Tribble Month 2023 Day 10: Hero or Villain
Leah woke with a start and tried to jolt upright, only to find herself already sitting. Sitting and-and tied, bound to a chair, fastened in turn to the concrete floor, and surrounded by stacks of shipping containers. She wriggled, thrashed, pulled at the restraints. When that failed, she glanced around, looking for hidden eyes or cameras, before flexing the spines on her arms. They made a mess of her sweater sleeves, but somehow missed every rope—
—and then the ropes squeezed tighter, straining her ribs with a subtle squelch, and she realized they weren’t ropes at all.
Well. This should be easier, at least.
She huffed, or tried to, and glared into the darkness. Still nothing. She elected to start the quipping anyway. “Really, Coral? I know you’re petty, but this is ridiculous. Kidnapping isn’t a good look on you. And neither is stealing my bit!”
“She’s not here.”
Leah half-managed to swallow a yelp and jerked her head upwards. Atop the nearest pile, framed in feeble moonlight, crouched a figure, too plain for Coral and too tall for Parrot, with pale, unblinking eyes.
“Not yet, anyway.”
“Oh, you are dead meat, you know that!?” The chair rattled underneath her as she struggled again; the restraints (seaweed? Tentacles? Whatever) kept squeezing, but she ignored them. “This city belongs to the Crown of Thorns! Those campy supers only stay here because we let them, and the second the Crown gets here, she’s gonna rip you to shreds!”
A pause, with nothing but her grunts and heavy breathing. And then a huge splat, mere inches from her, and another as she shrieked. A third. Several long, fleshy things, bristling and damp, and utterly, utterly still.
Starfish arms. Intact, yet unmoving.
She stared into those blank eyes.
“No, I don’t think she will.”
(Word Count: 300.)