My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts
The squirrel-turned-rat struggled in place, but he couldn't drag the clay back into his body fast enough. The monk was getting ready to strike - as easily as one might step on a spider. Funny; if they missed his head, he'd be fine. But then again, if they hit him and found no blood.. well, he might be in even more trouble for that. Surely, though - if he showed that he could talk, they'd see that he wasn't some common rodent? Or, in fact, a rodent at all.
His plan was perfect - utterly fool-proof. Except for the fool that just happened to interrupt him, before he'd managed a word, to claim.. not only that he wasn't a squirrel. But she had the sheer nerve, the arrogance to dare claim that he was an invention! An object! A possession that she had made?! It was outrageous. And in his fits of barely-contained anger, the clay that made up the Pycons mass rapidly reformed itself to its 'baser' origin, of a squirrel. He didn't have the concentration to keep it in the state. Now, he was just a very, very petched-off squirrel. At least the monks didn't seem to have noticed - the small crowd was now almost totally fixated on this new interruption.
"What're you petching talkin' 'bout, you daft girl, look at it! That's a petchin' squirrel if I ever see one!" He wasn't any more, but the monk still gestured widely to the small form on the floor - her face pulled into one of those stereotypical Nykan scowls. "If you wanna' make affront to all's natural 'n' true, be my guest - don't let'em on the streets no longer!" It was around this point in the conversation, though, when everything went silent. Or at least, all of the monks did. Because now the squirrel was talking. And it wasn't some high, squeaky voice like the voice parents put on for their children when reading some fairytale. It was borderline baritone, and quite loud - mainly because he was shouting quite loud.
"Get your petching hands off me!" He snapped at the projected hand, even if he couldn't actually do much damage to it, before spinning around to the crowd. "And I ain't no rat, and I ain't no rodent! I'm a Pycon! 'Been traveling through Nyka, but I shaln't again if I get beaten to a pulp, just because I went out for an evening stroll!" The crowd had to make a bit of an opening when, all of a sudden, he launched himself straight for the monk that still had the rather large, heavy stick poised over his head, and sunk straight between his ankles. He didn't have time for this - all he'd wanted was a little bit of entertainment - now he'd probably managed to annoy half of Nyka and draw some very unwanted attention to himself. A very quick, nimble run through the crowds as they struggled to make room for the small clay blur whizzing at full speed between them, and he was down the street and around the corner. Sometimes, making use of all four paws made good of a speedy escape route. And, hopefully, he could put all of this horrible ordeal behind him.
That voider, though. Oh yes, he remembered that face. If he saw her again, he was going to do something fierce. How dare she? How dare she claim him as if he was something to claim?!
