An Odd Couple 1

Angus, Stubb, Amos, Peg (Tundutwaa), Harv (Stubb)

Location: Foxglove Hollow

Efforts to locate the entry to the shadowy kidnapper's lair have thus far yielded nothing. The sun has reached its mid-day radiance, causing ice accumulations on the forest branches to thaw; droplets of water plop, creating divots in the snow. Irritated, head in his hand, Angus is planted on a tumbled stone slab. "What yew think, mates? I'm runnin' short on ideas here." He rolls a glance to the cat and the weasel.

"Me, oi don' fink oi'm up fer much more pokin' abou'." Stubb is slumped nearby with a paw draped over his crimson midriff. "For oi move anuvver paw, oi need a stiff drink, a baff, an a healer. Don' reckon we'll be ge'tin' any a dose in short orda, though." Despite his word, he drags his foot through the soiled snow. "A clear moind 'll help us foind 'em. Oi can barely hear me own foughts frew dis pain."

Amos leans on his makeshift staff, shakes his head at the lizard and hisses, "I'm col' and full of holes now ain't I, no I ain't got an idea, " He hangs his head, sighing.

Angus, kneading his brow ridge with a thumb and forefinger, nods. "Aye--ain't good th' words t'agree with ye' more, mate," he tells the weasel, and then detaches the hand from his face. The lizard tilts his scaly head at the cat. "All though, if we ain't yet found two dogs and a hare within this lil' clearin', toads only know how we're 'spose t'find shelter an' such. I'd rather not seek th' tree rats' services. "

"Sorry mates, you're right ain't the time to be losing our wits, " Amos sighs, still leaning on his staff uselessly, and looking to the weasel who doesn't look much better.

The dead brush to the small party's right rustles, and something in its tangled mass snaps. Suddenly, the rustling stops, and there is whispering. "No, I diden' do it, shhh you did!"

Stubb's serious nod is ruptured by a burst of air from an involuntary chortle. "Whoi all tha talk abou' toads, mae? Yer roight, a course..." He looks over at the rustle in the brush. "More a dem fluffly bumpkins wif deir silly ole tails again, oi expec'. Don' know whoi we even followed them about in tha first place."

The rustle is repeated with greater force than before, coupled with a higher-pitched reproach. "Ah dun no such thing! Twere all yew, ya prickly bastard!"

Amos grins at Stubb but the racket of noise catches his attention naturally, he sighs and wants for a weapon, "Curses, what is it now?"

Angus deadpans as the ruckus stirs in the brush. He does not attempt to investigate; instead, the lizard cocks his head back. He silently mouths, "What now?" to the heavens above, and then tips forward to address the wildcat. "This must be one a'the most populated legs of *any* forest I've ever had the misfortune of becomin' lost within."

"Ay, that be tha toads' own truf," Stubb says with mischievous humor. "Couple a armies goin abou'. Bats an falcons flappin'. An a fox nobeast can' seem ta foind. Mus' be a charmed place a sorts."

Amos laughs, though looking somewhat uneasily around him, "Yes, lovely... proper ol' traveling location, must drop by here again sometime."

Stubb calls to the bush: "Ain' much use in concealin' yerselves, puff-tails. You've a'ready raised 'ell wif your pokin' about over dere!"

Stubb grabs a rock at tosses at toward the shrub.

"Look ah they', ya big twig-snappin' sack o' needles, thar all beaten oop, and don't you think I'm gonna... no I'm no' gonna shutup, you - get /out/ /thar/!" Suddenly, the whole thicket seems to cough up a hairball and out it tumbles, right at the feet of the others. "Oy!!! Ow! Yer daddy spoiled you - it's too bad I were good enough' for such a brat like yew!" He looks at them, "Er. Hullo." He wears a very dense wool smock and burlap pants, and twigs all in his spikes from being in the bush.

Angus flickers a faint smirk at the mention of omnipotent toads. He then flits his tongue and flops to his back, good hand wrapped over the maimed--both propped on his belly. Eyes roll to the creature ejected from the bush, but the lizard does not otherwise acknowledge it.

Amos looks eagerly towards where the rock is thrown, staring puzzled at the new arrival, "Ah, just a nutter then eh?"

A voice cries in answer, "I ne'er said ye' war good eno', you kin blame him far that too..." In a more mumbled tone, "Great witless pincushion!" She steps out after, "Sorry la's, he's a bit o' a sissy, he is. Thou' it twere th'fox again, till we saws ya! And we ain't, neithar!" She looks daggers at Amos.

Stubb watches in bewilderment as the leaves give birth to two new faces, crowned with spikes and ornery as the day is long. "What in tha bloody..."

With an irked grunt, Angus rolls on his side; back turned to the boisterous bush beasts. "Tell 'em t'get lost or I'll eat 'em," he suggests, scrunching his nose as a clump of snow topples from a limb and plops upon his cheek. The melty clod gradually slides off, but Angus does nothing to expedite its journey.

"If I die here, yew'll put flowers on' m'grave, right, mates? the lizard groans to his chums.

With meek delicacy, the humbled spikedog picks the fragments of underbrush from amidst his quills, avoiding eye contact with either the cirlcle of friends or his vociferous spouse.

Amos glares at the beasts, "Begone you sorry lot, ain't got nutin' for ya!" He half turn hobbles to look at his friend Angus, "You, stop with that bloody talk and ain't look very tasty the lot of them anyway!"

Stubb chuckles despite himself. "Oi dunno. Dey can' do us no harm, 'less dey be spois. An as spois, dey ain' much use, given demselves up so easy." He gingerly scooches back so that he can sit up a bit straighter. "You folks live 'ere, or passin' frew?"

As the wildcat approaches, Angus increasingly leans away--shoulder lifted to the side of his head. "Could use 'em fer toothpicks at least, aye?" he cracks, then snorts. "That is, if we had anything t'pick from our teeth."

"Huh!! Yew cun't chew us if yew tried, ya great scaley fork-tongue... snake with legs! We kin help ye', if ye won't be so rude, and in exchange we'll tell ye where th'fox went, so ya can kill 'em fr'us!" The hogmaid, wearing a kitchen apron and bows in her topmost spikes, looks at the wildcat first, "Ooh, nasty arrow woun's, those!"

The hogmale continues to clean himself off. "Don't be lettin' her touch ye. There's biles on 'er tongue and poison oner paws," he mutters, shaking his head.

Angus extends an arm, and uses it to shovel a mound of snow closer to his face. He repeats the action, gradually entombing his head in the crystalline fluff. "Uh huh," the alleged snake with legs mutters. "Y'can help us by gettin' on with yer bad selves somewhere else. Preferably outta' earshot." He winces at the shrill voices, the obnoxious cadence, the despicably adorable tomfoolery of the hedgehog couple.

Amos hisses at the hedgehogs, showing his teeth, "Ya both stay away if ya don't mind, unless ya got something to offer?"

Stubb reaches out and bats at Amos' shin. "Hush wif ya, ma'e. Dey offered 'elp, an oi fink oi fer one 'ave sunk low enough ta take 'elp from the loikes a dese walkin' cactus rats."

Amos scowls and grumbles, "Alright, ain't don't let'm touch me though, especially da lady one."

"Think I'd rather just lie here and die, if it's all the same t'yew, mate," Angus grunts, entirely too proud--even in this pathetic state--to accept help from such spiny halfwits.

The hedgehog wife folds her paws, "Well ain't tha' oironi'- th'on'y 'n 'oo wants 'or help insultsus. Fine bunch o' lads, indeed - Harv', looksee, 'is lot issa perfect bunch o' friends fer ya!" She leans down to Amos, "Well, 'owam I s'pose t'help?"

As "Harv" waddles forward grumpily, a gentle clattering of pans and hollow containers knocking together echoes from behind him. He maneuvers in the direction of the supine saurian sad-sack. Glimpses appear, behind the fringe of his spikey mantle, of various items fastened to his quills. "Oh, and have a look o'er here, Peg! Now we know where ye got yer scaley rump. Yer mother must have been a snake wit' legs!" He chuckles, mumbling. "Sounds about right."

Amos hobbles closer to the lizard, scowling and moving to kick the lizard, "No, Stubbly's right, ain't in any shape ta be refusing any help no matter how nut they are, " He sighs, shaking his head and glaring at both headgehogs, "Fine, ya help me and my friends, " Slowly losing his grip on the staff before falling backward into the snow.

Angus, meanwhile, continues to inter himself in snow. His claws scrape down to the frozen earth beneath, quickening as Harv comes near. "If they can't see me, they'll go away, aye?" he hollers to Amos and Stubb, as he blatantly ignores the hog fellow. "This'n sounds like he's got some sorta' metal parts--perhaps he feel off that ghost ship y'were tellin' me and th' beggar dog about, Stubb?"

Angus hisses as the cat's boot impacts his side. "Watchit', kitteh."

Stubb nods to Amos. "That's tha ticket. Glad you 'aven' lost your wi's, at least. An you, Angus. We'll keep an oiye on tha li'tle devil. Ain' much more 'arm he cou'd do ta you anyhow."

"Peg" hrrummphhs! loudly and turns to Stubb, turning her fanny towards the weasel to ask him, "I dun't have a sca'ey behin', do I? Nonsins! Harv, yar too much sometoimes, I jus'! Oooh!" She balls her fists and paces, "Jus' you wait, husbn' o' mine! I'll coo' ye summi' good when we ge' home, /if/ we ge' home!"

The kick was effective, though. Bolting upright, Angus vacates his partial snow grave. "Don't yew forget, kitteh--y'may have liberated a couple a'digits from me hand, but I kin still lick ye' good." His dark eyes bolt to Stubb. "Yew, too, oh longish one." The lizard hangs his head, and starts to rub at his face with the wrong hand. He cringes; pain shoots to his core, and a smear of blood materializes along his snout. "Toads be damned," he whines, clenching the other hand in a fist. He beats it against the stone beneath him.

Stubb clears his throat. "Er, i' don' look too scaley ta me, er, ma'am. But oi ain' a conna sewer a hedgedog rumpuses."

Angus pries one eye open. "I thought yew was an authority on all things arse-related, Stubbster."

Stubb looks back. "Whoi? Caus' oi rela'ed ta yer muvver's arse?" The couple's bawdy bickering seems to have rubbed off on the lizard and wweasel.

After kicking at the lizard the wildcat having lost his balance and grip on the staff falls towards the snow and stares about looking dazed as he sits there, "Mates, waht'cha bloody talking about arses for?" He blinks, confused as his head swims.

The edgy maid narrows her eyes at Angus and shushes him, "An' yew be quoi', lizzy', so 'at I 'in pu' summi' onat n' toigh' rou' roigh' n' propah'." She says this so fast that it's hard to keep up with all the vowel sounds and attach any sort of context at all to the sparse consonant sounds being emitted. She grabs for the lizard's claw harshly, and, taking a small vile from out of her apron pocket, opens it with her teeth. "Harv', ow's e 'oin ovah thar?"

Harv throws out his paws to grab something from his back. "Peg, make ye'self useful, why don't ye, and fetch me the brandy and a pot." He gestures over his shoulder; they're evidently dangling from his spikes. "I'll get a fire going... Since ye'd make a hash o' it, as always."

"Yew slinky son of a stretched out river rat--" The lizard is airborne before he finishes, lunging to tackle the weasel. However, the hog marm manages to catch his claw in mid-leap, and Angus yowls, twisting to extricate himself from her motherly grip. His other arm graps at Stubb's shirt, aiming to drag the weasel close enough for a proper pummeling.

"I'll giv ya Bran'y, ya brai'less wi'less pushto' o'a bi'en scri'pula' wibi'!" The rest of the utterances out of the maid are completely useless and indecipherable, of course, and she ends with, "Can' y'see oim a doin' summat ovah he'?! Ge't 'self!"

Stubb is dragged down to an awkward slump in the dirty snow. "Oh, loigh'en up," the weasel says, barely succeeding in pulling himself free of the monitor's clutches. "You jes' ain' actin' roigh' taday." Despite his cool words, Stubb is visibly shaken by the violent outburst. He withdraws to a distance of a few paces, still loosely clutching his side.

After a few darkly muttered retorts, Harv deftly swings his back to and fro, then throws out a paw to snag a small flask of brandy from its mooring on a quill. "I can't see a bleeding ting over the great monster, ye addle-pated loon!" Quickly he adds, "Te dragon isn't so bad on tis side. I'll be checking on t'others in a moment."

Repeating the rocking gesture, the hedgeman grabs a pan and waddles to a clear patch, from which he removes a circle of snow and prepares a shallow dip.

Angus growls, his crooked teeth clenched. Seated again, the dragon draws his knees to his chest. The hand is leaking a considerable amount of blood once again, as the prickly wife dislodged what remained of its clots. He grimly unravels the stained cloth, and shoves the limb into a nearby snow pile. "Glorious," the lizard grunts.

Amos eventually lets go of the staff, moving to lay down in the snow and closes his eyes.

Peg finishes up on Angus and steps back to examine her handiwork. After giving a hmph of approval, she goes back to Harv, "Well 'is wee digi's ah dunfer, but 'ey'll heal qui'er wi'em bandaged oop." She looks at him, expecting him to do something, perhaps, give her a compliment on her work? She's desperately underappreciated it seems!

Angus stares blankly at Peg, nose wrinkled in pain and humiliation and wrath.

Angus's bottom lip is jutted out in a pout.

Harv busies himself with making a fire. His work is punctuated by sharp intakes of breath, by complaints uttered for nobeast's ears but his own, by the litany of the senseless slings and arrows of life in old age. A chance glance up aborts his work. "Peg, ye bleedin' rock-f'r-brains, that wildcat's gone and passed out in the snow! Pay attention, will ye?!"

Laying on his side so the arrows sticking out of his shoulder and leg don't further damage him the wildcat lays quietly almost looking as if he were sleeping where he lays in the snow. He moves, mumbling something. Not quiet completely passed out it seems.

Stubb stumbles to Amos' side. "Oy, ca'. Wha's wrong wif ya? Can' you keep yourse'f tha roigh' way up wifou' bovverin' ole Stubby, eh?" He chortles hesitantly. "Oy, tha' looks bloody painfu'." His laughter turns quickly to a grimace.

Amos opens and eye, stares up at the weasel bofore closing it, "Go away, is dying here, " He hisses, "I'm tired... ain't gonna ever find that bloody hare, she owes me a drink that one... always buying drinks for her, " He mumbles.

"Don' speak loike tha'," Stubb sighs. "C'mon. Le's ge' you on your soide, a' least. Tha li'tle cri'ters seem ta know more dan we do, anyways. Oi don' much fancy i', but i' seems dey's our best 'ope. Tha ladyhog'll get you fixed up enough ta walk proper, oi'll wager."

"Oh yew dun't appreshia' nethin'! Gu'ness, ye'r roigh'.. oh!" She runs over to Amos and takes out a bottle of smelling salts and waves it above the nose of the cat, "Sta' wi'us, mae! Oh dea'!" She breaks off all of the ends of the shafts, so the breeze doesn't blow them back and forth, and inspects the wounds, "Harv! We' gun' nee' 'at foir fer 'is, 'e's go' summat'r roigh' dee', 'ey ah!"

Angus mutters a unspeakable, mostly indecipherable, things as he rises to his feet. Tucking the freshly bandaged hand in his jacket, the lizard drifts to the location of the half-finished fire pit. He scrapes at the location with a bare foot, and, shoulders slumped, begins to locate kindling material. The various twigs and brush bits are kicked, rather than carried, to the chosen ditch. An anxious glance is now and again cast at the fussing others, but the dragon is careful to not let them notice.

If he hears Stubb, Amos gives no sign. He just lays there until Peg makes her away over to him, sneezing and trying to push himself up from the snow in an effort to get away from the smelling salts, moving onto his side and breathing rapidly out of breath. Looking confused he says nothing, nor does he seem to put up a fight to her tendings, just pretty much too exhausted and broken at the moment.

Stubb stands back to let the little dervish do her work. "Er... Shou'd we 'elp 'im up... Peg?"

The hogmaid looks wide-eyed at the cat, nervous as she performs surgery... she takes two of her quills, freshly-plucked, and some thread, and says to the cat in a reassuring tone, "New, oim jus' gunn' pluh' sem o' these roigh' ou', n'-- No!" She turns to Stubb, "Le'em res' he', whoile I ficks'm propah..." She decides which to pull out and pulls them out, pouring the same vile she did for Angus on those wounds, and neatly stitching them.

Stubb grits his teeth. "Ay. Whateva you say..."

Amos isn't very aware of what is being said, sounds like gibberish to his ears but he keeps his eyes awake and stares blankly at nothing as he responds to the hogmaid's work. Groaning and moaning, still breathing somewhat quickly and out of breath, "Aye, what'ever all ya say..." The wildcat says confused and exhausted.

Angus stoops to gather a fallen branch. He flings it the short distance to the pit, all though it skids when it hits and ends up off target. This visibly frustrates the dragon, who tries again with a different limb. A glance is cast over his shoulder, of course, to check in on his cronies.

Harv divides his attention between his present work of igniting Angus' damp kindling and keeping an eye on the ministrations his wife is furiously conducting over the twitching cat. "Thank ye, lad." He nods absentmindedly to the hulking helper as he limps by. The hedgehog kneels down with a little bow in his paw and runs it furiously back and forth, spinning a small stick and giving life to the merest hint of a spark.

Angus almost lobs another branch, but notices the frenetic attempts of the little hog. He halts the swing mid way, and walks it over the pile. The lizard stands there, towering over Harv, as he watches the spiny chap work. His silence is eventually broken. "So .. are yew an' yer wifey nomads or somethin'? Just ramblin' about, hidin' in bushes, startin' fires for the unfortunates y'fall upon?"

Peg looks back at her hubbie and sighs, "Yew know, ca', e's no' as oafish as 'e loo's... use'a be a grea' woods ho', age'as slowed 'im dow'a bi' - an' evah sin' a' fox's been aroun', 'e's sca'd o' anythi'at moves. Heh... heheh..." She clicks her tongue, "Dear' me, summa'es ah /roigh/ deep, hmm... we'll need ta singe 'em up, hurry up Harv!"

Amos licks his maw and mumbles something as he shivers, "Dangeon... bloody hare..."

Harv looks nervously up at Angus. "Someting like that." His efforts, meanwhile, have borne fruit. In the depths of the kindling's convolutions, a nest of radiant red fibers spreads slowly. "Ye know right well ye canno be rushin' nature's ways! Give 'er a momen!" To Angus, he continues: "We don't usually help de likes of you though. My wife, it were her notion."

Angus, in place of an answer, offers Harv a sharp glare. He decides to let it go, and drops into a crouch. The lizard watches as the flames proliferate, sidling a bit to one side to avoid the smoke put forth by the soggy timber.

The wife gives it a moment, but sees that the cat is still delirious, "This'n 'as th'fevah, Harv, we'll need'a seal'm up soon! 'Ese ba' hallo' vapahs's getti' insoid'uv'm!"

The cold and his gasty wounds have apparently taken their toal on the wildcat finally, and while Peg may have very well saved his life, exhaustion has seamingly left with little sense or energy to do anything with it. He continues to mumble to himself on and off, going quiet at times but then saying loudly throughout for all to hear the hare's name. Eyes still closed as he seems at the moment oblivious of the others.

Harv dutifully plants a stick amid the blossoming flames until its end comes away glowing. He hands it to Angus and nods. "You heard de hedgewench."

Stubb does all he can to comfort the delirious Amos. "You'll ge' dose drinks yore owed ye', oi'll see ta tha'." He leans in to pat the cat's side, without disturbing the tender areas. "An' we'll see our li'tle frien' soon."

Angus nearly fumbles the stick as it unexpectedly is thrust into his hand. "Er," the lizard stammers, switching his eyes from the smoldering object to the incoherent cat. He moves to Amos and Peg, and extends the branch to the latter. "S'this what yer screechin' about?"

Peg nods at the snake plus legs and takes the stick. "Yar th'smart'n eh? Giv't 'ere..." She takes it and cringes for the cat, "New, ca', 'is's gun' 'urt a goo'bit." The hogmaid removes the remainder of the arrowheads, blood pooling into the area surrounding where they were removed, and presses the end of the stick into the wound, a loud hiss occuring each time as the hot tip boils the blood and singes the tissue around it.

Amos mumbles at Peg before yowling in pain, struggling weakly and uselessly.

Angus pales, cupping his mouth and nostrils in a palm. "Feh--nothin' like th' scent of scorched fur." He wretches a bit, and, pivoting on a heel, decides to find a spot not caught in the fleshy draft.

Harv continues to putter around the fire, largely ignoring Peg's continued efforts. He grabs a hunk of clean-looking snow and drops it in his pot, putting it over the now-healthy fire to boil. "If you tink that's bad, try livin' with her, kitty cat!"

Stubb watches dumbly. All he has to offer is an assuring paw that remains firmly planted on Amos' side through the bellows of pain.

The hogmaid finishes and stitches up the loose ends of the remaining wounds. "'E moight still 'ave a fevah and the delirio' fo' a whoile... bu' e's roigh as rai' new..." She claps her paws off and joins Harv, "Shou' we tell 'em abou' th'fox?"

Amos moans and catches his breath, falling back into mumbling and shivering before falling silent as the last of his energy gives to slumber.

Harv can't help but smile. "I've stopped bothering t' try t' get ye t' stop yer yapping, dear," he says, less grumpily than with knowing and kindly resignation. He pulls some leaves from a pouch at his waist and drops them into the bubbling water. "He's no friend of ours, is all I can say on th' matter."

Angus has his back against a thick tree. He leans and watches, scratching at a patch of flaky skin on his neck.

Peg whaps her husband on his bulbous belly, "Really, Harv, I thou' ya war moh empatheti'n 'at! 'At poh 'aremai', I saws 'im draggin' 'er rough-li'- in a 'urry... boi th'stachew ovah thar - be cahfu'o those tree-hoppin' types, 'ough, 'aw of'm's runnin' th'join', but oi think they think they's go' 'em-- they'ah fortha' ba' thataways, though..."

Angus cannot help himself; he sinks to the base of the trunk, rump wedged among its roots. With head lolled against the ridged pillow behind him, the lizard's eyes begin to lid. The chatter of the lady hog lazily hangs in his head, churning a couple of times. Gradually easing up, the scaly monster slumps, plumb tuckered out.

Compunction immediately colors Harv's face as his paunch receives a pounding. "Looks like ye've lost yer audience, dear. Maybe it's best if we let them be." He lifts the pot from the flames. The liquid inside is a dull yellowish-green. "A sip of the old brew and a nap'll have these sorry beasts in good spirits again soon, I'll wager."

The hedgehog unhooks a pewter cup from yet another spot on his string belt and wobbles over to Angus. He measures out a bit of the drink. "Take it, lad." He knocks the lizard on the arm. "This'll get the fires goin' again in a jiff."

Peg sighs and sits on a stray pile of wood near the fire, "Oh a'roigh'... no' 'at 'ey've any interes'n 'at poh swee'ah' wo' 'e woz abusin'." She fixes her apron and a very worried look crosses her face.

Angus flinches alert. One eye is still shut, but the other fixes on Harv and the politely offered little cup of toads-know-what. "Was workin' on the nap bit, if yew don't mind, y'brambly boar." An annoyed hand grips the cup, and draws it to chapped lips. The lizard imbibes, savoring the warm brew for its heat more than its taste. Nostrils flare, inhaling a tendril of steam, before Angus tips his head to finish the tea. Closing his eye again, the lizard returns the mug to its owner. "Mmf--not bad," he murmurs, and relaxes once more.