Plum

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The smell had lingered for days. It was hard to put a claw on exactly what it was like: sickly, a little metallic, but over it all, a honey-like sweetness that seemed to cling to everything in the lair. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary anywhere, no rotting food or nests of muskrats, and yet the smell remained.

Although Banana pretended to ignore it, Plum knew better. He scuttled restlessly from chamber to chamber or paced the laboratory irritably, with a permanent frown etched on his face. It seemed to offend him – not just the smell itself, but the fact that he couldn’t find it. It defied his every effort, withstood all cleaning, and overpowered anything he brought in to try and mask it. The combined scents of amaranth, wild mustard, rosemary and lilies now clamoured for attention throughout the lair, and still it remained, stubborn as ever, like a stain on the air.

Over a week had passed since they’d first noticed it, and the Wildclaw had spent the day shut up in the laboratory, gazing studiously at soil specimens with narrowed eyes, then swooping back and forth to prune branches and excise bark samples. After leaving him to his own devices for several hours, Plum at last decided to intrude upon his sanctuary.

Pushing aside the curtain which separated the lab from the main living area, Plum breathed deep of the humid, scented air. Something about this place always sent a frisson through her, lighting up her usually pale eyes with a flicker of life. The colours of the jostling leaves and fragrant flowers all blooming from every corner; creepers trailing out across the shelves or climbing, snake-like, up the walls; fine green tendrils winding their way through the air only to recoil shyly as she passed. Banana’s constant experimenting had turned this place into a haven for vegetation of all kinds, and in places it almost seemed to have taken on its own life.

“That’s it,” came the Wildclaw’s soft, lilting voice, sounding as if he were soothing a fractious hatchling. “Come on out…”

She moved up behind him like a shadow, but as quiet as she was, he always knew she was there. It was as if she had disturbed the balance of the place, and he could sense her at once.
“The Jadevine needs watering,” Banana snapped over one shoulder, his claws trembling a little as he extracted sap from a thick, leafy stalk the colour of a sunset.

Plum inclined her head, and silently moved closer. The air felt heavier in here, and the smell seemed stronger. It was almost difficult to move her wings and limbs, as if the atmosphere had turned to liquid, dense and viscous. Banana moved sluggishly too, although by the look of him, it wasn’t just the air at fault. His scales were flaking, his hide stretched paper-thin over bones protruding like sharp stones. He watched the violet Ridgeback haul herself into the air, his normally brilliant green eyes shimmering glassily, as if they weren’t really taking anything in. His snout twitched, and unconsciously, his tongue flicked out, tasting the sickly smell. Something about it screamed at him for attention, but he pushed it away in his mind, turning back to his task.

The Jadevine grew at ground level, close to where Banana worked, but Plum ignored it. Instead, she rose higher with a ghostly swoop of her wings, sending motes of dust spinning frantically away, caught by the light streaming in from the vents high above. With a dazzling mid-air pirouette, she spiralled towards her goal; a small, blood-red planter high up, close to the eaves.

From above, she watched him: her creator, lair-mate and friend. He gripped his tools in unsteady claws, blinking rapidly as he scraped and sliced. Consumed by his work, he often forgot that his body required at least some sustenance, and despite his regular meals of flaxseed, fibrous pith and figs, it still wasn’t enough. Extending one forelimb, she pulled her own experiment towards her, carefully cradling it closer to her body before making her way back to ground level to land neatly beside Banana.
He regarded her blearily, eyes falling to the plant she carried. A bulbous, grey-red mass, it resembled a misshapen pear sprouting from the soil, with pink vein-like roots visible beneath its flesh. From the top protruded a thick, twisted vines streaked with purple and sickly-looking yellow. It reeked, he realised; that thick, cloying smell that was so objectionable, and yet somehow, so intoxicating. His tongue flicked out again, and he could almost taste it…

“What—”

“Wait.” Her voice was soft but brooked no argument.

Gingerly, she traced a claw along the surface of the plant, and Banana watched, transfixed, as the tendril shifted like a living thing, like a writhing limb, and the mass of the plant began to open like a blooming flower.

“It just needs feeding, but then, so do you.” Plum’s voice came as if from far away, sweet and flat, and she shifted her long, razor-like claw so that it rested on her own forearm.

“No!” The word burst out of him, but too late. The claw bit into her flesh, and several fat drops of blood oozed from the wound. The Wildclaw couldn’t take his eyes off the rich, sparkling liquid inching along Plum’s forelimb, shining deliciously and finally flowing downward. As it hit the inside of the gaping plant, the smell grew stronger, and Banana realised he would soon be unable to resist.

The plant, apparently sated, had closed in upon itself again, but was now glistening wetly and had taken on a livid, purplish sheen. Its skin trembled, pulsing with an impossible life, shimmering with dewy droplets like a fresh plum plucked from a tree.

“Here.” Arm still bleeding, she held the pot up to him, and he gazed at her through clouded eyes. “You need this.”

“But…” Instinct clashed within him. It wasn’t living. Was it? And yet she had fed it blood, so what else could it be? Despite it all, his hunger gnawed at him; a deep, abiding hunger that the seeds and fruit he’d tried to far could barely touch, and here, he was being offered something so totally different…
The sweetness rose up and threatened to overwhelm him as he took the plant in both hands. Eyes closed, body taut as a bowstring, he leant his head forward and opened his jaws.

Plum watched as the first rivulets of violet juice stained his chin, a small, satisfied smile on her face.


Written by Pigwidgeon#262049 their shop - https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2870320