DragonMech: Alley Rats
Posted: 2005-09-02 02:27am
Yes, it's another shory story based off a D&D variation. I think this one's a little darker and more mature. What do you think?
DragonMech: Alley Rats
My name's Gess Gearrunner, and I despise it.
Everyone I ever introduced myself to would promptly say "Guess? How can I guess?" I stopped introducing myself to people and started learning how to keep my mouth shut.
Coglings don't have much of a social life anyway. We're born in the vast gear forests inside a giant city mech. We grow up dodging blasts of steam and oil slicks. The ones who hesitate die. The quickest, like me, live. I almost ended up like the former, though. I slipped on an oil spill and went careening into a gear. That's how I lost my left arm.
My artificial hand clenches at the memory. It's hidden under a leather glove the goes all the way up my forearm and a flaring sleeve that comes down to my wrist. Nobody notices my arm until it's too late.
I reach up with my real hand and brush greasy black hair out of my eyes. My pale skin marks my race as much as my lack of height does. But nobody in this crowd would notice.
I'm sitting in the darkest corner of a dark bar. There's a thin mist of smoke in the air. This is a joint made for short folks like myself. Right now I'm the only Cogling in here. There's a few members of our brother race, the Halflings, and even more Gnomes. There's also a few unusual sorts. From where I'm sitting I can see a pair of Goblins, and sitting in the corner opposite me is what looks like a Kobold, but he's so heavily cloaked I can't be sure.
I reach out and tap the surface of my table. One of the barmaids, a Halfling, turns away and comes over to collect my empty clay mug. No glass available here. I produce a silver coin between two fingers and hold it out. She takes it and walks away. A moment later she's back with a full mug and my change. I wave her off. The whole time, I've made eye contact with no one. She takes the hint and leaves me alone.
Nobody takes note of my rude behavior. Their eyes, like mine, are all fixed on the beautiful Gnome girl twirling around on the stage with barely any clothing on her.
Lirra is why I bother coming to this place. If anyone were to ever ask me how I define the perfect woman, I'd point to her. She's nearly three inches taller than I am, with lustrous blond hair and a voluptuous build that most Cogling women could only dream about. Everything about her is perfect; her skin, her lips, her eyes. She dances here once a week for a lot of money. She's one of the lucky ones. Folks without her looks have to slave for months to get the kind of cash she makes in an hour.
Lirra does another turn and undoes the sash around her breasts, prompting all those present to lean forward and take a breath. There's no cheering. No whistles. No howls. Lirra holds the crowd captive, including me. I barely taste the ale as I sip. The sash pools on the floor and Lirra resumes her dance. I can't tear my eyes away from her. All I can think about is her divine figure. Her hair whips around as she turns back and forth, coming down to drape over her shoulders, down far enough to pour around and between her breasts. She drops to her knees and leans backwards, displaying her curves as if begging for someone to run their hands over each and every one. She stretches back, lifts a leg, and turns herself over, letting us admire the muscles on her legs before slowly turning around on all fours, moving like a panther. She's a lioness. A goddess. And as she stands, her dance is over. She bows and departs, leaving us to shake our heads and come out of our trances. I quickly finish my drink and walk out.
---------------------
The street outside is dirty, like it always is. I hate this place, but at least it's better than the gear forest. Down there, you're always one step ahead of death. Here, you have the luxury of keeping it at arms' length. The sky is smoggy. The moon is rising, covering nearly a quarter of the sky. There's going to be meteors tonight, which is why most people are already inside. I put my hood up as I cross the street, dodging out of the way of the few humans and dwarves left outside. Then I lean against the opposite wall and wait. I wait one minute. Two. Five. Ten. Then I see her.
Lirra's street clothing is much plainer than her dancing outfit, but it still shows her off. Only one pin secures a top that reveals her shoulders, the tops of her breasts, and a swath of bare skin from her left side to her right hip. Her breeches hang loosely around her legs, slits up the sides displaying her skin as she walks.
She strolls down the street as if she owns it. I silently count to ten, then push off the wall and follow her. She doesn't appear to notice me. Nobody does. In my hooded cloak, I'm inconspicuous; a nobody. The big folks won't notice me because they never notice anyone my size unless we do something drastic. Folks my size won't notice me because they're busy going home; unless I get in their way they won't give me a second glance. I'm effectively invisible.
I trail Lirra for four blocks. During this time, my living hand drops to my waist and takes hold of the kukri handle there. The weapon is little larger than a dagger, but the curved edge is honed to a sharpness that makes it easy for the blade to cut right through flesh and muscle to the bone beneath. I continue pacing her as she turns down various back alleys and side streets. It's completely dark out now, with only faint reddish moonlight filtering through the dust.
Lirra turns into a particularly dark alley and I feel my heart begin to race. As I move into it myself, I feel my eyes adjust. Coglings don't grow up in the pitch black gear forest without developing the sharpest eyes around. Ahead of me is Lirra, about thirty paces away and moving at a good clip. My hand tightens on my kukri. I feel ready to explode.
Movement erupts ahead of me and I spring into action, but I'm too far away to act immediately. A form seems to leap out of the shadows and latch onto Lirra, a hand covering her mouth before she can scream. I sprint forward, drawing my weapon in the process.
The kukri seems to thrust itself at my target, encountering resistance before punching through and sliding into the meat. There's an angry hiss and I realize what I'm facing. It's a Kobold, maybe the one from the bar. He lets go of Lirra and turns to bite at me, but I've already pulled my kukri from him and backed off. He seems to just ignore the wound. I wonder if he's jumped up on something.
I fall into a fighting stance, kukri ready to slash, metal hand ready to grab. He moves to draw a weapon and I take my shot, jamming the kukri in between a pair of ribs and closing my hand around his jaws to shut off the scream.
He's too stupid to die. He thrashes at the end of my blade, clawing at my face, and I squeeze. The piston in my arm does its work, crushing the jaws together until I hear wet snapping sounds. Blood runs from his mouth as his teeth cut into his gums and his aborted scream becomes a wet gurgle.
I force him down, twisting my blade and ripping his lung apart. With every passing moment he offers less and less resistance. I take no chances, keeping the kukri in his chest until it finally stops moving. Then I pull it out and wipe it clean.
The business done, I look to Lirra. She's kneeling on the ground staring at the body. She looks like she's in shock. I sheath the blade and unclasp my cloak, putting it around her shoulders before pulling her to her feet.
We walk like that the rest of the way to her home. I spot only a pair of falling stars. Maybe tonight won't be so bad after all. She unlocks the door and then does something I never saw coming. She invites me in. I hesitate only long enough for the words to process, then walk inside.
It feels strange. I've been Lirra's effective bodyguard for nearly five months and I've never been inside her house. The feeling grows as she gestures me to a chair and gently looks over the scratches I got from her would-be killer. She wipes the blood away, taking more than a little grime with it. Then she does something else unexpected. She pulls off my glove, exposing the metal framework of my arm. She looks at it curiously and I wonder if she's ever seen one up close before. Even here in the Stenian Confederacy, they're rare. Then she smiles and it's so beautiful I quit thinking about the damn arm and get my mind where it should be: on this radiant woman who's nearly sitting in my lap and coming on so strong I'd have to be unconscious not to notice.
I wrap my arms around her and she willingly presses that flawless body against me, her hands entwining themselves in my hair, ignoring the grease from my daily runs into the gear forests.
In the grand scheme, I'm nothing. Neither is she. I'm just a Cogling with a short temper, no family, and no manners. She's only a girl who makes a living showing off her body for people like me who have nothing else to dream about. Neither of us is going to make any real difference in the world.
Then she presses her mouth to mine and it's all over; there's no more room for any other thoughts. Every inch of me belongs to her and at last, after so long, she's finally mine. My lioness. My goddess.
My Lirra.
DragonMech: Alley Rats
My name's Gess Gearrunner, and I despise it.
Everyone I ever introduced myself to would promptly say "Guess? How can I guess?" I stopped introducing myself to people and started learning how to keep my mouth shut.
Coglings don't have much of a social life anyway. We're born in the vast gear forests inside a giant city mech. We grow up dodging blasts of steam and oil slicks. The ones who hesitate die. The quickest, like me, live. I almost ended up like the former, though. I slipped on an oil spill and went careening into a gear. That's how I lost my left arm.
My artificial hand clenches at the memory. It's hidden under a leather glove the goes all the way up my forearm and a flaring sleeve that comes down to my wrist. Nobody notices my arm until it's too late.
I reach up with my real hand and brush greasy black hair out of my eyes. My pale skin marks my race as much as my lack of height does. But nobody in this crowd would notice.
I'm sitting in the darkest corner of a dark bar. There's a thin mist of smoke in the air. This is a joint made for short folks like myself. Right now I'm the only Cogling in here. There's a few members of our brother race, the Halflings, and even more Gnomes. There's also a few unusual sorts. From where I'm sitting I can see a pair of Goblins, and sitting in the corner opposite me is what looks like a Kobold, but he's so heavily cloaked I can't be sure.
I reach out and tap the surface of my table. One of the barmaids, a Halfling, turns away and comes over to collect my empty clay mug. No glass available here. I produce a silver coin between two fingers and hold it out. She takes it and walks away. A moment later she's back with a full mug and my change. I wave her off. The whole time, I've made eye contact with no one. She takes the hint and leaves me alone.
Nobody takes note of my rude behavior. Their eyes, like mine, are all fixed on the beautiful Gnome girl twirling around on the stage with barely any clothing on her.
Lirra is why I bother coming to this place. If anyone were to ever ask me how I define the perfect woman, I'd point to her. She's nearly three inches taller than I am, with lustrous blond hair and a voluptuous build that most Cogling women could only dream about. Everything about her is perfect; her skin, her lips, her eyes. She dances here once a week for a lot of money. She's one of the lucky ones. Folks without her looks have to slave for months to get the kind of cash she makes in an hour.
Lirra does another turn and undoes the sash around her breasts, prompting all those present to lean forward and take a breath. There's no cheering. No whistles. No howls. Lirra holds the crowd captive, including me. I barely taste the ale as I sip. The sash pools on the floor and Lirra resumes her dance. I can't tear my eyes away from her. All I can think about is her divine figure. Her hair whips around as she turns back and forth, coming down to drape over her shoulders, down far enough to pour around and between her breasts. She drops to her knees and leans backwards, displaying her curves as if begging for someone to run their hands over each and every one. She stretches back, lifts a leg, and turns herself over, letting us admire the muscles on her legs before slowly turning around on all fours, moving like a panther. She's a lioness. A goddess. And as she stands, her dance is over. She bows and departs, leaving us to shake our heads and come out of our trances. I quickly finish my drink and walk out.
---------------------
The street outside is dirty, like it always is. I hate this place, but at least it's better than the gear forest. Down there, you're always one step ahead of death. Here, you have the luxury of keeping it at arms' length. The sky is smoggy. The moon is rising, covering nearly a quarter of the sky. There's going to be meteors tonight, which is why most people are already inside. I put my hood up as I cross the street, dodging out of the way of the few humans and dwarves left outside. Then I lean against the opposite wall and wait. I wait one minute. Two. Five. Ten. Then I see her.
Lirra's street clothing is much plainer than her dancing outfit, but it still shows her off. Only one pin secures a top that reveals her shoulders, the tops of her breasts, and a swath of bare skin from her left side to her right hip. Her breeches hang loosely around her legs, slits up the sides displaying her skin as she walks.
She strolls down the street as if she owns it. I silently count to ten, then push off the wall and follow her. She doesn't appear to notice me. Nobody does. In my hooded cloak, I'm inconspicuous; a nobody. The big folks won't notice me because they never notice anyone my size unless we do something drastic. Folks my size won't notice me because they're busy going home; unless I get in their way they won't give me a second glance. I'm effectively invisible.
I trail Lirra for four blocks. During this time, my living hand drops to my waist and takes hold of the kukri handle there. The weapon is little larger than a dagger, but the curved edge is honed to a sharpness that makes it easy for the blade to cut right through flesh and muscle to the bone beneath. I continue pacing her as she turns down various back alleys and side streets. It's completely dark out now, with only faint reddish moonlight filtering through the dust.
Lirra turns into a particularly dark alley and I feel my heart begin to race. As I move into it myself, I feel my eyes adjust. Coglings don't grow up in the pitch black gear forest without developing the sharpest eyes around. Ahead of me is Lirra, about thirty paces away and moving at a good clip. My hand tightens on my kukri. I feel ready to explode.
Movement erupts ahead of me and I spring into action, but I'm too far away to act immediately. A form seems to leap out of the shadows and latch onto Lirra, a hand covering her mouth before she can scream. I sprint forward, drawing my weapon in the process.
The kukri seems to thrust itself at my target, encountering resistance before punching through and sliding into the meat. There's an angry hiss and I realize what I'm facing. It's a Kobold, maybe the one from the bar. He lets go of Lirra and turns to bite at me, but I've already pulled my kukri from him and backed off. He seems to just ignore the wound. I wonder if he's jumped up on something.
I fall into a fighting stance, kukri ready to slash, metal hand ready to grab. He moves to draw a weapon and I take my shot, jamming the kukri in between a pair of ribs and closing my hand around his jaws to shut off the scream.
He's too stupid to die. He thrashes at the end of my blade, clawing at my face, and I squeeze. The piston in my arm does its work, crushing the jaws together until I hear wet snapping sounds. Blood runs from his mouth as his teeth cut into his gums and his aborted scream becomes a wet gurgle.
I force him down, twisting my blade and ripping his lung apart. With every passing moment he offers less and less resistance. I take no chances, keeping the kukri in his chest until it finally stops moving. Then I pull it out and wipe it clean.
The business done, I look to Lirra. She's kneeling on the ground staring at the body. She looks like she's in shock. I sheath the blade and unclasp my cloak, putting it around her shoulders before pulling her to her feet.
We walk like that the rest of the way to her home. I spot only a pair of falling stars. Maybe tonight won't be so bad after all. She unlocks the door and then does something I never saw coming. She invites me in. I hesitate only long enough for the words to process, then walk inside.
It feels strange. I've been Lirra's effective bodyguard for nearly five months and I've never been inside her house. The feeling grows as she gestures me to a chair and gently looks over the scratches I got from her would-be killer. She wipes the blood away, taking more than a little grime with it. Then she does something else unexpected. She pulls off my glove, exposing the metal framework of my arm. She looks at it curiously and I wonder if she's ever seen one up close before. Even here in the Stenian Confederacy, they're rare. Then she smiles and it's so beautiful I quit thinking about the damn arm and get my mind where it should be: on this radiant woman who's nearly sitting in my lap and coming on so strong I'd have to be unconscious not to notice.
I wrap my arms around her and she willingly presses that flawless body against me, her hands entwining themselves in my hair, ignoring the grease from my daily runs into the gear forests.
In the grand scheme, I'm nothing. Neither is she. I'm just a Cogling with a short temper, no family, and no manners. She's only a girl who makes a living showing off her body for people like me who have nothing else to dream about. Neither of us is going to make any real difference in the world.
Then she presses her mouth to mine and it's all over; there's no more room for any other thoughts. Every inch of me belongs to her and at last, after so long, she's finally mine. My lioness. My goddess.
My Lirra.
