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In which Muse, handed life's chickens, makes Avgolemono - Diary of a Necromancer
Excuse me, I'm making perfect sense, you're just not keeping up
robling_t
robling_t
In which Muse, handed life's chickens, makes Avgolemono
Out of all of this ridiculous fancy, I know that this will be the bit that has somebody somewhere going, dude, suspension of disbelief... :)


***
There's a bloody rooster terrorising the neighbourhood, going off at all hours like an irritable car-alarm. Surprisingly, keeping pet poultry is perfectly within the bounds of local regulations, Jason's daydreamed aloud about having hen's-bum-fresh eggs to work with himself, but there's free-range and then there's wanting to serve a bird with an ASBO. This one has a terrible, urban accent, garbled calls echoing round as a crotchety damn you. I can't help but picture it as some grizzled veteran of a clandestine cockfighting ring.

Good job the one about cock's-crow is bollocks as well.

Neighbourhood rumour has this rooster an escapee from the halal butcher, living rough in someone's privet. It's eluded a bemused delegation from animal-control several times already, but Jason has already declared that he's not going to be responsible for the bird's safety if it's hanging about for much longer. He's been poring over his books on meat theory in a way that leaves me in little doubt of his intentions.

The logic he's talked himself into isn't so very far-fetched, really. Jason's brought home wild mallards from his nights out before, and once tackled a goose, although that was a near thing and he's given them a wide berth since then; an escaped domestic bird must look barely a challenge to him. And something of a public service. (There's an ordinance against the slaughtering of animals by persons not certified as butchers, unless one is a rabbi, but then there's probably an ordinance against turning into a wolf in the laundry-room. At the least I imagine some department would try to collect a licence fee for that.)

It's time for his walk. Jason fairly flings himself out the back door tonight, nose to the pavement, casting about for scents. Not halfway down the next block he suddenly plunges into a hedge. There's a flurry of squawking and he backs out of the greenery again; in the soft mouth of a hunting-dog with a man's mind a bronze-feathered rooster is struggling, feet making abortive attempts to rake at his muzzle.

"Well, now what do you mean to do?" I ask. Jason gives the bird a shake and it goes limp, with some gravelly muttering about its predicament. He must have a grip on its windpipe. With a look over one furry shoulder Jason pulls at his lead, urging towards home.

One of our downstairs neighbours is already leaving for work. Miguel does a surprised take at the sight of us coming in the back door with our captive. This will be hard enough to explain in a language I don't quite speak even without having to account for what I've done with the dog. Perhaps our landlady swallowed him to catch the rooster, I don't know why...

The enclosed space of the bath seems like the best place to release the rooster. Jason spits it into the bathtub, where it sits blinking at us whilst it considers its options. "I assume you had something in mind with this," I say to Jason.

He sits on the old cracked tiles, tail beating hollow thumps against the toilet, and looks up at me with a pointed blue gaze. Oh. He's brought it here alive, for me. "You're a wanker, you realise."

Thump thump thump.

We can discuss his assumptions later, when I've had the chance to work out what I think myself. There's a more immediate question of having increasingly distressed live poultry in our bathtub. The rooster is beginning to shake off its shock. It gets to its feet, essaying a hesitant step on the slick porcelain. Shies as I turn towards it. But I meet the bird's gaze, and hold it.

Suddenly all the rooster knows of the world is that I'm the most wonderful thing it's ever seen, and that it loves me to the tips of its every last feather. It allows me to reach out, to take it gently round the shoulders. To pick it up and bring its feathered neck to my lips.

(This feels faintly ludicrous, to be exercising myself upon poultry. But thoughts of dignity dissolve in the flow of hot sweet salt.)

Everything looks brighter through the lens of satisfaction. Too bright, perhaps, by the way Jason's looking at me askance as I rub an absent hand across my mouth, empty carcass sat half-forgotten across my lap to dribble fluids onto my trousers. We're almost better off if the neighbours believe we're practising Santeria rituals up here, it's more palatable than some of our technicalities; we'll bring them down some sopa de gallo, and hope Miguel hasn't credited a certain strange resemblance to the other man who lives above.

Although I don't know why he would. Or whom I think he would tell.

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Comments
morgynleri_fic From: morgynleri_fic Date: February 22nd, 2011 04:54 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Y'know, I might not have been being good about commenting, but I'm greatly enjoying this so far. *offers you & your muse donuts, coffee, and chocolate*
robling_t From: robling_t Date: February 22nd, 2011 06:05 pm (UTC) (permalink this entry)
And now the poor werewolf is going, "but dude, my mom won't let me have chocolate..." :)
ashnistrike From: ashnistrike Date: February 24th, 2011 06:40 pm (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Werewolves and food porn--what more could one ask for? I love the tag-team rooster slaughter. Also the use of vampiric charisma on poultry.
robling_t From: robling_t Date: February 24th, 2011 10:05 pm (UTC) (permalink this entry)
It's not his favorite talent, but it's kind of an emergency... :)
huskyfriends From: huskyfriends Date: March 8th, 2011 07:53 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
I'm intrigued by how much Jason understands and 'behaves' when he goes full wolf. And wouldn't a rooster be a snack pack to Trevor?

I want to keep reading and find out.
robling_t From: robling_t Date: March 8th, 2011 10:09 am (UTC) (permalink this entry)
Well, he's still Jason, he's just got some other issues to deal with, like the not having thumbs and needing to wear a rabies tag thing...
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