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My apologies for not having another Wonder City and for not posting this earlier. It's been a terrible week. I'll post a second episode of Compass Rose later this week. I hope your next couple of weeks (whether they're holidays for you or not) are excellent and low-stress.
”I still think I’ve got the worst of it,” said Christopher.
“Fuck you,” said Tom. “At least you can walk.”
“It’s like being on all fours and strapped onto stilts,” complained Christopher.
Tom concentrated and tightened her toes where she was perched on Christopher’s gilded antlers. “Well, this is like having my arms chopped off and replaced with billboards. At least you’re used to being on all fours.”
Christopher angrily shook his head. “Screw you, at least I’m getting some, your last date was six months ago!”
“Quit it, I’m gonna hurl!” Tom helplessly flapped her wings as she was shaken back and forth.
Christopher abruptly stopped, his head and ears turning to catch a sound neither of them wanted to hear: a hunting horn.
“That’s what I think it is, isn’t it,” said Tom.
“Oh fuck, ohfuck ohfuckofuckohfuck,” said Christopher, his head alertly turning from side to side. “I can barely walk and now this!”
Tom flapped again, trying to keep her balance. She could hear the hunt with exquisite clarity, but it had a curiously far-off quality, as if she were hearing it through porous glass. “It’s over to your left,” she said.
“I know,” said Christopher, tossing his head a little and making her vision bounce.
“Settle down,” said Tom. “Let’s just take this easy...” She could hear the hunt moving nearer.
“Hang on,” said Christopher tersely.
“WAIT--!”
Christopher leapt and was off. He managed all right for about twenty strides, leaping over obstacles and sliding through carpets of old wet leaves. Then he jumped over a fallen tree, discovered an unexpected gully on the other side, and went down ass over teakettle.
Tom blinked at the sky, wondering if she had been impaled by Christopher by accident. No, this appeared to be a rosebush. It was thornless, or else the thorns were too small to notice. She thrashed about in it, leaving behind a number of her golden feathers, until she emerged enough to look around for Christopher.
No Christopher, but a long muddy track down into the ditch suggested where he was. She completed disentangling herself and waddled (there really was no other word for the angry sort of stamping walk) down the track to peer at Christopher, who was lying in a boneless heap like an unhappy kitten with unusually long legs and antlers.
“Get up,” she said, listening with one (nonexistent) ear to the hunt, which was still getting closer.
Christopher opened his big brown eyes and looked at Tom meltingly. “I don’t know why I’m not bruised all to hell and back,” he groaned.
“I don’t know why you didn’t break your neck.”
He shook his antlers free from the embracing arms of another rosebush and stood up shakily. Then he lowered his head long enough for Tom to clamber onto the antlers, and stepped slowly and carefully out of the ditch.
“Enough running,” said Tom. “Let’s go slowly and carefully in a generally away direction.”
“Agreed,” said Christopher, his voice still shaking.
He ended up running in the end, of course.
”I still think I’ve got the worst of it,” said Christopher.
“Fuck you,” said Tom. “At least you can walk.”
“It’s like being on all fours and strapped onto stilts,” complained Christopher.
Tom concentrated and tightened her toes where she was perched on Christopher’s gilded antlers. “Well, this is like having my arms chopped off and replaced with billboards. At least you’re used to being on all fours.”
Christopher angrily shook his head. “Screw you, at least I’m getting some, your last date was six months ago!”
“Quit it, I’m gonna hurl!” Tom helplessly flapped her wings as she was shaken back and forth.
Christopher abruptly stopped, his head and ears turning to catch a sound neither of them wanted to hear: a hunting horn.
“That’s what I think it is, isn’t it,” said Tom.
“Oh fuck, ohfuck ohfuckofuckohfuck,” said Christopher, his head alertly turning from side to side. “I can barely walk and now this!”
Tom flapped again, trying to keep her balance. She could hear the hunt with exquisite clarity, but it had a curiously far-off quality, as if she were hearing it through porous glass. “It’s over to your left,” she said.
“I know,” said Christopher, tossing his head a little and making her vision bounce.
“Settle down,” said Tom. “Let’s just take this easy...” She could hear the hunt moving nearer.
“Hang on,” said Christopher tersely.
“WAIT--!”
Christopher leapt and was off. He managed all right for about twenty strides, leaping over obstacles and sliding through carpets of old wet leaves. Then he jumped over a fallen tree, discovered an unexpected gully on the other side, and went down ass over teakettle.
Tom blinked at the sky, wondering if she had been impaled by Christopher by accident. No, this appeared to be a rosebush. It was thornless, or else the thorns were too small to notice. She thrashed about in it, leaving behind a number of her golden feathers, until she emerged enough to look around for Christopher.
No Christopher, but a long muddy track down into the ditch suggested where he was. She completed disentangling herself and waddled (there really was no other word for the angry sort of stamping walk) down the track to peer at Christopher, who was lying in a boneless heap like an unhappy kitten with unusually long legs and antlers.
“Get up,” she said, listening with one (nonexistent) ear to the hunt, which was still getting closer.
Christopher opened his big brown eyes and looked at Tom meltingly. “I don’t know why I’m not bruised all to hell and back,” he groaned.
“I don’t know why you didn’t break your neck.”
He shook his antlers free from the embracing arms of another rosebush and stood up shakily. Then he lowered his head long enough for Tom to clamber onto the antlers, and stepped slowly and carefully out of the ditch.
“Enough running,” said Tom. “Let’s go slowly and carefully in a generally away direction.”
“Agreed,” said Christopher, his voice still shaking.
He ended up running in the end, of course.
