[m]Gymnopédies, 3. Lent et grave

Goodnight sweet prince

POSTED: Tue Jan 30, 2018 11:09 pm

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.

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"Dad? This has got to be the most stupid thing I've ever seen you do."

Boone Lykoi sat behind his parents' tent and watched with both idle curiosity and bewilderment as his father dug a small grave for a fucking jacket. He'd seen his father do strange things in the past, but this took the goddamn cake.

"It's just a jacket," he told him as if it would somehow make Redtooth act like a rational coyote for once. Even in the mind of a 5 month old pup, this was childish, bordering on infantile -- if not slightly entertaining. Did he really think a worn out article of clothing deserved a proper burial?

Yes... yes Redtooth did.

"Just a jacket?" Redtooth dropped his shovel and turned to look at his son. He bent over, picking the jacket up to hold it in front of Boone's face. The forest green fabric was ripped and dingy with dirt, the edges were frayed, and the shoulder was forever stained with blood. It had been through hell, and after wearing it nearly every day for a year, Redtooth decided it was time to move on. But, first he needed to pay his respects.

"This is not just a jacket Boone. It's like... an extension of me or somethin'," Redtooth explained. His son rolled his eyes. It was like letting go of part of himself, and it felt weird. It was the end of an era. The end of Redtooth's AESTHETIC. Somehow, Boone just didn't get it.

After checking the pockets one last time, Redtooth crumpled the fabric up and tossed it into the shallow hole. "Do you want to say a few words?" Redtooth asked.

Boone was silent in his confusion. His face scrunched and his expression said it all: really?

Somebody come make fun of this doof.
We are what we are. Get in the goddamn car.
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Ryan
Luperci Woodcutter Mate to Vicira Tears I HAVE A BIG HEAD AND LITTLE ARMS

POSTED: Wed Jan 31, 2018 6:13 am

In the two weeks since meeting Lelisa at the burned remains of the manor, Magpie was feeling agitated. In truth, she felt stupid; emotion had run high in her and she had made a choice she wasn't really sure was a good one. Her ear flicked as she walked, repeatedly, as if she couldn't get something off the end of it. Of course, it was that same ear that tuned in on the voice of Redtooth – and his far more preferable genetics. Boone seemed baffled. It's just a jacket, he said, and Redtooth went on about something that was likely nonsense.

She padded towards the tent shared by the Aquila and her family, her steps more of a swagger she had adopted as time went on. She didn't try to be silent. The clink of her jewelry heralded her presence, always. She came upon the site of a grave, of Redtooth standing over the faded green material of his jacket. Or what used to be his jacket.

It wasn't really much of a jacket anymore, was it?

Do you want to say a few words? he asked Boone, and she could tell Boone found this whole process ridiculous. Naturally, Magpie spoke – for when did she ever keep her mouth shut?

Oh, it was a jacket. It looked terrible upon him and it was ugly, for there were no shiny buttons, but it was a good jacket – it lived a good life. May God look favorably on its soul in Heaven as it adorns someone who doesn't vomit on it, or wear it into battle, or reek of liquor all the time, intoned Magpie, her voice serious and sobering. Her prayer for the jacket, in this farce of a funeral – she did not understand funerals, or the need to pray, or to speak words over the dead – was full of the sarcasm that Redtooth himself was so good at.

She learned from the best, after all.

When she was finished, she gave a grunt and folded her arms across her chest. Are you really getting rid of that ugly thing? It started to reek like something had died in it ages ago, the dark girl – adult, really, no longer a child – prodded verbally.

[wc: 378] HERE HAVE MAGPIE.
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POSTED: Wed Jan 31, 2018 11:15 pm

Posing as hardcore
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Oh god. Here came Magpie. Boone watched her in his periphery with silent horror as she sauntered ever closer, jangling with every step. He was utterly mortified by his father's odd display and could only hope that Magpie didn't think he was somehow involved in this madness. Redtooth, unlike his adolescent son, didn't give a single flying fuck about what Magpie thought about him. He was shameless and ultimately shielded from all embarrassment by his typical, and sometimes off-putting, over confidence.

Redtooth smiled at Magpie and gave her a little two finger salute in greeting as Boone tried to hide his face from view behind his father. Magpie had plenty of words to say about Ol' Faithful, not particularly nice words, but Redtooth thought it was entertaining enough and a fitting send-off for a dear friend. He felt tears welling in his eyes (or you know, the canine equivalent). So beautiful.

"Amen," said Redtooth before bending over to grab his shovel. Boone stole a quick glance at Magpie and shot her an earnest look to thank her for saving him from comment. If she wanted to be a martyr for Redtooth's weird sense of humor, so be it. Better her than him, Boone supposed.

Redtooth dropped a shovel full of dirt over the jacket and replied to Magpie with a sunny, "Yup. Shit's dead." It smelled. It smelled enough for Redtooth to notice, so it had to be really really bad. "Guess I gotta look for a new one now. Maybe get somethin' fancy for a change." Maybe, he could trade for something real nice. Something that would impress Vicira and make him feel like a big man.

I LOVE MAGPIE.
We are what we are. Get in the goddamn car.
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POSTED: Sun Feb 04, 2018 10:06 pm

Did she notice that Boone watched her? Did she see that he was embarrassed? Not just for himself, but for Redtooth as well; he was Red's son, but he was a stark difference in personality to his father. Where Boone was mortified, Redtooth was appreciative – he didn't respond to the sarcasm with aggression, and for a moment, Magpie might have considered they were friends.

They weren't.

Her childhood crush had fallen from his high pedestal in her eyes, and now all she saw was the sad exterior. The sad, alcoholic exterior. It made her stomach flip-flop. He was going to look for a new one; a fancy one, apparently. It made the dark-furred Trouillefou snort, scoff even, clearly thinking it was a ridiculous idea. It'll probably have holes in it and smell like a dead raccoon, she supposed, cutting her teal-and-gold eyes to young Boone.

She refused to admit it out loud, but she liked Merari and Boone, even if she found their parents a questionable set of individuals. Seeing him made her smile, vaguely. It wasn't very long-lived; she had little reasons to smile these days, but she didn't want to put the growing pup off. Hey, Boone. You'll be able to run away from him easier soon, she offered. He would likely be on two legs before they knew it, and oh, wouldn't that be terrible for his parents? The freedom it brought was marked.

[wc: 250]
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