.006 These Woods Are Lovely, Dark and Deep

[findmyownreason]

Once upon a time, for all good stories start with once upon a time, there was a great forest.  It stretched on for days, for countries, for unclaimed fairy tale after unclaimed fairy tale in fact.  This was the Great Wood, the Olde Wood, the Place Where All Things Start.  This was the forest of all the old tales and it will ever be, until men are legends that dogs tell each other around the fires at night.  Everything lives in the depths of these woods and nothing at all.  Be careful what you whisper when you go into the dark for even the trees are listening and stories have a way of happening here whether you want them to or not.

Deep in the darkness, in one of the less traveled spots, there lives a wolf.  The Wolf, if you will.  For he is the Big Bad, the Howler at the Door, the Winter Wolf, the Devourer, the Nightmare That Creeps In Windows, the Child's Warning and, occasionally, the Huffer and Puffer, though he's taken to outsourcing the last one after one particularly embarrassing incident involving a hay allergy.  He's the wise talking beast or the prehistoric feral fear.  He is, in short, whatever your story needs him to be.

Don't expect him to be particularly pleased or even helpful about it though.  He's been doing this job for a while now and he's getting sick of getting yanked out of rolling in dead animals just so that he can trot his fuzzy butt over to make menacing, half-assed attempts at your basket of treats and God help you if he has to dress in old lady drag One More Time!


OOC: so.  Here's Cloud to provide all your Big Bad Wolf TM needs.  Or frankly, the forest isn't above dragging him in to take over any animal need.  There appears to be a shortage of fairy animals going around at the moment, something about better paying jobs in Hollywood.  Does your story need a talking bear?  Suddenly you've got a snarky wolf as your guide.  Your brothers got the mill and all you got was a cat?  Well, it's a wolf now and it's not happy about having to wear boots or do all your work for you, you dolt.  Need that straw spun into gold by morning?  Looks like you're duck out of luck.  Wolves can't spin, though he does a very impressive cats cradle if you give him enough yarn and tie the knots for him.  Point being, if your fairy tale has an animal of any sort in it, you've now got a very grumpy wolf who can't say 'not interested' the way he'd really rather.  And, of course, he's still here for all your big bad wolfish metaphorical needs as well.

Comments

[findmyownreason]

What the hell was it with these horns? Cloud couldn't seem to go anywhere without them kicking in and every now and then he thought he heard an... oboe? What the hell was an oboe and why would he know what it sounded like?

He was pretty sure he could blame this all on that stupid duck. He wasn't sure how but he was pretty sure that was the point.

Damn Stories.

Not to mention that cheerful godawful racket kept getting deeper into his woods. At first he hadn't actually minded the tune, finding it a little cheerful but now it was just stuck in his head and it seemed to be the same ten notes or so repeating themselves over and over again inside his head.

It was enough to drive a Big Bad Wolf mad.

Which was why Cloud was stalking off through the trees to find the source of the noise and eat it.

[cidhighwind]

Cid would prefer horns over the sound of these violins that seem to be following him. It wasn't as noticeable back at the cabin, but in the woods it just wouldn't stop.

He's half convinced some assholes are flying through the treetops, playing violins just to piss him off.

Once he hears the sound of horns, he pauses. There is absolutely no way to stay hidden with this racket going on, and he stomps his way in the direction the sound is coming from. When he happens upon the wolf, he's prepared to face something, so he isn't too surprised to stumble upon the (supposed) menace.

"Lookin' for something, fuzzy?" He asks this with his hands in his pockets, not looking for a fight but ready if the wolf attacks. He'd actually prefer the wolf attack whoever's playing that damn music, if he can find them.

Hell, Cid will help.

[findmyownreason]

It's a children's tale apparently given the music that doesn't go dark and menacing when they stumble on each other but stays cheerfully and peppy instead. Which makes it kind of strange to see such a grumpy looking, chain smoking, old guy when Cloud finally finds the source of the noise. Usually children's tales have... children in them?

So... maybe the guy in front of him is the harsh grandfather/step-father type that throws the children out of the house and into a world of adventure instead. Which doesn't make sense if he's the one out here in the woods. Since the guy isn't going for a blunderbuss or anything awkward like that Cloud feels safe in plopping his furry butt down to sit in front of the man.

The oboe gives a honk.

And since it's a children's tale of course all animals can talk.

"What the happy is going on?"

Children's tales apparently also censor cursing.

[cidhighwind]

Cid blinks at the wolf before bursting into loud laughter. Of all the things he was expecting (what with the cacophony of horns and violins and what have you), it was not a wolf who seemed just as irritated as he felt.

"The happy you mean 'what the happy'?" After the words leave his mouth, he stops with his mouth hanging open. What did he just say?

"What the happy?! WHAT THE HAPPY." He starts yelling it, trying to get his voice to work with his mind. "Donkey loving rose smelling son of a golden retriever."

The pure rage that fills Cid's face is a little astounding. His cheeks turn bright red and he rubs his face as if this will help him make more sense out of this.

"I ain't got a clue 'bout what's going on here, fuzz. Just that it's noisy as roses and happily annoying." As he speaks, he's tempted to just give up on trying to curse. "And what donkey is playing all that music?"

[findmyownreason]

Cloud's ears flatten at the laughter and he's ready to go into a sulk, blue eyes already narrowing when the man across from him has his first bout with the children's censors.

The look on his face makes it all worth while and Cloud can't help it if his jaws part so his tongue can loll from the side of his mouth in pleasure. Next to his legs, his tail thumps contentedly. It's always satisfying watching someone else deal with being caught in one of these Stories. Wolf Cloud's got a bit more experience with this kind of thing than grumpy grandpa though and he knows it's going to take both of them to fix this. So he waits until Cid gets done before answering. There's even a little shift in the way he's sitting, almost as if he was cocking a hip, one paw sliding forward just a little in front of the others before he begins to expound.

"We must be trapped in a Story. Probably a Children's Story. The Story wants us to do whatever it is that it needs so that it can finish." A pause. The oboe chooses to honk again. "The music is new."

[cidhighwind]

"Well ain't that a big pile of sunshine." There's a moment that his eyes narrow at the word replacement before he continues. "You got any ideas on how to get out of this?"

The violins swell in response to his statement, and he shoots a glare at the trees above them. Where he's decided the violin playing ninjas are hiding. "The music is donkey poo, that's what it is."

About ready to give up on the whole cursing bit, he crosses his arms as he gives the wolf an expectant look. "So, what, we gotta finish the story? I ain't got a clue on how this ends."

[findmyownreason]

Cloud's pretty sure he knows how the story ends. Because stories, something even or especially kid's stories, always end the same way for him. Badly.

It was really ridiculous how much trouble he got in for doing what came naturally to him. Eating.

"I probably need to swallow you whole so you can cut yourself back out with the duck."

He manages it entirely straight faced, which isn't that hard for him even without the wolf version of it. Not that he's for a second going to not chew but the old guy doesn't need to know that. His shoulders hunch, suspiciously like a shrug.

"Or we can find someone else to give the story to. There's got to be a miller's son somewhere around here."