Firestone Hot Springs filled with cancers and poppy tarts

@Peregrine

Fuck off ya dirty buzzards!

Their charging footsteps may not have shook the earth, but that scream sure did, or so they’d like to think. Well it didn’t matter how inflated their ego was in the moment, the holler and the other incoherent roaring/screech-y noises was enough to send those birds running to the hills (or flying. whatever). Mission accomplished. Almost accomplished. There were a few particularly stubborn birds that didn’t want to share the kill. Five or six of them maybe. Buzzard couldn’t get an exact number, the fuckers were already pecking at them.

The constant poking and squawking was so damn annoying, but nothing the skilled scavenger couldn’t handle. Not the first time they pissed off some birds. It’s all part of the job. Buzzard growled and snapped at each bird that came near. They snickered as they all flew away or stood by the sidelines one by one. God it felt good to show them who’s boss, even if it wasn’t much of a challenge. But that’s the fun in it. Scavenging so damn fun. 

If only their siblings were here to enjoy the action. It wasn’t the same without them, but Buzzard sure did pretend like it was. Anytime a hint of a memory surfaced, they’d laugh it off and chase some birds or took a quick bite out of some mystery meat (this one was more soggy than the usual shit on the menu, but whatever. food is food). It’s a pretty effective strategy.

Once the remaining birds got fed up with their shit and flew away, Buzzard trotted to the carcass and buried their face in it. They made this spot look like a battlefield with all the blood they flung around. Buzzard was the lone survivor. A scrappy, thin, blood and flesh covered survivor.