You Can Lay Down When the Day is Done

p. O'Brien

POSTED: Sun Apr 26, 2020 5:47 pm

Pack O' Young Boys Going Howlin' At The Moon

While he couldn't be absolutely sure, the traveler had a strong feeling his feet would be planted in Del Cenere Gang ground right now if it hadn't been for his lazy ass.

"I swear Pa only urged me ta take you along so he could laugh 'bout this later." He grumbled, pausing his progress for what felt like the hundredth time... today.
Hosea Courtright crossed his arms and sighed dramatically, losing his patience with every step wasted on waiting for his companion.

Finally, he saw the old, lumbering burden emerge from the wood and reach at least viewing distance from the Palisade native.
Maybe? Hell, considering the age of the thing, Hosea wouldn't be surprised if all his senses were gone and he was simply trudging on by muscle memory alone. Pfft, memory... The speckled man laughed as he thought, As if he has any sort of that left.

Slowly, very slowly, but surely, the stubborn mule was within arm's distance of his impatient guide. "'Bout time, ya filthy, God-forsaken, old coot." The insulted party responded only with a weak bray, but shuffled on as Hosea started moving again. "At this rate, should only take another month for us ta get there!"

But it was getting dark. And cold. And the pair had already been on their feet for the entirety of the day, save about a couple hours combined to stop and hunt for lunch and a small dinner of rabbit.
Food wasn't a worry for the Courtright youth, but shelter was becoming more desirable than gold. He was tired of sleeping in the dirt, shivering in the chill of night and waking up to swat away the bugs. Because he was transporting most of his goods (which still didn't amount to much, but enough to be significant), his optime stance was the most effective, else he would have been on four legs and rushing the whole trip, without a second thought.

Brown eyes peered up to the sky, frowning as the light was leaving and the wind started picking up. "Damn, I sure hope it's not 'sposed to rain tonight..." He muttered, knowing that would only make things worse.


OOC: Located in Branta Stretch, near St. John's Chokehold. Backdated to around April 14th. WC: (300+)
Hosea Courtright
I am not the only traveler
who has not repaid his debt.
I've been searching for a trail to follow again.
Take me back to the night we met.
Del Cenere Gang
The Unkindled
User avatar
Pabs
Luperci

POSTED: Wed Apr 29, 2020 1:01 am

He knew what gave him cause to wander, but not what brought him here – a familiar marshland wood of spruce and fir, the rivers as grey as the skies above. Recognizing where he was, O'Brien sighed and shook his head at himself.

Wandering through the marsh wouldn't turn back the clock to a simpler time, but at least it kept his senses occupied. Ears twitched at duck calls as he sniffed out a trail through the bog, his paws stepping softly over moist earth. A hunt on all-fours, lunging at waterfowl at the lake's edge, might do him good; a swim would do him better, though the scent of rain on the wind suggested that was a foolish idea. He peered skyward through the evergreen boughs, watching the clouds roll quickly past.

His feet led him toward former Krokar territory, remembering the paths that Willow led him along to show him pieces of her old life. While the village had been burned, there were a few structures on the grounds that could shelter him from at least the worst of wind and lightning. He tugged his hood over his ears when a colder, wetter breeze tousled his overlong brown hair.

Before long, the thief smelled strangers in the dark. His instinct was to step back among the spruce trees and keep hidden, but compassion won out over caution. When he jogged closer, he felt justified; the Luperci was alone but for an ancient mule burdened with goods. His fingers twitched at the sight of saddlebags.

Aboot te be a skelp o' rain – if ye want te keep dry, there's a lodge by th' lochs, O'Brien woofed, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

288
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: Sat May 02, 2020 10:33 pm

Pack O' Young Boys Going Howlin' At The Moon

Though it was expected for the sky to grow dark as night inched closer, the smell of incoming rain was undeniable. The mongrel groaned with disgust. He'd hoped against it, but Just my luck...

The scent of another in the vicinity was clear to him, but he'd already run into several passersby on his almost month long trek to Del Cenere territory.
Though, who else would be out in the rain? Maybe fellow travellers, like him.

A sudden voice cut him from his thoughts and into further confusion.
Befuddled, Hosea scrunched his face attempting to translate what this stranger had told him. What that supposed to be English?
The mutt instead opted for giving a large, friendly smile, offering a small nod, as if he understood, before admitting, "Well, hell, sir, I didn't catch a lick of whatcher talkin' 'bout, but ya know it's 'bout ta rain, dontcha?" Hosea gestured up to the sky, before tugging along on his eldery ass's lead. "But... Wait, didja say somethin' 'bout a lodge? Ya know of some place we can stay for the night?"

He felt like he caught that much from the accented statement, and he inwardly prayed it wasn't him merely being hopeful again.


OOC: -- WC: (200+)
Hosea Courtright
I am not the only traveler
who has not repaid his debt.
I've been searching for a trail to follow again.
Take me back to the night we met.
Del Cenere Gang
The Unkindled
User avatar
Pabs
Luperci

POSTED: Thu May 07, 2020 8:10 pm

    Please let me know if you need more to respond to -- I'm glad to add conversation or have them walk to their destination. Obi's just awkward lol. (You can pp them arriving at a nondescript lodge if you'd like!)

His damnable accent.

Most people adopted the vocal quirks of those surrounding them, shedding even the accent of their birthplace when exposure to other voices was so strong. It was like a skill that atrophied after years without practice. Yet O’Brien, no longer fresh off the boat by any means, seemed cursed to speak with the strong burr of his matriarchs forever.

He used to hide it more, to mumble and change inflection, when his goal was to be forgettable at ports and taverns -- but a year of traveling with the Troupe had brought it out stronger, if anything. He’d forgotten himself.

The other mongrel -- sharp and and wild with other blood -- smiled warmly but confessed to not understanding any of what O’Brien had said. He had a gravelly voice with a drawl of his own, not unlike the accent that Cook sometimes dipped in and out of.

O’Brien, who had intended to offer his advice and just walk away into the marsh, found himself forced to linger to elaborate. And, as always, with every second his feet felt heavier and heavier. His own smile was awkward and subdued, his cedar-colored eyes darting to the brush before he spoke again, making an effort to enunciate.

“Er, aye. I dinnae ken -- er, know, that it will be a guid spot te --" bade th’ nicht, he almost said, then wiped his hand across his muzzle as if to start over. “This way,” he said instead, gruff, and turned on his heel to stride toward one of the isolated cabins that dotted Krokar’s forests.
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: Sat May 09, 2020 5:16 pm

Pack O' Young Boys Going Howlin' At The Moon

Between his youth and being confined to an area with similar accents, it was strange to the mongrel to be unable to understand a foreign voice. He had no trouble with a drawl or Latinx lilt, so he never assumed others spoke too differently.
He was mistaken.

As the stranger spoke again, Hosea even found himself straining to catch what was coming out of the other's maw.
If he wasn't careful, he'd hurt himself.

A nervous laugh left him when at last, the other seemed to give up and spoke in shorter sentences to get his point across. In any other circumstance, it could be seen as rude, or suspicious. But in his current situation, Hosea was thankful.
"Yessir, gotcha." He said, as if he had to announce anything he could understand and bring some relief to the both of them.

The Courtright grabbed hold of his donkey's lead, something he'd long ago just let drag (it wasn't as if the burden was really getting anywhere with or without it), and gave it a desperate tug. If the ass wouldn't quicken his pace, Hosea hoped that it at least looked like he was trying to hurry.

Thankfully, before they got caught in the storm, they'd come across a creaky structure with just enough roof left to keep them dry for the night.
With a grateful grin, the coydog eased his animal in and dropped his luggage to the floor inside. It looked like some sort of shed, perhaps used in the past to store something of use, but for now was empty. Well, save for an exhausted mutt, a welcomed stranger, and a withering jack.

Hosea gave a nod to the other once they'd settled inside, "Mighty decent of ya, sir. Would have hated gettin' soaked out there, still got a way to go in the mornin'. This is a relief for us wanderin' fools." He said with a tired chuckle. "Name's Hosea, by the way. Pleasure to meetcha."


OOC: -- WC: (300+)
Hosea Courtright
I am not the only traveler
who has not repaid his debt.
I've been searching for a trail to follow again.
Take me back to the night we met.
Del Cenere Gang
The Unkindled
User avatar
Pabs
Luperci

POSTED: Sat May 16, 2020 4:22 pm

The coydog trailed after him (and the donkey trailed after the coydog), and O’Brien forced himself to choose wider paths for the beast’s sake. He had spied a dozen shortcuts through bramble and deer tracks, but he was careful not to make himself look too suspicious. He had good intentions, but gods knew that it was easy to blame a thief.

It wouldn’t be entirely long, given his luck— or his tendency to sap that luck from those around him.

The downside was that the trails were muddy, but they did not suck too badly at the donkey’s hooves, and soon the large shed came into view. It was a rickety structure that another couple years of decay could bring down, but O’Brien had a good eye for dangerous buildings--and this was not yet one. He shuffled to the side to allow his companions room, smiling as he leaned against the wall, his gaze idly landing on a fallen shelf.

He pricked his ears and nodded when the younger man thanked him, then straightened up at the introduction. “O’Brien,” he replied, extending a hand to shake— the gesture rustling his cloak aside to show the dagger at his hip. He thought nothing of it as he leaned back again, arms folding.

“Where ye gaun?” he asked. “Or where d’ye coom fae?” He squeezed his eyes shut in something of a wince when his words hit the air, and he leaned his head back against the interior wall. “Er, yer no wanderin’ forever, are ye?”

He should just shut up and leave.

He glanced toward the open doorway just as the rain began to fall.
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: Sun May 17, 2020 4:08 pm

Pack O' Young Boys Going Howlin' At The Moon

The mud was less than pleasant, and he wasn't going to be happy having to pick dried dirt clumps from his fur tomorrow, but at least they'd found somewhere to rest for the night.
The stranger introduced himself as O'Brien, which was odd sounding enough to the mongrel that he assumed this male wasn't native to these parts. Or, at least, his parents weren't, but judging by the accent, Hosea didn't feel too foolish in his assumption.

He stretched, giving a big yawn before facing the other. It was a little easier to understand him now... If he strained to listen.
"Goin'? Well, I'm goin' to the Del Cenere Gang. Y'see, I'm from Palisade, an' my family works with some folk from up 'round these parts. At least, we got connections." He shrugged,"Jus' hopin' to find some work there, maybe start somethin' on my own. Palisade was nice n' all, but I think I jus' need a change of scenery, y'know?"

He picked idly at a string coming from his shirt. "Hell, I certainly hope I'm not wanderin' 'bout forever. It sure feels like it, tuggin' this filthy thing 'round." Hosea scoffed, jutting a thumb in the donkey's direction.
"An' how 'bout yerself? Ya gotta reason to be out roamin' 'bout?" It likely wasn't his business, but that's how small talk worked, he guessed.

The rain outside grew heavier, and he was all the more thankful for the shelter.
Though, the sound was soothing. The Courtright looked forward to the sleep it would ull him to.


OOC: -- WC: (250+)
Hosea Courtright
I am not the only traveler
who has not repaid his debt.
I've been searching for a trail to follow again.
Take me back to the night we met.
Del Cenere Gang
The Unkindled
User avatar
Pabs
Luperci

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