milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Today is not a good day to be a demon bunny. Winter comes early and fast in the mountains where the Greenbrier colony and the people of Rowlesburg live, and Shephard's found that for all the foulness to their meat, the demon rabbits here have mighty warm fur.

So if you're wondering why a man in muted greens and browns (he's not risking his uniform for this) is stalking the areas out back where the red rabbits live, longbow in hand and alien eyeball dog thing at his heels, that's probably why. Feel free to greet him, although we suggest you do it when he hasn't got an arrow nocked- or that you wait until he comes into the Bar with his catch, because he'll be doing that later, too.

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Shephard may notice markers tied around trees at regular intervals; Gredya's been helping Joly as she said she would. Not today, though. Today Gredya has been out in the area of the bunnies herself, with the children. It's good practice for them: it takes some teamwork to manage these creatures up close.

They catch Shephard's approach early, and she leads the youngsters away back to the bar building, away from miscommunications and accidents with arrows. Still on four feet, she circles back to watch Shephard for a bit, before deciding whether to change forms and engage in conversation.

Shephard's been watched by predators before. Mostly Xen things, but the occasional Earth creature. He's been teaching his houndeyes to keep an eye out for the attention of other species while he's working; the ham thing rises up on its lone back leg every so often to scan the undergrowth nearby, just in case.

A moment before he's about to loose an arrow at one of the bunnies, the houndeye lets out a low, worried murr. Shephard immediately lowers the bow, allowing the string to return to mere resting tautness. "What is it, girl?" he says.

Hmm. There's not much point in approaching them in this form. It's not like watching Javert hack away at trees, entertainingly red-faced and uncomfortable. She watches the eye-creature a little longer before slipping silently away again, back to the spot where she left her clothing.

Sweat from the pain of transformation is still in her hair when she comes back to where she saw Shephard and his animal. The children are following her, still four-footed. Just in case it somehow turns into a fight.

The houndeye's back on all threes by the time Gredya returns. Shephard's being careful with the bow, so as soon as he hears human-size feet coming he stops what he's doing and turns that way. "Hey there," he calls.

The rabbits can wait.

"Hey," Gredya calls back, courteously enough. Behind her, Aksana growls, which she hushes.

She nods in greeting when she and Shephard can see one another. "You are hunting here many days? Tomorrow?"

"Depends how the hunting is today, ma'am," says Shephard. "I ain't what you'd call dead set on it, though. Why, you need to git in some hunt time yourself?"

And now she's interrupted his hunting. Well, she doesn't feel particularly bad about that. "We are here before." A slight backwards nod indicates the five gangly teen-looking wolves coming up behind her. "We have other places to hunt. Not a problem, we leave. But I think, maybe I will ask you how long you will be here. When is a good time for us to be here."

She's, you know. Giving this whole sharing thing a try.

Huh. Well, isn't that something.

"Tell you the truth, ma'am, I ain't huntin' to eat, I'm huntin' to keep my people warm," he says. "They got damn good fur when it gets snowy out. If you'n yours're willin' to eat the meat on these things, you got a better claim to 'em than I do. I ain't gonna be here much longer."

Not that he doesn't use other parts of the rabbits- he's got uses for the bone, and he's made a point of saving the teeth for Brimstone, and you can do some interesting things with rendered fat off a fire breathing bunny- but anyone who's willing to eat the little assholes gets primacy of place in his book.

She nods, appreciating the courtesy. But-- "We have other places, other animals to hunt." she says again. "These rabbits are good for the children to learn. And we eat them. But you can hunt also. You are here--today, tomorrow, day after that?"

So far, the rabbits have seemed numerous and easy to find.

"Today and tomorrow'll be enough," says Shephard. "I got other duties after that. These your kids?"

Hey, she might be looking after them for another Wyr. You never know.

"Yes. My children." She doesn't hide her pride. They're excellent youngsters, all of them: strong and healthy and smart. And all of them have survived so far. "Karel, Aksana, Franchek, Masha, Bozhana. --And that is your hound eye creature?"

She remembers him talking about them. It's not an appealing animal. SHe'd just as soon not run into a pack of them, by herself.

Shephard offers the wolves a small wave. It's only polite. "Yeah, this is Mrs. Wilson," he said. "Her pups're at home- they're old enough, now, they don't got to follow her around all the time. She ain't much of a scent tracker, but she's a good sight hunter."

One or two wolfy tail-tips wag; some of the others are trying to maintain a stoic and imposing presence.

For her part, Gredya gives Mrs. Wilson a dubious look. "She has pups? You teach them, too?"

Shephard nods. "You take a wild thing in and have it live with you, it's your responsibility to teach it how to behave and what it needs to live," he says. "Same deal goes for its pups. Back home I take 'em all hunting at once. They c'n bring down some damn big prey if they work together proper."

"I am sure," she answers drily. "What animals? Deer? Bear?"

"Bullsquid," says Shephard. "Breeding stage headcrabs. Panthereye, once."

He digs in his belt pouches and comes up with a hooked piece of bone about as long as his hand. "Here," he says, "this here's the spur from the end of a bullsquid's tail. Xen things. The size of a fuckin' pony with a tail that's all muscle'n bone, and it's damn near half their body length. Fuckers c'n take a man's leg off in one hit if they git that tail movin' fast enough. They spit poison, too. You want to hunt one with a bow or a gun you're best off doin' it from a tree stand out of their spit range. You want to do it on the ground, you got to do it with a pack of somethin' like these little fellers if you want to come out of it with all your limbs. I already lost one hand. I ain't doin' that twice."

She studies the thing. The smell is very foreign, like that of the houndeye creature. The size of a pony? Like a unicorn, then, but with poison. Or like fighting Hippoi. "Wyr could," she concludes. "But that is hard. Are they smart? They plan? They are in packs, or alone?"

Masha paws at her leg, wanting to take a look at the bone.

"Houndeyes'll hunt in packs," Shephard says; he nods to the pup, he's all right with Masha sniffing it as long as it doesn't get chewed on. "They're clever, but I dunno about planning so much as- well, Mrs. Wilson, git that rabbit."

'That rabbit' is a particularly dark ruddy beast about twenty yards off. The houndeye dashes towards it, then stops a short distance away, lowering her front end and visibly vibrating. There's an oddly metallic keening sound rising in pitch for almost a second; then a sudden explosion of concussive sound wrinkles the air around her in a wave that slams into the demon rabbit, dropping it in its tracks.

As the houndeye trots over to its fallen foe (it is probably best not to think about where its mouth is when it picks the rabbit up), Shephard notes, "More of 'em hunting together, they pitch that sound of theirs so it hits harder. You git a whole pack together, it'll break some damn big bones, that sound."

(OOC: Said attack may be seen and heard at Youtube, for those interested.)

Oh, well, if Masha gets to sniff the thing then everyone wants to sniff the thing. Gredya clucks her tongue at them and swats lightly at a shoulder, largely ignored. Whatever, Mom, says the set of the pups' ears.

"...I mean, the. Bull squid. It is smart? It hunts in packs?"

But oh, the houndeye is doing something. Gredya watches, interested--and then winces and covers her ears a few moments before the sound becomes audible to humans. Some of the pups whine and growl.

"Sorry 'bout that," says Shephard. "Didn't think we were close enough for the sound to bother you. Won't have her do that again."

The houndeye trots over and drops its rabbit at Shephard's feet; he bends over to scritch the beast along its first blue stripe, murmuring praise. When he straightens up he says, "Bullsquid're smart, but they ain't real social 'cept the breedin' mommas. Most of 'em hunt alone, or you'll see a mated pair sometimes. Rest of the year they don't git on real well. The mommas'll all come together in wallows'n such to lay their eggs'n protect their nests."

She's still shaking her head. Ugh. "--Good way to hunt for fur." There's that to be said for it. Her style of hunting doesn't generally leave a nice pelt.

"Yeah, most days I need the skins as much as I need the meat," Shephard admits. "I ain't got the option of changin' into somethin' furry and four legged like a Wyr does."

And even if that state were contagious- which he kind of doubts it is, or somebody would've said something- he's had enough weird mythic shit dumped on him to last a lifetime and then some already; he's not interested, just at the moment, in picking up more just to stay warm.

That makes her laugh, just a little. "Yes. Very cold, with no fur. I think sometimes, I should learn. How to take skin off. We don't eat it. We could trade it."

"I c'n show you if you want, sometime," Shephard offers. "I been skinning my kills myself since I was old enough to handle a knife. Dunno what kinda tools you'd care to use, but there's a couple options however you choose to do it. Up to you, though."

She thinks a moment, then nods. "Yes. That is good, if you can teach it. We don't have many tools. But I can get knife, I think."

"Shit, I do it with stone knives half the time," Shephard says. "You bring me a good size piece of flint'n I'll make you one, iffen you need it. See, here-"

He holds out one of his arrows, indicating the stone point.

"Made those myself. Bigger flakes git made into knives instead."

It's pretty good. The Wyr don't hunt with arrows, but Gredya can begin to recognize the skill that goes into making something with the balance to fly. The kids are interested, too. "Maybe. But I think I should get knifes anyway. What kind is right, for skin?"

She's been spending so much time on two feet lately--and unarmed.

For answer, Shephard removes one from his belt. "Somethin' along these lines," he says. "Blade don't got to be long, just sharp'n solid like that. The curve helps some. I use this one for cutting up my kills half the time, not just skinning. Holds a real good edge, too."

Ah. She does her best to fix the shape in her memory: wide, solid, a bit of a curve. "I think I can get one. I can trade." Of course, what she'll trade for it is another question. All the extra work she's done to pack an emergency lardy for winter already has her run off her feet. "And I can trade you, too. For teaching. What is good for you?"

Shephard rubs his nose, thinking. "Ain't too sure just at the moment," he admits. "Less'n you got a means of rounding up a live ewe or sow or somethin' and drivin' her through the door ahead of y'all. Or a couple live chickens. I c'n think of somethin' else easier if I have a little time, though."

"You want chickens? I get chickens." From the tone of her voice she's more amused than impressed with the task. Chickens. They are stupid. "Yes, I get chickens. Alive. Sheep, pigs, horse, cow--harder." That would be a large and complicated favor. Although not impossible, when she begins to think of it.

Shephard nods. "We're a mite low on any kind of livestock but goats," he says. "I'm willing to trade a lot for living animals in breeding condition. But I reckon chickens're a good place to start, for this."

"Good. I will bring. When can you teach us?" It won't be difficult to get the chickens, she thinks; but she'll need to know when. Gredya and her family are not equipped to keep chickens around for any length of time.

"Tomorrow or the day after's good," says Shephard, "but I c'n git here after that if you need me to."

"The day after." That gives her time to assess the chicken options. Shephard probably doesn't want to inquire too closely as to how and where she's getting them.

Gredya nods in the direction of the demon rabbit ground. "Good hunting." And thanks for allowing the interruption.

"Thank you kindly, ma'am," says Shephard. "Same to you and yours."

He'll wait until she and the pups are out of sight before nocking another arrow.

She appreciates it. It takes a moment to round up the children, because Karel got bored of the conversation followed his nose of into the underbrush somewhere. She'll have to have a word with that boy. Perhaps being set to mind chickens will teach him a little better attention...

((I can bring her in with some chickens in a few days, if that suits?))

((Works for me! Thanks!))

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