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fandomtownies2012-11-17 07:48 pm
holy-daughter.livejournal.com) wrote in fandomtownies2012-11-17 07:48 pm
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From Lucrezia's Bedroom to the Preserve, Saturday, Late Afternoon / Early Evening
All day, Lucrezia had felt not herself. All of her clothes were constricting; something itched beneath the surface of her skin. Something was new. Something had changed.
She tried to quiet her raging mind with composing some overdue letters, to her dearest intended, to her mother, to Cesare. The words would not come.
She had lifted her needlepoint and discovered, to her astonishment, that she no longer remembered how to weave the needle through its intricate dance. She could no more perform a simple tent stitch than she could have bent the needle into a knot.
At last, Lucrezia had given up. She had pinned her hair up to her head in a simple knot -- less distracting that way -- and changed into the gown she had worn the night of Cesare's masquerade. A style much like her friend Dany might wear; free, and with no need of a corset or heavy layers.
Wrapping a simple cloak around herself, she had intended to take a walk, but her body had had other ideas. She had shed the cloak at the edge of the Preserve and begun to run.
She could not say when she had stepped out of her shoes. She had never run like this before, breathing the cooling air and allowing her feet to fly. She did not know how or when she had lost her dress.
But Fandom was spared the sight of the Pope's daughter as Lady Godiva. Almost as soon as the air hit her exposed skin, it began to change, to morph into something new. Fur grew protectively from her pores; her nose lengthened itself into a muzzle, and the day had never smelled so sweet. Or so fascinating.
As Lucrezia padded to a stop, she was astonished to discover that she was running on all fours; that her thighs had become haunches, and her hands, strong paws with which to grip the soil. She whuffled and shook her head, enjoying the way the fur rippled along the length of her back.
She was Lady no more. She was beast. She was free.
Lucrezia tossed her head back to scream, a feral cry of spontaneous joy that her new body translated into a defiant, proud howl.
And then the girl-coyote began to run once more. The woods were enormous; may they keep her forever.
(Lucrezia lost her needlepoint skills and gained Mercy's coyote-shifting ability! Open to anyone who might be lurking in the preserve that wants to play.)
She tried to quiet her raging mind with composing some overdue letters, to her dearest intended, to her mother, to Cesare. The words would not come.
She had lifted her needlepoint and discovered, to her astonishment, that she no longer remembered how to weave the needle through its intricate dance. She could no more perform a simple tent stitch than she could have bent the needle into a knot.
At last, Lucrezia had given up. She had pinned her hair up to her head in a simple knot -- less distracting that way -- and changed into the gown she had worn the night of Cesare's masquerade. A style much like her friend Dany might wear; free, and with no need of a corset or heavy layers.
Wrapping a simple cloak around herself, she had intended to take a walk, but her body had had other ideas. She had shed the cloak at the edge of the Preserve and begun to run.
She could not say when she had stepped out of her shoes. She had never run like this before, breathing the cooling air and allowing her feet to fly. She did not know how or when she had lost her dress.
But Fandom was spared the sight of the Pope's daughter as Lady Godiva. Almost as soon as the air hit her exposed skin, it began to change, to morph into something new. Fur grew protectively from her pores; her nose lengthened itself into a muzzle, and the day had never smelled so sweet. Or so fascinating.
As Lucrezia padded to a stop, she was astonished to discover that she was running on all fours; that her thighs had become haunches, and her hands, strong paws with which to grip the soil. She whuffled and shook her head, enjoying the way the fur rippled along the length of her back.
She was Lady no more. She was beast. She was free.
Lucrezia tossed her head back to scream, a feral cry of spontaneous joy that her new body translated into a defiant, proud howl.
And then the girl-coyote began to run once more. The woods were enormous; may they keep her forever.
(Lucrezia lost her needlepoint skills and gained Mercy's coyote-shifting ability! Open to anyone who might be lurking in the preserve that wants to play.)
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But it was enough to stop him up short when he heard it. And to go looking for the source.
Just in case it turned out to be less than friendly. So, hey there random coyote in the woods. How you doin'? Doin' fine? Good to know. Excuse Derek while he just lurked behind this tree and frowned at you.
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She was lowering her head to the stream, lapping up its cuttingly cold water, when a new scent appeared. Like-her-but-not. She didn't know what that meant; she had yet to smell any of her own kind, either not-a-wolf or human. She sent her eyes through the night until she spotted a suggestion, a shape near a tree.
She thumped her tail, slowly. Some primal part of her wished to growl, threateningly, but curiosity outweighed her territorialness. That could change, if the stranger proved menacing.
The creature should come closer, that she might see.
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He gave the animal--shifter--whatever--a deeply unimpressed look, head tilting to the side in response. "Of course."
Of course he had to come find an interloper.
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She stopped again at a fair distance, barking once. He didn't seem all that happy to see her. She didn't like not having proper greetings.
Usually her name was called formally, in her father's court; this was considerably more informal. But she'd trade bells and choirs for a touch of mutual respect.
Did he want something? Was he friend, foe, or something yet undetermined? She had claws, and teeth. It would seem to give her the advantage, unless he had a weapon. Or skills she didn't yet suspect.
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She paced closer, trying to decide if she should talk to him, or leap at him and tear his throat out.
The bloodthirstiness was new. Or, at least, this degree of it. She was, after all, a Borgia.
She came to a decision, crouching low behind a bush. She didn't know if she knew how to change back. Did she? Remember how it felt to be human -- hair, skin, legs, feet -
She hoped the bush might obscure her. She was not ashamed of her nudity, but she was Alfonso's, and this stranger did not get to ogle her as if she were a common streetwalker.
"Toss me a coat," she called out, "and I might deign to speak with you. On the matter of why you feel you can order about any who stroll in these woods."
If he had no coat, a shirt would do. He could at least pretend to be a gentleman.
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After a few moments of leaves rustling, Lucrezia stood. The jacket was large enough to cover the essentials of modesty, and she wrapped it around herself as if she were Queen and it was a resplendent cloak.
"Calling?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I was celebrating. I am sorry if you thought my cry was meant for you. I was running for me. I was unaware that you owned these woods, Mister ... ?"
Being the Pope's only acknowledged daughter had given her a great deal of practice in applying haughty dignity to unpleasant situations. The trick was pretending you hadn't just been scampering around on all fours, chasing rabbits through the preserve. Or that you weren't wrapped in the other person's leather coat and nothing else.
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"Hale. You're either new to this or really dumb."
Yeah, he was just going to leave that there. Because he was a mature person like that.
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She was doing her level best to show him exactly how unimpressed she was. "Because I do not respond well to men who believe they can give me orders."
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"You're a little predator on the wrong island," he replied. "And you'r going to be in over your head if you keep signalling for everyone around to come find you. Because next time, it won't be me. It'll be hunters armed with machine guns."
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"I hadn't thought a romp through the woods to be so fraught with peril," she said, and if there was the lightest touch of derision in her voice, so be it. "I wished to feel the night air upon my face. I posed no threat to any save the occasional rabbit or squirrel. Have I trod upon some territorial dispute? I doubt you would come here simply out of concern for my safety. So why are you here?"
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She was making an educated guess, there, based on how personally he was taking this.
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Without moving her eyes from his, she began to slide the jacket from her shoulders -- defiantly, as if daring him to blink first, to look away. She would not cower and hide herself before him.
When the jacket hit her elbows, she tugged one arm out, using the other to gather it into her hand. She tossed the ball-of-jacket to the ground between them.
By the time the jacket landed, so had she; it was as if she had melted, fluidly, back into that other form, the fur warming her shivering skin. She stood solidly on all fours, watching him.
A heartbeat later, she was gone.