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+--- Thread: Shimmering Sands Learning to love the bomb (/showthread.php?tid=19652)
Learning to love the bomb - Chip - December 22, 2016
The first time she had been here, Chip had met a rather drab fellow named Skelly. She remembered their interactions well enough, but she also remembered that he'd been kind of a weirdo. In any case, she was here today to find some food of some sort. She was currently standing on the banks of the river that split this particular grassy area in two. Her original plan had been fishing, but when she crossed the trail of a beaver, she couldn't help but follow it. She'd never tried beaver meat that she could recall, and the thought of it sounded rather pleasant to her growling stomach.
Picking her way along the river, she eventually spotted the beast gnawing on a tree. Presumably, it was about to chew it down and add the lumber to its dam. Unfortunately for Mr. Beaver, Chip had other plans for him. Lurking in the shadows, she awaited for his back to be turned, then she sprung from her spot, landed on his back, and quickly dug her incisors into his neck. In mere moments, he was dead, and Chip was ripping him apart, consuming the warm, wet flesh as quickly as she could.
RE: learning to love the bomb - Foster - December 22, 2016
Any fresh food was bound to get the stomach rumbling and the feet moving—but meals didn’t just drop dead from the sky onto his dinner plate. With that in mind, while Foster was pulled by his curious nose and salivating jaws, he stepped lightly and kept his ears perched and open to discover what lay with the scent of lumber and blood. He was not above scavenging was unlucky to find his long-awaited temptation still occupied by the what was presumably the beaver slayer. While the cogs were turning, he didn’t immediately step right up to drive her off, had it been a bigger meal maybe he’d be willing to take a hit—but a beaver wasn’t worth getting chewed.
Finding a new cushy lump of sand to plop his ass onto, he attempted to look casual in his approach. If there was any meal potential to be stripped from the flat it would have seemed to have already been snatched up. He wasn’t quite on the verge of savage starving animal, but Winter would test him yet—and while he didn’t solely depend on the kindness of strangers, being social did tend to have it’s advantage. Hence why by the time he settled on opening his mouth he’d already been through Plan A B and C in his mind. “There’s a joke about munching beaver here somewhere—“
RE: learning to love the bomb - Chip - December 23, 2016
I nearly choked on my coffee reading that. You're gonna do just fine here. ;)
Chip was halfway through swallowing another chunk of beaver when she heard him speak, and she choked on the half-eaten meat. This sent her coughing, hacking, and generally being most unladylike... but it wasn't like she had ever been particularly ladylike in the first place. His joke was well-received, and after managing to clear her throat (yadda yadda, jokes about choking on meat), she let out a hearty laugh. Chip probably looked a bit like a maniac, laughing, sputtering, and carrying on all while covered in blood. Once she regained her composure, she tore off a chunk of the beaver and tossed it at the stranger.
"You deserve that," she said, "It's not often folks have a decent sense of humor." If there was one thing Chip believed in, it was positive reinforcement. As she watched him (presumably eating the chunk of meat she'd thrown at him), she sized him up. He was a bit of a looker, even if he was a little lanky for her tastes.
RE: learning to love the bomb - Foster - December 24, 2016
ooc: Haha! Thank you!
Foster’s intention hadn’t been to kill her; ears tugging forward at her sudden spasm of phlegm, blood, and chunks of beaver gone flying. His only vision of CPR would’ve have been to trample on her throat and attempt to dislodge whatever was stuck in there had she gone belly up. So he was somewhat relieved when she managed to get a hold of herself, but only somewhat, because while he would’ve left her to the gulls he certainly wouldn’t have let her meal go to waste.
His tail flew out behind him, whipping as he snatched his reward from the air and greedily chomped it into mincemeat down his throat. “I can sit and beg too.” Foster offered, looking just as happy as any dog willingly to roll over for another treat. Of course he was kidding, noted by the slight curve tugging at the one edge of his muzzle—but only half kidding, just as complacent to go along with it if it meant more food was involved.
“Anyone ever tell you, you look like those squirrelly things?”
RE: learning to love the bomb - Chip - December 28, 2016
He snagged the meat mid-air, chomping down on it without hesitation. When he mentioned he could sit and beg, she smirked. When he mentioned that she looked like "one of those squirrely things," Chip rolled her eyes. "Probably why my really boring parents named me after one. I'm Chipmunk. Also known as 'one of those squirrely things.'" Her parents had exactly zero imagination when it came to naming their children, and Chip had already decided that she would not be carrying on that tradition. She planned to name her children stupid, meaningless things like Norbert.
"You look like a Norbert," Chip added. In fact, when she said it out loud, it made her feel like that could actually be his name. He looked more and more like a Norbert with each passing second. Chip took another bite out of the beaver (eheheh) and tossed it toward him. "So, Norbert, do you always make jokes to strangers in order to get free food?"
He scoffed at her dumb joke and walked off, causing Chip to scoff even harder as she turned in the other direction to leave.