Telrim steps aside herself, close to the corner that she can hear better what's going on. Sounds like just one Andalite, and one Hork-Bajir. They're not fighting. What does that mean?
In the event, the first thing around the corner isn't the Andalite's face, but his voice. It's not overly loud, but thought-speak carries the way sound doesn't, straight into the mind regardless. Telrim's hands tighten on her Dracon, feeling the rush of old hatred jolting through her veins.
< Look, we'll take over the search from here. You can go back to the lower decks now. You've done very well, yes, but we can handle any stragglers trying to hide. >
The reply comes as regular speech, an alien language guttural and halting. Telrim cranes to try and catch what's being said, but the sound is more muffled. The Andalite stops for a moment and sounds exasperated, anyway.
< We appreciate the valiant efforts of our Hork-Bajir friends, of course. It's an unprecedented success for your people. However, this ship is now under Andalite control. You will return to your brothers. Do you understand? >
This last is said in the slow, enunciated tones of someone speaking to an assumed-to-be-stupid foreigner. It's followed, after a second, by an audible grunt and the Hork-Bajir stamping ahead, coming into view as eight feet of green-skinned reptile, blades sprouting from every limb including his tail and the crest of his head. He turns the opposite direction with an annoyed flick of his tail, tramping off to disappear down the gravity lift at the end.
The Andalite gives a sigh of relief as he leaves, and strolls into the main hallway at a leisurely pace. Indeed he might look like a centaur, but his lower half is almost delicate looking, deer-like rather than equine. His limbs have some muscle, but his arms look weaker than a human's; the hand resting on the weapon strapped to his side has eight slender fingers. More obviously, however, the fur that covers him is blue; above his mouthless face are a pair of stalks carrying an extra pair of eyes. And at the rear is a long, scorpion-like tail, tipped with a wicked curved blade.
He seems quite relaxed as he strolls between them. Telrim holds her breath and presses back for a moment: surely the spell won't hold this close...? And yet the swiveling stalk eyes pan over them harmlessly, the Andalite swaggering merrily on to stand by the grav lift far behind them. It takes every ounce of self-restraint not to attack him.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2014-04-19 01:16 am (UTC)In the event, the first thing around the corner isn't the Andalite's face, but his voice. It's not overly loud, but thought-speak carries the way sound doesn't, straight into the mind regardless. Telrim's hands tighten on her Dracon, feeling the rush of old hatred jolting through her veins.
< Look, we'll take over the search from here. You can go back to the lower decks now. You've done very well, yes, but we can handle any stragglers trying to hide. >
The reply comes as regular speech, an alien language guttural and halting. Telrim cranes to try and catch what's being said, but the sound is more muffled. The Andalite stops for a moment and sounds exasperated, anyway.
< We appreciate the valiant efforts of our Hork-Bajir friends, of course. It's an unprecedented success for your people. However, this ship is now under Andalite control. You will return to your brothers. Do you understand? >
This last is said in the slow, enunciated tones of someone speaking to an assumed-to-be-stupid foreigner. It's followed, after a second, by an audible grunt and the Hork-Bajir stamping ahead, coming into view as eight feet of green-skinned reptile, blades sprouting from every limb including his tail and the crest of his head. He turns the opposite direction with an annoyed flick of his tail, tramping off to disappear down the gravity lift at the end.
The Andalite gives a sigh of relief as he leaves, and strolls into the main hallway at a leisurely pace. Indeed he might look like a centaur, but his lower half is almost delicate looking, deer-like rather than equine. His limbs have some muscle, but his arms look weaker than a human's; the hand resting on the weapon strapped to his side has eight slender fingers. More obviously, however, the fur that covers him is blue; above his mouthless face are a pair of stalks carrying an extra pair of eyes. And at the rear is a long, scorpion-like tail, tipped with a wicked curved blade.
He seems quite relaxed as he strolls between them. Telrim holds her breath and presses back for a moment: surely the spell won't hold this close...? And yet the swiveling stalk eyes pan over them harmlessly, the Andalite swaggering merrily on to stand by the grav lift far behind them. It takes every ounce of self-restraint not to attack him.