TMRC (Troubled Mamono Reformation Class) Is an institute that hosts a variety of Mamono of all races with the sole purpose of reforming them to behave responsibly in the world of the human dominated planet Earth. Little did I know this opportunity would change how I saw these “Savages” For better or worse.
“My- this has certainly turned into a most eventful evening.” Mari tittered. “According to my father, it was quite common for adventurers, mercenaries and heroes to have a rowdy night like this before embarking on some sort of quest….”
“Yeah- but I’m none of those. And I don’t really think I’ll be embarking on any kind of quest anytime soon.”
“You’d be surprised, Jacob. Never say ‘never’. Besides, weren’t you a soldier?”
I look around- surely it isn’t the redhead with patchwork skin on her face in the black and yellow jacket. She looks like she’s all business, and right now her business was babysitting this mysterious new guest and Smith. There was the other one off on the property somewhere that I caught a glimpse of on the way in.
As I turned to look around for her, I was aware of a darkness sweeping over me. It wasn’t a cloud- it was something else. Looking up, I briefly catch a silhouette of something with a distinctly feminine outline swooping down on me from above, a pair of outstretched feathery wings backlit by the glare of the sun.
Time stands still and that thought is quickly dispelled as something big whizzes by my head. Instinctively I raise my arm to shield my face, but the looming figure is gone just as quickly as she’s shown up.
And so is my Stetson.
I wheel around, not finding it on the ground right away. Still unsure of what’s going on, I see my hat being clutched in a pair of talons as a giant bird noiselessly flaps its wings over by Smith and the redhead. Only I can now see that its not a bird as the talons clutching my headgear hover a few inches off of the ground.
It’s a woman. A beautiful woman with feathery arms and a surprisingly voluptuous human figure whose legs tapered off to giant talons beneath the knees. The arms almost immediately taper off into almost surfboard-sized wings starting at the shoulder.
How can she fly with such a buxom figure? I thought harpies were supposed to be petite and slender for better flight efficiency. Her hair is platinum- almost white and she’s wearing a pair of denim cutoffs and a light colored tank top with spaghetti straps seemingly struggling to contain a rather impressive bust. With a quick kick of her talons, my hat was now being held loosely in one of her wings- a small clawed hand barely visible among her plumage as she hovers next to Smith.
Save for a tiny disdainful smirk flashed my way, she shows next to no emotion as she alights next to the woman in the dark suit.
I was making good time back from Odessa after dropping off a load of gravel for a customer and crossed the El Portal County line with a few hours to go before sunset that particular summer afternoon. Almost immediately after crossing the county line, I noticed a plume of smoke off in the distant hills.
2 liters of stout beer
4 shots of irish cream
4 shots of irish whiskey
Drink quickly because the cream will curdle