Recent content by Fífl

Just when she had thought that she had negotiated herself a free meal, he changed the terms, requiring effort on her part to source the meal first. Why? Had she not already found her meal before it was so rudely awoken from the depths of Spotta knows where? Who was he to demand that of her...

She hummed, a certain smugness pulling at the corner of her lips as he (correctly) assessed that she was unlike her kin, a fact that Fífl happily crowed to the solitude of Eyjarnar. The woman soared above the violent nature woven into Wiir flesh, evading the curse of hatred that lingered in...

<"Because I am merely visiting, Blackburn Fane,"> she answered honestly, her thumbs tapping rhythmically upon the sides of his face as the appraisal continued. Even his name was strange, falling from her lips through a heavy Wiir accent. Before Fífl could express her disbelief that he was just...

She hummed dismissively, clearly not impressed by his insistence that he was having a sleep of any kind, but quickly lost interest as the accusations turned towards her choice of snack. <"What do you expect, sleeping out in the open?"> Highly underrated, the cheek meat. And yet, his cheek was...

The Nordwiir observed him with the same avian curiosity as before while he toyed with her language in his mouth like wriggling prey. He chewed on it in repetition, his accent strange and syllables stranger. Fífl had naturally assumed that their verbal communication would be at an end here and...

The more she observed, the more curiosity overpowered irritation. It was the reason Fífl savoured her jaunts to the land of bears; there was always something new and exciting to observe, steal or eat, and while the latter was somewhat out of the question, the other two remained on the table...

She had felt it, the thrum of life beneath his chest like worms beneath the dirt. Gluttony allowed her to disregard it; the sensations felt through raven's feet chalked up to decomposition's dance. As it turned out, her stomach had made an incorrect assumption. Not the first time, nor would it...

The Northern Coast of the Eretejva Tundra Uratash smiled upon her. Or so some fanatic might have screeched while lopping off various body parts and launching them into the Köldgröf as if they were making the most haphazard, deluded soup (albeit with earnest fervour). Fífl the Fleet was not...

Her arm hurt. It was no great wonder, given the small boy leading her through the treacherous floor of the cave and towards the light of its open maw. He pulled with a strength unbecoming of a Nordwiir his age, the mop of wild black hair stirring forlorn memories that slipped her grasp no...

It was much more palatable to stare at the floor, the cold stone providing the perfect avenue to avoid judgment or the smug sense of superiority she imagined was standing above her. Even the thought alone stung more than an open hand across the face. Internally, Fífl could have acknowledged...

Although Fífl had found herself incensed in the wake of that slap, she was hardly ecstatic at the prospect of taking a second (despite verbally inviting it). It wasn't long after the retort had departed her tongue that the shapeshifter felt that familiar pang of regret, usually found at the end...

In hindsight, perhaps the reason she strictly avoided her kin was not for fear of what their barbarian natures would inflict upon her but rather to prevent her heedless tongue from infuriating them. 'Fífl the Frustrating!' Her father had often exclaimed at the end of their impassioned...

Even in the desperate search for just an inch more breathing room, her keen eye wasn't oblivious to the two contrasting reactions to her flustered eruption. It did not need to be said which one was preferred, given that Fífl had instinctively tensed in anticipation of violent retribution, which...

Her honesty had not been received particularly well, but in the same breath, not as poorly as it could have been. Any outcome in which she was still breathing was a surprise, really. She wasn't oblivious to the smarter option, to throw herself down at their feet with all the grace of a newborn...

Only in the aftermath of her outrage did Fífl realise that berating the people she had been stealing from was not the steady path of wisdom that ought to have been followed: a scrunched nose and pursed lips acknowledged this as the older man commanded her silence. Despite this, she felt her...