A little piece of the past.
Aug. 13th, 2003 10:35 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
x-rahne.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsRahne had an exciting time during the Great Mutant Outing; the pain made her transform for the first time, and never mind "mutant," her guardian and neighbors thought she was a werewolf -- the moon really was just a bit past full at the time.
She didn't figure out how to transform back until early Sunday morning.
Oh, and she's mentioned a necklace once or twice....
Rahne very much wanted a drink of water.
Her throat and mouth were parched and cold from panting; the cool air almost itched on the soft membranes, and she gagged a little when she licked her nose, pulled her tongue in clumsily, and tried to swallow on a dry throat.
She wanted to cry, and felt a little as if she ought to be able to; she had that swollen wet feeling at the sides of her throat, though the thirst burned.
At least she was warm enough. Only her nose and mouth and eyes felt chilled, and the pads of her paws; the rest, the core of her, was still warm under heavy fur even though she was beginning to be stiff from lying still, even though she lay on cold rusty metal. Her shoulder had felt hot-and-cold for a while with aching, but it only hurt a little now, and there was no more break in the skin.
That almost frightened her more than the fur and teeth and tail and senses and losing her hands and her joints all being in the wrong places... She didn't understand. It didn't feel exactly uncomfortable, just strange, but it wasn't natural, and it wasn't something God did, was it, to turn people into wolves?
"I do no understand how this could have happened." She perked up her ears at the voice, swiveling them forward and lifting her head to look at Reverend Craig standing behind his long shadow. She thought he sounded disappointed, though his voice sounded louder and strange, and he was hard to see standing so still in the moonlight outside the bars.
They had put her in an old zoo cage, once they caught her. She hadn't tried to bite them, had been horrified when the thought crossed her mind and her lips lifted. She hadn't hurt anyone, she didn't want to, she always wanted to be a good girl, truly....
She didn't understand it either. She knew it was dangerous to think "Oh, I'm holier, I do this and this, I'm safe," but she hadn't thought she had done anything to make herself vulnerable to demons... how could she be a werewolf? Did it mean anything that she wasn't ravening after blood? It wasn't even the full moon; it was on the wane already before the pain had happened.
"I have reared you the best I could, lass, and I had seen no signs you were in danger such as this." He hadn't either? That made her heart lift, though maybe it shouldn't since it had happened -- but Reverend Craig knew more than she did, and it was something, that he had thought her better. She had been trying; maybe --
She stopped the thought; she couldn't find a way to continue it.
"May be I've been remiss. But even with the worst I can think, I canna see how I could have expected such a thing as now." She saw movement; he was frowning. "I mislike gossip, but there are some things I've heard. Strange doings all about. Near everyone in town had that pain, or did you know that already?"
Rahne moved her head from side to side; it didn't quite shake the way she was used to, but she hoped it got the idea across.
"No? Can you still understand me then, lassie?"
Of course she could, she wanted to say. She settled for a peculiar squeaking whimper and a toss of her head up and down, and an involuntary thump of her tail. ...It was still very odd having a tail, and odder yet that it was starting to seem as if it belonged.
"I still canna see why you'd be a werewolf, Rahne. And 'twas late for the full moon, at that." Yes, she KNEW, she could see it over his shoulder! She lowered her head in quick contrition for the impudent thought. "I've brought something. I canna tell if it'll matter... but...."
Reverend Craig moved his hands, which had been behind his back, in front of him. She watched the lighter-coloured motion until something brighter yet caught what little light was in his shadow, and glittered. It was pretty, but what was it?
He put something back in his pocket -- a little box, she thought -- and let the glittery thing dangle from his hand, then fiddled with it. "Stay back, now," he cautioned her. Rahne put her ears down flat, unhappily, at the nervous sound in his voice and the sudden change in what she could smell. But she didn't move to get up at all while her guardian did something with the glittery thing -- he passed his hand just into the cage and around one of the upright bars, just above a crosspiece, and after a moment stepped back. The glittery thing was dangling into the cage now.
She made what she hoped was an inquiring noise.
"That's right, lass. Come look. Come." This last was almost in the tone he'd have used to tell a dog to come or heel, but just a little uncertain.
Rahne had to think a moment to work out how to get her feet under her again; the pads of her front paws slipped a little at first before the rough skin caught properly against the floor, and then her haunches were stiff as she straightened out her hind legs. She shook herself and then walked cautiously forward, self-conscious under his gaze.
He stepped aside and let the moonlight fall full on the bars where the glittery thing was, and she saw that it was a thin little chain like twisted rope, with a simple flat cross at the end. One of the arms was caught against a flake of rust so that the rest of it stood out a little to the side of the bar.
She was quite sure it was silver. And it was very beautiful. She whimpered very softly and swallowed again, with a little better success this time. She didn't feel any overwhelming fear or desire to back away -- but she was a bit scared; what if --
But if she could touch it, if she could touch a silver cross, then whatever had happened to her couldn't be the regular sort of thing from werewolf stories, could it? And then -- if Jesus would let her touch a silver cross, and if praying over her to cast out a demon hadn't done anything, maybe that was because there wasn't one, and all this was something else and she was all right? Well, aside from being a wolf. And that mightn't be so very bad, if it didn't mean that. It wasn't very uncomfortable, except that she was thirsty.
She took the other few steps and looked at it closely, and then pushed it up against the upright with her muzzle. And it just felt cold and hard like metal. Rahne pulled her head back and licked her nose, looked up hopefully at Reverend Craig and caught herself wagging her tail again.
"Well, that's something, lass." His voice was softer now. "Not in the Good Book, but then the Bible doesn't say about diagnosing werewolves in particular, and I did ask for a sign." He reached toward the cross -- no, his hand came between the bars again, and Rahne held very still as he gingerly touched the top of her head between the ears.
He pulled his hand back again pretty quick and looked over the cage with a frown, then walked away quickly. But he brought her water when he came back, and Rahne got to sleep for a while, curled up underneath the little silver cross.
She didn't figure out how to transform back until early Sunday morning.
Oh, and she's mentioned a necklace once or twice....
Rahne very much wanted a drink of water.
Her throat and mouth were parched and cold from panting; the cool air almost itched on the soft membranes, and she gagged a little when she licked her nose, pulled her tongue in clumsily, and tried to swallow on a dry throat.
She wanted to cry, and felt a little as if she ought to be able to; she had that swollen wet feeling at the sides of her throat, though the thirst burned.
At least she was warm enough. Only her nose and mouth and eyes felt chilled, and the pads of her paws; the rest, the core of her, was still warm under heavy fur even though she was beginning to be stiff from lying still, even though she lay on cold rusty metal. Her shoulder had felt hot-and-cold for a while with aching, but it only hurt a little now, and there was no more break in the skin.
That almost frightened her more than the fur and teeth and tail and senses and losing her hands and her joints all being in the wrong places... She didn't understand. It didn't feel exactly uncomfortable, just strange, but it wasn't natural, and it wasn't something God did, was it, to turn people into wolves?
"I do no understand how this could have happened." She perked up her ears at the voice, swiveling them forward and lifting her head to look at Reverend Craig standing behind his long shadow. She thought he sounded disappointed, though his voice sounded louder and strange, and he was hard to see standing so still in the moonlight outside the bars.
They had put her in an old zoo cage, once they caught her. She hadn't tried to bite them, had been horrified when the thought crossed her mind and her lips lifted. She hadn't hurt anyone, she didn't want to, she always wanted to be a good girl, truly....
She didn't understand it either. She knew it was dangerous to think "Oh, I'm holier, I do this and this, I'm safe," but she hadn't thought she had done anything to make herself vulnerable to demons... how could she be a werewolf? Did it mean anything that she wasn't ravening after blood? It wasn't even the full moon; it was on the wane already before the pain had happened.
"I have reared you the best I could, lass, and I had seen no signs you were in danger such as this." He hadn't either? That made her heart lift, though maybe it shouldn't since it had happened -- but Reverend Craig knew more than she did, and it was something, that he had thought her better. She had been trying; maybe --
She stopped the thought; she couldn't find a way to continue it.
"May be I've been remiss. But even with the worst I can think, I canna see how I could have expected such a thing as now." She saw movement; he was frowning. "I mislike gossip, but there are some things I've heard. Strange doings all about. Near everyone in town had that pain, or did you know that already?"
Rahne moved her head from side to side; it didn't quite shake the way she was used to, but she hoped it got the idea across.
"No? Can you still understand me then, lassie?"
Of course she could, she wanted to say. She settled for a peculiar squeaking whimper and a toss of her head up and down, and an involuntary thump of her tail. ...It was still very odd having a tail, and odder yet that it was starting to seem as if it belonged.
"I still canna see why you'd be a werewolf, Rahne. And 'twas late for the full moon, at that." Yes, she KNEW, she could see it over his shoulder! She lowered her head in quick contrition for the impudent thought. "I've brought something. I canna tell if it'll matter... but...."
Reverend Craig moved his hands, which had been behind his back, in front of him. She watched the lighter-coloured motion until something brighter yet caught what little light was in his shadow, and glittered. It was pretty, but what was it?
He put something back in his pocket -- a little box, she thought -- and let the glittery thing dangle from his hand, then fiddled with it. "Stay back, now," he cautioned her. Rahne put her ears down flat, unhappily, at the nervous sound in his voice and the sudden change in what she could smell. But she didn't move to get up at all while her guardian did something with the glittery thing -- he passed his hand just into the cage and around one of the upright bars, just above a crosspiece, and after a moment stepped back. The glittery thing was dangling into the cage now.
She made what she hoped was an inquiring noise.
"That's right, lass. Come look. Come." This last was almost in the tone he'd have used to tell a dog to come or heel, but just a little uncertain.
Rahne had to think a moment to work out how to get her feet under her again; the pads of her front paws slipped a little at first before the rough skin caught properly against the floor, and then her haunches were stiff as she straightened out her hind legs. She shook herself and then walked cautiously forward, self-conscious under his gaze.
He stepped aside and let the moonlight fall full on the bars where the glittery thing was, and she saw that it was a thin little chain like twisted rope, with a simple flat cross at the end. One of the arms was caught against a flake of rust so that the rest of it stood out a little to the side of the bar.
She was quite sure it was silver. And it was very beautiful. She whimpered very softly and swallowed again, with a little better success this time. She didn't feel any overwhelming fear or desire to back away -- but she was a bit scared; what if --
But if she could touch it, if she could touch a silver cross, then whatever had happened to her couldn't be the regular sort of thing from werewolf stories, could it? And then -- if Jesus would let her touch a silver cross, and if praying over her to cast out a demon hadn't done anything, maybe that was because there wasn't one, and all this was something else and she was all right? Well, aside from being a wolf. And that mightn't be so very bad, if it didn't mean that. It wasn't very uncomfortable, except that she was thirsty.
She took the other few steps and looked at it closely, and then pushed it up against the upright with her muzzle. And it just felt cold and hard like metal. Rahne pulled her head back and licked her nose, looked up hopefully at Reverend Craig and caught herself wagging her tail again.
"Well, that's something, lass." His voice was softer now. "Not in the Good Book, but then the Bible doesn't say about diagnosing werewolves in particular, and I did ask for a sign." He reached toward the cross -- no, his hand came between the bars again, and Rahne held very still as he gingerly touched the top of her head between the ears.
He pulled his hand back again pretty quick and looked over the cage with a frown, then walked away quickly. But he brought her water when he came back, and Rahne got to sleep for a while, curled up underneath the little silver cross.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-08-15 05:08 pm (UTC)I love it. Love it very, very much.
It's always nice to see a not totally crazy Reverend Craig. It's getting to the point where one would think it was canon to have him cursing at her and throwing books and calling her very dirty names.
(unless it is and now I look like an idiot)
I especially love how you didn't get crazy with the accent. Put in just enough so that we knew it was there, and it sounded real, but not so much that it was impossible to read.
Wonderful piece.
no subject
Date: 2003-08-15 05:24 pm (UTC)*grins at PK*
It really is well done, but I've already said so and I do love her Rev. Craig.
no subject
Date: 2003-08-15 06:16 pm (UTC)Thank you very much. :) I'm glad you enjoyed it. And I've taken up trying to be... not too heavy-handed with accents, and stick almost entirely to word choice and patterns (where I can, anyway) where the accent in question would be the one to sound natural to the POV character. (I've been very heavy-handed on previous occasions, but am trying to ease off as that particular story goes on, with the excuse that one of the main characters is getting used to the accent... erm, never mind.)
Reverend Craig is... actually enough of a caricature in the comics that you'd think he'd be difficult to overdo, but it sounds like some people really get the style wrong. (I have little doubt of his being quite verbally abusive, but I would be somewhat surprised if he was exactly profane about it.) I did deliberately soften this version somewhat, mostly because... well, I felt like it. Still, while I'm not sure he's ever had a positive appearance in the comics, I don't think he foams at the mouth every single time. :)
Anyway. Sorry about the rambling. Thank you very much!