Solo Don't Be Cowed

[Gomer Caitiff]

Winter 52, 517 AV...

Between the chaos of everyone calling out numbers and actually trying to pay the coin needed to race, Gomer found himself pushed and shoved right up against the fence, were a placid, disinterested beast slowly chewed its cud. Small wisps of steam rose from its nostrils, its deep, milky eyes staring right into his. Finding he would very much like to try to ride a cow after all, he added his voice to the ruckus, careful not to pull out his money until someone came to gather it, helping him up and over the fence.

As the landed lightly on his feet, the cow turned its head toward him, regarding him as one might a fly, flicking its ears and lazily swishing its tail. Somewhere, there were calls for the racers to ready themselves, and Gomer moved to stand directly in front of his new ally. Staring straight into the thing's eyes, Gomer gave a firm nod of his head. "Let's do our best, cow."

It gave no indication it cared much for his encouragement, but as one of the farmhands came to help Gomer lead it towards the rest of the group, it let out a loud sneeze, shaking its head and sending a quiver down the length of its massive body. Realizing the general lack of order that he had paid his way into, he glanced around at the others who had climbed, jumped, and fallen over the fence. Some had already mounted their cows and were looking confusedly at one another for lack of anything to hold on to. Others had begun stretching, as if they were going to race the cows themselves, not race on the cows. Those, like Gomer, who had yet to mount their beasts, were given a short, tension building countdown.

Having never ridden another living creature before, Gomer wasn't sure how to go about getting astride the disinterested animal. With a small grunt of effort, he jumped as high as he could, gripping onto the other side of the animal'ss surprisingly coarse body as it let out a low, annoyed low. "There, there." He puffed through the effort of scrambling up onto the cow's back, "See? All done. All-"

With a surprising clang of what Gomer could only imagine as that of a gong, most of the cows - his included - were off. Some of beasts even let out battle cries of varying intensities, their moos quite startling. Having nothing else to grab onto and reacting with panicked reflex as his mount jerked forward, Gomer latched onto the cow's ears and tried his best to grip the its side with his knees. He could feel the animal try to shake him off, quite obviously unhappy to be manhandled in such a way, and Gomer tucked himself against the its back, slipping his fingers from its ears and wrapping his arms as far around the ridiculously large neck as he could.

His new position a bit better for both of them, he quickly realized why one saddled horses. The boney spine dug into him in all the wrong places, and the jarring gait of the cow's impressive speed knocked him about like child's favorite ball. Unable to see much beyond the thin, prickly brown hairs of the cow's side, he opted to shut his eyes for the first handful of ticks after he had managed a wobbling confidence that he would not fall if he did so.

When he began to feel some of the terror abate, he finally let his eyes open, lifting his head to squint around at the scene around him. About half of the riders had disappeared off the backs of their respective cows, running behind them with shouts and hollars. Others were much in the same state Gomer had been, eyes clenched tight and mouths opened wide, a mixture of fear and excitement in their wild shouts. Some sat up-right, actually riding the things and, from what Gomer could tell, somehow goading their mounts to run faster than the break-neck speed his had kept since the gong had sounded.

As cold wind whipped his hair into a stinging frenzy, Gomer drew a gasping breath and tightened his grip around his cow. Having to shout at the top of his lungs to even hear himself, he tried to get his cow's attention, "Do you-" Even speaking normally would have been a feat with the manner in which each heavy gallop knocked the wind out of his chest. "Do you think you can- can catch those ones- ones up ahead?" He tried to point, but the moment his grip loosened, he felt the tentative stability he had astride the cow's back immediately begin to crumble. Quickly gripping the muscular mass of flesh once more, Gomer left it up to his words, not wanting to risk plummeting to his death - or more likely a painful, bruised existence from which he would pine for the sweet release of death.

Whether his cow understood him or not, the pace increased, and he could feel the powerful lungs expand and deflate beneath him. "G-good work!" His words were pulled out of his mouth like loose teeth, trailing off into gods knew were. They passed another barnacle of a man, who shot Gomer a panicked but driven glare as he pushed himself more upright to try to better influence his beast. Instead, he popped up into the air as his ride ran out from underneath him, sending him careening into the ground with a surprised shout as he frantically rolled out of the way of a pair of bellowing hooves.

"Right then..." He whispered to himself, gripping his cow tighter than ever before. At some point, somewhere between the first thrill of terror when they had taken off and just before he'd personally witnessed the other man's crash, he had held a fiery desire to win. Now, however, he merely wanted to survive.

Purchases-7 GM for race and cow ride

[Gomer Caitiff]

As they began to turn with the curve of the field, Gomer felt himself slipping. Scrambling with his knees and feet to try to find better purchase, one of his boots dipped down a bit too far. He felt the cow's leg smack into the flat of his foot, and the animal let out a surprised snort, tossing its head side to side. The motion broke Gomer's grip, and he felt his torso snap backwards as his arms flailed out on either side of him. Fortunately, as he felt his thighs threatend to tear in two, he was able to keep himself atop the cow long enough to pull his arms back, grasping helplessly at a small tuft of hair that came to a point between the its shoulders and before the start of its neck.

Much less secure than he had been, Gomer shouted a frantic, "M-maybe slow- slow down a b-bit?" but, if anything, the cow's speed increased, leaving him cursing his own impotency. Afraid to return to his hugging cling, certain his legs wouldn't be able to withstand another upset like before, he chanced his up right position, fingers gripping the coarse hairs with a white knuckled determination. He didn't want to fall, but he was beginning to come to terms with the seeming eventuality of it. If it was to be, he steeled himself to enjoy the ride.

With a loud shout, Gomer moved his boot a bit lower so that it knocked against the cow's leg, and they sped off ever faster. He could already feel the start of a bruise in the most inconvenient of places, and he tried to better match the bounce of his body with that of his cow. It worked somewhat, making things marginally less painful, but it didn't do much to help the jarring clatter of his bones. Rather than focusing on the pain, Gomer squinted against the wind, the flame of competition returning to him as he set his sights on a dark beast with a proper looking rider.

"Hiyah!" Caught up in a sudden burst of adrenaline, Gomer goaded his cow forward, leaning down to encouragingly slap its side. As they neared the other rider, Gomer grinned wide, the wind bitingly cold against the trails of sweat that had begun to form at the edges of his face. His competition grinned in reply, and the two of them took off neck and neck, the ground shaking beneath the heavy, relentless advance of the cows.

He kept his eye on the other man, not caring to watch where they were going as he didn't know how to steer them in first place. The man, who seemed to know what he was doing, dug his heels into his cow's side, eliciting a response of increased speed. Still slightly bent forward, primarily using his knees both to remained attached to his mount and to keep himself slightly elevated off of the cow's back in an attempt to maintain a small padding of air between his body and the beast's cursed spine, Gomer found gently prodding his mount's back legs had as close to a similar result as he could manage. Though, it seemed to aggravate his own cow far more than when the man's heels dug into his.

From the moment the gong had sounded to the whipping bite of the wind rushing past his ears, Gomer had forgotten the crowd. So focused had he first been on not falling, then not dying, and now not losing to his chosen opponent, he could not hear the cheering and jeering from those who had gathered. It was just the four of them: himself and his cow, and the man and his.

They completed the turn, the lumbering beasts picking up speed as they headed straight down the path towards what seemed to be the finish line. Neither of them had been able to pull past the other, and Gomer's grip on his cow was tighter than ever as he loosened his hands, leaning down and taking a chance as he wrapped his arms around the beast's neck once more. Testing out how well he could hold on with just his left arm and right hand, he began to draw in shallow, calming breaths.

Most of the terror had since subsided, and his desire to win had only mounted with each thundering step his cow had taken. In Alvadas, one used whatever one had available to get the job done, and Gomer had yet to play his final card. With a good stretch yet to go, Gomer focused his thoughts on his astral body, on the millions of tiny threads woven throughout his bones and flesh, tying his soul to the mortal world.

With some haste, he began to unravel them, starting at his wrist and moving outward. He and his cow began to lag some as he unstitched the threads and strings that held him together, but he took a short break to lower his foot and scare his cow faster, gritting his teeth as he struggled to maintain his hold on both the cow and the mental image. With just the tips of his fingers left, and the finished racers now in sight, standing on either side and greeting them with cheers, Gomer finally felt the last of his sensations leave his hand.

Quickly, and with only glimpsing a short peek to the side so as not to betray himself, he flung his hand to his left. It collided with an invisible slap against the other cow's wide face, eliciting a surprise low as it turned in agitation. Its rider let out a dismayed cry as Gomer rushed ahead laughing, clinging tightly to his steed as they crossed the finish line before their competition.

His mirth, however, was quickly cut short as his cow continued to plow onward, and Gomer called back his hand at as quick as pace as it would go, still trailing behind them from the strain he could feel against his wrist were he had detached it from. With a concerned series of "Wait!" and "No, no!" the cow finally came to a sudden, jarring halt, sending Gomer gracefully careening over its head.

It was as if the world moved at half its speed. He could see, quite clearly, the little hairs that stuck out like whiskers along his cow's soft black nose. Its eyes met his with the same, deep indifference it had looked at him with before, only now Gomer could see his own panicked, wide-eyed reflection in them as he reached the peak of his arch and began to descend.

[Gomer Caitiff]

A bank of snow broke his fall, keeping him from breaking anything else, but the impact was more than enough to knock the wind from his lungs and set stars in his eyes. He felt a dull throb start at the bottom of his neck where a good portion of his weight had been diverted, but otherwise he was alright. The cow stared languidly down at him, its heaving sides and steaming nostrils the only indication that had just raced madly around a track with a human clinging to its back.

Struggling to free himself from the snow and his awkward position, Gomer wriggled about, his astral hand finally catching up with him but, in his current state, simply hovering nearby as he wanted to be free of the chilly hill before reattaching his phantom limb. With a snort, the darker cow he had raced against joined him, its rider grinning sastifactorily down at him, "Good race, sport."

"Uh. Yes. And you." Kicking his legs to force his feet up and over his head, Gomer bent his body in half, setting the toes of his boots on the ground and using his good hand to push himself the rest of the way to his feet. Shaking the snow out of his hair and brushing off his shirt with the back of his hand, Gomer grinned up at the still mounted man. "Very close."

"Mm." He pat his cow on the head as he dismounted with an expected gracefulness. "If she wouldnt've been spooked, I think we would've won."

"Quite likely." Gomer nodded sagaciously, though his lips retained their characteristic upward curve. As the man offered a final nod of his head and began to guide his cow away, Gomer pulled his floating hand back, getting ready to reattach it.

Quietly muttering "Tips to trunk." as he smiled one last time at his cow in farewell, he began to thread the delicate strings through the tips of his fingers, working from the farthest point towards the rest of his body. The mental image was a bit difficult to maintain with the dull beat of a headache beginning to form, but he went slowly, finding a quiet spot a little ways off from the other racers to gently massage the feeling back with his good hand.

As the threads steadily began to weave their way back through him, Gomer let the magic move along the familiar paths, keeping the images firmly in his mind but allowing his eyes to wander. Most of those who had managed to stay on their cows had finished, some still sat astride them laughing and chatting with those on the ground. Several people were being carried off of the track in varying states of injury, but as far as Gomer could tell, no one had died.

With the hand reconnected, he flexed his fingers, catching the eye of a sweaty, bloody woman. Her condition, from what he could see, was much worse to look at than it actually was: a bruised cut on her head had bleed rather profusely, coating a good portion of her face before she'd managed to staunch the flow with a strip of cloth done up in a makeshift bandage. A ruddy handful of snow in her hands from what Gomer presumed to have been the act of scrubbing at her face, he gave him a friendly smile, calling him over with an explanatory, "Fell of the damned cow."

"You don't say." Gomer grinned, flinching just a bit as his head reminded him he was also not without his own injuries. "How far along were you?"

The woman let out a loud, frustrated sigh, using the snow exactly as Gomer had suspected she might, pressing it to her face and scouring the partially dried blood away. "Maybe... about there?" She pointed to a short distance from the finish line, around where Gomer had interfered with his opponent. "Did you know cows trip?"

Letting out a surprised snicker and the woman matched him with one of her own. "So you fell together then?"

"Yeah, something like that." She shook her head, pressing the snow against were the cloth covered the cut. "Petched up my chance at the prize money." There was a light-hearted disappointment in her voice. "Still, I think I'll hone my cow riding skills for the next one."

"Oh yes." Gomer winked knowingly at her, sharing in her mirth, "You'd best train for next year." Repetition in a city that was never the same was joke in and of itself, and the two of them grinned. In the crowd, someone called out and the woman, who's face was more or less cleaned from the worst of the blood, inclined her head to him.

"Take care. I expect to you see in top shape next year."

"And you." Gomer waved her off, wiggling his fingers both playfully and to double check he'd done the connection correctly. A bit off on speed, it felt as if he was pushing them through water. Taking the hand in his other he began to rub some warmth back into him as he headed for the fence's gate.

[Gomer Caitiff]

Making his way through the still swelling crowd as the second round of races was announced to start within the next half bell, when he finally managed to stumble free from the roiling mass of eager chatter and elbows, he found himself alone in a narrow ally lightly dusted with a fresh coating of snow. Glancing behind him, he saw no sign of the farmers and their cows, nor the crowd, only a equally cramped, cooked path.

When he turned back to face his front, there were foot prints in the snow, small and slim, that had not been there before. Frowning down at them in examination, Gomer couldn't tell much: just that they most likely belonged to a large child, a small woman, or a man with very dainty slippers rather than a boot. Seeing as how the city had literally laid intrigue right at his feet, Gomer proceeded forward, keeping his eyes sharp as his lips turned up in an excited grin.

The little alley was comprised of sharp turns, some so angled that it was more a labyrinth than a side street, and while there were occasional branches along the way, the footsteps remained crisp and clear, silently guiding him. The longer he traced the tracks, the greater his sense of foreboding began to swell. In spite of the faint headache that had settled in around his temples and the base of where his head connected with his neck, he felt something else there, something lurking and ominous.

Flexing his fingers on both hands, he began to call into his mind's eye the extensive network of shimmering threads that comprised his astral body. This time, the strings began to unravel along both wrists, moving in a synchronized, practiced dance as he slowed his already cautious pace. Whatever was ahead, his magic was the only thing he had to defend himself; if, for whatever reason, he needed to protect himself, fighting with his own, physical hands would have about the same effect as if there was no soul attached to them anyway. It was better to be prepared.

As he neared the next corner, his hands nearly unwoven from the rest of him, he heard a sharp, piercing scream. It was almost bird-like, and loud enough to have come from just around the other side of the wall. Not quite ready to jump into trouble, the gossamer threads still tightly strung through his fingers, Gomer sidled up to the edge of the corner, his back pressed against the cool brick as he drew a quiet, steadying breath.

He listened closely in the silence that followed, the process of his unravelling taking even longer as his mind fumbled with two delicate tasks at once. From what he could tell with his split focus, nothing had proceeded the scream, not even the quiet breath of panic or the source of what might have caused the scream in the first place.

Threads finally coming free and astral hands drifting to hover a short distance in front of his physical ones, Gomer nodded once to himself before cautiously peeking around the corner. To his mix of surprise and relief, there was no one there. Stepping out into what seemed to be a small plaza, Gomer glanced down at the ground, discovering that the foot prints came to a clear stop at about the middle of the empty, snow covered square.

The only other particularly peculiarity there was an elegant looking parasol lying a hand's toss away from there the foot prints had stopped, a light dusting of snow covering its lacy, crimson fabric. A section of the canopy had collapsed, the wooden ribs splintered, but as Gomer took a curious step toward it with the intention of investigating it closer, the scream sounded again, this time as if the woman were standing right in front of him.

Blinking, confused and searching, Gomer felt his knees naturally bend at the ready. "Hallo-oh?" He called out, his tone uncertain but attempting to be friendly. "Is anyone... here?"

"Not just anyone."

Not prepared to hear a voice from behind him, Gomer, who had been preparing to make a comment about the weather to both help calm his nerves and, jokingly prove to himself the scream had just been that of one of the city's wicked little jokes, reflexively released a startled yelp, stumbling forward and twisting around. His arms remained at his side with his physical hands hanging limp like tassels, but his astral hands curled into ready fists.

Immediately, he felt far less afraid and far more annoyed as he found there was nothing but a blank wall behind him. Using what information about the situation he had available for him, Gomer blindly thrust his invisible hands forward, checking his theory with experimentation. Within a half tick, he felt them collide with something cold and dead - a ghost if he had any sense at all. The moment he made contact, he felt the sharp bite of teeth on the meaty part of his left palm that connected to his thumb. He let out an astonished yip, pulling both hands back and instinctively shaking the left - though it didn't really do much for the pain.

"What in world-" He began his reprimand but was sharply interrupted by the ghost, her voice smooth, silky, and wholly unamused.

"It is rude to lay hands upon a lady without her consent, bag of flesh." Still having yet to reveal herself, Gomer's best guess to the woman's location was a safe distance from the immediate reach of his magic. As she spoke, her voice moved, suggesting she was circling him - or perhaps moving side to side, like some sort of incorporeal pendulum.

With the chill of the city's weather of choice, he had not noticed the slight drop in temperature, though now that he knew what he was dealing with, he imagined it did feel colder than it had before - whether it was a trick of his own confirming bias or an objective fact, he had no real way of knowing, not that he cared all that much in the moment. "Ah, yes. Well." He let his astral hands open in a sign of peace, voice a bit sheepish and still rightly disorganized, the comment about his flesh curling his lips into a muted, mirthful smirk in spite of himself. "I ask forgiveness for my boorishness, Lady...?"

"Just 'Lady' will do fine. 'Your Lady', to be precise. And stop breathing so loudly, you'll get your disgusting decay all over me." If it were possible for the woman to sound more condescending than she had before, she managed it.

"Your Lady, then." He offered a polite bow. When he rose, he kept his face forward, no longer trying to espy where she was by her voice but rather trying to get her to reveal herself of her own accord through conversation. The manner in which she spoke down to him suggested she was an older spirit - or one prone to classical theatrics, which was essentially the same thing as far as he was concerned -, and Gomer found himself wishing, not for the first time, he had been able to retain more than useless, trivial tidbits from his extensive history lessons. "Might she with whom I speak grace my eyes with her presence?"

"She..." Her words drifted, thoughtful consideration in her tone. "...might not."

[Gomer Caitiff]

Caught off guard, Gomer answered with a lame, "What?"

"Need I repeat myself, little corpse to be?" She had laughter, somewhere, in her voice, though he knew better than to think her amused with him.

"No, no that's quite all right, Your Lady." He cleared his throat, finding that trying to get her to show herself wasn't worth expending any further effort. Already, he could feel his astral hands no longer light as air. He had time to spare, but it was better not to push himself if he didn't need to - though for the moment, he made no sign that his fatigue had started, not wanting the woman to see it as an opportunity for something more sinister than name calling and luring strangers down twisting paths. "May I ask a question of you?"

"Have you not already?" Her sigh was purely theatrical, as it was not as if she were a breathing thing, but it provided a very clear indication of her thinning patience.

Testing his luck, Gomer tried her, keeping his voice as unassuming and polite as he could manage while speaking to, essentially, the empty air. "Were you she who screamed earlier?"

"Absolutely not." He could hear the indignant reproach in her voice, and the image of a disgusted Madara quickly popped into his mind. "She would be the unfortunate meat popsicle behind you."

"Who-" Turning around, Gomer found himself standing over an unconscious young woman dressed in an expensive looking gown of crimson silk, embroidered with golden thread and an exact match to the parasol that lay beneath her. Where there had once been nothing but empty snow, she now lay with her long lashes cast over her pink, chilled cheeks. From beneath the dress poked a pair of dainty, slipper clad feet.

"Well? Are you going to clean this all up or not?" He could almost hear her foot tapping impatiently.

"Clean... Is she dead?" Gomer's astral hands moved forward, things too confusing for him to feel at ease enough to reattach them, and pressed the back of his right hand against the woman's cheek. Though cold, he didn't need to feel for anything else as she stirred slightly from the touch alone. He let out a relieved, "Oh." but the ghost didn't seem quite so pleased.

"Well, she should be dead for screaming like a madwoman in my garden." She huffily added in her condescendingly commanding manner, "Take her away this instant."

"Right, well," Finding he had no way to assist the woman with two useless hands, he mentally tugged at his threads, pulling them back through his fingers as he began to reattach them.

The ghost let out an annoyed groan. "Can't you do that unsightly thing somewhere else?"

"It won't be but a chime longer, Your Lady. I entreat you be patient."

There was a short pause before she replied with a faintly haughty, "It's fortunate my tolerance for lesser beings is nothing short of legendary. But it does wear thin."

He was starting to believe the the ghost was all bark and no bite, but with the unconscious woman to take care of, he preferred the ghost keep at her narcissistic slights rather than doing anything legitimately dangerous. Carefully weaving the treads back into their proper places, he took a couple extra ticks to make sure everything was in place before tying it all together. He could feel the strain his magic had left in his bones as his senses once more returned, but he brushed it off for the moment.

Kneeling down, he began to gather up the woman in his arms, but paused as he was interrupted by an impertinent, "Take this with you." The broken parasol was neatly dropped into the woman's lap, and he was free to finish his task. Gritting his teeth against the strain of lifting another human being's dead weight - even if she were shorter than he -, Gomer wobbled to his feet, the woman's pale blonde hair spilling over his shoulder.

"With your permission, Your Lady, we shall not bother you any longer."

"Yes. Begone, muscle puppet."

Blinking back another grin, Gomer headed back they way he had come, his footsteps heavy and hands slightly shaking from their extended use prior, though now they were more comfortably housed in his "meat", as the lady ghost would have put it. He left the square behind with the woman firmly supported in his arms. The moment he turned the corner from where he had entered from the alley, he stood at the start of wider, more populated street. Without missing a beat, Gomer headed for Ionu's Mercy, conveniently located directly across from where he stood.