Tuesday, 11 April 2006 : Alex's Weekly Wednesday Post
PUSHKIN...a story in parts
Pushkin darted down the stairs with the determination of a cat who was soon to be dead.
Two more Fire Opals whistled by him, the last one causing the short fur on the stump of his tail to smolder.
"Stupid, stupid, damned stupid," Pushkin railed at himself, berating his scattered attention for missing the pair of battle mages lurking in the hallway corner, right outside Mreeahahwah's den. "They were waiting for idiots like me, like for a flipping trout in the sun. DAMMIT!"
And as you'd know it, the fucking Abyssinian Twins. Mreeahahwah's Special Forces Unit, so the rowr went. Mur and Mowr were infamous fighters. Their breed was particularly adept at fire magic, and again, as the rowr went, either of them could burn a dozen or so opponents in the blink of an inner eyelid. But, together?
Pushkin's body cut a blurry orange streak down the stairs. 6th floor. He skidded to a halt. The Abyssinians would be held up a few seconds, while they tailed up their next spell. Pushkin knew -- he could cast a few tricks himself -- walk through walls, Avert some humates' eyes, stuff that a lot of cats could do. However, his aptitude was pretty weak in general, and right now his energy was almost entirely tapped after penetrating and scouting out Mreeahahwah's 17th-floor den.
He stared at the chipping, blue concrete wall in front of him. The few seconds the Abyssinians required to build up a new attack and catch to up to him -- them fuckers were FAST -- gave him time to think.
"By the time I find the right shadow," thought Pushkin feverishly, "I'll be a fucking torch."
Pushkin decided to continue scanning the wall for THREE more seconds, then resign to fighting the guards on the first floor. Bad perspective, that.
Suddenly, the apartment door next to him swung open.
"What the FUCK is up with the racket?!? YURI, ARE YOU DRUNK AGAIN???"
Mur and Mowr were like a thin, grey waterfall, flowing down the stairs. Pushkin knew that they weren't even going to bother Averting the humate's eyes. They were set.
There! Behind the door! Pushkin found the right shadow.
He leaped at the wall with all of his strength.
Through the wall...
- - -
A five story drop could have incurred serious complications, if not for the huge mounds of snow blanketing the courtyard.
Pushkin scrambled out of the meter-deep hole he'd made with his body, his orange fur matted with ice crystals.
"Didn't expect THAT one, you bastards," mumbled Pushkin.
He darted across the courtyard, toward safe haven.
"I didn't expect you fuckers either," Pushkin added, musing above the rhythmic patter of his paws, "so I guess we're even."
Nick could be getting worried by now.
The night swallowed Pushkin's fleeting form.
- - - - -
to be continued...
That is all. - Jim