damned_institute | Nightshift 37: Soccer/Recreational Field

Entry tags:

Nightshift 37: Soccer/Recreational Field

[from here.]

Since the recreational field was quiet tonight, Phoenix found himself pausing briefly between doors, glancing up at the sky. It was what the sky looked like on television, pitch blackness interrupted by bright points of starlight, which was what really made him stop in the first place, really. He'd spent his entire life in Los Angeles. He didn't expect anything from the night sky but a dark, dusky rose, dotted with perhaps five valiant stars, assorted satellites, and the blinking slow-motion of airplanes coming and going from LAX. Seeing the sky the way he'd always known it was supposed to look pulled at him strangely. There wasn't supposed to be a single thing about this place that was beautiful, but there were the stars, cold and twinkling and completely unfamiliar.

He turned away abruptly, walking quickly for the next door before he could stare any longer. This wasn't the time to get caught up in things like that.

[to here.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There was blood, maddeningly close and so delectable, but the first attack hadn't succeeded quite as the aquila wanted. And then the meal attempted to fight back, and the avian gave an ear-piercing screech of rage as the grabbing hand struck one beating wing and came away with a handful of feathers.

The wall was close, too, close enough to potentially foul its wings, so the bird-like creature reluctantly released its hold and drove back into the air again, each stroke raising gusts of wind that set the vines on the wall to thrashing. It would take a moment to regain its equilibrium, and see what its target intended to do next, but didn't dare take too long lest its kindred be alerted and attempt to take some of the pure flesh for their own.

Despite the fact that it had done more damage to him than he had to it, Lugnut wasn't going to give up! Even if this human body was weak and in horrible pain, and its fuel pump was thudding unnervingly hard, and he could barely feel the blood dripping across his hand from the wound the bird had left him with.

That didn't mean that he couldn't come up with a dirty trick, glaring up at the filthy creature and backing up against the wall, watching it carefully to catch any signs of it diving back towards him. Hopefully, it was only as smart as the average Decepticon flier, and this would work...

The aquila wheeled and turned in the air above the field, eyeing its target below all the while. The delectable human had moved closer to the wall where he would be harder to reach, not without potential peril to the avian itself. And yet its hunger pressed upon its mind, blood-stained claws opening and closing in an almost convulsive movement as it longed for more than just the scent of the prey's flesh.

It still retained enough awareness to know that it would be foolish to attempt a steep dive now with the obstacle there, at least. The aquila instead descended to land atop the wall, wings mantling as it lunged downward, beak snapping at the human below.

Smarter than the average Decepticon flier. Slagitall again, he'd been hoping to trick it into crashing into a wall-- it'd worked more than once on jets, and sometimes more than once on a given jet-- and Lugnut threw himself to the ground to avoid its beak, not eager to expose himself to more injury.

Which, he realized after he'd done it, put him at even worse of a disadvantage. Fragging malfunctioning scrap-heap of a human body wouldn't even let him think straight!

Cover. He needed cover, and he glanced over the field with optics that refused to pierce the darkness properly-- he'd dropped his flashlight, he realized, probably when the bird had first struck him, and he snatched it back up, shining it into the bird's eyes.

It had been so close and still missed, and then suddenly light! Bright and blinding it shone into the aquila's eyes before it could draw back; it screamed in mingled anger and pain, wings thrashing as it clumsily took to the air once more, seeking to put enough distance between it and the light to allow its vision to clear again.

It was angry, it was hungry, and the place still smarted where the prey had torn its feathers. The aquila shrieked once more as it circled over the field, determined to make its next strike the last.

Lugnut wasn't going to question the sudden blessing of it flying away, instead scrambling to his feet and shining the around the field. The door he'd come out from was too far to run for across the open field, not with the bird circling above him-- but there was a small building, tucked close to the wall. The gap would be too narrow for the bird to get at him... he hoped.

Staying close to the wall, he made a dash for the gap.

Its prey was on the move, apparently seeking shelter. That couldn't be allowed. The avian quickly banked and dove, neck stretched to its farthest extent as though that could make it fly faster, claws poised to grab and rend. It could all but taste its meal already.

But then the human found a space too small for the aquila to follow, and it was forced beat its wings frantically to slow its dive, kicking up fierce gusts of wind with each stroke. It was so close and could almost reach...

The avian came to a landing, claws digging into the turf of the field as it folded its wings and attempted to work its head into the gap where its prey had taken refuge, beak snapping wildly in search of something, anything, of the flesh that was so temptingly near.

Too narrow a space; Lugnut found himself feeling trapped as he backed towards the far corner, away from that beak, shoulders hunched inwards and still scraping the walls. Still, he didn't think he was in any immediate danger anymore, and-- beginning to realize what had driven the bird off before, its weak organic eyes unable to handle the sudden photosensory overload-- he tried blinding it again with his light.

The human yet remained annoyingly out of reach, and then the light returned. This time the aquila wasn't quite so startled by it, but the combination of that and its frustration still was enough to make the avian retreat slightly, hopping somewhat awkwardly back a couple of steps.

It regarded the gap through which its meal had vanished, head turning first to one side, then the other, wings shifting uncertainly with a rasp of feather on ragged feather. After a moment's consideration it crouched, then hopped to the roof of the shed with a single wing-stroke. There it perched and waited, cleaning the blood from its talons as it awaited the chance for more, more than just this tantalizing hint of dinner.

Lugnut was no fool, and he didn't take the bird's retreat as final-- it was probably lurking just out of sight, waiting for him to try and escape.

Well, Lugnut could wait better than it. He was six million years old; he could outwait the birth and extinctions of entire species of organics. So he settled in the far corner, deep in the shadows and snugly far away from being exposed to the bird, and tried to go into high-alert stasis.

Then he remembered that he was stuck in a human body, and couldn't simply deactivate until his proximity sensors rang alarm. And his vague attempt to deactivate the pain sensors in his still-leaking arm had been utterly ineffective.

He was going to have to wait, in pain, while conscious?

Lugnut grumbled faintly. Useless Human body.

The aquila waited on its roof perch, ever more impatient as time passed. And always, always hungry. There was never enough prey out in the open, not of the good kind, the pure flesh that it craved. There'd been another on the field for a moment, but it was tainted and unappetizing. Not like this.

Shifting from one foot to the other impatiently, the avian gave a low-voiced cry as though to remind its prey that it was still there. And not planning to move, not until it had a chance to strike.

Lugnut knew it was there, and it was beginning to irritate him-- more quickly than it would have in his true body; this human body was restless, and beginning to shake, and the liquid still dripping down his arm was uncomfortably cold and refusing to stop leaking.

He couldn't stay huddled like this. He needed to... get under a roof, yes, and look for a weapon to replace his lost guns and mace. The building he'd come from was too far away, but the shed he was huddled behind...

As quietly as he could, Lugnut struggled back to his feet in the narrow space and squeezed out, peering around the edge. The doors were broken in-- access. Good.

Before the bird could try and get at him, he half-ran, half-stumbled (why did he feel like the world was tilting under him?) into the shed.

[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/525193.html) ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Nightshift 37: Soccer/Recreational Field

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject