The wolpertinger is my favorite cryptid. Partly for the name, partly because jackrabbits are a strangely creepy-cute animal, and partly because I enjoy the concept of putting wings on an animal that it would be a terrible idea to give flight to.
Rainer Zenz/Wikimedia Commons
“Watch out for the wolpertingers, it’s mating season, and the bucks are very aggressive.” Caroline called out as the newest park ranger headed for the door.
“The what?” The new hire, Brian, paused next to the water cooler to turn and stare at her.
“The wolpertingers. They’re like jackalopes, only with wings. The jacks can gore you in the ankle, which hurts, but I swear the wolpers go right for the eyes. One of them got Steph, that’s where she got the scar from.”
“Jackalopes? Do I look stupid to you?” Brian snorted. “Keep your jokes to yourself, Cathy.”
“It’s Caroline. Or Carol,” Caroline said to the door after he’d slammed it shut. “Well, you’ll figure it out, I’m sure.”
She returned to her paperwork, which she swore reproduced in her inbox, faster than bunnies.
Finally, she reached the home stretch, only a thin slice of work left, and most of it was stuff she could safely put off for a few days. Caroline stood to stretch and get a fresh cup of coffee.
She drank her gloriously hot beverage, gazing peacefully out the window at the gentle swells of grass and brush covered plains, with the occasional tree stretching up to the scorched-blue sky.
Brian ran into view, his mouth agape in a scream, arms folded protectively over his head, a buff-colored blur dive-bombing him.
Caroline took another sip of her drink. “Pretty good coffee today.”
Winston stepped into the station from the door on the opposite wall, wiping at the sweat on his face. He noticed Caroline and the view quickly. “What’s the new guy doing?”
“Playing with the wolpertingers bucks, looks like.”
“You didn’t warn him?”
“I did, but he’s too good to listen. Maybe his frolic will teach him better.” Caroline shrugged, and took her cup back to her desk. She’d like to get outside, too, before the day wore too late. Had to be careful around dusk, when the animals were most active.
“Did you tell him about the chupacabra?” Winston stopped by the window, watching Brian, his expression neutral. “New guy doesn’t seem like he’s got great evasion skills.”
“I thought I’d start small,” Caroline said. “But I’m not sure I’ll need to give him many more warnings. If he can’t handle one little hare, he’s probably not cut out for this station.”
“That’s probably ten pounds of angry jackrabbit,” Winston pointed out. “Don’t seem so little when they’re clubbing you with their wings. Do you think I should rescue him?”
“No, you just got in. I’ll do it.” Caroline grabbed a sturdy, long-handled net from the wall, and strode outside.
Brian, not impressing her with his learning abilities, was still running in wobbly circles, and yelling as the wolpertinger swooped at him.
A couple of swipes, and she had the angry animal captured. A practiced flip of her arm, and net folded over the buck.
“Get inside, you know where the first aid is,” she said, and strode off into the brush to release the struggling animal before he hurt himself. Not the wolpertinger’s fault. Instinct was a powerful thing.
She’d be reminding Brian of that, after he patched those scratches up, assuming the new hire was still at the station when she returned.
I thought I was done with this collection of shorts, but it turned out there was another adventure hanging out in my brain.
Someone screamed, a high-pitched wail of sheer terror. The wizard sighed, picking up a tattered leather bookmark, nestling it between the pages, and carefully setting the tome on top of a tall, slightly leaning stack of books.
Leaning out the window, he cast around for the source of the noise, and spotted three people in matching livery, all staring up in horror at Daisy.
Daisy burbled, her long neck stretching as she lowered her massive head, crimson eyes peering intently at the unwelcome visitors.
The one in the front shrieked again, and collapsed to their knees.
The wizard knew from experience that Daisy’s breath reeked of blood and grass, but he’d never fainted from it wafting across his face.
“Daisy! Good girl!” He shouted.
Hearing his voice, the jabberwock’s wings mantled in excitement, her tail scything across the grass.
“I’ll be down in a moment! Just wait there!” He stepped away from the window, and his elbow knocked the book he’d been reading. The wizard lunged, barely catching the swaying stack before it toppled.
“Damn it.” He rubbed his elbow with one hand, neatening the stack with the other.
The results seemed precarious. The large spellbooks, Flora, histories, and such were all expensive, and could be delicate.
With a sigh, he scooped up the top four books, clutching them against his torso to support the weight, and cast about for a flat surface to put them.
His desk, covered with correspondence, was out. The other two end tables in the room had stacks at least as tall as the one he’d just shortened. He’d learned his lesson about putting books on the floor, the window ledge, or in the bathroom. That left the chair he’d been sitting in. It would have to do.
The books thumped down on the aubergine leather surface, and he gently pushed them into the pillow against the chair’s back, ensuring they’d stay put. Then he strode out the door, down the spiral staircase, through the bottom floor’s kitchen, and into the late afternoon sun.
The three intruders remained outside the tower, disappointingly. They all turned his way immediately, even the one who was sprawled on the ground, undoubtedly staining his impractical cream-colored trousers.
“Might I ask what you’re doing here?” The wizard folded his arms, stopping at the edge of conversation distance.
The two standing exchanged speaking glances. After a silent argument full of head tilts and eyebrow movement, the younger of the two women cleared her throat. “We’ve come to extend an invitation from King Reginald the Sixth. He invites you to visit him in his palace at Little Reignalin.”
“I wasn’t aware I had a king,” the wizard said.
Daisy shuffled over to him and lowered her head until the very tip of her nose brushed his sleeve, spreading a cold, damp spot that stuck unpleasantly to his skin.
He absentmindedly scratched her on the ridges above her eyes. “Last I heard, this area was unclaimed. The smaller range blocks easy access here, and the larger mountains in the way of the coast makes it not worth the effort.”
“Reginald the Sixth has expanded the kingdom even farther than his father before him,” the messenger said, her gray eyes darting over to Daisy as the jabberwock whuffled in pleasure, pressing her head into his hand, and raked her long claws in the ground, digging and releasing, bits of dirt and greenery tumbling around.
Both messengers scooted back.
“The King has expanded far to the north, and west, and his borders reach past here, ending at those mountain ranges there,” the messenger pointed behind the tower.
“Not to the sea?” The wizard asked, giving Daisy a final scratch. “That’s enough, now. I hid some apples for you nearby. Why don’t you go find them?”
Daisy snorted with excitement, and hopped backwards, feet thudding into the ground. The messenger on the ground, a gray-haired man, cried out and curled into a ball. The older female messenger scooted over to him, nose wrinkling at the stench, and murmured reassurance.
Then Daisy turned, the wind from her tail rippling the wizard’s dark hair, and gallumphed away, nose bent to the ground.
“I don’t keep up with the news, out here,” the wizard said. “Is there a kingdom that has the coast, then? Your king must be disappointed.”
“Efforts have been made to expand to the east coast, but as you noted, it’s been determined not to be cost effective,” the messenger’s tone took on a wooden, well-worn note, as if she recited oft-repeated facts. “The mountains are densely crowded, the shores are rocky cliffs, and the bays are full of ship-breaking reefs and rock outcrops.”
“Hmm. I understand. Well, please tell your king that I respectfully decline his invitation. I’m very busy here.”
“You can’t decline!” The older woman yelped, giving up on the frightened man, who had started muttering over and over, “It’s going to eat me!”
“I believe I just did,” the wizard smoothed out his brown robes, a quick spell cleaning and drying the damp spot on his sleeve, returning the fabric to its soft comfort.
“You can’t decline,” the younger woman agreed. “The King has built up a royal academy of wizards; wide, safe roads; a large guard to keep his citizens safe; universities from which inventions, philosophy, and arts have come–”
“That’s good for you, but it has little to do with me,” the wizard interrupted. “None of those roads reach here, and none of those cities or universities are nearby… When I built this tower, no one had claimed this area, and I’ve made no oaths to any king.”
“All mages in the kingdom are required to swear an oath to the king,” the older woman firmed her jaw, and met his gaze, her hazel eyes cold and flinty. “Please come with us to do so.”
“Ah, now we get to the truth,” the wizard said. “A king I’ve never heard of has claimed land none of his people have seen until today, and expects me to swear loyalty to him because of his word.”
“There are many benefits to being a royal mage,” the younger woman began hopefully.
“He’s not going to listen,” the older woman cut her off with a sharp motion of her hand.
The wizard raised an eyebrow.
“Guard!” She shouted.
Having anticipated what was going to happen, the wizard teleported to the tower balcony that gave him the best view of the direction the messengers had come from. Yes, there they were–a large group of armored people, marching towards him.
He watched, waited, and then triggered one of the spell-traps hidden in the ground cover.
Armor, clothes, and boots sagged to the ground, empty. Well, not quite empty, as pile after pile wriggled, and rabbits of various sizes and colors hopped clear.
The transformed guards’ ears twitched and their heads swiveled as they tried to make sense of what had happened.
“The spell only lasts three hours,” the wizard boomed, voice magically amplified. “The next one, I warn you, will be permanent.”
Without waiting for a response from the messengers, he dropped his hands to certain curves in the metal of the balcony railing, and gripping them, poured his magic into the web embedded in his tower, and down to the enormous, complex spell circle embedded in the bedrock under the tower.
As the circles powered up, they glowed, soon so brightly that they were visible through the grass and dirt. Daisy had successfully halted the messengers before they’d reached the outermost circle, just as they’d strategized. He made a note that she deserved a treat, probably some apples.
As if thinking of her had summoned her, Daisy emerged from the trees to the other side of the messengers, and growled loudly, extending her wings and stalking forward.
The messengers abandoned the man and fled.
Daisy carefully scooped up the man, who seemed to have fainted from the way he dangled in her grip, cradled him to her chest, and wobbled forward on three feet.
She set the man near the rabbits, then flapped her wings furiously, running along the ground, racing up her favorite boulder to launch herself into the air. Every time he saw her fly, the wizard felt both impressed and bemused. Jabberwocks didn’t seem like they’d be able to achieve flight, with their large bodies and gangly limbs, but they did, somehow.
“Pine!” he called out to her.
Daisy bugled agreement as she flew towards one of the other spell circles he’d set up, marked by an elderly, twisted pine tree.
With everyone safely out of the way, the wizard triggered the spell that swapped one spell circle for another, moving the tower to the other side of the mountain range. He’d preferred his current spot with easier access to the trade routes, but with a little work, this new location would do.
Five weeks later, a small army of guards struggled over the mountains. As promised, he transformed them–this time into mules, so they’d be able to make it back home. No reason to be especially cruel.
A bit more than two months after that, an armada of ships attempted to sail into the bay nearest to his tower. He suspected they’d intended to make landfall, and troop inland, but they never reached the shore. With the reefs, crashing waves, and annoyed kraken in the bay, he hardly had to sabotage the ships at all.
Daisy had been playing with the kraken for months, and sharing sharks and other fishy meals. The attack had interrupted snack time, so in the end, the wizard had to expend more energy in ensuring the ships limped out of the bay instead of sinking to the bottom.
Though he’d never bothered much with keeping current on the news before, he’d learned his lesson. Whispers of financial troubles, food shortages, and unrest trickled in.
Less than a month after the failed attack, he learned that Reginald the Seventh now sat on the throne. The wizard smiled, set aside the letter, and returned to his book.
The space station Gate Solution Heart had three ship’s cats, genetically modified creatures with short, tight hair that rarely shed, prehensile tails, iron stomachs, and the ability to maneuver in zero-gravity. The bloody-minded predatory instinct they’d inherited was unchanged, all the human crew swore, which other sentients took with their species’ equivalent of a handful of salt.
Crew Ali Elliott, originally from England, had engaged in that argument a few times himself. He hadn’t ever won, but the memories–and faint scars on his right hand–from a particularly vicious moggy from his childhood, a tabby-striped tiny terror his mother had doted on named Miss Kitty–kept him trying.
The ship’s cats–Uncle, Story, and Hall–at least, had been bred and trained to not attack the crew, instead hunting and killing the various small vermin that snuck onto the station despite the many protocols designed to prevent such infestations.
As Ali climbed–and then descended when he crossed a change in center of gravity–a ladder, he saw his favorite of the cats, Uncle, a marmalade tabby with extravagant swirls and piercing purple eyes, engaged in hunting a greenish bug.
Her tail thrashed from side to side as her butt ratcheted upwards bit by bit, and then the feline launched, her trajectory perfectly intersecting the bug’s hops. Her jaws snapped shut with a crackling crunch.
“Good job, girl,” Ali said, recognizing the greenish bug as a kind that ate wire coatings.
Uncle merped at him, still chomping merrily away.
Ali left her to her snack, heading on to the docking bay where he’d been summoned for repairs. Ship in distress, he’d been told.
That was underselling the problem.
The ship’s crew had hauled out several large pieces of machinery, leaving gaping holes in their transport’s innards, and were working frantically on repairs. Crustacean-like pincers clacked at each other in terse communication, in between yanking at smoking wires and tossing screws and bolts to the floor.
Ali hurried forward. “What’s wrong? How can I help?”
One of the crew with several gems imbedded in their carapace turned towards him, clacking.
His translator offered. “The situation is on control. We will to [untranslatable] and–”
“Excuse me, but this doesn’t look under control,” Ali interrupted. “I need you–”
Sparks cascaded from an open portion of the ship, and with a soft whump, flames sprang up to dance at the edges of the hole.
Flames on a space station were almost as bad as it got. Alarms blared, lights flashed, and machinery whirred.
Story, a gray and white tom, had been watching the chaos from atop a nearby crate, and he leapt down, stalking towards the ship.
“Dang it, cat.” Ali chased after the animal, who raced nimbly ahead, pouncing on a furry multi-legged creature about the size of Ali’s boot, which had just emerged from a different, not currently ablaze, gap.
The ship’s cat swatted at the brown-and-yellow vermin, leapt, and landed front feet first on its back, with a snap audible above the hubbub.
Story sniffed the creature, gagged, and raked at the floor with his front feet, trying to bury the bug.
Anything a ship’s cat wouldn’t eat was definitely toxic to most life forms. Best to get rid of the remains.
Despite the damage dealt to it, the rat-bug twitched, then twitched again, the second movement purposeful.
Not as dead as Ali had hoped.
Getting his shoe under the repulsive thing, he scooped the vermin on top of the reinforced toe, then with a flick, he threw it into the towering blaze.
Burning biomat already smelled unpleasant, but the vermin released a stink so foul Ali’s air filters triggered automatically. But at least the creature withered and curled up, so Ali watched a moment to be sure it was dead, then went to see what was taking the fire suppression team so long.
As he passed Story, he scratched the cat on the head. “Well done. We did *not* want that on the station.”
Steve stood up on the pedals, leaning forward, out of breath as he puffed his way up the steep hill to the rehabilitation center. His bike was an older model, without electric assist, and he was counting down the days until he could afford a replacement.
The last hill was brutal. His calves burned, his back itched from sweat sliding down it, and the scent of sun-baked asphalt singed his nose.
And then he was finally there, at the brightly-colored building partly carved into the side of the hill, the rest perched on top of it, surrounded by an undulating field of grass.
Steve swung off his bike, and rolled towards the bike rack, sliding his heavy-duty cable through both wheels and the frame before clicking the lock shut. He dabbed the worst of his perspiration off his face as he strode inside, where the welcome blast of air conditioning gripped him in its chilly embrace.
“Hey, Steve!” Brianna beamed happily from the front desk, a sprawl of half-completed apparatus spread across the surface, taking up the space meant for a visitor sign in log, and some cheerfully informative signs about the mission.
“Hey, Bri. Far be it for me to dictate what you do in your work hours, but should you be doing this right now?” He waved at the pieces, which resembled some kind of torture device.
“It’s for work, silly. It’s a new brace for Noodle.”
Steve winced. “Another one?”
“Fifth time’s the charm! As soon as I get it assembled, you can go put it on him!”
“Right. Great. I’m going to go… check on the flock,” Steve beat a hasty retreat.
Yes, Noodle needed a brace to heal properly. But Noodle didn’t agree with that requirement, and expressed that opinion vehemently, with tooth, claw, and lashing tail.
Back in the hot summer air, slightly mitigated by the shades stretched over the wire netting above his head, Steve shaded his eyes with his hand and peered out.
Tofu lay in her usual spot by the fence, sprawled belly up, legs splayed, doing her daily remarkable impression of a corpse.
If you got close enough, you could hear her faint, whistling snore, but people passing by who called in, panicked, never got that close.
Pancake perched on top of one of the wooden poles, watching intently.
Steve whistled at him. “Hey, Cake. You enjoying the view?”
Pancake chirped back, spreading his brown-gold wings, the sun shining through the membrane, except for the dark patch, a repair from the injury that had brought the dragon here.
Unfortunately, he could only glide now, so Pancake was a permanent resident. It had taken Steve five weeks, endless treats, and a plethora of painful scratches to convince Pancake that human shoulders weren’t a good landing pad to glide to.
Dragons weren’t the quickest learners, but they could be taught. Even Noodle, though the dragon, a young one not quite yet fully mature, was the meanest Steve had ever dealt with.
He hoped the fifth brace would help the dragon heal, and leave the refuge, so he could be someone else’s problem. That’d be a good day.
This prompt was a list of randomly generated words–use one, some, or all. I managed all.
“What are you up to, you old tin can?” Roger shouted up the stairs.
“I can assure you, sir, that I am crafted from the latest in lightweight alloys,” the robot said, descending the staircase in quick, even steps, laundry basket in its hands. The old treads didn’t even creak under its gleaming feet, like they did when Roger cautiously climbed, gripping the rail so tightly his hands ached.
“It’s a figure of speech. Thought you were supposed to be smart,” Roger complained.
“I have a large database and fast processing speed, sir, but intelligence is measured on many scales. And to answer your question, I was cleaning, as my schedule suggested.”
“Cleaning what?” Roger asked. His eyes narrowed, and he shuffled forward to bring the robot’s face into better focus. Not that it was much of a face, lacking a mouth, with just a line for a nose. Two solid ovals served as eyes, which glowed faintly blue when the robot was running, and yellow when it was charging.
“Your bedding, sir.”
Roger harrumphed. “I told you to stay out of my room.”
“I promised you that I would only enter your room when it is necessary. It was time for your sheets to be changed, which I did.”
“Poking around in my drawers, no doubt. Invasion of privacy. Never get old, they say. But what else can you do?” Roger shook his finger at the robot. “I told my son I didn’t need a newfangled contraption, and what’s he say? My fall risk is too high. It’s you or a home. I’m not going to be put in a home!”
“As you say, sir. I am going to start a load of laundry, unless you require something first?” the robot said, unruffled.
Roger didn’t think robots even had tempers to ruffle. His son, Roger Jr., had assured him that the machine wasn’t conscious, not really. Only a very complicated set of routines.
Junior had been very clear that the robot stayed, or Roger had to leave his house, so he grumbled to himself, and shuffled aside to let the robot past.
He watched through the doorway as it efficiently started a load, cleaned and hung up the laundry basket, before opening a vacuum attachment from its arms, and with the faintest of hums, whisked away a couple defenseless dust bunnies.
Roger had been cleaning as best he could, but his bad back had meant he’d had to hire a cleaner a few years ago. Between them and food deliveries, he was doing just fine.
Junior needed to stop worrying.
“Come out here when you’re done!” he called, turning and shuffling to his chair in the living room.
“Of course, sir,” the robot extended the vacuum to the ceiling, retracted it, and then stepped lightly behind him, pausing to wait for him to clear the hallway.
Fast and quiet. Like the worst youngster ever.
Roger eased himself into his seat, and then looked around for his glasses. He’d sworn he’d taken them off and set them on the table next to his chair. He sometimes took a little nap, with the tv running.
They weren’t there.
“Can I be of assistance?” the robot asked.
“I can find my own glasses, tincan,” Roger snapped.
“As you prefer, sir,” the robot said, standing patiently as he rummaged, his muttering growing more vicious with every passing moment.
“Alright. Where are they?”
The robot leaned around him, swiftly plucking the glasses from where they lay, mostly hidden under yesterday’s newspaper.
“Don’t get smug, tincan.” Roger took the glasses, and slid them on.
“Of course not, sir. Smug is not in my programming. May I be of further assistance?”
“Do your cleaning in here, where I can keep an eye on you.”
The robot nodded, unbothered, and set to work.
No chance of Roger admitting it to his son, but perhaps the tincan wasn’t so bad.
Larry hurried along the path, glancing left and right, clutching an empty basket to his side. The town was laid out in a neat grid, without even a flower left to bloom, and a wide margin mown flat around the perimeter. Even so, his heart always beat faster when he neared the edges. The least desirable, and cheapest property clung to the edges. And that meant the cheapest bakery, too.
He half-ran the last few steps, flinging the door open and ducking inside.
The baker glowered behind the counter. “Do you have to rush in like that every time? We’re not in the woods, you’re safe.”
Larry ducked his head, mumbling an apology. He’d heard differently, but he didn’t want to waste time arguing. He took his mother’s usual order, wrapped it in the cloth she’d sent with him, and tucked it into the basket.
Back on the path, he turned his back to the forest. Hardly two steps in, and he heard the chiming of bells. He stiffened, hands aching from his grip on the basket handle.
A swirling, multi-color globe of light zipped over his shoulder, and hovered in front of him. A high, sweet voice said, “A gift for you, mortal.”
Larry gulped. He knew what happened to those that refused a faerie gift. It didn’t matter how a human flattered or praised. Calling themselves unworthy, the gift too magnificent, and such, meant they’d either be labeled ungrateful–or too modest. Ingratitude earned humans a gift as lesson, such as the skill to heal beasts, and being forced to aid any injured animal within an hour’s walk. Modesty meant a gift to help that human know their worth–eyes a deep, crystalline blue not found in nature, or hair so silky and straight it never tangled, nor could be styled.
“You are too kind. What have you, in your wisdom, decided I deserve?” He forced the words out, brightening his tone, hoping he sounded awed and not terrified.
He hoped, desperately, to be lucky, like Alaina, the innkeeper at the center of town, who had a magically sharp knife that slid through bread like a whisper, never crushing the loaf. One of the stable hands had a shovel that magically cleaned itself of the fragrant products horses inevitably left behind.
His aunt knew a woman who’d gotten a laugh like a babbling brook, pretty though useless frippery for a young girl, and a bit jarring on a middle aged matron. A couple weeks ago, a young man from the center of town gained an unusual strength, and was still breaking eggs, plates, and chairs. He’d been training as a jeweler, and it could take months, if ever, before he could handle the delicate work again.
Bobbling, the globe of light drifted closer, the colors shifting to more blues and yellows. “Hmm. You acknowledge my wisdom… very wise of you.”
Larry ducked his head, widening his eyes to hold back the tears threatening to escape. This was going to be bad.
“Yes! I’ve changed my mind!” The globe burst brilliant yellow, with the barest hints of blue and green, and looped around his head. Triumphant delicate chimes tolled like a death knell. Twinkling motes of light rained down, landing on his head, shoulders, and chest.
Burning agony spread from each point of contact, and Larry bit his tongue to keep from groaning, sucking in a long breath through his nose.
“Thank you,” he forced out, after the fairy had made a second loop.
“You are very welcome, mortal!” The globe whirled so fast it hurt to look at, and zipped back into the trees.
Stiff-legged, Larry staggered back home, setting the bread basket on the table, and slumping into a chair.
“That took you long enough. I needed that bread–” his mother paused, her hand on the basket handle. “Larry? Did something happen?”
Without lifting his head from the table, he said, “I got a fairy gift.”
“You what? No! it’s not that close to the forest. It’s safe. It’s meant to be safe.”
“Who knows what the fairies think? And that bakery is right at the edge! It came right out of the trees, mother!”
“Well, what’s done is done. Do you know the gift you got?”
“It didn’t say. But it praised my wisdom in gratefully accepting the gift, so I’m certain I’m very, very cursed.”
This writing group prompt was “I forgot.” Short and sweet!
“Diane, what did I say about leaving your rugby gear on the floor?” I yelled, after having tripped over the half-zipped bag, sweat-ripe uniforms and dirty shoes spilling out of it.
“Oh, sorry, I forgot,” my daughter glanced up from her phone, a winning smile on her face. It seemed like every day she was closer to an adult, but also strangely like an eternity of trying to keep this everyday-a-new-stranger alive and mostly unharmed.
“Get, offspring!” I pointed dramatically towards the door.
She rolled her eyes, sighed deeply at the injustice of the world, but dragged herself away from the pile of sofa cushions to scoop up the bag, and drag it to the laundry room.
I waited for the clunk of her shoes on the rack, and the metallic clang of the washer. After endless discussions about the amazing funk her uniform bred left in the bag for days, she’d finally unbent to wash them after practice. Anyone who said teenage girls didn’t smell had clearly never lived with one who sweated and bled for a sport.
She emerged, holding the empty bag over her head triumphantly, like a trophy, as the sound of water filling the washer whooshed like gentle applause.
“Well done!” I said. “Now we won’t be suffocated next week. Do you remember what I said about your gear, though? And don’t say ‘I forgot.'”
Another deep sigh heaved, coming from somewhere in the earth’s core. “Da-aad…”
I waited.
“This is child abuse,” she complained, flinging herself in a sprawl of gangling, scabbed limbs back onto the sofa. “You said that if Hoover ate another one of my socks, his surgery would be coming out of my savings. But he’s out in the backyard trying to make friends with the neighbor’s chiweenie, so he wasn’t coming after my socks.”
I swiveled to peer out the glass back doors–yes, there was our affable idiot dog, part labrador, part golden retriever, but mostly vacuum cleaner, trying to play with the neighbor’s low-rider terror. The terror, Franky, was barking viciously and lunging upwards, getting absolutely nowhere near the top of the chain link fence, where Hoover’s fluffy paws rested.
Hoover’s tail wagged madly. He was having an excellent time.
Franky didn’t seem to be enjoying himself, so much as singularly focused on getting his teeth into Hoover.
Too bad our dog couldn’t tell the difference between attempted murder and friendship, and more than he could tell the difference between dog food and dirty laundry.
This prompt was about fire–myths, practical use, and such. I like playing Dungeons & Dragons, so this is where my mind went. 🙂
Image from WikiMedia.
“Look, officers, I didn’t mean to set the building on fire.” The sorcerer pushed a lock of long, blond hair out of his face, adding another smudge of soot across his freckles.
“You set four buildings on fire,” the watch captain corrected, taking a seat behind her desk, and glowering at the sorcerer. The officers who’d escorted him, none too gently, into the room, left after she nodded at them.
The sorcerer watched the guards go, booted feet tapping, and hastily stilled when the Captain’s red eyes narrowed in a glare so scorching it could start a new blaze.
“I set one on fire,” he explained, “when I firebolted the orc trying to crush my skull in, and he went crashing through the window of the tavern. Which had, unfortunately, a straw-covered floor. The tavern caught the building next to it on fire. I would’ve put the fire out before it spread, had I not been arrested.”
The captain’s glower intensified to the point where her bushy eyebrows met over her nose. “You were arrested for good reason!”
“Was I supposed to let him crush my skull in? Would you have let him crush your skull, if you’d seen him swinging that huge spiky hammer thing at your head?”
“No,” the captain said, “I’d have kicked him in the balls.”
“And I’m sure he’d have been very sorry if you did so.” The sorcerer shrugged. “If I’d have kicked him in the balls, he’d have hit me anyway.”
He wobbled a hand across his body in a way that indicated his scrawny arms, dusty and less than impressive legs, and complete lack of anything resembling armor or a weapon, other than a small eating knife on his belt.
For a long moment, the captain considered him. The eating knife wasn’t even particularly large. “So if we hadn’t arrested you…” She trailed off invitingly.
“I didn’t expect the orc to get up, still on fire, and run out into the street. Or for him to flounder into the wall across the street, which maybe shouldn’t have that much dead vegetation in front of it, really–” he paused as the Captain’s expression turned murderous again.
“But I have spells to extinguish flames,” he continued hastily. “I could have–and definitely would have!–extinguished both him and the tavern, just as soon as he stopped trying to flatten me.”
“Wizards. The whole lot of you should stay in your towers, and quit causing problems for the rest of us.”
“I’m not actually a–” the sorcerer began, then shut his mouth. “I’m very sorry?”
“You’re sorry,” she said.
“Yes. Very, very, very sorry. I don’t have much money, for repairs… but I can, say, speed the growth of trees for lumber. Or summon food that will make it easier for people to make repairs. Or, I heard there’s a manticore with some treasure in the forest, and I could help–“
“We’ve had more than enough of your help,” the Captain said. “I don’t particularly want you in my jail, however.”
“I don’t want to be in it! I’ll make it untidy, probably.” He ran a hand through his golden hair, caught his fingers on a twig, winced, and untangled the vegetation. He stared thoughtfully at the twig, with two battered-looking leaves clinging on, and then held it out with a hopeful smile. “See?”
“Stop your nonsense. I won’t be charmed.”
He nodded, and folded his hands in his lap, trying to look penitent and somber, and achieving a sort of pained expression.
“You’re not going to be sick in here, are you?”
“No, no,” he traded his efforts for an attentive look.
The captain leaned away from him, face twisting in disgust. “We’ll be seizing your assets to defray the cost of repairs. I’ll send someone to speak with you about what you can contribute for the rest. It’ll be someone who knows magic, so don’t go trying to pass off a spark in the pan spell, mind.”
“I would never!”
She growled, the sound making him shrink in on himself.
“Okay, okay, I might. But I absolutely don’t want you to hunt me down and kill me. If you don’t believe in my integrity, believe in my self-preservation.”
The Captain stood, hands on the edge of her desk, muscles shifting in her arms and she dug her nails into the wood. “I don’t like it. I don’t like you. But you’ll do as you’re told.”
“Of course!”
She sighed, straightening.
He tried to keep a blank expression, his other efforts having failed so spectacularly.
“Olerin!” She bellowed, and a delicate face leaned around the door frame.
“Yes, Captain?”
“Deal with this–” she clicked her teeth shut on her next word. “Deal with this. The wizard’s promised spells for repairing the four burning buildings he damaged.”
“Yes, Captain.” The elf stepped to the side of the doorway.
“Get out of my sight, wizard,” the captain snapped.
The sorcerer scrambled out of the chair, though he couldn’t resist tossing over his shoulder. “I’m a sorcerer, it’s different, because–” his words ended on a yelp as Olerin yanked him away from the office.
“If you’d like to see tomorrow, I suggest you learn to do as you’re told. What did you do to that orc, anyway?”
The sorcerer brightened. “That’s kind of a funny story, really…”
“Summarize it in ten words or less,” Olerin said, his slender fingers tightening painfully on the sorcerer’s arm.
The sorcerer thought, his fingers twitching as he counted and recounted. “He couldn’t take a joke?”
“Oh, great, you’re an idiot. Come on, let’s see what you can manage that isn’t burning down half a street.”
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