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A Watery Grave

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Daheim

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« on: <04-05-11/1253:26> »
A little snippet of my character's past, his awakening and subsequent transformation into a sea drake. I'm fairly new to the SR universe, and writing in general, so any comments or construction critizism is appriciated :)


“I’ll make you regret ever laying your eyes on Claudette, you freak.”

Benoît groaned as he was dropped on the wooden seat of the small metal boat, the board digging into his gut. Blind folded, with his hands bound, he hung doubled over, simply trying to gather his thoughts and recover from the beating he’d received thus far.

Emile has always been an asshole, but lately their interactions had been getting a little more heated than usual. They had never really been friends, per say, but when Benoît had started dating his sister four years ago, that’s when shit started hitting the proverbial fan.

Bad enough that Emile was the typical over-protective older brother, but the fact that he was closet humanis didn’t really help him warm to the fact his sister was sleeping with an elf.

And when Claudette had announced she was pregnant just over a year later…. Benoît had taken a few nasty blows from his lover’s brother, not to say he hadn’t delivered some too. But a bit of a brawl never bothered him, he’d been raised in rural Louisiana for god’s sake, so he shrugged it off to Emile being the over muscled idiot that he was and went about his merry way.

But when Claudette actually agreed to marry Benoît a little over two weeks ago, he nearly though Emile’s stares were trying to kill him.

Little did he know, they were. Now he had rounded up some buddies to finish the job.

“I’ve been laying more than eyes on her, my friend.” Benoît said with a sneer, even though Emile couldn’t see it. “Or didn’t your momma tell you where babies come from?”

The Cajun elf wished he could have seen Emile’s face turn a sickening shade of crimson as his words sunk in, but unfortunately didn’t have too much time to think about it as the toe of a boot struck him in the side with enough force to make him wince.

“Shut up you piece of shit!” Emile’s gravelly voice pierced the air of the otherwise quiet night. “I swear to god, I should just kill you now.”

Another tongue clicked, chastising. “That’s what we got the gators for, buddy. Let the bayou take care of this one.”

Emile grumbled, but didn’t say anything else, as he started the outboard engine, navigating the small metal boat through the cedars and cat tails. The elf knew it was unusually cool for a Louisiana evening, especially considering his torso was bare, but he was so hot the sweat was beading on his skin.

Time seemed to pass slowly as the boat puttered along, and what Benoît guessed to be 10 to 15 minutes later lurched to a stop. He didn’t struggle when hauled to his feet and out of the boat by the thick twine binding his wrists.

“Why don’t we just settle this like real men, Emile?” The elf spat on the ground. “Or do you have to jump me with your buddies to even have a chance?”

Benoît knew the punch was coming before it hit, Emile was way too predictable. Twisting to the side so the punch grazed his stomach instead of nailed his kidney, the elf threw himself in the direction of the punch, slamming into his brother in law, causing them both to fall into the rotting plants and stagnant water of the bayou in a tangled heap.

Frak, they tied the blind fold well.

“Tie him up on the tree, you idiot!” Emile cried to his companion, who Benoît guessed to be Marcel, Emile’s buddy who wasn’t too subtle about his feelings towards Claudette.
Hauled out of the shallow water backwards, the elf was pulled to his feet again, but froze as he felt the cool steel edge of a blade pressed against his throat.

“Settle down there, keeb.” Marcel  hissed, leading Benoît backwards until he could feel his back pressed against the trunk. He heard Emile snarl various insults as he got up, and secured the elf’s ankles and arms.

Finally, the blindfold was slid off.

“Why hello, princess.” Emile drawled, contempt dripping from his words thinly disguised as fake pleasantry. “Now, like I said before, we’re going to teach you a lesson for even speaking to my sister, and after this you’ll fucking disappear .”

Benoît narrowed his sea green eyes. “You are stupider than I thought if you think I’d up and abandon my family because you think you can scare me.”

The knife inched closer, shaving off a few ruddy brown whiskers.
 
“And you…” Benoît hissed at Marcel, through bared teeth, “You fucking stay away from my wife and son, or I swear to god, I’ll kill you.”

He saw Emile grin darkly from behind Marcel, as he felt the cold sting of the steel blade, slowly bite into his skin. “She’ll not be wanting near you when we’re done carving up your pretty little face there, leaf eater.”

Benoît snarled, nostrils flaring, pressing himself back into the tree to escape the knife. His eyes darkening, he lowered his voice, his warning escaping as a guttural hiss.
 
“Don’t push me, you backwoods pig fuckers, or I swear to god you’ll regret it.”

Marcel cocked an eyebrow, leaning in to stare Benoît in the face. “Don’t think I’ll be regretting it when your pretty lady comes running to my bed.” He laughed, the knife pausing for a split second.

Maybe if Marcel hadn’t threatened one of the only two things that mattered to Benoît, maybe if Emile had just hog-tied him and thrown him into the bayou from the beginning, maybe everyone’s lives would have stayed a bit more normal. Or maybe everyone would have stayed a bit more alive.

Should have, could have, would have.

Marcel didn’t even have time to scream as an open maw filled with razor sharp teeth snapped closed on the middle of his face, carving deep, bloody ruts as they scraped through the flesh, all the way down to the bone. He collapsed like a sack of potatoes, blood spurting from what was left of his nose and upper jaw.

Ropes snapping as the wrists and ankles they were bound to melted away, reforming into muscular fins, talons shredding the bark of the tree like a hot knife through butter as Benoît pushed himself away towards the water.

To the water, to the water. Home. Get to the water.

Emile staggered back, scrambling back towards the boat, away from Marcel’s bloody corpse and the furious fish-lizard-dragon thing that had just ripped his face off. Grabbing desperately, he grabbed his Remington 990 and cocked it, and, shivering like a leaf, spun around again just in time just to see the end of a thick, muscled tail slide into the water, disappearing underneath the murky surface.

He blinked, trying to decide whether to get back into the boat, or stay on the small island. Was Benoît actually a spell chucker? Did he turn into some sort of freaky alligator? Fuck, either way, he needed to get back to his truck. Next to no signal out here for his commlink, he couldn’t call for help. Taking a tentative step closer to the boat, he stared out into the bayou, looking across the surface of the water. Didn’t look like anything had surfaced yet….



What the fuck is happening to me?

Benoît sank to the bottom of the bayou, like a stone, with his eyes pressed closed, his now scaled belly scraping the water bed.

Did I just kill Marcel? Holy shit, Claudette is going to be pissed.

Blinking his eyes open, slowly, his mind spun at the scene that was laid out before him. Hues danced across his vision like an artist’s palette. Everything from the water plants, to the fish, to the insects in the mud glowed a vibrant array of colors that made his mind reel. Why hadn’t he been able to see this before? Was this only visible under the….

Benoît’s reptilian heart skipped a beat, until he realized he actually could breathe under the water, and had been doing so for several minutes by now. He felt strangely comfortable here, the slow lazy current of the water brushing his sides, the cool liquid enveloping him. With a lazy flick of his tail, he drifted through the water, silver and sea green scales glittering with what little light penetrated the murky bog.

With a nearly unnatural reaction, Benoît suddenly barrel rolled to the left, as something pierced the water with a massive crack. Even from underneath the water, the drake could smell the gunpowder. Looking up, he could see the murky outline of Emile standing in the boat, with the barrel of his shotgun pointed down into the water.

How dare he be threatened. Not in his domain.

Normally stoic, the drake’s rage fed on the adrenaline running through his system. Pushing off the waterbed with his tail and hind legs, he shot vertically out of the water, maw agape. Time slowed as he crested. Benoît could see Emile’s pupils widen in terror, could hear his heartbeat stop at he froze, pitiful little mind trying to comprehend what was happening. Snapping his jaws shut, wrenching the weapon from Emile’s hands, he could feel the heat of the gun barrel against his teeth at the metal bent and snapped like a dry twig. Collapsing back into the water, he immediately dove, circling around to the back of the metal craft.

The human stumbled backwards, towards the other end of the boat, away from the creature that just robbed him of hit last line of defense. As the boat rocked, he flew backwards, slamming his spine on the wooden seat that Benoît himself had been bent over not a half hour ago.

The elf turned drake raised his head out of the water and stared down the length of the boat at Emile, pupils narrowing. A guttural snarl escaping from his throat. 

Emile knew it would be the last thing he would ever see.

Benoît raised his front half out of the water, placing a webbed, taloned paw on the rim of the boat, pushing down, tipping it into the water. Thrusting his snout forward, he snapped his jaws open, shooting a gout of horrible acid through the air, down the length of the craft. It hit his brother in law directly in the torso with such force it sprayed everywhere else.

The human screamed with a keen of those wishing they could die. Fabric and flesh alike bubbled away, melting into an unrecognizable goo. Clawing his face with hands that liquefied as his did so, Emile fell to what was left of his knees, even as the boat began to sink, the acid eating through the metal hull. The bayou’s surface hissed and boiled as it met the acid. Water filled the remaining portion of his body’s lungs as he sank into the murky depths, drowning away what little remaining of his life. Death hadn’t come fast enough.

The drake, meanwhile, had sank back into the water with a satisfied snort, slowly circling the wreckage in the shallow water. He stared blankly at the carcass at it found its final resting place on the muddy bottom, wisps of air and cloud still rising up from the acid as it dissolved. He felt his heart sink.

What had he done?

He had killed two men, two near relatives, in a frenzied rage brought on by whatever this thing was. Whatever he now was. The taste of blood and acid was sickening in his mouth.

But he felt normal. For the first time in memory, he felt truly comfortable. And if this is what he was, or had turned into, by whatever means…. He couldn’t go back to anything he held dear until he was sure this would never happen again. 

And he never could be.

Angelone

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« Reply #1 on: <04-22-11/2235:17> »
Nice piece, the descriptions were good and it flowed well. Interesting backstory.
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