Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Day One-Sixty-Three: The excrement discovers a fan-like structure





Okay, so, diary, here's the situation: I'm in the king's tower, with Barrel, freezing my butt off. No warm bed, no… happy time with Libby, no ANYTHING. It's the middle of the night, and the freaking castle is OVERRUN WITH WEREWOLVES

deep breaths

calm, deep breaths



Why did I write that? Was there any point?

After I last wrote in you, diary, I lay back and waited for Libby to come home. I knew I shoulda done more to deal with the mounting situation in the castle, but… but… I mean, I've been so distracted! This physical stuff is GOOD, diary, it's really… well, bitey as hell, but so damn…

Yeah, Anyway. You don't need to hear 'bout that side of my day, diary. It's super personal. Like, Libby could write about it if SHE had a diary, and maybe she will some day, but here? No details.

Getting off track.

So there I was, waiting, when Libby stalked through the front door. And when I FIRST saw her I was all "Hey, baby," 'cause that's what slick dudes say to girls, or something, but then I caught a good look at her face, and I REALIZED that her cheeks were COVERED in hair, and she reminded me of Captain Cedric, and that, lemme tell you, was a real buzzkill. I don't think about Cedric when it comes to this sorta thing.

Then she jumped at me, not in a happy way, and I knew I'd screwed up. Big time.

I rolled onto the ground, grabbed my clothes (don't judge me, it's my own room) and slipped under the bed, listening to Libby ripping the sheets to shreds and cursing in some weird language I couldn't understand. Then, before I could react, she slid under the bed WITH me and bit my arm! Really freaking HARD!

I figured I was done for at that point, diary, but no. No, the moment Libby got a taste of my blood she started spitting like crazy, as though she'd just eaten a piece of poo, and while she was rolling around I jumped out from under the bed, wrapped my pants around my bleeding arm, grabbed you, diary, and FLED as fast as I could.

Things weren't much better in the hallways. No Libby, true - I could hear her retching back in our room - but there were people running around everywhere, either biting or getting bitten, growling or screaming or a combo of the two, and hair, gods, there was hair heaped in big piles wherever I went! I ran and peed myself from fright, and for once I didn't have to worry about soiling my breeches, 'cause I wasn't wearing anyway.

Feel sorry for that poor man who slipped and fell in my wake, tho.

Every time a werewolf got close to me it would take a sniff and back off, so I managed to get to the upper bailey without a ton of trouble. Even pulled my pants on at one point. Things weren't much better outside, though, 'cause the werewolves were tearing ass around the place, destroying everything they could.

So I hid. I hid in Prince Logan's shack - he wasn't there, dunno where he is, probably running around as a WEREWOLF - and prayed, gods, diary, I prayed like I ain't ever prayed before, that everything would be alright. I can't fight a horde of werewolves. Everything WASN'T alright, though, 'cause after maybe twenty minutes of hiding I heard a scratch on the door, and then a few more, and then the door BURST DOWN, and I was staring at one of the smithies.

He didn't look happy. Looked ready to tear me apart, in fact. But I'd learned something already: they don't like my blood. So I got up, undid my bandages a bit (I'd grabbed some scraps of discarded cloth while I was on the run) and WAVED MY ARM in his face, and whaddya know, he stumbled away. I dodged past him and out the door again.

And out into a crowd of werewolves.

I'm sure if I'd stayed still they woulda done the same, everybody staring at each other, seconds before the inevitable rushing forward and tearing and stuff. I wasn't about to endure that, though, no sir, and by the gods, I RAN FOR MY LIFE, and they ran right after me. And I'm certain that, weird blood or no, the whole pack woulda torn me apart right there in the bailey.

But then I was flying. Flying, and staring down at a flock of very angry werewolves, most of whom were jumping and trying to grab my ankles, but none of which were successful. I'm quite certain I liberally sprinkled the lot with urine.

Yep. Who else but Barrel, my faithful dragon, come to save me AGAIN! I'm a very lucky man, diary.

So yeah. Here we are, in Barrel's tower, staring down at a castle full of werewolves. It's noon right now, so they're not quite as active, but I can tell from yesterday that they get really rambunctious at night. I'm not prepared to face that kinda grief right now.

Honestly. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. How do you face a castle full of werewolves? Did ANYBODY survive all this?

At least I'm taking it seriously now. No more fun for Dragomir.


I Just Said My Name


  1. At least he has his digni...wait...nope he lost that too...dang....what a crappy situation to be in. Well at least things CAN'T POSSIBLY GET ANY WORSE!...I'm pretty sure this time...I'm sure...maybe...

    On a side note: I wonder if the werewolves in the Dragomir universe have regeneration of wounds...cause Captain Cedric might be quite happy as a werewolf, compared to before. (Just a totally random thought I had after remembering one or two werewolf films).

  2. I will admit it. I would be right beside the queen letting her kick everyone in the face for me. Better a coward human than a blood thirsty werewolf.
    Although I can't imagine Eve isn't a little pissed off about how everyone is angry and blood thirsty. That was totally her thing first.