air[p]lanes like shooting stars.

Barrett · 06-04-2011, 11:48 PM

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For anyone else reading, this thread is set more or less immediately after this. And sorry this is sorta derpy, I think I'm burnt out. XD;

He was half-tempted to trail after Savina to speak of this and that, but he supposed the Alpha might be intent on other business. Instead, he simply watched in silence as the onyx she-wolf made her exit. He'd also figure it rude to just abandon Rook so abruptly; the meek coyote seemed like he might appreciate some company while he familiarised himself with his new home (but this was only a guess). If he sensed that the Plebian would rather be left to explore on his own, Barrett would let him to it without taking offence.

For now he flashed his companion a winning smile, a silent congratulations written upon his features. He was glad that Rook had been granted sanctuary here--and he felt vaguely useful for 'intercepting' a new recruit (not that said recruit would have caused any trouble if he hadn't found him, of course). Although he'd only been kicking around the lakeside pack for the past fortnight himself, he felt well-adjusted and that he was already starting to pull his weight.

"So plants, huh. Anything interesting?" he wondered casually, curious as to whether any of these 'plants' could be of the variety he was interested in. The youth was deliberately vague, unwilling to delve into specifics--he wouldn't be explicit about his substance use with a pack mate unless they broached the subject of their own volition. He figured if the green-eyed man smoked, he'd understand what Barrett was driving at--and if he did not, then he might choose to speak about something else instead, perhaps an especially interesting factoid he'd discovered recently.

"And ahyah, you interested in a better look at the plane now, maybe?" Barrett felt like he owed it to him after the drama earlier. The old cargo jet was pretty cool, after all, and strangely, he'd never bothered to investigate the supply boxes. Maybe something awesome was waiting inside!

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Rook · 06-05-2011, 02:44 AM

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{WC: 311} <3

Rook watched as the Crimson Dream leader departed, taking in the fact that he would be forever grateful for her acceptance and warm welcome. He exhaled slowly before glancing back to Barrett. He was expecting that the yearling would give him directions to a place to stay, extend his good tiding, and retreat back to his humble abode... his plane. Perhaps, he would check out that other silvery thing at a more favorable hour of the day, some other time when Barrett wasn’t busy. His ears shakily perked up and his tail uncurled; when offered a grin, Rook couldn’t help but to beam right back. He waited for the “goodbye” and “welcome” and “good luck” but was caught by surprise.

“So plants, huh.” Barrett offered in renewed conversation. “Anything interesting?” Rook wondered what he could have meant by “interesting” and mustered up the best answer he could. “Nnn-not really, but I have been spotting plants that I’ve only seen in my uncle’s journal: show lady’s slippers, rhodoras, meadowsweet…” He paused for a moment, the claws of his right hand still idly grasping and feeling the paw pads of his left digits. “But, um… I’m not really sure what you mean. Interesting like as in… exotic species… or something of the sort?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as the youth brought up the plane again. A better look at it? Now? His eyes lit up; the tip of his tail even gave a little shake. “R-really?” he questioned at first. “Sh-sure! That’d be great.” His mind flickered back to the few boxes he had eyed earlier before the duo had met. He didn’t linger on that thought though for long. “What… is a plane anyway?” he asked. “I mean, what does it d-do…exactly? If i-it isn’t s’posed to be in pieces like the one in the field.”

Barrett · 06-08-2011, 04:57 PM

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Sorry about the delay D:

Rook didn't seem to register what Barrett was insinuating, but the mottled teen wasn't particularly surprised. Based on Savina's interview, the coyote's expertise seemed more general and... well, wholesome. If he was disappointed, nothing showed on the surface—if anything, he looked a little confused. The string of names were all Greek to him; in Barrett's world, a plant was a plant. Sure, he could discriminate between trees, ferns, grasses, and flowers, but that was nearly the extent of it.

His tutors had tried to teach him the names of the most common species, but Barrett never saw much practical use in being able to distinguish a sycamore from an aspen. It didn't occur to him to season food with herbs, so toxicity or palatability were never real concerns. His nose could differentiate between the most aromatic species—the sweet scent of a birch or lily was unmistakeable—but his brain had no words to identify them specifically.

“Hmm, I dunno much about it,” he confessed, “so anything's news to me! Maybe something no other plant does?” Even if he couldn't be enticed by the mundane, the bizarre and extraordinary made for fascinating anecdotes and there was something novel about having access to this living, breathing plant encyclopaedia called Rook. Surely amongst the thousands of species populating North America, one excelled as a sedative, reproduced in some innovative new way, or grew so fast it was obvious even on lupine time scales! Barrett wasn't opposed to learning new things in small doses, especially in relaxed, informal settings like these.

As they strolled back toward the crash site, he had the opportunity to share some of his own knowledge. “Well, they were like an airborne truck or bus the humans used,” he began. “Hard to believe they could get off the ground, huh?” Photographs and old paintings were all the proof he needed, but this was essentially a leap of faith; neither he nor anyone else ever saw one of the damn things do much of anything, unless gathering rust counted. The bus connection was something he'd drawn on his own, since the seating arrangement inside a passenger jet wasn't unlike those of the rusted, broken-down school and city buses littering the streets of Halifax.

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Rook · 06-09-2011, 04:14 AM

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{WC: 340} Not a prob. Smile

“Oh,” he sounded. “I’ll come back to you with answer for that some other time...” He was going to open his mouth to share a list of unique plants – those that moved at the slightest touch or did other things, like feed on insects – but decided against it. If given the chance, he’d probably prattle both of Barrett’s ears off and Rook did not want to bore the youth at all. So when the topic of planes whisked all the vegetation talk away, the coyote was more than grateful.

Airborne truck or bus… Hmm. Rook nodded. He did know what a bus was, even if it, too, was in pieces. There was a dilapidated one by the lake where he and his father used to camp; its wheels had long since blown out and several of its windows had shattered or cracked, but the dog-like logo on the side had been one of his favorite things about the place. His father told him that humans used to travel to far away places on its four wheels. Some traveled back after some time while others would never return. The idea of traveling to some distant place had never occurred to him then but he was glad now that he had taken the opportunity to wind up in such a place as Crimson Dreams.

Imagining a plane in the sky, however, was something he couldn’t fathom. He raised his muzzle to look up at the heavens but still found the idea very bizarre opposed to a flying bus. Rook then smiled at the dark-pelted youth, “Yeah, definitely.” He idly placed his hands in his pockets, “Are there any other planes around here? A bus maybe?” The last part of his question seemed to fall off his tongue before he could stop it. It plucked at his heartstrings a bit but if there actually were an abandoned one somewhere, he’d love to make it one of his favorite haunts. If not, well… he was sure he could find someplace to call his own.

Barrett · 06-11-2011, 11:24 PM

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Ooomg, Rook totally needs to tell Barrett about Jack O'Lantern mushrooms! XD

“Oh, there's a whole lot of 'em north of the city,” he explained, “planes, that is. Buses more in the city itself... uh, that's Halifax, which is like... mostly east of here? And a little north.” While it occurred to him Rook might be unfamiliar with the area, there was no easy way to give directions. Picking up Route 103 along their southern border and following it all the way into town would be most straight-forward in theory, but—in addition to cutting straight through the heart of Cour des Miracles territory—the road was really out of the way if you were starting from the northern half of their territory.

Unfortunately, the roads through Ethereal Eclipse were much more circuitous, interspersed with great stretches of wilderness between them, and often overgrown to the extent that they were indistinguishable from the surrounding forest. Trying to detail the path he took would prove exasperating, so he simply shrugged. “Well, I head that way pretty often, if you wanna tag along some time just holler.” The subordinate alternated between the two locations, spending maybe a week in one before going back to the other. He liked to keep tabs on the pack and make sure he was pulling his weight, but he liked the free, answer-to-nobody experience the garage provided, too.

“Not sure there's much else around Crimson Dreams, anyway,” he concluded with a frown. The plane was basically there by accident; was there anything else? “There is some kind of old base in the south, I guess... hm, might even be where this plane was headed,” he mused, glancing to the silvery structure looming in the distance. They'd been making good time. “I think there are some trucks down there, some other... strange vehicles... don't know about buses, though.” His answer had been pretty long-winded, but it was hard to be both thorough and concise when his mind was all over the place. Barrett smiled apologetically for not having better information, then kicked absently at one of the old crates—the first they'd reached. “Wonder what's in these things, anyway?”

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Rook · 06-14-2011, 01:32 AM

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{WC: 287} Whoaaa those’re neat… :o !! I think he just might… lol.

Rook’s ears turned forward as he glanced back to his companion, hanging on his every word. More planes… in Halifax. He grinned now, mentally taking note that he would have to visit the city sometime. Barrett stated that he often traversed there and the coyote simply chimed, “Sure, perhaps sometime after the weather cools a bit? Sounds like a plan to me.” The youth then shared that there wasn’t much to the territory besides a base where the “airborne bus” had supposedly been headed. Interesting.

He glanced down to his feet then to the plane before them in the distance. Trucks and other strange vehicles, Barrett had mentioned. “Ah,” Rook mused. The sound of a something being shoved across the field caught his attention. The dark canine had turned his attention to one of the abandoned crates. The coyote pulled his hands out of his shorts and raised his right one to shield his gaze as he looked across the field. He counted the scattered rectangular objects he could easily see, not including the ones that were open or apparently overturned with some or all of their flaps spread out.

“Beats me,” he said quietly, leering at the crate closest to the one Barrett had just nudged with his foot. “Hopefully something of value?” The only time Rook had ever had the chance to open a box-like object was when his father had toted back a large, curious white tin he had found. Inside had been a variety of first aid items: gauze, strange discolored tablets, tweezers and gloves. He slowly approached the box he had been eyeing then knelt down. “Whatcha think’s in ‘em?” he asked, eyeing the broken plane before brainstorming. “Tools? Clothes? Weapons? …Books?”

Barrett · 06-16-2011, 03:42 AM

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Ikr, who knew? Nature = nuts <3 XD But yes, Barry's gonna get a little natural rave thing together at some point, those would definitely fit in nice. :o

“Hmm, only one way to find out!” he exclaimed with sudden enthusiasm, as if the idea to pry one open had only just occurred to him. So things were with Barrett—he didn't usually go poking around looking for anything unless there was something particular he wanted to find. When he'd come to McNamara he'd been looking for nothing more than a suitable place to crash (much like the plane, apparently), and that was exactly what he'd found. He'd noticed the boxes, yes, but only in the way a driver notices other traffic: they were obstacles to avoid and peer at idly as he rolled past, but nothing worth pulling over to investigate.

Now, however, rummaging through them was something to do. Barrett was pretty suggestible on average, especially if said suggestions did not involve work or anything of the kind. And so, he began to grapple excitedly with the crate, digging his claws into the gap between the container and its lid. The wood had been warped after years of exposure to sun, rain, and frost; the nails holding it in place weren't faring much better. After a few creaks, cracks, and splinters of protest, the vessel yielded and the contents were revealed.

“I. M. P.,” he sounded slowly, shaking one of the smaller packages found inside and sniffing at it absently. He looked over to Rook, shrugged, and peeled it open. The unsavoury, freeze-dried food contained within aroused nothing more than a flat “Ew” from the youth before he dropped it back into the original carton and haphazardly replaced the lid. His thoughts turned suddenly to Cassie—he wondered where she'd gotten to and how she was holding up. These pouched rations reminded him a lot of the questionable canned food she'd tried to eat. He shook his head and glanced back to his companion. “Anythin' better over there?”

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Rook · 06-25-2011, 03:01 AM

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{WC: 300} Apologies for the wait; life got hectic for a bit.

What Rook hadn’t realized at first was that the cargo strewn about the site were packaged differently. Somehow the sight of the first two cardboard boxes he had seen from across the river rendered all the other crates to become just like them instead of aluminum, particle board and, like the one Barrett had just finished inspecting, wood and nails. As the yearling went to work on his container, the coyote went ahead and clawed at the weatherworn tape that was holding his box together. The top flaps came apart with a snap and after folding them down Rook didn’t have to hold them in place.

His large nose wiggled at the end of his muzzle and to his surprise nothing foul hit his nostrils. Perhaps there was something useful inside then… unless it was a bunch of items like rubber gloves or tools for vehicles that didn’t run or fly anymore. The scent of old latex and rusted metal wasn’t present though. Rook was glad for that. Before he could even open up the inner flaps Barrett had caught his attention; he glanced over his shoulder and raised his both of his brows at the sound of his revolted “ew.” Must have been food of some kind.

“Umm,” he began, returning to his box after Barrett inquired him about the contents of his crate. The inner box flaps came up and Rook tilted his head at the sight of folded material in individually sealed plastic bags. He hastily ripped open the plastic, expecting a stench to rise up from it. Nothing registered. His ears perked up. Running his palms over the fabric, he felt the dark embroidery against his pads before finally lifting it up. He beamed at the itchy, wrinkled material, “Blankets. ‘Bout half o’ dozen of ‘em.”

Barrett · 06-29-2011, 12:40 AM

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.. -edits-

The youth's ears swept forward as Rook held up his prize and his tail swung thrice in silent congratulations. Blankets were a much better find than the doubtful rations he'd discovered. It occurred to him it might be prudent to gather some bedding for the cold winter months ahead, as his shelter's open design and thin metal shell would be ineffective against the cold. Nevertheless, in their society both ample in unclaimed stuff (i.e. the things left behind by humans) and free of currency, the wolf thought it best to operate on a system of “finders keepers.” He wouldn't ask for one; besides, he still had all summer and autumn to prepare.

The boy targeted his second victim. This box was easier to open than the first, but its contents were still inconsequential. They were gas mask filters; unfortunately, Barrett couldn't fathom how the round canisters were useful. His third strike was no better: combat boots. They'd never fit a Luperci's feet properly. Unfortunately, three attempts was usually the best he gave something before getting bored and giving up. “I'll show you inside the plane now, 'less you're having more luck,” he yawned, scratching absently at the back of his neck. Perhaps once their little tour was over, he'd catch a few more Z's.

Rook · 07-03-2011, 06:50 PM

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{WC: 308}

Rook looked down at the rest of the box, eyeing the packaged blankets before deciding to take three of them. Leaving the other half for Barrett ought to be good enough… fair… he decided. The blankets,
upon closer inspection, were obviously still in good condition. He’d hold onto two of them and use the third to trade for something – a desperately needed medicinal herb, more clothing or otherwise. He made quick work of refolding the blanket he had opened and piled it on top of the two others he was going to take with him, which he then set aside.

As Barrett began to open a few other containers, the coyote did the same. He too found a box full of gas mask filters but had absolutely no idea what they did. He sniffed, shook, and even bit one of them before he tossed it back with the rest. If anything, he definitely considered them as strange… whatever they were. His brow furrowed and he paced a bit before settling down beside another cardboard box. Cautiously, he placed his nose where the outer flaps where supposed to be taped down instead of splayed out. Nothing unusual…

The third box, unfortunately, was another disappointment. Masks. He held it up to this face, to stare at it eye-to-eye but the yearling had caught his attention. Barrett offered him a tour of the plane with a yawn and Rook, not wanting to overstay his welcome near the youth’s sleeping quarters, sprung up. “Sure,” he smiled, dropping the mask in a cavalier-like manner. He looked over to his pile of itchy woolen fabric before glancing to Barrett and striding on over, “And, nah, finding some decent bedding is more than enough for me. You can, erm, have the rest if ya want, three’s sufficient for now with the warm weather an’ such.”

Barrett · 07-06-2011, 04:33 AM

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“Nah, it's all you,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “but thanks.” While he appreciated the gesture, he had no reason to accept it—he hated feeling like he owed someone something. If he'd found something acceptable to offer in exchange, it might have been a different story. As it stood, it was Rook's idea to look in the first place, and Rook who had selected the winning box. All of the youth's choices had been duds.

He shrugged and turned his attention back to the plane. He approached the crushed part first, even though there wasn't much to see: just twisted metal and shattered glass, mostly. Something caught his eye and he bent to the ground, carefully dislodging from the earth one a dial that had—once upon a time—been one with the aircraft's instrument panel. The glass cover was covered in spidering cracks, but the dial itself was still in one piece... it was more than what could be said for the other shattered equipment scattered around the field.

He shook it and a spring rattled inside while the meter fluctuated wildly. “Not sure what this does, exactly, but usually they're in the front part... there's a lot of them, way more than in a car.” Which made sense, he guessed—flying seemed a lot more complicated than rolling along on the ground, after all. He considered tossing it aside but reconsidered. Maybe he'd take it apart later to see if he could get a better handle on how it worked or what it was supposed to do.

He wound his way inside his little alcove next, and deposited the broken dial unceremoniously on his cot. The cot was one of three furnishings in the entire enclosure—there wasn't much interesting to look at, unfortunately, since the front end of the plane was definitely the business end. “Eh, the ones in Halifax are better,” he lamented, stifling another yawn.

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Rook · 07-11-2011, 09:42 PM

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{WC: 306}

The coyote continued to smile, simply nodding when Barrett vaguely stated that he had no interest in the box of blankets and thanked him. Whatever worked for the yearling worked for Rook... He followed the youth towards the crushed part of the plane, studying how the metal had curled and the glass had splintered; he made sure to sidestep around the tiny, clear fragments even if the pads on his hind feet were tough enough to withstand padding over the sharp edges. Barrett stooped down to pluck something from the ground as Rook eyed the aircraft’s riveted shell. The sound of rattling caught his attention and he nodded when his companion made a comment about how the plane would have more of the little cracked objects than a car would.

While Rook had seen up close the dashboard of a bus, he had never considered the fact before now that he laid eyes on what was once the front of the plane. Interesting… A part of him wished he could have seen one of these “air buses” in flight. When Barrett vanished for a minute to deposit his newfound trinket in his little alcove, Rook peered out one of the windows, spotting something of interest. His tail wagged and when his companion reappeared, he simply replied, “Ah… I bet.” Barrett yawned and the coyote stepped out of the rumpled flying machine.

“Thank you for the tour,” he said quietly, briefly glancing toward the pile of blankets that awaited him in the distance before looking to the wolf. “A-and thanks for everything. I appreciate it.” He then brandished a sheepish smile, “D’you… you… are ya using that o’er there by chance?” A slow gesture of his hand hoped to point out one of the cargo plane’s dislodged tires which was propped up slightly by a small boulder.

Barrett · 07-13-2011, 04:22 AM

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“No problemo,” he chimed, “and nah, knock yourself out,” he said, failing to comprehend what Rook might want with the old tire. Maybe he'd use it to steamroll plant samples? That didn't really make sense... but he couldn't come up with a better theory. Perhaps he'd find out later; right now, the cot was calling to him and Rook seemed to sense as much. “Take it easy!” he bade as a final farewell before making his way back inside.

He plopped down on the scanty bed, nearly landing atop the little gadget he'd found earlier. “Oh, right,” he muttered quietly to himself, lifting it and squinting at the little numbers and dials, but not really seeing anything. The boy supposed he'd been productive enough for the day—and maybe he'd even earned some brownie points with Savina for escorting the new recruit around.

It would probably be cool to duck out and head to Halifax again soon—to polish off whatever work was yet to be done—but he wanted more rest before the lengthy journey. He flopped over onto his side, set the device on the earthen floor of his humble abode, and drifted off into a light (but restful) slumber.

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