#fingerking

The sun hung high in the Parabolan sky, beating down on the lands below and turning the air hot and sticky and deliciously sweet. To visitors, it was stifling. Some might wander aimlessly, plucking the roundest fruits they could from the branches, only to spit out a mouthful of blood and nectar. Others would walk purposely through the jungles, ignoring all the beauty and temptation that surrounded them, but still fanning themselves and cursing the damnable heat. The Prince didn't mind the heat much, himself. He'd been born here, after all, and he had never known anything else. He basked in the sun's warmth, tasting the air for prey or cats or both. Currently, he had settled himself into his favorite tree, and was amusing himself watching some poor dreamer stumble around in the undergrowth. They were covered in dirt and scrapes, and their eyes had the wild light of a thing hunted. Before anything really of note could happen, however, the dreamer suddenly paused and vanished from sight. The Prince would've frowned if he was capable of doing such a thing, but instead, he simply yawned irritably and pulled back into the leaves. He'd expected them to be sleeping for some time still- they had that look to them. Ah, well. No point in having a hissy fit (ha ha) over something that already happened. Maybe he'd try hunting down another one, or hang around the Mirrors for a little while. He'd eaten a few days ago, so there was no need to go hunting anytime soon. He was bored, though, and wasn't that a tragedy? Bored, and full of want. He was reminded of it as he found a spot in front of a brass viewing mirror, and took to watching the hustle and bustle of humans through the glass. Parabola might be his birthplace, but his heart belonged somewhere else. He didn't want to stay an Is-Not like the rest of his kin, resigned to whispering secrets in the ears of magicians, or clustering himself with others to join in on all the scheming and the planning and the...the machinations. Oh, but he was so sick and tired of the machinations! The Prince wanted to be an Is. He wanted to be Real. But his current shape, with its glimmering scales and flickering tongue, wasn't capable of such a thing. For him to become Real, he would need a Body of his own. He'd need a human curious- and foolish- enough to make a deal with him. That wouldn't be happening anytime soon, though. Surely, most humans had more common sense than that. He'd heard stories of other members of his kin finding suitable vessels to contract with, but the odds of him stumbling upon one himself were- "Oh. Oh my g-d! I did it! It worked!" The Prince raised his head, turning with surprise to the mirror. There, staring back at him in awe, was a human. His eyes were wide and burning with fascination, hand pressed up against the glass. He was clad in the rich velvet robes of a magician. No. It couldn't be that easy, could it? Any doubt in the Prince's mind, though, was dashed as soon as the magician began eagerly tapping the mirror, rambling to himself about cosmogone and dreams and how he was finally so close, he just needed to take that last step- The Prince had never made a deal before. It couldn't be too hard, though. Everyone did it. So, excitement budding up within him, he slithered up to the glass and began whispering. He told the magician. The magician listened.