OOC: Dream, wild magic, call it what ye will... but from here on in your character's been transformed into a house pet or an animal from ze farm. Just becuz. : D

IC:

Robyn was a cat.

She wasn't a cat in the metaphorical sense of the word, moody and shifty and unwilling to be petted by the merest stranger- nor in the... lofty sense of the term where it was her soul that had been reincarnated and had once been a cat in a prior life nor even in the more pedantic soul-searching sense of the word where one tried on various animal totems to look for ones inner self. She wasn't even a cat in the 'year of the animal' sense of the word though she might have been. Robyn had stopped paying attention to birfdays long ago since there had been no one to give her pwesents and that had been a sad event indeed.

No, Robyn was a cat. To be exact, Mr. Fluffington. Her undead kitty-kat.

And she was tired! She never knew that undead kitty-kats were always so tired! It was almost ridiculous how tired she was and (oh the irony!) she would be running up and down frantically if she had been in her normal Robyn body instead of... yawn... trying to go back to sleep. But there was a problem with that. Someone was poking her. With a pitchfork.

“What d'ya think it is Jim?”

“I dunno. Looks like something that Marge spat out after some devil cookery. Is it... is it even alive?”

“I dunno, I think it's cute actually. See? All it wants to do is sleep-”

“Mark my words boy, that thing is a menace.”

“So why don't -you- bloody keel it then?”

There was an uncomfortable silence as the two men stared at each and then at the hay loft where Robyn was resting.

“Let's go get Marge,” one of them finally said in defeat. And then they ambled off. And Robyn went to sleep.

Stella was a dog.

A sheep dog to be exact. With large golden fur that gave off her special glow, and sparkly opal eyes. Who knew how? She wasn't one to question this planet. The farm was alive, men getting up to plow the field. She was ushered into a field full of sheep. What did they want her to do?

The men kept staring at her. So Stella began to run. As she approached the large fluffy beasts, they ran in fear. "Ooh the power!" Stella thought. She kept chasing them, her fur blowing in the speed.

This was so fun! Why hadn't she done this before?! Soon all the running tired her out, and she layd in the soft grass and began to sleep. Her job seemed to just consist of keeping these sheep in their place. Easy enough. Resting her head on her knew front legs she closed her eyes.

Now.. THIS was the life! These animals had it good! Sleep... Run around.. Sleep... Run around, Eat, Sleep some more.

She didn't really care if she stayd like this. Never had she had sooo much fun!

Kenith was a crow.
A crow, of all things huh? He thought silently, his now-small bird brain struggling. He fluttered down, landing on a post. A dog was herding. He tried to speak but all that came out was a squawk. He fluttered over the dog, "squawk squawk squaaaawk?"

He fluttered his wings, becoming irritated. Suddenly something caught his eye. Food. Suddenly a previously unknown instinct came over and he dive bombed into a sack. There were all sorts of little things in here that were so delicious. He suddenly jerked his head around. Somebody was comming. People! He tried to communicate, again, unsuccessfully. "Squawk squawk. Squawk!" He flapped his wings as hard as he could as one man swatted at him. "Shoo bird!" He had said. This scared Kenith very much and he flapped away. Into the bar, where he landed on a cat. A very ugly ugly cat at that.

Robyn yawned again then turned over, all four paws in the air. She was dreaming kitty dreams which were dreams that involved tearing the throat out of leetle mice and then eating them with one big mouthful of eatiness, for that was what leetle kitty kats did and since Robyn was such a tired leetle kitty that could only mean one thing- that she was eating leetle mice! And hunting leetle mice! Paws waved reflexively as the leetle kitty kat, unhampered by the true laws of nature and physics went bounding about chasing mice, rats, the occasional scorpion, two rattlesnakes and a baby chick from the chicken pen and even a baby human. The baby human didn't like playing though. Meanie-pooh!

Then something landed on her with a woompf. She didn't know it at first because she was still chasing a very cute and very scared leetle baby mousie and was just about to jump right onto eet's back when well, the woompf happened. It wasn't a particularly strong woompf, just the sort of woompf that happened when a scared and somewhat surprised crow was scared into the hayloft and then onto a sleeping undead kitty.

Yeah, woompf.

Opening her eyes, Robyn stared up at the... big black bird thingy. She tried to raise an eyebrow and then realzied that Mr. Fluffington had lost his somewhere. Probalby during their last game of doctor in which she had to unfortunately find him a new leg, some new intestines and even new front teethies! It had been really difficult, finding a viable match.

She didn't know quite what to say though.

“Eh?”

Kenith, now a crow, paused. He struggled with the name, or identity. It was that cat, that undead cat? The one that Robyn girl had? Looked very very similar to it. "Squawk squawk." Kenith almost moaned, he was having some communication issues apparently. Maybe he could try to get something other than squawk out.

Saddly he failed yet again and again, "Squawk squawk! Squaaawk squawk! Squawky Squawk squawk!" He hung his head in defeat, no use. The crow fluttered his wings, swiftly gazing back to th entrance of the barn. The people were back. This scared him very, very much. They didn't seem to like him, even though he had done nothing wrong. It must have been because of the free food. Or maybe it wasn't free...uh oh. That was bad, Kenith flapped his wings, hovering up to the top of the barn. Hopefully he would be out of reach of the men.

Stella rose from her slumber. It was about time she investigated this farm. The first place she checked out was the pen. The pig pen. It was actually quite amusing to watch the piglets roll around in the mud, and Stella chuckled, which came out in a wheezing sound.

Stella felt a sudden feeling. Itchy... oh...so...itchy!! Her beck tingled from he sensation, and she rolled over in an attempt to relieve the feeling. No... she needed help. Running madly, she made her way to one of the workers.

"Well hi there little girl!" She called, as Stella jumped up at him wildly. He merely laughed, then THANK YE LORDS she thought, as he scratched her back tenderly. Her foot twitched. It felt nice. When he had finished he stroked her face, and Stella ran away, her itchy-ness over.

She ran back to the sheep and chased then around for a while. Farm life sure was fun! Spotting a crow she barked at it playfully, then chased it. She was lead to a cat, a strangely familiar cat. "HELLO!" She meant to shout, but all that came out what "WOOOF. *PANT*" Sh cocked her head to the side.

Couldn't she talk?!

Jim had finally gotten Marge to agree to take a look at that Hellborn cat when a crow- a damned crow of all things had started eating their bloody food. He had managed to chase it off, but as was the usual route of things, the damned bugger had managed to get his way into eating other things too and was now in the hayloft. And apparently trying to eat the hellborn cat or something. It sure was making a racket.

"Ach, it's a stupid crow Jimmy-boy!" Marge groused. She didn't like being waked early no more and it showed- she was angry now. "Lemme go ta sleep!"

"It's underneath the damn crow, Marge." Jim replied hotly. That nickname was a relic from nicer times but also younger times. He was a man now, full grown and proud to be one! Just cuz' Marge was a witcher woman didn't mean she got to tell him how to live his life!

Wait, that wasn't what they were talking about.

"Here, I'll get eet." Jim offered and then started climbing up the stepladder that led to the hayloft. "Here boy," he said, clicking his tongue. "Here boy, let Jimmy getcha down from that mean ol' hayloft and show Marge where that bloody cat is. Here boy." He clicked his tongue some more, feeling kind of foolish. All farmhands talked to the animals but they were... they were smart beasts. Crows were just... crows were just stoopid.

Kenith stared at the man silently. "Here boy, let Jimmy getcha down from that mean ol' hayloft and show Marge where that bloody cat is. Here boy." What did he think he was? Stupid? Probably. How dare he, even though Kenith was many times dimmer now than he was as a human, he certainly wasn't stupid! He walked over, as though he was listening. However, this once-human crow had other plans. As he neared the man, he flapped onto the man's hand. Dropping a crow-bomb, which caused him to burst into crow laughter. Yet even to a person, it would seem as though he was laughing. Take that farmer person! He figured the man was very angry, so he flapped back out of reach. The man wanted to see the cat though, might as well comply. He flapped, pecking at him lightly in the direction he intended to go. Flapping away a bit then stopping and looking back. He came to a stop back at the cat, squawking.

"Well, se, I learned this new trick, and it's really cool. All I need to do.." said she, Ara's friend Tafia, who felt the need to friendly taunt Ara with her magic. She fingered through the pages in the magic book, searching for the proper spell.
"And, it does what, exatly?"
"I produces a pet for you. How about a tarantula!?"
"A puppy-" said Ara, "Would be fine, thanks. I think the eight legs might be harder."
"Alright" Tafia said. She pointed her staff at the ground next to Ara and muttered a spell. The staff momentarily glowed, then faded.
"What?" she said, re-reading the page.
"Oh, here. I need to 'direct the energy at the owner for the pet to have a master'"
She quickly tried to spell again and immediatly screamed. Ara had turned into a puppy herself. She had black fur with tan splotches, and she was half dog, half wolf. It figured. Of all the things to go wrong- she, a puppy? Ara snorted, scoffing at her own appearance. Her friend flipped through the pages.
"No, really, I will find a mage to fix me-" Ara said, but she could tell all Tafia could hear were barks. She started to cry, still flipping through the pages. Ara rubbed her furry neck against her friend, which seemed to be consolation. She sniffed and wiped her cheeks, Ara gave a friendly kiss on her calf, then srang out the door, traveling down th e street to find the healer. Now all she needed to do was figure out how to communicate...

Well LaPlace figured it'd be hysterical to turn Triella into a badger. They didn't get it, and tried mashing him in the face with the pommel of her sword just before the transmogrificationess occurred. Now they were really, really hairy. Like...ten years without even attempting to shave.

As if it was annoying enough, he dumped her out in the middle of Raku-forsaken woods! Now what would she do!? He babbled about coming back in twenty-four hours or so to retrieve her. Great, twenty-four hours stuck in as a furry-rodent, a good-sized rodent. Like that of a small dog or large cat, but rodent nevertheless.

She could sit there and wait, but they were a bit to restless for that. Getting up and waddling near the edge of the forest, the badger figured it'd find something to do after spotting a farm house. Maybe they could eat the people there...carefully...

Jim had just managed to believe that he had shoo'd the bird away when the damned thing POOPED on him. With a snarl of rage he tried to grab onto the bird, overbalanced and then fell into a hayloft. Where a conveniently located pitchfork... was located. And the inevitable happened as what usually happened to stoopid people.

Jim didn't die.

He almost did, which some might argue, was close enough so he, instead, cursed and ranted and ranted and cursed and kicked at the hay, at the horse stall and at the bird who was merrily cackling at him.

"Ye DAMNED varmit." He roared. "When I gets yoo, I'm gonna bake meself some crow pie and after that-"

"Jim! What's taking ye so long! Lemme see the damned cat and we can go home!" Jim grumbled and re-set the stepladder and climbed up again. Having never noticed the errant pitchfork he would no doubt one day fall and kill himself but that day wasn't today and his time hadn't yet come. But when he reached the hayloft... there was nothing to be seen. Besides the crow anyways.

"Wuh?"

"JIM! WHAT'S TAKING YE SO LONG?" Marge roared.

"It was here just a second ago Marge," he called back, a bit disconcerted. He still had to get rid of the crow, but where was that damned cat? He couldn't see it, couldn't feel it, couldn't... well.. odd in any case.

From underneath the hay, two mismatched eyes stared at him thoughtfully. Maybe even hungrily.

Shouting, excited voices. Chaos.

The badger chortled to itself while wandering through thick grass growing on the edges of a fence. She could hear cawing in the distance, and almost make out a man muttering. It was amazing the sense animals had, or perhaps LaPlace's spell worked in odd ways. Once this was over she'd make certain to break his favorite chessboard in spite. Teach him to be a jackass rabbit.

The first thing was, how to go about attacking said humans? She looked fluffy and cuddly, but most people didn't want to pick up a badger.

Innocence.

If she appeared friendly, docile and nonthreatening, they'd be cautious at first. eventually though, after infiltrating their home, they'd fall asleep. She could go in and savage their eyes. Then take out their Achilles tendons. Then go for the throat. That would work. unless they were hungry, in which case she was screwed.

Kenith crackled in delight, until the man managed to survive his near-death fall. Now that was a disappointment. So he was stuck here, with an angry guy in front of him, who wanted to turn him into a pie. Great, what else could be so lovely as this? Hmm.

Kenith flapped his wings again, moving over the man and down to the lower part of the barn. Time to have some fun. He charged about, pecking at the man, dropping more...material down at him. He pondered what could be done if he 'accidentally' killed him. He paused, thinking hard with his bird brain. No matter, who would blame a bird? He crackled, in a way only birds could, and went about finding sharp object. He came across a knife. It was perfect. The little crow picked it up and flapped hard to stay air born. He moved swiftly to the farmer, aiming right above his head. He let a dropping fall to stop the man in his tracks, then as soon as he had accomplished that feat, he dropped the knife.

Ara burst into the barn doors.
No, not a noble elf. Not even a mortal human through some sort of disguise. No, she was a puppy.
Don't be mistaken, she wasn't an ordinary looking puppy. She was midnight black and had ginger patches beneath her fur. When one would pet her they would discover the brilliant spots. But in her appearance now she was all black, and mind you, she was angry, haughty, and hungry. Aralishia Bandaar was a force to be reckoned with. Even as a puppy.

She took one look at the angry farmer and dived so quickly into the hay that she doubted the mad farmer even had spotted the black puppy. She had a tendency to blend in with the shadows. Strange enough, her tongue was lolling. Getting overheated was not good for an innocent, sweet puppy.

Ara wriggled slowly through the haystack,(which was very incomfortable) trying not to make any movements that would tip off the farmer. Then, just a bit away, was a decaying kitty. Ara had 2 different instincts; one was to chase after the animal and the other was to prance happily to it because it aught to be a friendly kitty. Ara liked neither option. She wriggled forth until she spotted the kitten. She glanced out the haystack through the same hole and saw the angry farmer. Indeed, he looked rather appetizing. But the kitty got her first, she aught to have him. Unless,of course, something happened to poor kitty.

Triella the badger paused when she seen something. It was small, and furry. Like her. Only this thing was small to her, even as a badger. And it smelled pretty damn good. Creeping a little closer, she spied the little mouse. It was nibbling on a piece of bread or something. So content and pleased with itself, not knowing it was just a dead-mouse still walking.

She lept into the air...well...a few inches off the ground, and slammed a paw into the mouse, crushing its frail bones nearly instantly, making a stomach-churning squishing sound. Sniffing again she crinkled her nose. Mouse guts didn't smell really good, she'd smelled something else that had gotten her attention...but what?

Standing up on her hind legs, she spied the prize on a windowsill. It was a freshly baked loaf of bread! But how to get it was the current problem!?

Robyn stared at the dog. How had it gotten there? How could it have possibly slipped past her without her noticing? How was she a cat? Those were all questions that deserved terribly good answered and also deserved a chance at existing but Roybn's brain was having none of that. Those thoughts could fry for all it cared- what it wanted, and what it only wanted, was to sleep. This unnatural body was trying to... trying to... trying...

To shut down. A sudden noise jarred Robyn back up again. The dog was gone, the crow was gone... everyone was gone, gone, gone, gone, GONE. Robyn tried to rub her eyes but ended up scratching one out. That had been awkward. Now she was a cat with poor depth perception and a tendency to be poked and prodded at in places where people were usually not poked and prodded at since most people didn't have different, overlapping fields of flesh.

Shimmying down the stepladder, Robyn made her way down to the vereh bottom where she met an enraged friend-friend who she kind of re-called being called 'Jim.' Whether or not he was enraged because he had been sleeping and Robyn-rin had sort of jumped down on top of him no one would ever know. What people did know was that his subsequent attempts lead him on a merry chase around the barn causing mass panic and havoc as Robyn attempted to move forwards as quickly as possible and with as little economy of motion as possible... resulting in a rather odd and unpredictable loping gait that carried her around at a suitable speed and prevented her capture from a very irate young man.

Triella felt the temporal-distortion in her soul. She was naturally attuned to such phenomena, or that they were so unnatural everyone felt them and blamed them as a stomach ache. She knew otherwise though. And this resonance was nearby, like the distance from here to the barn where some irate nosies were coming from.

Waddling over she forgot about the deliciously golden-bread on the windowsill, slitting the family's throats, and even kicking LaPlace's ass. It all became forgotten when she seen Mr. Fluffington being chased around by one of the people living here.

What the hell was HE doing here!? Was Robyn nearby!? that'd be bad, even worse than facing down armed farmers!

Stalking near the edge she waddled voer to the pitchfork, accidentally nudging it to a convenient spot where a misstep backwards by Jim might result in an impaled foot. Oh how fate worked around the sites of temporal-distortions.

Jim groaned. What was *with* the animals today? They were going mad, madder than mad even. He had seen pigs organizing armed resistances against man and beast that had come to reason with them. He had seen ducks trying to teach chickens how to fly. He had seen cows and horses running together, apparently they were trying to teach other how to *be* each other, as if they had some weird foreign service that required training and whatnot. Whatever the case was, it had been a freaky day. The dogs weren't acting like dogs, the sheep were acting like wolves and the lambs... he had sworn he had seen a lamb look at him with the solid intent to murder him. He had no hard proof mind, but he was sure of it.

And now he saw it again. The source of the disease- of the infection! This creature, this undead monstrosity was the reason why they were all going to die, this was the reason that they were all nearing death and nearing an abysmal survival rate. He closed his eyes for a moment, tears leaking out.

No, no, not really. His tears were leaking out because he had somehow tripped and fallen and the very, very pointy end of a pitchfork had speared right into his bum and was giving him PAIN.

"YIKES!" Jim cried trying and failing to get up. "Oh god the pain..." he moaned. Staggering up with blood leaking down his trousers he grabbed the haft of the pitchfork and with a moan- tore it out.

Letting out a slavering bestial roar, Triella charged. It was more of a mildly frightening grumbling snarl and a fast-paced waddle. But her proximity to him made it effective! good thing for well-chosen battlefield deployment.

Diving at the back of his foot, her sharp teeth ripped at the tendon there which would render it useless. Her long claws clawed at the other one, cutting the clothing and giving him a nasty cut, but not much more than that.

she hadn't quite planned on him falling. What if he fell on her? She'd have a broken limb at least, maybe worse. Uh oh. Well, he had one working leg, so at best he'd start to tip before falling. She was confident in her badger-waddling to dive out of the way before being crushed to death.

And then it was only a hop and a skip to his throat and eyes. Yesss, the glistening jewels filled with ocular fluids...

"GRAAAAAH!" Jim roared, the beast was upon him! Upon closer inspection (a visit that he did not like at all) he realized that it was an oversized and overstuffed badger. Probably the result of some wizard reagent or somesuch that had gotten into the badger's drinking water, turning a normally headstrong and aggressive beast into a nightmare of epic proportions. Or at least a nightmare of epic proportions for him. He needed a breather and fast, this badger was going to-

A curse rent the air, making the ducks that were teaching chickens how to fly squabble and then squark as the human cried out in pain. His eyes! HIS EYES!

"MY EYES!" He roared and then cursed again quite merrily. This ruckus commenced, a squadron of other human helpers came to arrive to attack whatever bestial animals had arrived... and somehow ended up at the pond instead of the barn. So on they hurried, but during that brief interval where madness and dreams mixed Robyn-rin, in her neat little kitty-kat form, crawled up the crying, snivelling human and snuggled right next to Alice-Mommy. It was an instinct born of luff, and since it was born of luff, Robyn-rin could see through any disguises that they people tried to throw at her. Alice-Mommy might want to pretend that she was a badger but Robyn-rin knew better. Alice-Mommy was Alice-Mommy.

Purring contentedly, Robyn went to sleep. And then she coughed out a hairball, and went right back to sleep.

Triella paused. confused at what had just happened. Somehow his eyes had exploded. Truly this temporal-distortion was an unstable one. LaPlace would actually want to know about it. She should ransom out the information to him, that'd be suitable payback.

Pausing she looked around for any space-time disruptions that could achieve time-travel. Most of these things were only gibbered about by LaPlace, but no reason they couldn't exist. She was about to ask the human where Santa was when the udneady kitty came over.

Robyn?

The badger cocked it's head curiously, only to grumble slightly and narrow its eyes in an irritated expression when the kitty dozed off. Prodding the cat with her paw she gave a weird whine-growl. Triella was bored and was curious as the what Robyn-Fluffington was doing here...and like that. did LaPlace chose to play the joke on her as well? Stupid rabbit...needed his ass kicked.