TAKE A SWING IF YOU WANNA - Printable Version

Since waking up, each cycle had felt like a punch in the gut. Punches that only got easier to tolerate because each one calloused her belly more and more, until it was as thick as the hand that held her blade. It hadn't been too bad, per se, but she got the impression no one trusted her. Fair enough. She'd followed a traitor-- and even though she'd loved Jupiter, she had to learn to let it go.

Besides, the Forge was keeping her busy.

New creations kept pouring out. Vargas had spoken of war and, speaking of the Master, he seemed... distant lately. His behaviour mimicked the way Jupiter had been before she began changing plans, talking about freedom, making them fight and hide and run. War was something Eurydome had no interest in, and it seemed as though she wasn't quite what Vargas was looking for in terms of soldiers, either, so she kept doing what she always did. She guarded the tunnel, and trained the younglings.

She just had to hope that she wasn't following another Master down a bad path. Knowing her luck, Vargas would turn traitor eventually. Eurydome at least had the good sense to keep that particular thought well to herself.

Today's victim was one of the newer creations. Or, maybe it was just one of the spawn that had randomly been sent by the Creator himself. It wasn't Eurydome's job to care; it was just her job to teach. She took the young valk-snake out into the pastures of Pegasus and looked around at the wide, open space she'd picked.

The gladiator itched a scar on her forearm and shrugged. It'd do. "What's your designation?" She asked it, assuming it hadn't been granted a name yet. "I'm not well-versed in your magic, but I can teach you what I know about combat."

She was very well-versed in that.

"Let me see what you can do."

It's designation. Assigned with all the sentimentality of stamping a seal onto paper, but this was life, it supposed. It didn't know any different.

"V-Chaos-Twenty." And its second designation, assigned by peers onto a creature that didn't know better. "Creep."

It knew little of politics, of history, only that it was due for war. This one would teach it and it would listen. It thought itself rather good at following instruction, even if those very same instructions were stifling. But it has seen the others that did not share its collar; it didn't have a high opinion of those it hatched with. It didn't enjoy the thinly veiled niceties, or harsh words wrapped up in smiles. It preferred them blunt, to the point. And those who provided instruction were just that; direct.

Creep adjusted its coil, folding upon itself so it might lift its head from the ground. It had half expected to be beat around the head already, but apparently there were formalities before a fight. The serpent took the time to eye its instructor's form. Six limbs were a lot more than none, and Creep was only so long. Perhaps magic would have to suffice.

It hoped it would suffice.

It would be lying if it had said forging of spells had only worked out for it. Yet, sprouting seeds at the tutor's feet hardly seemed wise; and she'd ask that it show her what it got.

The oilstone under its tongue warmed and its maw and thick tongue salivated at the sensation. It could feel it-- it was working a charm. This was its chance to prove itself ready for the combat ahead.

Its throat worked as it felt something come up, then retched spores across the field. Some of it tangled with its saliva, creating glittery, pretty shoelaces of drool that swung from its jaws. Its eyes followed the glittering sports as they danced through the air. Dreamlike purples and pinks, it'd never seen anything like it.

Pretty. Was its last thought before its unconscious body hit the grass below; it slipped onto a deep slumber.

"Don't let Vargas hear you call yourself that," Eurydome warned. The derogatory nature of it was insubstantial to her; she was warning it instead that names in the Forge had to be earned. It couldn't slither around calling itself Creep instead of its actual number.

She waited for it to do something as a huge hind foot lifted to scratch idly at her flank. Soon enough, the valkhound retched and Eurydome swayed backwards briefly, half-expecting fire or acid or... something that wasn't what actually came out of its throat. Fungus? She hazard the guess, though truthfully it wasn't her strong suit. She'd never even seen a spell like it before: little dreamy puffballs fluttered through the air.

Before she could consider what they did, her eyes fell heavy. "Damn," the gladiator muttered before she, too, fell into the grass in a deep, dreamless sleep.

When Eurydome woke up, the lights in Pegasus were flickering. It must have been late, or perhaps the lights were just wigging out like they often did. The gladiator shifted, her heavy body slowly lifting itself up. She half-expected for Creep to be long gone-- but there it was, still sleeping where it'd fallen.

At least she didn't have to explain to Vargas that his soldier had gone walkies.

With heavy, drowsy steps, she moved forward and nudged a big, sunset-coloured paw into Creep's side. "Don't do that again," she told it. "At least, not in front of others. Not until you can cast it without it affecting yourself." She lifted a dark hand to rub blearily at her eyes.

"You'll get killed if you breathe that in mid-battle," Eurydome said. "What about physically? What can you do that isn't magic?"

The serpent stared blearily up at the sunset coloured shape ahead. Don't call itself 'Creep', don't do that again. The words didn't sink in the first time as its drowsy mind caught up. It replayed them once and then they stuck, even if the icy sting of failure soured the bile at the back of its throat.

It rubbed its eyes into its body, clearing the drowsiness from them and remnants of the irritating spores. "I understand." It hissed, more so to fill time as it rubbed the sleep from its eyes.

It blinked once then twice, then finally shifted its body. The meat of it pushing its head into the air, the rest coiled tightly but the tail, loose enough to provide a sturdy base for the serpent to lunge from. This would work, it would show this tutor and she would be pleased. It knew it to be true.

Yet when it stuck out its roiling tongue, poised to grasp its hulking target, presumably with the intent to pull her closer to strangle, its tongue instead caught on its jagged maw. The elasticated muscle twinged, then flicked back upwards, sticking itself to the serpent's own open eyeball.

The valkhound roiled and shifted, pulling away from its own tongue in an attempt to remove it from its eyeball, only making no headway since its tongue is very much in the same head as its eye. So it just simply flopped around in a partly blind panic, trying to blink the tongue out of its eye.

To make matters worse, the spores that had congealed into shoestrings of drool were now back in its eye again.

Someone ought to send word to Vargas; this one wasn't going to make it.

If Eurydome knew what a Christianity was, the first words out of her mouth might have been 'Jesus Christ.' As it was, she'd been saddled with training this thing, so she had to work something out, and she had to do it before Vargas murdered both of them.

The gladiator moved over and simply... grasped Creep by the neck and gave it a little rattle until its tongue unstuck from its eye. She couldn't help with whatever would happen to the spores in its eye, but it was better than nothing.

Her brow furrowed as she stepped back, thinking. Oh, did she hate thinking.

"Alright," she said after a time. "You're obviously not..." polite, polite, polite... "...equipped for hand-to-hand combat. We'll try something else."

She itched a golden scar across her jaw. "Can you dig? Burrow?" Eurydome asked. "You look kinda like a big, viny flower. You might be able to hide in some brush and wait for something to come by close enough, then attack it before it can realize what's going on."

The gladiator shrugged. "It'll work better on small prey, but it'll keep you fed for now."

Creep made a light noise of surprise as it was rattled, but true enough, it was free. Its eye watered, but that mattered not; nothing stung worse than the embarrassment. It gently slipped its eyes closed, it was going to die in this war, and then be returned home to die again and again for its shameful display.

At least a heavy heart could maybe help itself bury its way under the ground. It looks down at the soil beneath it. It took time at first to loosen the soil without arms, using the razor-sharp 'teeth' at the sides of its maw. But once it was loose, its body slipped under the soil with surprising ease, especially when it went tail first.

Once most of its body was submerged, it hung its head, perhaps unintentionally; but the effect was immediate. A budding rose just lightly wilting under its own bulky weight.