unescaped from the drums and barking

POSTED: Mon Feb 18, 2019 3:23 am

🗡 Afternoon in Amherst, all welcome! Your character can be the culprit or a passerby watching Obi scuffle with an NPC. As long as the kitty makes it out okay, anything can happen! ;>

O'Brien didn't realize when the cat had joined him.

It was a small tomcat, splotched tabby and white, with a sleek face and big golden eyes that gazed shyly at the bemused loner. It didn't look like most of the street moggies O'Brien was used to seeing around the ports – flea-bitten ratcatchers and skinny, mean yowlers that prowled the docks and abandoned buildings. It seemed healthy, if skittish, but nonetheless gazed at the meat that the thief was occupied with slicing.

His dagger made another cut, something to busy his hands more than a necessary task; his incisors could shear the chunk of flesh easily, but sometimes O'Brien preferred to taste food piece by piece like this. He'd taken up a place on the curb, his back pressed against the sun-warmed brick where he couldn't be snuck up on – though the cat had been quick and quiet to approach him this way. Much like O'Brien was.

Are ye hungry, wee moggie? the pickpocket asked, dangling a strip of meat and watching the brown ears twitch. He smiled in amusement, eyes soft, then tossed the small piece onto the concrete. The cat flicked its whiskers and stepped closer, dipping his head to snatch up the food. To O'Brien's surprise, the tom didn't immediately scramble off, but held his gaze a minute and kinked its tail before turning to run.

He laughed at this. It was like the cat had been thanking him.

Dinnae be daft, O'Brien muttered to himself.

He relaxed his shoulders back against the storefront, eyes half-lidded as he sliced off another piece of meat and ate this. The sun hung overhead behind wisps of cloud, daylight weak and constant as any late winter afternoon, barely shifting though the moving shadows told another story. The short line cast by a streetlamp fell across O'Brien's face by the time movement stirred him out of his reverie.

Swallowing the last tidbit of meat and changing his grip on the dagger, O'Brien glanced down the street – only to see the cat from before, running with its brown tail puffed up, the all-out sprint of an animal fleeing for its life. Behind it was a canine, barking and carrying on, who the thief moved to intercept out of some stupid impulse.

Haw, lea' it alone!

I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory
I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory
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POSTED: Mon Feb 25, 2019 1:40 pm

Compared to sitting atop a horse, the broad and sturdy back of his ox was surprisingly more comfortable to Percival than he had prepared himself for. At least, it was for a time.

The idea struck him one day at the suggestion of a stranger in Searsport. The stranger had no mounts herself, having lost them one-by-one to old age or illness or pure bad luck, but she was old and sounded worldly and asked him if he knew he could ride that ox like a horse. Percy had told her no, and that opened up quite a wealth of information for the young Parhelion. It wasn't as comfortable, she had shared him, as being atop a horse, but it would be smart to train his ox in case he ever found himself in need of a mount, she said.

And so, help from Keabetswe and others who had more experience with livestock than he did, the young man had begun to spend time learning how to ride Pim. The concept did not seem strange to the ox, which Betsy thought meant that perhaps his former owner, Ilse, had trained him how to carry a rider a long time ago, but it took a lot of patience and failures before Percival finally felt confident enough to guide the bovine around the modest camp.

Those brief snippets of time were comfortable enough for him, but after a few miles Percival thought that he understood what that old woman from Searsport meant. Most of their tack had been lost to the flames, but they were able to craft halters and reins out of rope made from plant fibers. Saddles, though... Even if any survived the flames, they wouldn't be wide or large enough to fasten around Pim's girth. Adding a blanket helped cushion his hide, though, and this was how Percy managed whenever he took the ox out. And, as the grasses and weeds hidden beneath the blankets of snow around camp were quickly consumed by their herbivorous animals, it became necessary to take him beyond the Shoal camp more often.

That was part of the reason for his venture out to Amherst – to allow Pim to scrape at the snow and graze. But he was also interested in seeing different faces, and maybe asking around about trade or information. And, though the spark that had ignited within him the first time he had seen her was nearly dead now, a smaller part of him wanted to see if he would find her there again.

Riding through Amherst on the wide back of his ox, the cries of discord made both rider and mount pause. There was a chase – a barking canine getting after a terrified cat while another, hooded figure cried for the canine to leave the cat alone. Thinking of Meerclar and Luath, Percy urged Pim forward, allowing the cat through while attempting the block the path from the crazed canine. Perhaps sensing tension and annoyance, Pim swished his whip-like tail through the crisp air and watched.

OOC: Relevant content is the last two paragraphs (the rest is just backstory/history/explanation for why/how he's riding Pim). <3

[WC — 513]


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Luperci we were infinite; there was no time in those days They stole my dirty socks... :(
timshel

POSTED: Mon Mar 11, 2019 9:48 pm

🗡 Thanks for joining this silly thing! It's fun bc the cat is totally Meerclar's son.

The drab-colored coyote hybrid rushed down the road, claws scraping the asphalt for purchase as her tongue flapped out the side of her narrow jaws. Her barks were throaty and betrayed her doggish heritage like the white dash on her chest -- but they ceased when O'Brien stepped out in front of her. Skidding to a stop, she stared in surprise, and the thief realized that she was looking past his shoulder.

Instinct urged him not to take his eyes off her, but O'Brien had to chance a glance. Dagger in his grip, he peered with his peripheral. Yeah, that was odd.

Meanwhile, the tabby-and-white tomcat fled past the ox and didn't look back.

The coydog sat down and scratched anxiously at her scruff with a hind paw, tongue still lolling in a pant. Her eyes -- golden-brown, though one with an ice-blue crescent -- flicked between O'Brien, the ox and rider, and the alley that her cat had disappeared down. She kept leaning like she wanted to go past them.

Leave it, O'Brien repeated.

Her eyes fixed on him. You gonna fight me about it?

Spinning his dagger idly between long fingers, the thief frowned at her. Do ye want te fight aboot it?

She licked her lips and rose to her feet, dropping her muzzle to the street. Sniffing around a little, she started to wander a few yards around O'Brien, then looked up at the stern-looking boy mounted on the ox. Her ears pinned back, sprang up, then swiveled before she trotted off with her head still low and her tongue still dripping saliva. Each heavy breath contracted her sides, highlighting her ribcage -- not emaciated to a state of danger, but lean enough O'Brien could figure she hadn't been hunting the cat solely for sport.

The loner wandered away. Once she was out of earshot -- though still visible down the road a ways -- O'Brien fully turned his head to look at the stranger, his brows raised. Ah'm no' sure if that wis coincidence, but thank ye a' the same. He sheathed his dagger and scratched his dark temple, smiling slightly awkwardly as he realized how dramatically they'd formed a wall between hunter and cat.

I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory
I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory
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here come the ravens

POSTED: Wed Apr 10, 2019 6:17 pm

The cat blasted past Pim like a fleeting thought: here one moment, gone the next. Sitting atop his ox's broad back, Percival chanced a flicker of a glance back at the feline before returning his stern glance ahead once more. The coydog – a seemingly impetuous individual so far as what the young Parhelion had seen so far – attempted to ease her anxiety by clawing at her neck with a hind leg.

Percival did not immediately identify the woman's movements until the cloaked figure told her to leave it. As though to supplement the other man's words, the ox-rider wrinkled his nose gently – just enough to show his ivory incisors and the dangerous curve of his canines – and sneezed.

But a fight? Percy wasn't particularly interested in fighting. Shifting his nutmeg eyes over and downwards for a brief glance, the dull shimmer of a metal blade suggested that his unanticipated ally had other ideas and Percival felt a trickle of uncertainty grip his nerves.

Looking at the coydog again, he watched as she snuffled at the decaying street and hoped she would carry on her way. When she looked up at him, Percival pursed the corners of his lips and lowered his shaggy brows more heavily over his eyes, hoping that he looked more confident than he felt. Thankfully, whether because she was outnumbered or because of his stalwart posture, the coydog disengaged herself from the conflict and retreated down the road.

Without meaning to, Percy released a sigh of relief and turned to look at his unintentional companion when the man turned to him. He had an accent when he spoke that reminded him of his cousins, Elle and Fionn, and Percy perked his floppy ears. "I don't like t' see cats chased like that," he replied with a small nod and a little smile, thinking again of his own feline friends. After a pause that felt a little too long for him, the Shoalman placed a palm on his chest and said, "I'm Percival Perhelion, by th' way. Was that cat a friend of yours?"

OOC: why hello there i am the worst but awwww it meer's bab i love ittttt

[WC — 353]


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Luperci we were infinite; there was no time in those days They stole my dirty socks... :(
timshel

POSTED: Mon Apr 22, 2019 8:43 pm

Truth be told, O'Brien wasn't interested in fighting, either. In fact, most canines weren't; a little bluffing went a long way to deter conflict. There were few situations worth risking one's life for, and unfortunately for the tabby, saving a street cat didn't cut it.

Everything worked out, largely thanks to the presence of the ox-rider. Relaxed now, if with a perpetual lean that suggested he was ready to walk off at any minute, the mongrel looked at the youth curiously. He looked predominately doggish, with a rough coat and floppy ears that perked at his speech. He smelled familiar.

"Aye," the thief agreed. "Seems wrong ta hunt somethin' clever like a cat."

The pause was mutually awkward, and O'Brien found himself glancing down one of the alleyways, planning out a path of escape. His ears turned back at the boy's introduction, but he was too kind to ignore it. He owed the boy something, anyway.

"Na, Ah was just feedin' him a little meat," he replied, and felt his face warm at the admission. Yer a wee sook, he chastised himself, and cleared his throat, straightening a little bit and flipping his cloak so it hung properly. "O'Brien," he said, briefly touching the cream fur of his own chest in lieu of a handshake—boy, did that ox sit tall!

"Ah wouldnae hev attacked th' lass," O'Brien confessed after a minute. He scratched his chest and cast his glance awkwardly down the road, where her silhouette grew smaller as it sniffed around old car tires. "Likely just wished th' moggie Dagda's luck 'n' bin dane wi' it. Ah dinnae ken whether that makes me a coward."

He did not often introspect aloud. It was probably those soulful eyes.

I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory
I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory
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POSTED: Tue May 07, 2019 4:59 pm

The stranger seemed to Percy as though he were ready to depart at a moment's notice, though he held no negative thoughts on the observation. And, truth be told, the young Parhelion felt awkward enough that he might have welcomed the parting of their ways. But, slowly, the ice began to thaw and break, all thanks to a cat.

"Yeah," he agreed with a smile. Cats had their behavioral oddities and their psychological idiosyncrasies for sure, but they didn't seem to him all that different.

He was glad when he heard that the cloaked dog was sharing food with the feline, his wiry tail sweeping pleasantly from side to side over Pim's broad rump. Whatever it was the stranger said to himself afterwards, though, Percival either didn't properly hear or didn't understand. Betrayed only by the way his floppy ears lifted marginally where they were permanently creased, the young Shoalman was just as happy to move along without an explanation as the man – O'Brien – seemed indifferent about providing.

Percival considered O'Brien's confession a moment with an agreeable smile, feeling a deeper sense of curiosity toward him. Despite the way his accent reminded him of his cousins, some of the words that he used were odd or unrecognizable, and it took him a little time for his mind to make sense of what he was saying. "Here, hold on," he murmured as he shifted atop the brindled animal.

Swinging a leg around and scooting his body gently, the younger man dismounted from Pim's back and slid to the ground: it was easier to have a conversation with someone when you were more level with them. Giving his ox a grateful glance, Percy faced O'Brien with his tail waving lazily behind him. "I been told before that sometimes we surprise ourselves," he offered a little uncertainly. Just because it came from Betsy didn't mean he was taking her words and repeating them in the right context. "I mean, d'you know for sure that you wouldn't've done somethin', if it came down to it? Maybe you would've."

[WC — 359]


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Luperci we were infinite; there was no time in those days They stole my dirty socks... :(
timshel

POSTED: Sun May 12, 2019 10:04 pm

The wire-haired youth dismounted from his great ox, a sure sign that he intended their conversation to continue. It was a bittersweet thing for O'Brien, who often balked at talking to strangers like this when the urge to disappear was so strong—but who also didn't mind strangers one he got to talking. He already supposed that he liked this lad, for what first impressions were worth.

He laughed, a short dry note, at the boy's remarks.

"That's true," the thief conceded, flashing the other mongrel a grin. "Surprised myself afore, daein' something Ah knew was stupid."

And it seemed that more and more stupid, honorable decisions followed him after he jumped in to protect old man Cookie. He wasn't sure if this was good or not. Did his chances of survival lower or just even out when he did stupid thing for the sake of the group that helped protect him? He rolled his shoulders in a shrug, his plain-color, dark cloak draped around his narrow body.

"Ah hev tae say, lad, ye remind me o' someone," he admitted after a moment, cocking his head. "Dae ye hev family aroond 'ere?"

Last edited by O'Brien on Mon Jun 03, 2019 12:46 pm, edited 1 time in total.
I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory
I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory
The Troupe
Pickpocket
User avatar
Raze
Luperci
here come the ravens

POSTED: Mon May 20, 2019 11:43 am

Percival attempted, with tenuous success, to hide his surprise when the black-and-tan mutt confirmed that there was truth in his words. Or, Betsy's words, really. Standing next to the warm girth of his brindled ox, his toes on the earth now, the younger man gave his long tail an agreeable wag. "Yeah," he said amiably. "So have I." And he left it at that, because he did not want to go into all the other times where the opposite had been true: when he thought that he knew what he was doing was smart, and ended up surprising himself when it turned out to actually be really stupid.

He considered the man's confession with a gentle furrowing of his dark brows, curiosity lighting up within. "Do I? he replied automatically, thinking quickly and wondering if he should know who this person was. Had they met at the masquerade? Or before that even, when Krokar was still alive and well? Was he a distant friend of his parents' or brothers' or cousins'? Percy nodded mutely, then echoed his name to himself. "O'Brien..."

His name didn't ring any bells, nor did his scent, though his accent was distantly familiar. Maybe he was someone that his cousins, Fionnlagh and Elle, knew. "Yeah, my family an' me live together." He did not say where. Even though he felt a friendly connection with O'Brien, it was safer he didn't know where they had set up camp. "D'you know who Fionnlagh and Elle Cormier are? They're my cousins an' your way of talkin' reminds me of them."

It had been a very long time since he had seen either of them, though. He didn't even know if they were even in the area any more.

"But I got sisters an' brothers 'round here, too." He shrugged helplessly. Maybe he just had one of those faces or smells.

[WC — 322]


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Luperci we were infinite; there was no time in those days They stole my dirty socks... :(
timshel

POSTED: Mon Jun 03, 2019 1:14 pm

Would you like to wrap this up since it's older? We could fade out with chatting. c:

Dark brows furrowed above Percival's black-blazed muzzle, forming an inquisitive "T". The lad's family indeed lived together, which explained the familiar scents in his fur, and O'Brien was closer to solving the small puzzle in his mind.

That his accent was familiar shocked him, and his head lifted a little as his gaze studied the young wolfdog with something akin to nervousness. "Na, Ah dinnae ken— ye said Cormier, did ye?" His ears pricked, shifting the hood an inch, and he raked his memories for why that name sounded so familiar to him. It would have been easier if he wasn't so wrapped up in why someone else would sound like him.

Sisters and brothers and cousins— O'Brien's jowls puffed with air briefly, and his posture relaxed as he remembered at last.

"Is one o' yer sisters a Will'a?" The loudmouthed, wiry-haired girl who—along with her stout northern friend—rescued him from a mountain lion. Their colors weren't similar, and Willow was far more wolfish, but that scent (and traces of their accent) matched. "Met her 'n' Toklo no' sa lang ago. She told me ye were called th' Shoal, that ye were a bunch o' fisherfolk." He grinned and relaxed his weight back on one leg.

I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory
I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory
The Troupe
Pickpocket
User avatar
Raze
Luperci
here come the ravens

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