Holiday Tradition

“And there it is again, per your requests, Adam Sandler and his Thanksgiving song on Talbot’s Peak’s premiere radio station, SHFT, 105.7. You’re listening to me, Tabbs, the cat what’s got the stripes and wipes, and Mr. Surly over here, aka the Fuzz-man. That’s right, the Morning Hall Ball’s working on a holiday. Why? Because we get free turkey and time and a half. Coming up at noon, we’ll be running that other perennial Thanksgiving favorite, Arlo Guthrie’s ‘Alice’s Restaurant’—”

“Why?”

“Waddaya mean, why? It’s a classic. It—”

“It’s dated. It’s a relic. It’s fifty years old. That’s twice as old as our target audience. It’s a protest song from the ‘60s. Who the hell cares about the ‘60s anymore, other than your grandpa?”

(voice from the booth) “My dad cares, and he owns the station.”

“Not to mention it’s the only Thanksgiving rock song we’ve got. ‘Born in the USA’ doesn’t count. Besides, it runs, what, twenty minutes? We can eat and take piss breaks while it’s on.”

“Yeah, I guess there is that. Holy scat, we got a call. I thought everybody was off eating or something.”

“Looks like somebody’s got their radio on. Morning Hair Ball, you’re on the air.”

(caller) “Fuzzy! I’m with you, man. Play some new stuff. No more grandpa rock. Play something we can hump to.”

“You can hump to ‘Alice’s Restaurant.’ It’s twenty minutes long.”

“Just watch where you are, man. That’s how Billy Bonnadonna lost his job.”

(caller) “Who?”

“Yeah, I remember him. I thought he got canned for playing ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ on Christmas Eve and calling it a holiday song.”

“No, Fuzz. Remember that classic rock station they had? Well, Billy’s the one who started their Friday night ‘In a Gadda da Vida’ thing. That’s another twenty-minute classic, so—”

(caller) “In a Danny de Vito?”

“Why are you still on the phone?”

“Got nothing better to do, man.”

“Us either. That’s why we’re in radio. Anyway, the song runs about twenty minutes, so Billy would sneak his girlfriend into the studio, and every Friday night at nine … well, you get the picture.”

“More clearly than I want to. Wasn’t Billy the one who … sweet Lupa. And he had a girlfriend?”

“I know, right? Some chicks are flat-out desperate. Why can’t I find those chicks?”

“You need to be at a bar at three in the morning for that.”

(caller) “Hey, are you guys ever gonna play any music again? Good music, I mean.”

“Sure, man. Here’s a little ditty called “I Humped Your Mama Last Night.’”

(caller) “Hump your mama.” (hangs up)

“So, Tabbs, you got any plans for Thanksgiving? You want to come out to my place? Cerise and me’re having her family over.”

“You want to put a cat in a room full of hungry jackals? Are you off your friggin’ nut?”

“I’m outnumbered, man. I need backup. Morning Hair Ball, you're on the air.”

(caller) “Man, you ever play that Adam Sandler travesty again, I will hunt you down.” (hangs up)

“Wait'll Christmas, fleafest. We'll be playing his Hanukkah song. Oh, and we gotta play Cheech and Chong. Talk about your classics.”

“You’re right, Tabbs. Sometimes I miss album cuts. Some of those songs just went on forever. Hell, while ‘The End’ was playing, you could even go outside and roll a doobie … ”

“But not here. That never happened at this station, no sir. Not even on the overnight. Especially not on the overnight.”

(voice from the booth) “Wait a minute. That bunny band? Thumper? They had all those baggies with the lettuce in ‘em? And the next morning the place smelled like—”

“I think it’s time we did play some music, don’t you?"

(voice from the booth) "Clover ... "

"Yeah, clover, right. Let’s see how many moving targets I can hit with this one. The ultimate back seat humping song, Meat Loaf’s ‘Paradise by the Dashboard Light.’ And we will be playing ‘Alice’s Restaurant’ at noon, ‘cause I definitely need to drop something down the hopper now. You’re listening to the Morning Hair Ball on 105.7, SHFT in Talbot’s Peak. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!”

A terrible ache consumed her heart.

Happy Upcoming Gobble-Gobble Day, shapeshifter lovers.

I hope to have some good news about our to-be-released ShapeShifter Seductions free read, LOVE TO THE RESCUE, next week.

This week's flash scene is a continuation of the short story I began last week. The stars are Drev, a hunter with an unusual background... and his heroine, Keina Svonj, a winged horse with all manner of supernatural abilities.

~~~

Chapter Two ~ Keina Svonj

Keina winged high above the immense, splendidly wild Montana valley. In her air horse form, she remained invisible to most beings.

As she sailed high above the majestic, Autumn-colorful landscape, Keina hoped to lift her spirits. A terrible ache consumed her heart, as if an evil dragon clawed it from her chest.  

She'd been banished for the fourth time from her home kingdom, the penalty six months of Earth time. Keina shuddered from her horse muzzle to the tip of her long flowing tail, tormented by her memory of the King's austere, scowling countenance atop his richly decorated, long, official robes as he pointed his scepter and pronounced judgment upon her.

Sadness, vibrational chaos owned her, and Keina plummeted for moments despite her airy frequency. Flapping her wings, she stabilized herself, and focused on the beauty below.

Wise, sky-soaring pine trees, yellow-gold aspens, and the mountain's stone floor, glistened breathtakingly in the early afternoon sun.

Flubergastov! Keina cussed. Was it her doing that the slime-disgusting, lascivious Prince Tretorff had stealthily followed her after the Fall Equinox ball? He'd attempted to force his unwanted, stinky-sour-breath attentions on her -- once she'd reached her chamber suite in the castle.

They'd practically wrestled, with Keina twisting furiously to fight off the Prince's grasping, tentacle like arms. When his hands grabbed at her like angry snapping turtles, she'd spun out of reach.

But the creepazoid Prince snorted and charged, rabid to mount her. Repulsed beyond belief, desperate, Keina morphed her lower half instantly.

The lovely silk gown she'd handsewn for the enchantingly festive occasion ripped, a searing sound that tore at her. Enraged, her blood boiling, Keina aimed her back hoof, and launched a kick at the Prince's bulging crotch.

Strike the spike! Kick the ugly stick! She won.

Whirling to face the now wimpified stud, Keina whinny-shouted her triumph. Tretorff's unmanly shrieks drowned her out, and he grabbed his cock and balls with both hands. Backing away, his eyes popping out like a virgin filly, he'd turned when she didn't rush to attack him.

Automatically returning to her human form, Keina watched the Prince run down the long hallway, his gait hilariously awkward.  Relief swamped her, and hysterical laughter burst past her lips. Keina ended up laughing so hard and so long, she collapsed against the door. With her legs buckling, she slid to the floor.

High in the sky, Keina circled then cruised above the color-splendiferous, old-growth forest. Earlier in the day, she'd discovered an isolated meadow with a variety of plants that tempted her horse palate.

Hungry for the sun-warmed blooms and greens that still grew during cold weather, Keina arrowed her flight skimming over the treetops. The sudden sight of a brawny-built hunter halted her in mid-flight.

Keina floated lower, feeling immediate empathy for the prey he stalked. If she could interfere...save a life...

 As she positioned herself above the man, astonishment jolted through her like flashfire. Oddly, the hunter's face and physique reminded her of the life size statues in the Garden of Ancients.

Keina had never observed a human who so closely resembled the progenitors of the Celtic gods. The difference... she judged the hunter's height to be just over six feet, whereas the gods had been thirteen feet tall.

According to song and legend, the gods and goddesses had sired and birthed their own lineage of humans. Was she staring at a descendent?

Finding herself entranced by the man's noble and powerfully sculpted features, Keina hovered, her wings beating swiftly as a blossom-feeding hummingbird. Given he hunted in the middle of shapeshifter territory, she sensed for his animal side.

Nothing tingled, no image formed in her mind. Yet, somehow he was beyond human in some way Keina didn't understand.

Did he know?

The way he silently negotiated the forest, following the signs and tracks, he appeared to be what Keina thought of as a high-performance human. Obviously, he was a strong, capable man, and superbly trained in the task he set before himself.

Keina decided she would take no direct action against him, but figure out another plan to keep the hunter from shooting his targeted prey. She lightly landed behind a stand of trees and simultaneously phased to her physical Pegasus self.

Not seconds later, Keina heard the distressed gobbling of a wild turkey, and knew. She charged toward the sound hoping it wasn't too late -- that her mythical appearance would shock the hunter into not firing.

Able to alter her frequency quick as a change in the wind's direction, Keina had no concern for her welfare if he shot and the bullet struck her. Seeing the turkey desperately flap his wings in an attempt to escape, Keina galloped in front of the hunter's line of sight.

No cracking sound of a bullet. He hadn't fired. Keina raced on instinct for the mountain cliff.

With the hunter's level of expertise, Keina well realized he could track her, even though she partially floated over the ground. In her brief look at his energy matrix, Keina witnessed his warrior courage, his formidable will -- that he already dealt with the supernatural world.

The strings of her own matrix hummed, alerting Keina the instant the hunter followed her hoof prints. To observe him, she launched into the sky. Shifting to invisible, she once again soared over the mountain valley.

An undeniable fascination about the unusual human grew inside Keina. Compelled beyond any misgiving, she waited, circling the immediate area.

Once the hunter appeared, tracking her to the cliff's edge, Keina allowed herself to merge with his thoughts. Oh-Flubergastov-no! She'd deprived his family of needed food.

To make her actions worse, she'd dishonored him and his family by interfering with their traditional and honored celebration. Another punishable offense in her home realm.

Keina shivered violently, yet managed to keep her vibratory rate high so she remained unseen. How was she going make this right? How?

Still shaking, she slowly flew toward the hunter, and halted before him. Gathering her courage, Keina stroked his handsome, square-jawed face with her wingtip.

When she knew he felt her feathers, Keina spoke to his mind. Even if he didn't hear her message, his heart would know the apology coming from her heart.

She hoped.

Somehow, some way, she would find a way to make his Thanksgiving celebration a good one. For him, and his family.

With resolve ruling her, Keina gradually backed away. At the same time, she searched his mind for the precise location of his home.

There had to be a suitable turkey available in a shop somewhere. And since she had wings... Keina flew a direct line toward Billings, Montana, where she'd rented a small apartment, and pretended to be human.

~~~~~~


Wishing you love and passion on the wild side ...

Savanna 

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Wild Turkey

The brown-haired girl on top of the bar had to be drunk. No woman, no matter how crazy (or desperate) would be doing a strip-tease sober in front of this crowd. Most were wolves, and those that weren’t were cats. All were bikers, all were drunk, and every last one of them considered himself Dog’s or Bast’s gift to women. Her scent suggested she was herbivorous, not a good thing to be in a predator bar. If she slipped and landed in the crowd, these carnies would eat her alive.

Drake looked at the beer sloshing around in his mug and set it aside. He should be in Mexico by now, with the rest of his flock. But no, he had to hang around Talbot’s Peak for an extra two weeks, because he felt loyalty to Dante. And then he had to stop at the biker bar, because he had buddies here he wanted to say good-bye to. And now he couldn’t even finish his beer because he’d need to stay alert if he was going to save that idiot girl from herself.

Damn chivalry anyway. What had being chivalrous ever gotten a man?

The girl still had her pants and her boots on, but she’d torn off her blouse and was now whipping it, and her howling, slavering audience, into a frenzy. She danced to whatever song came on the jukebox. The fact she kept to the beat made Drake suspect she might not be as drunk as she wanted everyone to think.

She’d gotten a chant going. It sounded like, “YOLO.”

Somebody handed her a mug. She stopped dancing long enough to chug it, then tossed the mug into the crowd. Three wolves managed to catch it, then began fighting over it like dogs over a bone. The cats didn’t join in. They just stared at her, unblinking, their noses twitching like whiskers.

Okay, Drake decided. Time to put an end to this before the little twit started a riot. Or a feeding frenzy, with her as the main attraction.

Nobody noticed him slide off his chair and work his way along the wall to the jukebox. With all eyes on the bra’d but blouseless dancer, he had nothing to worry about. Casually he reached behind the jukebox and pulled the plug. The music scraped to a stop.

Several minutes passed before anyone noticed. Gradually the bikers turned around in a sporadic wave to stare at the silent juke. Drake, of course, was nowhere near it. He was creeping up on the bar.

The girl didn’t like losing her audience’s attention. “Hey!” she yelled at the distracted bikers. “I’m dancing here!”

“Not any more, you’re not,” Drake murmured, and swept her legs out from under her. They were long, shapely legs, skinny at the bottom but with healthy, meaty thighs, and swept with no trouble at all. The girl landed easily in Drake’s powerful arms. She let out a squawk.

Drake clapped his hand over her mouth. “Do you want to get out of this alive?”

She glared up at him and mouthed against his palm, No.

“Too bad.” He crouched down behind the bar and scuttled toward the exit, dragging his struggling rescuee with him. Maybe she was drunk. “You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

Her mouth moved again. I don’t have a tomorrow.

Neither of them would, if the drunken bikers spotted them. Even as he thought this, he heard a cat yowl. “Hey! Where’d the chicken go?”

Chicken, eh? That, as much as the huge, round breasts straining against her filmy bra, explained the bikers’ concentrated interest. What the hell was she thinking, putting herself up like a target in a carnie bar?

Like he was anyone to talk.

He got them to the exit, but the door’s movement was marked and noted. The wolves moved as one, in a loud pack-charge to the exit. The cats went out the front door, to silently circle around. Unable to find their prey in the parking lot, they automatically ran to the woods.

Drake watched them disperse from his hiding place on the bar’s flat roof. He’d laid the squirming girl out beneath him. Her nearly-bare breasts rubbed against his chest in all manner of fascinating ways.

Once the last cat had lumbered into the forest, Drake removed his hand but not his body. He didn’t want her bolting until he knew she’d be safe. The minute her mouth was free she used it to call him a name.

Drake grinned down at her. “Only on Tuesdays. In all honesty, this is how I was hoping to end the evening. But not with an unwilling partner.” He rolled off the girl, but kept hold of her arm. “So. Care to tell me why you’re so bent on self-destruction?”

She threw another curse at him while she struggled upright. He noticed she made no attempt to cover up her breasts. “What’s the point? I’ll be dead by Thursday. Might as well have some fun before I go.”

“What’s Thursday?” he started. Then everything from her scent on down clicked into place. “You’re a turkey?”

“Yeah. Lucky me. For the last ten years I’ve been a good girl. No bars, no carnie boys. Strict diet to stay skinny. Then all of a sudden this year I just started filling out. Genetics or something.” She waved her hand irritably at her big breasts and plump thighs. “The closer we got to November, the more people started hanging around me. With carving knives and cranberry sauce.” She blew a strand of hair away from her face. “So I figured, what the hey. If I gotta go out, I’m going out with a bang. All week long I’ve been cramming in as much life as I can before the axe falls.” She regarded Drake with a wry twist of her mouth. “So I guess it’s you. At least you’re good-looking.”

Drake shook his head. “Not me. I know where you’re coming from, though. I’m a duck.”

“Yeah? That explains the fish breath. You don’t have whole holidays dedicated to people roasting you, though.”

“True, though Christmas gets a little dicey. Migration’s the scariest time. A lot of us just take vans now.” Drake cocked his head toward the woods. The sounds of the hunt were becoming louder and more frustrated, but farther away. “This might be our best chance. Assuming you still want to live.”

“Of course I want to live. I like Thanksgiving as much as the next girl, as long as I’m not the main course. You got a safe place to hide out?”

“I have an apartment in town, near the fountain. It’s a herbie neighborhood. Safety in numbers. If we watch each other’s backs, we both should make it to Friday. What’s your name?”

Her expression relaxed. “Jennilynn. Yours?”

“I go by Drake, but my given name’s Francis. Promise you won’t tell anybody.”

Her finger made a crossing motion over her wonderful breasts. The finger froze at her collarbone. “Wait a minute. Francis Drake? Your parents really did that to you?”

“One of many reasons I don’t fly with their flock any more. Though if you’re still looking for fun before the holiday, you can call me Sir.”

Jennilynn giggled. “Sounds kinky. I like. Wanna go back to your place and stuff a turkey?”

Drake grinned. Hanging around Talbot’s Peak past migration had turned out to be the best decision ever.