Re: Trainin for pipking
OOC: Okay, here goes...
IC: A ghost town in the flatlands. Pip has seen many. Especially here, on this planet, where the race of men seem quite content to gouge the land and rape it of its own, simple bounty, only to grow tired of their success and move on to the next. Pip stands and watches as dust buffets the broken windows of the nearby saloon; the sound is almost musical. His long, flat ears perk up. The sun is setting, and the ghost town is filled with golden, shimmering shadows. His expression is one of peace. He knuckles towards the derelict building slowly, his short frame hidden in a cloak. For all appearances, he might be a child - except, of course, for his conspicuous tail, which juts out under the hem of his cloak - and his arms, which are too long to be human. Luckily, there is no one around.
Or is there?
As he approaches the swinging doors of the saloon, he hears something; like a key of an old piano being tapped, absently as if the player had fallen asleep but his hands resolutely continue their job. Pip quickly darts around to the side of the building. He jumps onto an empty water barrel, and spies a drainpipe. Quick as a flash, his great arms pull him up to the roof, where he finds a chimney. His small frame fits easily and, using his tail for support, he lowers himself down the stone throat. His skin darkens to aid in the subtrefuge; his mood is one of silence, secrecy.
Upside-down, he peers over the edge of the hearth, laying his ears flat against his head.
There, across the room, past the empty tables and abandoned glasses, sits a crow at the piano. And no ordinary crow - at least, not ordinary to this world. Covered in sleek black feathers, it is the size of a human child. It is gently pecking at the keys. There is an uncanny intelligence in it's half-closed eyes, and when the mortar of the hearth crumbles and Pip falls to the pile of long-burnt ash, they widen with rage.
It screeches, a sound that turns Pip bright blue as it shudders through him. The crow's talons clench on the wood of the piano bench, and it spinters. It flaps its great, hideous wings, and lifts off the ground.
Pip sneers and lets out a hiss. He is shamed by his sudden anger, but he does not enjoy being sqwuaked at. The crow dives. It's beak scores a hit on Pip's arm, drawing blood. It circles and lands on the chandelier, black beak open and laughing.
"You do not belong," it says. "Go away! Go away!"
Pip steadies himself. He stands, brushing the dust off his robe fastidiously. He feels the power gather inside him. His eyes lock on those of the bird. It's stops its mocking laughter.
Pip points a finger and says, "Weight."
The bird struggles, it's eyes wild and confused - it lands with a crash that rattles the empty bottles at the bar. It's wings flap uselessly on the ground. It is too heavy to take off.
Enraged, the crow lurches forward. It comes dangerously close to pecking out Pip's left eye. Pip reacts without thinking, the grace of his magic forgotten in favour of his sprouting claws. He lunges at the bird, gaining hold in the flesh of it's breast - it lets out a loud, warbling gasp of shock. His teeth find the vulnerable hollow of its neck and he bites, once, hard. A glut of blood escapes with the bird's next scream.
The bird falls. Pip disentagles himself from the body, wipes the blood from his mouth watching it twich and lunge across the floor. And then it is still.
Pip leaves the saloon, feeling both elated and ashamed, and wanders off down the road, out of town.
OOC: Sorry that took me so long - I had to pause in the middle for an important phone call. Uh... so how's that? I think I went overboard on the non-battle stuff, plus a giant crow ain't too hard to kill. What's next?
