And now, to everybody, the name of the Chapter 10 was actually supposed to
be (Apple) Butter Fingers, but for some reason I can't have parenthesis in
the chapter titles. And just for the record everybody, this story is
dedicated to my annoying younger sister Rebecca, because, believe it or
not, the whole Marco starting the Revolutionary War thing was her idea,
kind of a "wouldn't it be funny if" type thing, and this story spawned off
of that. The first chapter was something I wrote on a scrap piece of paper
during math class (Thank you Andy! It was his paper, and I still have it).
After that, I remembered the Revolutionary story I had been thinking about
writing, and somehow the two ended up combined.
I know this took forever!!! It was a really difficult chapter for me to
write, but it was crucial to the plot, so it had to go in somewhere, as
much as I put it off, so again, I'm sorry it took so long. And to whoever
left that anonymous message under the name "annoyed", go to hell. I worked
hard on this chapter and didn't want to post it half finished and crappy,
not to mention I had finals, and, oh, a life. To those of you that waited
patiently, I'm finally on summer vacation and should, theoretically, be
able to post a lot more often now that I have more free time.
~Rachel~
PopPopPopPopPopPop!
Aw, damn it. The war had started.
John-the guy that had followed me when I stormed away from Marco in a fit of rage-shoved me down. I guess being a girl gave me some sort of right to fear and potential safety. Normally, I would have jumped right in the middle of everything, but this wasn't my kind of fight. I didn't have a big old out of date musket (not that I would have been able to shoot one if I did) or even a sword, which I saw some men actually had. Nope, all I had was a bear morph and a passion for fighting, neither of which was going to be much help to me at the current moment.
So I just stayed put, crouched down behind John who, fortunately, was not front line material. My first thought was that my skirt was getting muddy. My second thought was that my first thought was superficial and I should be more worried about Marco. My third thought was that my second thought was even more ludicrous then my first, and I should just stop thinking all together.
My compromise was to rack my brain for any memories of what had happened in the first battle of the Revolutionary War (did it actually have a name?) and how many people had died. Also if there was any mention of an unidentified blond girl mysteriously found dead in the middle of the battlefield. Hey, if there was the mystery of the Lost Colony or whatever, then why not the theory of a combination Jane Doe and Sarah Ferguson, the chick who was stampeded in the Revolutionary War?
Not surprisingly, I didn't come up with anything. Curse the public school learning system.
Then, we were retreating. Yes, retreating. No, I never would have come up with that word myself, but someone yelled out "Retreat!" and then we were hauling ass into the woods. Forget pride, we weren't winning, and poison ivy seemed a lot better then bullet-in-head.
Unfortunately, the position I was in didn't leave me much opportunity for fleeing in panic. In fact, I was in a much better position to be trampled underfoot, which I was. A big black boot came down on my left hand. I instinctively swung out my right arm and hit Black Boot's ankle. Black Boot went down. I felt a little better.
John grabbed my arm and roughly pulled me to my feet. I shoved him away. Like I couldn't run away on my own. In reality, I didn't really run, just stomped huffily towards the woods. Let the British shoot me. In the mood I was in, they were the ones that ought to have been running.
I hit the patch of trees and kept going. Pain in the ass or not, I was finding Marco and some way out of this. I could not stand another minute in this century.
John followed me the entire way, and it was a while before I realized I was heading right into a thick patch of trees. Unless Marco needed to relieve himself, there wasn't much chance he'd be there. I really must have been mad, because I had wandered so far away from the army, I could hardly even hear them anymore.
"God dammit!" I screamed, kicking the nearest tree.
John watched me with a keen sort of interest. He was really getting on my nerves. "There, there, what ails you now, pretty girl?" He stepped closer to me and reached up like he was going to touch my hair. He smelled like alcohol. I shoved him away, and he stumbled backwards into a bush.
"Stay away from me."
"Now, now, don't do that," He approached me cautiously this time. I tried backing up, but ended up pinning myself against a tree. When I reached up my hand to slap him, he grabbed my wrist.
I already knew what he was going to try to do. Stupid me, I had never thought about people from this time being anything other then.well, pure, I guess. The way they dressed suggested that, but the number of kids they had should have told me otherwise.
John's hand reached up to the neckline of my dress. I screamed and he shoved his hand over my mouth, roughly pushing the back of my head into the tree. I bit his fingers hard, but he only grimaced. Despite my resistance, I could feel tears starting to flood my eyes.
i I'll show this son of a bitch, /i I thought as I started morphing.
He didn't notice right away, but it didn't take him long. I was getting close to seven feet tall, gaining hundreds of pounds, not to mention sprouting a lot of brown fur. My dress was starting to burst at the seams. Literally.
He stepped back and watched me in stunned amazement for a few seconds as I continued morphing into a full-grown male grizzly bear. Then, no surprise, he started running. Almost fully bear, I dropped down to all fours and lumbered after him. It wasn't to stop him from running back to the army and telling everyone about the amazing bear-girl, although the thought was on my mind. It was about revenge. I wanted to hurt him like he had tried to hurt me.
I caught him in about four seconds flat. Holding him up by his shoulders, I dug my claws into his flesh as he cried and begged for mercy. Like I had, and probably like any other girls he had tried to rape. What had he done to them, were they still alive, living in shame and not able to tell anyone what had happened because they believed it was their own fault, or had he done what some 21st century rapists did and killed them, dumping the bodies somewhere? Was that what he had been planning to do to me?
I burned with rage, so much that I actually felt hot from the inside of me. Not the grizzly, the grizzly was unconcerned, but me, human Rachel, was mad. Very mad.
And me, the human Rachel, threw John into a tree. And me, Rachel, watched as his neck snapped and he died. I had killed him.
Technically, I guess it would be labeled self-defense. But I knew better then that. I didn't have to kill him. He had no gun, no visible knife or other weapon. As a grizzly bear, I could have just walked away. He might have been an evil, desperate, sickening person, but he was still a person and I had killed him.
But oddly, I felt nothing.
I demorphed. The dress was literally in shreds. The only thing to have survived was the apron. With a lot of ripping, tying, and trial and error, I was able to piece the torn cloth back into something vaguely resembling a dress. I put it on and tied the apron over it.
John was slumped against the tree, his eyes open and staring, but starting to glaze over from death. I took one of the longer cloth pieces I hadn't been able to use and tied it around his head, covering his eyes like a blindfold. I left the area calmly.
I walked through the woods towards the noise of the retreated army. At first it was hard to tell where the sounds of voices, horses, and footsteps were coming from, but as I got closer, they became louder. And finally, as I shoved my way through one more large, prickly bush, I nearly fell into the arms of a man around my father's age.
"Now where did you come from?" He asked looking at me curiously as he helped steady me. I moved away from him quickly. No answering questions. I didn't like making up answers.
"Rachel! RA-CHEL!"
There, up ahead of me, was Marco, pushing his way through the crowd to get to me. I was surprised to find myself moving in his direction as well. When we finally reached each other, he looked me up and down.
"What happened to your clothes? And your little friend...the one that looks like he has a hangover? Wait...clothes...boy toy..." Marco's eyes widened as he looked at me suspiciously.
"Whatever you're thinking in your perverted little head, stop it now." I said, even though I knew exactly what he was thinking. For some reason, one I couldn't even explain to myself, it made me feel worse that he would think...that.
"So what happened then?" Marco asked smugly.
"I killed him." Why did my eyes feel tingly? Why did my throat ache so much? It was almost like I was going to cry...no, I must be getting sick or something. Marco was looking at me in amazement, shock, and...could that be fear?
"He-he tried to-" I desperately tried to defend myself, but now it was official. I was crying. Marco's expression had changed. He finally got it.
"Oh...Rachel, oh God, I didn't know...please don't cry..." Naturally, I began to sob even harder. "Come on Rachel...you can punch me, would that make you feel better?"
I sniffed and shook my head. It was tempting, but I didn't feel like hurting anyone else for the day.
"Um...a hug?"
He expected me to shoot him down, and to be perfectly honest, projectile vomiting iwas/i the first thing that came to mind. But instead, for reasons even I'm not sure about, I threw myself at Marco and wrapped my arms around his neck as I buried my face in his shoulder and continued to sob. Had I been in a better mood, I might have commented on the fact that I had to stoop a few inches to do this.
But oddly, I didn't even want to.
~Rachel~
PopPopPopPopPopPop!
Aw, damn it. The war had started.
John-the guy that had followed me when I stormed away from Marco in a fit of rage-shoved me down. I guess being a girl gave me some sort of right to fear and potential safety. Normally, I would have jumped right in the middle of everything, but this wasn't my kind of fight. I didn't have a big old out of date musket (not that I would have been able to shoot one if I did) or even a sword, which I saw some men actually had. Nope, all I had was a bear morph and a passion for fighting, neither of which was going to be much help to me at the current moment.
So I just stayed put, crouched down behind John who, fortunately, was not front line material. My first thought was that my skirt was getting muddy. My second thought was that my first thought was superficial and I should be more worried about Marco. My third thought was that my second thought was even more ludicrous then my first, and I should just stop thinking all together.
My compromise was to rack my brain for any memories of what had happened in the first battle of the Revolutionary War (did it actually have a name?) and how many people had died. Also if there was any mention of an unidentified blond girl mysteriously found dead in the middle of the battlefield. Hey, if there was the mystery of the Lost Colony or whatever, then why not the theory of a combination Jane Doe and Sarah Ferguson, the chick who was stampeded in the Revolutionary War?
Not surprisingly, I didn't come up with anything. Curse the public school learning system.
Then, we were retreating. Yes, retreating. No, I never would have come up with that word myself, but someone yelled out "Retreat!" and then we were hauling ass into the woods. Forget pride, we weren't winning, and poison ivy seemed a lot better then bullet-in-head.
Unfortunately, the position I was in didn't leave me much opportunity for fleeing in panic. In fact, I was in a much better position to be trampled underfoot, which I was. A big black boot came down on my left hand. I instinctively swung out my right arm and hit Black Boot's ankle. Black Boot went down. I felt a little better.
John grabbed my arm and roughly pulled me to my feet. I shoved him away. Like I couldn't run away on my own. In reality, I didn't really run, just stomped huffily towards the woods. Let the British shoot me. In the mood I was in, they were the ones that ought to have been running.
I hit the patch of trees and kept going. Pain in the ass or not, I was finding Marco and some way out of this. I could not stand another minute in this century.
John followed me the entire way, and it was a while before I realized I was heading right into a thick patch of trees. Unless Marco needed to relieve himself, there wasn't much chance he'd be there. I really must have been mad, because I had wandered so far away from the army, I could hardly even hear them anymore.
"God dammit!" I screamed, kicking the nearest tree.
John watched me with a keen sort of interest. He was really getting on my nerves. "There, there, what ails you now, pretty girl?" He stepped closer to me and reached up like he was going to touch my hair. He smelled like alcohol. I shoved him away, and he stumbled backwards into a bush.
"Stay away from me."
"Now, now, don't do that," He approached me cautiously this time. I tried backing up, but ended up pinning myself against a tree. When I reached up my hand to slap him, he grabbed my wrist.
I already knew what he was going to try to do. Stupid me, I had never thought about people from this time being anything other then.well, pure, I guess. The way they dressed suggested that, but the number of kids they had should have told me otherwise.
John's hand reached up to the neckline of my dress. I screamed and he shoved his hand over my mouth, roughly pushing the back of my head into the tree. I bit his fingers hard, but he only grimaced. Despite my resistance, I could feel tears starting to flood my eyes.
i I'll show this son of a bitch, /i I thought as I started morphing.
He didn't notice right away, but it didn't take him long. I was getting close to seven feet tall, gaining hundreds of pounds, not to mention sprouting a lot of brown fur. My dress was starting to burst at the seams. Literally.
He stepped back and watched me in stunned amazement for a few seconds as I continued morphing into a full-grown male grizzly bear. Then, no surprise, he started running. Almost fully bear, I dropped down to all fours and lumbered after him. It wasn't to stop him from running back to the army and telling everyone about the amazing bear-girl, although the thought was on my mind. It was about revenge. I wanted to hurt him like he had tried to hurt me.
I caught him in about four seconds flat. Holding him up by his shoulders, I dug my claws into his flesh as he cried and begged for mercy. Like I had, and probably like any other girls he had tried to rape. What had he done to them, were they still alive, living in shame and not able to tell anyone what had happened because they believed it was their own fault, or had he done what some 21st century rapists did and killed them, dumping the bodies somewhere? Was that what he had been planning to do to me?
I burned with rage, so much that I actually felt hot from the inside of me. Not the grizzly, the grizzly was unconcerned, but me, human Rachel, was mad. Very mad.
And me, the human Rachel, threw John into a tree. And me, Rachel, watched as his neck snapped and he died. I had killed him.
Technically, I guess it would be labeled self-defense. But I knew better then that. I didn't have to kill him. He had no gun, no visible knife or other weapon. As a grizzly bear, I could have just walked away. He might have been an evil, desperate, sickening person, but he was still a person and I had killed him.
But oddly, I felt nothing.
I demorphed. The dress was literally in shreds. The only thing to have survived was the apron. With a lot of ripping, tying, and trial and error, I was able to piece the torn cloth back into something vaguely resembling a dress. I put it on and tied the apron over it.
John was slumped against the tree, his eyes open and staring, but starting to glaze over from death. I took one of the longer cloth pieces I hadn't been able to use and tied it around his head, covering his eyes like a blindfold. I left the area calmly.
I walked through the woods towards the noise of the retreated army. At first it was hard to tell where the sounds of voices, horses, and footsteps were coming from, but as I got closer, they became louder. And finally, as I shoved my way through one more large, prickly bush, I nearly fell into the arms of a man around my father's age.
"Now where did you come from?" He asked looking at me curiously as he helped steady me. I moved away from him quickly. No answering questions. I didn't like making up answers.
"Rachel! RA-CHEL!"
There, up ahead of me, was Marco, pushing his way through the crowd to get to me. I was surprised to find myself moving in his direction as well. When we finally reached each other, he looked me up and down.
"What happened to your clothes? And your little friend...the one that looks like he has a hangover? Wait...clothes...boy toy..." Marco's eyes widened as he looked at me suspiciously.
"Whatever you're thinking in your perverted little head, stop it now." I said, even though I knew exactly what he was thinking. For some reason, one I couldn't even explain to myself, it made me feel worse that he would think...that.
"So what happened then?" Marco asked smugly.
"I killed him." Why did my eyes feel tingly? Why did my throat ache so much? It was almost like I was going to cry...no, I must be getting sick or something. Marco was looking at me in amazement, shock, and...could that be fear?
"He-he tried to-" I desperately tried to defend myself, but now it was official. I was crying. Marco's expression had changed. He finally got it.
"Oh...Rachel, oh God, I didn't know...please don't cry..." Naturally, I began to sob even harder. "Come on Rachel...you can punch me, would that make you feel better?"
I sniffed and shook my head. It was tempting, but I didn't feel like hurting anyone else for the day.
"Um...a hug?"
He expected me to shoot him down, and to be perfectly honest, projectile vomiting iwas/i the first thing that came to mind. But instead, for reasons even I'm not sure about, I threw myself at Marco and wrapped my arms around his neck as I buried my face in his shoulder and continued to sob. Had I been in a better mood, I might have commented on the fact that I had to stoop a few inches to do this.
But oddly, I didn't even want to.