Shadowcat The sweat on your skin -- Silver Moon

Steven presented a paper plate with three giant slices of pineapple and ham thin crust pizza. He rested the meal in front of him. Salivating, he checked the LED alarm clock on the bookshelf beside his bed. Nine-fifteen, over two hours before midnight. Humming an ancient song, Gizmo ate, savoring the flavor. Wing would have never let him have junk food. Compared to the Peltzer's relaxed lifestyle and indulgences, the old man had been running a prison. Smokey sniffed at the pieces before vanishing behind Steven's legs with a chirrup.

Chris sat cross-legged on top of a pile of newspapers Billy had collected since the '80s, beginning with Kingston Falls' gremlin attack. Anytime he suspected the reptilian deviants were behind a disaster—plane crashes, explosions, car crashes, the flooding of New Orleans—he saved the papers and searched for clues. Most of these catastrophes were nothing more than terrible tragedies, but once in a while….

She scratched that hard-to-reach spot behind his ear. Though he could communicate with Billy and Kate with ease, the children didn't yet understand his language. In time, they would mature. And understanding bridged the worlds between humans and Mogwai. Chris almost possessed the edge needed for them to converse. A few more years, and she'd have no problems understanding him. Gizmo longed to share ideas with her. The children's faces brightened. He didn't speak many human words, but the ones he knew always pleased the Peltzer kids.

Steven flopped on the twin-sized mattress underneath the circular, stained glass window boarded up to prevent the sun's rays from entering. Smokey joined him, balling up by his head. He didn't need or want a mini fridge. Normally, he ate at the table with the rest of the family, sitting in a booster seat so he could reach the plate and utensils. If they dined early enough, Billy would bring a snack to the attic, and the two old friends would talk until lights out.

Gizmo loved those evenings the most. Over the years, Billy provided loyalty and friendship. Wing and other previous human companions had feared the Mogwai, keeping him locked away from the world in a cramped wooden box. Their precautions, however, were wasted. Sooner or later, some simple twist of fate would spawn trouble. He treated Gizmo like an equal. Sure, there were a few missteps along the way, but as he grew into adulthood and began a family of his own, his devotion never faltered, and he'd proved capable with the responsibility.

But time wreaked havoc on humans. Where Mogwai lived many centuries, the human lifespan mimicked a match: Billy's youthful pep had given way to middle-aged complacency. Settling down, he focused on art, family, and life. His step had slowed, his smile softened. Losing him would be tough. Harder than the others. Time was catching up to Gizmo, too. He'd spent centuries with humans. Lately, he lacked the energy to do much of anything other than read, watch TV, or play video games.

Maybe he wouldn't outlive Billy. Chris rested a plastic four-leaf clover beside Gizmo. Patrick's Day in the history of the world. Gizmo wiped his hands clean with a paper towel and returned to the comic. The slimy aliens had restrained Misfit X to a floating slab and injected a virus into his muscles. Loaded with their DNA, the shot altered Misfit X's chemical makeup, transforming him into one of his heartless captors.

As the serum rearranged his molecules, the beings oversaw the horrid metamorphosis. The last panel on page thirteen showed four pairs of angry red eyes glaring at the defeated superhero. He reached for the book, begging. How is Misfit X going to escape? I wonder if they really work. Chris unfolded the poster in the center of the comic out. Steven carted the collection bucket from the base of the dehumidifier.

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The machine automatically shut off. Misfit X is in real trouble. I've got to know what happens. Steven, carrying the bucket by the handle, inched across the room to ladder. Gizmo stopped worrying about Misfit X and watched as he passed the TV. A busty blonde missed the answer to a trivia question. Mom and Dad need to trust us more with—". Smokey darted underneath Steven, tripping him. The bucket's detachable handle snapped and toppled, spilling water everywhere.

His fur soaked up the liquid. Stomach churning, Gizmo fought vomit as agony ripped through him. He crumpled, biting his lower lip and banging his fists against the wooden floor. Insides bubbling over, the burning boiled into four distinct spots on his back before tearing free. Four bouncing fur balls erupted from his back and shoulders, taking the pain with them.

His entire body ached. Chris scooped up Gizmo, cradling him. Gizmo didn't need to look. The water spawned four new Mogwai. Chris had grown up with the warnings: Dad had preached the rules again and again, but all those warnings didn't prepare her. It happened so fast. Gizmo, long ears bent down, trembled in her arms. We have a few days to figure this out. Chris didn't have an answer. She'd been in charge for only a few hours. How did she mess up so fast? Black and white fur covered his body, and three fans of white, spiked hair topped his head. His green eyes burned with intelligence.

Steven reached out to touch Blades, but the Mogwai snapped at his fingers. He needs to get used to you first. Gizmo dug into her chest, whimpering. With its large ears and pink eyes, the albino did resemble a rat. Pinky followed Blades around in the same manner Steven tailed Mom. They whispered to each other in incomprehensible, high-pitched gibberish only they understood, chuckling. Chris didn't like their sneaky titters. The other two Mogwai bounced around the room, centering their attention on Gizmo's toys. The brown one with white patches crashed a metal motorcycle into a plastic racecar, giggling like a maniac, while the gray one whooped and squeaked as it flew an electronic starship into asteroids on a handheld video game.

The poor thing still shook. Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty. Sal and Dean played tug o' war with a squeaking rubber chicken. The head ripped off, and Sal fell on his rump. What do you think, Giz? Chris hated his pain. We'll keep them up here so Giz can watch over them. Tomorrow we'll show them the rest of the house. Steven vanished down the ladder. While Sal and Dean tossed a ping pong ball back and forth, Blades and Pinky continued whispering by the Dad's newspaper pile.

Their clandestine communication didn't sit right with her. What were they up to? The ping pong ball went wild, hitting her forehead. The four newest Mogwai erupted. Gizmo's lower lip trembled. Dread tugged at her stomach. If her life had been difficult having to hide one of the damned things from the rest of the world, she imagined how complicated concealing four more would be. She'd never have a normal life and, worse, Mom and Dad were going to kill her when they got home.

Gizmo cuddled Smokey on the bed. Though the purring usually soothed his frayed nerves, not even an occasional lick from her scratchy tongue took his mind off the new Mogawi. He couldn't make out Blades and Pinky's conversation, but he knew no good would come of it. No doubt they planned on making the transformation. Gizmo never understood the wicked impulses every sentient creature experiences. His heart overflowed with peace and love, a rare trait in his race.

Most Mogwai hated their initial incarnation, opting to unleash their darker, stronger selves. When fur gives way to scales, destruction and carnage follow. Chris gathered the new Mogwai and placed them in a tall cardboard box. Blades, the new batch's leader, surprised Gizmo by not fighting when she scooped him up.

His piercing eyes remained locked on Gizmo, a subtle threat simmering under the jade glare. He's already planning trouble. Chris, why can't you see it? After she had collected them all, Steven gave them each a slice of pizza. The Mogwai devoured it, hooting and hollering, tossing the crusts over their confine's walls. When they finished, they stomped their feet and chanted, "More, more, more. The others joined in, chirping and hollering. We don't want any accidents.

Gizmo shook his head. She had no idea what they had done. They need a cage that locks. Gizmo babbled on, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not communicate with Chris. He missed Billy—he'd know what to do. Make sure our new guests don't get into any trouble. Gizmo gasped—she asked him to move the stars. We'll put up the ladder in case they manage to get out of the box. I'm pretty sure Dad Mogwai-proofed the attic. A sinister whoop from the box. Chris scratched behind his ear and stroked Smokey. Chris climbed down from the attic.

Steven offered a small wave before joining his sister. The metal ladder clanged when the trapdoor shut. Smokey stretched and yawned. He returned to his Misfit X comic but couldn't focus on the panels. He closed his eyes, ignoring the low cheers and cackles. Chris found the living room trashed. Somehow, the new Mogwai had escaped the attic and turned the TV room into a playground.

Cartoons blasted on the flat screen. Movies, records, and books scattered the floor. The cushions were stripped from the couch and lined up against the coffee table, a Mogwai fortress. Chris moved a pillow and peered in. A stuffed hippo hit her in the face. Do I need to lock you in the basement? Her threat sent them into hysterics. Her other friends went to shopping malls and dated horny boys while she wrangled furry monsters. Seven ran down the stairs.

I can't find her anywhere. Maybe she got out. Steven nodded before heading out the front door. Chris retrieved Smokey's hard plastic cat carrier and a spotlight from the basement. Blocking the long sides of the coffee table with the couch and end tables, the Mogwai's merriment subsided within the fortress's walls, shifting to murmurs.

She rested the cat carrier, door open, at one end of the Mogwai cushion castle and kneeled at the other, spotlight ready. You want to play rough? She flung the cushion and turned on the spotlight. Bright light flooded their hideaway. Burnt hair pinched her nostrils. The four bolted out of the opposite end, racing into the cat carrier. Chris leapt over the coffee table and slammed the metal door shut, ensnaring the mogwai.

The Mogwai screamed and banged the grate. Chris took a pillow and held the door in place. Their small hands pressed against the other side, but they could not bite or scratch her.

Steven entered the house, cradling Smokey. She didn't want to come out. I think we should keep them in the basement till Mom and Dad get back. They're going to wreck the house if we let them loose like Giz. They're not like Gizmo at all. You need to call Dad, let him know what happened. We can handle this. Maybe after Steven went to bed, she could take the cat carrier outside and leave them for sunrise…. Blades rattled the carrier door.

A small padlock that the stupid girl had affixed to the metal grating held fast, trapping him and his brothers. She'd pay for that. Sal and Dean tickled each other, their playfulness turning into a jostling match after Dean shoved too hard. Blades smacked them both. The wild ones settled down, glaring at each other.

Blades searched the carrier's sides for weaknesses. In the far right corner, a small crack spider webbed where one of the screws fastening the lid to the base had been turned too much. He pointed the fracture out to Pinky, and as Sal and Dean wrestled, Pinky chewed at the flaw. With the new Mogwai locked up in the basement, the rest of the afternoon carried on like normal. Chris and Steven cleaned up the living room, wiping clean any evidence of the four furry troublemakers.

Chris made enough peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to feed herself, Steven, Gizmo, and their new guests. She made sure the trapped Mogwai ate all their share so there weren't any leftovers for after midnight. Blades sat in the front of the carrier, watching her every move. Upstairs, she drew the blinds while Steven brought Gizmo down to watch movies. Chris noticed that even though they sat through one of Gizmo's favorite comedy films, his attention constantly shifted to the basement door.

Smokey curled up beside Giz, purring and pawing. When Giz ignored her, Chris gave the attention-starved Maine Coon a soft stroke on her belly. After a pasta dinner, another comedy, and music videos, Steven took Gizmo back upstairs and went to bed. Chris checked on the four prisoners and found them snuggled up together, snoring. When they weren't running amok, they were adorable.

Maybe she had them all wrong. Maybe they were just ill-behaved stuffed animals and would settle down after a few days. Perhaps they would learn, too. Convinced they had settled down for the night, Chris returned upstairs and fell asleep on the couch during a werewolf movie, dreaming about full moons and silver bullets. Blades patted the albino Mogwai on the back. Pinky proved himself a fast worker—it only took a few hours of him gnawing on the crack to make a hole wide enough for them to slip through.

Blades had worried when the harping bitch came down to check on them. They faked sleeping, and the dumb broad didn't search the carrier for any sign of jailbreak. As soon as the door shut, they pried the last few chunks of plastic free. Blades nosed his head through the opening and smiled at all the tools and trinkets the basement offered. Chainsaws, axes, BB guns, radios, a lawn mower—how could she have been so reckless? Heling his brothers escape the carrier, he noted the time on a wall clock. Though Pinky didn't say much, his loyalty served well.

The other two were as dumb as a left toe. Dean pissed on a model airplane, and Sal picked his nose and ate the boogers.

Blades smacked their heads whenever excitement got the better of them, keeping the pack under control for fifteen minutes. When the clock finally ticked past midnight, he led his brothers upstairs. Blades snuck into the living room first, waving in the others. Sill unable to move silently, their presence roused Smokey. The feline arched her back and hissed at the brothers. When she pounced, Sal bashed her head with a mallet. She howled in pain. Dean covered her face with a pillow, stolen from under the human's feet.

The cat struggled, but they held her still as her life slipped away. Though anything but quiet, the assault didn't wake the girl. She rolled over and farted, wrapping an arm over her head. When the thrashing ceased, they dragged Smokey back into the basement, dumping her body in a hand sink by the deep freezer. Blades took a hunting knife he'd discovered in a tackle box and sliced her belly from throat to tail.

He opened the wound, and warm guts slid out. The Mogwai took turns eating intestines and cat flesh until nothing remained but matted fur, bones, and stringy scraps of stretched muscle which the diabolical quartet hid in the front-loading washing machine. Belly full, Blades secreted the ooze needed for his slimy chrysalises. Sulfur-laced sweat spilled from their pores. Their fur shed, sliding off their bodies with clumps of green goo. The glop covered their bodies, hardening into crusty cocoons. Inside, their bones liquefied. Soft skin gave way to coarse scales.

Blades smiled, his true form taking shape. The next morning, Chris's head pounded. Strange visions haunted her nightmares: Grandpa turned into a one of his inventions, a gnarly machine with spiraling corkscrews and lasers for eyes. The images still haunted her as she searched for aspirin in the upstairs hallway bathroom she shared with Steven. Is this like a hangover? Her classmates had talked about feeling like garbage after drinking too much cheap beer at keg parties. She suspected the throbbing from booze matched her current migraine.

Next year, she'd go to a university, and she'd probably be on her own. There would be plenty of chances to find out there. Finally, she'd have a genuine social life. Girlfriends who could stay the night and watch horror movies. She tired of chasing off cute boys with pouty lips. Her body ached to be explored.

The blinds would stay open, sunlight would flood the house. Dinner whenever she wanted. In college, she'd take her life back, and those damned Mogwai weren't going to stop her. She'd forgotten the trouble in the basement. Splashing a handful of water on her face, she headed downstairs to the living room where Steven bounced around like a lunatic.

In the basement, the Mogwai had been replaced with greasy pods pulsating with new wicked life. A light green pod rested against the cat carrier, viscus mucus dripped from its sides onto the cement floor. Another green pod, darker in color, rested on top of the washer.

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The smallest of the pods glistened an eerie yellowish white, as pale as the bottom of a snake. The largest pod, Douglas fir green with bright purple streaks, rested against the deep freezer. Sulphur hung heavy in the air—each breath Chris took tasted less like oxygen and more like burning rubber. Chris's stomach turned; her head throbbed harder. I went to bed after I took Gizmo to his room. When I got up, I went looking for Smokey. I came down here and found them. We have to get them out into the sunlight. Help me find something to move them in. She scanned the room.

A bunch of junk and nothing useful. The pale yellow pupa rocked once, hard. Chris dumped clean sheets from a laundry basket onto the sticky floor. Placing the basket by the pod, she reached for the cocoon, pausing before her fingers made contact. Get your butt over here and help me. Steven dragged his feet to the other side of the pod. We'll each grab a side, rock it into the basket.

The pod's texture surprised Chris. She expected the moist and gooey, but there was also a velvety quality to the shell, something obscene and soothing to the touch. The creature inside's heartbeat thumped against her palm. The pod peeled off the cement, the Velcro rip accompanying echoed off the basement walls. It rocked again before they tossed it in the basket.

Together they hauled the pod past the others, heading for the stairs. Steven slipped in the slime, recovering before he dropped the cargo. As they started up the stairs, the pod vibrated, rocking side to side. A crack formed across the pointed top, quickly spreading along the circumference of the outer husk. Chris yanked harder on her end, hoping to speed her brother's ascent, but the pod shattered. A long white arm with three sharp claws reached out and slashed her cheek. She screamed, losing her grip.

Basket and hatching gremlin bounced back into the basement where the other pods also cracked. We still have time. I know where the cut off is. He tore up the stairs. Chris followed, slamming the basement door when she hit the living room. She pushed the coffee table against the door, hoping the barricade would keep the monsters downstairs.

She placed her ear against the door, straining to hear any sign of the monsters. Chris jumped at Steven's voice. She touched her cheek, realizing how much it stung. The wound left red on her fingertips. Steven shook his head. Chris's brain fired a million miles a minute. Open all the curtains. Let in as much light as possible. When you're finished, get the spotlights. Her cell rang, the caller ID confirming her deepest fears. She waved her hand, silencing him while she accepted the call.

Doctors say that he needs time to recover. He'll have to change some things in his life, but he's still with us. When are you coming back? Futterman is going to help look after grandma. She's had a lot of time since Murray passed.

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He was such a nice man. But anyways, I think your dad and I will be back on Monday. Dad's looking at flights in the other room. Time was running out. Tell Steven we love him. We'll see you both in a couple days. She hung up and pressed the phone against her throbbing forehead. How coud it get any worse?

I suppose that was inevitable though. Things characters mention aiming to make happen tend to happen, even if its several books later. I dont know why I looked at that I am reading the series right now and I have not yet gotten to that. Fairly similar then to Prince of Thorns awesome if odd series where Spooler Spaler.

That doesn't necessarily mean it can't have any other significance or Other significance, for that matter If the comet turns out to be something out of Dragonriders of Pern, I'm going to be pissed. That Moon was actually Stasis Container Omega, containing the biomachines called 'dragons' by the native humanoids. Colonization of this whole planet by the 'Children' went disastrously wrong. Their information network is still somewhat active, but with a makeshift Operator.

The orbital climate control system has been broken for a long time. Laugh all you want, but anime pulls this junk all the time. It's nearly a trope by now. Trigun, Scrapped Princess, the list probably goes on. All of these begin like a period drama of some sort. In other words, you watch 20 episodes thinking that it's one type of setting, only to find out during the last 4 that it's a culture of human society run by aliens.

So this wouldn't be completely unheard of. On the other hand, I can't remember a Western author ever pulling this switch. Not really sure if it was a 'switch' though. I can't remember if the reader is made aware from the beginning that it's a colony that loses it's technology. Still maybe after the series is over he'll tie it in with his sci-fi stories by having a ship crash somewhere and the guy has to get off this nutty planet with knights and dragons. Or something along those lines. It could be fun. A Song of Water and Fire? Yeah, a lot of characters, from Osha to Brynden to Vary, talked about fire and blood or an equivalent, like blood and flame.

I still thinks its a metaphor for ice and fire. If it were a moon, I don't think everyone would keep looking at it and saying "oh shit, it's a comet.

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If it were a moon, it wouldn't have an orbital period long enough for everyone to have forgotten about it when it appeared in the sky in ACOK. This could just be a misunderstood prophecy about Daenerys. Drogo referred to her as "moon of my life", and Dany called him "my sun and stars". Dany was the moon that cracked when Drogo died, and the dragons drank the fire of the "sun" from Drogo's funeral pyre. I hope he ends it with a memorable quote. I loved his "in the end, Tywin Lannister" quote. Seriously, what's the running theory on what happened to Benjen? He just dropped from the face of the earth.

At first I thought he was the black rider that helped Bran, but I guess that's not it. Benjen is an idea, not a person. We all know who the Red Comet is. If the story is true perhaps whatever pieces of the fallout landed on Planetos are somehow tied with all the supernatural presences we have witnessed. Hell, maybe the planet breaking up ended long periods of eclipses long nights?

In , the comet was seen in England and thought to be an omen: The Others were awake before the series begins see AGOT's prologue , plus there's no indication that the comet actually hit the planet. I always assumed it was Haviland Tuf's Ark, and by the end of ASOIAF we'd discover that all of Martin's fiction takes place in the same universe when Tuf lands and solves all of Westeros' problems with ecological engineering. Tuf being telepathic with his cat is just him skinchanging. Seven Hells we're going to need something stronger than tinfoil for this! Sorry bro, good try but a comet is a comet.

Not a second moon. I like where your head is at though. If a moon was mostly ice, and rogue as I assume the broken moon would be, I imagine it could act and look like a comet. If the original moon shattered, and scattered its bits all around, potentially one of them made it into a comet-like orbit. So the comet gets closer and closer until it finally is about to crash then BAM! I'm gonna be honest, when I first read the title my mind finished it with " Aegon" and I don't know why.

Check out this theory about the moons. Maybe magic is a finite resource. I'm thinking that over the course of a few thousand years, the Children depleted it with their terraforming and the Others with their necromancy. The eruptions that destroyed Valyria released enough to keep dragons around for a couple centuries, and the comet dropped a bunch more, bringing dragons back and making the old magic work again.

I chose to think that what was perceived as pouring dragons might have just been meteors entering the atmosphere. Much like in Valyria, them encountering dragons in the mines may have just been lava from the volcano area they seem to be in. I always thought the red comet was Char Aznable. Is the comet responsible for the rebirth of the dragons and magic? This does not get talked about enough and, in my eyes, it clearly ties back to the AA Prophecy.

It is said that her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the face of the moon. I've been saying for awhile now that Danny is probably Nissa Nissa , as it ties in beautifully with her character arc; she is a Targ who has had the weight of the world on her shoulders. Throughout her entire journey it is clear that she wants to make an impact upon the world as exemplified by her freeing of the slaves, attempt to make Mereen a better place, and even the imprisonment of her dragons in the name of preserving innocent lives.

Clearly, she wants to do something important and doesn't quite know what that is.

(Spoilers ACOK) What if the red comet is : asoiaf

What if she had the opportunity to repopulate Planetos with dragons? Would that not make her the true Mother of Dragons? I believe Danny would give her life in the name of forging Lightbringer and re-introducing dragons to Planetos via breaking the moon. Hope this isn't too tangential, I simply wanted to provide a means of interpreting the shattering of the moon s.

Maybe someone can tie this into the red comet more directly? Her cry of anguish will shatter the moon, repopulating the world with dragons. Knowing that her life will allow the forging of Lightbringer, the saving of the world and the re-introduction of dragons, she will willingly sacrifice herself and become "The Mother of Dragons" in the truest sense. The second moon carries the angels, who will attempt to destroy humanity as Lilim and Angel cannot exist on the same planet. Rickon will be forced to pilot an Eva carrying the soul of Catelyn.

I am pretty sure someone would have mentioned it if there was a comet in the sky and the moon disappeared at the same time. I would have to go back and read the books, but I would assume the moon being in the sky is most likely mentioned after the comet shows up. I'm pretty sure the "two moons in the sky" story is nowhere near true, it's just a legend made up by primitive people to explain something they otherwise can't.

We have plenty of similar examples in the real world. No, a star is a star, a moon is a moon, a comet is a comet. They're nothing alike and they know the difference, even in Westeros. Surely if it was the moon, people would have realised by now that the moon has suddenly disappeared since the comet. Nice idea but it can't be true. Or do i have it wrong and you mean the comet is the remains of the original moon, not the second one breaking up? Use of this site constitutes acceptance of our User Agreement and Privacy Policy.