[m] Big Bar Stewards

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.

The Magnificent

"Will you shut the fuck up? Christ..." John glared at the mule that wouldn't shut the hell up braying for like five goddamn seconds. The throbbing between his eyes was getting worse by the minute, shit, he needed a smoke. This just.. was not his day in the slightest. No because why should Andrew fucking bother to let his brother know that.. oh the pack had moved so maybe we should let family know. That fucking crotch sniffer.

No but he had to trek twice now across the goddamed mountains searching for some clan that was probably dust and ash by now. He ran a hand through his hair, shoving it back unceremoniously and then jamming his hands into the pockets on his jacket. Mule was chewing at the ground again and... being a mule. Sam and Sam were likewise. Well shit, guess he was stuck here for a while. So he did what he did best, he sat down and took a nap. Sweet.

Later he was moving again, and finally his dumb-ass animals had decided they should follow the idiot that fed them and kept them safe. He was full of regret for not leaving them with Ronnie.

Following a smoke trail that led to one of the biggest motherfuckers he'd ever seen in his life. Damn, that was a mean-ass looking wolf. He approached with some kind of caution, because he wasn't a complete dip-shit.

"Ay man, what you doing there?" He kind of spoke a bit loudly, but damn he didn't really want to get too close to that big bastard. Look at those scars, shit.

John had his own scars, one on his ass cheek where the fucking goose had bit him, that bastard had been good cooked over a fire. The whip marks on his back were new and rawer.

Dated 11th May | [wc — --] template by hilli

Bent over himself, the great soldier was lurched over a campfire, carefully placed between a tripod that stood precariously over his head in this position. The fire didn't want to start with the sand that had blown into his set-up from a stray ocean gust, and heaving breaths from his barrel-chest exhaled to rid the wood of the fine grandules. It took a bit of doing, and a few moment of plucking a few dashes and throwing them back to the beach before the wood was ready to burn. Braced on his knee, he lifted himself after the fire finally took with the help from a few flint strikes. Small flames lapped up the tinder that surrounded the gaps in the wood as the beast roped the top of the tripod tightly, finally bracing the arm of a pot sturdily on the rope. Stepping back from it all, the pot hung above the flame, wavering and finally settling in it's place. Decidedly, it was safe to keep working.

Turning himself to the water's edge, he dipped a smaller container into the brackish waves that lapped at the shore. The one free billowing black fabric on his legs clung to him as he stepped out of the water, dripping and clumping the sand beneath him as he made way back to the pot and filling it. It took a couple of trips, but when it was finally at the right height, it was time to work the water itself.

Hours passed as the smoke billowed into the skies. The soldier wasn't quite ready to submit this work to Sapient yet, as he had to perfect it still, but he was sure that this would work well for saving meats through the next winter. Not only that, but to his left, he had a stack of pages weighted with a stone of his written process as he worked. The set-up, the filter process and how long the boiling took. With how much water he used, it seemed that the process was finally gaining steam. Picking himself up from the sand, he moved over to the fires with his pants a little stiff from the salty waves, but otherwise dry. Before too much could be done to the happily bubbling pot, a body slipped from the brush not far from him.

A 'Yote. His mind curled at the thought, but before he could do anything to bring the man back, his harem seemed to follow him. A mule and two goats. Now, this man certainly wasn't in the position of losing all he had to take what was Shaamah's and by the great sense of apprehension and the length at which he gave the wolf plenty of room, the soldier figured it to be a coincidence. Though, his nature whispered that it might be something more," Boiling water," The strength of the warrior's words traveled well over the fire and the waves, a little louder than he might speak as a respect to others. Shaamah had never been fond of coyotes, nor jackals, thanks to Zetsubou's awful mother," What brings you this way?" The soldier spoke stiffly, no longer bent over the pot, but standing at his entire height against the small coyote that had slithered into his space.

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Johnathan Winthrop

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The wolf straightened and John had to look up and up and up to see his face, craning his neck to catch all the details. Well shit, this would be a story to tell Andrew, if he ever found that cock-sucking motherfucker. He remembered something his Ma had said about predators scenting fear, kind of a silly piece of advice but anyway he rubbed the back of his neck and grinned,

"Ahh." He said, nodding sagely as though that explained all the mysteries of the world to him. If the wolf turned hostile, he could always just high-tail it the fuck outta dodge. He didn't have shit against defending himself but the hell he was going up against this mutant bastard.

"Just looking around and about for my brother." This guys looked like he could do with a good dose of mellowing out, he was super uptight from the set of his shoulders and his heavy scowling eyebrows.

"Watchu boilin' water for?" He wasn't exactly aware of why one would want to boil water.

What despicable lies you hide

Beady eyes trailed up to Shaamah's face, an act that certainly didn't remove the distaste for his present company. The 'Yote even went as far as to seem like some divine knowledge was given to him, despite Shaamah's purposeful proclivity to be exceptionally vague when unimpressed by those that pestered him. Yet, Shaamah's disdain had gone unnoticed, or at least unspoken, and the 'yote carried on to offer why he dropped by. Shaamah's broad head turned from the tawny, slighter male and scanned the beach until his neck could no longer keep up with his cold gaze. Looking around an about for his brother? He contested the thought that he looked anything like a 'yote's brother, and there was no one else present. It was clear that there was no one else around, which had made his day more pleasant before his current company had arrived.

Returning sight to the emerald-eyed 'yote, another parting of the lesser canine's maw had broken the peace of the rolling waves. Shaamah breathed deeply, his patience being tested over nothing at all. Whatever the case, it wasn't as if the wolf could leave his current set-up simply because he was annoyed. He had to make sure that the job was done, and with more attention now that someone was beside him, bugging him with questions.

“Boiling the water from the sea extracts the salt within it,” The soldier opted for a more informing approach this time. Of course, he wasn't about to divulge that the theory had yet to be tried before this and it was only words in a book before he'd created his set-up. He also wasn't going to tell him that he had greater ideas with the salt than simply this experiment,” Why do you seek your brother?” Shaamah opted to side-track the conversation into something that was more informative for him. If there was a soul nearby that Shaamah needed to be perceptive of, now was the time to gather the information on him.

349

Johnathan Winthrop

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John's smart, cautious eyes took over the still thing that the beast had built, memorizing parts as its use was explained to him. Salt was worth its weight in uncounted things. The wily coyote was well aware of shit that might help him out and he was not above stealing the knowledge someone else held. In some ways he was a good guy, in others he was an complete unrepentant bastard. Let's say, he was a real mama's boy, in more ways than one.

John shrugged, "My brother lives around here some wheres, or so he says by his letters. I can't seem to find the damn place thought." The wolf seemed thoroughly uninterested in his whereabouts and so John took the opportunity to observe him closely and stepped back a few steps as the giant walked back towards the water without a word.

Let's chill this motherfucker alll the way down. John's hands were like a flash into his pockets and pulling out that good leaf, chucking it into the wolf's fire and it burned like grass, oh yeah that good grass. The smoke billowed up and the wave hit him and he took a deep breath, no sense wasting it.

Mother Nature, that sweet and salty bitch did him a solid and the wind blustered up, blowing out towards the big wolf and enveloping him in a cloud of the greatest stuff.

What despicable lies you hide

Well, now. This made a great deal more sense that he would be without any sentient souls following him. Shaamah's eyes met him with a more calculating gaze. A 'Yote, looking for a place where his 'Yote brother lived. If Shaamah was as keen as he thought himself, he could have sworn he'd met another 'Yote similar to this one. If that were the case, then this stranger looked for Inferni. Rather than give the pestering coyfolk the joy of the information, he carried on silently with his work. I mean, who was Shaamah to make those assumptions anyway?

He turned away from the 'Yote for another bucket of water to go into the pot, as it was boiling a bit faster than he'd thought it might. The extra water would prevent the salt that would sink to the bottom from burning, hopefully. The beast didn't test the waters more than he was worth, however. He waded in up to mid-thigh and scooped a bucket full of the ocean up, lifting it just above his waist and turning to step back onto dry land. The water brought a welcoming break from the warmth that was building in his coat from the fire. As he looked up, he caught his pest taking in a hefty whiff of the fire's smoke and furrowed his brows. Coyote's were strange, and foolish.

Of course, before Shaamah could do anything but get to shore, the wind changed and the smoke billowed toward him. His nose wrinkled, so much so the peaks of his eye teeth peeked from beneath black lips, and he snuffed out sharply. He felt the smoke churn in his lungs, but unlike any campfire he'd ever been near, this stray smoke curled in his throat.

The bucket found the sand, digging into the malleable surface and losing half of it's contents as Shaamah's eyes watered and sharp, gut-churning hacks roiled up from his throat. He coughed so hard, for a moment, he thought his last meal was going to drop to the sand. Catching his breath, he shook his head and walked free of the smoke. He panted in fresh air to heal the ashy taste in this throat. He wasn't sure what he'd done to the fire, could it have been salt in the smoke? There was the possibility, surely, but the man was no scholar. Leaving the bucket until the smoke cleared, he made his way back to to check on the water that boiled. It wasn't burning. What could it-

A narrowed gaze slid over to the 'Yote. For a moment, he felt his hackles lift and his temper flair, but just as the edges of his eyes were red, he hesitated,” What did you touch?” He snuffed again and shook his head. Whatever it was, it was still in his throat, and it wasn't going anywhere. The coughing must have disoriented him, surely. The narrowing of his eyes wavered until the chilling blue began to dilate. There was no questioning that John's ploy had worked. He'd managed to begin to sedate the beast; It was only a matter of time until the leaf would fully take him.

Johnathan Winthrop

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It had been a time since he'd done something like this. That had been back with Ronnie though, and Tekko. Back with those wolves that liked to sing at night. Fuckers had kept him awake all night long but it had been sodding beautiful to listen to. The wolf began to cough like a pussy and John resisted the urge to laugh.

He was already several steps back from the fire by the time the scarred behemoth returned and pinned him with an accusing glare. His hands rose before him in a gesture of supplication,

"I didn't touch shit dude, it smells good though." He snickered to himself, green-red eyes moving over the still set up, "Does it always smell this good? Kinda makes me feel like... singing or somethin'.." He took another deep inhale of the smoke and coughed quietly, blowing out some of the leftovers that didn't curl in his lungs.

Seemingly oblivious of the danger Shammah presented with his hackle-raised insinuations John began to warble a merry tune that his Ma had taught him.

"She gave her sigh and a kiss goodbye, for her prince was gone into the nighttt." It was not a very good song but then Mary had made it up on the spot for three sons that had liked her singing voice.

What despicable lies you hide

Hands lifted at Shaamah's demand, the 'Yote doing his best to be free of his fury. The soldier still wasn't about to trust the slight male, his judgment of John's kind already passed far before he could have ever done something to influence it. Still, the coyman thought to continue speaking as Shaamah investigated the waters that bubbled furiously in the pot. The idle prattle was something that often infuriated him to the point of driving strangers off, but perhaps it was the work he was doing that was side tracking him from his irritations?

Seeing the water growing nearer to the salt that lightly laced the bottom, Shaamah opted to head back and grab the water that he'd left beside the beach. For a moment, he kept his sole eye on the coyote, but when he reached the ocean's edge he found himself distracted. Lifting the bucket up to see inside it more clearly, he stuck his hand down in and started plucking the impurities out. Seaweed bits here and there, a shell or two, pieces of sand. He'd make sure his salt was cooking properly before he'd chase this nuisance off.

His usual march became a saunter as he snuffed again, his rosy snout tickled with the smoke that continued to coat the atmosphere around them. Setting the bucket beside the fire, he found himself searching for the filtering cloth he'd set down a moment ago. Singing, then, pricked his ears, and eye lifted hastily to the 'Yote with a slow transformation from disgust to something of curiosity. The beast wasn't as aware as he thought he might be, and slowly he could feel himself loosening up, and strangely not minding it.

“What song is that?” The soldier questioned, the intensity slowly draining from his voice as the rough and gravelly nature rolled more smoothly from his tongue. Formal intonations had slipped away. Dare he realize it, but slowly, he was slipping into something of a conversation. Lifting his brow, he suddenly remembered what he was doing. Lifting the bucket from the sand, he looked over the area again for... what was it? Looking in the bucket for a reminder,” The filter...” He muttered loosely before hacking again, eyes watering as he reached over the smoking fire and finally found the filter that had been right in front of him all along.

Johnathan Winthrop

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John did not have a particularly good singing voice either, oh he could carry a tune well enough but it was nothing to write home about. It was enough apparently to bring out a more genial side to the massive wolf-man.

John's head bobbed up and down with his wavering tune, a graceless smile teasing his lips,

"The song, ahh it's just somethin' my Ma cooked up when I was a young boy. She used to sing it to us and some others too, if you went to hear those too?

Those singing wolves had taught him one thing, which was plainly that wolves loved music no matter the shape or form of it, it was an easily made assumption.

He watched, amusement curling in his breast as the Wolf seemed to lose himself momentarily, blinking blearily down at his assembled things and muttering to himself, John launched into a fresh song,

"I stole away on the wind, on the wind. If you find me then I'm skinned, I'm skinned. For Lord protect me, I have sinned, I have sinned." Again, not a very good song but it was the music that counted. This one he had heard some poor man down and out and drinking away his last coppers - John hadn't been inclined to help him but he had stolen the song.

What despicable lies you hide