Skinwalker Ch. 0 - Thursday
THIS CHAPTER IS RATED GENERAL. MOVIE RATING PG-13. This chapter contains: groggy roommates comic mischief gratuitous Russian
Chapter 0 of a series I'll be starting up. It'll continue when enough interest is generated.
The basic premise is simple, so I won't go into it, the format is not, so I will.
- Each chapter is going to come in three sections. F, C, and A. --F is for Fiction, and it represents an in-universe fictional story written for one of the personae the Skinwalker can adopt. ---These will be mostly determined by popular vote in the form of comments on the sites I'm posting links to. Comments on the work itself are acceptable for now, though I may disable that at my discretion. --R is for Reality, and represents the 'canon' story. Each chapter will be told from the perspective of someone around the main character. ---These are fixed. I decide whose perspective to use based on what I think will be most interesting or appealing. --A is for Annotation, and represents the thoughts and opinions of the various personae. ---Each annotation will note who's making the observation if appropriate.
So far, all the Human characters' names are stand-ins, so what I want from you folks is this: Human names (preferably European or North American in origin.); The persona to use as the focus of Ch 1-F; Feedback for the style and concept.
--EDIT-- It has come to my attention that the Google Docs thing will not, in fact, work. Story follows.
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Ch. 0 - Thursday
I woke up to the click-click-click of a socket wrench coming from the living room, and a glance at my alarm clock told me it was red-erm, four thirty-five in the morning. On a Thursday when I had school the nex-er...in like, four hours.
Bloody idiot, what IS he thinking. Wait, which bloody idiot is it? A quick glance around the room told me Tom was still in his bed, which left...
"Drew..." I muttered in a half-daze as I disengaged myself from the sheets, nuisances they were, I swear, shoved on a pair of slippers, such as they were, and shuffled blearily to my half-closed door- got to remember to tell Tom off for that again- to see what could possibly require ratcheting at red thirty five.
In the living room was a bicycle, sans chain, supported on its handlebars while the gear...thing in the back was being worked on by an anthropomorphic ferret. I only know the word 'anthropomorphic' at red thirty si-seven because Drew, who I'm still assuming is the ferret in question, whoever that is, has pounded it into my head from all the...actually, I should probably start over.
You see, the thing about Drew is that he is a bit Different. Capital 'D'. Not like a morning person is different from everyone else in the world, or like a plumber is different from a fighter pilot. Different like a staircase is different from a rock wall. The same basic concepts are there: They're both angular, both go up and down, and both have a pretty decent chance to be flat on the top, but then again they aren't exactly the same.
In the same way, he has the same basics, a mother, a father, sisters, two arms, two legs, a head, a basic vocabulary, a pulse, but what's different is that those arms are frequently covered in fur, his legs are digitigrade half the time, and he has a tendency to be someone else every time I see him.
I dunno when it started or how, he's always been cagey about that. Hell, I only know he can do it because he'd been caught too many times to even try hiding it. At least from roommates. To my understanding, it's something to do with his writing, and he turns into his characters, or something like that.
Point is, he keeps changing into other people, and it's rare for him to be in his own skin when he's around here. Right now he seems to be some sort of ferret thing, and I'm trying to remember his name. "Myut..?" I venture, It takes him a moment to respond, and when he does he makes a show of looking more confused and surprised than anything.
"Mute? Nyet, I talk just fine." The ferret says in a perceptible accent. He chuckles, as if that were terribly funny, then goes on with "Alexander is my ????. My brother. You call him by Myut, though this is not his name. I am Alexei."
Ugh. Freaking three ferrets now. And this one is apparently a doppelganger for another one. Joy. I'm going to have to clock Drew sometime. He's already gone back to working on the bicycle, humming some song or another.
"Right, look, do you know what time it is?" I say, making a valiant effort to get all the words out right, considering the time.
"Is four thirty eight, yes?" He replies without looking up. "Your 'Drew' he could not sleep, so he calls me. I come, and see what needs fixing. Right now it is this bike. In twenty five minutes it will be the oven."
The sheer absurdity of most of that is...it just...It's just one of those things you'll have to take for granted, okay? Anyway, it takes me a few seconds to rally my brain into action again. "Drew,-" I start, but he cuts me off with.
"Alexei."
"Alexei," I graciously concede, "it's four thirty in the morning, I have school in a few hours, Tom has work a couple hours after that, and we really need to sleep. Can you maybe go fix things quietly?"
"Oh, da, yes. Apologies for the noise. I will go onto the balcony to fix this, and I will wait until you are awake for the oven."
A thought occurs to me while he starts talking again, and to confirm it I ask "Wait, do you usually sleep well, Alexei?"
"I sleep well enough, yes. Unless I drink too much, or eat too much."
"Did he maybe 'call' you so that you could do that for him?"
The little ferret finally pauses in his work, and it's like a lightbulb lit up in his head.
"This could be, yes. In fact, this seems likely. I will finish with this bike, and then go try to nap. After shower, of course." he says, holding up one grubby hand-paw-thing and wriggling the digits by way of explanation. I hope Drew has some serious soap in his bathroom.
"Thank you." I say, then I turn and slip back into my room, close the door, pull the blankets over my head, and try to ignore the tink-tink-tink of metal tools being gathered up.