Re: The Glorious Championship! [S3G5] [Round One: The "Denny's"]
05-04-2011, 12:10 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.
The Wolf awakened to the smell of ruined meat, and realized it was his own meat that had been ruined. The Wolf had been struck by thunder, and now was a ruin. Strange lights hit off the floor into the Wolf’s eyes, and the Wolf blinked, hoping to find home by smell. There was no smell but burnt man-meat and the ozone smell of the thnder.
Ned rose off the floor, leaning on his staff and resisting his quadripedal urges. This was fucked-up shit beyond the chemicals and music and magic that swirled and snarled within him. Witch and Wolf alike were confused, angry, and frightened out of both their skins.
There was the sound of a ringing phone. The phone was Ned’s phone and it was taped to his torso. He didn’t remember doing that but it seemed to make sense. Ned was impressed that his phone could survive a bad trip come to life and a lightning bolt out of the sky.
Ned tore the tape of his side but the tape had melted into his burnt skin, a bit, and he howled in pain. He picked it up and struggled for words, coming up with nothing better than growls.
It was Greg. “Ned, where are you?” said Greg, after what must have seemed an awkward silence on his end. To the Wolf, the silence serves only to remind one of one’s resolve. “I’ve got the Old Pukeson guys together, we’re going to check out what’s going on at Denny’s. You there?”
Ned found his words. “I’m um. I’m in Denny’s right now, I think.” That sounded true; there was a man… “Sorry, Greg, I’m a bit, rrrr, off the reservation.” It was an old joke but a good one, in that it was true. Ned reflected that a Navajo with third-degree burns looked much the same as a white man with third-degree burns, or even a wolf with third-degree burns. His ears pricked up. Something was happening in another part of Denny’s.
There must have been another awkward silence, because Greg said, “Ned? You’re skinwalking, aren’t you? Jesus.”
“Jesus has nothing to do with it, Greg. I’ll see you.” The Wolf hung up and tossed the phone aside, assuming he could find it later. Walking hurt, but running was easy.
Outside was a man who had dropped something on his foot. There was a brief, fearful moment of eye contact, and the Wolf, knowing itself to be injured, submitted and ran.
By avoiding the smell of meat Ned found himself in a room where nothing seemed to be, and collapsed. The juxtaposition of the most intense pain he’d felt in his life and the drug-induced euphoria of the beast was really starting to fuck with him. There was a song playing in his head and he felt like maybe the moon was going to swallow up the sky and crash into the desert, kicking down the buildings like so much sand and leaving nothing but that special southwestern brand of nature in all its inglory. And maybe IHOP. IHOP could stay.
Ned was hungry, but the Wolf was Hungry, capital “H” like the sound of a canine tongue licking canine lips. He felt hot on the outside and cold on the inside like undercooked meat. Something inside him was growling and it wasn’t him and it was him, and something outside him was growling and it wasn’t him and it wasn’t him either.
The dogs put their feet down like drums. They glowed with the thunder inside them and shined like the moon. The Wolf would have thought they were beautiful if the Wolf were to recognize any beauty beyond the chemical euphoria of the beast.
The dogs growled and the Wolf growled back. An accord was reached. There were animal feats to be achieved in this cold, bright place, and miles to walk in this skin. A pack of three, the Wolf and the dogs walked together back towards the smell of man.
When Ned was young he’d had a dog, a Labrador that was crying all the time. The dog’s eyes were fine, but he was always crying, like a statue of a Christian saint. Ned didn’t understand that at all.
The Wolf awakened to the smell of ruined meat, and realized it was his own meat that had been ruined. The Wolf had been struck by thunder, and now was a ruin. Strange lights hit off the floor into the Wolf’s eyes, and the Wolf blinked, hoping to find home by smell. There was no smell but burnt man-meat and the ozone smell of the thnder.
Ned rose off the floor, leaning on his staff and resisting his quadripedal urges. This was fucked-up shit beyond the chemicals and music and magic that swirled and snarled within him. Witch and Wolf alike were confused, angry, and frightened out of both their skins.
There was the sound of a ringing phone. The phone was Ned’s phone and it was taped to his torso. He didn’t remember doing that but it seemed to make sense. Ned was impressed that his phone could survive a bad trip come to life and a lightning bolt out of the sky.
Ned tore the tape of his side but the tape had melted into his burnt skin, a bit, and he howled in pain. He picked it up and struggled for words, coming up with nothing better than growls.
It was Greg. “Ned, where are you?” said Greg, after what must have seemed an awkward silence on his end. To the Wolf, the silence serves only to remind one of one’s resolve. “I’ve got the Old Pukeson guys together, we’re going to check out what’s going on at Denny’s. You there?”
Ned found his words. “I’m um. I’m in Denny’s right now, I think.” That sounded true; there was a man… “Sorry, Greg, I’m a bit, rrrr, off the reservation.” It was an old joke but a good one, in that it was true. Ned reflected that a Navajo with third-degree burns looked much the same as a white man with third-degree burns, or even a wolf with third-degree burns. His ears pricked up. Something was happening in another part of Denny’s.
There must have been another awkward silence, because Greg said, “Ned? You’re skinwalking, aren’t you? Jesus.”
“Jesus has nothing to do with it, Greg. I’ll see you.” The Wolf hung up and tossed the phone aside, assuming he could find it later. Walking hurt, but running was easy.
Outside was a man who had dropped something on his foot. There was a brief, fearful moment of eye contact, and the Wolf, knowing itself to be injured, submitted and ran.
By avoiding the smell of meat Ned found himself in a room where nothing seemed to be, and collapsed. The juxtaposition of the most intense pain he’d felt in his life and the drug-induced euphoria of the beast was really starting to fuck with him. There was a song playing in his head and he felt like maybe the moon was going to swallow up the sky and crash into the desert, kicking down the buildings like so much sand and leaving nothing but that special southwestern brand of nature in all its inglory. And maybe IHOP. IHOP could stay.
Ned was hungry, but the Wolf was Hungry, capital “H” like the sound of a canine tongue licking canine lips. He felt hot on the outside and cold on the inside like undercooked meat. Something inside him was growling and it wasn’t him and it was him, and something outside him was growling and it wasn’t him and it wasn’t him either.
The dogs put their feet down like drums. They glowed with the thunder inside them and shined like the moon. The Wolf would have thought they were beautiful if the Wolf were to recognize any beauty beyond the chemical euphoria of the beast.
The dogs growled and the Wolf growled back. An accord was reached. There were animal feats to be achieved in this cold, bright place, and miles to walk in this skin. A pack of three, the Wolf and the dogs walked together back towards the smell of man.
When Ned was young he’d had a dog, a Labrador that was crying all the time. The dog’s eyes were fine, but he was always crying, like a statue of a Christian saint. Ned didn’t understand that at all.