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[Fiction] Wakinyan - Why I Never Get Second Helpings (Canon Consideration)


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"She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not... Goddamnit!"

Lesser creatures, with stubby little skin-covered talons and tiny blunt claws, plucked the petals of flowers for the old ritual to determine whether a beloved returned one's feelings, but the glorious Thunderbird had to rely on pulling chunks of stone from a large boulder because of his great sharp claws. The boulder lasted exactly six chunks, revealing that the latest object of affection for him didn't share his feelings. It confused the Thunderbird - he was big, strong, glorious, a creature out of Lakota and Western myth... How come none of the females he slept with never came back for more?

Wakinyan unfurled his great wings and flapped them until he was in the sky, riding a thermal above the Great Plains. Below, deer and other natural prey bolted at the now all-too-familiar shadow that circled higher. When one's relatives are made short work of by a creature with massive claws and a beak that can bite through most things, is it any wonder they were so skittish? Unfortunately, it just made hunting more of a bitch these days.

I can't get laid more than once, I can't even hunt properly, the great Thunderbird lamented as he looked down upon his domain. Shattered rocks and gouges marked the earth where he'd indulged himself in carving or burrowing while the abandoned buildings of the few who lived here before being driven away from his territory dotted the landscape like scattered toys.

Over there was the place where Samhra and Endeavour had tried to slow down his rampage after Geryon and Leviathan had kicked his butt into next year to teach him a lesson about his lack of humanity. Since then, neither had tried to intervene, for which the Thunderbird was glad. Regan's Dolorous Cry was a devastating weapon and she was no longer shy about using it in these dangerous times. Rumour in the nova community had it that she had killed a few people in Ibiza with it. And of course, Endeavour would sooner or later create the gun big enough to take him down. He was fond of them; it was better they communicated only on the OpNet or in rare personal meetings.

The thought of those two gave him an idea. He opened the OpNet program on his specially designed W.A.Co. and fired off a short message to both of them. Both had enhanced intelligence and Regan seemed to have learnt to manage the instincts she'd picked up from him the second time she'd tried to handle his primal side.

A reply from Endeavour came soon after, suggesting that the problem was that he was too possessive and territorial for most nova women to tolerate. It was the same old, same old, so Wakinyan sighed and waited for Samhra's message.

When it came, it was a surprising one - and obvious, when he thought about.

"Honeybunch, have you taken a look between your legs lately? You have a fuzzy log down there. It'd take a shapeshifter or someone with superhuman flexibility to be comfortable with it."

The Thunderbird sighed and switched off his W.A.Co. If he couldn't get second helpings from a girl, he could at least get some from a deer. And having a big penis never mattered to them.

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