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Author Topic: Duck Hunt, Drunk Hunt  (Read 1673 times)

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Offline Lion

Duck Hunt, Drunk Hunt
« on: November 07, 2017, 12:41:19 am »

“Come on darlin’. I promise I'll treat you real good if you start right up for me.” Oklahoma pleaded as he held the clutch and turned the key. The faint, weakened, whir-whir was disheartening, making his stomach clench, grow cold as he finally stopped, sighing deep and burying his head in his hands. It wasn't like he didn't know how to take care of his bike, and the old girl was getting on in years. So what if just about everything on it had been replaced.

So what if it was rusty and the leather seat was in stitches, and the gas tank had been replaced a number of times. The toolkit he’d carried with him in his saddle bags had been worn down almost to the nubs and that useless wrench wasn’t going to do him any good anymore. Poor old girl.

It sounded a little like the battery needed replacing or a good jump. He knew a place where he could get a decent charge on it, clean off the caps and restart it. The convenience of magitech was a little harder to come by out here in the frontier, and it was a luxury that sometimes he found he missed, but the more he learned to get by on practical solutions, the less attached he became.

But shit it sure was nice to be able to turn on a phone and just have everything available to you right then and there.

Like running water, hot food, a warm bed. Gods how he missed a real bed. Sleeping bags and cots and just what grass he could cover himself up with just weren’t the same thing. Oklahoma knew what he was getting into when he came out here. Knew everything he’d been signing away. And the years tended to blend together, disillusioned, empty. Blank.

Out here, you never could know what to expect. For now, a quiet night in the miles and miles between towns called for a swig of whiskey and a smoke, that he’d rolled up quietly. The antennas from any magitech beacons within the nearest town were vague at best. Nothing strong, not like in the city. Any links up to any public chat were getting more and more finicky and as the conversations scrolled on and on, the harder it became to ignore the emptiness in his gut.

He needed food.  Anooother shot. A tilt of the flask and down the hatch it went. Nice. What was he thinking? Walking away from all of what he had in the city? What was out here worth gaining? He went from town to town, traded, bartered, earned what little money he could only to repeat the process yet again. What was out here?  Back in Tynova he had a job, a place to sleep, people that called him friend. But mistakes were made, and Jensen was gone. There was nothing for him there anymore.

Oklahoma frowned and scrolled up on the chat, his eyes blanking out. Live a life worth living. Get going while the going was worth getting.

He didn’t have the answers, but maybe he’d find them some day. Maybe help someone else find theirs. Oklahoma took one final drag on his smoke and his head was swimming a little from the whiskey. He resealed the flask and stuck it in his duster, placing the hat back on his head as he put that old dusty phone away and disconnected from the chat and got up from where he’d been resting against his bike.

“Gonna go hunting,” he whispered to himself, the sky already painted purple, dark and nearby he’d scouted a nearby pond where some water fowl were swimming across it. Rolling his bike into a rocky alcove, he’d make the rest of the journey on foot with his rifle in hand and a small pack across his back, his black hair firmly on his head.  Not that he needed to shield his eyes. The moon lit enough on the ground to reveal the path before him, and going on foot would provide the silence he needed.

Oklahoma loaded a bullet into the chamber, locking the lever back. He only needed one. Just one bird to defeather, and already he could roast it. He wasn’t unfamiliar with hunting, even having grown up in the city, and basic survival skills were a development by force.  Dinner was on it’s way.

Oklahoma ducked low when he made it to the pond and he could see a bird not far from the opposite edge. A set of reeds in front of him covered his position and slowly he slunk himself further and further into the waters, letting his body sink in along the mud on the embankment, and he raised the sights on his gun. The barrel was part way out of the reeds and he held his breath, aiming for the bird that was dead set on returning to it’s place in the reeds on the other side.

Critters chirped quietly and he thus far had disturbed nothing more than the faint rippling surface of that pond. The animal was so close to crossing his sights. Close enough and suddenly something on the other side rustled into those reeds, disturbing the water with a loud splash and spooking the birds on the other side of that pond. The birds ruffled their feathers, and all rushed off in a flock, at least 10 of them, and in that flustering moment, he neglected to take a shot.

A hard blink and he tried to keep his vision from doubling,shaking his head firmly. A deeper frown set in and he could already feel water slipping into his boots. Goddammit. All he wanted was some goddamn food. What the hell!

What the shit, he thought, and held his breath again, although his heart was already hammering inside his chest.  He watched and waited, trying to see through the blanket of reeds for whatever disturbed the water on the other side.
« Last Edit: November 08, 2017, 11:33:46 am by Lion »

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Re: Duck Hunt, Drunk Hunt
« Reply #1 on: November 07, 2017, 09:54:56 pm »
Today had been a day like any other; it started with sunbathing as usual, working on the upkeep of his stock of herbs, tending to the small garden of essentials he maintained, leaving piles of dirt under the sheets of Cayenne's bed because honestly that was one of Hack's favorite tricks, so on and so forth.

And as the sun started to sink into the horizon he continued to do what he normally did, stripping down to nothing as he slipped off into the sands to go hunt. Lizards didn't wear clothes, and he was a lizard--so neither should he, really. They made it harder to stalk prey, made it harder to listen. Got caught on things. It wasn't like he needed any protection--his scaly skin was pretty tough and he barely felt the small rocks under his hands and feet as he explored the frontier in search of some good game to take down and bring back home. Gotta feed the family, and all that.

Not that they couldn't feed themselves, he knew that all too well. But he always hunted, considering he was a strict carnivore--might as well make the most of his trips while he was out and bring back fresh meat. It was just the way things fell after he joined the Pepper gang as their one and only doctor; it was in his blood so might as well make use of it.

As he wandered farther and farther away from the ship the last rays of sunlight disappeared, no longer hiding the moon from the sky as night fell and Hack skittered through the sands. He'd found a pond a while ago, what was it... Northeast? Yeah. Might as well go check that out; it was just the time of year where there might be birds there and as much as he didn't like birds (de-feathering them was hell in a hand basket) they were still good. Tasted good. Might make the gang happy to have something other than snakes and rabbits for dinner.

Ah, there it was! He knelt on a rocky outcropping, movement catching his eye some distance away, but the pond was still far enough that he couldn't make out any specific details. Must be an animal with the same idea he had--no matter. He slunk down the rocks, the grayish tone of his skin helping him blend in in the moonlight as he slowly sank into the reeds, debating between birds, or the few small fish he noticed swimming around his hands where they sank into the mud as the water came up to his belly until he lowered himself in all the way until only his head from the nostrils up peered out of the water.

He heard the sound of a different heartbeat, human, he thought, and the sound of rustling on the other side of the pond. But it was still far enough away he couldn't see. Still, he waited, figuring whoever got the game first got it. They'd settle any scores after the fact, because he knew damn well that whoever it was couldn't see him.

It felt like an eternity as he waited there, the water dropping his body temperature a degree or two as fish brushed against his limbs. He watched, waited, listened, and then...

SPLASH!

He darted into the water to get a particularly decent-sized bass that swam in front of him, sinking his teeth into fish scales and shaking his head under the water viciously, tasting blood and his own venom. As he pulled out of the water, standing on his feet with only everything below his hips under the water, he opened an eye to watch the flock of birds taking off into the sky--

And then he heard the gunshot, droplets of water still raining down from his resurfacing, giving him no time to react.

Offline Lion

Re: Duck Hunt, Drunk Hunt
« Reply #2 on: November 08, 2017, 12:09:34 pm »
The only other thing that could have disburbed that quiet other than the sound of that massive splash on the other side was the growling of Oklahoma's stomach. No, he hadn't eaten all day, maybe even earlier yesterday and downing nearly a whole bottle of whiskey probably wasn't the best idea. But it helped him think. And the little tune that had come to his mind was one his mother used to play him as a sweet pea.

Old memores best left forgotten and when Oklahoma fired that rifle he didn't think. Somewhere in his mind he wasn't crouched down below reed level in that pond anymore, and it was dark and he'd fired, and the only thing igniting that darkness was the ephemeral flash of that rifle. And the pop of the bullet hitting flesh.

Oklahoma remained crouched low in the reeds and from his vantage point, he could see something standing - no someone up in the water and with the water raining down from them. The moonlight made that clear enough and Oklahoma realized then his mistake, his eyes turning to saucers from the thought.  Had he just shot someone without meaning to? Fuckfuckfuck!

He was drunk, but he didn't think he was that drunk! He wasn't prone to itchy trigger fingers, or so he thought. 

But he couldn't tell in that fraction of a second if the personthing he'd just fired at had even been hit with a fatal wound. And if they had been, if that would even mean they'd come to do him any harm to begin with. Years out here on the frontier meant it was everybody for themselves. Trust was a hard commodity, and even harder sell among complete strangers.

By instinct his hand reacted and pulled the lever forward then back, clicking another cartridge into place and keeping steady aim on that figure, feeling his heartbeat throbbing in his ears, every second lasting an eternity.

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Re: Duck Hunt, Drunk Hunt
« Reply #3 on: November 13, 2017, 06:44:04 pm »
When it hit it jerked his shoulder back, knocking his balance as his brain registered the pain that coursed through his veins, radiating outward from the bullet now lodged in his flesh. It was a sharp, dagger-like pain that also ached as it rattled the muscles still trying to move around it. He fell back after losing his footing, the splash ringing in his ears for a split second before the din of the water around him muffled it and soothed him, a moment of respite for his brain to process everything.

It wasn't like this was Hack's first time getting shot; he had the scars on his body to prove it. But it'd definitely been a while, and he sure as shit wasn't used to getting shot while he was buck-ass naked.

At some point he'd dropped the fish in his mouth, and he'd completely forgotten about it by now; he could taste his own blood in the murk and quickly came to terms with the fact that he'd been injured; trying to move his arm as little as possible, he struggled to pull himself from the waters, gasping hard for air when he broke the surface again.

He concentrated his efforts on dragging himself out of the pond instead, flopping onto the land as he rolled awkwardly to try and take a look at the wound to assess the damage, because that was his first priority--second would be making sure the asshole who shot him wasn't still there and ready to finish the job.

With his free hand on his wound to try and cover up the blood he rolled to his feet with a grunt, knees bent and tail lashing as he waited inevitably for the person to show themselves so they could hopefully talk this out.

"Any particular reason why you shot me?!" He snarled out into the open, before a scent carried on a breeze directed him to turn his head so he was looking right in Oklahoma's direction, nostrils flaring. He took a step closer, standing at the edge of the pond.

"I ain't lookin fer trouble!" He held his hands up in surrender. the wounded arm sitting obviously lower; "Just fishin is all." Because if he was any kind of sane, rational person, that might get his attention and keep him from going too trigger happy again.

Offline Lion

Re: Duck Hunt, Drunk Hunt
« Reply #4 on: November 14, 2017, 12:12:13 am »
The echo of that shot still rang in his ears.

Oklahoma held his breath and when he saw the thing on the other side moving his stomach lurched, mainly because it was dark and he could only really see that it's shape was humanoid. And the bullet had struck them. Oklahoma never missed, not when it counted. But when the bullet that hadn't been meant for another was digging deep and grinding hard into the bone, it made his stomach grow momentarily cold.

But they weren't dead, as far as he could tell.  And that alleviated so much more than he could say.

Oklahoma didn't move, not even after they spoke. Showing themselves - he - showing himself in the open like that wasn't quite a smart thing to do. Had this been any other time, with any other target, it would have been an easy shot. The bullet was already loaded, but no fiber was intent on pulling that trigger. Not for a killing stroke.

He stood up, very slowly, the water dragging down the duster around his shoulders and Oklahoma held his rifle at chest height, barrel held downward. Asking that inevitable question was rather moot now wasn't it?  Clearly the other guy wasn't okay.

"Fishing? Huh? You scared the goddamn waterfowl away," he replied, unable to curb the grumpiness from his voice, but he began to wade across that pond, finding the sections between them to be only deep enough to pass across his hips. Oklahoma held his own hands up, the rifle up in the air and he carefully maneuvered the strap around his shoulders, securing it there.

"I didn't mean to shoot you. I was hunting," he keeping his hands up and getting close enough to get a better look at that whoa. "Damn you're a big fucker ain't you? Shit man." Holy shit. Well, it was more of a surprise than real shock. He'd never seen a lizard guy like this one before, and the awe was present but not overwhelming. They were more or less the same size and stature.

His brows furrowed together and he kept his hands up and away from that gun all the while wading over to the other side and shrugging out of his jacket, minding the gun. 

"Mind if I take a look at it?" he asked, gesturing to the arm he was clearly favoring. Oklahoma kept his gaze level, aquamarine blue eyes keeping steady to this scaly stranger.

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Re: Duck Hunt, Drunk Hunt
« Reply #5 on: November 15, 2017, 02:12:15 am »
With his wits about him and all of his focus honed in on the person with the gun no, perhaps to an average person standing up and showing yourself with your hands up in surrender was a stupid move, but to Hack it didn't matter much--he'd hear the sound of the finger touching the trigger before the bullet flew from the barrel and could easily dodge in kind. It would've been more than easy; he knew from listening and scent alone that this man was by himself, and any other immediate threats, aka the birds, had fled the scene. Made it all too easy to hone in all skills on one enemy, here.

But that being said, it seemed neither of them were in this looking for a fight, and that was the important part. Hack eased up just a bit, but the tenseness never left his broad shoulders as he waited patiently for the man to wade through the pond, stirring fish and amphibians as he went. Hack could feel the blood trickling down his arm. It itched.

He watched him carefully, moving his head to follow the man's motions instead of his eyes, like a true lizard. His forked tongue flickered out briefly, escaping him to taste the air. This guy definitely did not smell like roses, that was for damn sure.

"Hunting the birds?" Hack clarified, tilting his head a bit curiously at the man, not unlike a big scaly dog. "Well, I might be able to make that up to you if you're nice enough."

Still, the guy called him a big fucker and Hack raised a single eyebrow at him, hands twitching where he held them in the air, wounded arm slowly falling to his side as the other guy spoke and he came to terms with the fact that he was probably not in any kind of danger.

He glanced down to the wound in his arm before looking back at said stranger, thinking on it for a moment before he nodded and tentatively stepped forward, holding his hands up again. The only thing on his person however was as clear as day--a band strapped around his right forearm that had a sleeve sewn on where his phone was stuck inside. That was all.

"If you can help me do a quick'n'dirty patch-up job then I can make it back home where I can take a better look at it," He said, doing well to keep his voice level as well. "And to make up for that wasted bullet, I can fish for the both of us. I ain't goin' back home tonight, obviously."

He wasn't going to push himself with a bullet wound in his shoulder and no medicines on his person to immediately care for it the way he should. He'd need to take things slowly and carefully, at least for the rest of tonight.

"Just help me get the bullet out?" He asked, finding a few rocks nearby and sitting on the one closest to the ground so Oklahoma could sit on one higher up and get a better view of the injury on his shoulder as Hack tilted his head to the side to expose it better, pale olive-gray skin bathed in moonlight.

Boy the gang sure as hell wasn't gonna be happy about this one.

Offline Lion

Re: Duck Hunt, Drunk Hunt
« Reply #6 on: January 16, 2018, 12:08:17 am »
A wasted bullet was one thing. That was easily replaceable and despite his fight or flight instincts, Oklahoma had no intention of killing anything that didn't end up in a meal tonight. His rifle was useful, but he'd been drinking and it wasn't like he'd had a full stomach. In fact the growling his gut was making made him look at the big lizard guy and wonder if there were smaller versions of him that he could potentially roast over a fire.

He wasn't going to argue if there was real food that could be better obtained. And if this thing was going to hunt for him just for a little bit of first aid, then he wasn't going to argue that either. Clearly he was better for hunting things at night than Oklahoma was. A faint flush took his face, and Oklahoma frowned as a stray thought caught him. Ten years ago, he could have nailed a bullet between this lizard's eyes from a quarter mile away with a rifle in pitch black night.

Was his skill just that shit, or did he have too much whiskey? Deep down he knew the answer and he let out a slow deep breath. Just get the bullet it out, patch the wound and get free fish. He could do that. Oklahoma didn't show it but he was chilly with his coat and pants and basically everything he was wearing now waterlogged.

As they meandered closer to a few rocks, Oklahoma did just that and after standing up on the rocks, he carefully pressed his hands around the lizard man's back. "Name's Oklahoma," he offered, not that he cared what the lizard guy thought of his name, or if he cared to know it. But it was fair trade to at least have a name to a face of someone who shot you. Just in case the guy needed to have that acknowledgement.

"Sorry again," he murmured, and carefully removed his rifle and jacket, settling it down on the ground, resting it against the crook of a rock. He was still chilly and he was probably going to freeze making it back to his bike. Still.  He didn't speak as he gathered things around, tried scraps and piled the around the center of where they were doing the patch up job and he made a small spark with a lighter he'd had in his coat. The outside of it kept the water out, hermetically sealed so that when he ignited the small flame, he encouraged it to grow with more branches and twigs and kept the cool ground from dousing it.

In the lighting he could get a better look at the stranger he wounded and the state of the wound. No night vision for him, Oklahoma took a sobering breath and moved around the supplies he'd carried on him. He took off his shirt and rang out the water from it, splashing it off to the side, away from the fire and using the back side of it to wipe away the blood that did run down his shoulder.

"So what's your name?" he asked idly. Again, just making conversation and not bothering to make a point of pressing for information he didn't need to know. Oklahoma took his knife from his belt, and held it over the fire, heating up the blade until it was just too hot too hold and when he was satisfied no infection would come from it, he offered the shirt for him to bite. Or not. He seemed like a resilient fellow.

The bullet itself was deeply lodged. It wouldn't be an easy pry and his fingers most likely weren't going to dig themselves into the hole in his shoulder.  He was quick about it, the heated blade just cool enough to lend to the cutting work and opening up the wound just a little bit more, and when he saw the bullet, he carefully dislodged the object and let it clunk uselessly into the dirt, the firelight catching the blood and small bits of metal visible through it.

Oklahoma took his shirt and promptly cut it up into long strips. He didn't need it. He could get more shirts elsewhere. Somewhere. Probably off a dead cur somewhere. Nothing he couldn't scrub clean in a river or a town with better cleaning services. "You wander around these parts a lot? I guess you know better fishing holes than I do. I promise I'm not always such a lousy shot. Not that I proved that much at all right now," he sighed, disappointed in himself, and when the shirt was ripped enough he wrapped and knotted it around Hack's shoulder, from the wound around his torso to his other side and made a knot that he tucked in on itself so that it was more comfortable.

 

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