no such thing as a free lunch
solo seasonal
03-05-2023, 12:59 AM
Though she is a child, she’s not small. Nothing about Henbane is small. Frankly from the moment she clawed her way into this world, it’s clear– this girl is a fighter. This girl is and always will be a fighter. The fight runs in her blood, thick and hot. There’s something more than fight in her, too. It’s a spark. A brilliance. A brilliance that already flirts with madness, even in her young age. Madness. What a strange, wonderful, brilliant concept. It’s the same madness that brings her to make the choices she does. To make the choices that will certainly end in failure. To do the things that are probably not okay. Is Henbane okay? The short answer is no, and she never will be. The long answer is far more complicated. Half viking. Half pirate. Entirely insane. There’s a certain criminality in her blood, in her veins. It’s something that can’t be helped and something that can’t be fought or held back. Frankly, Henbane s already committing crimes for shits and giggles. No one would stop her. Mom had already fucked off, gone back to wherever she’d come from. Headed back home. Right, Hen had been told in no uncertain terms not to call her mom. Jack. Her name was Jack. She had dad and she had Jack, except she didn’t have Jack. Jack had her and then Jack left. Deion, Deion was dad. He was dad and he was doing his best, but there was only one of him. One Deion, and four large, unruly, strange, wild pups. Wild. They’re all so wild. Perhaps, though, Henbane was the most wild of them all. Feral. Feral to the core, and to the bone. Something about her shimmers with that strange, wild, feral madness. It lives in her heart and it carries her out into the world around. A bit of exploring would do her well. Henbane had been born to the woods, and she would embrace them with everything she is. Everything she was. Everything she always would be. The winter, the woods, the wilds– those are the things that will raise her up. Raise her from the ground and turn her into something fantastic. She’s already fantastic, but a little more wouldn’t hurt. With a stiff breeze at her back and a glint in her eye, the girl took a few long strides into the woods. A few, and then a few more. And then a few more after that– no one was stopping her. Hell yeah, it looked like she’d be getting away with her little adventure. She can smell something, and that something smelled like food. Food would be good. Food… someone else’s food. Right, not like it mattered. She was a cute puppy, maybe they’d just feed her. That, or maybe she could take what she wanted and get away before they saw her. Before they could stop her. It seemed like a good idea in her mind. Really, Hen should learn now that none of her ideas will be good… but that’s okay. She’s able to track the source of the smell fairly easily, the carcass of an elk that still smelled edible… but there was no one eating it? There was no one eating it right now. Score! With little regard for anything else, the pup moved to the carcass and took a big bite from the haunch. She chewed fast, one bite and then the next. It tasted fine… why had it been left out here? There was no time left to contemplate though, the snap of a stick somewhere off to her right. Or was that her left? Maybe behind her– shit. Three coyotes, to her left and right and behind her. Hen’s heart rate spiked. Her eyes went wide. Well, well, well, if it wasn’t the consequences of her actions. Those consequences seemed to be closing in from all sides. “Fuck,” she breathed, ears flattening against her head. Teeth showing, flashing in the sunlight. They looked upset. She wouldn’t be getting out of this one without a fight. Hen rushed the smallest of the three, the one that had been off to her left. It’s a savage charge, and it seemed that she’d taken that particular coyote by surprise. A savage sort of assault, complete with the child lunging and snarling. Her tusks seemed to catch the creature’s sweet spot, right in the throat. Rattling, gurgling sounds, the thing trying to breathe while its throat filled with blood. Equal parts gross and cool, but Henbane can’t dwell on that for now. She can’t, but she wants to. There’s something curious about it, too. As the coyote began to drown in its own blood, it managed to dig its teeth into Hen’s ear. She yelped, but it’s only a breath before she rights herself. Don’t be a bitch, Hen. Right, she wasn’t a bitch. And she’s not a bitch as she rounds on the coyote that had been coming up to her rear. That one was larger, more formidable. Still, there was no way to get back towards the safety of the crypt without going this way. Not a way she knew, at least. Her eyes were wide, and that coyote was quick to grab the pup and shake at her scruff. She wouldn’t yelp, wouldn’t let on that she was in pain. Madly, Henbane lashed out with her tusks. Stabbing, reaching, trying her damndest to find something to get the creature to let her go. Finally, the stabbing pays off. The coyote yelped, dropping the dark child in the snow. By now she’s bleeding. Henbane doesn’t stop to take stock of things, instead reaching to the momentarily stunned coyote’s throat and ripping with all the savagery she can manage. Ripping, tearing, trying to do all the damage she can. With a flail and a twitch, the coyote stops moving. She can’t dwell on it, no. From the side, she’s attacked once more. It’s an onslaught that she doesn’t quite know how to expect. This coyote is far smaller than the last, though Hen hadn’t realized until it was up close and personal with her. She launched into it, scaffolding up chest to chest. Pressing forward with her bulk, her weight, her density. The coyote took one step back, and then another. On the third step back, a sickening crack filled the air between them. It’s enough to drown out the sounds of panting, growling, snarling– what was that crack? The coyote buckled beneath her, shrinking back. A yelp, and it buckled to the ground. What the fuck? The thing’s leg bent at a sickening angle. It was enough for Hen to stagger backwards alone. She didn’t look back as she took off running back to the safety of the crypt, to the safety of her father and to the safety of home. Her heart pounded in her chest, but with each step the adrenaline was wearing off. Covered in gore, in blood, Hen made her way towards home. Blood dripped steadily down her face. The wounds to the back of her neck, the soreness in her ribcage and shoulders, all of it was an ache. A well won, hard fought ache. The child hurt, but she wouldn’t quit running. Not until she was home. Henbane Aeris |
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