“Shit!” He was lucky this pool was a low-tide subregion with grasses and plants there to soften the scrape of his arse against the ground. It didn’t save his legs from getting soaked up to the knee, though, and his waterproof boots were pretty useless when submerged in water.
Australia really hated intentionally hurting any of the creatures in his land, but it wasn’t worth getting drowned by an octopus. Hell, how would he ever explain that to New Zealand? Bastard would die laughing, most likely. Not that this was the worst death Australia had ever experienced, but he’d rather not recall the details of his extremely painful encounter with a Cassowary bird that ended up with his guts nearly on the ground.
One of the arms was climbing up his leg to wrap tightly around his knee, so tightly that Australia couldn’t even bend it. Australia pulled his Gregsteel Bowie from his belt and quickly, but not too deeply, slashed at the arms wrapped around his leg. Instantly the arms jerked away and Australia hefted himself back with his free hand and legs, propelling himself backwards to safety.
Except not. Just as quick, the octopus shifted in the pool, turning so several uninjured arms could grab Australia’s legs and pull him back down into the water. Now he was thigh-deep in the pool with two strong octopus arms grasping his legs. This was actually starting to be a little alarming. He wasn’t scared, as such. He was tall and fit and had lived on this land since, well, practically forever, and had encountered every dangerous thing to walk (or swim) the land. But now he could be stuck here until high tide and that wasn’t for half a day and dammit, he had cold beer waiting for him back home!
Australia raised his Bowie up to slash again, this time even willing to cut the damn thing open, pretty as it was. Of course, now that Australia remembered, octopuses had really great eyesight. Quick as a whip an arm caught his wrist and slammed it back against the rock wall, and his lovely Bowie clattered uselessly into the pool next to him, drifting down and disappearing from his sight.
“Fuck!”
Australia was bent uncomfortably back, his pack digging into his shoulder blades, back twisted as his legs were held one way and his arm pulled too far to the side. He couldn’t even reach his other wrist with is free hand, and no amount of punching or pulling would remove the octopus’ arms around his thighs.
“Fuck!” Australia cursed again, and thrashed mightily for several long moments before subsiding, panting. He glared at the octopus in front of him. His hair had gone wild and was falling into his eyes, although he could feel two tell-tale hairs rising with his anger. The water was clear enough for Australia to see a large eye staring at him. It didn’t have horizontal pupils, Australia slowly realized. In fact, it didn’t have any pupils at all. Its eye was an unpolluted white that was rather creepy. But what kind of octopus had no pupils?
The kind that trapped him in tidal pools, apparently. Australia slowly reached up behind his head and started feeling for the zipper to his pack. He was sure he’d packed his possum knife too. If he could – just – reach – further. He could get his hand inside, and was that the handle of the knife he was touching? He stretched back as far as he could, hips lifting off the ground, and for a second the thing’s arms lost grip and he could reach his fingertips around the hilt of the knife. Then the octopus’ arms crawled back up his thighs, pulling, coiling past his shorts to suction to the tender inside of his thighs.
“Oi,” Australia gasped, and out of the corner of his eye he saw another arm stretch past his head. “No!” He snarled, but once the thick tentacle was around his arm, he was pinned.
Not Native (2/?)
Australia really hated intentionally hurting any of the creatures in his land, but it wasn’t worth getting drowned by an octopus. Hell, how would he ever explain that to New Zealand? Bastard would die laughing, most likely. Not that this was the worst death Australia had ever experienced, but he’d rather not recall the details of his extremely painful encounter with a Cassowary bird that ended up with his guts nearly on the ground.
One of the arms was climbing up his leg to wrap tightly around his knee, so tightly that Australia couldn’t even bend it. Australia pulled his Gregsteel Bowie from his belt and quickly, but not too deeply, slashed at the arms wrapped around his leg. Instantly the arms jerked away and Australia hefted himself back with his free hand and legs, propelling himself backwards to safety.
Except not. Just as quick, the octopus shifted in the pool, turning so several uninjured arms could grab Australia’s legs and pull him back down into the water. Now he was thigh-deep in the pool with two strong octopus arms grasping his legs. This was actually starting to be a little alarming. He wasn’t scared, as such. He was tall and fit and had lived on this land since, well, practically forever, and had encountered every dangerous thing to walk (or swim) the land. But now he could be stuck here until high tide and that wasn’t for half a day and dammit, he had cold beer waiting for him back home!
Australia raised his Bowie up to slash again, this time even willing to cut the damn thing open, pretty as it was. Of course, now that Australia remembered, octopuses had really great eyesight. Quick as a whip an arm caught his wrist and slammed it back against the rock wall, and his lovely Bowie clattered uselessly into the pool next to him, drifting down and disappearing from his sight.
“Fuck!”
Australia was bent uncomfortably back, his pack digging into his shoulder blades, back twisted as his legs were held one way and his arm pulled too far to the side. He couldn’t even reach his other wrist with is free hand, and no amount of punching or pulling would remove the octopus’ arms around his thighs.
“Fuck!” Australia cursed again, and thrashed mightily for several long moments before subsiding, panting. He glared at the octopus in front of him. His hair had gone wild and was falling into his eyes, although he could feel two tell-tale hairs rising with his anger. The water was clear enough for Australia to see a large eye staring at him. It didn’t have horizontal pupils, Australia slowly realized. In fact, it didn’t have any pupils at all. Its eye was an unpolluted white that was rather creepy. But what kind of octopus had no pupils?
The kind that trapped him in tidal pools, apparently. Australia slowly reached up behind his head and started feeling for the zipper to his pack. He was sure he’d packed his possum knife too. If he could – just – reach – further. He could get his hand inside, and was that the handle of the knife he was touching? He stretched back as far as he could, hips lifting off the ground, and for a second the thing’s arms lost grip and he could reach his fingertips around the hilt of the knife. Then the octopus’ arms crawled back up his thighs, pulling, coiling past his shorts to suction to the tender inside of his thighs.
“Oi,” Australia gasped, and out of the corner of his eye he saw another arm stretch past his head. “No!” He snarled, but once the thick tentacle was around his arm, he was pinned.