Post by Harpsdesire on Feb 18, 2011 12:38:59 GMT -5
Words: 924
Characters: Calamity and his familiar Trouble
Notes: Implied murder and cannibalism, but no graphic ickyness. This takes place probably a year or so after the ticket contest in timeline.
When he was honest with himself, he knew it was his own fault. It was because he was very bad. Maybe even capital Very Bad. Eating the special meat made him that way. His brothers, and even dearest Cat were Capital-Very-Bad too, but since they didn’t know it, they were less Very Bad than he was. He knew this was so, although he wasn’t sure why.
The child thought about this as he rummaged in a dumpster behind the smallest, dingiest butcher’s shop in the outer bazaar. Most people thought (probably rightly) that the place was a front for Checkmate dealers, and so not much meat was sold. That meant that it sat in the shop’s smudged glass cases until the spoilage was undeniable. Then it went into the dumpster, and before the Jossigy ferret shopkeeper had even re-entered the store, Cal had followed the almost-still-good food into the bin. It wasn’t special meat, so he could eat it without getting any more Bad than he already was.
But it wasn’t so much the eating that made him bad, he mused, picking up a slightly sour-smelling porkchop, it was the wanting to eat. The sensation of vitality, satisfaction beyond words, invincibility that he got from the special meat lured him almost like checkmate lured a druggie. It was like a pleasant fire in his blood, and eating from an Ace, even a bite, was even more. This ordinary meat would fill his belly and quiet the cravings from a time… but it would not stop him from being bad.
Some of the meat was obviously rotten, like him, he thought sadly… some was only a little bit off, hardly noticeable. It could still be eaten and probably wouldn’t make him sick. Probably. On the other hand…
His thoughts were interrupted as a creature slunk into the alley. Skinny, ugly, filthy- it was an Ace! It had a patchy coat that was mostly black, with a splotch of electric blue here and there, and a distinctly ill-kept look about it, but it made Calamity’s mouth water, and something that might have been his stomach, or his imagination, panged painfully. A street ace, probably a cast off from a Corvie lab once it got too weak for further experimentation—in that moment it looked like the most delicious thing Cal thought he had ever seen. He had to have it. Maybe, if he was kind enough, if he didn’t let the starving Corvie mouse know how Bad he really was, the creature would come to him willingly, sacrifice the single bite of flesh that would keep the cannibal child in a near stupor of ecstasy for several hours, and in return be allowed to eat with the four children and sleep beside Cal in the box-home.
So far every Ace he had offered this to was either too stupid or feral to understand, or too smart to fall for his ploy, but this was one area where Cal absolutely could not give up, no matter how much a part of him wanted to. At least if the ace refused, he could probably kill it outright. It was sickly-looking and small-framed, even at adult size it couldn’t have weighed much more than Cal did at age seven. “Trouble!” He murmured, and what looked like a large square of treacle jello glopped out from under some garbage and up Calamity’s arm. “Am going to go talk to the Ace. Stay near?” He knew his pet understood by the soft grumbling sound it made.
Oddly enough, the blobling seemed to have no compunction about its master’s strange tastes, and while it didn’t actively help him hunt, it was always ready to take his side in any fight that even threatened to go south. The little guy was also terrifying to most, so Cal added, “Hide for now.” The blob slid out of sight under a sheet of bloodied butcher’s paper, which quivered slightly as Cal’s gelatinous familiar settled himself.
“Hello!” He called amiably to the scrawny creature. It leveled suspicious and slightly dilated eyes at him, then growled. Calamity trotted towards the ace with a genial smile on his red-tipped beak. “Have time to be talking with me? Sh-share foods maybe?”
That had not gone well at all, the boy thought, looking down at the Ace’s skinny body in the bottom of the dumpster. This was not at all want he wanted to have happen. If only the mouse could have waited, heard him out a bit before it lashed out in frightened aggression. Calamity sighed. He and Trouble had only done what they had to do. The Ace had instigated this! He was protecting himself and his pet from a dangerous creature! He would keep telling himself that, yes he would. And he would salve his conscience a little by sharing the fresh, still-warm body with his siblings, who also liked the special meat, and it wouldn’t make them any more Bad, because it was already dead anyhow, and to let it just spoil or be eaten by rats would be wasteful and wrong. They were good children, even if they were also Very Bad, and wouldn’t ever do such a thing. He would keep telling himself that, too.
Five minutes later, he was full, nearly out of his mind with the good feelings, and unable to be entirely sorry that he had even more blood on his hands now. He was more Bad than ever because of what he had done, but right now, it was so very hard to care.
Later he would care, but not now.
Characters: Calamity and his familiar Trouble
Notes: Implied murder and cannibalism, but no graphic ickyness. This takes place probably a year or so after the ticket contest in timeline.
When he was honest with himself, he knew it was his own fault. It was because he was very bad. Maybe even capital Very Bad. Eating the special meat made him that way. His brothers, and even dearest Cat were Capital-Very-Bad too, but since they didn’t know it, they were less Very Bad than he was. He knew this was so, although he wasn’t sure why.
The child thought about this as he rummaged in a dumpster behind the smallest, dingiest butcher’s shop in the outer bazaar. Most people thought (probably rightly) that the place was a front for Checkmate dealers, and so not much meat was sold. That meant that it sat in the shop’s smudged glass cases until the spoilage was undeniable. Then it went into the dumpster, and before the Jossigy ferret shopkeeper had even re-entered the store, Cal had followed the almost-still-good food into the bin. It wasn’t special meat, so he could eat it without getting any more Bad than he already was.
But it wasn’t so much the eating that made him bad, he mused, picking up a slightly sour-smelling porkchop, it was the wanting to eat. The sensation of vitality, satisfaction beyond words, invincibility that he got from the special meat lured him almost like checkmate lured a druggie. It was like a pleasant fire in his blood, and eating from an Ace, even a bite, was even more. This ordinary meat would fill his belly and quiet the cravings from a time… but it would not stop him from being bad.
Some of the meat was obviously rotten, like him, he thought sadly… some was only a little bit off, hardly noticeable. It could still be eaten and probably wouldn’t make him sick. Probably. On the other hand…
His thoughts were interrupted as a creature slunk into the alley. Skinny, ugly, filthy- it was an Ace! It had a patchy coat that was mostly black, with a splotch of electric blue here and there, and a distinctly ill-kept look about it, but it made Calamity’s mouth water, and something that might have been his stomach, or his imagination, panged painfully. A street ace, probably a cast off from a Corvie lab once it got too weak for further experimentation—in that moment it looked like the most delicious thing Cal thought he had ever seen. He had to have it. Maybe, if he was kind enough, if he didn’t let the starving Corvie mouse know how Bad he really was, the creature would come to him willingly, sacrifice the single bite of flesh that would keep the cannibal child in a near stupor of ecstasy for several hours, and in return be allowed to eat with the four children and sleep beside Cal in the box-home.
So far every Ace he had offered this to was either too stupid or feral to understand, or too smart to fall for his ploy, but this was one area where Cal absolutely could not give up, no matter how much a part of him wanted to. At least if the ace refused, he could probably kill it outright. It was sickly-looking and small-framed, even at adult size it couldn’t have weighed much more than Cal did at age seven. “Trouble!” He murmured, and what looked like a large square of treacle jello glopped out from under some garbage and up Calamity’s arm. “Am going to go talk to the Ace. Stay near?” He knew his pet understood by the soft grumbling sound it made.
Oddly enough, the blobling seemed to have no compunction about its master’s strange tastes, and while it didn’t actively help him hunt, it was always ready to take his side in any fight that even threatened to go south. The little guy was also terrifying to most, so Cal added, “Hide for now.” The blob slid out of sight under a sheet of bloodied butcher’s paper, which quivered slightly as Cal’s gelatinous familiar settled himself.
“Hello!” He called amiably to the scrawny creature. It leveled suspicious and slightly dilated eyes at him, then growled. Calamity trotted towards the ace with a genial smile on his red-tipped beak. “Have time to be talking with me? Sh-share foods maybe?”
That had not gone well at all, the boy thought, looking down at the Ace’s skinny body in the bottom of the dumpster. This was not at all want he wanted to have happen. If only the mouse could have waited, heard him out a bit before it lashed out in frightened aggression. Calamity sighed. He and Trouble had only done what they had to do. The Ace had instigated this! He was protecting himself and his pet from a dangerous creature! He would keep telling himself that, yes he would. And he would salve his conscience a little by sharing the fresh, still-warm body with his siblings, who also liked the special meat, and it wouldn’t make them any more Bad, because it was already dead anyhow, and to let it just spoil or be eaten by rats would be wasteful and wrong. They were good children, even if they were also Very Bad, and wouldn’t ever do such a thing. He would keep telling himself that, too.
Five minutes later, he was full, nearly out of his mind with the good feelings, and unable to be entirely sorry that he had even more blood on his hands now. He was more Bad than ever because of what he had done, but right now, it was so very hard to care.
Later he would care, but not now.
