#shapeshiftiing

    ❛    we  need  to  talk  ;  about  us  ,  if  you  have  time.    ❜

“Wh– what, what– what are you doing!”

Moby was frequently human-looking and small, even by their species’ standards for an adult female. She stood just over five feet tall but with a hard gaze and air of confidence with her when she sauntered around, usually nobody dared poke fun at it… much less hoist her up.

She flailed a little when he lifted her from the ground and hooked his arm under her legs so suddenly.  Red bloomed across her cheeks and when he did not put her down right away, she flashed her teeth, trying not to look so embarrassed. “—- are you DONE??”

              “Hardly.”

This form was so small, so....VULNERABLE. Smaug hated it, and he hated how he couldn’t fly. Moby’s short stature moved slower than his did, which was why he’d picked her up in the first place. He didn’t know where they could go next; the dwarves had taken over his mountain, and his current body couldn’t take ALL of them at once. So, he moved with his only friend ally through Dale, accepting what aid was handed to them. 

☆

— planet Earth. For as long as he can remember, Hatter has had nothing short of a love-hate relationship with this place. Especially in the summer months, where in some places humidity can be absolutely oppressive- lucky for him it’s October, and getting cooler every day. He’s been laying low, having come to collect a few things he can only find here, and a few particular things he has yet to acquire.

He knows where to go to get them, and he’s got more than enough to pay for them, but the trouble with Earth magick is that it takes so long to make. So he waits, currently biding his time in a city he doesn’t care to remember the name of, high and silly drunk off some liquor that tastes like roses. The alley ways here remind him of home, fogged and aglow with neon, littered with trash and miscreants and a great comfort after having spent the better part of his day in a dodgey old witch’s basement-turned-spellroom.

He’d been humming a tune until he heard it, that sickening crunch of bone breaking and the following scream quickly muffled into a gurgling choke. True blues squint as he peers into the mist, reconsidering what he’d thought to be a couple fucking against the wall-

Morbid curiosity spurs him onward, ever closer to see what exactly he’s just wandered up to. A hand goes instinctively to the pistol at his hip as another crunch comes, a spray of blood following. He can smell it now, a smell like death. His mouth moves before he thinks to stop himself.