reply to post by wildtimes
Hi Hi! When you get a moment could you edit this for me? Meaning, could you let me know what I could add or what I should take away to precisely
portray your giant?
Here's a rough (editable) draft!
Oh, and it's a bit scary...
* ~ * Something Wicked... * ~ *
‘Never had a lad to call me own...’ The Alewife burped a bubble of ‘usky‘ leaving a sweet sour taste on the back of her tongue.
The black cat sitting just out of kicking range beyond her feet turned it’s head and licked it’s shoulder.
‘If ye aint gonna pay attention jest git yerself away from me stoop you cursed thing!’ The owner of the Rose snarled even if the sleek black cat
was the only living thing sharing the dark with her now that the kegs had run dry, the hearth bled cold and the grunting from the rooms above the
taproom had gone quiet.
‘I said get yerself away!’ The Alewife pulled off one roughshod shoe tossing it at the cat. When the shoe sailed wide past the cat’s head it
didn’t so much as blink.
‘And don’t ye think I had all them fine feelings fer the lad!’ ‘Rose’ rambled on between pulls on her wineskin. ’Didn't have feelings
fer none of ‘em.‘ Forgetting she’d wanted the cat gone the Alewife weaved from side to side reminiscing over her lost bairns. ‘But...but
jest between you and me?’ She closed one sloe eye the other going wally, ’I did have a wee little liking fer him.’ She chuckled meanly.
Anger was settling in. She’d been sure the boy would have scuttled back to her days ago. He’d not. And now there was no one left to lead her to
bed, scour the dregs from cups grown green with use, turn the spit, stoke the fire...
‘There it is damn ‘is miserable hide he up and run off like the rest of them accursed males!’ Trying to rise to her feet the Alewife fell back
on her ample bottom a hiccup escaping her throat. The usky might of warmed her innards but it sent her feet spayed as a ducks. There was no rising
in her this night cursed as it was. The thought of sleeping it off on the porch all but sobered her. For the fist time in her life the alewife
missed something and it wasn‘t the cat who‘d run off with a hiss.
‘Where...is...he...’ A dark shadow forced over the tree line whispered, then called, then roared. In her stupor the alewife wondered if it was
the boy. Or the cat. In slow motion her brain registered it was neither but whoever was sent her skin crawling.
‘WHERE IS HE!’ A great waft of dank putrid air clapped her nose shut but not soon enough. The Alewife nearly drown in the stench.
‘Who’s out there?’ She screamed, usky and fear giving her a courage she didn’t feel.
‘Where. Is. HE!’ Right before her face the voice grew bright yellow teeth sprouting from a mouth larger than her soup kettle and glowing in the
moonlight murky and green. Rose scooted her butt back towards the door of the pub her heels making scuff marks across the dirty boards.
‘Who are you. What do you want here. The pub’s closed!‘ Like weapons she shouted words like nearly every night of her life. The old worn out
phrases comforted her but didn’t stave off the intruder.
A mammoth fist struck through the shadows snatching her by the neck like she’d been known to snatch up old hens ready for the stew pot.
‘Where is he.’ Up close and inescapable the voice grew even more ominous with quiet. From her new height with feet dangling too far from the
ground - still the Alewife could make out nothing but green eyes and teeth.
‘Who you be looking for?’ She choked out around a throat constricting under pressure from the huge thumb and forefinger holding her suspended.
‘The Neno.’ He hissed sending vomitous spittle spraying across her cheeks. ‘Where is he?’ The dreadful thing repeated.
‘I dunno...he done run off...a fortnight ago.’ She didn’t remember the lad’s name as Neno. A tinge of guilt squeezed her heart.
‘Where...did...he go...’ The giant dipped his head so close she cold feel the heat from his eyes radiating across her face. She tried to scream,
she choked then choked again but her arms and hands hung nerveless at her sides like a kitten’s in a cat’s mouth. There was no fighting.
‘I...don’t...know...’ She tried.
Her back snapped first. Like a wishbone. The stench of her bowls and bladder pouring out over the dry earth didn’t bother the giant at all. With
a quick hack from the axe taken from his hip and a little extra pressure from forefinger and thumb the crown of her skull popped off revealing the
pinky gray tissue hidden underneath . The giant‘s pointy tongue delved deep into the round red opening dipping, slobbering, swallowing. Tipsy with
her spirit laced blood and brains the giant began to laugh...and laugh and laugh and laugh.
edit on 30-11-2012 by silo13 because: boldy