A hand on my shoulder startled me awake. I vaulted into an impressive somersault across the room and called into the shadows for my kunoichi. Still in the disguises that Recluse-dono insisted they wear, they surrounded the person who had the poor sense to disturb a sleeping Lady Nogitsune.
On looking about I was struck with a strong sense of "vuja de." That is, knowing intellectually that something is familiar, but feeling emotionally that it is a new experience. I knew this room and the occupants, but I could tell that they were no threat. Just the rapid crossing of himself and whispered prayer that the old man was saying and the look of terror on the old woman's face as two ninja-to touched lightly on either side of her throat were enough to shock me into a standstill.
These were my parents. But this one's parents died long ago in Yamato, I recalled. I also recalled them raising me and my brother and sister. I shook my head as I realized I was thinking in Japanese. There was a war raging in my mind between Nogitsune and Logan. The battle was decided for this one when the woman (my mother!) swallowed hard and spoke.
"Logan?" she asked. "Are you all right?"
A slight wave of my hand sent the kunoichi back to wherever I had called them from and I considered the question.
"This one thinks so, kaa-san," I replied in a voice like honeyed silk.
[Skipping a lot of "back home" things.]
Super jumping over 205 ri (500 miles or 800 kilometers) had been an interesting experience. Treetop-to-treetop in the more rural and forested areas and roof-hopping through the BosWash corridor had been enlightening. The myriad sounds and smells were simultaneously familiar and new. The rush of winter wind against my fur-covered ears was not as unpleasant as it would have been in my old body, and the "Sinister" pattern outfit I wore combined with my minimal exertion was warm enough. The part of me that was Nogitsune revelled in the novel sensation of renewed novelty.
The minor divining ritual I had enacted over the Saturday Valley News lead me to the front door of what I assumed to be the Schroecks' home. I knocked and was greeted by who I assumed to be Bob himself. Stepping inside, I took a leaf from a hidden pocket and placed it on my forehead, switching to my "clubbing" costume. I removed the stiletto heels and exchanged pleasantries with my host.
The nervousness I felt in the room was palpable. There were several of the blue-and-gold uniforms of the Legendary present, but I was apparently the first of the Infamous to arrive. I found a stool and sat with my legs crossed demurely. I winced internally at that, but one of the things that truly bothered me about the change was how little it bothered me.
[to be editted once we figure out who all will be there when Nogi-me arrives]
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''
-- James Nicoll
On looking about I was struck with a strong sense of "vuja de." That is, knowing intellectually that something is familiar, but feeling emotionally that it is a new experience. I knew this room and the occupants, but I could tell that they were no threat. Just the rapid crossing of himself and whispered prayer that the old man was saying and the look of terror on the old woman's face as two ninja-to touched lightly on either side of her throat were enough to shock me into a standstill.
These were my parents. But this one's parents died long ago in Yamato, I recalled. I also recalled them raising me and my brother and sister. I shook my head as I realized I was thinking in Japanese. There was a war raging in my mind between Nogitsune and Logan. The battle was decided for this one when the woman (my mother!) swallowed hard and spoke.
"Logan?" she asked. "Are you all right?"
A slight wave of my hand sent the kunoichi back to wherever I had called them from and I considered the question.
"This one thinks so, kaa-san," I replied in a voice like honeyed silk.
[Skipping a lot of "back home" things.]
Super jumping over 205 ri (500 miles or 800 kilometers) had been an interesting experience. Treetop-to-treetop in the more rural and forested areas and roof-hopping through the BosWash corridor had been enlightening. The myriad sounds and smells were simultaneously familiar and new. The rush of winter wind against my fur-covered ears was not as unpleasant as it would have been in my old body, and the "Sinister" pattern outfit I wore combined with my minimal exertion was warm enough. The part of me that was Nogitsune revelled in the novel sensation of renewed novelty.
The minor divining ritual I had enacted over the Saturday Valley News lead me to the front door of what I assumed to be the Schroecks' home. I knocked and was greeted by who I assumed to be Bob himself. Stepping inside, I took a leaf from a hidden pocket and placed it on my forehead, switching to my "clubbing" costume. I removed the stiletto heels and exchanged pleasantries with my host.
The nervousness I felt in the room was palpable. There were several of the blue-and-gold uniforms of the Legendary present, but I was apparently the first of the Infamous to arrive. I found a stool and sat with my legs crossed demurely. I winced internally at that, but one of the things that truly bothered me about the change was how little it bothered me.
[to be editted once we figure out who all will be there when Nogi-me arrives]
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''
-- James Nicoll