Posts Tagged furry
Spyke Jackalope
Aug 12
[WIP] Jackalope
Jul 28
*dusts off blog* Yeah, it’s been a while. This was requested by Spyke, and I already see a lot of things that need fixing -.- Will do some tweaks before coloring.
EDIT: I’ve done loooots of fixing and posted the final piece, which looks a lot better! Â You can also see it on FA.
[partim] Blake.
Apr 22
Blake landed on the library roof, folding his wings and crouching down so I could slide off him more easily.
The big red gryphon rolled over on his back, and after various stretches of various limbs he had changed himself back into a big red kangaroo.
I sat next to him, resting a paw on his belly, and looked down into his eyes.
He looked back, and then through me, up at the stars behind the dome. I rolled over on my back next to him, looking up likewise.
“I’m sure we don’t belong up here,†I said.
“Just because you’re not supposed to do something doesn’t mean you don’t do it,†Blake said. “It means you think about whether doing it is worth the consequences.â€
I laughed. “You’re trying to corrupt me.â€
“Not at all,†Blake said. “Just reminding you that you have the power of choice. Even if the consequences are dire, you can choose to risk them—a ‘Keep Out’ sign is not an impenetrable force field. So what are the consequences of being caught up here that are so dire anyway? What’s the scenario you imagine?â€
“Well, for trespassing we might go to court…†I said. “Might be a fine, or even jailtime. A blemish on my public record.â€
“That’s a worst case,†Blake said. “Isn’t it more likely that, say, someone might find us and say, ‘Hey kids, you don’t belong out here, come back inside,’ and we do? Or that we don’t get found at all?â€
“You are trying to corrupt me,†I said.
“Only a little.â€Â He turned to face me, resting one heavy arm on my chest.
And he moved his arm lower, his paw passing my stomach. “Maybe about… this much?â€
He squeezed playfully.
“In a public place?†I said.
“Ah, but it isn’t public,†Blake said. “There’s a Keep Out sign. This place is private for the many who allow a piece of cardboard to be stronger than their willpower, when it should take a good deal more.â€
[partim] Shine.
Apr 9
Of course at this point returning to the eating contest was out of the question. The authorities were arriving and the patrons were leaving when they could, and none of the staff seemed keen on returning to the kitchen.
This was a shame, as my overstuffed gut had been burning through its intake and was rumbling hungrily again.
Well, it was Chinese food, after all.
The confused thoughts of the human getting used to his new situation bounced around in my head as I went around the room, trying not to stumble as I got used to walking on four feet.
Once I thought I had it down, I went back to my workbench, looking through the other potions I kept handy.
What, this isn’t enough for you? Toby thought.
What point is there in ever stopping? I grabbed a viscous pink potion from the shelf, unstoppered it, and drank it down.
Gah, that tastes like rubber! came Toby’s thought, after a few moments.
So will we.
The change started working from the inside out, the only initial signs being a feeling of extreme lightness—an effect of the dissolution of the fat and internal organs—then a feeling of flexibility as the same happened to the bones, and a feeling of weakness as the muscles, too, evaporate into thin air, leaving the body a hollow shell, though perhaps still a bit solid to the touch, due to being filled with air.
Once all that prep work is out of the way, the visible changes begin—the potion starts working through the vacated hide and changing its substance, from ordinary flesh and fur into a specific rubberlatex designed for resilient springiness, sturdy unbreakability, and an appealing fresh scent, which took quite a lot of time to get just right.
Ars est celare artem, though, and I could feel Toby’s thoughts, taking the workmanship for granted and entirely focusing on the sensation of being turned into the hindquarters of a balloonish tigertaur.
I’ll have to teach that boy some appreciation for the art.
[scrap] Piñata.
Dec 18
The crowds cleared, and I stood, immobile, in the dawn light.
It was getting hard to think. Like a wave of sleepiness the thought came over me that thinking wasn’t what I was made for.
It felt like it would be so easy to enter that sleep, just let go and be what I was made for…
What am I made for?
—That’s not important. You don’t need to worry about it. That’s not what you’re made for.
I don’t need to worry about it.
—You don’t need to think about it. Just be, don’t think.
I don’t need to—
—Just be. Don’t think.
Don’t th—
—Just be.
I am.
And it was quiet in my head.
A wolf came around the corner and stopped to look at me. He looked, for a moment, like he recognized me—and then he picked me up and took me inside the building I’d been outside of.
A couple of minutes later, I’d been purchased.
The wolf took me upstairs and sat me down in an office breakroom, showing me off to everyone.
And then I was hung from the ceiling, a blindfolded lion below me, swinging a bat.
—You can think about this.
—This is what you were made for.
I was nervous.
I was excited.
The lion swung the bat and missed me.
I was excited.
I was nervous.
The lion swung again and hit me.
I was afraid.
The lion swung again and missed me.
I was afraid.
The lion swung again, and the force of his swing broke me apart.
[scrap] Matanky.
Oct 17
The transit drive was humming.
The transit drive, of course, shouldn’t ought to hum.
The correct sound is a rush, like roaring wind just about to lull.
The hum, a bit louder now, was far from the idea of lulling.
I turned my eyes away from the starfield, which was appearing to jitter as the Lyra started to shake.
And it started to jolt.
I ran through the narrow cramped halls of the ship, metal clanking with each step, hoping to reach the engine room in time.
Animal instinct said, away is probably a better direction to run.
Animal instinct knotted my stomach.
I don’t have to worry about animal instinct if I don’t want to, I thought, panting.
The clang-clang of the metal pathway redoubled with the clank-clan of metallic feet.
I can be strong enough to survive an exploding starship engine.
My fists clenched with the sound of metal scraping metal as my body continued to change.
I can get there faster so I don’t have to.
My roboticizing body moved faster, and when I reached the overlook, I just hefted myself over the railing and jumped down.
I sensed heat, and more dangerous radiation.
Energy shields too then—not a problem.
And then I thought, looking at the ailing engine… “Troubleshooting, really? Not a chance.â€
I’m a computer now, I’m not going to stop and think.
There was too much radiation interference for me to connect to the diagnostic over the wireless, so I ran to the nearest console and punched the port, changing my paw to interface.
I didn’t think. Thinking was way too slow. The Lyra’s diagnostic routine hit my processor and I processed.
—And it was hopeless. The Lyra hadn’t isolated the problem’s root cause and neither could I. That generally meant a full-blown failure—irrecoverable.
Diagnostics only gave me a few seconds before the whole thing went bang.
Stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thinking…
Safety protocols for an exploding spaceship—check, check, check.
Internal alarm.
Safety protocol for an exploding spaceship traveling at FTL speeds: I believe the full text of the procedure would be something like “Don’t be silly.â€
C’mon, shapeshifter, think—
stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking
Index of what remains after a spaceship blows up while in transit: assorted subatomic particles and intense radiation of a rather exotic sort.
So be it then.
The Lyra turned into an explosion of blinding hyperplasma the instant after I did.
“But my talent’s switching minds, not,†Ralph said, “Not reviving the dead…â€
He shuddered a bit at the thought. John shook his head. “You go to them before they die. And you’ll swap out their minds with a blank one.â€
“A blank one?â€
“Well, not that you’ll be carrying blank minds around… that would be all kinds of ethical trouble… but you’ve said it’s easier to do visualizing it that way instead of trying to trade something for nothing.â€
“How long have you known me?â€
“About sixty years.â€
“You don’t look that old,†Ralph said. But really, once you knew, you kind of could—the gentle wrinkles around the eyes were, though not pronounced enough to convey a sense of age, were still a little too deep for a young man—once you knew, you couldn’t see the hints of gray around his temples as the signs of a stressful work life any longer—once you knew, he was clearly an old man, but not frail like I’d expect in a man who just admitted to being maybe 75—even once you knew, you could still not guess him any more than a very healthy fifty.
[partim] Mori.
Oct 6
The door had opened out onto a countertop that was several paces across. There were rows and piles of books here, most books being taller than me, and even sitting on my golem I couldn’t see over many of them.
But there was no sign of a computer, and I couldn’t sense any connection to the network, either. Who would do research without the Internet?
“So what did you bring me here for, Munk?â€
The golem carried me to a book that lay by itself on the counter. Unlike many of the other books, the title was in a script I recognized, even if it was Devanagari.
Now, while I did have to learn a bit of Sanskrit for alchemical studies, I was, in general, pretty hopeless at it.
The title, at least, was pretty straightforward; it was just चनà¥à¤¦à¥à¤°à¤¿à¤•, Moonlight.
“The doors—†the man started, confused for a moment. The doors were indeed of the push-to-open kind.
“I guess I should start here, then,†he said. “This is the Halkiadakis Institute, of course, I’m John, in this place we… well, everyone coming from the past comes through here. So it has to be kept traditional, so people aren’t disoriented.†He started walking again. “So different areas for different arrivals—this is the Modern area, and I work in the Medieval and sometimes the Primitive—â€
“Wouldn’t time travelers be ready for new and strange futures?†Ralph said.
“Oh, we’re not here for time travelers,†John said. “I mean, I said everyone coming from the past, I mean everyone. That’s our mission here, our number one obligation.â€
“What is?â€
“To salvage everyone from the past. To have made death meaningless. To give everyone, every person who ever lived, another life free of death and hardship.â€
“But—everyone does die—or did, back then, anyway—isn’t the past, the timeline, supposed to be immutable?â€
“It is—and that’s where you come in, Ralph. Your talent makes this whole operation possible.â€