[Lys doesn't say anything at first. Only nods and seems to deflate on the spot, numb relief soothing away some of the stress carving fresh lines into her young face. Shoulders slumping, she breathes out, listening to the rest of what Annette's says with only half an ear. The words are less important than the other girl's voice, the sound of it helping to settle the power inside her until it's no longer spinning out of control.
And then something pretending to be a smile slides across her face. Brittle as glass, oddly shadowed by the way her head doesn't lift to meet Annette's gaze.]
You're only saying that because you haven't seen everything. If you did, you'd change your mind.
[It's such a stupid thing to offer, like baring her throat to a hunter. Completely self-defeating. Just how many guild teachings has she broken now, anyway? Too many. And yet the idea twists in her like shrapnel trapped under flesh, needling her with a masochistic epistemology as familiar as her own face: whatever hurts is true.]
[ This, at least, she can deal with. There's enough reason still coiled in her mind that she sits up a little straighter at this admission, rather than letting it knock her back yet another foot. Her hand, still clutched around Lys's, lowers. The confidence unfurling in her body spreads to her voice, which rings out clearly when she speaks. ]
Then show me. Show me everything and I'll see if I change my mind or not.
[ It's a challenge for her as much as it is Lys. She can't fathom the depths of Lys's secrets, feels like she's only witnessing the tip top of the iceberg when so much of it still remains hidden under the water.
But if she knows anything, it's that she trusts Lys. Almost a year they've been together here on this island and not once has Lys tried to hurt her in any way, barring the strange machinations of the island. Even that had been tempered at the edges, both of them turning away before irrepairable damage could be done. ]
[The strange, unnatural smile lingers for several moments as Lys tilts her head ever so slightly toward the sound of Annette speaking, listening to the impossible confidence in Annette's voice. Then the expression breaks apart, replaced by nothing at all as her face smooths over; turns as flat and opaque as clouded glass. Raising their joined hands, Lys gently but determinedly breaks Annette's grip—peeling off her fingers one by one, if she has to. It's easy.
Then she stands up. Steps back a few paces. Stares directly ahead at a random spot on the far wall.
And changes.
Another blur of motion, of color—skin giving way to dark fur, pointed ears framing a lupine head. But the creature revealed is so much bigger now, brawny and barrel-chested, standing upright on two legs with a huge fluffy tail out for balance. At least eight feet tall, it looms over Annette like a monolith, clawed hands flexing into huge fists as it pants through parted jaws filled with razored fangs. A mountain of fur and muscle and feral strength; a monster whose claws could rend flesh to dollrags, whose weight forces the sturdy floor to dip and creak under the strain; a werewolf.
It doesn't speak. Doesn't move except to breathe, intelligent brown eyes burning out of that animalistic excuse for a face. It only waits for Annette to do something, say something; scream, faint, run away.
Attack.]
that piss will be the perfect seasoning for the mashed potatoes i make you
[ Her heart beats quicker when Lys finally moves away, Annette's eyes widening automatically in preparation for what's to come. What exactly that is she doesn't know but she steels herself for it nonetheless, shoulders tensing and now-empty hands pulling closer to her chest.
Her eyes follow the short path Lys takes—and then widen even further when the taller girl changes right before her eyes.
It would be a lie to say she doesn't feel a momentary burst of fear at the swift transformation, her nails digging into the flesh of her palm as her fingers curl into fists and her already light skin paling further. There's only remnants of humanity in the creature in front of her now, a creature most others would call a monster. And if she hadn't known that this was Lys, if she had just seen this creature on the street without any warning or preamble, would she have immediately dismissed it for a monster too? She's ashamed to admit that she probably would have.
But this is Lys, she reminds herself. Even if she looks terribly different on the outside, surely she's still the same on the inside, warm-hearted and ever supportive. She should say something reassuring, something that will help cut the tension that still drifts between them. Something that will convince Lys that Annette won't run away or abandon her, even after all this.
Instead, in true Annette fashion, she fumbles and completely misses the landing. ]
[Expressions are a difficult thing when your face is too wolfish to be fully human—fangs, a muzzle, dark fur layered heavily over an altered bone structure—but somehow just human enough for emotion to manifest regardless. Brown eyes narrowing slightly, nostrils flaring as though scenting Annette's fear, the massive head dips as the pointed ears flatten back. Slowly, slowly, Lys drops to one knee, broad shoulders slumping in a laughably vain attempt to appear just a little smaller, less of an overwhelming threat.
More slowly still, she reaches out to try and gently cup Annette's face (her whole head, really) with a furry hand that's roughly the size of a dinner plate; large fingers with thick paw-pads fully extended, blunt claws held carefully out of the way. Lys doesn't have a name for the feeling twisting through her like barbed wire, pushing her to attempt such a ridiculous, foolhardy, embarrassingly sentimental gesture. Maybe she hopes Annette will spook and lash out, burning her to ash with destructive fire magic. Maybe she simply can't help but test the other girl's resolve.
Even if she knew what to call the feeling, she couldn't articulate it. Not like this. In lieu of words, Lys again watches for Annette's reaction.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
every time you act nasty, i mail a potato to your house
And then something pretending to be a smile slides across her face. Brittle as glass, oddly shadowed by the way her head doesn't lift to meet Annette's gaze.]
You're only saying that because you haven't seen everything. If you did, you'd change your mind.
[It's such a stupid thing to offer, like baring her throat to a hunter. Completely self-defeating. Just how many guild teachings has she broken now, anyway? Too many. And yet the idea twists in her like shrapnel trapped under flesh, needling her with a masochistic epistemology as familiar as her own face: whatever hurts is true.]
good, i love potatoes
Then show me. Show me everything and I'll see if I change my mind or not.
[ It's a challenge for her as much as it is Lys. She can't fathom the depths of Lys's secrets, feels like she's only witnessing the tip top of the iceberg when so much of it still remains hidden under the water.
But if she knows anything, it's that she trusts Lys. Almost a year they've been together here on this island and not once has Lys tried to hurt her in any way, barring the strange machinations of the island. Even that had been tempered at the edges, both of them turning away before irrepairable damage could be done. ]
you're getting piss potatoes
Then she stands up. Steps back a few paces. Stares directly ahead at a random spot on the far wall.
And changes.
Another blur of motion, of color—skin giving way to dark fur, pointed ears framing a lupine head. But the creature revealed is so much bigger now, brawny and barrel-chested, standing upright on two legs with a huge fluffy tail out for balance. At least eight feet tall, it looms over Annette like a monolith, clawed hands flexing into huge fists as it pants through parted jaws filled with razored fangs. A mountain of fur and muscle and feral strength; a monster whose claws could rend flesh to dollrags, whose weight forces the sturdy floor to dip and creak under the strain; a werewolf.
It doesn't speak. Doesn't move except to breathe, intelligent brown eyes burning out of that animalistic excuse for a face. It only waits for Annette to do something, say something; scream, faint, run away.
Attack.]
that piss will be the perfect seasoning for the mashed potatoes i make you
Her eyes follow the short path Lys takes—and then widen even further when the taller girl changes right before her eyes.
It would be a lie to say she doesn't feel a momentary burst of fear at the swift transformation, her nails digging into the flesh of her palm as her fingers curl into fists and her already light skin paling further. There's only remnants of humanity in the creature in front of her now, a creature most others would call a monster. And if she hadn't known that this was Lys, if she had just seen this creature on the street without any warning or preamble, would she have immediately dismissed it for a monster too? She's ashamed to admit that she probably would have.
But this is Lys, she reminds herself. Even if she looks terribly different on the outside, surely she's still the same on the inside, warm-hearted and ever supportive. She should say something reassuring, something that will help cut the tension that still drifts between them. Something that will convince Lys that Annette won't run away or abandon her, even after all this.
Instead, in true Annette fashion, she fumbles and completely misses the landing. ]
You're even taller like this.
[ It comes out a squeak. ]
i got psychic damage from reading that, thank u
More slowly still, she reaches out to try and gently cup Annette's face (her whole head, really) with a furry hand that's roughly the size of a dinner plate; large fingers with thick paw-pads fully extended, blunt claws held carefully out of the way. Lys doesn't have a name for the feeling twisting through her like barbed wire, pushing her to attempt such a ridiculous, foolhardy, embarrassingly sentimental gesture. Maybe she hopes Annette will spook and lash out, burning her to ash with destructive fire magic. Maybe she simply can't help but test the other girl's resolve.
Even if she knew what to call the feeling, she couldn't articulate it. Not like this. In lieu of words, Lys again watches for Annette's reaction.]