literature

The Clay

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The Clay


It was a clear morning when it all happened. Sondra was sitting in her favorite cafe – always a window seat, so she could watch people pass by the small establishment. She liked this particular cafe as it was large enough to offer wireless internet, but it remained small enough so her morning coffee came in a small China cup. It made a satisfying clink each time she set her cup down to read the paper.

It had been a week since she'd had her last audition. She left home to be a star. Under the right circumstances, her blonde hair and baby blue eyes could make her look like any star. But something was missing. Something had to be missing. Something was keeping her from getting that call back, and Sondra just did not know what it was.

“Hello there.”

Her full, pouting lips curled into a smile as she looked over the ad that had been printed next to the list of open auditions.

Experimental make up trial. Sondra liked make up. She wore it everyday. Participants will be compensated for time and travel. And it wouldn't cost her a thing. Help us perfect this miracle! Sondra did not believe in miracles.

But she had nothing to lose.

Two weeks....

“Beautiful! Perfect. Just hold that pose...”

She just could not believe the transformation. It had been just two weeks since Sondra had joined that drug trial for the new miracle make up. Her skin was lighter, her smile brighter, and even her eyes sparkled with something she'd been lacking before. Every casting director had called her back since she started using The Clay.

That's what the marketing team had called it. The Clay. It seemed hard within the container, but it was soft when Sondra scooped liberal amounts out with her fingers. It was definitely the miracle she had been waiting for. Well... it was almost the miracle she'd hoped it was.

No one had thought to mention it to Sondra at first, but the blonde quickly learned that The Clay was a very expensive habit to have. Being a part of the test group, Sondra had been allowed a certain amount of the product to test. After the trial, however, it cost her as much as her apartment's water and power to have enough to last her through the month. Sondra also learned what happened when she didn't use it as the packaging described. If she skimped – even a little – her skin would stop to glow and her smile would dim.

The response she'd gotten was more than worth it. She just needed this job to pay out, then she could get her bills back in order. So she kept applying The Clay with abandon.

“That's great crew. We're done for the week.” The producer, a large burly man from some no-name island in the Pacific, called for filming to be done for the day. “Fuller.” He offered a plain, white envelope. “Good work today.”

She smiled, feeling proud of herself for the first time since she had started her acting career. “Thank you, sir.” She opened the envelope, and her face fell when she saw what was inside. “Does this paycheck cover the last two weeks? Or just last week?”

He rose a well defined brow. “Two weeks. You can negotiate pay when you have a list of credits behind you, Fuller.” The producer turned to leave. “But I know a guy.” He passed her a business card. “Just drop my name.”

Four weeks...

“I'm go glad you could join us, Ms. Fuller.”

When people thought of gangsters, two distinct images come to mind. The mob men of the American 1920's was one imagine – complete with tailored suits and fedoras and machine guns. The other option consisted of the ruthless street gangs from the intercity that spent more money on 'bling' than tailored suits. Then there was this group.

Their leader – Sondra knew him only as Andre – was a tall, spindly man of African origin. His accent placed him in one of the northern countries – or from England proper. He wore a suit that had been obviously bought off the rack. The two men with him, who were more muscle than anything else, wore what Sondra had been told was business casual. So much for the clothes making the man.

“We have some business to discuss. You see... I'm a patient man. But I've been patient, and I want my money back.”

Sondra's arms were pinned behind her back, her wrists secured by zip ties. “Believe me, Andre, if I had any cash to spare, I'd pay you back.”

The gangster shook his head. “See.. now, why don't I believe you?” He looked about the room they were in. It was filled with large vats of something that bubbled and gurgled angrily. It was a secure warehouse – or it should have been secure. “My boys told me you had yourself a pretty little addiction. The Clay – that's what this stuff is called, isn't it?” A cruel smile formed on his lips. “We're just going to make sure you get your fill of it.”

One of the muscled men lifted Sondra from her feet. “No, wait!”

“Shut up, girl.” The two men carried Sondra up onto the catwalk that hovered over the vats of bubbling clay. “Ready? A-one.. and a-two...”

CLANG!

There was a blinding flash before the power went out. Sondra wasn't sure what was happening. The two men suddenly dropped her. And... there was a third figure. From the outline, Sondra thought it was a woman.

“Shit.” Even in the dark, Sondra knew that was Andre. “It's Batgirl, boys. Let's get out of here.”

“Oh, no you don't. You're going to get tied up nice and cozy.” There was a thump than an ooph, and then Sondra didn't feel as secure as she did before. When the men dropped her, she'd hit her head. It was hard enough to see in the dark, hard enough to follow the outlines as they fought back and forth. Sondra didn't know she was teetering right on the edge of that catwalk until a bump – ironically from Batgirl's boot – sent her plummeting downward.

She fell then she landed with a soft plop.

Her heart was racing, thinking she would sink into the substance. That was when she realized that the clay, though it bubbled around her, cradled her. It felt almost like laying on a well formed pile of sand. Sondra let herself relax, just for a moment, her breathing returning to normal. That was when she realized the clay wasn't just cradling her.

It was embracing her.

The clay curled and swirled around her arms, still pinned beneath her. It caved beneath her legs, swallowing them into the mass of bubbling, wet sand. Sondra's breathing came quicker, realizing she was sinking.

She thought she was sinking, but the clay had other plans. Lines of clay, working almost as tendrils, curved and wrapped about her hips and thighs. The clay pulled her thighs apart at the knees, spreading her legs. It covered each and every inch of her legs in the thick, almost sticky substance. Then more tendrils moved up, circling her breasts. The clay moved under her clothing, coating her stomach and ass and back. Then it covered her breasts and shoulders. Her blue eyes clenched tightly as she held her breath. Then, as more and more clay covered her body, her eyes snapped open. But they were no longer blue.

They glowed yellow.

Five weeks....

“I don't know if this is a good idea. Hush is out there. And who knows who else.” The woman, dressed all in green, crossed her arms over her amble chest. “She can't control that stuff. The last thing we need is a trail of... whatever that is... leading all of Gotham to our hideout.”

There was a pause as the group considered.

“I think I agree with Ivy.” Catwoman looked up, pushing her goggles up onto her brow. “Our jobs are hard enough as it is, Harley.”

The shortest of them shook her head. “I don't agree.” Sondra's head popped up, hearing someone stand up for her. “If the two of you want to high tail it, then go. She's one of us, and I'm not going to give up on her.” Harley Quinn flashed a smile at Sondra. “She'll be a full fledged Siren in no time.” She grabbed Sondra's hand, not caring that the hand was practically melting in her grasp. “Come on. If Ivy and control her powers, so can you.”

Sondra shook her head – or tried to. It was so hard to move much at all. Her body didn't feel like her own. It was like trying to run while waist deep in the ocean. “You sound so sure, Harley. But how can I control... whatever this is? If I don't focus,” The left side of her face started to melt and droop. “that happens.”

“That's because you're focusing on trying to keep that shape. Your face.” Harley giggled. “Your face.. but... the shape of your face. What if you made it a different shape?”

“A different...” Sondra, frowned. The clay that had fused to her face curved downward, still sloping as if melting. “You mean like...” She looked down at her right hand. It was clenched in a fist, but slowly the clay swirled. It moved and bent in ways it shouldn't have – if she had bones in that hand. With enough focus, the hand became a hammer.

“Just like that!” Harley grinned.

Sondra smiled, her face looking more like a face and less like a puddle. With a little more focus, the clay split and separated to become fingers again. “That's... almost cool. Do you think... do you think I could make my whole body do that?”

Harley's brows crinkled in confusion. “You want to turn into a giant hammer?” Sondra sighed in response, gesturing to her body which was little more than a large pile of clay. “Oh... You mean, like, be human shaped.” She grinned, her eyes sparkling. “I bet you could.”

That was all the encouragement she needed. Sondra closed her glowing yellow eyes and focused on the clay that had become her body. For the past week, she'd felt lost. But now she knew she had a home. Sisters. Friends. Sondra willed the clay to split and form two shapely legs. Feet appeared at the end of them, and the clay moved into firm calves and wide, sensual hips.

Her chest was next. Two mounds of clay gathered on her chest and – as if a sculptor were forming them – they smoothed out to become her gently heaving breasts. Her shoulders carved themselves from her neck, and arms flowed from those shoulders. Her face, which Sondra had spent so much time keeping in place, gave way to a whole head. Then a cascade of hair fell from her head with whatever clay had been left.

When she was done, Sondra stood before Harley with her hands on her hips. Nothing dripped and everything stayed in place. Even the smile that pulled at her perfectly formed lips. “Do you think I got it?” Her smile opened into a grin, showing carefully formed teeth.

Harley grinned her signature grin. “Oh, I think you got it.”

“Welcome to the Sirens, Lady Clayface.”
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