Title: Noodle Wars With a Crazy Person
Genre: Therianthropy/Spirituality, Humor
Rating: PG14
Summary: Therian-related drabble about a counselor challenge from the camp I work at.
Written: June, 2008

--

I sigh and reluctantly stand. The kids cheer and it's always about them when you're working at a summer camp.

I take the fun-noodle and watch as my opponent takes his.

The crowd cheers at the total ease of my stance. My feet planted firmly, my grip tight, but otherwise my body is relaxed.

...I hadn't even noticed my stance until they said something.

But now the crowd fades to the background as Dave and I watch each other warily. We wait for the signal and...

"GO!"

We pause for a moment more, seeing who will move first, but then we both lunge, noodles swinging--although mine has become a weapon in my hand.

Swish, hit, bam, whack, slap, thud, SMACK. The noodles are not quiet weapons and soon we are playing dirty. Dave tries to grab my weapon but I get in a few hits until I'm forced to defend against his fury of whacks.

We have moved away from the kids, although the crowd is as good as background to me--I've forgotten them completely.

Claws, teeth, I barely remember the point of this is to mark each other with the chalk coated ends of the noodle--all I want is to bite and tear. This is a Fight My thoughts scream in cries of war and my human control is slipping into feline instincts and fierceness.

The turning point of the match is when I totally forget the fun noodle--I lift my foot and kick straight into his stomach. Fuck you, take that! I snarl as he grabs my foot and drags me towards him.

Suddenly everything is teeth, claws, and fur. I twist and slip, still smacking him with the noodle, but also batting with claws extended and teeth bared.

He catches my foot again and pulls me closer, I grab and claw at his stomach and his arms--I barely contain myself from biting at his throat.

Fighting myself while fighting him has led to disaster.

I'm still clawing him, but he has me pinned in a ball with a headlock. I breathe and retract myself from where I've been attacking, knowing this fight is over. He's won, but I know if I had really let go, I would have won... or maybe not. But chances are, no one wants to fight a person who bites--it's just not very 'mature', which of course is just a barely hidden way of saying it's not a very sane thing to do.

I never did say I was the most sane person in the world.

We untangle ourselves and I plop myself down on the first bench I see. I am exhausted and my eyes are wet. I blame the monthlies. Being a female sucks sometimes.

The kids, of course, loved it, and it's all about them anyway.