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fandomweekly2025-01-12 08:04 pm
raisedbymoogles) wrote in fandomweekly2025-01-12 08:04 pm
Entry tags:
[#245] Full Moon Charm (Slice & Dice)
Theme Prompt: #245 – Werewolf
Title: Full Moon Charm
Fandom: Slice & Dice
Rating/Warnings: canon-typical violence
Bonus: no
Word Count: 1119
Summary:
(after Fight #3)
Their prize this time was an odd little trinket, pretty but with no obvious use. It fell into Lost's hand almost by default, and she slipped it onto her wrist and moved on with the others. Other than a little twitchiness on Lost's part no one thought anything of the moment.
(Fight #4)
The first to notice was Defender - he saw a rush of gray fur sweep past him and almost bisected the thing. All that stayed his hand was the thing's direction - away from those he defended, toward the ogre with fangs bared. The ogre seemed just as taken aback as Defender felt, getting a chunk taken out of it by an out-of-nowhere wolf.
No one wasted time asking where that thing had come from, or where Lost was. They just adjusted, four nameless warriors and the wolf, and between them they made quick of the ogre and his terrible rage. The goblin, seeing his larger companion fallen, took to his heels at once, and the wolf leaped to chase before anyone could stop it - but it was Lost who landed from that leap, wobbled and fell to the ground, exhausted.
Defender ordered a halt; not even Brigand argued. Priestess sat with Lost until Lost calmed, but when Seer asked to see her bracelet she pulled away and bared her teeth at him. Seer caught Defender's eye and shrugged.
That was the long and short of it, it seemed. They were four nameless warriors and one nameless tagalong who was sometimes a wolf, and they'd just have to work with it.
(Fight #8)
The wolf was no hardship. She never so much as snapped at any of them, pulled her weight in battle, and after every transformation Lost seemed less and less rattled. She even took up daggers, and learned to throw them, and asked to be called Juggler instead; but in battle, her daggers flew rarely. Her wolf's teeth were sharp enough for most things.
Defender, now Warden, thought now the wolf's teeth will fail, one way or the other when the undead witch Agnes drew near, her sisters alongside.
Each was dangerous in her own way. Magrat wielded deadly poisons; Gytha attacked more directly and more brutally. But Agnes' claim to notoriety was her voice, with which she called and controlled wolves to kill on her behalf. Warden turned, about to order Juggler to flee, if she could not bear to be parted from her little charm, but it was too late. Agnes spoke and the wolf answered, coming forth with tail crooked uncertainly, and didn't seem to hear when Priestess called after her.
Agnes did not smile as the wolf neared. Perhaps lacked the ability. But there was something in how she reached out to the wolf's face that said she was pleased, even smug.
That lasted until the wolf latched onto her wrist and bit down hard enough that Warden heard bone snap. Agnes snarled like a wolf herself and fought, but there was no stopping the wolf until she at last lay dead, alongside her sisters.
Juggler reclaimed her human form and her steadiness with no more than a breath. "Her singing was lovely," she explained with a smile. "But I've heard better."
(Fight #12)
The lich throws so many bones at them they fill the corridor between them and her. The wolf actually wags her tail as she crunches through them.
(Fight #20)
Hexia punishes them for relying so heavily on Warlock's spells. Prophet does her best but can't keep up with their wounds. One by one, they fall - Warlock, Veteran, Prophet. Only Poet (once Warden) stands, but barely, and shields the wolf as best he can from Hexia's onslaught of minions.
Briefly, the wolf is Dancer, daggers in hand to throw, teeth bared like a wolf's. "It has been an honor to fight by your side," Poet tells her heavily.
Dancer doesn't look at him. "Don't talk like we're going to lose."
It's fine advice, in theory, but without anyone who can supply magic there's only so much Poet can do. He braces himself as Hexia lashes out with her next assault.
As the dust settles - Poet slumps to one knee - the moon rises once more, and the wolf leaps. Only a wolf, he sees Hexia's lip lift in a sneer, but this wolf has been with them since the beginning and they have been diligent about equipping her to fight far above her weight class.
The wolf's teeth sink into Hexia; the furred head twists; boiling blood spurts from the wound. Poet rallies with a cry as Hexia screeches and the imps echo her. Now she is Dancer, and the imps fall before her; now she is wolf, and Hexia's blood is in her throat. No magic, only teeth and blades and Poet's shields to keep them alive just long enough.
The Queen of Hell falls. The wolf points her nose moonward and howls.
(After)
They gather; they take stock. What they've gained, what they've lost. Warlock is shaken; he'll likely never touch magic again. Veteran is exhausted. Only Prophet is awake enough to notice.
"We appear to be missing someone," she says.
She's right. Dancer is nowhere to be seen, hasn't been since they emerged into sunlight and open air. Poet tries not to worry too much - she is no longer Lost, she's proven she can take care of herself - but when she doesn't reappear by the time they return to the inn, Poet excuses himself and goes walking.
She's not the only one who's changed. Has she? Poet never used to hum while he walked, not caring who heard. He'd been enslaved to what he feared everyone was thinking. It turns out most people are the same. Their thoughts are a lot kinder towards others and more critical of themselves than he'd assumed.
The outskirts of the village give way to scrubland, and it was there that he finds Dancer, emerging from the treeline with leaves in her hair. "It just all got too loud," she apologizes as he plucks them out. "I'll come back. I just needed to run."
"Do you think you'll ever lay aside the wolf?" he asks her, already knowing the answer.
Dancer laughs at him anyway. "As soon as you lay aside your shield arm."
Poet concedes, and Dancer lets him fuss over her hair a bit longer before she falls into wolf form again. She leans against his knees, in silent affection, and then goes trotting off into the treeline.
Poet watches her go, and he stays leaning on the fence for a long time.
Title: Full Moon Charm
Fandom: Slice & Dice
Rating/Warnings: canon-typical violence
Bonus: no
Word Count: 1119
Summary:
(after Fight #3)
Their prize this time was an odd little trinket, pretty but with no obvious use. It fell into Lost's hand almost by default, and she slipped it onto her wrist and moved on with the others. Other than a little twitchiness on Lost's part no one thought anything of the moment.
(Fight #4)
The first to notice was Defender - he saw a rush of gray fur sweep past him and almost bisected the thing. All that stayed his hand was the thing's direction - away from those he defended, toward the ogre with fangs bared. The ogre seemed just as taken aback as Defender felt, getting a chunk taken out of it by an out-of-nowhere wolf.
No one wasted time asking where that thing had come from, or where Lost was. They just adjusted, four nameless warriors and the wolf, and between them they made quick of the ogre and his terrible rage. The goblin, seeing his larger companion fallen, took to his heels at once, and the wolf leaped to chase before anyone could stop it - but it was Lost who landed from that leap, wobbled and fell to the ground, exhausted.
Defender ordered a halt; not even Brigand argued. Priestess sat with Lost until Lost calmed, but when Seer asked to see her bracelet she pulled away and bared her teeth at him. Seer caught Defender's eye and shrugged.
That was the long and short of it, it seemed. They were four nameless warriors and one nameless tagalong who was sometimes a wolf, and they'd just have to work with it.
(Fight #8)
The wolf was no hardship. She never so much as snapped at any of them, pulled her weight in battle, and after every transformation Lost seemed less and less rattled. She even took up daggers, and learned to throw them, and asked to be called Juggler instead; but in battle, her daggers flew rarely. Her wolf's teeth were sharp enough for most things.
Defender, now Warden, thought now the wolf's teeth will fail, one way or the other when the undead witch Agnes drew near, her sisters alongside.
Each was dangerous in her own way. Magrat wielded deadly poisons; Gytha attacked more directly and more brutally. But Agnes' claim to notoriety was her voice, with which she called and controlled wolves to kill on her behalf. Warden turned, about to order Juggler to flee, if she could not bear to be parted from her little charm, but it was too late. Agnes spoke and the wolf answered, coming forth with tail crooked uncertainly, and didn't seem to hear when Priestess called after her.
Agnes did not smile as the wolf neared. Perhaps lacked the ability. But there was something in how she reached out to the wolf's face that said she was pleased, even smug.
That lasted until the wolf latched onto her wrist and bit down hard enough that Warden heard bone snap. Agnes snarled like a wolf herself and fought, but there was no stopping the wolf until she at last lay dead, alongside her sisters.
Juggler reclaimed her human form and her steadiness with no more than a breath. "Her singing was lovely," she explained with a smile. "But I've heard better."
(Fight #12)
The lich throws so many bones at them they fill the corridor between them and her. The wolf actually wags her tail as she crunches through them.
(Fight #20)
Hexia punishes them for relying so heavily on Warlock's spells. Prophet does her best but can't keep up with their wounds. One by one, they fall - Warlock, Veteran, Prophet. Only Poet (once Warden) stands, but barely, and shields the wolf as best he can from Hexia's onslaught of minions.
Briefly, the wolf is Dancer, daggers in hand to throw, teeth bared like a wolf's. "It has been an honor to fight by your side," Poet tells her heavily.
Dancer doesn't look at him. "Don't talk like we're going to lose."
It's fine advice, in theory, but without anyone who can supply magic there's only so much Poet can do. He braces himself as Hexia lashes out with her next assault.
As the dust settles - Poet slumps to one knee - the moon rises once more, and the wolf leaps. Only a wolf, he sees Hexia's lip lift in a sneer, but this wolf has been with them since the beginning and they have been diligent about equipping her to fight far above her weight class.
The wolf's teeth sink into Hexia; the furred head twists; boiling blood spurts from the wound. Poet rallies with a cry as Hexia screeches and the imps echo her. Now she is Dancer, and the imps fall before her; now she is wolf, and Hexia's blood is in her throat. No magic, only teeth and blades and Poet's shields to keep them alive just long enough.
The Queen of Hell falls. The wolf points her nose moonward and howls.
(After)
They gather; they take stock. What they've gained, what they've lost. Warlock is shaken; he'll likely never touch magic again. Veteran is exhausted. Only Prophet is awake enough to notice.
"We appear to be missing someone," she says.
She's right. Dancer is nowhere to be seen, hasn't been since they emerged into sunlight and open air. Poet tries not to worry too much - she is no longer Lost, she's proven she can take care of herself - but when she doesn't reappear by the time they return to the inn, Poet excuses himself and goes walking.
She's not the only one who's changed. Has she? Poet never used to hum while he walked, not caring who heard. He'd been enslaved to what he feared everyone was thinking. It turns out most people are the same. Their thoughts are a lot kinder towards others and more critical of themselves than he'd assumed.
The outskirts of the village give way to scrubland, and it was there that he finds Dancer, emerging from the treeline with leaves in her hair. "It just all got too loud," she apologizes as he plucks them out. "I'll come back. I just needed to run."
"Do you think you'll ever lay aside the wolf?" he asks her, already knowing the answer.
Dancer laughs at him anyway. "As soon as you lay aside your shield arm."
Poet concedes, and Dancer lets him fuss over her hair a bit longer before she falls into wolf form again. She leans against his knees, in silent affection, and then goes trotting off into the treeline.
Poet watches her go, and he stays leaning on the fence for a long time.
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