ORIGIN

Rue trots through the tunnel, the world tilted. Not that it bothers them. That's how the world is supposed to be. They ignore Draco's guardian's curious looks -- that's the Sentinel's problem.

The midpoint in the tunnel is where they stop, looking up and around the doorway. They think it's funny, how the rest of the Chaos Forge is so preoccupied with seeming intimidating and proper. True Chaos wouldn't care.

The itch to break, claw, tear at something whirls around in their brain again, and they find themselves turning to a rock face. A howl erupts from their jaws as they grab at their magic wildly, haphazardly, and fling it at the wall.

...And yet, as predictably as clockwork, nothing happens.

Nothing. Pathetic nothing. Stupid pathetic nothing. That was all Rue ever seemed to be capable of, at least in the eyes of the rest of the Forge.

Well, that just means it's time to prove them wrong!
They take several steps back, rearing up onto their hind legs. Claws spread wide, they call again, this time for something else.

Darkness pulls itself together on the floor in front of them, and wriggling, forms into a black tendril. It trembles for a moment, before it impacts the rocks, sending a few scattering down the tunnel.

Now that's what I'm talking about! The scattered stones clatter along the floor, and Rue chases them, closing scaled claws over one of them. But eventually they decide that's boring. It's kicked down the hall, forgotten.

Rue turns towards the wall again, hissing. They call their magic yet again, for something new. Something cool. Something interesting.

Instead, there's a sensation on their skin of something growing and taking root. They flail wildly, taken by surprise, as they feel themselves draining as mushrooms sprout from their fur. No, no, no! runs their little brain as they howl futily.

This isn't what they wanted at all! The horrible slithering sensation under their skin drove them made, as they run rampant circles. Still, the quickly growing mushrooms hold fast.

Clearly running round and round won't work. They stop, and roll onto their back, taking an impromptu dirtbath under the Door of Life. Even still, the stubborn fungi stay put in their fur.

"GO AWAY!" comes their frustrated shriek.

Tch. Despite all their attempts to shake the mushrooms loose, they still hold fast, and exhaustion grips them now heavily. Defeated, they paw at the rocks. Stupid magic. Stupid Mushrooms.
They slowly plod their way back down the hall, admitting their loss. The Sentinel will likely look at them funny for the new duds they are coming back with, and someone in the Forge will laugh at Rue's misfortune. But they don't particularly care anymore.

They just want to take a nap.