storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2010-05-06 01:38 pm
storypaint) wrote2010-05-06 01:38 pm
[Animorphs] Taste (Cassie gen)
Title: Taste
Fandom: Animorphs
Length: 332 words
Prompt: Icon keywords: war tongue for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
senri.
Pairing: Cassie gen
Other: PG-13 for violent imagery.
Excerpt: So when she goes to war, she retreats into the wolf, or whatever she has morphed, fighting down the lust for the hunt that the morph offers, trying not to taste.
There's something visceral about fighting as an animal. It's not the same as human war, even if your hand is connected to the trigger of the gun that just blew a hole in someone's face. Animals strike close. It is your teeth in the other's skin, it is the other's throat spasming in the grip of your jaw. Every fight-- you're tasting death, clawing death, being death.
That is the worst part to Cassie. She's seen animals in bad condition-- she's seen beloved pets hit by cars, turtles with more shell scars than war veterans. She's been with birds breathing their last breaths and stroked their tiny heads.
So when she goes to war, she retreats into the wolf, or whatever she has morphed, fighting down the lust for the hunt that the morph offers, trying not to taste. There is war on her skin, war on her fur, war on her tongue, and sometimes she thinks she'll choke on it. Not even in battle; just one day in the barn, she'll fall over and be unable to breathe under the weight of their burden. It has changed her, bent her, aged her.
She thinks everyone should be able to look at her and see, but no one really notices. A friend from History class who doesn't know that every night she tastes alien blood in her dreams gives her trouble when she offers her opinion on current events: "Some wars must be fought," she says in class, biting down a sigh and a powerful desire to explain.
"I always thought you were a pacifist," the girl says, and Cassie nods.
I always thought I was too, she thinks when the Hork-Bajir behind her screams in pain and she's the cause. Her morph pants and turns and strikes again without mercy.
No matter how many years pass, she thinks she'll never get the taste of blood out of her mouth.
Fandom: Animorphs
Length: 332 words
Prompt: Icon keywords: war tongue for
senri.Pairing: Cassie gen
Other: PG-13 for violent imagery.
Excerpt: So when she goes to war, she retreats into the wolf, or whatever she has morphed, fighting down the lust for the hunt that the morph offers, trying not to taste.
There's something visceral about fighting as an animal. It's not the same as human war, even if your hand is connected to the trigger of the gun that just blew a hole in someone's face. Animals strike close. It is your teeth in the other's skin, it is the other's throat spasming in the grip of your jaw. Every fight-- you're tasting death, clawing death, being death.
That is the worst part to Cassie. She's seen animals in bad condition-- she's seen beloved pets hit by cars, turtles with more shell scars than war veterans. She's been with birds breathing their last breaths and stroked their tiny heads.
So when she goes to war, she retreats into the wolf, or whatever she has morphed, fighting down the lust for the hunt that the morph offers, trying not to taste. There is war on her skin, war on her fur, war on her tongue, and sometimes she thinks she'll choke on it. Not even in battle; just one day in the barn, she'll fall over and be unable to breathe under the weight of their burden. It has changed her, bent her, aged her.
She thinks everyone should be able to look at her and see, but no one really notices. A friend from History class who doesn't know that every night she tastes alien blood in her dreams gives her trouble when she offers her opinion on current events: "Some wars must be fought," she says in class, biting down a sigh and a powerful desire to explain.
"I always thought you were a pacifist," the girl says, and Cassie nods.
I always thought I was too, she thinks when the Hork-Bajir behind her screams in pain and she's the cause. Her morph pants and turns and strikes again without mercy.
No matter how many years pass, she thinks she'll never get the taste of blood out of her mouth.