Aiken
Stupid stupid stupid me! My boots lost, and she saw -- of course she saw; how could my Mistress not see? -- and I can't remember where I put them.
I flee the house of Son Goku, and finding shelter in a stand of green trees, and crouch beside a dead log, my claws digging into the rotten wood while I tap up and down, up and down. I think for a long time, crouched like that, and after a while it comes to me that they must be back at the battle site, where I think I might have taken them off.
Sure. Sure; that's it! And it's easy for me to find my way back. Inujin can follow any scent of anything anywhere. Over water, land or air, an hour or a month old it ain't no thing. If I close my eyes I can see the scent picture, every place any animal stood and what they did and looked like and where they went.
I just back track, following the scent over the gleaming salt sea and the dull rock mountain ranges, read easy by the few little bits of air that still hold my scent or my Mistress' scent or Uragiru's, though I try not to follow her trail.
It doesn't take very long to cover the maybe thousand kilometers to where I was going.
I landed beside the blackened crater where the ship had been before Son Goku blow it up. There ain't a thing left, and he wasn't even trying. It's scary..
The boots are easy to find, laying on their sides in the grit. I hold them up side down and shake out the sand and put them under my armpit. I should put them on now I should but I think I'd rather just carry them until I get back to Son's home.
I turn to go, but a live scent, one which has hung in the air from the day before, sticks in my nose. Like a leaky battery and fresh green growth mingling faintly with clean sweat and classy perfumed soap. I turned toward it.
The dark little guy reclines on a boulder, half laying, half sitting, one arm draped over his raised knee, the other foot hanging off the edge of the stone, his face a flat frown that means nothing at all. A long barreled old fashion gun of wood and well polished metal rests in the crook of his elbow, muzzle dangling to his knee. His bandanna ruffles in the wind and the gun barrel gleams.
"You again. So you stalking me, now?"
"Hardly," he says. His jaw rest in the palm of his hand, his little finger tapping his cheek bored like. "You're on my turf, darling." He laughs mean. He's making fun of me, but I don't get how.
"You're creepy."
"Ah yes. Thank you kindly," he says, sliding to his butt in one smooth motion, so to now set on the stone with his legs spread, the sides of his heels touching. "Well," he shifts the gun, moving one hand to his out turned knee. "I do aim to please."
"What's that?" I ask, pointing.
"This?" He held the gun up, turning it slowly in his hands to catch the shin of the sun. "This, darling, is the finest piece of craftsmanship on the planet. Next to me, of course."
"Looks old."
"You're old!" he says in sudden out burst, and laughs again. I don't get the joke. "More over," he becomes very serious "You are a stupid ass."
"Oh, you shouldn't use words like that," I tell him. "My Mistress says it's vile."
"No," he corrects himself. "Not an ass; a dumb sheep. A blind sheep. What are you up to, out here where you don't belong?"
"Forgot my boots," I say, and hold them up.
"Ah," he says, "And how hideous they are."
"My Mistress says they're what's proper for me to wear," I say, on the defense because they are kind of ugly, I think maybe.
"Now there's a topic!" he says, leaning forward and pretending to pretend to be interested. "Frigid, isn't it?"
I nod and correct him. "The Lady Frigid."
"Good enough." The wind picks up suddenly and I squint, the gritty air making my nose itch and drying out my boggers. "What's the matter with her?"
"What's that mean?" I shoot back. Scared. I don't want to talk about it, but begin nervously, "If you mean she's been a bit under the weather, as of late --" he cuts me off; makes me mad.
"No, darling, she's dying. If you don't know why or what from you should just say so." Before I can argue or provide retribution for the insult or question him he goes on. "Don't sweat it, anyway. Son's friends never stay dead long."
Piece of meat dangling in front of my nose. I've gotta jump. "How come? How can they not stay dead?"
"He resurrects them left and right with the dragon balls," the guy says. Don't mean a thing to me, and I want to question him farther, but he goes on. "What about the other one? The pretty little blue bitch?"
"Uragiru?" I make a face. "She's a liar and mean and unhappy and hates my Mistress and my Mistress doesn't even doesn't even see."
"Uragiru?" he repeats. "Hideous name." He leans his head to the side and smiles. It's a fake smile -- fake and sarcastic -- like everything else about him. It don't mean a thing. He jumps to his feet and bows fancy like. Entraining himself, that's what he's been doing all along. "I'll just be going then," he says, and shoves his hands into his pockets and adds, "Follow me and I'll make a point of killing you."
Ha! I could follow him easy, even if he is faster (and he's yet to show he can even fly). I never lose a scent and he'd never know I was there, I bet.
But I've been gone far far too long, and there's a scratchy little nervous feeling in my brain that's just started to work its way to the front. Pulls my heartbeat up and makes me want to growl or whimper at nothing. I'd better go back and make sure my Mistress is okay.
Stupid stupid stupid me! My boots lost, and she saw -- of course she saw; how could my Mistress not see? -- and I can't remember where I put them.
I flee the house of Son Goku, and finding shelter in a stand of green trees, and crouch beside a dead log, my claws digging into the rotten wood while I tap up and down, up and down. I think for a long time, crouched like that, and after a while it comes to me that they must be back at the battle site, where I think I might have taken them off.
Sure. Sure; that's it! And it's easy for me to find my way back. Inujin can follow any scent of anything anywhere. Over water, land or air, an hour or a month old it ain't no thing. If I close my eyes I can see the scent picture, every place any animal stood and what they did and looked like and where they went.
I just back track, following the scent over the gleaming salt sea and the dull rock mountain ranges, read easy by the few little bits of air that still hold my scent or my Mistress' scent or Uragiru's, though I try not to follow her trail.
It doesn't take very long to cover the maybe thousand kilometers to where I was going.
I landed beside the blackened crater where the ship had been before Son Goku blow it up. There ain't a thing left, and he wasn't even trying. It's scary..
The boots are easy to find, laying on their sides in the grit. I hold them up side down and shake out the sand and put them under my armpit. I should put them on now I should but I think I'd rather just carry them until I get back to Son's home.
I turn to go, but a live scent, one which has hung in the air from the day before, sticks in my nose. Like a leaky battery and fresh green growth mingling faintly with clean sweat and classy perfumed soap. I turned toward it.
The dark little guy reclines on a boulder, half laying, half sitting, one arm draped over his raised knee, the other foot hanging off the edge of the stone, his face a flat frown that means nothing at all. A long barreled old fashion gun of wood and well polished metal rests in the crook of his elbow, muzzle dangling to his knee. His bandanna ruffles in the wind and the gun barrel gleams.
"You again. So you stalking me, now?"
"Hardly," he says. His jaw rest in the palm of his hand, his little finger tapping his cheek bored like. "You're on my turf, darling." He laughs mean. He's making fun of me, but I don't get how.
"You're creepy."
"Ah yes. Thank you kindly," he says, sliding to his butt in one smooth motion, so to now set on the stone with his legs spread, the sides of his heels touching. "Well," he shifts the gun, moving one hand to his out turned knee. "I do aim to please."
"What's that?" I ask, pointing.
"This?" He held the gun up, turning it slowly in his hands to catch the shin of the sun. "This, darling, is the finest piece of craftsmanship on the planet. Next to me, of course."
"Looks old."
"You're old!" he says in sudden out burst, and laughs again. I don't get the joke. "More over," he becomes very serious "You are a stupid ass."
"Oh, you shouldn't use words like that," I tell him. "My Mistress says it's vile."
"No," he corrects himself. "Not an ass; a dumb sheep. A blind sheep. What are you up to, out here where you don't belong?"
"Forgot my boots," I say, and hold them up.
"Ah," he says, "And how hideous they are."
"My Mistress says they're what's proper for me to wear," I say, on the defense because they are kind of ugly, I think maybe.
"Now there's a topic!" he says, leaning forward and pretending to pretend to be interested. "Frigid, isn't it?"
I nod and correct him. "The Lady Frigid."
"Good enough." The wind picks up suddenly and I squint, the gritty air making my nose itch and drying out my boggers. "What's the matter with her?"
"What's that mean?" I shoot back. Scared. I don't want to talk about it, but begin nervously, "If you mean she's been a bit under the weather, as of late --" he cuts me off; makes me mad.
"No, darling, she's dying. If you don't know why or what from you should just say so." Before I can argue or provide retribution for the insult or question him he goes on. "Don't sweat it, anyway. Son's friends never stay dead long."
Piece of meat dangling in front of my nose. I've gotta jump. "How come? How can they not stay dead?"
"He resurrects them left and right with the dragon balls," the guy says. Don't mean a thing to me, and I want to question him farther, but he goes on. "What about the other one? The pretty little blue bitch?"
"Uragiru?" I make a face. "She's a liar and mean and unhappy and hates my Mistress and my Mistress doesn't even doesn't even see."
"Uragiru?" he repeats. "Hideous name." He leans his head to the side and smiles. It's a fake smile -- fake and sarcastic -- like everything else about him. It don't mean a thing. He jumps to his feet and bows fancy like. Entraining himself, that's what he's been doing all along. "I'll just be going then," he says, and shoves his hands into his pockets and adds, "Follow me and I'll make a point of killing you."
Ha! I could follow him easy, even if he is faster (and he's yet to show he can even fly). I never lose a scent and he'd never know I was there, I bet.
But I've been gone far far too long, and there's a scratchy little nervous feeling in my brain that's just started to work its way to the front. Pulls my heartbeat up and makes me want to growl or whimper at nothing. I'd better go back and make sure my Mistress is okay.