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+--- Thread: Flycatcher Downs the art of getting by (/showthread.php?tid=34106)
the art of getting by - Esche - April 25, 2019
The silver morning found him on his feet, ranging across the fallow yellow prairie. A sullen yearling, rawboned and rangy, with chapped paws and glassy canary eyes. The sunrise blushed rosily in the east, but he traveled west, straight as an arrow toward the blue shadow of the mountains. In truth, he had no destination, only needs, and they could not be satisfied by idling in one place for too long.
Luck humored him. As the sun rose and he stove into the Flycatcher Downs, the dawn wind welcomed him with a faint cadaverine odor. Esche abbreviated his steps, tilting his nose to the air. His stomach whinged and his abdomen clenched as if to make him feel even more hollow.
He spared no time to decipher the smell and paused just long enough to get a bead on its source. To that, Esche tracked like a harrier, following his nose northwest. As the sun broke from the horizon, he finally found a late grizzled doe alongside a spool of sage. It was a blimp of uncertain age, but it could not have been too long dead by the pungency of its meat; and, more importantly, it was, apparently, unclaimed.
Still, he made worried sandcastles of his fur as he approached, eyes wide and mouth watering. He glanced around, feeling unapologetically criminal. But without an obvious reason to flee, he tore into the meat a heartbeat later. And with half-an-eye on his surroundings, he began scarfing his windfall breakfast.
RE: the art of getting by - Deimos - April 25, 2019
Esche faired luckier than Deimos, who had scented the doe that morning and so far had proved unable to track it. He’s not above scavenging in his current state, and maybe his desperation for a meal is what drives him to be unable to locate the meat tantalizingly out of his reach.
When he finally sees the bloated corpse, there’s a blonde wolf hovering above it. A sweep of his condition and Deimos knows it’s not a doe brought down by Esche, thanks to the waft of days old meat as Esche tears into it.
Deimos knows the code of a scavenger, and it’s eat whatever you can, whenever it presents itself. Knowing the loner wouldn’t be able to eat the entire thing, Deimos settles down on his haunches and fixes his hungry gaze on the kill, assuming boldly that Esche would have no problem sharing his good fortune.
RE: the art of getting by - Esche - April 25, 2019
Luck was magnetic, and soon enough, he had company. A dark lupine shape padded into his periphery, vulturous and bold and uncomfortably, surprisingly close.
His adrenaline spiked in an instant, and he gurgled on a growl with his mouth full. His black-banded hackles fanned over his backbone, his ears sank to his head, and he slouched awkwardly behind the doe as if he might be half-puma. He stared at the other wolf's feet—but kept glancing toward his face, and even once snatched a glimpse at the stranger's terra-cotta eyes.
"Mine," the yearling warned, his growl surfing over the undertone of a whine. With the front of his throat and underjaw stained a slick maroon, he flashed his incisors and, feigning confidence, briefly flagged his tail.
He couldn't possibly eat the whole thing, no, but sharing involved a willingness to ration what he had and he couldn't afford that mindset. He stole another bite from the doe's underbelly, scarfing it down with more urgency. The darker wolf might have friends, or might decide to chase him off, so Esche had to get what he could while the getting was good. Because, clearly, if the stranger pressed the issue, Esche wasn't going to defend a dead deer. Not today.
RE: the art of getting by - Deimos - April 26, 2019
Deimos watches as the yearling catches onto his presence. He's reasonably protective of the kill, his hackles rising along his back in a fan of fur. Deimos' fur remains unbristled, but he fixes his longing sights on Esche as he powers through another bite, scarlet dribbles pouring down his rounded chin. Deimos' stomach growls watching the yearling scarf down the bloated doe, and it's just audible enough that he feels a guilty grin spread across his features.
Mine, the blonde male dictates, rushing more food in his mouth like Gollum hungrily stuffing trout into his face. Deimos is bold but not so bold to presume this will be easy. So, he waits, his chest puffed and limbs neatly aligned, his eyes fixing on the prize with resolution. "You have to sleep some time." Deimos points out cheerily, his red gaze without any malice. "So I'll watch it for you while you sleep." He gives a roguish grin, knowing the joke might be poorly received, but he's hungry enough to try anything at this point. Even day old doe.
RE: the art of getting by - Esche - April 26, 2019
Undeterred by his petty hostility, the stranger remained seated politely to the side. Esche had expected a set of angry teeth, and while that didn't stop him from wolfing down yet another mouthful, it had kept him on his toes. This was new and different.
The dusky stranger angled in with a different approach altogether, in fact: beginning a conversation. Esche stopped eating, perked his ears, and eyed the other uncertainly. He rocked his weight side to side like a boxer feeling out his opponent, until a knowing look passed across his face. He carved his expression into a crooked grin. "Funny."
He took another bite, this with less urgency, and settled his hackles into a thinner poof across his back. He decided, hesitantly, he wasn't going to dissuade the dark wolf from approaching anymore; but he wasn't going to invite him over either.
Though, at this point, he was beginning to feel full. He burped, shuffled his weight again, and laid down sphinx-like to keep stuffing his face. He was determined to eat until physical limitations alone prevented him, be they internal or external. One amber eye remained warily fixed on his scavenging companion, but the hint of a toothy grin was still smeared across his face.
RE: the art of getting by - Deimos - April 26, 2019
Hoping his jest might lighten the mood, Deimos smiles at Esche disarmingly, noticing that the yearling's posture has changed from hostile to slightly less so. He's still on edge, something Deimos can't blame him for. Most strangers in Deimos' life have come with less-than-friendly intentions.
He's patently patient as Esche eats his fill and burps, and he has to be. Deimos hasn't lived this long by being rash, and if he pushes his luck too soon, he might find Esche doesn't think he's funny so much as an annoyance needing to be eliminated. Deimos is anything but timid, but he knows better than to approach while another wolf is still eating. Eventually, Esche will eat his fill. Deimos sits by like a vulture, waiting.
His lobes flick as Esche moves; at first he's hopeful the yearling is moving aside, but instead the wolf lies down to continue gorging. There's still plenty of food to be had, but Deimos' stomach protests the move with an explosively loud gurgle that forces him to shift uncomfortably. "Someone's unhappy," He remarks off-handedly, his own grin growing. "Do you like singing? I'll supply the melodies while you eat, and then when you're done, I'm going to eat too." His grin fades as a determined look settles in his hungering gaze. "Then, I can either be on my merry way, or we can team up. Your choice. Though I have to say if you choose we part, that is your loss. I happen to be a wonderful traveling companion with a very desirable baritone."
RE: the art of getting by - Esche - April 26, 2019
Esche strangled himself on a laugh at the other's expense. He knew the humbling pain of an empty stomach and he was sympathetic of the dark wolf's plight, but survival demanded a pseudo sociopathic level of dismissiveness. Caught between the two poles, he managed merely to throw another benevolent grin at the stranger between meaty bites. He even allowed a friendly wag of his tail for the wit—breakfast and a song, how lucky for him.
A somber expression fell upon his pro tem companion, though. Esche matched it with an inquisitive look of his own. He raised his head, blood thick and dripping from his chin, and studied him; and once he'd said his piece, Esche repaid him with a snort. "Prove it." He sat up, nearly upchucked from the quantity of new, undigested material in his formerly neglected guts, and decided it was time to forfeit what was left. He got to his feet and padded away from the cadaver, still ripe with meat, the thought of which made him feel faintly nauseous all of a sudden. He found a comfortable place to slouch by the sage, keeping the dark rogue in his sight.
He was partial to the suggestion. He liked the stranger so far. But he'd lost much civility over winter, and rather than give a straightforward answer, he snarked back with a sharp grin: "You sing. I will judge. Maybe you sound bad and I will not travel with you."
RE: the art of getting by - Deimos - April 26, 2019
I may be in over my head
It's all Deimos could do to hide the intensity of his hunger as he watches meat dribble from Esche's chin. The yearling did not know it, but it tormented Deimos to remain so composed; he's used to his own company alone, where there isn't much a use for cordiality or civility.
He's relieved to see Esche step off, after what he feels is a thousand years. He's amazed there's anything left, but the doe is bountiful and bloated. He adopts a fake look of whittled concern, and places a paw to his chest feigning umbrage. "You can't expect me to sing my best on an empty stomach, can you?" Since Esche moved off of the kill, Deimos assumes the conditions of the game have changed - he's almost desperate enough to lean in just for a nibble, but holds off. "Here's a ballad about a nice blonde man in the woods. No relation to said man in my presence, of course." Sitting upright, Deimos puffs his chest and clears his throat:
"o'er fen and dale where good men dwell
i came across a doe
she had died sometime in the spring time night
and before her sat my foe
oh, he was blonde and fierce,
a right strapping man
with blood and guts a-dribbling
I fixed him with a mighty stare
but felt my stomach a-quivering
"ho," cried I, "gentleman be you
could you part with a little doe hind?
I'll sing you a song thats delightful and long
if you promise to repay me in kind,"
the man sat up with a toothy smile,
after consuming as much as he could,
he went to say something full of clever wile,
and instead spewed puke all o'er the woods,"
Deimos finishes his ballad with an elegant tremor, a glint of mischief caught in his red eyes.
RE: the art of getting by - Esche - April 27, 2019
that was grand tho, I loved it
He shrugged, shaking gold fronds of fur over his shoulder. His expression slumped into something half-sour, half-amused, and all dare. He settled beside the pungent sage and kept tabs on the dark wolf with red eyes, who, after likewise contemplating him for a moment, said he'd sing him a song despite his empty stomach. A song of a 'nice blonde man' in the woods, no relation to him, of course. Esche smirked. And as the dusky stranger adopted an upright singing posture, Esche pitched his ears and leaned forward.A rich baritone threaded the air. Spinning the tale of two men and a doe under shockingly similar circumstances. It wasn't the song itself, but the pleasant key that sent a look of surprise winging across Esche's face, kiting behind it a generous lopsided grin. The last line of the final verse ended with a tremor to sweeten the tale, and Esche popped to his feet before it faded. He mummed a retch and pretended to hurl toward the dead hind. He really got into the performance, though it had an impishness that betrayed it for fiction. Still, the meat lumped inside his belly heaved against his gullet and he nearly regretted it. But after swallowing it back down, he shared what was fast becoming a characteristic toothy grin at the balladeer.
"Eat," Esche growled, swaying back from the doe and slouching by the sage again. He thought for a moment before continuing. "I will give you better.. stories to sing of a 'nice blond man.' Travel songs. Hunting songs." He spoke less like he was agreeing to travel, as he'd already made up his mind by then, and more like he was imagining scenarios for another good ballad.
RE: the art of getting by - Deimos - April 29, 2019
Deimos is good at keeping his composure throughout the extravagant ballad, his face barely registering the wry humor that glints behind his eyes. He glances towards Esche with the confidence of a man that hasn't just spun a wild tale from a real circumstance. Dipping his head approvingly Deimos smiles as Esche speaks, his growly voice lacing with what sounds like bemusement.
"At your command." Deimos bows grandly, and starts digging in unabashed. He's already got a hunk of meat in his mouth as Esche promises something better. Now that's an intriguing offer - Deimos pauses from eating, wipes his chin with a paw, and says "Oh? Well, I've got time to hear it."
RE: the art of getting by - Esche - April 29, 2019
Esche turned the ballad over again in his head, half hoping to commit it to memory, half wanting to pick and pluck at the different verses. Like he had picked and plucked at the doe carcass to feed his belly.
The other wolf's quip snagged his attention, though. And he grunted and made furrows in the sandy curve of his brow. He watched the dark wolf bow, but Esche was suddenly uncertain if he liked it. He felt tiny, imperceptible ridges beetle up over the bridge of his nose, not knowing how else to respond.
The gesture belonged to civilized life, with which he was not familiar. And the well-spoken dark man with his clever ballad and humorous wit seemed like he was vastly better acquainted.
It left him feeling like an outsider, when everything was summed up. Which was stupid, he realized, to feel at a loss over something so fleeting. So benign. Still, he could not help being hostage to his own insecurities.
"I have none now," he grumbled, biting off the matter with a restless click of his teeth. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, like a kid unaccustomed to having the spotlight on him. But Esche didn't like his own answer and added as a sort of peace offering: "But I will… share when I do. When I have good stories. Then, you can make them sound better, hm?" There was a sort of brightness to his amber eyes, like the glint of light on a knife's edge. He began cleaning himself: his muzzle, his cheeks, his chest, his arms, and soon looked away into the rest of the Flycatcher Downs. "You travel with others?"
RE: the art of getting by - Deimos - May 01, 2019
If you had asked Deimos to repeat the song, he would have smiled cheekily and shrugged, because he isn't a man that has that kind of memory, and forgets things as soon as they leave his lips. He's too busy eyeballing the doe to notice the imperceptible shift in Esche. Bloated or not, the doe's looking really appealing and he's almost close to drooling when Esche's mouth shuts with a click, dismissing the possibility of further singing. Deimos is disappointed but not so disappointed as to skip eating. For that he nods understandingly, wrongfully assuming Esche is referring to stagefright. Many a-times that demon has made Deimos his bitch, so he gets it.
He manages a few more bites before resurfacing for an answer to Esche's most recent question. Traveling with others. Licking his lips and gulping down an absurdly large mouthful, Deimos waits until the food has evacuated down his throat and then nods. "Yup, for the last few months. I was traveling with someone but we parted ways. You?"