Klaus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wholeworldoutthere) wrote2012-07-21 08:00 pm
wholeworldoutthere) wrote2012-07-21 08:00 pm
Entry tags:
Yellow Eyes (Narnia Plot)
Klaus still feels the taste of Caroline's lip gloss when he is teleported down to the surface. He knows this world. Not well, but he has heard of it. Impossible not to, when you've lived through the fifties, but at least there is no bloody wardrobe.
He leaves the others to the riddles their communicators instructed them to solve, and heads out of the city, away from the imposing castle. Narnians everywhere, not humans, and he has to wonder what a centaur or a faun would taste like. With the compulsion so unstable, his best move is to put some distance between him and the rest of the party, and he expects he'll meet many surprising creatures in the countryside.
He might remember a few things about this world, but he didn't remember that animals could talk. He is reminded when he walks by a pasture with a few horses, and they greet him politely. It takes him a second, but then he wishes them a good day, and hurries off. He has no intention of feeding on horses, after all.
His second meeting with talking animals goes much better. The creature's skin is as green as her garments, as green as the leaves of the silver birch she climbs down from. She looks wary, for a second, but then shakes it off. A mistake, Klaus thinks, better listen to your instincts, and he's on her the next moment.
His fangs pierce her neck as he wraps an arm around her middle, keeps her close. The flow of warm, living blood hits his palate with a flavour he's never encountered before. Just a few sips and his knees are this short of buckling under him, and he feels as if all of the forest around him were coming alive, truly alive. If the dryad - what else could she be - is struggling against him, he barely notices, savouring the fresh, warm, insane blood that he drinks from her, that is hitting his system and making him want to scream and laugh. His skin is too tight and buzzing and his heart is thudding hard enough he thinks it might break out of his ribcage, and when he pulls back and lets go of the dryad, she drops on the forest ground like so much dead weight. But Klaus knows better. He's aware of too much (almost literally too much) not to know that she is alive, as alive as the trees all around them. She will recover, and he caught her from behind; she did not see his face. No need to end her life.
So Klaus just stands there, and breathes, and tries not to be overwhelmed, tries to welcome it all in.
There is a growl behind him, and a squeak, and he whips around, leaves so vibrant, trunks full of life, everything too much, too bright, too vibrant and too sharp, too blurry and too much, and there are two animals. The squirrel is flattened on the floor by the paw of the wolf, who is looking at Klaus with deadly yellow eyes.
Klaus growls back at him, his features still changed into that of the hybrid he is (he's not sure he could change back for now, not with that blood in his system): yellow eyes on yellow eyes, fangs gleaming through the blood. He growls back at the wolf, and it's less of a challenge and more of a statement of fact: I am alpha.
"He was going to go and squeak to the next dryad he could find," the wolf says, meaning the squirrel who's stopped struggling under his paw, and is trying to play dead, hoping that it will save him.
It won't.
"Let's go find your pack," Klaus answers, and the wolf nods his head in acknowledgement, and ends the squirrel's life.
When he gets back to the station, after a few days, Klaus goes through withdrawal. He's tried on many other creatures in the meantime, helped along by the pack of wolves he took over after killing their current alpha with nothing but his fangs and his bare hands. It was barely a choice; with that many animals in the land, rumours about him would have spread far too quickly if it hadn't been for the pack looking out for him. The wolves also kept him away from creatures too dangerous to drink from, or situations too volatile, and thanks to their advice and assistance, he made it through his stay mostly unharmed. What few wounds he got were easily healed by such potent blood as he found in this world.
He's tried centaur blood, and it made him dream of long gallops in the grass. He's tried naiad blood, and it made him dream of the neverending life of water, water of life, rushing through him forever more. He's tried faun blood and it made him dream dreams of peace, and he's tried minotaur blood and it made him dream dreams of war. He's tried maenad blood and it made him dream of dancing to the rhythm of his own pulse, and the pulse of the world.
When he gets back to the station, Klaus goes through withdrawal. He shakes and begs Caroline to find him more, as if she could, and his dreams are dark, twisted things he wakes up from drenched and shivering.
And in Narnia, the tale spreads of the wolf man, neither wolf nor werewolf, come from another world, that fed on the blood of others and was gone as quickly as he arrived. Some say that Aslan vanquished him, others that he went back to the Wood Between The Worlds, and to his own. It's a little bit of the latter, but not quite.
He leaves the others to the riddles their communicators instructed them to solve, and heads out of the city, away from the imposing castle. Narnians everywhere, not humans, and he has to wonder what a centaur or a faun would taste like. With the compulsion so unstable, his best move is to put some distance between him and the rest of the party, and he expects he'll meet many surprising creatures in the countryside.
He might remember a few things about this world, but he didn't remember that animals could talk. He is reminded when he walks by a pasture with a few horses, and they greet him politely. It takes him a second, but then he wishes them a good day, and hurries off. He has no intention of feeding on horses, after all.
His second meeting with talking animals goes much better. The creature's skin is as green as her garments, as green as the leaves of the silver birch she climbs down from. She looks wary, for a second, but then shakes it off. A mistake, Klaus thinks, better listen to your instincts, and he's on her the next moment.
His fangs pierce her neck as he wraps an arm around her middle, keeps her close. The flow of warm, living blood hits his palate with a flavour he's never encountered before. Just a few sips and his knees are this short of buckling under him, and he feels as if all of the forest around him were coming alive, truly alive. If the dryad - what else could she be - is struggling against him, he barely notices, savouring the fresh, warm, insane blood that he drinks from her, that is hitting his system and making him want to scream and laugh. His skin is too tight and buzzing and his heart is thudding hard enough he thinks it might break out of his ribcage, and when he pulls back and lets go of the dryad, she drops on the forest ground like so much dead weight. But Klaus knows better. He's aware of too much (almost literally too much) not to know that she is alive, as alive as the trees all around them. She will recover, and he caught her from behind; she did not see his face. No need to end her life.
So Klaus just stands there, and breathes, and tries not to be overwhelmed, tries to welcome it all in.
There is a growl behind him, and a squeak, and he whips around, leaves so vibrant, trunks full of life, everything too much, too bright, too vibrant and too sharp, too blurry and too much, and there are two animals. The squirrel is flattened on the floor by the paw of the wolf, who is looking at Klaus with deadly yellow eyes.
Klaus growls back at him, his features still changed into that of the hybrid he is (he's not sure he could change back for now, not with that blood in his system): yellow eyes on yellow eyes, fangs gleaming through the blood. He growls back at the wolf, and it's less of a challenge and more of a statement of fact: I am alpha.
"He was going to go and squeak to the next dryad he could find," the wolf says, meaning the squirrel who's stopped struggling under his paw, and is trying to play dead, hoping that it will save him.
It won't.
"Let's go find your pack," Klaus answers, and the wolf nods his head in acknowledgement, and ends the squirrel's life.
When he gets back to the station, after a few days, Klaus goes through withdrawal. He's tried on many other creatures in the meantime, helped along by the pack of wolves he took over after killing their current alpha with nothing but his fangs and his bare hands. It was barely a choice; with that many animals in the land, rumours about him would have spread far too quickly if it hadn't been for the pack looking out for him. The wolves also kept him away from creatures too dangerous to drink from, or situations too volatile, and thanks to their advice and assistance, he made it through his stay mostly unharmed. What few wounds he got were easily healed by such potent blood as he found in this world.
He's tried centaur blood, and it made him dream of long gallops in the grass. He's tried naiad blood, and it made him dream of the neverending life of water, water of life, rushing through him forever more. He's tried faun blood and it made him dream dreams of peace, and he's tried minotaur blood and it made him dream dreams of war. He's tried maenad blood and it made him dream of dancing to the rhythm of his own pulse, and the pulse of the world.
When he gets back to the station, Klaus goes through withdrawal. He shakes and begs Caroline to find him more, as if she could, and his dreams are dark, twisted things he wakes up from drenched and shivering.
And in Narnia, the tale spreads of the wolf man, neither wolf nor werewolf, come from another world, that fed on the blood of others and was gone as quickly as he arrived. Some say that Aslan vanquished him, others that he went back to the Wood Between The Worlds, and to his own. It's a little bit of the latter, but not quite.