Sif (
brosif) wrote in
eswareinmal2012-04-24 09:46 am
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Entry tags:
Action Log: Morning of the 19th.
Characters: The horse formally known as Sif
Open? Yes!
Where: Schwanheim or the woods, depending on the time.
When: Morning of the 19th.
What: The magic peddler gave Sif a very special hat. Too special.
Warnings: Sif is an angry horse, yo.
In the village of Schwanheim, there is a horse in place of a prince. Her color is lovely – a deep, rich brown. Her temperament is not. She runs through the city, vision blurred, knocking over whatever lies in her way in an attempt to leave the village walls. There is a bandage around her front left Fetlock, but it covers no wound.
Being in the city enrages her. Sights and sounds are filtering into her mind in a way she is wholly unused to. She thinks of the face of a peddling man and is enraged further. She will find him.
Open? Yes!
Where: Schwanheim or the woods, depending on the time.
When: Morning of the 19th.
What: The magic peddler gave Sif a very special hat. Too special.
Warnings: Sif is an angry horse, yo.
In the village of Schwanheim, there is a horse in place of a prince. Her color is lovely – a deep, rich brown. Her temperament is not. She runs through the city, vision blurred, knocking over whatever lies in her way in an attempt to leave the village walls. There is a bandage around her front left Fetlock, but it covers no wound.
Being in the city enrages her. Sights and sounds are filtering into her mind in a way she is wholly unused to. She thinks of the face of a peddling man and is enraged further. She will find him.
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Horses are traditionally very fond of the undead, the unnatural, or the supernatural, a category which Giles has found himself very firmly placed in.
He finally spots the bandage at her flank. "Hm. That might explain it. I, I suppose you must still be in pain."
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The horse stomps her hoof on the ground. There is no pain, no broken bone.
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Then he realizes that the horse just stamped her injured leg in response to his musings that said leg might be injured. Horses are bright animals, of course, but...
...hm...
Well, it's worth a shot. Giles looks back at the horse and asks, as politely as he can, "I don't suppose you'd let me check your shoes, would you?"
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She holds her leg out – if he approaches too quickly, she is likely to flee again. If he inspects the leg, he will find nothing wrong with it. Sif was injured as a human, but not as an animal.
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But it's at least partial confirmation for his growing suspicion.
"You're rather clever, aren't you? I might almost think you could understand me."
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This close, he may be able to something else strange about the animal: a derby hat, of all things.
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Getting a proper look at it, of course, is going to require getting as close as he can to Sif without actually passing through her again.
A derby hat on a horse...
"Do you mind if I take a look at that?"
He means for her to shake it off, maybe, or drop it on the ground.
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In doing so, the hat is slightly loosened.
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But the hat reels with it and tumbles to the ground. Slowly, the horse changes into a woman. A very naked woman, with very wide eyes.
.../victory dance~
Only then, about three seconds later, does he think to look back at the...
...not a horse.
Giles gives a yelp of surprise and whirls around so that his back is to Sif. "Um, s-sorry."
Because his plan worked or because boobies?
Sif whirls around as her body settles into human form. She feels absolutely wretched. But she does not know this man, and the sweat on her brow and very pale skin are the only hints he will have as to her discomfort.
“Where is the nearest town?”
Eh, neither. That was for me. Giles had no plan, and has very little to do with boobies.
Giles risks actually looking about, taking in their surroundings when before his attentions had been entirely occupied by the horse dragging him about like a dog. It's only in the very far distance that spots a blob that might be Schwanheim, and Giles points to it.
"Um, I think it might be that way."
XD
“Then that is where I go.” She blinks, a pause too long after her words. All of her memories are muted, and she suspects they will remain so for awhile longer.
“You are familiar to me.”
He is a man who does not get out much.
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Well.
"I was a horse."
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"I, um, I noticed. I think it must have had something to do with..." And here he casts about again, searching for the hat, before spotting it laying innocently a few yards away. "That. Um, the hat. When you managed to shake it off, whatever was keeping you in that shape s-seemed to dissipate." A moment of thought, and then he asks with real curiosity: "Are cursed items a common occurrence in this place? Suppose it would, um, fit the theme, at the least."
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“Too common. That hat was given to me by a peddler. I’d intended the mages to examine the hideous thing, but it found its way onto my head before I had a chance."
She takes a deep breath – changing bodies is not kind on one’s disposition, and the past few hours have quite literally been her idea of hell. But this specter is a stranger and she has no intention of baring herself further before him.
...aside from the baring she is currently doing.
“I have taken you far from the castle grounds. For that I apologize, Gilesson.”
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The most distressing part of the encounter had been being charged through and kicked in some cases quite literally apart, and reforming was proving to be utterly nauseating. But that hadn't been within Sif's control either, and so he doesn't hold it against her.
"Besides, I'd h-have come out this far eventually, in any case. A-And, um, 'Giles' is fine, by the way. I'm...not sure I caught your name, during our last conversation."
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He was no townsperson – she preferred her real name.
“I would offer a hand, but I suspect that my limbs have already run through you enough, this day."
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Finally:
"Oh."
Her attempt at humor, therefore, is well received, even when Giles has so very little in the way of sense of humor to speak of. He laughs wryly, folding his arms tightly across his chest in a gesture of reassurance to himself that he's still there.
"Yes, um, well. Apart from being a bit turned around, I'm quite all right. A benefit of being in this state, at the least. Nothing to worry about."
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“About that – it may be some time until we reach a homestead. I would rather not talk to your back the entire time.” Then, remembering their myths:
“I promise, no thunder shall come and strike you down.”
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"I have not spoken to my friend in some days."
That is all she will say to a stranger, even one as seemingly amiable as Giles.
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"Well, um..." Here he looks down at his feet, more in the face of her somber expression than anything else. "Um, perhaps now that you're, um, back to your own shape, perhaps the two of you can catch up." Then, rather hastily, because that is not an expression that promises further conversation: "Sh-Shall we?"