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eclecticwitch The Effervescent
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Seen
4 yrs ago
This day on the preserve was much like many others before it. Being summer the sun was hot, making the day about 90 degrees Fahrenheit. What made it even worse was the level of humidity pressed down upon the preserve. The only thing which made the day tolerable was a light breeze which brought cool air from the lake and rustled the leaves in the trees.
Rick awoke before the sun, as was her usual. She ran a comb through her short, black hair and threw on a tank top, jean cut-offs, athletic knee socks, and steel-toed boots. The brownies had done a nice job taking out the scuffs and repairing the tear from yesterday’s climbing adventure. Instead of the gash, there was a hummingbird embroidered into the leather. Not really Rick’s style but she had to admit it was cute.
She was up before Malcolm, which was happening often these days. It seemed to flux, but it seemed to be going on a bit longer than was usual. She was a bit worried about him. He either slept in or had not slept at all. Rick diligently started the coffee pot and the first batch went entirely into the first, ginormous mug. It was about the size of her head and it took some effort for her to carry it. It was, of course, a decaffeinated roast and she added just a bit of milk and sugar to it. She placed it on the railing of the back porch, inhaled deeply, and yelled out into the woods – “HUNTS COFFEE’S ON!” Despite her small stature, the girl had some lungs on her.
When she went back to the kitchen the second pot was almost done. She poured two reasonable sized cups and lifted one to her lips, enjoying the dark brew. She then rummaged through the cabinets to find sugar and milk from the fridge. She dumped some sugar into the cup, thought about it, and then dumped nearly a cup more in before adding the milk. She left it on the counter and downed the last of her own drink. No breakfast today. Ah well, she would rather starve than cook.
From beside the doorway, she hefted a bag over her shoulder, clicked a ring of keys to her belt, and placed a wide-brimmed hat atop her head. The morning would be spent de-ticking the forest nixies. A fun job full of bites that could get potentially infected. As she exited the house, Baldwin scampered up to her. He was a golem concocted of rocks and so old that moss and flowers grew from him. His face was merely a boulder with two round indents that indicated eyes. He was also nearly half as big as the house. He had been a part of the preserve longer than Rick could remember.
“Did you feed the livestock?” she inquired of him. The golem slowly nodded. “And Bonnie, you made sure she did the milking and brushing?” He nodded again. “Then yes, you can help.” She golem moved to pick her up but she danced quickly out of the way. “Thank you for the offer, Baldwin, but I much prefer walking. The nearest N,ixie patch isn’t too far out.” The golem bowed slightly and walked behind her. Despite his size the earth did not tremble nor did the trees seem to block his path. Their limbs and trunks bent and bowed out of his way.
Rick awoke before the sun, as was her usual. She ran a comb through her short, black hair and threw on a tank top, jean cut-offs, athletic knee socks, and steel-toed boots. The brownies had done a nice job taking out the scuffs and repairing the tear from yesterday’s climbing adventure. Instead of the gash, there was a hummingbird embroidered into the leather. Not really Rick’s style but she had to admit it was cute.
She was up before Malcolm, which was happening often these days. It seemed to flux, but it seemed to be going on a bit longer than was usual. She was a bit worried about him. He either slept in or had not slept at all. Rick diligently started the coffee pot and the first batch went entirely into the first, ginormous mug. It was about the size of her head and it took some effort for her to carry it. It was, of course, a decaffeinated roast and she added just a bit of milk and sugar to it. She placed it on the railing of the back porch, inhaled deeply, and yelled out into the woods – “HUNTS COFFEE’S ON!” Despite her small stature, the girl had some lungs on her.
When she went back to the kitchen the second pot was almost done. She poured two reasonable sized cups and lifted one to her lips, enjoying the dark brew. She then rummaged through the cabinets to find sugar and milk from the fridge. She dumped some sugar into the cup, thought about it, and then dumped nearly a cup more in before adding the milk. She left it on the counter and downed the last of her own drink. No breakfast today. Ah well, she would rather starve than cook.
From beside the doorway, she hefted a bag over her shoulder, clicked a ring of keys to her belt, and placed a wide-brimmed hat atop her head. The morning would be spent de-ticking the forest nixies. A fun job full of bites that could get potentially infected. As she exited the house, Baldwin scampered up to her. He was a golem concocted of rocks and so old that moss and flowers grew from him. His face was merely a boulder with two round indents that indicated eyes. He was also nearly half as big as the house. He had been a part of the preserve longer than Rick could remember.
“Did you feed the livestock?” she inquired of him. The golem slowly nodded. “And Bonnie, you made sure she did the milking and brushing?” He nodded again. “Then yes, you can help.” She golem moved to pick her up but she danced quickly out of the way. “Thank you for the offer, Baldwin, but I much prefer walking. The nearest N,ixie patch isn’t too far out.” The golem bowed slightly and walked behind her. Despite his size the earth did not tremble nor did the trees seem to block his path. Their limbs and trunks bent and bowed out of his way.
“HUNTS COFFEE’S ON!”
Rick's voice hurtled through the once serene forest, throwing quite a few frantic birds out of their nests aflutter and eventually bouncing off a rocky hillside - illiciting from deep within it's cavernous belly a loud thud, followed by a slow painful groan.
So this was what coffee was like.
Hunching over the railings of the Lochpine home and staring down at an oversized mug in it's hands, was a creature that would send your average household dweller screaming blue murder and reaching for the nearest firearms they had in their cupboards.
Tall enough to bump it's head against the porch roof and covered from top to toe in a thick coat of tawny fur, it's ursine-like face winced, perturbed, when it took another sip of the bitter beverage.
Abhorently chemical at first, like the darkest chocolate but without the reward of a sweet aftertaste at the end. If the remnants of a campfire were to marry water, this would be their estranged offspring. .......yet, for all the rancid astringency. Like a bitter inferno, it burns off yesternight's breath and everything ingested before it. Leaving one's pallette spotless ...with a strangely pleasant, smoky afterglow.
The creature pondered over the taste, proccessing far more thought than it's appearance portrayed. Unfortunately this time the drink did not trigger any memories. It was a ritual they did, started by the Ricks family as part of Hunts' therapy, where farmiliar foods might lead him to remembering bits of his past life as a Human. They had some success in the past with eggnog and pound cake, but coffee was completely alien to him. Granted their daughter, Angela, the newest ranger on this preserve of madness could not cook if her life depended on it, all he had for the past few weeks were drinks, more drinks and an unceremonious block of salt.
...
...
...
Still, fair is fair. Hunts reached one of his long arms down and hefted up an electronic fan that now sat neatly on the floorboards of the porch. It was one of those antique designs, nothing more than a motor and blades welded to a copper pedestal. Then he plugged in the cord to an outdoor socket, turning it on carefully with the nudge of his large fingernail. The device purred and the blades spun to life, buffetting his waist with a cool artificial breeze that has not blown in such a long time. A twinge of satisfaction curled unto his tusked lips. The moment was short lived and bittersweet however, for he had to return the toolbox used to repair it too. He patted it's plastic cover sentimentally as if to say 'We'll see each other soon.' before leaving it on the porch, right beside it's patient ...all with but a silent goodbye.
The sun was yet to be fully up and the horizon had only just started to tinge orange as he walked around the side of the house, which meant it was safe for him. Hypothethically. Trolls cannot be in the sunlight for too long afterall and according to the other trolls, he would turn to stone. Hunts has never seen a troll statue before so he cannot prove it, but the fact that there weren't any petrified trolls around was a dark, hindsighted reminder that other of his kind often ate stone. For his sanity's sake, he had never pursued the question further.
Hunts avoided direct sunlight for more mundane reasons though, one - it was unbearably hot to be more than a few minutes in it, painful even, what with his excess of hair, and two - his body was incorrigible at regulating temperature. It was like nature was deisgning trolls and when it came to deciding if they were warm-blooded or cold-blooded, she went Meh!
No sooner than he finished musing about the sun, did he see a farmiliar shadow cropping out from behind the silhouette of the house. The troll slowly approached Baldwin. He had an offspring, Bonnie, they were both sentinels of Angela Rick and he, unfortunately, was a fae. The very thing they were to sentinel against. This meant no sudden movements on his part around Rick when they were watching and definitely no yelling.
He waved at the golem, really not expecting anything back, it was just a habit. Then turned to Rick in her crocodile-hunter getup, something about a woman in wilderness attire made him pay more attention. His eyes wandered for a moment then he shook his head, mentally reprimanding himself, searching for a distraction.
"Tinkerbell's not coming again?" Hunt's voice was baritone in pitch but with the notes of a young, civillized man in energy and speech. That was his occasional name for Malcolm, who was clearly missing from the scene. He angled his knuckles and twisted his broad shoulders, glancing up at the bedroom window where the ex-fairy slept. A crease of worry formed on his bushy brow.
Rick's voice hurtled through the once serene forest, throwing quite a few frantic birds out of their nests aflutter and eventually bouncing off a rocky hillside - illiciting from deep within it's cavernous belly a loud thud, followed by a slow painful groan.
So this was what coffee was like.
Hunching over the railings of the Lochpine home and staring down at an oversized mug in it's hands, was a creature that would send your average household dweller screaming blue murder and reaching for the nearest firearms they had in their cupboards.
Tall enough to bump it's head against the porch roof and covered from top to toe in a thick coat of tawny fur, it's ursine-like face winced, perturbed, when it took another sip of the bitter beverage.
Abhorently chemical at first, like the darkest chocolate but without the reward of a sweet aftertaste at the end. If the remnants of a campfire were to marry water, this would be their estranged offspring. .......yet, for all the rancid astringency. Like a bitter inferno, it burns off yesternight's breath and everything ingested before it. Leaving one's pallette spotless ...with a strangely pleasant, smoky afterglow.
The creature pondered over the taste, proccessing far more thought than it's appearance portrayed. Unfortunately this time the drink did not trigger any memories. It was a ritual they did, started by the Ricks family as part of Hunts' therapy, where farmiliar foods might lead him to remembering bits of his past life as a Human. They had some success in the past with eggnog and pound cake, but coffee was completely alien to him. Granted their daughter, Angela, the newest ranger on this preserve of madness could not cook if her life depended on it, all he had for the past few weeks were drinks, more drinks and an unceremonious block of salt.
...
...
...
Still, fair is fair. Hunts reached one of his long arms down and hefted up an electronic fan that now sat neatly on the floorboards of the porch. It was one of those antique designs, nothing more than a motor and blades welded to a copper pedestal. Then he plugged in the cord to an outdoor socket, turning it on carefully with the nudge of his large fingernail. The device purred and the blades spun to life, buffetting his waist with a cool artificial breeze that has not blown in such a long time. A twinge of satisfaction curled unto his tusked lips. The moment was short lived and bittersweet however, for he had to return the toolbox used to repair it too. He patted it's plastic cover sentimentally as if to say 'We'll see each other soon.' before leaving it on the porch, right beside it's patient ...all with but a silent goodbye.
The sun was yet to be fully up and the horizon had only just started to tinge orange as he walked around the side of the house, which meant it was safe for him. Hypothethically. Trolls cannot be in the sunlight for too long afterall and according to the other trolls, he would turn to stone. Hunts has never seen a troll statue before so he cannot prove it, but the fact that there weren't any petrified trolls around was a dark, hindsighted reminder that other of his kind often ate stone. For his sanity's sake, he had never pursued the question further.
Hunts avoided direct sunlight for more mundane reasons though, one - it was unbearably hot to be more than a few minutes in it, painful even, what with his excess of hair, and two - his body was incorrigible at regulating temperature. It was like nature was deisgning trolls and when it came to deciding if they were warm-blooded or cold-blooded, she went Meh!
No sooner than he finished musing about the sun, did he see a farmiliar shadow cropping out from behind the silhouette of the house. The troll slowly approached Baldwin. He had an offspring, Bonnie, they were both sentinels of Angela Rick and he, unfortunately, was a fae. The very thing they were to sentinel against. This meant no sudden movements on his part around Rick when they were watching and definitely no yelling.
He waved at the golem, really not expecting anything back, it was just a habit. Then turned to Rick in her crocodile-hunter getup, something about a woman in wilderness attire made him pay more attention. His eyes wandered for a moment then he shook his head, mentally reprimanding himself, searching for a distraction.
"Tinkerbell's not coming again?" Hunt's voice was baritone in pitch but with the notes of a young, civillized man in energy and speech. That was his occasional name for Malcolm, who was clearly missing from the scene. He angled his knuckles and twisted his broad shoulders, glancing up at the bedroom window where the ex-fairy slept. A crease of worry formed on his bushy brow.
Snagglepuss89
Member
Seen
2 mos ago
[Ignore the double post]
Snagglepuss89
Member
Seen
2 mos ago
Aanand & Leah
Leah was curious.
No-one had actually told her there was due to be a new arrival for what were probably obvious reasons, but that didn't mean it had escaped her notice. She tended to pay attention to the activities of the humans; not that she'd ever do anything to harm them, necessarily, but keeping track of possible prey was an instinct she didn't care enough to try and silence. Besides, it let her know almost immediately when things changed.
For instance, she couldn't keep herself from noticing as a new scent entered the air. An outsider, and a human one, seemingly entering the preserve.
Of course, she was well aware that she would hardly be trusted around any new humans, at least not without Rick or her faerie lapdog around. There was only so much faith you could have in a bloodsucker's self-restraint, she supposed, but that didn't keep her from taking it a little personally. It wasn't as if she'd murdered anyone - not for a long time, anyway - and having enough control to leave her victims alive seemed to her a good enough illustration of her trustworthiness.
Though it didn't help her case that most of them thought she was just a satyr with serious mental issues.
So after some consideration she'd decided it was far easier to ask forgiveness than permission, and gone sneaking through the woods towards the scent as quietly as she possibly could.
“Stopping by to say ‘Hello’? Planning to greet the new guy with a kiss? On the neck perhaps?”
Aanand had been following the woman with a growing sense of amusement for some time now, stalking her with a much greater degree of stealth than she was capable of. While she wasn’t quite as noisy as a bumbling Human, she was still lacking the proper… anatomy for what she was attempting. Goats, after all, weren’t exactly known for their ability to sneak through the woods unheard. Still, the lack of noise Aanand was presently making wouldn’t have been enough to sneak up on her if he hadn’t been aware of what she was. A Satyr? Unlike most of the creatures living on the preserve he was British, and was well aware of the legends that surrounded the creature in front of him.
She could smell blood.
He could shapeshift the blood in his body away.
There was a clear winner in this contest that only one participant was aware was even going on, and Aanand gave himself the pleasure of creeping up right next to her ear before making his presence known. A feat of stealth he was sure would not be appreciated.
It wasn't.
Taken entirely off guard by the sudden voice, Leah just about jumped out of her skin, an involuntary and embarrassing noise that sounded very much like a frightened bleat escaping her as she stumbled forward several steps. Whirling around, there was more fear than fury in her expression, at least until she recognised the figure stood there. Narrowing her eyes, she spoke shortly.
"That wasn't funny." A pause. "And no. Well, maybe, but I won't do the man any harm."
Oh, wasn’t it?
While he didn’t openly voice that retort, the smile on his face said it clearly enough. The type of grin that both defiant, and openly asking to be met with a punch. A sight more common on his female counterpart, but equally fitting for his male self. Changing his feet back from a jaguar’s into a Human’s, he began putting the shoes he had been holding back onto his feet before replying;
“I think losing his lifeblood pretty much fits the exact definition of harm. Or will someone be uninjured if I were to cut them open?”
Leah was starting to find the shapeshifter's expression profoundly irritating. Something about the smugness of it felt designed to rub her the wrong way, though she was well aware there wasn't much she could actually do about it. So instead she settled for a sigh, whatever frustration she was feeling towards him remaining unsaid.
"Not permanent harm, then. I'm a careful woman, he'd get better soon enough." She shook her head, frowning uncertainly as she thought the whole thing over. "Getting caught would be inconvenient, I suppose - they barely trust me as is. Can't exactly help needing to eat, though, and he'd barely even remember it happened."
“Unless Angie’s been neglecting her duties horribly I think you’d be found out pretty quickly, even if he didn’t remember. Blood draining isn’t exactly a traceless act.”
Angie was the name that the Rakshasa always used for Rick, whether the woman liked it or not. It wasn’t exactly that there was any special reason behind it; He had simply lived alongside Humans for long enough that he too had become somewhat of a creature of habit, and he wasn’t going to reverse decades of calling the Ranger by one name just because he was asked to.
“Besides, I’m sure he’d leave the preserve pretty quickly if he knew there was a vampire stalking about- though ‘stalking’ is a generous term considering your display just now.”
"I'm not a damned vampire-- and you try being quiet around here with hooves! It's hardly an easy task." Pouting, she kicked at the dirt, snapping a twig underfoot. He had a point, though she was able to keep away from most creatures purely through smell. The ones that weren't annoying shapeshifters, anyway. Grimacing, she finally made an effort to meet his eyes, speaking sincerely.
"If you must know, I really wasn't planning on biting him. I'd rather not upset the ranger, but I'm allowed to be curious about a new arrival, aren't I? Bloodsucker or not."
As often was the case with his male self the change in mood came swiftly. Perhaps it was driven by the Glaistig’s own shift in tone, or perhaps he had just grown tired of the otherwise playful atmosphere. Regardless of the reason, all mirth and playfulness abandoned him and his hand went to rest on an object- perhaps a sword, or a gun- that was not actually at his side.
“Rest assured, if I thought that was your intent I would have stopped you with something much more tangible than words.”
Claws casually protruded from his fingers as he spoke- although not in a threatening manner, moreso as a demonstration.
“I know your needs but I do also trust you to have as much self-control as I do. After all- by my estimates you’re the older one between the two of us, my lady.”
"It's rude to ask a lady her age, you know." A hint of cold crept into her own tone at that, a sharp-toothed smile shot towards the man before she forced herself to relax. It was hardly a fight she'd win, in any case. "But yes, I suppose I am. Rest assured that my self-control is nothing you need to worry about. Though I suppose the concern is appreciated; it wouldn't do me much good to be thrown off the preserve."
“Good, then let’s get going shall we? I haven’t gotten the chance to greet the new arrival properly yet either, and you may as well have an escort of you’re going to be making that much noise trying to get a peek.”
With that he began to walk past the woman, making no effort at stealth this time, and yet naturally gliding across the forest floor as if it were second nature to him. Not that Human feet in Human shoes were naturally suited for the job, but it was as if the sound of every footstep came from the forest itself, blending into the background.
Of course, he didn’t double check to see if she was following. Sure, he was doing her a courtesy, but it didn’t particularly matter to Aanand if she took him up on it. He was going to size up this new shopkeep and make sure he was no danger to the preserve or Angie. Not that he didn’t trust the Ranger to be able to take care of herself- but it never hurt to be too careful either.
As soon as Aan started moving, Leah found herself acutely aware of just how much louder her footsteps were than his. At least he hadn't stopped her completely, though the implication that she at all needed an escort certainly rubbed her up the wrong way. Still, she supposed it was better than nothing, and he wasn't exactly waiting for her to stop sulking about it.
Huffing indignantly, she followed at a slight trot.
BurningCold Magical Bastard
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
Malcolm stared blankly at his ceiling, a thin whistle of air the only indicator that he was breathing, save the near imperceptible rising and falling of his chest. His eyes were bloodshot, and his bangs were plastered damp against his forehead with sweat. It was too hot. He hadn’t slept all night, deigning instead to post himself by the shop, should the new hire arrive late in the night. Just in case. So he’d sat in the middle of the parking lot for hours throughout the night, busying himself by counting the number of stars in the sky. Malcolm greatly enjoyed the act of counting things. The simple task of tallying up quantities of various different things was an undertaking that he would throw himself into eagerly. Stars were something of an annoyance, though. Malcolm could swear the twinkly little bastards rearranged themselves every single night.
So around the third time he managed to lose count upon getting into the triple digits, he had decided to that perhaps it would be best to return home.
And that was how he found himself sprawled out on his bed like a corpse hoisted upon a trolley, looking up at the drab gray paint above him for the better part of two hours. Malcolm, having briefly acknowledged the futility and admitted pointlessness of his current task, continued to stare. The ceiling did not stare back. “You, ceiling,” He began to drawl in a monotone, flavorless cadence that was not uncommon for him. “Have a point. How is it fair for me to be lying about here when there’s shit to do?” He smacked a hand against his forehead then, in an expression of mock annoyance. “Of course! The new hire would probably be showing up today.” Plus, there was only one star in the sky that he would have to count. Good old ceiling though. Always helping him out of a bind.
Then, with a grunt and a heavy sigh, he hoisted himself up off the bed and onto his feet. Right. Get cleaned up, get dressed, then figure out what the fuck to do today.
So that’s what he did.
Boots laced, pants zipped, two layers of shirts pulled over his head and one ratty leather jacket shrugged on, Malcolm made his way to the kitchen. Waiting on the counter for him was a generous serving of coffee, still lightly steaming. Halle-fucking-lujah. He sipped tentatively at the brew first, before being assured that it was sufficiently sweetened. Gulping it down greedily, the remainder of the mug’s contents were drained in seconds. Bless Angela. He set about cleaning up the two dirty things he could find in the kitchen; one mug that was his, and another that must have been Angela’s. Malcolm peered suspiciously around the kitchen as he did this, searching for any sign of mischief the brownies might have caused.
Satisfied that there was nothing unpleasant to discover, he ambled his way out the door and into the bright, balmy morning. He squinted and grimaced, temporarily stunned by the sun’s rays, before slowly stepping forward just in time to hear someone style him as “Tinkerbell”. Spots clearing properly from his eyes as he drew ever closer, the forms of Hunts and Angela became apparent to him, as well as that of the golem, Baldwin.
“Good morning to you, Angela,” Malcolm said with all of the enthusiasm of somebody that had been awake for over twenty-four hours. “I was going to head to the shop, keep watch for the new guy. If he shows, I’ll let you know.” He waved the little purple scrying orb around with a languid flourish. "Thank you, by the way, for the coffee." The troll, Malcolm turned to and gave a little frown. Tinkerbell? Really? “There’s no such thing as fairies.” He paused for a moment, an over-exaggerated look of anticipation on his face. “Nope, nothing. Not a single fairy dropped dead just now. And just like that myth, Tinkerbell also isn’t real.” While his tone wasn’t by any means aggressive, it was certainly unfriendly, and it was certainly unamused.
So around the third time he managed to lose count upon getting into the triple digits, he had decided to that perhaps it would be best to return home.
And that was how he found himself sprawled out on his bed like a corpse hoisted upon a trolley, looking up at the drab gray paint above him for the better part of two hours. Malcolm, having briefly acknowledged the futility and admitted pointlessness of his current task, continued to stare. The ceiling did not stare back. “You, ceiling,” He began to drawl in a monotone, flavorless cadence that was not uncommon for him. “Have a point. How is it fair for me to be lying about here when there’s shit to do?” He smacked a hand against his forehead then, in an expression of mock annoyance. “Of course! The new hire would probably be showing up today.” Plus, there was only one star in the sky that he would have to count. Good old ceiling though. Always helping him out of a bind.
Then, with a grunt and a heavy sigh, he hoisted himself up off the bed and onto his feet. Right. Get cleaned up, get dressed, then figure out what the fuck to do today.
So that’s what he did.
Boots laced, pants zipped, two layers of shirts pulled over his head and one ratty leather jacket shrugged on, Malcolm made his way to the kitchen. Waiting on the counter for him was a generous serving of coffee, still lightly steaming. Halle-fucking-lujah. He sipped tentatively at the brew first, before being assured that it was sufficiently sweetened. Gulping it down greedily, the remainder of the mug’s contents were drained in seconds. Bless Angela. He set about cleaning up the two dirty things he could find in the kitchen; one mug that was his, and another that must have been Angela’s. Malcolm peered suspiciously around the kitchen as he did this, searching for any sign of mischief the brownies might have caused.
Satisfied that there was nothing unpleasant to discover, he ambled his way out the door and into the bright, balmy morning. He squinted and grimaced, temporarily stunned by the sun’s rays, before slowly stepping forward just in time to hear someone style him as “Tinkerbell”. Spots clearing properly from his eyes as he drew ever closer, the forms of Hunts and Angela became apparent to him, as well as that of the golem, Baldwin.
“Good morning to you, Angela,” Malcolm said with all of the enthusiasm of somebody that had been awake for over twenty-four hours. “I was going to head to the shop, keep watch for the new guy. If he shows, I’ll let you know.” He waved the little purple scrying orb around with a languid flourish. "Thank you, by the way, for the coffee." The troll, Malcolm turned to and gave a little frown. Tinkerbell? Really? “There’s no such thing as fairies.” He paused for a moment, an over-exaggerated look of anticipation on his face. “Nope, nothing. Not a single fairy dropped dead just now. And just like that myth, Tinkerbell also isn’t real.” While his tone wasn’t by any means aggressive, it was certainly unfriendly, and it was certainly unamused.
ShwiggityShwah Good Diet, Sleep, Excercise, and Leeches
Member
Seen
4 yrs ago
He started out really early. The pickup truck served him for over a decade now. Its struts were coated in rust, its engines nearly black from carbon and soot. It grinded, grumbled, but it rolled along like its supposed to. It was an old reliable girl and it's driver took care of it, even if it did show it's age. In its back, held down with bungee cords and tarps were the bags, boxes and brick-a-brack that was the entire life of a single young man. It was all he had, all he needed, for now anyway. He had some money left to him from his uncle to get things going, but other than that, he got an address. A shop somewhere in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin.
It was a job, something he didn't have for the past three months. Graduating college didn't guarantee anything along the rust belt. He thought about computer store, pharmacy, applying as a shift supervisor somewhere, but either he could never get the credit for the loans for a starter, or the places were soul crushing bits of corporate run off. He'd barely get enough to live even if he slaved away for a couple hours. It was moments like this he wished he'd been an engineer, or IT. Too late now. Atleast the place was a shop and atleast he could run it his way. He didn't expect anything more than a tacky tourist shop but what else was he to do. It might be his big chance.
Even on the highway, one could tell just how far it was from civilization. The exit was coming up, and it wasn't even for a town. The entire off ramp was dedicated to a single sign giving the parks name, but nothing else. No camping grounds, no hiking or fishing spots. That didn't bode well. His truck hugged the curve as he looked out over the acres of farmland designed for dairy cows. It meant that there must have been a town somewhere, it might be miles, but atleast he had that.
His road crossed several intersections, the flatness of the plane gave way to the rising bit of tree and hill. It loomed over him like a tidal wave that only got bigger and bigger as he approached. He caught it just as the sun passed behind some clouds, giving the whole bit of trees a sinister look, like an endless row of teeth from some giant monster. He shoke his head, his imagination running away with him like it usually did, even at his age.
A lonely bumpy road was next, probably doing a number on his tires, but the parking lot was a nice change to the lonely road. He wondered how many people would actually come out this far. Hikers, campers. He could only guess. He stepped out of his truck and approached with a letter in hand.
Hey Kiddo
Heard you were in a bind. Big city life aint all it's cracked up to be? If you're willing to start in a place a little quieter I think I know just the place for you to start. Every pin stripped big brass CEO had to start somewhere. Why don't you look over the place for me? You might even have some fun.
Your Uncle
Hemem
PS: Watch where you step
And there there was the address to this old rickety shack of a store. He knew it. It was just going to be knick-knacks, tribal trinkets, dream catchers, and wooden carving. All the usual bullshit that his mom detested. Selling their culture, there history, to be pocketed away forever in the box of someones basment or to atleast be put on display on some grandma's mantle, given by a kid who didn't know what else to get. Thats what the great native American people were now, souvenirs.
He read the sign over it. "Goldelocks?" He said aloud before his face twisted in a frown. "Wheres the three bears?" He approached, a bag thrown over his shoulder. He'd go back to get the rest of his stuff later. They'd be safe out here in the middle of nowhere at eight in the morning. He was already regretting this decision. He had a laptop back there. Without wifi itd be useless. Maybe this was a sign to go back to a simpler time.
And speaking of signs, the place wasn't even open. A 'Sorry We're Closed' sign greeting him. There was a door bell next to the door frame, and he pressed his thumb to it. He heard the zzzzzzz of an alarm reverberate beyond the door way. They probably werent even up yet.
It was a job, something he didn't have for the past three months. Graduating college didn't guarantee anything along the rust belt. He thought about computer store, pharmacy, applying as a shift supervisor somewhere, but either he could never get the credit for the loans for a starter, or the places were soul crushing bits of corporate run off. He'd barely get enough to live even if he slaved away for a couple hours. It was moments like this he wished he'd been an engineer, or IT. Too late now. Atleast the place was a shop and atleast he could run it his way. He didn't expect anything more than a tacky tourist shop but what else was he to do. It might be his big chance.
Even on the highway, one could tell just how far it was from civilization. The exit was coming up, and it wasn't even for a town. The entire off ramp was dedicated to a single sign giving the parks name, but nothing else. No camping grounds, no hiking or fishing spots. That didn't bode well. His truck hugged the curve as he looked out over the acres of farmland designed for dairy cows. It meant that there must have been a town somewhere, it might be miles, but atleast he had that.
His road crossed several intersections, the flatness of the plane gave way to the rising bit of tree and hill. It loomed over him like a tidal wave that only got bigger and bigger as he approached. He caught it just as the sun passed behind some clouds, giving the whole bit of trees a sinister look, like an endless row of teeth from some giant monster. He shoke his head, his imagination running away with him like it usually did, even at his age.
A lonely bumpy road was next, probably doing a number on his tires, but the parking lot was a nice change to the lonely road. He wondered how many people would actually come out this far. Hikers, campers. He could only guess. He stepped out of his truck and approached with a letter in hand.
Hey Kiddo
Heard you were in a bind. Big city life aint all it's cracked up to be? If you're willing to start in a place a little quieter I think I know just the place for you to start. Every pin stripped big brass CEO had to start somewhere. Why don't you look over the place for me? You might even have some fun.
Your Uncle
Hemem
PS: Watch where you step
And there there was the address to this old rickety shack of a store. He knew it. It was just going to be knick-knacks, tribal trinkets, dream catchers, and wooden carving. All the usual bullshit that his mom detested. Selling their culture, there history, to be pocketed away forever in the box of someones basment or to atleast be put on display on some grandma's mantle, given by a kid who didn't know what else to get. Thats what the great native American people were now, souvenirs.
He read the sign over it. "Goldelocks?" He said aloud before his face twisted in a frown. "Wheres the three bears?" He approached, a bag thrown over his shoulder. He'd go back to get the rest of his stuff later. They'd be safe out here in the middle of nowhere at eight in the morning. He was already regretting this decision. He had a laptop back there. Without wifi itd be useless. Maybe this was a sign to go back to a simpler time.
And speaking of signs, the place wasn't even open. A 'Sorry We're Closed' sign greeting him. There was a door bell next to the door frame, and he pressed his thumb to it. He heard the zzzzzzz of an alarm reverberate beyond the door way. They probably werent even up yet.
There's no such thing as faeries.
...didn't drop dead just now.
Malcolm's mock anticipation was met by an audience unprepared for his barrage of sarcasm, it only made the troll wiggle his toe-claws a bit to make sure there was nothing squishy in between them.
"...Tinkerbell doesn't exist."
"I thought I got to be the grumpy one." Hunts replied, putting back on the tough exterior and wiping any remnants of worry clean off his face. Though when he did look at Malcolm a second time, it was hard not to notice how rough a night he had. The cold sniffing, the panda eyes and the bloodshot scelera that framed his shrunken green irises ...all signs of insomnia or something worse.
"Mmaaaaaaaybe you should let Angela handle the new guy and you -get- some rest," Hunts lumbered over to the small netted bags that laid by the stairs, looking at them and thinking for a moment. "I'm just sayin', if you greet the new guy like that - you'll probably scare him off."
"I can handle the nizzies meanwhile." The troll did not hesitate in showing his enthusiasm and he began rolling the nets neatly in a coil around his thumb like he had seen the ranger do on a few occassions, albeit on her forearm.
GM
eclecticwitch The Effervescent
Member
Seen
4 yrs ago
Baldwin slowly raised one of his giant stone hands and offered a wave back to the troll. There was a quiet rumble of rocks sliding together which may have been something like speech but no one could tell what it was the golem said. Angela turned, placing a hand on her hip. A delay. She frowned, as she spoke. "Morning Hunts. No, I don't think so. Not the sort of thing Malcolm likes to do anyway." She was about to start walking toward the forests again when, as if summoned by his name, Malcolm appeared.
Poor thing looked ragged. She wished he would take a bit better care of himself. His human body couldn't handle a lifestyle such as his forever. She inclined her head toward him as he thanked her. It was nothing the literal least she could do. Well, she supposed she could not have made coffee but... Her musings were cut short by the troll and the ex-fairy beginning to bicker like children. It was too early in the day to start this shit.
She rubbed a hand over her face. She had forgotten about the new arrival. She had not much thought about it since the last shopkeep left. Angela decided perhaps she would allow Hunts to do the de-ticking. She loathed it anyhow. "Do you think you can handle it? Nixies are awful crafty and violent. They don't like behind held and they sure make a fuss when you take the ticks off." She looked over the frame of the large troll and finally sighed. "Alright. Baldwin, go with him and make sure he doesn't hurt himself." She removed the bag from her shoulder. In it carried supplies for removing the ticks and healing supplies for those badly infested. She handed it over to Hunts. Baldwin seemed hesitant to go with the troll but did not put up any fuss.
Angela then turned to Malcolm, "We'll go greet this guy together I guess. We should probably open the shop anyway. Come along." She removed the keys from her belt and approached a large shed near the edge of the property. Within it was her trusty ATV. She quickly hooked up the wagon so Malcolm could ride in it if he chose. With out a second look back she started up the vehicle and sped away down the tree lined path.
As she approached the store she noted a pick-up truck in the lot. She could only just make out the tail end of it as she rounded the building. She stopped quickly and hopped down from the ATV. The truck was a bit old but she sensed that it was well loved. It probably worked very hard for its owner. She moved around the truck and there, at the front door, was a tall native man. Was this the guy? She approached him, raising a hand. "Hey. Who the fuck are you?" He might be the new guy. He might be some psycho. Though the land was supposed to keep those sorts away. She was naturally distrustful of anyone who chose to be out in public this early in the day. "We're not open yet." She crossed her arms over her chest and took a subtly aggressive stance, ready to punch the guy out if he tried anything.
Poor thing looked ragged. She wished he would take a bit better care of himself. His human body couldn't handle a lifestyle such as his forever. She inclined her head toward him as he thanked her. It was nothing the literal least she could do. Well, she supposed she could not have made coffee but... Her musings were cut short by the troll and the ex-fairy beginning to bicker like children. It was too early in the day to start this shit.
She rubbed a hand over her face. She had forgotten about the new arrival. She had not much thought about it since the last shopkeep left. Angela decided perhaps she would allow Hunts to do the de-ticking. She loathed it anyhow. "Do you think you can handle it? Nixies are awful crafty and violent. They don't like behind held and they sure make a fuss when you take the ticks off." She looked over the frame of the large troll and finally sighed. "Alright. Baldwin, go with him and make sure he doesn't hurt himself." She removed the bag from her shoulder. In it carried supplies for removing the ticks and healing supplies for those badly infested. She handed it over to Hunts. Baldwin seemed hesitant to go with the troll but did not put up any fuss.
Angela then turned to Malcolm, "We'll go greet this guy together I guess. We should probably open the shop anyway. Come along." She removed the keys from her belt and approached a large shed near the edge of the property. Within it was her trusty ATV. She quickly hooked up the wagon so Malcolm could ride in it if he chose. With out a second look back she started up the vehicle and sped away down the tree lined path.
As she approached the store she noted a pick-up truck in the lot. She could only just make out the tail end of it as she rounded the building. She stopped quickly and hopped down from the ATV. The truck was a bit old but she sensed that it was well loved. It probably worked very hard for its owner. She moved around the truck and there, at the front door, was a tall native man. Was this the guy? She approached him, raising a hand. "Hey. Who the fuck are you?" He might be the new guy. He might be some psycho. Though the land was supposed to keep those sorts away. She was naturally distrustful of anyone who chose to be out in public this early in the day. "We're not open yet." She crossed her arms over her chest and took a subtly aggressive stance, ready to punch the guy out if he tried anything.
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