08-18-05 2
Characters involved: Keita & Ren.
Western Shore
Her sandals off and held in paw, Keita is wading in the shallow waters closest to the shore. A fishing pole is held in her paws and she's moving nary a muscle. After all, wouldn't want to disturb the fishies.
And absolutely disregarding the concept of "polite", Ren strides along quickly along the stretch of shore towards Keita, her paws stirring the tide as it gives itself to the sandy beach and takes itself back again. Indeed, her eyes are trained on the hare, so she's quite aware that a beast is fishing up ahead. Yet she doesn't appear to particularly care.
So focused on the tip of her fishing pole is she, Keita fails to even register Ren's presence. However, she /thinks/ that she sees the fishing pole jerk and thus jerks it back over her shoulder, to try and hook whatever might be there. She quickly starts reeling, but at the lack of resistance, she knows there's nothing on the other end. With a sigh, the reeling is slowed and she kicks up some water with a footpaw. "Damn."
With a smirk, Ren thinks bitterly to herself, /let the woodlander starve/. She'd once gone three weeks without much more than grass and insects for nourishment herself, let alone fish. Without pause or even hesitence, she continues to stride towards the woodlander, her paws falling more and more heavily with purpose. Her claws extended, are thrust into the sand as daggers into the chest of a beast, and her eyes are sharp as if to be plunged into Keita's flesh from afar.
The sound of approaching footfalls can do little but catch Keita's attention. She is in the middle of casting and so when she turns to look at Ren the pole is extended up over her shoulder, the fishing line dangling down behind her. "Why hullo there." Her grin does not falter under the weasel's sharp glare.
Perhaps even more than before, Ren feels bitterness boil up within. That grin-- that smug, self-righteous expression she'd seen on many woodlander's faces before claimed to be /happiness/. Happiness is non-existent. No, that grin could only mean one thing: they all thought they were better than vermin because they wore the mask that vermin had rejected from the very start. Without much more than a grunt, she sucks up all the flem from the depths of her digestive track, collects it upon her tongue, and then propels it forward at Keita's feetpaws.
Keita blinks as the spit lands unceremoniously at her feet, and whilst still staring at Ren - as if the weasel has grown a second head - she lowers her fishing pole and finally sets it down upon the ground. "Uh... yeah. Well, now that ya've got all that spit outta yer mouth, you'll be able t' talk propah-like. So that's good, righ'?"
Faltering, Ren comes to a sudden stop just a few paws-steps past the hare. /Of all the bloody nerve/. This wasn't just any woodlander she had the distinct /pleasure/ of coming across, no. /This/ one thought so much of herself that she felt the need to be /smart/. Turning slowly, a menacing scowl creeping across her muzzle, she narrows her beady brown eyes. "An' maybe if ya shut up yer smart mouth now ya won' 'ave that there pole crammed up yer arse." She straightens her back with some effort, an attempt at menacing stature, and grimaces ever so slightly at the pain in her one bad shoulder.
Keita gives Ren a long, odd look. "Well, I don't know if'n the whole pole'd fit up there, but... I mean, I s'pose yer welcome t' try." Ren's grimace doesn't go unnoticed, but rather than comment on it, Keita files the information away for... later use.
"Ya seem to think I won'. Truth told, I'd be happy to! But I don' wan' disgrace the pole with the likes of yer filth, woodlander." Ren just about spits the word "woodlander" as if it were the cruelest of insults, practically poison upon her tongue. Her paw-- the one opposite her hunched shoulder-- moves instinctively to her side, resting on her dagger for insurance, should she find need of it. Yet she doesn't register the woodlander as much of a threat, at this point.
"Well... yer certainly right about the filth bit. 'Tis simply awful, really. I ought t' bathe more often, 'm sure." The doe drops a wink, apparently still unphased. However, Ren's move towards her dagger gives her pause, and she flickers a glance towards it. "Plannin' t' pick yer teeth?"
"Ya could bathe every mornin' fer all I cared and still be filth." With a flick of her paw, Ren flips the dagger forward and slices it through the air for effect, the bright sun in the sky catching and gleaming across the length of the blade. "No, 'course not. But if ya keep up with yer talk, I might pick yer tongue out with it so ya ne'er talk again."
Keita watches this show of dagger play and then, quite promptly, she smirks. "... Are ya tryin' t' scare me? I mean, I /think/ that's what yer doin'. I jus'," her mirth grows, and she shakes her head, "I don't quite want t' believe yer that bad at it. I like t' think the best o' folks, ya see." She nods, amiably, though she lowers her own paw, hooking her thumb on her belt - quite close to her own dagger. Just in case.
"Ah, I don' scare ya. Good. Tha' way when yer blood is spilling, y'll regret ya didn't think more o' me in the firs' place. Spilled blood and regret go so /nice/ t'gether." Ren would like nothing more than to permanently silence her new "friend", but... "Lucky y'are, woodlander filth. I 'ave m'self someplace to be an' I can' be affordin' to give m' time to ya just now." She waves her dagger as a paw waves a goodbye, and actually /smiles/, though a smile of absolute condescension. She turns expertly on strong legs, despite the hunch in her shoulder, and quickly bolts away as if completely unconcerned about the hare left behind her.
