Reality Hopping
In this story you can hop between realities following these rules:
No more then
- 1 a Day
- 6 a Week
- 20 every 4 weeks
- 50 every 12 weeks
- 180 every 48 weeks
These measurements are based on your home reality.
Your home reality is the one where you start your journey from.
When you hop to another reality you switch your mind with anybody who is there already.
If you hop to a different reality then your home reality from another reality then:
Reality 3 contains you.
Reality 2 contains the person from reality 3
Your home reality contains the person from reality 2
If someone dies then the person whose reality he/she home reality changes to that of the person who died. (Using the example above , if the person in your home reality dies your home reality becomes reality 2. If the person in reality 2 dies then the home reality of the person from reality 2 becomes
3.)
Written by Catprog on 22 August 2004
Alterntive Scenarios from Other Stories
This is for characters from the other stories in other scenarios.
Written by catprog on 21 February 2016
Lycan Gruff from Survivor
Original Story
Written by catprog on 21 February 2016
His Editor
For ages mankind has been fascinated with the primal allure of shape-shifting. The ability to alter one's physical appearance, for the civilized human creature to revert once more into a form that is honest to their truer animalistic nature, has been the subject of many a legend throughout the course of time. Some believe it to be a curse. Others believe it is a form of freedom, to shed one's polite homo sapiens mask in favor of a physical reflection of one's own spirit. What if it were possible, Lycan thought to himself as he stared into an empty coffee cup. What if all it took was enough hope? What if all it took were one wish?
What if it were that easy to change?
"Are you listening?" a voice wafted through like a wisp of smoke over this thoughts.
"Mr. Gruff!" The sound of his name snapped the writer back into attention.
"Aye, I'm listening," he replied, furrowing his brow slightly as he squinted at the very cross looking woman adjacent him at the bar. Slowly removing her glasses from her face, his editor slowly cleaned the lenses. Something she only did when she was irritated.
"Look, Mr. Gruff, this is about your career," the editor said curtly. "There are matters that need your attention, and they need you attention now. You don't have time for day dreaming."
"You are a writer. Part of that job description means you have deadlines, expectations to meet, events and signings to attend, and publicity stunts to pull. Without you feeding your career, it will die as fast as a campfire with no wood added to it." Lycan listened to the woman go on, his chest feeling heavier and heavier with each word. The weight was so great, if felt stifling.
"When I first began writing, it was all about creating something," he said, more to the dregs of coffee in his mug than to the woman beside him. "Every time I set my pen to paper, I was free. Free to experience joy, to ride the river of my thoughts, to roll and swim through the depths of my imagination, as if nothing could weigh me down." For an instant his mind drifted back to those tales of shifters.
What if I could change? He thought. Become a reflection of my spirit; a joyful spirit, untamed and free.
"I wish I could feel that way again." As the words passed his lips, Lycan felt the world grow still around him as he waited for something to shift. The seconds ticked by, and nothing happened.
"Look, Mr. Gruff, you can wish all you want," the editor said impatiently. "But this is business and things are different now."
Feeling quite defeated, the writer lowered his face into the palm of his hand. Well, Lycan, he thought, what else did you really expect? With a long, heavy sigh, he ran his hand down his face. Much to his surprise, something unusually wiry tickled his fingers as they passed over his cheek.
"Now, back our discussion, I wanted-" stopping abruptly, the editor raised an eyebrow at the man. "Mr. Gruff, have you shaved recently?"
"Why?"
"You're looking a bit scruffier than usual." Her voice was dripping with displeasure. "Do make sure you take care of that before your next signing or your publisher will have a fit."
But I shaved this morning. Lycan thought, reaching back up to his cheeks. Sure enough, when he touched his face his fingers brushed over a large patch of wiry stubble. Well, that was certainly odd. As his editor continued to grumble- 'bloody writers and their trashy visage'- Lycan absent-mindedly scratched at his arm as he tried to organize his thoughts.
Now, I know I cleaned myself up this morning. I am certain of it. He thought, his fingers now scratching at his other arm.
It is impossible that I've gone scruffy in less than a few hours. Pulling at his shirt, Lycan began to drag his nails over his chest. And there is no way that I missed a spot that big while shaving. Why the bloody hell do I itch so bad? With frustration and concern for why his skin seemed so irritated, the writer yanked on his sweater sleeve. He felt his jaw physically gape as he looked over his own arm.
Hair, dark and slick as oil, had begun to sprout along the length of his forearm. Quickly jerking back down his sleeve, he hastily checked the other. Sure enough they looked nearly identical with dark hair growing from wrist to elbow. Something strange was happening and as he stood up from his seat Lycan could feel his bones rattling. Was it from the apprehension?
"Hey, Maggie, I need to go." He announced as he pulled a wad of money from his pocket and set it on the counter to pay for his drink. Without even waiting for the woman's reply, Lycan Gruff swiftly made for the door and burst from the café onto the city sidewalk.
Written by palantean-writer on 21 February 2016
Changes at Home
There was not much distance between the café and his flat, but the walk there felt as if it took for ages. Keeping his collar upturned, Lycan drew his coat around his face to hide the whiskers that seemed to be growing with every minute. As he passed people on the sidewalk, he kept his eyes to the ground and struggled not to scratch. The irritation had travelled to his upper arms and his shoulders by the time he had reached the elevator, and as his hands trembled trying to fit the key in the lock, the young writer noticed a peculiar discomfort in his posterior.
Slipping into his flat and quickly bolting the door behind him. With little thought or hesitation, he rushed through the common area, making a beeline for the bathroom. Something was going on. Something was very wrong, and despite how terrified he was of looking in the mirror, Lycan was determined as he threw open the door.
The face that stared back at him in the looking glass seemed very much the same. He still had the same eyes, same nose, and same shape. Except now it appeared as though he were sprouting whiskers high on his cheek, and the dark hair had gone from his arms and was now slowly making its way up his neck, poking out from beneath the collar of his shirt. And all Lycan could do was look on in confusion and fear.
What is happening to me?
This is exactly what you asked for, Lycan Gruff. A hissing little voice whispered at him somewhere in the depths of his mind. The face in the mirror staring back at the man fell as he realized - he had asked for it. In the café, drowning in hopelessness and feeling so... Could it be possible? Have I really done it? Were all those legends true? Question after question raced through his mind.
What else could it possibly be? Leaning forward, the writer rotated his head to and fro, examining the now inch long whiskers poking out of his cheek. Shrugging off his coat and pulling up the sleeves of his shirt he examined his forearms. The dark hair had grown longer, and still was travelling further across his arm. The back of his hand was hairier than it had been this morning. And was it the light in the bathroom, or did his nails look a little discolored?
'If I am transforming, what on earth am I transforming into?'
Turning on his heel, Lycan stepped out of the bathroom, fingers quickly unbuttoning his shirt. By now the patches of fur were so irritated they were burning and with every passing minute that burning sensation was spreading. Now it was up to his shoulders, spreading across his collarbone and spilling over the tops of his shoulders. As Lycan fought with himself to keep from scratching, he noticed that even though he had calmed himself for the most part his bones still felt as if they were rattling.
Written by palantean-writer on 22 February 2016
Female?
"Alright, Lycan, pull yourself together. You just-" In mid-sentence his voice cut short and his fingers slapped against his throat in automatic response. Had he just squeaked?
"What the-?" There it was again. For a split instant, his voice fluctuated upwards in pitch as if a hand was squeezing on his larynx.
Why do I sound like a bloody chew toy? Lycan thought, hobbling back to the bathroom. The discomfort in his rump was increasing now into an uncomfortable pressure. Was something hitting the back of his leg as he walked?
Pressing himself up into the bathroom mirror, the man lifted his chin to examine his throat.
What is happening now?
Fine, dark, and velvety fur had begun to grow on his neck and was slowly making its way down Lycan's torso based on the fiery sensation. As his fingers trailed down the line of his throat, they felt something quite peculiar. It felt as though something was missing. His Adam's apple was visibly shrinking beneath the tips of his fingers.
Oh, you've got to be kidding me?
At this juncture, Lycan Gruff's mind was reeling, pitching and tumbling away from his senses as it was overwhelmed by the title wave of transformation trauma his frail human body was being made to endure. And all because of a single simple wish.
I do wonder, he thought as he noticed his nails again in the looking glass, if this will all be worth it.
Lowering his hands to look at them in the pale light of his bathroom bulbs the writer took notice of how his nails appeared to be changing. The dark, slick hair had entirely consumed his hands, and the nails sitting at the tips of each one had been altered as well. Thin, white, and rather pristinely kept fingernails now appeared dark, as if somehow stained. They had also become thicker, narrowed, and longer, turning into what appeared to be claws. As he flexed his fingers, Lycan noticed something odd as well. A peculiar tingling had erupted between each digit, and as he stared down at them, the writer could see a thin membrane of skin forming in the once empty space between his phalanges. There were also rough patches of skin forming where he once possessed a smooth palm.
The world was beginning to pitch and toss like a ship caught in a squall. Stumbling like a drunk out of a pub, Lycan made his way back out into his common area. Claws gripped at his shirt and shrugged it off entirely. Somehow he also managed to undo his trousers, praying that taking off the denim would help to relive the pressure that was still escalating, originating from just above the curvature of his buttocks.
Now in naught but his knickers the man felt his body move forward, every movement an agony. Fur was spreading, each new growth setting a fire in his skin. Beneath layers of muscles, Lycan's bones were still clattering about. It had intensified so that the man's furry limbs had begun to visibly quake. Then suddenly-
Snap!
A sharp sound like a firecracker shot through the flat, and with an unusually high pitched exclamation, the transforming man collapsed onto the floor. It felt as though a bone in his leg had just been broken. A crunch came from his hand, as if it had been struck with a hammer, and the man withdrew it into himself. Within moments there were more sounds from beneath his skin. The entire foundation of his body was shifting, moving about into and under itself, as though Lycan's skeletal structure was made of tectonic plates.
As well, his skin was beginning to bubble, or so it appeared that way as he noticed his arms. There was distinct movement occurring as he started at his limbs. The irritation of the hair growth had engulfed his entire body, from the top of his head to the soles of his now furry feet. Thumping could be heard behind him. As the pain of his altering bones caused him to contort he caught sight of something hanging between his legs just as electric pulses started to strike at his loins.
Claws dug into the wood floor as he continued to writhe. Pain was everywhere, threaded into every fiber of his transforming being. He could feel every alteration being formed, every piece of his genetic code being rewritten and his body adjusting to accommodate. It escalated so greatly that the man opened his mouth to scream out in pain, but instead of his voice, the sound of a woman's cries filled his ears.
Somewhere outside the torrential churning in his mind, Lycan Gruff heard the sound of his mobile phone ringing. But his mind had let go, and with a sigh he faded into unconsciousness.
Written by palantean-writer on 23 February 2016
Otter
It was the sound of ringing that first pulled Lycan Gruff out of the haze unconsciousness. Ringing and the vibration of something plastic against a wooden surface filled his ears before he even opened his eyes. This was the first thing that he noticed. The second thing he noticed was that all the pain that once tore at his form had subsided. No inkling remained of the horror endured only just recently. Well, as recently as he could recall. How long had he been out? A few hours? A day?
As his mind slowly became more aware, like a night flower slowly blooming in moonlight, the writer felt the chill of the floor upon his cheek. And he could feel something tickling at his face. Oddly enough, however, though he was clearly sprawled upon the ground there was an unusual sense of warmth, as if he was wrapped in a full array of winter clothing.
That's not right. I distinctly remember taking everything off. With hesitation and great caution, Lycan moved his fingers. They felt peculiar, but not broken; same for his arms and his legs.
Alright then, Lycan, open your eyes.
Light of the mid-morning sun poured in through the living room window and the writer cringed as it overwhelmed his eyes. He could see his home, clean and oddly well-kept for a bachelor (or so his editor always told him). Eyes darted to the table where his phone sat. Even as he watched it started to ring again, scooting lightly over the table as it vibrated. But he couldn't be bothered by it as he pushed himself up from the floor.
Claws scratched the floor as his hands supported him, heaving him up from where he lay. Once pale and thin human nails had been replaced and now thick and dark bits of carotene extended off the ends of his fingers. As he gave his hands a flex, he noticed the membrane of skin that had grown between them. Webbed hands? He had transformed into a water-dwelling creature?
Every bit of him that he could see that wasn't his claws or the thick pads of skin on his palm was coated in a thick coat of velvety fur. As he admired the feel of it under his fingertips Lycan gave a shudder of delight and he watched as it stood up in attention.
"Oh wow." The writer had opened his mouth to speak, but a voice not his own passed his lips. Oddly, his voice suddenly sounded more feminine. He opened his mouth and made a few other sounds, just to be certain. Sure enough, the sounds of a woman came out.
Now, transforming into an entirely different creature was one thing, but jumping into the next gender was in a field all its own. With a bit of unease Lycan got up to his feet, and hurried into his bedroom. An antique full-body mirror sat in the far corner. There was a twisting feeling in his core as he came forward. Anticipation, dread, and exhilaration flooded his senses as his furry feet carried him forward, toes clicking ever softly on the hardwood floor.
Deep cocoa eyes, alive and glittering with light, gazed back at Lycan Gruff from the looking glass. For the most fleeting of moments, he wondered if this was what folk on those makeover shows felt like when their transformation was revealed.
Webbed hands went up to touch the cluster of whiskers that stuck out from each cheek like cactus spines. As they were touched and stroked, his skin tingled as if he was handling raw nerves. He prodded at his black nose noting the texture and shape, and he rubbed the rather adorable pair of ears atop his head.
An otter. He thought as his lips cracked into a grin. I've turned into an otter. It was then that he took notice of his other noticeable physical shift.
Where once he possessed the flat pectorals of the human male Lycan's paws now fondled the pair of breasts that had grown with his miraculous transformation. They weren't exceedingly sized, but they were certainly an extension to his chest that would take some getting used to.
But wait, if I have breasts, does that mean..? Reaching down to the boxers that were still on his lower half, he patted at his groin. Sure enough, just as he suspected, the bulge that once was indicative of his masculine identity was simply no longer there. But something else had found its way into his trousers.
Turning around to look behind him, Lycan caught sight of the long and sleek tail that was uncomfortably wedged against his leg by the confines of his underclothes. With a bit of strain and nearly falling backwards onto the bed, Lycan managed to wiggle the clothing off of his hips and tossed the garment aside. When he stood again to look at himself in the glass, a realization seemed to dawn upon him.
No... Not 'him'.
"I'm a woman," the female voice that passed through Lycan's lips whispered in astonishment. As if those words opened a floodgate, the otter was filled with an emotion the writer had not felt in a great long while; a sense of freedom, of happiness, and of exhilaration.
"I am a woman," she repeated, this time with conviction as she set her paws on her rounded hips.
From the living room the sound of ringing and vibration could be heard again and this time Lycan went to answer it. It was no surprise to hear the sound of her editor on the other end of the line.
"Where the bloody hell have you been?" she shouted in a panic. "Lycan, we have work to do."
Do I? A voice whispered in the back of her head. Suddenly the voice over the phone was a blur, like someone speaking under water. Lycan had just made a marvelous transformation, and with that transformation came a freedom that she had forgotten she had. The world was her oyster, and it was time that she enjoyed the feast.
"Lycan isn't here right now," she said into the phone, her lips curling into a joyful grin.
"What? Who is this?" the editor shouted. "I insist to speak with Lycan."
The female otter set a hand on her hip, her tail swishing behind her.
"Lycan's gone away for a while," she said with a chittering giggle. "He will call you if he ever returns." With a beep the call was ended, the phone was tossed over her shoulder, and as it shattered, so did the shackles of Lycan Gruff.
Written by palantean-writer on 24 February 2016
The end (for now)