Make Him Me [w/ story]
Once more with Griotte ~
-----
Fang the exile strides down the main thoroughfare of picturesque Dunbar as a storm cloud in a
beautiful, clear sky. It is in fact a beautiful day and the wolf moves through the bustling crowd
undaunted, shoving aside animals a third of his size. On one occasion another male wolf turned after
bouncing off of Fang's shoulder only to shrink away in terror when he saw the glower on Fang's
muzzle. On any other day Fang might have made an example of this weakling, but Fang had a pressing
matter to attend to. A thorn in Fang's side that has up to now evaded his bloody vengeance has revealed
itself to him. The exiled wolf didn't consider whether Griotte was cocky or foolish for reaching out to
him. He had seen red and left her messenger in mangled heap before setting out.
The meeting spot was to be the vacant lot behind the distillery. It is likely a spot owned or under the
influence of Griotte herself, but it is common knowledge that she has dirty ties to just about every
business there is. Fang has left the main crowd behind him and presently spots the distillery. Free of the
commotion Fang begins to roll his burly shoulders and twist his torso. He is filled with a true blood
lust. It is the intimate urge to see a hated foe's life drain from their eyes. He licks his chops in
anticipation. A timid yardhand catches a glimpse of Fang and rapidly vanishes behind the distillery.
Can this cowardly rat do anything herself?
Fang confidently rounds the corner to find the vacant lot and his foe sat comfortably on an ornate stool
that was likely brought out specifically to accommodate her. She is whispering and giggling with the
yardhand and when she spots Fang. With something like a smile Griotte gets to her feet and pats the
boy's back. He holds an admiring gaze as he drags the heavy stool toward the building. Griotte bats her
lashes at him before setting about unruffling her dress which had been disorganized while she was
sitting. She pays Fang no attention as she tugs at her wide, bombasted dress and straightens her out-of-
place cooking apron. Fang's blood boils. She is making a fool of him.
After tightening her sash Griotte deigns to address Fang. With a put-on sweetness she says “You're late.
I wouldn't expect a brute like you to be punctual, but honestly.”
Bristling with rage, Fang responds “Didn't think you'd be in a rush to meet your own end.” The wolf
begins to slowly stomp toward Griotte who notices his approach, but stands undaunted. Undaunted and
grinning. Fang has seen this kind of operator before. Slimy, cowardly, and manipulative whelps who
can't even fight their own battles. In his experience rats were like this most of all, but Griotte is
inspiring in Fang an even greater repulsion than any prior backstabbing rodent. In spite of the female
rat's wicked smile Fang towers over her and he couldn't help but notice that she is unarmored and
unarmed aside from what is probably the handle of a knife which pokes out from beneath her sash. She
is clearly a narcissistic and showy type. Fang cashes in his hubris and has some fun with his prey.
“Your hired arms were pitiful. The mercenaries were the worst of the bunch.” Fang says, encircling
Griotte while hefting his axe to and fro. “At least the brigands were desperate. They had some fire to
them, but they still fell like sacks of grain. All that they achieved was to enrage me and give up your
name with their dying breaths.” Griotte seems slightly amused by the banter. She looks up at him with
heavily lidded eyes.
“Well it is true what they say. If you want something done right you've got to do it yourself.” She says
liltingly. Fang stops before her and bends.
“Oh, so you're going to kill me rat?” Fang says, his muzzle an inch from hers. The heady smell of her
perfume offends.
“Or worse.” She says with a smile that reveals her long, sharp teeth.
“I don't think you could keep up with me.” Fang says, huffing through his nostrils. He looks her up and
down with contempt. He catches a twitch in the corner of Griotte's mouth and a slight flaring of the
nostrils. He'd found a crack.
“Pardon?” She says testily.
“In that ridiculous outfit. Not to mention you look to be smuggling another rat beneath your dress. Tell
me, does it strain your legs to be standing for so long?” Fang says, grinning sadistically. For a person
like Griotte verbal abuse is almost more damaging than physical damage. The corners of Griotte's
mouth sink into a hint of a grimace. Though her eyes still seem to smile. She is still confident.
“I've known and killed worthless rats like you before. Of course they didn't have as much... stature, but
they were all weak like you.” Fang says. His taunts seem to be taking effect. Griotte's fists are
clenched, perhaps she is finally ready to meet her demise at his hand. “You could never be queen.
You're nothing but a fat, spineless rodent who needs others to do her dirty work.” He pauses to
punctuate his final jab. “Not only that, but you are clearly well past your prime-
“Reeaaahhh!” Griotte screeches as a sudden, potent burst of magical energy sends Fang flying feet
away. The only pain Fang feels comes from the fall. He's on his paws in seconds and faces the rat
whose demeanor has changed completely. She is envolped by a whirling black and purple miasma. This
is an energy that Fang is intimately familiar with, but even he hasn't seen it so concentrated before. The
wolf notices a glowing card in Griotte's hand. She is panting and visibly suffering from the effects of
the spell, though her malicious intent is apparent.
“What magic have you gotten into rodent?” Fang says knowingly. “Whatever it is, you're bound to
suffer from it.” Griotte ignores his words. Her teeth are bared and her eyes are seething with the vile
energies of the rot. “I wouldn't be surprised if this kills you.”
“Did you find it odd that my hired help were so useless? They were only meant to keep you busy until I
could get my paws on this.” She holds up the card though it is glowing and unreadable. With this the
miasma seems to solidify into the shape of a figure. It shines for a moment before the details can be
made out. Fang has never seen or heard of a spell like this before. A perfect clone of Griotte hovers
beside her. But it is not a perfect clone because presently it splits into six segments. The head, arms,
legs, and torso float indipendantly. A costume?
Griotte, having adjusted to the heavy burden of rot she incurred by the summoning stands hunched and
grinning. She points at Fang “Go now. Make him mine. Making him... me.”
The costume parts fly toward Fang with startling speed. His axes are ready instantly. Being the largest
target Fang aims for the torso piece and manages to cut it roughly down the middle. It splits Griotte's
'chest' and dress. The pieces fly by him and he turns his attention to the circling arm and leg pieces.
Before he can focus on them though the torso pieces he'd slashed hit his sides. The material, the fur and
the clothing stretch until his broad torso is coated. When the edges meet they fuse and instantly Fang's
torso is transformed to fit the costume's natural proportions. He loses some inches in height and
suddenly his arms and legs seem especially massive. What's more he is wearing the exact dress Griotte
is now. He glares at her in disbelief.
“Ha hahaha.” Griotte laughs loudly.
Alarmed Fang brings a hand to his chest. It feels of Griotte's fur, but Fang also feels it as if it were his
own. He hasn't a moment to comprehend this though as the arm pieces of the costume hit his wrists in
just the correct nerve to cause him to drop his axes. And while he is stunned they slip onto his arms
swiftly. Learning from the chest piece he tries to pull them off before their edges can meet the central
piece, but he is too late. His arms transform and join with the costume. He is left with the rat's short
arms and pudgy hands moving of their own accord.
“What are you doing to me?! What is this?” Fang shouts.
“I'm beautifying you dear, isn't it obvious?” Griotte says, having returned to her more somewhat more
composed persona.
Fang plants his paws on the ground as his hands, her hands, grope and tease him. They stroke his neck
as he snarls, “You can't get those fat legs on me if I don't move.” Fang digs in his claws. “The suit can't
stay animated forever.” Griotte only grins.
Fang's transformed torso and arms suddenly jerk backward throwing him off balance and landing him
with a floof on his dress.
“No!! Trickery!” Fang says. The leg parts were ready to pounce of coure and as soon as Fang's legs were accessible they slip on. Fang kicks and struggles before he finds himself suddenly unable to.
He gasps at the realization that the only part of his body that he can stil control is his head and neck.
His transformed body, Griotte's wide form and its ornate dress stands up calmly in contrast with Fang's
wild thrashing.
“Come, let me see you.” Griotte says, and Fang's body complies. He walks in her waddling gait as the
head piece of the costume hovers above. He takes it unwillingly in his hands.
“No! Only a tricky coward like you would use such a spell. Let me free! Now!” His sturggling is in
vain. He can feel himself lowering the head piece.
“What's wrong Fang? I look beautiful on you.”
“Nyyaarg! Curse you rodent.” Fang says as Griotte's face is pulled down over his. There's a moment of
discomfort before Fang is looking out over a strange muzzle.
“Serves you right for insulting my appearance you lousy brute.” Griotte whispers in his ear with
venom.
“Ahhh. Such a filling morsel.” Fang says, in Griotte's foul voice. Her hands caress him all over, testing
the joints of the costume and her round gut.
“It must be a tight fit.” Griotte says illiciting chuckles from them both.
Fang attempt to scream or growl. The most he can manage is a low groan. He has the uncanny
sensation of wearing the costume and also being it. When the mouth speaks it is as though it's his own,
he just can't control it. He can't control anything. Griotte produces a hand mirror. And leans in next to
Fang. Pressing their cheeks together they inspect. To Fang's horror he indeed has Griotte's face. A
perfect facsimile. The rodent teeth, the wicked grin, even the heavy makeup is exactly the same. Fang
tries to pull away. The reflection is a torture.
“Oooh, he's fighting.” He says.
“Tehehehe, let him fight. Let him suffer.” Griotte replies. “Perhaps I'll set him free after I become
queen. Perhaps. But for now you and I have planning to do.”
“Of course love.” Fang says, waddling after his foe.
-----
Fang the exile strides down the main thoroughfare of picturesque Dunbar as a storm cloud in a
beautiful, clear sky. It is in fact a beautiful day and the wolf moves through the bustling crowd
undaunted, shoving aside animals a third of his size. On one occasion another male wolf turned after
bouncing off of Fang's shoulder only to shrink away in terror when he saw the glower on Fang's
muzzle. On any other day Fang might have made an example of this weakling, but Fang had a pressing
matter to attend to. A thorn in Fang's side that has up to now evaded his bloody vengeance has revealed
itself to him. The exiled wolf didn't consider whether Griotte was cocky or foolish for reaching out to
him. He had seen red and left her messenger in mangled heap before setting out.
The meeting spot was to be the vacant lot behind the distillery. It is likely a spot owned or under the
influence of Griotte herself, but it is common knowledge that she has dirty ties to just about every
business there is. Fang has left the main crowd behind him and presently spots the distillery. Free of the
commotion Fang begins to roll his burly shoulders and twist his torso. He is filled with a true blood
lust. It is the intimate urge to see a hated foe's life drain from their eyes. He licks his chops in
anticipation. A timid yardhand catches a glimpse of Fang and rapidly vanishes behind the distillery.
Can this cowardly rat do anything herself?
Fang confidently rounds the corner to find the vacant lot and his foe sat comfortably on an ornate stool
that was likely brought out specifically to accommodate her. She is whispering and giggling with the
yardhand and when she spots Fang. With something like a smile Griotte gets to her feet and pats the
boy's back. He holds an admiring gaze as he drags the heavy stool toward the building. Griotte bats her
lashes at him before setting about unruffling her dress which had been disorganized while she was
sitting. She pays Fang no attention as she tugs at her wide, bombasted dress and straightens her out-of-
place cooking apron. Fang's blood boils. She is making a fool of him.
After tightening her sash Griotte deigns to address Fang. With a put-on sweetness she says “You're late.
I wouldn't expect a brute like you to be punctual, but honestly.”
Bristling with rage, Fang responds “Didn't think you'd be in a rush to meet your own end.” The wolf
begins to slowly stomp toward Griotte who notices his approach, but stands undaunted. Undaunted and
grinning. Fang has seen this kind of operator before. Slimy, cowardly, and manipulative whelps who
can't even fight their own battles. In his experience rats were like this most of all, but Griotte is
inspiring in Fang an even greater repulsion than any prior backstabbing rodent. In spite of the female
rat's wicked smile Fang towers over her and he couldn't help but notice that she is unarmored and
unarmed aside from what is probably the handle of a knife which pokes out from beneath her sash. She
is clearly a narcissistic and showy type. Fang cashes in his hubris and has some fun with his prey.
“Your hired arms were pitiful. The mercenaries were the worst of the bunch.” Fang says, encircling
Griotte while hefting his axe to and fro. “At least the brigands were desperate. They had some fire to
them, but they still fell like sacks of grain. All that they achieved was to enrage me and give up your
name with their dying breaths.” Griotte seems slightly amused by the banter. She looks up at him with
heavily lidded eyes.
“Well it is true what they say. If you want something done right you've got to do it yourself.” She says
liltingly. Fang stops before her and bends.
“Oh, so you're going to kill me rat?” Fang says, his muzzle an inch from hers. The heady smell of her
perfume offends.
“Or worse.” She says with a smile that reveals her long, sharp teeth.
“I don't think you could keep up with me.” Fang says, huffing through his nostrils. He looks her up and
down with contempt. He catches a twitch in the corner of Griotte's mouth and a slight flaring of the
nostrils. He'd found a crack.
“Pardon?” She says testily.
“In that ridiculous outfit. Not to mention you look to be smuggling another rat beneath your dress. Tell
me, does it strain your legs to be standing for so long?” Fang says, grinning sadistically. For a person
like Griotte verbal abuse is almost more damaging than physical damage. The corners of Griotte's
mouth sink into a hint of a grimace. Though her eyes still seem to smile. She is still confident.
“I've known and killed worthless rats like you before. Of course they didn't have as much... stature, but
they were all weak like you.” Fang says. His taunts seem to be taking effect. Griotte's fists are
clenched, perhaps she is finally ready to meet her demise at his hand. “You could never be queen.
You're nothing but a fat, spineless rodent who needs others to do her dirty work.” He pauses to
punctuate his final jab. “Not only that, but you are clearly well past your prime-
“Reeaaahhh!” Griotte screeches as a sudden, potent burst of magical energy sends Fang flying feet
away. The only pain Fang feels comes from the fall. He's on his paws in seconds and faces the rat
whose demeanor has changed completely. She is envolped by a whirling black and purple miasma. This
is an energy that Fang is intimately familiar with, but even he hasn't seen it so concentrated before. The
wolf notices a glowing card in Griotte's hand. She is panting and visibly suffering from the effects of
the spell, though her malicious intent is apparent.
“What magic have you gotten into rodent?” Fang says knowingly. “Whatever it is, you're bound to
suffer from it.” Griotte ignores his words. Her teeth are bared and her eyes are seething with the vile
energies of the rot. “I wouldn't be surprised if this kills you.”
“Did you find it odd that my hired help were so useless? They were only meant to keep you busy until I
could get my paws on this.” She holds up the card though it is glowing and unreadable. With this the
miasma seems to solidify into the shape of a figure. It shines for a moment before the details can be
made out. Fang has never seen or heard of a spell like this before. A perfect clone of Griotte hovers
beside her. But it is not a perfect clone because presently it splits into six segments. The head, arms,
legs, and torso float indipendantly. A costume?
Griotte, having adjusted to the heavy burden of rot she incurred by the summoning stands hunched and
grinning. She points at Fang “Go now. Make him mine. Making him... me.”
The costume parts fly toward Fang with startling speed. His axes are ready instantly. Being the largest
target Fang aims for the torso piece and manages to cut it roughly down the middle. It splits Griotte's
'chest' and dress. The pieces fly by him and he turns his attention to the circling arm and leg pieces.
Before he can focus on them though the torso pieces he'd slashed hit his sides. The material, the fur and
the clothing stretch until his broad torso is coated. When the edges meet they fuse and instantly Fang's
torso is transformed to fit the costume's natural proportions. He loses some inches in height and
suddenly his arms and legs seem especially massive. What's more he is wearing the exact dress Griotte
is now. He glares at her in disbelief.
“Ha hahaha.” Griotte laughs loudly.
Alarmed Fang brings a hand to his chest. It feels of Griotte's fur, but Fang also feels it as if it were his
own. He hasn't a moment to comprehend this though as the arm pieces of the costume hit his wrists in
just the correct nerve to cause him to drop his axes. And while he is stunned they slip onto his arms
swiftly. Learning from the chest piece he tries to pull them off before their edges can meet the central
piece, but he is too late. His arms transform and join with the costume. He is left with the rat's short
arms and pudgy hands moving of their own accord.
“What are you doing to me?! What is this?” Fang shouts.
“I'm beautifying you dear, isn't it obvious?” Griotte says, having returned to her more somewhat more
composed persona.
Fang plants his paws on the ground as his hands, her hands, grope and tease him. They stroke his neck
as he snarls, “You can't get those fat legs on me if I don't move.” Fang digs in his claws. “The suit can't
stay animated forever.” Griotte only grins.
Fang's transformed torso and arms suddenly jerk backward throwing him off balance and landing him
with a floof on his dress.
“No!! Trickery!” Fang says. The leg parts were ready to pounce of coure and as soon as Fang's legs were accessible they slip on. Fang kicks and struggles before he finds himself suddenly unable to.
He gasps at the realization that the only part of his body that he can stil control is his head and neck.
His transformed body, Griotte's wide form and its ornate dress stands up calmly in contrast with Fang's
wild thrashing.
“Come, let me see you.” Griotte says, and Fang's body complies. He walks in her waddling gait as the
head piece of the costume hovers above. He takes it unwillingly in his hands.
“No! Only a tricky coward like you would use such a spell. Let me free! Now!” His sturggling is in
vain. He can feel himself lowering the head piece.
“What's wrong Fang? I look beautiful on you.”
“Nyyaarg! Curse you rodent.” Fang says as Griotte's face is pulled down over his. There's a moment of
discomfort before Fang is looking out over a strange muzzle.
“Serves you right for insulting my appearance you lousy brute.” Griotte whispers in his ear with
venom.
“Ahhh. Such a filling morsel.” Fang says, in Griotte's foul voice. Her hands caress him all over, testing
the joints of the costume and her round gut.
“It must be a tight fit.” Griotte says illiciting chuckles from them both.
Fang attempt to scream or growl. The most he can manage is a low groan. He has the uncanny
sensation of wearing the costume and also being it. When the mouth speaks it is as though it's his own,
he just can't control it. He can't control anything. Griotte produces a hand mirror. And leans in next to
Fang. Pressing their cheeks together they inspect. To Fang's horror he indeed has Griotte's face. A
perfect facsimile. The rodent teeth, the wicked grin, even the heavy makeup is exactly the same. Fang
tries to pull away. The reflection is a torture.
“Oooh, he's fighting.” He says.
“Tehehehe, let him fight. Let him suffer.” Griotte replies. “Perhaps I'll set him free after I become
queen. Perhaps. But for now you and I have planning to do.”
“Of course love.” Fang says, waddling after his foe.
7 years ago
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