http://mythicbeast.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
mythicbeast.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
31_days2005-10-02 09:03 am
mythicbeast.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-10-02 09:03 am
[October 1] [Original] A Murder of Morals
Title: A Murder of Morals
Day/Theme: October 1: A screaming comes across the sky
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Gale, Aglaia (Harpy Queen), Harpies
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Even here, it seems, the past catches up to her.
A/N: ...at the end of the post.
The desert sun scorches the tableau below it, and the air sucks the sweat from their faces before they can feel it. On the one hand, the girl armed only with a staff; on the other, a flock of winged women, unearthly beauty marred by their rotting plumage.
Between them, hate.
"You will not pass here," Gale says calmly, "And you will let those people go."
Just like it is irrefutable fact.
And once she has spoken it, the scales shift, and it is.
The harpy queen's face, or what half of it can still emote, twists in something like hate and something like fury and something very, very much like fear. Gale's words do not make her stand down, flinch though she might. Instead, she snarls in challenge, raptor claws covered with chipping red varnish flexing restively, as though she'd like to have them wrapped around the girl's neck. Her wings are festering flaps of filth, and the putrid stench of decay fans over the faces of the crowd on every downbeat.
"You ruined my face, kitten," Aglaia crows, mockingly, wheeling as she works herself into a rage. "And I will have my revenge. Blood for blood! An eye for an eye! Keeyagh!" Her minions shriek with her, keening voices raised fit to shatter hearing. The few men clutched in harpy claws, held helplessly high off the ground, grimace in their captors' holds, half-screaming as the grip on them loosens and they begin to slide down.
Gale doesn't flinch, but readjusts her grip on the sharpened pole in her hands, grim. "So be it."
"Kill her!" the harpy screams, and her murder echoes the call, those without captives in their claws following in their queen's wake as she dives at the pathetically tiny girl balanced precariously on the clotheslines, barefoot and motionless.
She waits until Aglaia is arm's distance before she strikes.
Even the harpies are brought up short, eyes goggling comically, as Gale launches herself at their leader, somersaulting over her head to plant her feet squarely on the harpy's back. Sharp slaps of wood against flesh resound when the girl's staff beats at the base of Aglaia's wings, and with a sharp cry, the harpy falls.
It is, luckily, not a very long distance to the ground.
Aglaia manages to catch herself on her feet, clumsy limbs struggling for balance, but then Gale's weight pushes her down into the dirt, her wings folding awkwardly up behind her back while her face gets buried in mud.
In another moment, Gale has dropped the stick and seized ahold of Aglaia's pinions. The queen howls in rage, struggling upright, but her wings, for all their power, remain captured in the girl's hands.
Trying to break free would rip the feathers out.
"Call your women down, Aggy," Gale says, the command almost gentle. "Or I'll make sure you never fly again."
Gale can feel the tremor of back muscles struggling not to shift the wings in her grasp. It's rather like having someone keep their arms behind their back for fear of breaking a bone, and with that, the girl realizes something.
"These are where your power is, isn't it?" Gale asks, simply. "Without your wings, you're just another lich. A corpse who won't accept that they're dead."
"How do you know I won't choose to die?" Aglaia spits, defiant.
Gale's response is calm and measured, certain and immovable. "Because you are afraid. Because no matter how mean your existence, no matter what filth you lower yourself to eating, you fear your death more than you fear your life." She cocks her head. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have ever asked for these." A sharp tug is delivered to the queen's pinions, and the harpy squalls in anger, tears of surprise turning muddy as they carve tracks down her dirt-encrusted face.
"You wanted to be immortal, even if it meant living like a monster. You didn't want to know what it was like to live and age and die, because you were beautiful, once, and beauty and malice was all you had. Now, you don't even have that." Gale tilts her head. "Are you too afraid to walk in the dirt again, harpy-lady? Are you so afraid of the ground that you won't let your claws touch it?"
"You should know about monsters, girl," the queen says, snidely, "You are one. How much blood stains your hands?"
"Call your featherbags down, carrion-queen," the girl repeats the order, quiet and cold. Her voice hardly betrays the fact that her teeth are gritted. "Or if you're lucky, you will die. If you aren't, you will wish you had."
It is not a threat. It is a promise.
Aglaia's eyes flutter shut, and she wordlessly acquiesces.
((And that's that. I wanted to somehow work in a splurge about how 'Aggy' is actually some kind of freakywitch who gave up being human to be a harpy and LEEVE FOREVER, albeit pathetically. 'Aglaia' means 'beauty' or 'splendor' in Greek. It may have been appropriate once, or it may be vanity. Gale carved her face up a long time ago, so she's allowed to be petty.
A bird's pinions are what make flight possible, as far as I know (they're the longest, on the wingtip). If you trim them, a bird will not be able to fly for more than a small height or distance, and ripping them out is, well, painful and at least slightly crippling. In this case, also, the feathers tie into the harpy powers somehow.
But the idea is, a harpy that cannot fly is as good as dead, and humiliated to boot. In Aglaia's case, deharpyfying may or may not result in INSTANT DEKAY, as she has probably outlived her normal lifespan and... yeah.
I'm not sure what the point of this was. XD))
Day/Theme: October 1: A screaming comes across the sky
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Gale, Aglaia (Harpy Queen), Harpies
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Even here, it seems, the past catches up to her.
A/N: ...at the end of the post.
The desert sun scorches the tableau below it, and the air sucks the sweat from their faces before they can feel it. On the one hand, the girl armed only with a staff; on the other, a flock of winged women, unearthly beauty marred by their rotting plumage.
Between them, hate.
"You will not pass here," Gale says calmly, "And you will let those people go."
Just like it is irrefutable fact.
And once she has spoken it, the scales shift, and it is.
The harpy queen's face, or what half of it can still emote, twists in something like hate and something like fury and something very, very much like fear. Gale's words do not make her stand down, flinch though she might. Instead, she snarls in challenge, raptor claws covered with chipping red varnish flexing restively, as though she'd like to have them wrapped around the girl's neck. Her wings are festering flaps of filth, and the putrid stench of decay fans over the faces of the crowd on every downbeat.
"You ruined my face, kitten," Aglaia crows, mockingly, wheeling as she works herself into a rage. "And I will have my revenge. Blood for blood! An eye for an eye! Keeyagh!" Her minions shriek with her, keening voices raised fit to shatter hearing. The few men clutched in harpy claws, held helplessly high off the ground, grimace in their captors' holds, half-screaming as the grip on them loosens and they begin to slide down.
Gale doesn't flinch, but readjusts her grip on the sharpened pole in her hands, grim. "So be it."
"Kill her!" the harpy screams, and her murder echoes the call, those without captives in their claws following in their queen's wake as she dives at the pathetically tiny girl balanced precariously on the clotheslines, barefoot and motionless.
She waits until Aglaia is arm's distance before she strikes.
Even the harpies are brought up short, eyes goggling comically, as Gale launches herself at their leader, somersaulting over her head to plant her feet squarely on the harpy's back. Sharp slaps of wood against flesh resound when the girl's staff beats at the base of Aglaia's wings, and with a sharp cry, the harpy falls.
It is, luckily, not a very long distance to the ground.
Aglaia manages to catch herself on her feet, clumsy limbs struggling for balance, but then Gale's weight pushes her down into the dirt, her wings folding awkwardly up behind her back while her face gets buried in mud.
In another moment, Gale has dropped the stick and seized ahold of Aglaia's pinions. The queen howls in rage, struggling upright, but her wings, for all their power, remain captured in the girl's hands.
Trying to break free would rip the feathers out.
"Call your women down, Aggy," Gale says, the command almost gentle. "Or I'll make sure you never fly again."
Gale can feel the tremor of back muscles struggling not to shift the wings in her grasp. It's rather like having someone keep their arms behind their back for fear of breaking a bone, and with that, the girl realizes something.
"These are where your power is, isn't it?" Gale asks, simply. "Without your wings, you're just another lich. A corpse who won't accept that they're dead."
"How do you know I won't choose to die?" Aglaia spits, defiant.
Gale's response is calm and measured, certain and immovable. "Because you are afraid. Because no matter how mean your existence, no matter what filth you lower yourself to eating, you fear your death more than you fear your life." She cocks her head. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have ever asked for these." A sharp tug is delivered to the queen's pinions, and the harpy squalls in anger, tears of surprise turning muddy as they carve tracks down her dirt-encrusted face.
"You wanted to be immortal, even if it meant living like a monster. You didn't want to know what it was like to live and age and die, because you were beautiful, once, and beauty and malice was all you had. Now, you don't even have that." Gale tilts her head. "Are you too afraid to walk in the dirt again, harpy-lady? Are you so afraid of the ground that you won't let your claws touch it?"
"You should know about monsters, girl," the queen says, snidely, "You are one. How much blood stains your hands?"
"Call your featherbags down, carrion-queen," the girl repeats the order, quiet and cold. Her voice hardly betrays the fact that her teeth are gritted. "Or if you're lucky, you will die. If you aren't, you will wish you had."
It is not a threat. It is a promise.
Aglaia's eyes flutter shut, and she wordlessly acquiesces.
((And that's that. I wanted to somehow work in a splurge about how 'Aggy' is actually some kind of freakywitch who gave up being human to be a harpy and LEEVE FOREVER, albeit pathetically. 'Aglaia' means 'beauty' or 'splendor' in Greek. It may have been appropriate once, or it may be vanity. Gale carved her face up a long time ago, so she's allowed to be petty.
A bird's pinions are what make flight possible, as far as I know (they're the longest, on the wingtip). If you trim them, a bird will not be able to fly for more than a small height or distance, and ripping them out is, well, painful and at least slightly crippling. In this case, also, the feathers tie into the harpy powers somehow.
But the idea is, a harpy that cannot fly is as good as dead, and humiliated to boot. In Aglaia's case, deharpyfying may or may not result in INSTANT DEKAY, as she has probably outlived her normal lifespan and... yeah.
I'm not sure what the point of this was. XD))