10-20-2021, 09:53 PM
Sintra sits up to peer into the black mouth of the cave and as he does so the parrot squawks in protest, clambering up to his shoulder where it settles in with ruffled feathers. It plucks another seed from his hair, gripping it tightly in one foot and grumbling and growling over the snack while the pirate wipes the remainder from his brow where wet orange strings threaten to fall into his violet eye. He should stop, he should walk away while he can, two legs or four, but the memory of those burning star eyes of Hera, frowning down on her from the wall of the Lion's ring makes his stomach flip. He is a mortal thing, not suited to outwitting gods. A disconcertingly joyful voice rumbles directions in the back of his head and Sintra can only pass a dark hand over his face, he can only sigh and stand, knowing that quitting was not an option.
Not this time.
Hera's curse is at the forefront of his thoughts as his tongue runs across the strange little teeth in his strange, flat face. They still taste bloody, and a bit like weird dirt, and his heart is racing a mile a minute to make up for the beats it missed while he finally, resolutely, steps into the graveyard shroud of the cave. The instant his feet touch the ancient floor, fluorescent mushrooms flare to life, their light bouncing off the mica-flecked walls. Amethyst crystals gleam a million shades of purple in that other-worldly light. The parrot is still growling, it doesn't like the cave. Without thinking, the man reaches up to cup the bright bird in his hand.
"Shhhh," he says, softly, as if the bird is a fretting child, but it is rather more like a talkative cat and the soothing gesture is met with a vehement bite that leaves a puncture and a horseshoe-shaped slice in his hand. Blood and curses well up to the surface together.
"Carnage take you!" Sintra exclaims, tossing the bird from his shoulder between the burn of tears and the throbbing wound on his hand, and his voice rattles hard enough to break the walls. Purple crystals fall away and shatter into a thousand shards. Man and bird grow still and silent, crouching low as if that will save them from the impending collapse of the cave, but silence grows around them again, oppressive silence, and, still crouching, Sintra begins to creep through the cave again with the feeling of a million eyes on his back.
He's not gone more than three steps when the bird begins screeching.
It's a horrifying noise in the echoing cave and it shatters the crystalline walls further. The amethysts crack and break apart, but as they fall, they don't simply lie still in the dirt like rocks should do. They scurry towards the source of the sound on segmented legs with blade-sharp pincers, and as the parrot's weight settles onto Sintra's shoulder once more, he realizes that the source of the sound - as far as the crystal insects can tell - is him.
A small insect, even one made of stone, is not terribly frightening, but there isn't just one of them. Not just a dozen. There are millions of the intricately carved creatures, some no bigger than a pinhead and others nearly the size of Sintra's head, and every one of them drawn to the parrot's outraged screaming. There's no way past the but through and Sintra barely breathes as he runs, hoping his thin fake-leather boots are enough to protect him.
They aren't. The fine edges of the amethyst insects' claws are razor sharp and they shred cheap costume clothes and skin alike. They drop from above even as Sintra sprints over top the ones below and soon his black hair is matted with blood and even the parrot is missing a few feathers. The guilty avian tucks itself close to the pirate's neck, beneath the canopies of hair and beard and the protection they offer, and there it continues its litany assault of piratic curses and shrill non-sequiter noises that draw the little beasts to them. One boot falls away and without it every step is like running across broken glass - broken glass that clings to him, shaving away at the calloused soles of his feet and burrowing into the meat of his leg. He can feel them cutting through his flesh, taking root.
Kill the bird. a voice not his own whispers in his ear. Sintra sobs and shakes his head. He can't kill the thing any more than he could kill the lion. He is so tired of Death.
Kill the bird.
The parrot is in his grip before he knows it. It would be so easy, such a little body and his own hands are so strong. Such a simple thing to crush the screaming, terrified bird. His hand twitches, tightens, and a sudden horror seizes the man, a sudden illness that makes him retch violently. Instead of crushing, he yeets the feathered nuisance as hard as he can into the faintly illuminated darkness and falls forward, vomiting dirt and amethyst insects onto the cave floor. How did they get there?
He rips the eyepatch away in a panic as realization dawns. They are getting inside him. His fingers fumble at the scarred socket behind it until they find the hard body of the tiny monster there whispering murderous thoughts into his skull and this, too, he plucks away. There is a cheerful whistle from just ahead where the parrot has (with his help) reached the other end of the cursed cavern and Sintra runs there to meet it. There, at the edge of freedom, he smashes the whispering amethyst creature between a pair of rocks and, bootless and bleeding, limps into the fog of Pangea while the parrot chatters happily from its perch atop his head.
Not this time.
Hera's curse is at the forefront of his thoughts as his tongue runs across the strange little teeth in his strange, flat face. They still taste bloody, and a bit like weird dirt, and his heart is racing a mile a minute to make up for the beats it missed while he finally, resolutely, steps into the graveyard shroud of the cave. The instant his feet touch the ancient floor, fluorescent mushrooms flare to life, their light bouncing off the mica-flecked walls. Amethyst crystals gleam a million shades of purple in that other-worldly light. The parrot is still growling, it doesn't like the cave. Without thinking, the man reaches up to cup the bright bird in his hand.
"Shhhh," he says, softly, as if the bird is a fretting child, but it is rather more like a talkative cat and the soothing gesture is met with a vehement bite that leaves a puncture and a horseshoe-shaped slice in his hand. Blood and curses well up to the surface together.
"Carnage take you!" Sintra exclaims, tossing the bird from his shoulder between the burn of tears and the throbbing wound on his hand, and his voice rattles hard enough to break the walls. Purple crystals fall away and shatter into a thousand shards. Man and bird grow still and silent, crouching low as if that will save them from the impending collapse of the cave, but silence grows around them again, oppressive silence, and, still crouching, Sintra begins to creep through the cave again with the feeling of a million eyes on his back.
He's not gone more than three steps when the bird begins screeching.
It's a horrifying noise in the echoing cave and it shatters the crystalline walls further. The amethysts crack and break apart, but as they fall, they don't simply lie still in the dirt like rocks should do. They scurry towards the source of the sound on segmented legs with blade-sharp pincers, and as the parrot's weight settles onto Sintra's shoulder once more, he realizes that the source of the sound - as far as the crystal insects can tell - is him.
A small insect, even one made of stone, is not terribly frightening, but there isn't just one of them. Not just a dozen. There are millions of the intricately carved creatures, some no bigger than a pinhead and others nearly the size of Sintra's head, and every one of them drawn to the parrot's outraged screaming. There's no way past the but through and Sintra barely breathes as he runs, hoping his thin fake-leather boots are enough to protect him.
They aren't. The fine edges of the amethyst insects' claws are razor sharp and they shred cheap costume clothes and skin alike. They drop from above even as Sintra sprints over top the ones below and soon his black hair is matted with blood and even the parrot is missing a few feathers. The guilty avian tucks itself close to the pirate's neck, beneath the canopies of hair and beard and the protection they offer, and there it continues its litany assault of piratic curses and shrill non-sequiter noises that draw the little beasts to them. One boot falls away and without it every step is like running across broken glass - broken glass that clings to him, shaving away at the calloused soles of his feet and burrowing into the meat of his leg. He can feel them cutting through his flesh, taking root.
Kill the bird. a voice not his own whispers in his ear. Sintra sobs and shakes his head. He can't kill the thing any more than he could kill the lion. He is so tired of Death.
Kill the bird.
The parrot is in his grip before he knows it. It would be so easy, such a little body and his own hands are so strong. Such a simple thing to crush the screaming, terrified bird. His hand twitches, tightens, and a sudden horror seizes the man, a sudden illness that makes him retch violently. Instead of crushing, he yeets the feathered nuisance as hard as he can into the faintly illuminated darkness and falls forward, vomiting dirt and amethyst insects onto the cave floor. How did they get there?
He rips the eyepatch away in a panic as realization dawns. They are getting inside him. His fingers fumble at the scarred socket behind it until they find the hard body of the tiny monster there whispering murderous thoughts into his skull and this, too, he plucks away. There is a cheerful whistle from just ahead where the parrot has (with his help) reached the other end of the cursed cavern and Sintra runs there to meet it. There, at the edge of freedom, he smashes the whispering amethyst creature between a pair of rocks and, bootless and bleeding, limps into the fog of Pangea while the parrot chatters happily from its perch atop his head.