Author Topic: wasp on a broomstick [ PRP / RII ]  (Read 363 times)

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Offline Ratchet!

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wasp on a broomstick [ PRP / RII ]
« on: September 15, 2017, 02:10:39 PM »

Deafened by the roar of the waterfall overhead, the Fledgling's large ears pinned back against her skull. The mist that rose from the foot of the fall below her forced her to squint, eyes over-saturated with water and unused to the hydration, even in such a humid landscape. She'd never really taken the time to stare at the mother of all waterfalls. The territory was littered with them, as all rainforests were, but this one was fast, intimidating. She sat atop it, on the rocks that flanked its vast mouth, staring as the water teetered and tripped over the edge of the cliff, plummeting downward and contributing to the opaque whiteness at the foot.

There was a firm tension in the air, like the calm before a storm, even with the Bonfire ongoing near the temple. She could see the trails of smoke rising from the canopy. A party she had swiftly vacated. Excusing the Bonfire, the rainforest was eerily quiet - she was used to its intense and constant white noise, the hum of birds and insects and rain. Everything had been far too still, and it had frustrated her - the waterfall gave her some form of respite, thundering and loud as it was. It drowned out the silence. This unsettling atmosphere, coupled with the general frustration that came with puberty, had the young beast on edge. At almost nine months old, she was finding herself growing far-too-quickly into a body she neither liked nor understood. Her feet were too big for her thin legs, her muzzle too short and squat, her ears freakishly large. Her bucktooth jutted out of her mouth stubbornly and gave her a slight lisp which made her reluctant to speak. Adolescence was hard, and seemingly endless.

The round ears swivelled at the sound of footsteps, swiftly followed by the pivotting of her head to face the direction of the noise. Some others, it seemed had opted to avoid the thick of the celebration. She recognised their faces - the Spectres - though she didn't recall their names. What were they doing, wandering around at the top of the waterfall? Perhaps they were asking themselves the same of her. She didn't like the sensation of having been followed, or watched, and natural paranoia made her tone sour.

"Whaddyawant?" She probed, a typical teenage mumble. She turned to face them, her supposed guards (or, at least one of them was?) as her brow furrowed. These were the kids assigned to protect her and her siblings. Peh. She'd make toothpicks out of their bones.