dragovianknight: Rhinox with his head leaning against Optimus Primal, captioned "headgorilla" (Transformers - Rhinox - *headgorilla*)
[personal profile] dragovianknight
Even when I have to timeshift the Beast Era roughly four million years forward. Which is to say, one of the hazards of trying to crossover-bunny your dwircleflist is that the next thing you know, Maximal stasis pods are dropping suspiciously near Jasper, NV.



Gillian Rodriguez relaxed back in the seat of her Mitsubishi as the empty desert spooled past her. One advantage of spending her summer at her parents' was weeks of not having to see anyone she didn't want to see. Or at least, not anyone she didn't want to see who wasn't related.

She gave herself three days before she was longing to be back in Vegas, but promises were promises.

She was jerked out of her thoughts by a white shape flashing in front of her headlights. Instinctively, she hit the brakes, grateful there was nothing to skid into if she left the road, other than some summer dry scrub brush.

Something thudded heavily against the front of her car before it slid to a stop.

For long moments afterward, she sat with her hands on the wheel, shaky with adrenaline. Then she slowly unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the glove compartment to fish around for her flashlight.

Dead batteries. Naturally. She'd just have to survey the damage by the light of her high beams.

She backed up carefully, but nothing appeared on the road where she'd been sitting. Good. If she hadn't hit it hard enough to kill it or knock it out, it couldn't possibly have done that much damage to her front end.

"So much for that," she muttered, once she was standing in front of her car. Whatever she'd hit, the car's front end was going to take more paychecks than she wanted to think about to be the same.

A crunching sound from the far side of the highway pulled her attention away from sour contemplation of her insurance, her budget, and the pros and cons of just buying another car, and she saw a white shape - one she could, now they were both standing still, identify as a horse - shifting uneasily on the gravel shoulder of the road.

Gilly was a city girl at heart, but when she was nine she read /Summer Pony/, and spent the next six months begging her parents to rent a horse for the summer. They compromised by volunteering her to muck stalls for a woman who owned a boarding stable, and the next three months had cured Gilly of any romantic ideas that raking horse crap was any different from cleaning up after the family's dogs.

She still had a soft spot for horses, though.

Cautiously, she crossed the road. Away from the car's headlights, her eyes adjusted; she could see, by the light of the almost full moon, that the horse was covered by darker spotches, most of which seemed like they were supposed to be there. A paint, then. Or a pinto. She never had really known the difference.

The horse shifted again, hooves scraping on gravel, but didn't try to run. Gilly hoped it wasn't hurt.

"Hey, sweetie," she said softly, approaching at an angle. She had learned a few things beyond "horses shit a lot" during that long ago summer, among them the fact that, for animals designed to watch out for things that wanted to eat them, horses were surprisingly prone to not paying attention to their surroundings, and being shocked - shocked! - if you happened to touch them without making some noise first. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to make sure you're all right."

Something dark and slick looking covered one of the horse's hind legs. Gilly started to swear, turning it into a little clicking noise instead. No point in spooking the horse now that she was in range of its hooves.

"Not going to hurt you," she said again, reaching one hand toward the horse's neck. Hot skin twitched at her touch, but the horse didn't try to move away.

It finally dawned on Gilly that, having caught the horse, she had no idea what she could - or even should - do with it. She scratched the horse under its mane for a few moments. "You aren't wild, that's for sure. What were you doing, running in front of my car like that?" She dropped her hand to unfasten her belt, and got a nose in her stomach. "Yeah, definitely a people pony." She pulled her belt free of her jeans, then scratched the horse under the chin, sneakily looping the belt around its neck as she did so. "Let's see how you lead."

The answer was, pretty easily; the horse pulled back against the initial tug of the belt, the seemed to get the idea and followed placidly to the still-idling Mitsubishi. "Stay," Gilly said; to her surprise, the horse - a quick glance underneath, now that there was more light, revealed it was a mare - wuffled at the hood of the car and didn't move.

Gilly often thought she spent more time in her car than anywhere else. As a result, useful junk tended to accumulate in the back seat. A few moments of rummaging and she came up with a handful of unused fast food napkins.

"Okay, pretty girl," she said as she returned to the horse, "let's see how badly you're hurt."

She patted the mare's hip to get her to sidestep until the light from the Mitsubishi fell on her back legs, and leaned down to wipe away the darkly gleaming substance. Even in the brighter light, it wasn't red. It wasn't blood. Not even close.

"What did you get into?" she whispered, frowning at the napkin in her hand. She dropped it and kept wiping.

Most of the stack of napkins later, she knew one thing. Whatever the hell that stuff was, it was definitely oozing from the ragged-looking bite on the horse's leg.

Gilly backed away, moving toward her car. "What the hell are you?" she wondered aloud.

The mare shook her mane and let out a gusty sigh. "To be honest? I'm not really sure."


Alas, I can't even think of a way to blame this on [personal profile] raisedbymoogles.

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