- Messages
- 335
- Character Biography
- Link
Things had not been going well.
Joseph had a rough night, even though he hadn't paid a cent for his liquor. He'd put one of his favourite form for going out; he might have made a none-too-handsome man but his large eyes, prominent cheekbones and low weight made him a femme fatale. Being female softened his features, turned his large brown eyes into alluring pools, and made his skinny body into a welcoming figure. His one good leg, proud as he was of it, turned into a work of art when he was female. It got him a lot of free drinks, and he was all too skilled at flirting with wound up husbands ignored by their wives.
Sooner or later the illusion shattered, usually when he got too drunk to keep the illusion up. Then the swan turned back into a duckling, and things proceeded in the usual manner. This time it was a bridge too far. He'd been behind the bar, making out with one of the patrons, a whiskey bottle keeping a fair distance between them, when he'd lost the illusion. Even piss drunk it had taken but a few seconds for the man to realize he wasn't squeezing breasts anymore. The gentle hand keeping Joseph's bad leg hiked up around his hip turned into iron, and Joseph was hurtled through the air and into the street.
At least he'd had the good sense to cap the whiskey before he'd gotten thrown, and had kept the bottle against his chest to keep it from shattering. It was another stroke of luck that he'd been thrown frighteningly close to a cart large enough for him to pull himself to his feet. "You fucking lying son of a bitch! I'll kill you!" the angered patron roared, closing the distance between them in that mix of lurch and bull-charge that angry drunk men did.
Joseph put the bottle's neck in his teeth, and thunk dog. In a few seconds a black shepherd was running away, three-legged with the fourth tucked up securely out of the way and holding on to an iron contraption. A drunk man was no match for the speed of a dog, even a lame one, and Joseph lost him quickly in a churchyard. He trotted toward the nearest mausoleum and shifted back, collapsing against the stone with a sigh.
He really had to stop doing this.
He uncorked the whiskey and took a deep swig before he re-arranged the brace on his leg.
Joseph had a rough night, even though he hadn't paid a cent for his liquor. He'd put one of his favourite form for going out; he might have made a none-too-handsome man but his large eyes, prominent cheekbones and low weight made him a femme fatale. Being female softened his features, turned his large brown eyes into alluring pools, and made his skinny body into a welcoming figure. His one good leg, proud as he was of it, turned into a work of art when he was female. It got him a lot of free drinks, and he was all too skilled at flirting with wound up husbands ignored by their wives.
Sooner or later the illusion shattered, usually when he got too drunk to keep the illusion up. Then the swan turned back into a duckling, and things proceeded in the usual manner. This time it was a bridge too far. He'd been behind the bar, making out with one of the patrons, a whiskey bottle keeping a fair distance between them, when he'd lost the illusion. Even piss drunk it had taken but a few seconds for the man to realize he wasn't squeezing breasts anymore. The gentle hand keeping Joseph's bad leg hiked up around his hip turned into iron, and Joseph was hurtled through the air and into the street.
At least he'd had the good sense to cap the whiskey before he'd gotten thrown, and had kept the bottle against his chest to keep it from shattering. It was another stroke of luck that he'd been thrown frighteningly close to a cart large enough for him to pull himself to his feet. "You fucking lying son of a bitch! I'll kill you!" the angered patron roared, closing the distance between them in that mix of lurch and bull-charge that angry drunk men did.
Joseph put the bottle's neck in his teeth, and thunk dog. In a few seconds a black shepherd was running away, three-legged with the fourth tucked up securely out of the way and holding on to an iron contraption. A drunk man was no match for the speed of a dog, even a lame one, and Joseph lost him quickly in a churchyard. He trotted toward the nearest mausoleum and shifted back, collapsing against the stone with a sigh.
He really had to stop doing this.
He uncorked the whiskey and took a deep swig before he re-arranged the brace on his leg.