Author’s Note: I’m taking a Creative Writing class this semester, so expect a lot of these little one-shots to show up over the next couple months. I want to use this one for the mini-workshop next week (2/9/05), but I’m not sure if the other students would understand it. In any case, I wrote this all in one night and I’m actually pretty proud of it--the former of which is unheard of for me--so please leave a review if you liked it, and tell me if you think I should use it for my class or not!

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Sordid

Hood pulled up over his head, features lost amidst the shadows it cast, Krash waited. It was raining and the youth--for he was probably in his late teens, nowhere near adulthood--was soaked through, hair dripping beneath his hood, but did not shiver in the least. His hooded sweatshirt had been light gray when he first took his place here, but now it was almost black with wetness; his hands were tucked into the pockets of his well-worn black jeans, skin soaked even through the denim and yet, somehow, he did not seem cold.

Krash stared upward, through the haze of rain, studying the way the streetlight refracted each individual drop as it fell, turning each and every one bright gold for a fraction of a second. The change was so quick he doubted a mortal would have been able to properly appreciate it. Though he would never say it aloud, he thought the sight was actually rather pretty; like a million stars falling from a starless sky.

The telltale splash of a footstep reminded him that he was not here to observe the rain or--regardless of how pleasant it was--the light, but on a mission. An assignment from Lord Gaurin, his first since becoming General. He really didn’t want to botch it so early on.

Another splash rang out as the owner of the earlier footstep hurried past, black trenchcoat pulled tightly about her shoulders as she shivered, completely oblivious to the scarlet eyes following her from beneath a rain-soaked hood. Is that the one? Krash inquired silently, following the young woman with his eyes.

Yes, came the almost instantaneous reply, reverberating through his head like the echoes of a song in a cavern. On top of the lamppost, a blackbird ruffled its feathers and followed the woman with its own black eyes.

Krash detached himself from the shadows just beyond the streetlight and, silent, followed his ebon-haired quarry. It was just a human female, unremarkable in all respects--except, perhaps, the boyishness of her build--and without any seeming value. He could only see her from the back, certainly, and her silhouette was obscured by her loose trenchcoat, but Krash could find nothing special about her.

Nothing special enough for Lord Gaurin, in any case. Krash wouldn’t have minded taking her himself, but he was of considerably baser desires than his Master.

Why this one, anyway? he queried as the sound of flapping wings reached his ears.

A moment of mental silence passed. Lord Gaurin wants her. That’s all I care to know.

Krash cast his scarlet eyes upward on the blackbird that followed him from the air, currently sitting on top of yet another lamppost; his favorite type of perch, if Krash recalled correctly. The scarlet-eyed youth gave a wry grin. He likes ‘em lanky, then?

The bird cawed loudly in reply, deeming the comment unworthy of any effort for mental communication. Krash actually chuckled a little at the Weaponmaster’s call, and removed one hand from his pocket to wave it in dismissal at the char-black bird.

The woman in the trenchcoat turned a corner, heavy boots splashing every single puddle they met. Her gait was steady and, though relatively hurried, not anxious in the least. She clearly had no idea she was being followed, and her earthbound pursuer smiled at that. Moving in silence wasn’t difficult for his ilk, but that didn’t mean it was impossible to make too much noise.

Krash ran his tongue over his teeth, pausing to feel one long fang and letting out a low hiss. I can’t even have a little? he asked. It would only be one drink; not enough to Turn her, I swe--

No, the bird that was most certainly not a bird replied shortly. She belongs to Lord Gaurin, every ounce of her. He paused, regarding the youth through his wide black eyes. This is why he sent me as your backup, you know. To make sure you wouldn’t get greedy.

Krash sighed disappointedly, scarlet eyes downcast, and tucked his free hand into his pocket once more. “Old coot,” he muttered aloud. “Maybe if you didn’t spend three-quarters of your life as a frickin’ bird you’d understand why I’m interested.” A moment passed with no reply, and the youth’s brow furrowed. Tor? he called silently.

Another second passed. I’m here, idiot, the bird assured him dryly. But the girl, on the lightpost, the blackbird cocked his head sideways, is being...odd.

Krash turned his attention back on his quarry with confusion; she was doing something strange. It was pouring, so much that even Tor’s slick black feathers were dripping and almost too heavy to fly with, but she was taking off her jacket. The long black trenchcoat fell to the ground as she removed both arms from the sleeves, revealing a sleeveless black turtleneck and slacks. She wore a silver band on either wrist--securing her gloves in place, Krash supposed--and she removed both of them, then the gloves as well. The metal bands fell to the ground with a high clang, followed by the squelch of wet gloves hitting concrete.

What the hell is she doin’?

Tor gave a mental shrug. I haven’t the slightest...idea...oh, no.

“Huh?” Krash said aloud, tilting his head upward to see the Weaponmaster. The motion broke off, however, when an effeminately deep voice caught his attention instead.

“You can pull the hood down,” the woman said. The scarlet-eyed youth turned to her and found that she had turned completely around and now regarded him through electric blue eyes. She gave a grin, arching both black eyebrows. “It’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before.”

Krash, inhumanly pale hands shaking, reached up and did as was requested. Garnet eyes, glowing faintly, met sapphire, and the weak luminescence of the streetlight played off his silvery-white hair. His ears, slightly pointed, were only just concealed by that shoulder-length mane; the single lock of gold in his bangs that distinguished him from the Commons stood out like silken metal against the snowy silver.

He noted that the woman bore a similar distinction: a lock of pure, snowy white among her raven-dark hair fell over her left eye, barely concealing its impossible shade of blue. He chuckled, touching a finger--tipped by a long, claw-like fingernail--to his dripping lock of golden hair. “So, who’s your Master?” he inquired amicably.

Krash couldn’t recall a Lord that marked his General with white; white hair was all too common among their kind, after all. A loss of color was not uncommon among lesser warriors, regardless of which of the five Lords they served. And why, he wondered, were her eyes blue? If she was a General, as her hair denoted, then her eyes should...have...been...

“Oh, crap.” He took a step backward as comprehension dawned.

The woman let out a short laugh that sounded very much like a bark. “Did it finally click?” she inquired cheerily. When Krash did not reply she sighed and shook her head long black hair flying all about in spite of its obvious wetness. “That’s why I never liked you guys--you all think you’re so smart, but even Generals don’t notice the most obvious things.” She cast her electric blue eyes upward, locking gazes with the blackbird. Her pale lips curved in a dark grin. “Tor? Is that you up there?”

The bird cawed once, but said nothing. Krash wondered how this woman knew the Weaponmaster by name. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?’ she continued. The blackbird remained silent this time, and the woman rolled her lightning-colored eyes with a huff. “Honestly, Tor, you’re so rude sometimes.” A moment passed with nothing between them and she turned her piercing, electric gaze back on Krash. “Now, who are you?”

Don’t tell her your name, Tor warned, ruffling his feathers and letting out a particularly grating call. The woman’s brow furrowed as she realized that the bird’s call had been to drown out the echoes of mental communication.

Krash took a shaky breath, not daring to break eye contact. “You first.”

The woman shrugged nonchalantly, closing her eyes. “The name’s Epiphany.”

“You expect me to believe that?” he inquired, arching one eyebrow.

Epiphany shrugged again. “Not really,” she replied easily. She smiled and opened her eyes, now glowing brightly. “But it bought me time.” She pointed up into the black sky, and it was only then that Krash realized the rain had stopped. Where there had only been a muffled glow in the clouds before there was now a gaping hole in the cover, allowing silvery moonlight to shaft down on them both. Epiphany’s eerily calm smile broadened, lips parting to reveal inhumanly sharp teeth not entirely different from the young General’s own. Where he only had fangs, however, all her teeth came to points; like a wild animal of some sort.

Krash took another step backward, this time bumping into the lamppost on which Tor was perched. The bird screeched loudly, as though attempting to spur the youth into action, but all he could do was stare.

“Nice night,” the white-locked woman commented. “Only a half moon, but I don’t think I’ll need much more than that for you.” She bent her knees slightly and lifted both hands, curling the fingers inward. “I never did get your name.”

Krash took a deep breath of the chill night air to clear his impossibly sharp senses and stood up straight. “No point hiding it now, I guess,” he said with far more ease than he felt. He pulled off his sopping sweatshirt and dropped it on the ground beside him with a splatch. “I’m Krash.”

Epiphany raised both eyebrows. “Gaurin’s new General?” she gawked with a chuckle. “You’re a bit young, aren’t you?”

“I could say the same about you,” he replied shortly, turning his body sideways and bending his knees. Standard defense position, Tor would call it. Krash doubted that any defense he knew, standard or otherwise, would work against this woman.

She clicked her tongue. “Ah, but looks can be deceiving.”

Be careful, Krash, Tor warned from his perch high above.

“You stay outta this, bird,” Epiphany spat, shooting him a piercing glare; the bird fell silent. Epiphany locked eyes with the silvery-haired young General once more and her glowing orbs narrowed slightly. “I suppose we should just get on with it.”

“Let’s,” Krash urged.

Epiphany took a deep breath, clenching her eyes shut, and howled; her voice twisted and layered until it could not possibly be called human. Her already-sharp teeth turned even sharper; her fingernails lengthened and came to points, turning black; her ears stretched out and bent slightly inward, suddenly almost triangular in shape. She let out a bestial growl, eyes glowing brightly, and surged forward.

All this happened in the space of a single breath, and Krash didn’t even have time to whisper a word to summon his power before he was hit. Epiphany’s claws sunk deep into his chest, spilling blood that was dark and seemed somehow old on the wet concrete. He stumbled backward, clutching at the wound, and barely had time to take a single raspy breath when she was on him again.

Fine black fur covered her now, from the tips of her pointed lupine ears to her clawed hands. She hit him across the face, dislocating his jaw with a snap, and bent forward to bite into his shoulder. Krash knew what that would mean--for a human it would mean the Change, for one of his kind it was pain beyond description and, eventually, death. He could linger for days, or even weeks in half-healed agony.

And he couldn’t even move to defend himself...

It was at that instant that a gun fired from above. The beast that Epiphany had become yelped in pain as cold silver cut into her back, shattering her shoulderblade like glass, and reared back with a growl, turning her electric blue eyes upward.

A figure leapt off the lightpost, gun in hand, and unloaded his clip into the black-furred female before his bare feet even touched the ground. A long cloak, blacker than night and trimmed with ebony feathers, swept out behind him like great wings, settling around his shoulders when he landed without so much as a whisper of air on fabric. The man wearing the cloak had pue black hair, at least waist-length, littered here and there with feathers growing in place of silky locks. He was slender, so slender it looked as though a rough breeze might break him, and his skin bore a distinctly gold tint.

The fur receded into Epiphany’s skin as the silver went to work; claws retracted back into fingernails; ears turned round and flat. Blood of glowing scarlet spattered the sidewalk as Epiphany, human once more, staggered back away from the feather-cloaked man and his shimmering gun.

Krash forced himself to lift his head. “...Tor?”

The black-haired man said nothing, merely dropped the empty clip from his firearm and proceeded to replace it with a new one. He lifted the gun again and took aim.

“Wait!” the woman whimpered, holding out both bloodstained hands. “Please, Tor, don’t do this! You and I--we were--but--oh, Tor, please!”

His expression remained stoic, black eyes unreadable. “That was a long time ago,” he said; his voice was a deep, rough whisper. “Goodbye, ‘Any.” With that, cutting off the woman’s cries of protest, he fired.

The woman fell backward, head snapping back with the force of the shot, and disintegrated before she even hit the ground. The was one good thing about fighting her kind--not mess to clean up. Nothing but a little blood and a lot of dust.

The street was silent once more, without even the hum of rain in the air. Tor turned to look down at Krash and smiled as he extended one slender hand. “I warned you,” he said.

“I know,” the youth replied, not bothering to mention that the Weaponmaster could have been much more specific in his command for caution.

The blackbird-turned-man smiled as he took hold of the silvery-haired youth’s hand. “It was your first mission involving a wolf,” he said reassuringly, “I’m sure Gaurin won’t be too angry that you mucked it.” He pulled Krash to his feet, slinging the young General’s bloody arm over his own feather-clad shoulders, and turned to head back the way they had come.

They limped silently down the sidewalk for a long moment before the General spoke again. “Why didn’t you tell me she was a wolf? It’s obvious you knew.”

“I wanted to see how long it took you to figure it out on your own,” the black-eyed, raven-haired--in more than one sense of the word--man replied easily.

Krash sighed, annoyed, and they plodded on for several seconds more. “How did you two know each other?” he asked at last. The thought of the Weaponmaster being acquainted with a wolf was an odd one, and the implications of Epiphany’s last choked pleas were even stranger.

Tor rolled his wide, birdlike eyes. “That, my friend, is a truly sordid story.” He grinned, glancing sideways at the young man he supported. “Maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll tell it to you someday.”

“Hey, Tor?’

The Weaponmaster arched one eyebrow. “More questions?”

He shook his head. “I’m really hungry.”

The blackbird sighed, pausing in his forward journey for a moment to think. “Well, considering how late it is you only have two choices.” He held up two slender, gold-tinged fingers. “A hobo or a hooker.”

“Hobo,” Krash replied instantly. “Hookers taste...I dunno, synthetic. Like they’ve pumped their blood full of silicone.”

Tor grinned, displaying his own sharp fangs for the first time in a great long while. “You might be surprised,” he chuckled. “All right, then, hobo it is. Downtown?” Krash nodded, but couldn’t find the strength to say anything more. Too much energy had already been expended healing his dislocated jaw to bother with speech anymore. Tor’s grin only broadened.

“All right, then. Downtown.”

End