Post by Deleted on May 21, 2015 13:06:49 GMT -5
So uh, I had this random idea so I wrote it and yeah. I'd like to submit it to the NT, but I'm not really sure if it's short story material. It's not particularly exciting or funny and is pretty much just two characters having a conversation and it may be something that was only interesting in my head. I'm also concerned it comes off as self-aggrandizing. Please let me know what you think.
The Werelupe King and his owner were watching the sunset.
This was not an unusual occurrence—Isengrim spent many an evening like this during his visits to Terra’s Altadorian villa. It had become their routine, and Isengrim found comfort in the routine, especially in a world that didn’t bother to offer him much more.
They sat on a bench in the courtyard, on the open side that overlooked the sea. The sunset splayed oranges and pinks and golds across the sky, and forged a glittering path of light across the water. Ships sailed lazily to and from port, the fanciful patterns on their sails illumined like Faerie-lights by the sinking sun. A pod of Delfins broke the surface, dorsal fins slicing through the swells.
Isengrim breathed in. The salty savour of the ocean, the flowers blooming around the reflecting pool, the smell of myriad wild Petpets carried on the wind, and the comforting scent of his owner curled up next to him all rollicked together in his nose to create sheer bliss.
A new smell teased at his nostrils and made him salivate. Someone was in the kitchen, cooking something with cheese and garlic and wheat. They did spoil him here. It wasn’t often he could take the time off from running his kingdom, halfway around Neopia between Meridell and Brightvale, but when he did he relished every moment of it.
Terra was playing idly with one of his great dark paws, tracing the lines in his paw-pads and running her fingertips along the curves of his claws. Her hands were so small and pale compared to his, her fingers slender and clawless.
But he knew she had a strength that could not be measured in battle prowess. He did not quite know how to put it into words.
Isengrim remembered the first time he had seen her. She was just a trembling child at the time, and he thought little of her beyond the prestige of having an owner to call his own. Then her other Neopets had rescued her and he was left with nothing but the taunting memory of her for twelve years.
Then she had been brought to him again, and not unchanged. She was older, more sure of herself, braver. Or perhaps last time he had not known her long enough to see her bravery. She taught him so much, about having an owner, about being a king, about forgiveness and selflessness. And her caring for him was unconditional, even while she inspired him to be his best self. The way he had always wanted an owner to care for him.
For that, he felt he owed her so much more than he could ever give her. But she was content to sit and watch sunsets with him.
Isengrim looked up at the sky and grinned. Soon the heavens would darken, and he could howl her songs of moonlight and starlight, of the sweet smell of plants opening up to breathe for the night, of the heartbeat of the planet.
Terra’s grip on his paw tightened and Isengrim could smell her sudden frustration. “Isengrim,” she said.
He glanced down at her with half-closed eyes. “Mm?” he asked sleepily.
“I’m tired of Werelupes getting a bad rep.” She was glaring out at the sea. Isengrim knew that expression meant she had been thinking hard about something.
He chuckled softly. “Well, to the rest of Neopia we are monsters.”
“But why?” His owner squeezed his paw again. “I just can’t figure it out.” She looked up at him, scrutinising him. “You don’t look like monsters. You’re not deformed or mutated. You’re just larger, stronger, bipedal Lupes.”
Isengrim personally felt that he was far above being “just” a larger, stronger Lupe. He was a Werelupe. But he decided it would be wise to hold his tongue on the matter and let his owner vent.
Terra continued, “I mean, Neopet species like Skeiths and Grarrls are big and strong too, but you don’t see people going around calling them monsters.”
“They do not exactly have the best reputation, either,” Isengrim pointed out.
“Oh… yeah, that’s true.” Terra sighed. “If the definition of a ‘monster’ is something bigger and stronger than you, then that’s a lousy definition.”
The Werelupe King smiled. “People fear what they do not take the time to understand. It is sheer instinct. Most people do not care to go beyond registering if something looks like it can hurt them.”
Terra nodded. “Yeah… but c’mon, how many ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’-style Neopian Times stories are going to have to be published before people get that through their heads?” She curled and uncurled Isengrim’s fingers. “How strong you are doesn’t matter. What matters is knowing how to control your strength. Many of the largest Petpet species are also the gentlest, simply because they fully understand their strength and do not employ it unless it is needed.”
Isengrim ducked his nose to her head. “Those are very reasonable observations, but there is just one problem. You are expecting people to be reasonable when they rarely are.” He paused. “And do not discount the fact that until very recently, my pack and I made our way in this world through banditry, plundering, and extortion. Those things are not easily forgiven or forgotten.”
“But you did those things because you thought you had to,” Terra said. “You’re really a very kind person, and the other Werelupes are just as honorable and generous as you. You just… got your ideals a little mixed up and smothered, by people who should have taught you better and been more understanding.”
The Werelupe King flicked an ear at the stinging reminder of his original owner, who had created him and then abandoned him shortly afterward. At least it had enabled Isengrim to name himself, because he was fairly certain he was probably created as “lupe212374057” or some such.
He hoped his creator had been eaten by Evil Fuzzles.
For a moment he relished the thought, and then turned his attention back to his current owner, who he liked far, far better. “Yes, and if not for you we would have continued in that manner. Perhaps the true test of a monster is not their appearance, but their actions. Many a monster roams Neopia who does not possess fangs or claws—take Dr. Sloth, for instance. Or the Darkest Faerie.”
He had allied with the Darkest Faerie once, over a decade ago. It was something he had to admit he only mildly regretted. At least someone had actually wanted to ally with him for once, and he’d nearly procured Illusen’s Glade for his pack to live in.
Maybe it was just that he had a difficult time sympathizing with Illusen.
He was not very fond of Faeries.
Terra nodded. “Mm… that’s true. What bothers me is when people fail to realize that.” She laughed. “I don’t think it’ll ever stop bothering me, even though I know full well it’s inevitable.”
Isengrim wrapped a paw around her head in a hug. “That is because you are not jaded like me. Keep hoping for the good in people, Terra. It is what makes you such a precious resource in this world.”
“I will.” She looked out at the last glimmer of sun sinking below the sea. “But give yourself some credit, too. I didn’t force you to change. You did have that goodness inside of you, and you had the strength and the courage to look inside yourself and find it. I think the crucial difference between you and Dr. Sloth is that, in your time of testing, you did the right thing. That’s something he has yet to do.”
Isengrim sniffed a little at being compared to Dr. Sloth. He did admire the man’s leadership capabilities, if not his ethics. “So you are saying that the lack of a willingness to change is what truly defines a monster?”
“Yeah… I think so.” Terra grinned. “We sound like we’re putting together a mathematical formula. ‘Monster equals delta over y where y is…’” They collapsed into laughter. “I dunno.”
“Perhaps such things can’t be quantified,” Isengrim mused. “But they are good to think about.”
Terra sighed and tucked her knees under her chin. “But I think part of the problem lies in outside perception, too. A monster can change all he likes, but the outside world might still choose to see him as a monster. That’s what makes me frustrated—nobody ever gives them a chance.”
Isengrim lifted an eyebrow. “You walk a different path than most, one that few bother to even look for. You do not see things as they do. It is both boon and curse.” He could speak from experience—his own life had not exactly been fraught with social acceptance.
“But someone has to,” Terra said. “If someone doesn’t care, no one will.” She hugged his arm. “Well, I like monsters.”
The Werelupe King’s tail wagged and he rested his chin on her head. “They like you, too.”
Dusk was falling sharply, although the western clouds still glowed neon pink. Above their heads, the first stars began to peep out of the darkening sky. Isengrim recognized the familiar constellation—the asterism of six exceptionally bright stars that were always the first to be seen at nightfall. The First to Rise.
He poked a claw up at them. “In Altadorian tradition, those stars represent a Faerie, do they not?”
Terra nodded. “Siyana. One of the founders of Altador.”
“Werelupes have their own names for the star-figures.” Isengrim traced the dual arcs of three stars each. “We call those stars the Two Tails. They represent two Werelupes walking together. Perhaps they are hunting partners, or they are chasing one of the other constellations.” He smiled. “Or perhaps they are friends who truly understand each other.”
“I like that one best,” Terra said.
This was not an unusual occurrence—Isengrim spent many an evening like this during his visits to Terra’s Altadorian villa. It had become their routine, and Isengrim found comfort in the routine, especially in a world that didn’t bother to offer him much more.
They sat on a bench in the courtyard, on the open side that overlooked the sea. The sunset splayed oranges and pinks and golds across the sky, and forged a glittering path of light across the water. Ships sailed lazily to and from port, the fanciful patterns on their sails illumined like Faerie-lights by the sinking sun. A pod of Delfins broke the surface, dorsal fins slicing through the swells.
Isengrim breathed in. The salty savour of the ocean, the flowers blooming around the reflecting pool, the smell of myriad wild Petpets carried on the wind, and the comforting scent of his owner curled up next to him all rollicked together in his nose to create sheer bliss.
A new smell teased at his nostrils and made him salivate. Someone was in the kitchen, cooking something with cheese and garlic and wheat. They did spoil him here. It wasn’t often he could take the time off from running his kingdom, halfway around Neopia between Meridell and Brightvale, but when he did he relished every moment of it.
Terra was playing idly with one of his great dark paws, tracing the lines in his paw-pads and running her fingertips along the curves of his claws. Her hands were so small and pale compared to his, her fingers slender and clawless.
But he knew she had a strength that could not be measured in battle prowess. He did not quite know how to put it into words.
Isengrim remembered the first time he had seen her. She was just a trembling child at the time, and he thought little of her beyond the prestige of having an owner to call his own. Then her other Neopets had rescued her and he was left with nothing but the taunting memory of her for twelve years.
Then she had been brought to him again, and not unchanged. She was older, more sure of herself, braver. Or perhaps last time he had not known her long enough to see her bravery. She taught him so much, about having an owner, about being a king, about forgiveness and selflessness. And her caring for him was unconditional, even while she inspired him to be his best self. The way he had always wanted an owner to care for him.
For that, he felt he owed her so much more than he could ever give her. But she was content to sit and watch sunsets with him.
Isengrim looked up at the sky and grinned. Soon the heavens would darken, and he could howl her songs of moonlight and starlight, of the sweet smell of plants opening up to breathe for the night, of the heartbeat of the planet.
Terra’s grip on his paw tightened and Isengrim could smell her sudden frustration. “Isengrim,” she said.
He glanced down at her with half-closed eyes. “Mm?” he asked sleepily.
“I’m tired of Werelupes getting a bad rep.” She was glaring out at the sea. Isengrim knew that expression meant she had been thinking hard about something.
He chuckled softly. “Well, to the rest of Neopia we are monsters.”
“But why?” His owner squeezed his paw again. “I just can’t figure it out.” She looked up at him, scrutinising him. “You don’t look like monsters. You’re not deformed or mutated. You’re just larger, stronger, bipedal Lupes.”
Isengrim personally felt that he was far above being “just” a larger, stronger Lupe. He was a Werelupe. But he decided it would be wise to hold his tongue on the matter and let his owner vent.
Terra continued, “I mean, Neopet species like Skeiths and Grarrls are big and strong too, but you don’t see people going around calling them monsters.”
“They do not exactly have the best reputation, either,” Isengrim pointed out.
“Oh… yeah, that’s true.” Terra sighed. “If the definition of a ‘monster’ is something bigger and stronger than you, then that’s a lousy definition.”
The Werelupe King smiled. “People fear what they do not take the time to understand. It is sheer instinct. Most people do not care to go beyond registering if something looks like it can hurt them.”
Terra nodded. “Yeah… but c’mon, how many ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’-style Neopian Times stories are going to have to be published before people get that through their heads?” She curled and uncurled Isengrim’s fingers. “How strong you are doesn’t matter. What matters is knowing how to control your strength. Many of the largest Petpet species are also the gentlest, simply because they fully understand their strength and do not employ it unless it is needed.”
Isengrim ducked his nose to her head. “Those are very reasonable observations, but there is just one problem. You are expecting people to be reasonable when they rarely are.” He paused. “And do not discount the fact that until very recently, my pack and I made our way in this world through banditry, plundering, and extortion. Those things are not easily forgiven or forgotten.”
“But you did those things because you thought you had to,” Terra said. “You’re really a very kind person, and the other Werelupes are just as honorable and generous as you. You just… got your ideals a little mixed up and smothered, by people who should have taught you better and been more understanding.”
The Werelupe King flicked an ear at the stinging reminder of his original owner, who had created him and then abandoned him shortly afterward. At least it had enabled Isengrim to name himself, because he was fairly certain he was probably created as “lupe212374057” or some such.
He hoped his creator had been eaten by Evil Fuzzles.
For a moment he relished the thought, and then turned his attention back to his current owner, who he liked far, far better. “Yes, and if not for you we would have continued in that manner. Perhaps the true test of a monster is not their appearance, but their actions. Many a monster roams Neopia who does not possess fangs or claws—take Dr. Sloth, for instance. Or the Darkest Faerie.”
He had allied with the Darkest Faerie once, over a decade ago. It was something he had to admit he only mildly regretted. At least someone had actually wanted to ally with him for once, and he’d nearly procured Illusen’s Glade for his pack to live in.
Maybe it was just that he had a difficult time sympathizing with Illusen.
He was not very fond of Faeries.
Terra nodded. “Mm… that’s true. What bothers me is when people fail to realize that.” She laughed. “I don’t think it’ll ever stop bothering me, even though I know full well it’s inevitable.”
Isengrim wrapped a paw around her head in a hug. “That is because you are not jaded like me. Keep hoping for the good in people, Terra. It is what makes you such a precious resource in this world.”
“I will.” She looked out at the last glimmer of sun sinking below the sea. “But give yourself some credit, too. I didn’t force you to change. You did have that goodness inside of you, and you had the strength and the courage to look inside yourself and find it. I think the crucial difference between you and Dr. Sloth is that, in your time of testing, you did the right thing. That’s something he has yet to do.”
Isengrim sniffed a little at being compared to Dr. Sloth. He did admire the man’s leadership capabilities, if not his ethics. “So you are saying that the lack of a willingness to change is what truly defines a monster?”
“Yeah… I think so.” Terra grinned. “We sound like we’re putting together a mathematical formula. ‘Monster equals delta over y where y is…’” They collapsed into laughter. “I dunno.”
“Perhaps such things can’t be quantified,” Isengrim mused. “But they are good to think about.”
Terra sighed and tucked her knees under her chin. “But I think part of the problem lies in outside perception, too. A monster can change all he likes, but the outside world might still choose to see him as a monster. That’s what makes me frustrated—nobody ever gives them a chance.”
Isengrim lifted an eyebrow. “You walk a different path than most, one that few bother to even look for. You do not see things as they do. It is both boon and curse.” He could speak from experience—his own life had not exactly been fraught with social acceptance.
“But someone has to,” Terra said. “If someone doesn’t care, no one will.” She hugged his arm. “Well, I like monsters.”
The Werelupe King’s tail wagged and he rested his chin on her head. “They like you, too.”
Dusk was falling sharply, although the western clouds still glowed neon pink. Above their heads, the first stars began to peep out of the darkening sky. Isengrim recognized the familiar constellation—the asterism of six exceptionally bright stars that were always the first to be seen at nightfall. The First to Rise.
He poked a claw up at them. “In Altadorian tradition, those stars represent a Faerie, do they not?”
Terra nodded. “Siyana. One of the founders of Altador.”
“Werelupes have their own names for the star-figures.” Isengrim traced the dual arcs of three stars each. “We call those stars the Two Tails. They represent two Werelupes walking together. Perhaps they are hunting partners, or they are chasing one of the other constellations.” He smiled. “Or perhaps they are friends who truly understand each other.”
“I like that one best,” Terra said.
