashed food. This carried over from her daily life, where she put her skill to good use and smashed things for others. It was good to be able to harness that potentially violent energy and turn it to something useful and helpful; though her name might be Smash-and-Mash, and her nature might be smashing, it was always her choice what to smash. And if she could help it, she only smashed for good.
Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2016 1:30 pm
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF TURTLE! Kin Name: Grim Grinning Ghosts Drabble: The swamp was such a strange place. For all of the Motherfather's blessings, it seemed no others had the gift of befriending ghosts. When he met others his age, they balked and ran- be it his heritage or his friends, he couldn't say. Grim didn't think he was that scary. Sure, he couldn't help the wild glow of his eyes, or the ever cheery smile... but he was a nice guy! Really! The ghosts liked him, anyway. Bait stayed by his side, nuzzling his legs on every other pass-by, and Thirteen was a regular presence around his neck. They liked him... so why didn't everyone else? Maybe he wasn't meant for the swamp's beauty, after all.
Grim had tucked himself into the underbrush, as his pets had flown out for their nightly prowl. It was a good time for some self-indulgent moping. But then... something caught his eye. A wondrous flow, trailing lights and feelings. Quickly he rose to his hooves, and scrambled after whatever it was. Through the trees and around the brush, it eluded him- but it had been there! He just knew it! Finally, he came to a clearing, running short on breath. And when he looked up...
There it was. A glorious, spectral turtle. Grim Grinning Ghosts's eyes danced with light, and he fell to his haunches as the magnificent creature swirled through the air around him. It intermingled with glow of the stars, painting a haunting and stunning picture. A spectral turtle... Grim didn't know they existed, let alone how wonderful they were. Perhaps he had fallen into a state of dismay too soon. The night passed on with the show before him, and Grim was entranced by the turtle's dance.
At sunrise, however, it vanished without a trace. There was no time to befriend the beast, but... it wasn't too much of a concern. Grim knew they existed, now. His heart was set- he had to befriend one of these glorious spectral turtles, too.
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF MUSHROOM! Kin Name: Glowing Mushroom (523 Words) Drabble: The cave was dark, deep, and dangerous. She carefully climbed the side and managed to position herself just right to maintain control of her hooves. It was awful; wet and slippery, but she knew that she had to withstand the danger in order to achieve something great. She planned on holding her own mushroom farm in the future, but first she needed to collect her own. Buying it was out of the question, as she was far too snooty for that. She chose to start her own business from the ground up. That meant collecting the merchandise, or at least the very beginnings in which to breed to make more abundant.
They were at the very bottom. She could see them, a very faint glow in the darkness, pressed up against the wall like stairs. This was a rare plant, one she was sure she could use to her advantage. Finding them was dangerous, collecting them was dangerous, and eating the wrong ones was especially dangerous. There were two types, one was a darker shade of blue, one lighter, and eating the darker ones was deadly. She inspected closely. Of course, each mushroom held its own level of light only slightly. But once you actually saw two of them side by side, you knew for sure which ones were bad and which weren’t, it was just a matter of finding the bad ones close by to check.
Sure enough, they were a few feet away from the light ones, only noticeable because they glowed as well faintly in the darkness. She squinted at them, then picked a light one to hold side by side to the dark for an absolute certainty, and then nodded matter-of-factly at her find. “These,” she said, nosing the light ones. She collected a mouthful, and then looked up, pondering the distance. She’d left her large banana leaf at the top because it was too dangerous to carry down should she accidentally step on it and lose her footing. It was just a risk she didn’t want to take.
There were plenty here, she thought, and too many to carry at the moment, but she stuffed her mouth as best she could letting the drool flow over her bottom lip, embarrassingly, and concluded if she ever needed more, or these were duds, she could always come back later. No one else seemed to know they were here, nor cared either way. That was an advantage.
She side-stepped the landing, the thin coil that went around the cave hole and climbed her way out slowly. It was narrow, and perilous, but she did it coming down, and it was actually much easier going up. Before long, the doe was out before she noticed, and sighed a heavy breath of relief at the smell of the swamp air and moss and leaves again, glad to simply be out of the dank death trap. She set the mushrooms down on the banana leaf, and then contemplated going back down for more while she was here, hesitating just before leaving. Then decided against it. Best not to tempt fate. Tomorrow was another day.
Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2016 2:41 pm
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF TURTLEZ! Kin Name: Upright Wing Drabble:
A frigid breeze shook the stiff, frozen branches of the trees in the equally frozen swamp. Pink eyes surveyed the area, hoping to find a bite to eat or some tracks of other kin to socialize with. He sighed heavily, kicking through the snow, hoping for a frozen lizard or bug that hadn't made it out of the cold in time. Realizing how horribly this hope was weighing on his moral conscience, Upright Wing frowned. Sure, he had to eat, but he could dig for food if he weren't so lazy, and hoping for the demise of another living thing wasn't particularly good of him. And yet he continued to kick through the snow instead of dig, convincing himself that if it was already dead, he really shouldn't be overly concerned about its feelings or his moral high ground. That's when he stumbled upon something. A kick through what appeared to be a mound of snow led to a hard "thunk" on his hoof. Curious, as he hadn't seen too awfully many rocks of this size in the swamp, he uncovered the form. What he found was a little unsettling, but he may have a use for it. The turtle's shell was frozen to the ground, its carcass splayed out of its shell, seemingly perfectly preserved. With a little work, he managed to loosen the unfortunate beast from the ground. But how would he carry it home? Turtle shells could be extraordinarily useful as bowls, rain collectors, or even hats to protect from unpleasant drizzles. He sighed, getting ready for the ordeal he was about to pursue. Maybe a dead turtle wasn't worth it so much anyway...
.Tortured. .Pumpkin.
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.Tortured. .Pumpkin.
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Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2016 3:09 pm
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF OCEAN! Kin Name: Upright Wing Drabble:
Upright Wing had only ever heard of the ocean, but he wondered about it occasionally. He thought of the stories he had heard second-hand, and of the warm sea breezes during the warm season and the frigid ice storms of Leaf-Bare. He heard that turtles and jellyfish lived in it, and more fish than one could ever imagine. He thought about it as he lazed in the miserable drizzle of rain, wishing for the warm breezes he'd heard of. His coat was drenched and he'd likely have shivered if it weren't normal a condition for him to be in. His evergreen shelter tended to do little for cover, and the ground was always wet anyway. He continued to think of the ocean, with its sandy beaches that span for days, its colorful fish swimming to the shore, taking a long drink from its waters. Obviously his stories were only fragmented, as you'd likely never see a fish so close to shore, and drinking the water would make him sicker than he'd ever been. But for now, the thoughts of pleasantry were the only things keeping him from misery. He sighed heavily, the rain rolling off his brow and down his cheek. Who even likes living here, really? Maybe he'd move to the ocean.
Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2016 4:14 pm
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF CHICKEN! turtle ocean chicken magic creation dragon mushroom firewater smash monster running beauty Kin Name: Bean Counter Drabble: "Hey, how much do you want for that chicken?" Bean Counter prodded a fat chicken that clucked in irritation. The buck she was trying to buy it from nodded thoughtfully.
"Well, another chicken would be grand," he said intractably. "But since you are trying to buy this chicken, I don't imagine you have one in the first place. So perhaps three songbirds."
Bean Counter groaned. "Buddy, I'm trying to explain to you, that's not how this works! How many beans do you want for it?"
"Beans?" The buck looked confused. "Why would I want beans? I don't want any beans."
"No, no, the beans are merely...," she pawed at the ground, trying to come up with an easy explanation. "A representation. Of the value of a thing. So perhaps that chicken is worth 300 beans."
"You can't eat - well, I suppose you could, if you had a lot of time on your hooves - beans, though. Do beans lay eggs? No? How are they equal to the value of one chicken, then?"
"Well, you can use the beans to grow more beans, but that's not the point!" She stomped her hoof on the ground, frustrated. "The point is, a legume-based currency system is convenient and easy to carry around and to store! You'll be able to actually increase your material wealth, instead of always living hoof to mouth!"
"With beans." The buck was frowning now.
"With...beans." She looked up at him hopefully.
"Get out of here," he said.
Tiarana
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Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2016 5:45 pm
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF FIREWATER! turtle ocean chicken magic creation dragon mushroom firewater smash monster running beauty Kin Name: Colored Spring Drabble: How he got his hooves on the alcohol, no one could say. He probably stole it from someone, somewhere, with no compunction, because he was kind of a jerk. Or maybe he found a secret pocket of exceedingly distilled fermented fruit under a tree in some random corner of the swamp, because he was also as bizarrely lucky as any other terrible a*****e. It couldn't have been that he himself was responsible for it, because he absolutely abhorred legitimate effort. At any rate, Colored Spring drank it down, he drank all of it down, and with a good deal of gusto, because no one was around to force him to share and he wasn't going to wait until somebody was.
"Yeah...that's the stuff, that's definitely the stuff right there," he belched, and the fumes caused some delicate flowers several feet away to wilt. "I tell you," he addressed a tree. "The swamp these days is getting more and more full of strange kin. We could always use more red kin in the swamp, but there's so many...so many..." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "...greens. No offense to present company, of course." Then he fell over, because Colored Spring could not actually hold his alcohol.
Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2016 6:19 pm
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF OCEAN! Kin Name: Swamp Witch Drabble: The Ocean. It was something only spoken of in legends, passed from ear to ear. Full of life, full of mystery. What she would give to see it for herself. But that damnable ache kept her here, kept her away from the ocean and its life. What she could do with the plants! The fish bones! Rumors whispered about the waters riddled with salt, and wasn’t that something? Swamp Witch sighed dreamily at the thought. While she loved this swamp, and its mysteries, sometimes the old doe simply longed for more. Slinking into her cave, Swamp Witch mentally categorized her stores.
Scraps of fur… tortoise shells… yes, she had her way to make things. But the ocean- that was a glorious store of untold treasures. Hadn’t the turtles originated there, anyway? What other beasts lay in store in its waters? If she could get their organs, their eyes… oh, how she longed to bury her hooves in that flesh.
But that was beyond her ability. All she had were her dreams, her longing for more. As it were, her dreams would remain dreams. The bitterness bubbled within her, and Swamp Witch curled in the corner of her den.
A dream for a different time. Unfortunately, the ocean was beyond her.
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF FIREWATER! Kin Name: Sylph Drabble: It burns. He coughs, sputters, hacks like he has somehow managed to swallow his tongue. This is not what he expected when someone told him of firewater. It’s worse than a mouthful of lemon juice; it may even be worse than the time he accidentally ate a hot chili pepper, whole. (He’s only glad another kin’s reaction has been much more violent and entertaining; no eyes are on him.)
He’d expected to hate it. The name itself is his two least favorite elements. One wrong step around a flame and he could catch on fire. Water, refreshing as it is on his tongue, is no better. Unless it is shallow, he finds that the liquid is too willing to seep into his fur, hair, tail and suddenly he is a stone made to sink. It only made sense then that as he hated both, had a healthy amount of fear and reverence for their abilities to kill him, he would not find it enjoyable. (And he’d like to live, thank you.) So yes, he’d expected to hate it.
He had not expected the burn that filled his mouth and intensified the further it hit on his tongue. He’d thought, naively, that when he swallowed the burn would abate. Instead it had seemed to lodge in the back of his throat, heat blossoming like a sunburn, even as it trailed down into his chest. That, the subtle warmth in the depths of his breast but above his heart, was even pleasant. Enough at least to try another mouthful, which he decided was somehow even worse than the first. (The sudden tears seemed to confirm that assessment.)
“No, that’s good,” he wheezes at the cacophony of voices urging him to try some more. His throat is beginning to feel raw from the on-going burn. Which is strange, to be sure, but he’s a bit more concerned that the world seems to have gone dim. Or has a sudden fog moved in through the clearing? He blinks, uselessly, as a tingle of sensation begins to tickle around his head. It feels as though his brain is beginning to float and he wobbles as dizziness courts him in a dance. Sylph manages, barely, to stumble towards a lush empty patch of flower flecked grass. He doesn’t lie down so much as his limbs buckle until he falls flat to the ground. His left side is splayed against the dew-laden sprigs though he rolls off his shoulder to at least look like he’s not thrashed. (It may have more to do with the fact he has the greatest realization of horror that the world has been turned on its side and the swamp is running off like rain down a mountain slope—it only unnerves him more that no one seems to be falling, instead remaining stubbornly in place—when his cheek and one eye are pressed into the damp earth.) Upright, the sudden clench of his stomach eases and settles. And still the world, which is already past midnight and far closer to morning, seems to darken. Worn, he gives up and closes his eyes.
He wavers, head upright, until gravity pulls him down. (It is lucky that his stomach does not rebel.) The sounds around him have a hazy quality and his breathing is a bit too ragged and labored for him to pay attention. He hovers there, not alert but awake, for what feels like hours. Just an existence, floating still, until something ever so barely seems to touch against him. It prickles his tired nerves until his whole body is alight with the feeling of touches which soften as time goes on. He does not open his eyes; he’s not sure he could as it feels as though weights have been sown into each eyelid. Instead he plummets into dreams.
Posted: Tue Feb 02, 2016 1:19 pm
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF SMASH! Kin Name: Foxy Drabble:
Foxy watched the little lamb stumble forwards, backwards, then forwards again to donk their head on the walnut. It was a game try, in the wrong direction, she thought as the walnut rolled off and away. She rose from her seat position to retrieve it, and placed it in the middle of the stone again.
"Now watch - strength and direction is important in a good smash." Lowering her head, the heart on her forehead kissed the walnut briefly before rising and falling upon it. There was a violent crack, and the walnut split in an instant, the shell neatly falling away in pieces, leaving the nut inside nicely exposed. She looked over and smiled encouragingly at the little lamb, in a see? way. The little one let out a keen, high-pitched "ooooh", peered at the nut and looked up, wide-eyed and hopeless.
"On the top," she said, playful knocking her head against the little plate. "So it doesn't roll away." She picked a new walnut from the stash, placed it upon the rock once more, and nodded encouragingly.
The lamb almost charged the walnut again, and unfortunately had to be coddled after grazing a nose against the stone. Tearfully and sulkily, the baby pushed at it with a hoof.
"Maybe we should stop for today." Foxy nuzzled, twin tails curling around the wee rump. "I think you've done enough for today, sweetie."
"Can I use my hoof?" "Your hoof?" She said, mildly confused as a totoma from the mountains. "What's the use of your head then?"
After a bit more unintended crying (and a very stern, solemn stare from the higher-ups at the Mothers' Club, she gave in to the little one, somewhat panicked. "Okay, okay use your hoof! Do whatever you like, darling. Go ahead."
Red-eyed and sniffling, the lamb let out a fierce battlecry and attacked, jumping up and down as little lambs were wont to do upon the helpless walnut. When Foxy first heard the crack, she was almost terrified that something more vital had been broken. Indeed, the baby Totoma had slipped, and a piece of shell came flying out from the point of impact. With terror, Foxy sprung up and hauled the wee one up by the scruff, shaking the dangling legs out.
"It broke!" "WHERE?!" "The walnut!" And it was pointed to with perfectly functioning little legs.
Of course it was in the swamp that little baby totomas would use their hooves instead of their heads. Shaking her head and laughing through soft fluffy fur, she stared philosophically at the messily - but nevertheless unshelled walnut - and placed the lamb down neatly. Approval was sought: "do you think that's OK? Was it good?"
She contemplated the question, picked up another walnut and laughed. "Yes, yes I think it was good. I suppose that's what your head is for, then! Now," and she pushed the walnut over. "Go show the pretty does over there, why don't you?" That should get their biological clocks ticking.
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF RUNNING! Kin Name: Foxy Drabble:
She hadn't seen her in a while, that doe. That beautiful white, blind doe with a whisper of a voice and the presence of a ghost. The doe that she always saw, running, running.
She was always running. Foxy wished she knew more about that mysterious doe. If she was called to the swamp like her, was she not home? Where did she keep running to? Part of her should have viewed such escapism with contempt - that was not the totoma way, and a method bound to deem you nameless for a long, long time. Foxy did not have it in her to disdain a doe so touched with melancholy, a sadness that hung in the air and trailed behind her like the luscious locks of her mane and tail. Not destructive, no, but persistently sad as you followed in her running hooves and steps, wondering where she was running to and why she was so scared.
It was in her nature to be nosey, but when Foxy saw her, she felt it inappropriate. Surely, she would only run away again. She couldn't believe it healthy at all, and rather believed in facing your fears, but she was too worried about frightening her away.
The doe ran circles in the back of her mind, that flash of brilliant white - everytime she saw that lack of colour out of the corner of her eye, she would whip 'round, but often found songbirds instead. She saw her, hooves skirting the edges of her dreams, and because she was fearless in her dreams - and convinced that she would not stop running, Foxy would give chase, heavy hooves following heavy hooves. Still, even she galloped across the marsh, the strength of those Kiokote legs only moved faster, staying eternally out of sight.
It was Foxy's job to help people find happiness. What had she lost that she couldn't find back? Foxy was afraid to know, but so curious. So she ran after her, in her dreams, she never ceased. They both ran across the swamp, across the snow, across ice - she envied that the dream doe never lost her grip, while she merely slipped and slid - across what she'd thought the plains looked like, and what she'd thought the desert looked like, for completion's sake.
Her supremely focused mind thought, "perhaps she needs a nice buck." It seemed to solve a great deal of problems when a suitable partner was found, and to see families form from there was of great joy. Nothing would delight her more than to see that running doe, happy. She fancied she could almost make her so happy, she wouldn't recognise her. She was so beautiful it wouldn't be hard...or would it? He would have to be worth her, and kind, and perhaps a little assertive, like Foxy was. Maybe that way, he could stop her from running.
In Foxy's opinion, as she panted and shook in her eternal dream runs, nothing was more tiring than running forever.
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF CREATION! Kin Name: Foxy Drabble:
Foxy was on one of her in-bush stakeouts near the gathering mound, listening in on conversation and trying to figure out just which buck the young doe meant across the river there, in that herd of boys. She was so concentrated on the sounds in front of her that she barely noticed when one of her strangely similarly-coloured foxy companions squeaked in indignation, and only let herself be drawn away when a very sharp: "what are you doing?" came through the brush.
Surprised, she popped her head up and looked back. Her fennec was distastefully grooming the offended tail, and one of the does that had wandered away from the gaggle was defiantly staring at her, standing her ground.
She gauged whether she should say otherwise, but figured there would be no point in lying. Instead, she said quite plainly, "I was trying to find out which buck it was your friend is interested in."
"Why?" It came back quite harshly.
"It just might work out," she said mysteriously, swishing her two tails, and then twirling them together symbolically.
"Let it be," and it was a little weary, if warning.
"Why?" she returned. "A little nudge never hurt anyone."
The doe looked away, biting a lip while Foxy waited for a retort. Her gaze returned, and said, "it might. I've seen you doing this...this...thing. Matchmaking? Why?"
Foxy had heard that question many times before - Totomas were far more blunt and much less polite about this business - so she had a ready answer. "I think," she said, nodding for her to sit, "when one finds romance, they've found family in each other. In the most basic terms, love creates and expands family - blood that ties kin to one another like a stream to the sea, no matter how far they go, and wherever they are, no matter whether children and parents ever see each other again. I imagine it's comforting to know you have something that ties you together with someone else."
"Not everyone wants to have children."
"It's true," she agreed, "I just find myself fascinated by creation, really! How they come together, and what it symbolises. We are blessed with such fine pelts after all." She laughed in emphasis. "But really - in the mountains, I couldn't help admiring every flower and fauna surviving in the landscape of cold and snow. There isn't just something incredibly beautiful about creation, but also that creation is strength in its most raw, surviving terms. And that's why I would like to help your friend, to give her the chance to savour such strength, if she likes. How's that for an answer?"
The doe's face crumpled ever more when she'd continued, until she quietly admitted,
"I love her."
There was a momentary pause, then a smile that spread across her face. "Well, love is creation too. Come," Foxy said, eyes sliding open from her usual half-lidded gaze, "everyone deserves a fair chance." And she rose to her hooves to start her good work.
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF DRAGON! Kin Name: Beauty Past Compare Drabble:
"Oooh, dragons you say! There're some of the little wee ones that fly - they're like little lizards with wings, but less inspiring than those dragon bucks. You know why I like dragons?" She said, conspiratorially, her little mouth curling into her mother's smile. "Because they're so strong. Those bucks with the plates and the scales and the horns? Oooh la la!" She kicked her legs, spindly in comparison to her generous body. "So masterful. And the tail! I imagine they're very strong, and..." Her large ears flicked to and fro, just like her flitting thoughts. "I would love to be under the care of one, you know. In legends, they say they hoard beautiful things. And I would fit right in with a collection of gold and polished rocks."
Without prompting, she immediately launched into her signature song, the volume and power of her voice making her chest jiggle. "Ah, my beauty -" it boomed across the surroundings, leading birds to take leave of their branches. "- past compare, these gems - " and she stood up to reveal a luminous green stone she was just managing to sit on - how in the world did she do that? Was this performance art? Was she constantly bringing it about just to burst into song wherever possible? " - bright I weaaar," she wasn't really wearing it, so she pressed her cheek to it and sang. It was quite remarkable. "Was I ever....a mare's greeter? Is it I?" She twirled, graceful in her steps. She scuttled, hoof by hoof, to the water to gaze at her reflection. "Come reply! My reflection, tell me truly!" With that, she dipped her muzzle into the water, splashed it up with a burst - admittedly, it looked quite impressive, the twinkling of the droplets along her long lashes - really accented the hearts down her neck. Another twirl, a skip and a jump, and she was done.
"What do you think?" She said, eager for feedback. "It is a play, perchance with songs, that I am creating. A young maiden, a mare's consort, believing herself to be plain and worthless, coming into her own. Of course, not that I've ever thought that." She bounced, and her head shook. "I have always been quite marvellous. But I am a good actress, no? Am I not?" It was hard to disagree. For one, her face looked so keen, and for two, her hooves looked so sharp. And for three, she was smiling and that showed her rather pointy-looking teeth, too.
She almost looked like she wasn't going to believe what was said, but a sense of satisfaction settled over her face. "I certainly am good enough to be in that Royal Rainbow Tribe, aren't I? Perhaps they could use someone like me to shake up the status quo. And that would help with recruiting for my song-play." She looked thoughtful, then giggled. "Maybe I could include a dragon - a dragon buck. I'd get quite a few more gems then, wouldn't I?"
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF TURTLE! Kin Name: Headlong and Come Running Drabble:
The night before, Headlong saw a ghost. In particular, it was a floating apparition with glowing eyes, and when he jumped at it, reached for it, he passed through it. He was not alone. As it floated through the swamp and he followed, he realised...
"This is wrong." He said, pointing at Turtle Soup, who was, at this point, quickly devouring a head of cabbage.
"Leave the poor turtle alone. We don't bother it now that she's...gone." Come started sharply, but ended in a hushed whisper. "She used to feed it all sorts of stuff."
"No, no," Headlong said, almost irritably, which earned a scornful stare from the fiery (higher-up) doe. "I mean, it's called Turtle Soup."
"Ah well, that was messed up, yeah." She retained the scorn, reviewing the creature.
"It's a tortoise." He hissed. "Not a turtle." "What?" "Tortoises are the ones with legs, on land. Turtles are the ones at the beach and in the sea, with flippers. When I saw that ghost turtle the other day, it had flippers, so they called it a turtle. A kin who had travelled to the sea said that they're different. We've been calling it something else entirely this whole time."
"Hmm." Come said, mildly confused. "'Tortoise Soup' sounds less catchy though."
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF CHICKEN! Kin Name: Pull Through Drabble:
When the sun rose, the chickens did too. It started with a broody, quiet gaggle of clucks, followed by louder clucking, and then rose into a chorus of demanding PARK PARK PARKs as breakfast was expected.
Luckily, as the sun rose, so did Birdbuck. Though he didn't seem like the type - considering half of his lineage - he knew he had to get up for his ladies. He nudged on his bird mask, won from so many moons ago, kissed his (not sure if) eagle on the head and went to get breakfast for his hens. He chipperly greeted, "bpark bpark Camellia," and his very own hen fluttered daintily onto his back.
He greeted them with a sling of seeds, and cried "BUCK BUCK BUCK " at them to herald his arrival. A generous fling and the fluffy chickens descended on the cloud of seed. He watched them with deep satisfaction, and pulled the sling up for Camellia to eat from.
When the hens were all fed, he started work.
"B'caw!" He called, and noted with some satisfaction that his word had then looking up. "Caw, caw caw buck park." He indicated with a head, sling slipping around his neck. The hens gathered around him, slightly delayed and in mild confusion, but gather they did.
"Wonderful, ladies." And his fluffy chest puffed up with pride.
"Do you think the chickens actually understand him?" Best said rather dubiously to his sister, watching the exchange between Totoma and chicken. "I think they know who feeds them."
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF BEAUTY! Kin Name: Break You Down Drabble:
"Beauty?" He repeated, with faint disdain in his voice. "Oh, it's an easy word to use. Beauty is such a general term, a surface term used to describe what arbitrarily appeals to people with no quantification on what exactly it means. Look out there," he indicated towards the expanse of the marsh - it was snowing a little nowadays, and the ground was dotted with patches of white. "Kin call that 'beautiful,' don't they? Why? What is it that quantifies aesthetic appeal? Something that is pleasing to your senses for a reason you don't understand." And he flipped over the corpse of the mongoose, examining it as he spoke. His words rose over the sounds of tearing flesh. "Sometimes it seems that if many kin agree that something appeals to many of them, it must be universally beautiful to everyone. But I think it's a little narrowminded."
With his hooves, he drew a triangle in the snow - narrow and pointed, like a sharp little valley. "Like so. Simple is appealing." And he expanded the grooves, tracing over them again until the mud below was visible, then continued to draw branching lines and shapes from the triangle, an intricate, interlocked image on the ground. "Complicated crap - kin find that appealing too." With the carcass in his mouth, he squeezed, and with an unpleasant sound, red fluid filled the intricate channels.
"But if you really want to know what I think," he said with a smile as the drawing stained crimson, "I think you're beautiful, too."
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF MUSHROOM! Kin Name: Kernel Drabble:
"MUSHROOMS?" Kernel said dubiously. "I DON'T THINK THE AUDIENCE WILL TAKE WELL TO MUSHROOMS. THEY'RE KIND OF MUSHY AND A BIT HARDER TO POP IN MOUTHS."
"NO, HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY INSINUATE THAT?! OUR AUDIENCES ARE VERY CLASSY. THEY CAN APPRECIATE MUSHROOMS, I'M SURE. IT'S JUST NOT THE RIGHT TIME AND PLACE FOR THEM, NOT THE ROYAL RAINBOW TROUPE."
"I'M NOT SCARED OF FUNGUS," Kernel shook his head, confused by this possibility. "I MEAN, THEY'RE EVERYWHERE. AND TALKING ABOUT THAT, WHY SHOULD I USE YOUR MUSHROOMS INSTEAD OF PICKING SOME MYSELF?"
After a while of negotiation, he squinted at the kin. "WAIT...ARE YOU FROM RISE AND SHINE? ARE YOU HARRASSIN' ME? I'LL REPORT YOU TO YOUR PATRIACH, THIS IS VERY BAD CUSTOMER SERVICE."
"OH, NO? OKAY, THEN WHY SHOULD WE USE YOUR MUSHROOMS INSTEAD OF THEIR MUSHROOMS THEN? WE GOT A LITTLE PARNERSHIP GOING SO WE GET THE BENNIES, YOU KNOW."
He peered at the samples dubiously, poking them with a hoof. "WELL, O - OKAY, I'LL TRY ONE. IT'S NOT ONE OF THOSE THAT'S GONNA KILL ME RIGHT?"
After the assurance, he ate a piece. The world spun and suddenly, everything was as vibrant and delightful as the splatters of his pelt. The next morning, he found himself next to an empty corn sling.
"NO MORE MUSHROOMS!"
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF MONSTER! Kin Name: Doublewalker Drabble:
"Monsters? You believe in monsters?" He laughed. "Oh, you sound just like my dad. He says his dad is a monster, but even so, how does one qualify to be a monster? Do they just look like you, and me?" He kept up with a pleasant twinkle in his eye, so close he was almost a shadow. "Any monster is just a - a living thing, when you see them. A giant boar is that, a giant boar. A caiman is that, just a caiman. Just some species or another. Just some sad mutation or another."
He was untenably close. He walked as if he was barely expending energy, even with the sped up steps. It was clear he wasn't done with the question.
"What is it that makes one monstrous?" His eyes and head swivelled ahead, a placid smile on his face. "Most kin say it's, oh I don't know, sadism, brutality, but we do that to our prey, don't we? Aren't we all monsters then? Or you think there's a fine line? Qualifications? So and so - it suffered more, it suffered less." His glittering, red-tinged eyes turned back with interest. "Who is a monster? You and me? You, or me?"
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF OCEAN! Kin Name: Sea-Foams-Milk Drabble:
The buck stood on the shore, staring out to the expanse of sea. The waves lapped the shore with such intensity today because it was storming. The colour of the water was undecided, alternating between a gentle teal to a stormy blue and sometimes even a beige, tinged all this while with white foam on the edges as the sea crashed into the shore. His mane was sopping wet against his pelt, but everything was wet from the rain, so it didn't really matter.
He was here for a sign. They said, from the legends of his name, that if the sea looked like him, then everything would be fine. Sea-Foams-Milk needed direction and assurance. He wanted to know if it would be fine.
The tide came in closer. The water spray wasn't just from above, it was in front of him. As the sea rolled in, he thought to himself, looking at the furious foam, that it looked like him.
And that everything would be alright.
But then, the carcass of a sea-creature floated to the surface, and stained the incoming waves a beige-crimson.
That also looked like him. And his brother, Sea-Foams Blood. And actually, most of his siblings were red. This was bunk. And he turned back to whence he came, wet and disillusioned.
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF FIREWATER! Kin Name: Stirred Drabble:
"So I got this log from Tipsy," he said, rolling it over. "And some of this stuff from those fermented fruit guys. What else did you want?" Stirred tilted his head at his brother, waiting for instruction. "You want a what? A chili? OK. Chili and some salt."
With a jaunty whistle, he scuttled off to the main storefront to retrieve the goods. There was just no stopping the two of them when it was mixing time. He was excited to see what was going to happen, and returned with a chili by the stem and a small sling of salt. Adoringly, he put his head on the stone counter and stared as Shaken made his magic.
A dash of salt here, a dash of that red liquid, and a bit of chili. Soon it was an entire row of little shells filled with different variations of the contents. "Drink," his brother commanded, and he obliged in the testing. "Too salty," he complained. "This one, not transformative enough. This - not really exciting, it's just kinda...one way or another."
Shaken seemed thoroughly unimpressed by the critique. Stirred helpfully said, "hotter, I think, turn up the heat! We could really make out with the flavour if you weren't so conservative!"
He should have culled his enthusiasm - his stomach dropped as the entirety of a chili, opened with seeds and all, was dropped into a shell with the drink.
"Here," Shaken said, coldly. "Hot enough for you?"
That day, they were almost convinced that Stirred was going to drink the river dry.
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF MAGIC! Kin Name: Bitter End (situated somewhere after she stops being too ashamed to see her) Drabble:
"Hey, remember when I thought you were actually a witch?" She said to Sleepless cheerily, laying about her turf eating berries that she'd brought from her mother's patch. "Man, I sure was naive then. And blindly enraged, but you know, pretty stupid. I know you work really hard on that and all, considering your surrounding and this pretty sweet set-up -" She swept her eyes around - foggy, check, murky, check, lots of confusing herbs and flowers, check, a little patch of poisonous plants, check check (rash on her ankle) check. "But knowing you now, I'm even a little embarrassed I fell for it. Does magic even exist?" She did not wait for an answer. "Nah, didn't think so. I mean, the Motherfather sure does," she flicked her scaled tail, "but I suppose that sort of power is beyond our control. Magic sh-magic."
And she lay down to finish the branch off, too.
Suddenly, Alone in the Dark burst into her grounds: "I need something to chase this boar off my spectral stalking grounds, do you have anything I can use to dispel it?"
Watching the exchange of herbs and plants (along with an incantation or two) End was astonished. After the buck disappeared off into the distance, she asked, "is that real magic?"
"It's science." Sleepless said, rolling her eyes.
Maxx D Crew
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Posted: Tue Feb 02, 2016 2:26 pm
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF DRAGON! Kin Name: Breach Drabble: The arduous journey to visit her aunt was taking a toll. Breach had thought the trek to the ocean was the worse she’d ever endure. She’d had no real idea what to expect on it and had spent more time than she’d planned at the ocean to replenish what she’d lost: weight and health. (It helped that she gained more skills and knowledge.) And yet it seemed as she finally came into a world she recognized, she felt worse than she could remember. The creatures between the vastly different ecosystems were more skittish and careful—she’d have to find a vegetation expert to help sustain her on future expeditions between her home and that of her relatives—which meant she’d failed, spectacularly, to catch much of anything. She hadn’t expected, however, for hallucinations.
At the mouth of a cave, she was passing there was a slick looking figure. She would’ve thought it was a kin if it wasn’t for the strange features that she found alien. The horns were not like her own, but far thicker at the base and curving in a different direction. While it had back scales, they were limited to the middle down her spine and far longer, like a threatening row of claws, that were even echoed on the back of its neck. At first glance the tail was merely thicker and without a tail tuft but rather a trio of—skin? It couldn’t be a kin. Especially as it apparently was breathing fire! (She wouldn’t have been able to see the salamander it was clutching between its teeth.) Breach felt worry rise. It had to be a dragon. She knew of nothing else that could do any such thing as breathe fire. And yet it was huge. Weren’t dragons those small winged lizard-like creatures kin spoke of? (She’d never seen one, herself.) And this was not small. Or apparently winged—a small miracle, surely. She frowned, wondering what the best course of action would be. The dragon, however, seemed to be waking and the doe nearly leapt out of her skin as it twitched, uncurling in slow increments. With a yelp, she bolted past the cave and into the bushes that offered more cover. (Great; she’d be covered in brambles for weeks now.)
The smartest thing to do would have been to leave but she was sure the dragon would hear it. Even if it appeared to be earless, it had to hear somehow. And even if she’d been willing to make a ruckus, when blue glowing eyes swept around she felt paralyzed. It was a goddamn dragon! Well-fed by the looks of it and she was…probably more than a little malnourished. She, somehow, doubted a meal of a kin that more bone than meat would be dissuasive. It probably liked bones to pile up in demonstration of what it’d do if it caught any living thing encroaching on its territory. Well, it wasn’t going to catch her because she wasn’t even going to breathe until it just went right back to sleep.
Of course, that explanation habitually ended up stuck deep down in her throat whenever someone had the gall to ask, “What the hell happened to you?” It hadn’t gone back to sleep and she’d spent nearly a day trapped in that damn bramble bush. ******** dragons. They sucked.
