Conversations with the Feathered Dirtbag
- Location:
NF Seaport: Dock Four (Collinsel)
- Participants: Amos, Dangeon, Elrod
The Wildcat is exhausted as he lofts Dangeon up onto his shoulders and pushes her onto the wooden walkway that is dock four. He climbs up after her, slipping and cursing as he hurts his paw. He snarls, but pulls himself onto the dock and breathes a sign of relief as he flops. The storm has blown out to sea by now but the damage has been done. There are a few boats smashed up against the dock, and his friends are nowhere to be seen. He lays there for a long moment recovering his breath. (Amos)
Dangeon lays on her back for a good few long minutes after she's pushed up onto the platform. "Why does water always try to kill us? Did we do somethin' bad to it in the past? 'Cuz... I am bally sorry if we did..." The hare mutters as she stares at the sky, bedraggled and tired.
Chuckling at the hare's remark despite still being exhausted, Amos moves to roll onto his stomach and forces himself to get up after a bit of a hesitation, "Hopefully the others got away from the boat, and swam back to shore, " He grumbles and shivers a bit as a wind blows directly through them it seems, "Bloody hell, guess we should see if we can find them."
A filthy blip circles the sky above, almost lost against the backdrop of retreating thunderheads. It gradually drops lower, curiosity piqued by the soggy survivors, cackling at their misfortune. "Land beasts should know better than to challenge the water!" the crow croons. "Never ends well for them. Oh, how many times I have seen! Fishes belong in water. Winged ones in the sky. And land beasts on *land*." (Elrod)
"Yeah... Find others... Good idea; we'll do it when I can move. If water is bally soft enough f'r me t' sink in, why does everything hurt..." The hare remains laying on her back and turns a frowning gaze on the arriving bird. "Now y' said that, if you ever land and we see, we're goin' t' remind you. Unless we eat ya."
Amos is in the middle of making sure he has everything, when forgets that he left his pack on the boat. His weapon is still on him, along with a good sizable amount of coins directly tied to him but his frustration is quickly aimed at the bird. He searches the dock for something, anything, settling for some rubbish that he picks up and throws at the bird in response.
Elrod twirls blithely in the air. In the midst of acrobatics, he is caught by a renegade gust, and blown briefly out of earshot. "Yup yup." The bird vigorously flaps, panting. "Eat me? Not so nice, ears. Perhaps I could have saw the ones displaced by the water." He cheekily perches on the mast of an anchored vessel. "Perhaps I could have told you their whereabouts." His head swivels, beady eyes peering out to sea. "More or less."
Elrod flutters back into the air as the trash is lobbed. "Eesh."
"That could save some walking." Dangeon agrees, eying the bird in time to see the refuse fly by. "Er, cat-boss, the flying duster has a point... 'm not much for goin' further than I have t' right now and the feathery one's- correct me if I'm wrong Wings- is offerin' t' tell us where all an' sundry's bally well gotten t'."
Still visibly angry, Amos takes a moment to calm down as he listens to the hare, "Alright alright, then go flying and tell us if ya see our friends, " He waves off the bird, "We're looking for two lizards and weasel for starters!"
Again the feathered dirtbag rolls in the air, then dives: A missile, whose well-aimed peck is intended for the prattling wildcat's crown. "Foul cat creature. Too many teeth to fit proper brains. Listen to his hollow head thump." Whether or not his attack triumphs, the crow climbs beyond reach, gliding among burgeoning rays of midday sun. "No need to fly. I saw your ground-bound kind. Upshore: One lizard and two wads of wet fur." Something like a morbid grin takes hold of his beak. "Two more still at sea, clinging to driftwood. Probably baked by the sun soon, if not eaten by a whale all ready." He cackles at the prospect. "Silly land beasts."
Dangeon manages to sit upright tiredly but a little more alert. "Two at sea? How far out? Could we get a boat 'r somethin' to 'm?" She starts, stiffly, to stand up, stretching her limbs a little trying to wake them up. "Eh... They're all a'right though? Movin'? Any... larger beasts wi' them?"
Amos ducks just in time to save his head from the birds attack, hissing in anger as he listens. Yet with it becoming clear that the bird can help them, he calms himself. Muttering under his breath and growling as he asks his next question, "What do the two at sea look like?"
"Hard to say," the crow admits, finding roost among the cockeyed sails of a wrecked schooner. To spite the failure of his attack, Elrod begins to nonchalantly preen his ratty plumage. He fluffs, beak buried beneath a wing, speech muffled. "Looked expired to me. The lot of them. And whether or not drowned, likely devoured. The sea is not known for its hospitality to outsiders." Droplets fling from feathers as the bird shakes. "When will land beasts learn?" he heaves an affected sigh.
"Yah, yah; we went through this 'fore ya showed up Feathers- we know water's got some sort a vendetta 'gainst us... Not bally important, don't really care. We just want t' know where and who y've found an' how t' get to them." The hare's ears are getting a squeeze, as if she's wringing water from them now.
"Well at least three of them are alright, can't do anything about the ones out at sea I imagine, " Amos grunts, "Especially if they ain't with us anymore anyway, best thing to do is find those that we do know came ashore." He eyes the bird, strokes his chin, "Hey birdbrain, ya got anything more useful to say on the subject?"
Another gale gusts through, shoving the storm off to sea, but it nearly knocks the crow from his perch. Elrod is able to clench a close rope in his beak, saved from splatting into the sail behind him. He hovers as the wind moves past, unable to speak; when it subsides, he swings back to the beam, mostly unfazed. "Ahem. I told you, ears: It's hard to say. I am not privy to the secret whims of the winds." His head swivels. "More useful, whiskers?" he scoffs. "Such ingratitude; I could have let you lot wander all day."
Stubb goes into Dynamic Role-play.
Dangeon shakes her head, though can't help but smirk just a little as the bird gets blown around. "Eh. Y' could have. We are much obliged and if 's hard t' say for those at sea jus'... bally well point us out the ones that made it t' shore, eh? We'd like t' get as much o' the group t'gether as we can."
Elrod extends a wing. The gesture is, in part, a bow to the civility of the doe, but its primary purpose is to direct the duo upshore. "I told you, ears. That way. Wheezing and whining, last I left them." The bird ruffles his plumage once more, then takes flight; he bids them no farewell, soaring for the heavens, without so much as a parting glance.
Amos laughs as the crow is blown off his high perch, and voices his agreement with Dangeon's question, "Aye, what she said!" Question prepared he's taken off guard as the bird flies off, "Wait!" He calls after the crow, huffs, "Rude feller, but I guess he did help us a bit, " He rubs his arms and grunts.
Dangeon is barely any less wet than she was, but she does seem a little more energized at least. "Aye. 's much as y' can expect from a bird anyway- y'know they're all fluff an' little substance undah that feather-stuff, Catboss. Barely room f'r thinkin' in those brains, let alone bloomin' manners. I say we take wot little he gave us an' make our way... er.. wingward. Wingpointy... Where 'e pointed at."
Amos's stomach growls, "Could use a good bird for dinner, but I guess we ain't gonna eat or sleep least till we find the others, " He groans, sighing, "Well come on then, comfort ain't ours but maybe we'll get lucky and find our friends at least!" He heads off in the direction the crow pointed.
"Good bird f'r dinner? Y' cats really do eat anythin'; that was a bally crow! ... feh, an' us hares are known for /our/ appetite- least we're discerning." She has one more wring of her ears before she, with a stiff and stretching gait, follows after the feline. As they walk off, she's struck by an important thought. "...D'y' think they'll have salvaged the booze?"
"Birds a bird, " Amos replies, his stomach groaning as he walks, "Don't make me think about food, " He grumbles, and laughs at her question, "No, I don't reckon they did, come along!" With that the cat leads the way at a brisk pace.
