Heron Lake Plateau plight of the lemon children

Happens two or three days after this thread and I'm gonna be vague about it because trololol y not.

He'd been true to his plan and came bounding back towards the plateau after a day or two of respite, using the distance to think through a few things - as well as the encounter with his lost brother Gannet - and overall, he felt restored. Maybe he wasn't back to his usual self (because who knows how he'll screw up that ongoing thread) but at least he'd been able to take a breather, more or less. Screech detoured away from the slough on his return and wasted a few hours of daylight chasing down a family of ducks, only to come traipsing across the northern boundary of the Redhawk's claim with a dead mallard swaying from his teeth. He hoped to track down @Niamh and at least try to apologize — but as soon as he crossed the boundaries in to the territory, a strange sense of forboding had engulphed him. Screech moseyed along with his prize but wasn't sure who to intercept — he could hunt for Niamh, or he could see how Raven was doing (and deal with that stuff which he'd been running from). Whichever way he turned there was drama, and at this point he was at a loss for which pot to stir, so he sought out a cache and began to bury his kill — it's not like a gift of fresh duck would unfuck his choices.

:eyes:

He'd finally started to get a handle on the travel route a couple of small family groups of deer took on a fairly regular basis.  Next step would be to gather a few to hunt 'em down, fill the caches with something more significant, and all would be well.  As long as they all stayed on their route, the groups should provide a fairly reliable source of food for the upcoming pups -- and the rest of the pack, of course.  At the very least, deer were also a lot less dangerous than going after a moose or elk or something bigger, even if they didn't come with as much meat on their bones.  It'd be a good start for a pack full of yearlings.

Quixote had been pretty focused on this the past few days -- or maybe it was a week at this point -- so the fact that Screech had been scarce the last few days hadn't even been noticed.  But of course, that punk wasn't particularly important to him in the first place -- as long as he kept out of trouble, that was all that mattered.  Quixote, though, was heading back to the lake to make another likely-to-fail attempt at catching some birds when he rounded a thick patch of bushes and Screech was straight in front of him.  Quixote was practically staring him down -- he'd paused mid-stride for a moment, snapped out of his thoughts about hunt planning, as Screech was probably one of the last wolves he'd expected to run into.

His expression barely shifted from neutral, a faint crease in his brow.  His limited interaction with Screech hadn't been positive, and what he'd heard from others hadn't been either.  But at the same time, Quixote was curious what an interaction with him would actually be like, so he didn't want to poison the waters by accident.  Screech,  he said, almost sounding like it should have a question mark on the end.

The particular patch of soil he'd found for his cache was hard-packed and more clay-like than he anticipated, so it took some time before a sizable dent was made. In that time, a dark figure caught sight of him and drew closer.

He didn't notice Quixote until he was much closer, and only turned an ear when he heard his name spoken aloud. The boy turned his head so he could glance at the bearer of the masculine voice and recognized the dark wolf from that long ago day of conflict; the way he carried himself told Screech all he needed to know. This was the Quixote everyone kept talking about.

He busied himself with the cache for a moment and didn't respond until the duck had been lowered in to the soil. Before covering it, he paused and remarked, So you boned my sister, eh? I'm gonna be an uncle? His voice was about as deadpan as his expression as he began to cover over the duck, slowly adding the soil back in to the hole. The ducks pale-barred feathers soon turned a dull orange-red.

Quixote's brain was working overtime to try to analyze basically everything.  First of all, he looked over and didn't even acknowledge him really -- not a nod, not a, 'Hey, one sec,' or anything -- just nothing.  Then he made Quixote wait.  Did he have like... no self-preservation instincts at all?  That irked Quixote as a person, to say nothing of what that must have meant Screech thought about his status.  Quixote was alpha, Screech was pretty close to being nothing, and the lack of anything even resembling respect made him wonder if maybe he should be a bit more demanding about it.  But you know what?  Not yet.  He'd toss a bit more rope in case Screech wanted to hang himself for no reason.  Or maybe this whole attitude was caused by something that Quixote wasn't privy to and would soon be revealed.

Screech's words, though, gained a more direct frown.  Still no greeting, and that was definitely not the way Quixote would ever speak to a leader.  Quixote was pretty sure that he'd been doing a pretty ok job so far as alpha, all things considered, so what had he gone and done to deserve what he saw as a pretty dismissive attitude?  Old news, but yeah, I suppose you're gonna be.  Not too thrilled, I take it?  Raven had done her best to convince him that Screech was just some dumb kid that needed some guidance, but if he was going to be an empty robot instead of being happy for his sister, maybe she was wasting her time even trying.

Most of the duck was covered by the time he'd acknowledged what Quixote said, and at that point he just shrugged. It wasn't that he didn't like the idea of Raven being happy, or the thought of her having kids, but there were many other things in play right now and Quixote liking him wasn't a top priority. The fact he was talking to his Alpha was something he sorta missed though out of sheer stupidity; he considered his sister to be the leader and the poor donor she'd befriended to be dead weight, but not out of spite or anything.

The duck was disposed of; he couldn't get the image of the greyscale creature with its orange tint out of his mind at first, but then he turned to regard Quixote with a brief glance, and that was that. Cache filled. Work done. 

I mean, sure, I'm happy for her. Glad to see the Redhawks getting bigger and stronger, maybe one day we'll rival those Blackthorns, there was a little derision in his voice as he brought up the rival family but he stopped before getting too worked up, as he didn't want to sit here talking shit about the ex-leaders and their proclivity to reproduce. Kinda crazy that she's the Alpha now, but I guess Towhee didn't have much choice — I'll take a pregnant Alpha over a deaf one any day. Granted, that made him sound like he disliked Towhee a great deal (or at least, didn't appreciate her disability) which would make him sound more like an ass than intended. But he wasn't about to fix that. Everyone knew he was an ass — best to live up to the expectation at this point.

After a second he added, You better not up and die in the middle of the night, or anything. Those kids will need you. His good eye focused on Quixote then, and his expression was quite serious, almost challenging, as if the older wolf had any say at all in when he'd pass on. I... I heard that our parents died when we were really little, so... Just don't. Okay?

For most of what Screech said, Quixote was wondering if his brain had somehow been teleported into a different wolf's body.  His initial bit of disappointment had faded to be replaced by confusion.  He was kind of right here?  Hello?  He desperately wished someone else was around so he could just confirm he wasn't entirely losing it.  It was a goddamn roller coaster ride: first as if Screech had some sort of rivalry within the pack itself, then he just continued blathering on like somehow he'd willfully ignored the fact Raven wasn't the only one to get a promotion, then this weird flip-floppy almost-giving-a-damn-maybe bit at the end.

His voice had cooled, I wasn't planning on it. So uh.  How did he go about trying to point out the more major problem?  And she's 'one of,' not 'the.'  The real question was if he was going to be the embodiment of that one Bash.org quote.  Quixote's stance had slowly shifted from being pretty much casual to subtly dominant -- though his head and neck had arched back initially in confusion, it stayed raised after, his tail (not that Screech could probably see too well) was held slightly up past neutral but Quixote was still wondering if he really had to pull rank outright or if Screech'd smarten up.

Okay, there was also another question -- if he seemed to dislike pretty much everyone, why was Screech even still here?  The Blackthorns were like 80% of the pack, and seemed to share opinions with Colt (so why hadn't this kid been kicked out too?), and his words about Raven were flimsy at best (not a good way to earn points with this guy).  So... Why not find a place where he didn't hate everyone?  Then again, it wasn't like anything Screech had done made sense at all.

Quixote pointed out the obvious, first with his statement and then with his body adjusting to a more obvious posture. Screech naturally accepted it, or at least his own body relaxed and his head lowered without further prompting (not that he'd been carrying on with any kind of dominance himself lately). The expression was almost entirely physical though; it didn't enter his gaze, didn't seem to change much overall.

He no longer looked at Quixote though, so that might've been another clue. The deferral came more out of exasperation than anything — Screech didn't know this guy, didn't understand why Raven would sleep with him, and he wasn't about to pledge loyalty to someone he didn't know. It had already backfired for him with people he did know (Rannoch coming to mind), so Screech wasn't exactly quick to trust other people.

After a second he did glance carefully at the Alpha though, and he murmured, She's the leader of the family, and you're just some guy. I get what you're saying, but its not like you're the first one she's been with, he blurted stupidly, and then tried to correct himself in the next breath, and just sleeping with Raven doesn't earn you a rank. Towhee gave it to Raven, not you. He was so level with his tone that it was kind of weird — and really, nothing he said would fix the tension that had started brewing. Screech wasn't about to fight the guy, but he also didn't think anything he said was innately wrong. As far as he knew Quixote just happened to put his dick in the right lady at the right time, and presto! He was suddenly the boss.

He was the boss, and Screech was a stupid teenager trying to make sense of everything. If that earned him a smack in the mouth (or a boot) then so be it; but if he was anything, Screech was consistently opinionated. Besides, he wasn't really challenging Quixote anymore — more like, testing his limits.

So Screech wasn't suicidal, but while his posture said one thing, his words said another.  Quixote knew what it was like to not trust a leader, but that was for actual reasons regarding that person's ability to lead, not because of them as a person without any evidence they'd do something awful.  Quixote was trying and still incredibly wary of somehow falling into whatever pits of corruption had to be lurking around positions of power.  No, this had to be something personal or just not thought through at all.

He took a few steps forward as he talked, posture not changing from how he'd ended up previously.  The thing that shifted was his expression and voice, both of which were obviously annoyed at the fact this kid was so keen on making opinions on stuff without asking the right questions to fill in the gaps.  It was the kind of stupidity that didn't mesh well with him because it was so easy to fix, all Screech had to do was ask and maybe things would have been clear. Yeah, just some guy who Towhee asked to contemplate leadership before any of this happened. Okay, not entirely accurate, but it was before Towhee knew that he'd slept with Raven, so that was close enough to count.  Some guy who has been around more consistently than you seem to have been, and caused a lot less trouble, and was willing to fight in a war that wasn't his.  Someone who was actually specifically promoted with Raven to do this whole leadership thing that nobody seems to actually want.

I don't expect you to like me, and I don't really need you to, but I kind of expect a modicum of respect for the fact that Towhee and Raven were the ones who thought I should be here.  And if you don't trust their choices and you don't like the Blackthorns, why the hell are you even here?  He could sort of see why some would just beat the snot out of mouthy subordinates, but knowing that was the wrong approach and combining it with Raven's previous words meant he wasn't going to do anything rash, yet.  Someone else might not have been so lucky.

Everything the adult said made perfect sense. He knew it. Quixote knew it. But Screech wasn't sure how much further to push his luck, and plus, in the end the words actually stung. He'd expected some backlash — maybe on some level, wanted something physical to happen with the darkie — but instead he was met with cold facts and harsh realities.

To make matters worse, he didn't know how to respond. Screech had entertained the thought of leaving before; he held pity parties dedicated to the idea that his family hated him and the Blackthorns were going to take over, for crying out loud. Hearing one more idiot running his mouth shouldn't have had that much effect on him — but Screech didn't have the toughest skin. 

He trusted Raven, somewhat.
He trusted Towhee too, mostly.
It was Quixote he didn't trust — so Screech tried to ignore the urge to counter his argument with more stupidity, or emotion, or whatever it was that made Screech do his stupid things.

He just stood there and took it.

Then, he snorted and said, They're my family, like it was so obvious he shouldn't have had to say it out loud. It was all he had to say, and it was the truth.

Quixote interpreted the shrimpy reply as his point actually making landfall.  Good.  He didn't know what issue Screech had with the Blackthorns or vice versa (or if they were included in that family comment), but if it was anything more specific than just their behavior at the fight and a bunch of held grudges, it might actually be fixable if Screech actually admitted wrongs and tried to be a little humble and kind.  As if that'd happen.  Sell tickets if it did.

Then act like it.  Not do weird... jokey-blackmail-whatever, yeah he knew about that and he found it rather distasteful, albeit understood it to be just random made up stuff without a basis in any reality, or stoop to directly countering threats that shouldn't have been made in the first place, AKA the squabble, or making assumptions instead of asking questions, sorry, he kind of counted as family now, or any other nonsense like that you might've done.  Be a little.. Uh.  Altruistic or something for once.  They're not perfect, but you could do a hell of a lot worse.  They could all be like Screech!  That would be such a wonderful family, wouldn't it?

A lot of what Quixote was saying went in one ear and out the other just because Screech was getting annoyed, and that meant it wqs hard to focus. He was caught off guard by a few of the comments - the blackmail comment a prime example - and while he was thrown for a bit of a loop, it all boiled down to one thing.

You sure have a lot of opinions, he commented sharply, not intending to take anything Quixote said as actual advice. The fuck did he know? Had he become an expert in regards to the Redhawks since screwing around with Raven? Why the fuck did everyone bring up the war like he had purposefully evaded his responsibility? They'd kicked Blackfeathers ass supposedly and if Screech had been there, he would have been escorting the kids away! Not fighting!

Whatever, dude, he finally gasped, exasperated by the entire encounter. He could have pointed out his own experience through each of those events but it was unlikely to him that the Alpha would hear him and not take it as a personal attack to his rank, or something. Screech decided he was done - so he turned and began stalking off, returning to his search for Niamh or more food for the caches or maybe a patrol - anything was better than this.

Apparently they were family, but Screech didn't give a damn.  Time for a disappointed sigh (slightly for dramatics) and a shake of the head as Screech started to leave the scene, as apparently suffering and hatred were the 'in' things and listening was so last year.  The only consistent feature of all your dissatisfying relationships is you, he quoted lowly, not knowing if Screech would even hear him, but he wasn't going to bother to yell it so he could for sure.  Quixote did kind of hope he did -- he'd held back saying it in case Screech had some sort of snarky reply, but he hadn't planned the yearling would just give up on the whole thing.  Whatever.  If he wanted to keep on ruining his own life, the kid was free to do so as long as he didn't screw up the pack in the process.  As far as Quixote was concerned, this was his one warning, and he honestly didn't think Screech would last that long if this was how he treated everyone else.  Screech had lived up to expectations in the worst way for his continued membership.

There were more important things to do than fight for someone who didn't want to be saved.  And somewhere in the OOC void, Quixote shifted from chaotic to neutral.