WordPlay

…Wednesday

Speaking of covers…Sklayne believes he should have a cover of his own.

Ahh, Sklayne.

He’s one of THOSE characters.  Always doing the unexpected.  Always saying the embarrassing thing.  He not only colors outside the lines, he makes up his own coloring book.

He’s a wonderful foil.  And for sure he keeps a certain  off-world bounty hunter on his toes…

Of course, he’s got his own story, too…how he came to be with Trevarr, the trade-offs he’s made with that choice…the way it’s changed him.  It’s a story of secrets and partnership…and it’s spinning out at its own pace, there in the background…

==========

And Trevarr said nothing, but Trevarr knew, and Trevarr fought against what was within, what was always within but always so deeply buried…never allowed any freedom, for fear it could never be caged again. Never controlled.

Sklayne knew that fear. Lived beside it. Had seen it woken once on this world already.

The eyes…always the change showed first in the eyes. The skin patterns, tattoos inborn, trailing and growing from those vestiges present at birth. After that, few knew…because few had survived. Or been allowed to. The bastard-breeds…they were the worst. The strongest. The hardest to control. Too torn between what they were and what they weren’t to live by the rules of any given being.

::Half-blood!:: he said, and ::Beware!:: and ::Danger there!:: but by then he knew the power had stirred and scraped and howled, stripping away carefully guarded layers with the shock that made this cat form writhe upon the bedspread these miles away. Trevarr, hurt. Trevarr, struggling. Trevarr surrounded by beings who did not know, who could not know.

Sklayne snarled a rudeness at the weak cat form and the feeble damage its claws had done to the bedding. He knew. He should be there.

Bound familiar.

::Take,:: he said, and gave what he could, across the miles. And knew he was heard when that gift was received, when Trevarr held ground against that which had been woken within. When he persisted, even as the Garrie-person wielded her bastardized breezes, her terror turning to confidence and profound competence.

So Sklayne gave, until the moment was done. Until he felt the faintest of touches, a mental scritch along the fur of his spine. And so he collapsed in on his corporeal aspect and let himself retreat back to this hotel room.

Oh, most disapproving.

::Cat-form, so very broken.::

Fark.

Sklayne set about fixing it.

Tags: Behind the Scenes, snippet, The Reckoners

This entry was posted on Wednesday, June 16th, 2010 at 04:00 and is filed under Behind the Scenes, Snippets, Wednesday Ponderings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.