[AW] [M] You've got an empty face

[Mesquite del Bosque]

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Specifically, this thread is marked mature because of: violence.

OOC: Set before this thread. Takes place on the 6th of March in the morning.

It was the first day of sunshine in a week, and Mesquite was limping away from a near death experience. The mysterious stranger that he traded blows with moments ago suffered injury just as Mesquite himself had. He was a fighter, of course he managed to do a number on him. Yet, he knew he was not dead. Fear prickled up his neck as he bid his body to move forward.

He heard footsteps.

Mesquite could have sworn he managed to throw his pursuer off his trail. He only barely managed to stop himself from uttering a curse under his breath. Her spun around to face whoever was nearby. His sharp teeth shone from beneath his lips, pulled back in warning. They dropped back to a close when he realized. That was not who he thought it was. Relaxing his shoulders, he folded his arms. Still, his brows remained raised and eyes still narrowed in questioning.

The wind rose above the trees. It was still carrying his scent away from him. He could not scent whoever was here.

"Who's there?"

[Cabela Schofield]

Location: Western Forefront || NPCs: — || Forms: Optime

---

"You actin' awful suspicious, boy," came the response, the timbre of their voice husky and rough. "Whatchu done? You with them folks stole my horse? You look th' thievin' type."

Because there was something about him that reminded her of those two bitches who had [M]run off with her packhorse earlier in the season. Dark as it had been when that happened, though, she hadn't been able to get a good enough look. But she did remember the shapes of their bodies and the length of their ears and the constitution of their voices.

But with a nose like hers, she remembered the nature of their godforsaken stink most of all.

Stepping into the clearing to face the coyote properly, Cabela stood and watched him with an icy glower. She had her hands on her hips and her sharp elbows poked at the sides of the cloak, pushing it out, while the bristles from the boarskin at her shoulders offered her a larger appearance. Her intention was to make her appear more foreboding; to make the stranger think twice about trying something stupid.

And if it failed? Well, there was always mean old Bo, who was hiding away in the trees on standby should a fight break out.

"Well?" She hacked out a thick projectile of snot before addressing him again. "You you th' thievin' type, boy?"

---

[WC -- 222]

[Mesquite del Bosque]

OOC: Oh Mesquite... So young, so dumb, so gay

---

If Mesquite had not encountered so many prickly women, maybe he could at least pretend to be interested in them.

Unfortunately this one was just about the ugliest one he had ever met. Complete with a snotty attitude and even snottier, well, snot, she was obviously not here to please. He met her intense glare with another sharp glower. Yes, he was covered in blood. But it was mostly his own. At least he thought that was more likely, anyway. He did not yet know where his wounds were exactly or how bad they were. He could not feel them, after all. Still, she was accusing him of something he had no clue about.

The dog woman's presence was intimidating, but Mesquite was already loaded with adrenaline. The growl returned to his throat.

"Fuck off lady," he snapped. "I ain't steal nothin'. Someone attacked me. All'm doin' now is limpin' away, 'm hardly suspicious. Mind yer business."

The cold wind lifted his hackles. He did not like this encounter one bit.

"Yer much more suspicious than me. Who the hell're you?" He jabbed the question at her.