10-29-2017, 02:49 PM
The trickster didn’t see much of a difference between women and men. He didn’t find one to be the superior gender (he’d experienced powerful men and powerful women in his lifetime). He’d seen a man burn a kingdom down to the foundations and he’d seen a woman unleash unnatural creatures into an arena full of innocents.
The trickster was so sure of his actions because he knew there was weight behind them.
He laughs at her initial statement (at the way her tail flicks in agitation, at the way she calls him trouble, at the way she knows so little of what is to come) and the sound is grating against the ears. His shadowy, spindly fingers slide against the curves of her brain. He waits in anticipation, waiting for her to say something more (he senses it on the slope of her lips).
Her mouth opens again (calling his words a threat) and his cunning gaze locks with hers. “Not just a threat, babe. A promise.” With that, her world will fall around her.
It starts slowly, with the colors (the green of the forest, the patchwork blue of the sky, the blood red on his face, the brown of the trees) bleeding into one another and creating a swirl of paints. The shapes disappear next, blurring into one another. As the shapes wash away (circles and squares and rectangles and triangles) the noise around her becomes heightened (the caw of a crow in the distance, the rush of the wind through the leaves, the sound of a groundhog shifting through the undergrowth). The sounds press against the inside of her head (loud and booming and brazen) until it might become painful.
Then, suddenly, it all stops. There is nothing (no sound, no sight, no color) but darkness. He smirks to himself, watching her reaction as (from her point of view) everything she knows falls away as quickly as death. He holds her there for a few moments, until the silence and nothingness becomes unbearable.
And then he brings forth a demon to her eyes. In truth she is standing in the forest (as still as a scarecrow, eyes glazed and mouth hanging) but to her perspective there is darkness and then there is a demon. It is something that looks like a horse, but with high, dangerous spikes along the spine and a head with a larger skull than normal. Sharp fangs poke through the blueish mouth, and there are eight legs where there should be four.
The demon replicates the trickster’s opening words. “Usually if a pretty girl goes into the forest, she doesn’t come out.” The voice of the demon is mucky and slippery, and a brief flash of a thickly wooded forest flashes to her eyes when the word ‘forest’ is spoken. The demon’s mouth opens unnaturally (jaw unhinging, fangs flashing, saliva dripping) and moves toward the woman, an ungodly screech coming from its throat.
Just when the jaw might latch onto the woman (provided she isn’t running), the natural world comes flooding back in the blink of an eye. Everything is as it should be (the crow is still cawing, the trees are still green, the shapes are solid) and the trickster still stands before her, head tipping slightly to the side.
The trickster was so sure of his actions because he knew there was weight behind them.
He laughs at her initial statement (at the way her tail flicks in agitation, at the way she calls him trouble, at the way she knows so little of what is to come) and the sound is grating against the ears. His shadowy, spindly fingers slide against the curves of her brain. He waits in anticipation, waiting for her to say something more (he senses it on the slope of her lips).
Her mouth opens again (calling his words a threat) and his cunning gaze locks with hers. “Not just a threat, babe. A promise.” With that, her world will fall around her.
It starts slowly, with the colors (the green of the forest, the patchwork blue of the sky, the blood red on his face, the brown of the trees) bleeding into one another and creating a swirl of paints. The shapes disappear next, blurring into one another. As the shapes wash away (circles and squares and rectangles and triangles) the noise around her becomes heightened (the caw of a crow in the distance, the rush of the wind through the leaves, the sound of a groundhog shifting through the undergrowth). The sounds press against the inside of her head (loud and booming and brazen) until it might become painful.
Then, suddenly, it all stops. There is nothing (no sound, no sight, no color) but darkness. He smirks to himself, watching her reaction as (from her point of view) everything she knows falls away as quickly as death. He holds her there for a few moments, until the silence and nothingness becomes unbearable.
And then he brings forth a demon to her eyes. In truth she is standing in the forest (as still as a scarecrow, eyes glazed and mouth hanging) but to her perspective there is darkness and then there is a demon. It is something that looks like a horse, but with high, dangerous spikes along the spine and a head with a larger skull than normal. Sharp fangs poke through the blueish mouth, and there are eight legs where there should be four.
The demon replicates the trickster’s opening words. “Usually if a pretty girl goes into the forest, she doesn’t come out.” The voice of the demon is mucky and slippery, and a brief flash of a thickly wooded forest flashes to her eyes when the word ‘forest’ is spoken. The demon’s mouth opens unnaturally (jaw unhinging, fangs flashing, saliva dripping) and moves toward the woman, an ungodly screech coming from its throat.
Just when the jaw might latch onto the woman (provided she isn’t running), the natural world comes flooding back in the blink of an eye. Everything is as it should be (the crow is still cawing, the trees are still green, the shapes are solid) and the trickster still stands before her, head tipping slightly to the side.
LOKII
