05-11-2017, 09:21 AM
So here I am, minding my own business, roaming around Ischia’s shoreline and having myself more of a wander than a formal patrol. Keeping an eye out for trouble, sure, but we’ve got pretty solid borders by way of the ocean, and your average punk kid with something to prove has to work a little too hard getting here to make it worth their while. At least for the casual mouthing off pissing contest, anyhow. So I’m having myself a bit of a wander, eyes on the sea and the sky ‘cause they’re pretty more than any other reason, when a panicked voice echoes in my head.
DAD! DAD!! ohnoi'mgonnadie.
Fuck. Fuuuck, where the hell is he? I can’t save him if I don't know where he is. More info is a bit much to demand of a frantic boy’s mind, but fuck, son! There aren’t any wolves or bears or Panthers or shit on the island, maybe he fell and hurt himself? Fuck, I really gotta find somebody to teach him how to use those wings of his properly, so he can fly his way outta - “Help! Help us!” Oh, thank fuck.
I’m racing across the water toward the sound of my daughter's voice before I can wonder too hard what trouble they managed to get into out in the ocean that they couldn’t just walk over. No time, just get there, just get there in time to help. Just get there in time to keep them from being eaten by a shark, or -
...drowning? What? How…?
Not the point. Reshaping my back, I dive under the pair of them and scoop them up, settling them inside the weird giant cuplike compartment I built out of what was sleek, well-muscled back just moments ago. Oh right yeah holes so the water can drain, good idea. Just like that, water’s pouring down my sides. I mold the inner surface to fit them, holding them right while I run back to shore. “It’s okay, kids, Daddy’s got you.”
As soon as I reach dry land, I let the iron around them flow toward the ground, depositing them on the sandy shore and turning to face them, frantically looking them over as I put myself back together. “You guys okay? What happened?” How the hell were you drowning when you can walk on water? That takes some odd, confusing, impressive talent.
DAD! DAD!! ohnoi'mgonnadie.
Fuck. Fuuuck, where the hell is he? I can’t save him if I don't know where he is. More info is a bit much to demand of a frantic boy’s mind, but fuck, son! There aren’t any wolves or bears or Panthers or shit on the island, maybe he fell and hurt himself? Fuck, I really gotta find somebody to teach him how to use those wings of his properly, so he can fly his way outta - “Help! Help us!” Oh, thank fuck.
I’m racing across the water toward the sound of my daughter's voice before I can wonder too hard what trouble they managed to get into out in the ocean that they couldn’t just walk over. No time, just get there, just get there in time to help. Just get there in time to keep them from being eaten by a shark, or -
...drowning? What? How…?
Not the point. Reshaping my back, I dive under the pair of them and scoop them up, settling them inside the weird giant cuplike compartment I built out of what was sleek, well-muscled back just moments ago. Oh right yeah holes so the water can drain, good idea. Just like that, water’s pouring down my sides. I mold the inner surface to fit them, holding them right while I run back to shore. “It’s okay, kids, Daddy’s got you.”
As soon as I reach dry land, I let the iron around them flow toward the ground, depositing them on the sandy shore and turning to face them, frantically looking them over as I put myself back together. “You guys okay? What happened?” How the hell were you drowning when you can walk on water? That takes some odd, confusing, impressive talent.