Mistaken Identity [Raneen] Jun 23, 2012 23:52:22 GMT -5
Post by Sascha Stark on Jun 23, 2012 23:52:22 GMT -5
Sascha had just returned from feeding for the night, his stomach heavy with blood from various different animals. He drained each of them only enough to feed him a bit, careful not to take too much so the creature would die. To know that he inflicted pain on another living creature was hard enough for him to overcome. But the pangs of hunger gnawing at him didn't allow him to be weak of heart when hunting. It was a strange, instinctive thing he had little control over. It was as if the animal hunter inside of him had been unlocked when he'd been transformed into an anthro, stuck between these two forms. He was a blend of both, the good and the bad.
At times it felt like the bad overwhelmed the good. He looked at his shadow of his outspread bat-wings the moonlight cast on the wall of the Inn, tongue running over his overgrown fangs. He looked like some sort of demon, felt like a monster. It felt as if he was turning into his brothers, turning into a senseless creature that fed and fed long past its fill. Even in this brand new hell where even more things were out to kill him, he couldn't escape his brothers. They kept hunting him, haunting him, casting shadows over every small light he could muster.
As if emerging from his nightmares themselves, two sets of hands grabbed either of his wings, and started pulling. Snapped violently from his distracted thoughts, Sascha could barely register what was going on before he felt a knife at his throat and a clammy hand grip his shoulder.
"Hold the bastard still, fellas. This thief is gonna get what's comin' to him."
Sascha went still, chest heaving as panic set in. Who were these men? Why were they attacking him, calling him a thief? He tried to stammer out something, anything, but any English words fled from his brain. "Te rog!" Please! he choked out in Romanian, but it only got him a harsh, barking laugh from the man with the knife.
"Sneaky bastard don't even speak English, boys!" said the rogue man. "Let's teach him how to say please, eh?" He nodded to his associates, who proceeded to throw all their weight into yanking on Sascha's wings. He screamed, the bones pulling and twisting as the men tug and yanked and twisted the boney, thin-fleshed wings. Luckily for Sascha the bones were flexible enough not to break, but the pain was intense as his joints twinged and threatened to pop. The man with the knife was laughing, poking at Sascha's back with a knife so he couldn't escape no matter which way he tried to wrench his body.
He swung his arms uselessly, trying to grab at enemies standing just beyond his reach. And if he got even a bit close, he felt the knife dig into his back, tearing at the skin. The pulling continued and he cried out as a boot slammed into the back of his leg, bringing him to his knees. The men pulled his wings tighter and held him still as the man planted his boot on Sascha's back, leaning down and tracing the knife along the back of his neck, twirling it so it dug lightly into the base of Sascha's skull. "We don't take kindly to thieves 'round these parts. Specially some mutated bat-freak like you." He whispered, his voice slithering down to Sascha's ear. "Now you best start speakin' my language an' tell me what you done with our loot, or yer head's gonna roll."
ooc| sorry for typos, will fix when I am not so WOOOOOOOO loopyloops