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+--- Thread: Wheeling Gull Isle molotov cocktails on me like accessories (/showthread.php?tid=28069)
molotov cocktails on me like accessories - Reed Wolf - June 27, 2018
all welcome! would luv a naturalist thread or a face she hasn't seen before <3
the island is a quiet life but it suits the narrow-minded girl -- here she really is the center of her universe, her universe this tiny island. her youth, despite its sharp-edged beginnings, has softened into something lazy and smooth, days spent investigating nature on her own time, watching -- mocking -- her brother with something closer to affection than she'd like to admit. she visits the babies sometimes -- she wants to see seelie's babies, too, but they're still too young for that, she knows that much. another child might be bored, but to reed, this is paradise, uncomplicated and untroubled.
today she is organizing the small bundles of herbs she has spent the early summer collecting. she's taken up the old den she was born in, digging it out to place her expanding collection -- ironically a shadow of the witchdoctor (though her baubles are useful, thankyoumuch). her attention absorbed in her task, she lets the soothing ocean sounds fill her mind, humming softly under her breath as she works.
RE: molotov cocktails on me like accessories - Driftwood - June 28, 2018
Driftwood is not a naturalist or really anymuch help at all here, I don't think, but perhaps someone a little wiser can also come along and help set him straight...? ;) lol.
Driftwood was quite pleased with himself this day, and in fact waved his dark-tipped tail high and wide as his mind jumped ahead and dwelt on just how thrilled Seelie would be with him, too, he expected. (Her broader-set mate he was not so certain about his likely approbriation from, but he couldn't be too upset with Driftwood for adding to the island's food stores, right?) In his mouth he carried a sleek smug rat who had thought she could outmaneuver him and been proven wrong. In his mind he carried, too, the knowledge that her pink squeaking nestlings had not been far from her, and that he had very carefully not only made his mark nearby in the usual manner but also backscratched an unsually long indicator in the damp sands for a ways in front of it. One of the nice things about this island was that the predators upon it were few and far between, beyond the wolves themselves, but nonetheless Driftwood hastened forth around the bend at a fairly brisk clip. He found himself startled into suddenly stopping as a quiet melody catches his ears at the same time the breeze brings the flavor of an unfamiliar scent to accompany it.
Driftwood cocks his head and listens with one paw upraised before he detours further inland with some apprehension. His tail begins to flutter lower, more of a 9 o'clock position than a 12 now, and his ears flicker halfway back in uncertainty. He would call out a greeting if his mouth wasn't already full, but instead stops short at the slender russet-and-amber rump in front of him. He'd prefer to greet her face instead of her butt, as that seems a more propitious setup for a first meeting, but curiosity gets the better of him before he remembers his manners a little better. Driftwood creeps subconsciously forward as he cranes his neck to see what the slender young stranger is up to, but his bafflement only increases as he notes that she appears to be widening a cozy little den. Driftwood stops again and stares, then clears his throat and, hesitating briefly, drops his rat to the dirt.
Oh! Er—ahem! Are you expecting puppies too?!he asks, a little breathless and overeager with excitement at the notion. He had thought for sure that his island home had seen the last of the little ones that were to grace its shores this year, but why else would a young female be so intently hollowing out a home for herself like this?
But then again, he thinks with abrupt trepidation again as his breath hitches and stops for a moment in surprise just like his stride... then again, why does she seem to be here doing this excavation all alone, if that's the case? ...Has some wicked scoundrel gone and knocked the poor young thing up and then abandoned her here? Driftwood firmly intends to find out, and like as not go find the rascal and drag him back here by the skin of his ears if necessary! That is just no way to treat a lady, he thought with indignation. He'd go to Seelie and Stock and plead her case himself, if necessary, too; he was certain his leaders' soft hearts could find space for this poor abandoned waif if they heard such a tale, though there were already numerous strays, orphans, and needy creatures making demands on the resources of Wheeling Gull, it was true. Well Driftwood would hunt all day and night too to help fix that if needed, he resolved.
Driftwood was a little too caught up in his emotional imaginings to properly take note that this willowy youngster certainly didn't look at all pregnant, or like a new arrival at all for that matter, although perhaps some small sliver of this mistake could perhaps be forgiven on the grounds that he had only thus far seen her from behind, after all.
RE: molotov cocktails on me like accessories - Reed Wolf - July 01, 2018
im laughign so hard im sorry
her peaceful organization is abruptly disturbed by an outrageous question -- wheeling around, reed cries indignantly, "do i look pregnant to you?" my god, how old does he think she is! and who is this strange man, anyway, approaching her with such invasive questions! her fur puffs up dramatically, mouth twisted in an unhappy, toothy frown as she takes a defensive stance in front of her little den-turned-cache. "how dare you," the fearghal snaps, an insulted flash of incandescent flame against the yellow-gold sands. head and shoulders raised, her soverign bearing disturbed as she stares down the peasant that so thoughtlessly intruded on her.
RE: molotov cocktails on me like accessories - Driftwood - July 03, 2018
XD
The younger wolf is still quite a bit slighter than Driftwood, but that doesn't stop him from cowering down into a woodsy conglomeration of fluff that hugs the dirt as closely as it can manage on short notice, seeming ready to sink straight down into it in fact should the earth so allow. (To be fair, though, the young female does grow quite a bit larger as her fur stands indignantly on end and she looms angrily before him. Not so large that it isn't still a rather ridiculous tableau, however, to see the wilting violet Driftwood's long legs melt straight down into barely-visible stubs under her assault.) Whuh-oh...oops. What'd he say, what'd he do?! Frantically Driftwood revisits his innocent query in his mind even as his mouth scrambles not to make the same terrible mistake again.
He splutters for a few moments before his tongue is quite ready to cooperate however.
I bwuh, uh— no?!SHit, was that the right answer?! That was the right answer, wasn't it?!?!
I just... saw you, digging den, den-digging... you were digging a den, right?! No why would you, were you— were you digging a den?!His eyes flicker briefly, desperately behind her, trying to get another and better glimpse of the cavern beyond, wracking his brains all the while trying to think just what the heck else it could be, if it was indeed not a den being dug for birthing... The ways of young females are so mysterious, and confusing, argh!
...I'm sorry?he finally, feebly thinks to manage, as his worried and confused face latches onto hers once more before beetling away again to more-politely regard the dirt below in dismay and bafflement. The supplicant kneels before the monarch of the realm, as lowly and groveling as the very worms of the earth, and hopes her majestic fury will burn itself out just as quickly and suddenly as it flared.
Please don't bite my nose off, o kind and gentle young maiden. I need it!
RE: molotov cocktails on me like accessories - Reed Wolf - July 08, 2018
self-satisfaction curves the smile on her mouth as he begins to flounder, even as fury still reigns over her seaglass green eyes, narrowed to knife-sharp points. she listens to his excuses with her head held high, passing judgement on his lowbrow beggary -- a little fumbled, but acceptable as he supplicants himself to her (righteous!) fury.
reed clears her throat, sniffing haughtily. "this den was my mother's," she deigns to explain, the fur slowly laying flat once again along her spine. "i am... adapting it to my purposes, as it's location is convenient to me." taking pity on him, she adds, "for heaven's sake, man, quit groveling, you look absurd. what's your name?"
RE: molotov cocktails on me like accessories - Driftwood - July 14, 2018
His mouth puckered open and hung there for a second before he could rightly muster the tiny,
Oh,of understanding. Her mother's den—wow, well maybe that explained her furiousness at his mistake. Whoops, I'm so sorry, please forgive me— deep in his heart he wanted to abase himself like a puppy, on some level even to the point of rolling over with a whimper and peeing himself.
But she had just told him his time of groveling was over. Shit—he struggles like a fly in a web, caught between his emotional pull to continue his groveling and abject begging on the one hand until she showered him with love and forgiveness, and trying to obediently follow instructions on the other hand, not wishing to incur more of her wrath or make her think he's deliberately trying to vex her. Slowly, unevenly, he manages to straighten, although he still glances up at her sidewise and intermittently, and his nervousness is apparent too in the uncertain half-unfolding and refolding of his ears.
O-okay,he agrees readily enough however, if still rather meekly. Then wait no, crap, that sounded rather, uh, grovelly, didn't it, he thinks to himself and therefore tries to correct this. This doesn't make him look particularly less absurd or particularly convincing, as he straightens up further and tries to loudly and authoritatively clear his throat—ah-ahem—and hold his head stiff and straight and higher than before. He's trying for regal but is most likely landing in the vicinity of jester, as usual—but hey, at least he's not-exactly-groveling anymore, either. Then he remembers to add, while holding himself as stiffly and formally as a Victorian lady in an overstarched collar:
Oh, uh, yes. My name is Driftwood.He loses a touch of his unnatural stiffness, cocking his head slightly as he adds:
Who're you?He successfully fights the momentary urge to add milady, at least.
RE: molotov cocktails on me like accessories - Reed Wolf - July 17, 2018
the boy is a fool but now that her dignity is restored she can't help but find it somewhat amusing, the way he scrambles to win back her good favor. kindly (ha!) she chooses not to comment on it, merely watching with clear mirth in her expression as he fumbles. driftwood -- okay, driftwood, you can stay. "i am reed," the fearghal answers him, tipping her head up as she speaks. "what were you up to before you decided to accost me?"
RE: molotov cocktails on me like accessories - Driftwood - July 23, 2018
I might still come back and tweak this a little more, grah... I think I've at least gotten most of the typos now, though I'd swear I've fixed one or two of these *multiple* times at this point, lawlz.
That new avatar is really lovely though, in the meantime! :D
That new avatar is really lovely though, in the meantime! :D
Still stiff, still ill at ease, he inanely replies,
Oh, okay.Wait, no, that wasn't quite right. He scrambles lamely to add,
Right, well it's— good to meet you.His voice peters out rather unconvincingly, and he stares down at his toes for a moment in discomfort, questioning his own terrible attempts at smoothing over social awkwardness, right before he remembers that Reed told him not to grovel so absurdly so he yanks his head back up into its overstarched collar position again and rolls his eyes uncomfortably down to look at her.
I was, uh...He has to pause for a long moment and search his brain, his previous course of action having been totally derailed by his mistaking of the purpose of den-digging and the ensuing emotional kerfuffle. Oh crap...what was he doing, again? Was it really that important?! Maybe he should make something up— but no, that'd never work; this young thing seems pretty sharp and would probably bite his fool head off for outright lying to her, and certainly she'd be able to tell— panic starts to rise in his eyes as he squirms and digs through his uncooperative layers of brain.
. . . hunting rats?he finally finishes, dredging the answer up at last, and cranes his stiff neck over and sideways to look at his forgotten prize, making sure it is indeed still there and hasn't magically disappeared or wandered off or who knows what. He has to search for a moment to find it, and thinks for a second with growing alarm that maybe he is misremembering, maybe he is going crazy and there was never any rat at all, until—oh there is is. Duh. All right then. Driftwood sits there for a moment and mentally scolds himself for being so ridiculously panicky over things that actually turn out to be nothing. You'd've thought from the way his heart was still pounding and how he'd had to struggle to find it that the entire island's fate rested on finding the answer, or something. Sheeeesh. It seemed a little silly to him in hindsight, and he folded his ears back and looked away in embarrassment. Now that he had most thoroughly humiliated himself he was sure the haughty, regal young girl was going to dismiss him for his sheer uncoolness, if nothing else, and leave him wandering away alone and wretched to go beat himself up elsewhere.
Er, do you want it?he does try adding, however, nudging the fat little rodent's limp corpse slightly closer to her with a timidly-outstretched paw. He thinks that perhaps the distraction of food might help to smooth things over at least a little bit before he's inevitably kicked outta here.
I meant to give it to Seelie and the babies...he half-murmurs, and then, realizing that this sounds an awful lot like he's trying to manipulatively guilt-trip her or something, hastily adds in a fluster,
But it's okay! I found the whole nest over there with her, only I couldn't carry them all, all at once.It wasn't because he was such a useless wilting violet here, no really, it wasn't, see? He wasn't a complete inept idiot, all evidence to the contrary! Then his eyes widened as he realized he may have just tripped hmself up a little yet again:
The rat mom's whole nest over there, I meant of course, that is, not Seelie's!Shoot, maybe he should think about leaving the pack if he was going to make this much of a muddle of what he was certain were simple, straightforward, easy and uncomplicated interactions for everyone else in Undersea.
RE: molotov cocktails on me like accessories - Reed Wolf - July 29, 2018
it is good to meet her: lucky him. the amused smile on her face turns slightly wicked as he continues to fumble, even if his final answer is not quite as exciting as she'd hoped for. hunting rats? her perfectly-shaped nose crinkles at the offering, even more so when he reveals its original purpose. "do i look like the sort of girl who wants to take food from a nursing mother?" she demands, even as he explains there's more (and fumbles that, too). poor driftwood, not realising that reed feels protective of aralez and her litter, having bonded with coelacanth over the course of caring for fern and mur and mou.
she sighs, dropping the pretense of superiority for a moment. "no, you should take it to seelie," she tells him, rising on her paws. "that's... a nice thing to do for her." as loathe as she is to give credit to anyone, especially this blundering fool, it's for the greater good. "in the mean time," the fearghal princess decides, "you can help me with my organizing, to make up for your faux-pass." ha! fair is fair, drifty?
RE: molotov cocktails on me like accessories - Driftwood - August 04, 2018
N-nuh-no! N-n-no no no, of course not!Driftwood rears back in alarm as he manages to stammer this out. The moment he managed to remove one foot from his mouth, it seemed, it was only so that he could promptly jam the next one in there. Great. Thankfully the imperious young girl at least takes enough pity on him to give him more-direct instruction on the matter. He should take the rat to Seelie? He should. Yes. Very good, of course, of course he should. Driftwood nods his head a little too fast and eagerly—and obsequiously—in agreement. Yes, yes, of course he would do that, the moment he had her leave to go of course that is milady.
He is taken aback a little by her noting of it as a nice thing to be doing... His tongue darts nervously out to lick at his lips uncertainly, as he tries to figure out if there is any response to give to this that won't result in her leaping down his throat again. He seems to have such a knack for choosing exactly those responses here, after all. What does she want of him? What is she expecting? She doesn't want him to bow and scrape she said, but— but—! Surely such little niceties are nothing more than any wolf would do for their beloved and preoccupied leader as they are busily spawning and raising the future of the pack, right? Surely no one would ever fail to perform such duties— is Reed making fun of him with this sudden and suspicious change of character, or what?! Driftwood is at a loss, fearing to make a move in any direction and thereby somehow make even more of an ass of himself, until fortunately Reed comes to his rescue, reactivating the locked-up rusty gears of his brain with what amounts to pretty much a direct order.
Wah—oh, o-of course. Of course, Reed....Never mind that technically he outranks her. Or how much he outweighs her. By sheer force of personality Reed has irretrievably seized the lead, here, and Driftwood doesn't even question it as he eagerly but uncertainly moves his paws forward to rest in the soft, recently-upturned earth right next to where she was digging. He turns confused but obedient eyes toward her, his ears folded back in uncertainty but listening closely for her next command all the same. Anything to make up for his earlier inept flailing and even more to keep it from recurring, heaven forfend. Surely he is safest in promptly acceding to wherever her whims may lead, right now.
RE: molotov cocktails on me like accessories - Reed Wolf - August 12, 2018
haha i love drift, i feel like this is a good place to fade?
he obeys her immediately and oh that is a satisfying rush of power for the girl, who cannot help but feel drunk on it, ambitious and power-hungry is her blood (even if she considers herself a near replica of her dear sweet mother). in a different life she would have done well to be arturo's daughter, would have done well in the gangster's realm. but there is no different life, there is only the island and reed has no arturo to shape her will.
maybe that's for the best.
"here," she instructs, thrusting her nose in the direction she wants him to move, "help me expand this part -- between mou and the babies, i want to have a bigger, centralized store here..." reed explains her project, sorting her herbs as she does -- what's necessary for mou, what coelacanth might need, things for emergencies and so forth -- keeping driftwood occupied for as long as he will indulge her in this little display of power (and frankly, having a second set of paws to help dig is a boon, seeing as she's still fairly tiny).
RE: molotov cocktails on me like accessories - Driftwood - August 18, 2018
Glad you like him! These guys have an extra-fun dynamic, hee ;D Sounds good, though; up to you if you'd like to make one last post or just go ahead and archive!
Driftwood nods his head incessantly like an out of control puppet on too-loose a string, or an emphatically gesticulating bird rocking out on its branch. Yes, yes, of course milady, whatever you wish... Driftwood doesn't say the obsequious words aloud however so that means he's not groveling overmuch, right...right?!
Drift's larger and more spadelike paws obediently and speedily, if somewhat clumsily, scrape away at the earth as little Reed directs. He doesn't flub things too much, though, and will happily work himself into exhaustion fulfilling Reed's every whim. He's not going to be the sort that bursts the girl's little power fantasies' bubble, that's for sure... Once Reed at last lets him go, his penance complete, he half-crawls his way to the deserted sands of the beach to collapse in the sun and photosynthetically regain his energy stores in peaceful solitude. Yeah, that should teach him better than to talk to strangers, right?