Posts Tagged transformation

[partim] Scott the Alchemist 4.

Apr 5

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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.

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[partim] Scott the Alchemist 4.

Mar 12

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NSFW (M/M, merging) below cut…»

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[scrap] Piñata.

Dec 18

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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.

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[partim] Blake.

Dec 18

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When we left the restaurant it was still raining.  I didn’t have anything damageable on me, so I didn’t bother manifesting an umbrella.

Blake was looking up into the downpour, looking even bigger than before—actually rounding out and looking chubbier by the moment.

“Um, Blake?”

“Hey marten,” he said. “Want to do something impossible?”  He turned to me and grinned, though his face was already changing.  His muzzle lengthened, straightening out into a solid red beak, and he sat back on his haunches, hands on the ground and looking up at me as he continued to grow.

When he was at eye level with me even in his crouched position, he stretched out, his arms growing into slender talons while his hindquarters took on a more feline appearance.

“Stand back,” he said, in a strange rumbling voice and I jumped back as two frankly enormous red wings sprouted from his back fully-formed, and a flick of the tail seemed to complete the transformation, leaving it a leonine shape with a dark red tuft.

“A gryphon?” I said.

“Climb on,” he said.

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[scrap] Matanky.

Oct 17

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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.”

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.”

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.

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[WIP] Classifieds.

Oct 11

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I watched him make breakfast—he didn’t really need much in the way of help—and was absolutely at a loss for what to say.  Jay didn’t notice he’d nearly doubled in size.

As he reached up to grab the flour, exposing the entire lower half of his belly, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, an attempt to orient myself: “Jay, do you have any clothes that fit?”

He immediately turned bright red and pulled his shirt down.  “Zed!” he said. “I didn’t know I… just any old thing around the house… didn’t mean to bother you…”

I didn’t try to calm him down—that never worked.  And I could tell he was more embarrassed than hurt.  Still, he left the room, returning after a few moments in a much looser T-shirt, and went back to putting pancakes together.

I tried not to ask any more questions.  Clearly this was normal for him; I’d only make myself look stupid or crazy by asking questions.  So I excused myself and went to looking through the apartment.

And nothing had really changed.  Well—all right, he was definitely fatter in the couple of pictures he had of himself in his room—maybe a few extra snack wrappers by his bed?—but I guess having a 250-lb roommate doesn’t make things much different from having a 150-lb roommate.

That, or I didn’t notice any other changes.

That was kind of worrying.  He didn’t notice the change—maybe I only noticed the change I saw.

And the queasy feeling in my stomach that followed on that thought was immediately replaced by quite the reverse kind of thrill as a new idea came into my head that I immediately kicked myself for.

Because I wondered if I could do it again.

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[partim] Piñata.

Oct 4

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My body hit the wall with a hollow thunk.  The wind roared harder; I felt myself being pushed back farther, even though I’m sure I wasn’t moving anymore.  I couldn’t even shut my eyes to keep the wind out of them as the sun started coming up over the west side of town.

That didn’t seem right at all.  I haven’t been out here all night already, have I?

That didn’t seem right either.

And then I saw a car driving down the street backwards.  And then more.

And then crowds of people, all moving in reverse.

I felt like I should be scared.

I mean, I was—but the fear itself was a bit hollow, without my body pumping the chemicals in.  I knew I was scared, but I didn’t feel it.

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[scrap] Classifieds.

Nov 8

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Start of an idea I’ve had floating around for a while.

Jay stomped into my room, waving the morning paper, and started yelling at me.

“Zed, why didn’t you proofread the ad before you sent it in?” He threw it down on my desk and pointed to it.

Now, I’d helped him out the other day—he’s a bit on the shy side and doesn’t like to go out, but I thought he needed to meet someone, so we put together a personal ad for him. We’d managed to come up with:

GWM, 25, 150#, loves to cook,…

It went on a bit like that, but it really wasn’t very interesting. You see why he’s single.

Anyway, the ad his finger was on was clearly the same ad I’d submitted, only instead giving his weight as 250#.

“Who’d answer an ad like that? I’d be a blimp!”

I was a little pudgier than Jay – kind of close to that number myself – but I didn’t answer that. (He likes to cook – I like to eat.)

“I’m sure someone wouldn’t mind,” I said. “And if you do get a call, you can get them straightened out right away. We’ll send in a correction after lunch—I’ll go by the paper myself.”

Just then the phone rang. Jay picked it up.

“Hello? … Yeah, I posted the ad … No, I’m not a ‘big boy’” – he started getting agitated again – “I weigh 150! … Yeah, I know you can’t print lies in the paper … No, I don’t want to get bigger, perv … Listen, just …” He slammed the receiver down.

I looked at him a bit surprised, which he misinterpreted. “Why did I do that?” he said. “I shouldn’t be picky… with anyone who’d be interested in me despite my weight…”

From the moment he’d hung up, his body had changed. The loose clothes he’d been wearing were filled out to a much more generous form. He didn’t seem to notice the change at all. “Dude, why am I even hanging out in here? I’ve got breakfast to make. Come down and help, would you?”

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[partim] Piñata.

Mar 31

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The coughing shook me harder and I kept spitting up confetti for about four or five minutes before I ran dry.

The fit stopped shortly after, and I sank to hands and knees, exhausted.

I didn’t want to move.

I knew I had to.

And then, suddenly, I couldn’t.

The stiffness I thought was cold had permeated me, and now my joints wouldn’t respond.

A breeze picked up and I felt—or rather, I heard it rustle through my fur.

That’s not right.

I heard my hide flapping as the wind went past.

The wind started pushing me back. It wasn’t blowing that hard, was it?

My arms and legs scraped across the ground as I drifted across the sidewalk.

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1st draft [partim] — Piñata.

Jul 26

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I had no idea it was supposed to be this cold out tonight—I didn’t have anything warm on at all. It was a mercy that there was no wind, at least.

Only a few steps from the door my whole body was numb and stiff with cold.

There was no way I’d make it home like this. I made it as far as the corner… I had a kind of idea it’d be easier to catch a taxi.

I didn’t get as far as trying to flag one down, though, before I was overcome with a massive coughing fit.

It didn’t start out that bad—just a tickle at the throat—but very quickly it got to the point where I felt I was going to be sick just from the force of it.

And then it felt like I was retching for real, and then I coughed up—a spray of confetti, glittering in the night air.

What the hell?

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