[FF]A Tale of a Tail (Open)

He found his little game of child and mouse to be quite amiable. Strangers suddenly grasped their most certainly empty heads, as they were decorated with sufficiently aged banana peels (He slightly wondered, how those had gotten on top of this building, but seeing the lack of any obvious explanation beside the fact, that someone had enjoyed a meal up here recently, gave up on wondering quickly. When fate gives you ammunition and you were - Acting, was he? Or maybe he wasn't? He could remember, when he had had lots of fun like this. It almost seemed like a few hours ago- a kid, there was little to do, but throw it. Preferably on uptight strangers. Sadly these were lacing expensive suits. Only a minor fault though.)

He had just shot the penultimate projectile, when, in a flurry of what felt like fur, his careful balance on the edge of the building was rudely overthrown and he found himself racing for the pavement head on. Somehow his hands found a thing to grip on, and his hands acted on their own, by some instinct the previous owner of his new gestalt had left him there, clasping firmly around a thin section of the object that had hit him and turned it to face the earth. The consequence of that being, that his fall would be mitigated by the landing on....

CRUNCH

The sound was not pretty. The feeling in his bruised limbs was not pretty. The blackout was not pretty. What had he done?

Shaking his head, he tried his best to piece himself together. Or rather his mind, for his body was -as his rapidly wandering hands revealed- apparently unharmed by this accident at least. But there was a furry creature looking at him.

Blink.

Disbelieving blink.


Blink of recognition.

He knew the feline creature. What was her name again? It might have been due to the fall, or the lacking of brain matter in this young body, but for some reason e simply blurted it out. “Hey Sarah. Nice you dropped in.” It was the dumbest thing he had done in a long time. It was fun.

The smile on Koga's face, the twitching one, the only slightly panicked one, was still there, as he got to his feet and dusted off his clothes. OhmygodOhmygodOhmygod Not that there was any dust, but the motion seemed befitting of the situation. The smile vanished, as soon as he checked Sahra's figure to find that her leg was standing in a slightly odd angle and that, as far as it was possible with her features- she was in a good deal of pain. It was replaced by a concerned look on his face, a raising of the eyebrows, a wide eyed stare. “Oh no, you're hurt!” His statement was ringing with something between the two emotions that had just presented themselves on the youths face. He even changes colors. Now his skin was showing a bright violet, bordering pink. Passing what little distance remained between them, he put his hands carefully on her hurt leg. “Where does it hurt you? Here?” Practiced and lucky as he was, the reply to his actions was a pained hiss, an animalic hiss, that made something inside of him freeze. His whole body froze. It was the hiss of an angered cat. A pained cat. An irrational cat. Shara had removed herself from his offending grasp in an instant, claws raised. Even though the eyes remained stationary at one point, something in him knew. The animal knew. He was in trouble. It was only seconds, before the colors started moving, though, shifting into a swirling and disorienting fractal pattern. Blank.

It was only after he had cooled down his heartbeat -another thing that had not slowed down- and, oddly, fighting the urge of clasping his arm around her neck again, that he was able to retract his hand from the given position, changing it to a loose dangling at his sides. ItsallmyfaultItsallmyfault “Sorry.” His voice was a mumble of sadness. “Look Im really sorry.....” "I'm not actually Sarah and its a long story"

Oh really? Is that the case? Then it would just be fitting to return the favor, yes? Yes. Tactical assessment complete. She wasn't lying in all probability. How could she know of his aliment? He had not told anyone. So the effect had entangled others too. Interesting. But that was not the ting he had to focus on right now. Koga stiffened once again, as the decision was made in an instant. Much longer then what he usually needed, but it was still sufficient. He hoped.

It was a shift. The only way to describe it was that single word. Shift. Suddenly the child was gone. It was all too clear. The swirling colors were gone, were replaced with browns and grays that made the young boy almost indistinguishable from the background. His mind had shifted. The mask of the young teenager was finally abandoned and something else was revealed. His true self in a way. The background of a painting. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” The words were bare of any emotion whatsoever. Cool and almost snobbish. This was anything but a child standing in front of her. That much should be clear now. And the non-child eyed interested at her leg, before giving her a single hand sign. A military one, if she knew them. He pointed at her and then motioned with his palm to the ground. You stay put here it said. Martin had already wandered off into the next street, from where all too soon crushing noises could be heard.

Ten minutes later

The young boy returned with white cloth and pieces of wood in his hands. Where he had gotten them? Well beds aren't really sturdy these days. Much unlike in the good 'ol days at least. And windows that were not secured were no obstacle to anyone who could scale a wall like a gecko. He approached her without any sign of fear. Without any consideration whatsoever, he touched her again. Before the words “Hold still.” Had even left his lips to reach her ear, he had taken a firm pull at her leg and had begun strapping it in a makeshift carcass. This was much like the war days. Only a few years ago really. Back then anyone had learnt what he needed to survive. Making a carcass out of almost anything might just be one of those. And if she would get a good look at his eyes, she would be able to see, that they had turned into something that was devoid of any childlike innocence. That was devoid of any emotion at all. They had been locked away tightly into storage at the back of his mind. It was a protection from harm. For him. For her. Before he was even finished, he started speaking “My name is Martin. And you might be able to tell that this is not my original body, too.” And then... it was finished.

He looked at his work critically, much like a math teacher would be looking at the work of one of his students. Examining, what he had done, checking for errors that he knew were not there. But as with math, double checking important things, making solutions as failsafe as possible, were those things that had shown themselves to be instrumental if one wanted to do one thing: Survive in a hostile environment. Another one of the things necessary to accomplish said feat would be to remain mobile, shifting the location, until some adequate place could be found, where Meld would rest to relieve her of the stress of her injuries. A hospital this might be. But could you really trust a hospital full of humans any more then you could trust the strangers on the sidewalk? In the grand game that was called survival, there had to be no chances taken. His eyes also ran across her whole appearance again, seemed to compare it to the cat that had been here moments before. They lingered shortly on her bloodied hands and claws, but he either thought them to be of little importance, or he had no more material at had to treat them, for the lingering was but a short illusion. After the final inspection had been completed, he turned around, eyes scanning the surroundings, beaming at the shadows.

“Its best, we get moving. Who knows who saw our little stunt.” After all there still were mutant haters enough around for both of them. For a lot more then the two of them in all honesty. He had just an hour ago felt the truth of that. “You should be able to walk now.” The short sentences revealed a foreign origin, a harsh accent, short and chipped language, that seemed crisp and brittle. Military language in a way. Survivors language. It prompted questions, difficult ones at that. Easy ones if one had the right viewpoint, or maybe that was the wrong one to see it clearly? How could this little kid be so cold? How could anyone be so cold? Was this even human any more? Martin had found his answer long ago. To extinguish the fires of hell, people sometimes needed to relinquish their own humanity. And maybe take one step too close to becoming a devil themselves? “if not you may lean on me.” The colors shifted again in fractals, self contained patterns, that were held in darkest colors, colorless hues. Was there maybe red among them? An image of the blood on her?

Waiting for her action, he listened to her proposition, only to take it up into the depths of a non-child's mind. Demon spawn, Changeling, those were the words to call people like him. Maybe. Care to change your viewpoint, too? “I agree to your proposition.” He turned around to her and looked her in the eyes. Unblinking, unyielding. What might he be looking for in there? A hint of fear? “But what you have given me just now is more then I possessed at all.” A mere few seconds of silence, before he shrugged and mumbled, maybe to himself, maybe to her. “I going to have to make up for that with actions I guess.” Then he fell into a silent walk, feeling her feline paw on his shoulder. That his clothes were going to be bloodied now, was of little importance. She had given him enough facts to muse on for quite a long walk. Nonetheless, he still started talking after long minutes of silence. “I woke up a few days ago in this body. There were no unusual events the previous day. I highly suspect mutant involvement.” The different melody of his voice intensified yet again. What else could it be? Chemicals in the drinking water? Chemtrails? Ridiculous. “Also if it is a city wide or global problem, it will require exceptional strength to pull off such a stunt. And exceptional mutants do leave traces.” They really did not have a choice. And he, make that them, had no choice, but to try and find those trails if they wanted to get their bodies back. “Another suggestion I have is looking out for our own bodies. Who knows what might be happening to them.” What or who. This time he sounded even slightly concerned. Its not that he liked his body. Its not that he liked his powers. But they were both his. And he wanted them back.

What he had been trying to find in her eyes, either it was not there, or he had been successful in finding it, maybe it was even unease, the non-child averted his eyes with a blink that seemed much too long to be natural. She would have to lead him for a few steps, with him having nothing but her hand as a guide. A sign of trust? Blinking, he looked down on the ground, as if searching for something he had lost, eyes unfixed. His shoulders tightened to an almost shrug, that would just not leave, the tension in the muscles not giving way to the pressure of the claws that the cat beast applied to them. Did he even try to make them do so? Lost his innocence? As if he had ever possessed such a thing. But had it been worth discarding it? I just told you that I never had any. Maybe you're wrong this time? Just maybe? Doubts. Maybe. Not? Yes. It was an episode of listening. Silent thoughts adding to her words, recording, looking. Hopefully finding. What was he looking for?

They walked, the little sounds and hints intensifying that they were about to enter a populated area. Switching away from the main street, they turned around a corner -one that was half blocked with the remnants of a brick wall-, with Martin still not saying a word, and found themselves on a wide, open street, that was busy with the sounds of life. The contrast to where they had come from was so stark, the boy raised his head and released the tension from his shoulders. He just now seemed to notice, where they were. That they had just taken a shortcut to one of the busier streets of the city. Was it because he was with people again, people other then the one besides him? Or was it, because he was starting his game again, withdrawing his self deeper and deeper, where nothing could hurt it. Not even himself. When he shot her a glance, carrying the smile of a teenager, with just the right hint of mischievousness to make sure she got his point. Hide who you are. Act normal. Even if you aren't. People started to feel safe, when you gave them the feeling that you were predictable. His colors changed again, fractals dissolving into more geometric shapes colored like the walls they walked by. One of his hands found their way op to his shoulder, where the claws of the cat were digging in and carefully removed them. But for some reason, he did not let go, the hand felt furry and warm. Cats fur. Instead, as possible compensation, gave her the first bit of verbal communication that she had received since she finished speaking. “I once heard, that criminals who pick their victims at random are the most dangerous of all. And as for the reason of these attempts: I think the most plausible explanation would be, that they are a diversion.” He really said that. Ruining lives, burning buildings, mutants on a power rampage. All that and much more could happen. And yet he called a diversion. Like one on a chess board. If it had not become crystal clear earlier, then it would now. The boy holding her hand and swinging his legs happily along with hers was still everything, but a boy. Nothing was gained by randomly switching bodies of mutants around. Nothing but confusion that was sown in their society. A reason to be on your guard.

People were now milling about them. Some even bumping into them, before realizing what the two of them were. Some only shot them glances. Glances of hate, that did not even soften for the teenager in their midst. Glances of disgust. Glances of fear. There was nothing more prevalent then glances of fear. In a way that was. All those emotions, all the other ones, the shallow ones, were driven by fear. By the fear, what they might so, could do, would to to them. The hunters were stalking amongst them. And they knew it.

Most surprisingly, Martin found as he bumped into a smaller figure, that a little face was red with her tearful sorrow. It was a young blond, maybe 5 years old, that had been standing in their way in a pink dress. Mind the color. Don't mind the color. Before Martin knew it, his body had reacted to the sudden change in point of interest and taken on a bright pink hue. The girl stopped in the middle of a sob. Blinked. Martin could already hear her screaming. Blinked. And smiled brightly? Thats when he realized, that he was pink. Oh my god. He turned red. Darn those colors. When he got himself under control the girl was already hypnotized by the play of color on his skin, all traces of tears swiftly wiped from her face, so that they might not interfere with the viewing process of that spectral miracle in front of her. When he finally had taken the hue of the wall on his side (with gray concrete stripes), her eyes instead wandered to the person, whose hand he was clutching. And her smile remained. She took a step. Oh no kid, don't. It was as if she were ignoring his icy stare and quite un-boyish “Ssssssh” in her direction. Her attention was now fixed on the cat at his side. She took another step.

Step.

Step.

And finally reached her destination right in front of the unusual pair. Yet she did not finish there. Her hands wandered up to his, or rather hers, wrested them from him lightly and started petting them with now sparkling eyes. It was the biggest teddy bear she had ever found. Even bigger then the ones in the supermarket. And she was happy. “You are a cat.” She stated with a smile. Martin was throughly ignored. And -going by the throbbing in his temples- thoroughly not amused by her presence at all.

Martin eyes shot back and forth between the impertinent youth and the cat. If she were about to bite the head off that little pest, he might have felt bold enough to voice his disagreement. Everything short of that: Fair game by him. Little girl need to learn when to disturb grownups. Instead Meld turned around to him and looked into his eyes, looking for what? Help? Martin did the only sensible thing.

He blinked.

Thisisnottruethisisnottruethisisnottrue

Darn.

He turned green.

True.

Darn.

His hand -green- remained cold at her side, absorbing the heat of her furry body. He looked nice in green. He was not nice. His hand shot forward, gripped the girl. Latched on. She changed focus slowly. The petting did not stop. Dreams. She looked into the reptile-boys face. And a reptile looked back. Complete with forked tongue. “Ssssheessss my cat.” The girl was silent. The petting stopped. Frozen. Oh wonderous possessive pronoun.

When he pronounced his words, sentence, she tried to shrug it off at first, smile barely faltering, but then the ones from Meld, that is the Cat, the murderous one, added to what was already going on inside of her. She looked at her like she was a mouse already half eaten. Delicious. Food. Appreciation and Adoration were fading to apprehension and anger. And most of all. Fear. The Cat was a scarylady. The boy was a scaryboy. Both of them were mean. And both of them were... She ran away screaming. Finally Martin thought. Thought despite the looks that were cast at the pair of them by the crowd. They were cowards mostly. They would not do a thing. Hopefully at least. And then he caught Meld's eyes. Was stunned a second time by the cold murderous intent she displayed so openly. He knew now that he would recognize that in any form. From now on in the future. She was marked his truly. They were much too much alike.

Oh wondrous worlds of Ice, towers to lofty to be seen by mortal eyes, crushing power from below, take one step and fall into oblivion, take two and live your life wonderfully free, take three and be cast aside by raging torrents. This voice, these eyes. Looking in mirrors. Broken mirrors. He would be crying now, would be if he were in his real form and using this voice. It meant he had failed to find different options then resort to his natural weapons, cast aside all masks and hiding. It was truth that he was. He would have resolved the situation quite differently. But now he was a boy with a cat. Both were mutants. Both were out of their usual habitats. Both were frightened in a way. In a way that was buried under the ice. Ice through which he could see faces looking up at him. Down below so many faces. And Martin was not going to raise a hand against Meld. Maybe they were not enough alike. From the outside the lid barely changed. It had not changed a lot since the beginning. But these eyes were too much a sparkling mirror. “Please excuse I am not good with children at all.” Said it in a way as if he had chosen the same solution for their little problem. He might have considered it. He had considered it. But those masks he would ever cast down. Not even in this form. His mouth had opened to speak again, when a sound interrupted them.

“MONSTERS!” Pause. People fell silent around them as they were looking for the origin of the disturbing noise “I'm so gonna KILL YA F*** FREAKS” A slender woman was walking across the street toward the unusual pair. A crying child was in her one hand. A child both very well knew. The other was pointed at them. An accusation. He was about to laugh at her, when the woman left her child and fell into a slow trot. A slender woman was really charging two mutants in broad daylight. And for such stupid reasons as her child's happiness. Try understanding Homo sapiens... Sometimes there was just no sense at all in them.