Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Tigress Shapeshifter... Never waiting to be tamed...
Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.
She’s back... my Tigress, and yes, if violence is not your thing, tune out for this episode... although, a Haunted House is likely to have much more horror and gore.
Oh, and here’s a costume Kytaira is wearing for her black tiger lover, Zurroc.
Tigress Shapeshifter... Never waiting to be tamed...
I am captured by my black tiger’s gaze. Love shines in the dark depths of Zurroc’s eyes as his thumbs caress my cheeks. He has embraced my head between his palms, and my body doesn’t know whether to surrender against him, or attack him with fierce passion.
“One reason I love you,” he silkily rumbles, “you will never be tamed, my tigress, my Kytaira.”
“Only by your hand, your lusty paw.” My whispered words feel like mist and smoke deep in my throat -- and as they pass my lips.
"Never waiting to be tamed,” he croons -- his twist on the song lyrics ‘waiting to be tamed’.
His seductive tease curls my toes, and I feel my inner claws flex with pleasure.
“If it weren’t for this meeting...” I begin, then stroke his hands with mine.
His lips find mine fast, yet his languidly nibbling kiss is slow, a sweet torment to my senses. “I’ll put the coffee on,” he purrs long moments later.
“Lots of cream, please.” I blink, gathering my mental faculties for what is to come.
As he raises his face from mine, his expression changes to ferociously serious. “Seeing those twenty flatbed trucks in the dead of night.” He pauses, and I watch the anger flash in his eyes. “Loaded with drone planes and an artillery of advanced weapons -- all meant to use against New Yorkers...” he pauses again. “I want to rip their throats out. Leave their bodies as food for the carrion eaters.”
“Yes. It is all the cowards deserve.” I sigh inwardly. I know his rage. It eats at my insides, which is why we are meeting with Swamp Fox, and his crew, in less than an hour.
“New York City is no longer safe for us,” he growls with alpha-emphasis.
“Afterward, we will discuss it.” But, I know he is right. The war against injustice, against evil has come to the city streets. Soon it will be chaos at its worst.
His hands slip from my head, and we gaze at each for another moment before I spin, and break into a running stride. “Roof,” I holler back.
In the dim light of early evening, I ascend the outside stairs at a rapid pace. Once I stand within the protected area of my warehouse rooftop, I glimpse the massive protest taking place against the Wall Street racketeers.
Humanity is rising, finally. It won’t be a pretty thing, this soul rise toward freedom. It will be messy and savage and chaotic -- bestial at times.
I focus my gaze, and switch to infrared sight, then scan for any sign of an approaching enemy. Once, I’m satisfied we’re relatively safe for right now, I recall part of Volcano’s Angelic Forecast for this week:
The major theme for this week is everything ECONOMIC. Once again, this will have two main faces, but many differing aspects. With the rise of the renegade as part of the AWAKENING, all forms of corruption and enslavement will be challenged.
At the same time, the brutal money monopoly that has been placed over humanity, worldwide, is being tightened, and a militaristic regime is being introduced incrementally. Any manner of catastrophe, natural or not, will be used as an excuse to implement this ‘papers, please’ regime.
Just as he communicated through a trusted friend, I see a fox dart from beneath a large commercial truck. The Swamp Fox runs through the alleyway’s shadows. Behind him is his right hand man, a badger shapeshifter, who goes by the pseudo name of Ben Franklin. Some silly part of me wonders if he wears spectacles.
Observing their stealthy approach toward my warehouse, I buzz with a sudden ‘knowing’ that now is the night to strike. As I move to meet them at the bottom of the outside stairway, scenes from an old Disney TV series called “The Swamp Fox” play out before my mind’s eye.
Out of curiosity, and to understand my Swamp Fox’s mind-set, I watched the series about the American Revolutionary War hero, Francis Marion. Like youthful cubs, both Zurroc and I cheered his cleverly conceived, surprise attacks against the British troops.
The closer I come to Swamp Fox and Ben Badger, the more I ‘sense’ and scent their determination, their revolutionary spirit. Pausing in the deep shadow at the corner of my warehouse, Swamp Fox morphs to his human form quickly, and gives me a rakish grin. Beside him, Ben growl-grunts as a badger, then groans as he shifts.
I toss the bag of clothes and gear, delivered earlier in the day, at Swamp Fox’s feet. Dropping to his haunches, he jerks it open. His shock of foxfire red hair falls onto his forehead as he grabs out two bundles of clothing.
After he tosses one bundle to Ben Badger, they efficiently dress in the way of shapeshifters, and I motion for them to follow me inside. Zurroc meets us, holding a tray with hot brimming cups of coffee.
“This room is sealed against surveillance,” I tell them as I shut the thick steel door, lined with lead.
Reaching within the bag again, Swamp Fox thrusts a news article toward me, asking, “Have you read this?”
Taking a moment, I peruse what I already know.
NYPD chief: Police could take down plane if needed
Commissioner Ray Kelly tells CBS' "60 Minutes" that after the Sept. 11 attacks, he decided the city couldn't rely on the federal government alone. He set about creating the NYPD's own counter-terrorism unit. He says the department is prepared for multiple scenarios and could even take down a plane.
“You saw the black ops convoy, right?” Swamp Fox sweeps his gaze around our small hideaway bunker.
“We saw,” Zurroc snarls. “Do you have a storage area large enough for NYPD’s anti-aircraft weaponry?”
“Yeah,” Ben Badger answers. “Me, and the boys dug it out ourselves. Made it real private and real inaccessible.”
Lifting my mug of creamy coffee, I sniff the earthy yummy goodness before I take a sip. “Is your crew ready to guerilla-rock ‘n roll tonight?” I ask, then study their faces.
“My crew is in position. At my signal, we’re a go.” Swamp Fox takes a swig of his coffee, his gaze keen as the fox he is.
“In under ten minutes, the crew will move the vehicles into position,” Ben Badger adds, “If you two can get us inside the armory, we got the muscle to load up quicker’n a New York minute.”
“You did not just say that,” I tease. Already, my blood runs high and my claws ache to spring free.
“We’re loaded for bear, and the bears are ready to load,” Swamp Fox quips with a flash of his gaze.
Around me is the dark of night. The air is heavy with moisture, the stars hidden by an overcast, rain-threatening sky. As tigress, I sniff the familiar odors of New York City -- layer upon layer of humanity at its most potent. I smell the city at its grimiest -- moldering, days’ old garbage... dense colonies of mice and rats... the ammonia tang of urine and feces embedded in concrete.
Most of all, I scent the sweating stink of the outside guards, all of them on heavy dosages of steroids. Strolling toward the forties-era, double door of the fortress-like building, I ignore their stunned shouts at my approach.
Pulling out their revolvers, three of the guards fire. I’ve already phased to near incorporeal so the bullets are of no consequence. I leap through the door, and once inside I return to full materialized beast.
To announce my presence, and make myself a target, I bellow a long roar. Guards that look like Halloween Darth Vader’s race toward me, drawing their high-powered laser rifles, and aiming.
Several alarms activate. Their whines and screams blast my ears, and I flatten them tight against my head. Launching into a gallop, I run down a central corridor while dodging the bursts of laser fire.
Before my mind’s eyes, I watch Zurroc use his powers to dissolve a portion of the armory’s outer wall, large enough for Swamp Fox and his crew to enter. With deadly ease, they take out the four guards who have stayed. Then, like a well-oiled machine, the crew begins to load the cache of high-tech weapons and ammunition.
Whirling on my haunches, I lope in the opposite direction of the armory. Not to my surprise, I am being chased by a whole cadre of super guards who haven’t known one day’s service on the police force -- given they reek of bio-engineered enhancements.
Sprinting through a maize of corridors, I catch glimpses of what has been stored in this underground section of the compound. My blood blazes hot and my savage nature burns for a taste of traitorous blood.
First things first. Keep the bio-Vader guards on my tigress tail.
That is... until a whiff of something so deadly enters my nostrils, that I nearly stumble and cringe. For lack of a better description, it’s a suitcase nuke, and one in prime condition. Ready to be used.
With a roar of outrage, I whip around and charge toward the guards. Rapidly, they take up positions along both sides of the corridor, their laser rifles trained on me.
Up shields, I mentally shout to myself, then alter my vibrations to create the barrier. With each racing bound toward the nuke, I gain speed. The laser pulses bounce off my hide, a regular disco light show.
Figuring out somewhat fast that their weapons did nothing to hinder my progress, the remaining twenty or so guards ahead of me, grab their titanium machine guns and blast away -- I can’t help but think of Bonnie and Clyde.
Since I can’t spare the time to slash my claws across their throats, I morph my hide once again, and run even faster. The hail of bullets strike, ping at a low frequency, then fly, returning like tiny boomerangs.
What carnage is behind me, I have no clue. The smell of blood saturates the air. Why their uniforms weren’t bullet-proof against those flesh-exploding bullets...? I shrug mentally, even as I focus on my all-important prize.
The suitcase nuke sits atop a pedestal, and is locked inside a plexiglass-like safe that is far stronger than steel. I come to an abrupt halt about ten feet away. Crouching, I spring while altering my front paw to my human hand.
Dematerializing my hand and the plexiglass just enough, I seize the case’s handle. The instant it’s out of the safe, I toss it a good distance ahead. Before I land on the floor, I shift my hand back to a paw. With one motion, and already in a sprint, I snag the case’s handles between my fangs.
Then, it’s a race to the finish line, a race to Zurroc’s hole in the wall. Doors fall like guillotine blades behind me. I could phase through them, but I can’t alter the nuke in my tigress form. If I switch to human, my speed lessens, and I am not certain I could dissipate the nuke’s energy matrix without Zurroc’s help.
Two more doors ahead of me, both of them slicing downward. Racing at wind’s speed, I clear one of them. With a glancing blow to the tip of my tail, I make it past the final door.
Zurroc, I mentally scream.
My tigress. He sends a mind beam to guide me into his arms.
Psi-seeing him, I dash through the huge, full-of-rooms armory until I glimpse him running toward me.
No! Outside, I scream telepathically, then charge toward the hole.
For instants, we run side by side. Me as tigress. Him as man.
Nuke, I yell to his mind, once the chilly autumn wind hits our faces.
In seconds, he is seizing hold of the case while I shift. Joining him as woman, I place my palms on the nuke. Together, we concentrate and disassemble the particle matrix until there is nothing left but harmless atoms.
“Neat trick, that one,” Swamp Fox hollers softly from the back of a semi truck.
“Get out of here. Double quick,” I shout back.
With a jaunty salute, he steps back and the door lowers. Already, the truck is in motion, the gears ratcheting up. It’s a good thing since I hear the faraway drone of black helicopters.
“I hope they have a good escape route,” I murmur.
“Escape, what a superior idea,” my black tiger rumbles. He swings me into his arms, and runs the short distance to our tech-invisible van.
Within moments, we are on the way home, and I’m wrapping a soft warm blanket around myself. I reach for his hand as we cruise the back streets, and an intimate silence envelopes us, one I have come to treasure.
“My Tigress, never waiting to be tamed by the unknown paw of fate,” he growls long moments later.
“Not with a nuke between my teeth,” I say.
He laughs, my black tiger. Yet underneath his laughter, I hear his lover’s concern for me.
Squeezing his hand, I lean toward him. “Later... I want some taming... whatever taming gives you the most pleasure.”
His carnal growl is my answer.
Have a Magickal Shapeshifting Week!
Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~