Fish, Fire, and Felons
Fish, Fire, and Felons
Players
- Jaksor
- Bindi
Guosim Camp: Fire Pit
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Moving north, you arrive upon the outdoor meeting grounds of the camp; the earth
is compacted from constant activity, and the scent of smolder lingers heavily
in the air. A wide, shallow crater surrounded by meticulously selected river
rocks serves as a fire pit, and low-set, bark-stripped log benches are set
around the pit to serve as seating. Baskets of kindling and a small rack for
fresh firewood are often set nearby for easy utilization. At what appears to be
the head of the gathering sits a more intricately designed log stool from which
the leader of this union may overlook the proletariat, and gaze upon the River
Moss.
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The meeting grounds of the GUOSIM shrews have seen better days. For whatever reason, shrew activity here is completely nonexistent, leaving the area to more sinister denizens. A small fire blazes in the middle of the old crater, one of the meeting benches serving as the principal fuel. The acrid stench of smoke mingles with the charred flesh of a fish from the nearby river. Otherwise, the camp appears abandoned.
It has been a boring day for Bindi as he went about his daily routine, which consists of sleeping, eating and sleeping again. So when he smelled the smoke from farther down river, he decided he might as well investigate. He now finds himself coming upon the fire from the river side, trying his best to be stealthy. However, the Little Rat is no master of stealth and the frequent crack of a twig announces his approach.
Stealth is great and all that, but sometimes you're just trying to get along in life. Such is the case for Jaksor right now, as the polecat emerges from the surrounding shrubbery, fidgeting with his trousers and belt as he walks back to the fire. It's tough when you've only got one paw. Finally getting everything fastened, he lowers himself roughly into the dirt within the firepit, sliding his bronze hook under the fish and flipping it over on the hot stone he's using as a makeshift frying pan. "Burnt again," a rough voice grumbles.
Never one to invite trouble, Bindi steps behind a tree to gather his thoughts. He could always leave now, most of his curiosity sedated, and avoid any possible trouble. Then again, a pre-cooked fish sounded not unpleasing; burnt or not. Ultimately, the rat decides on his stomach and steps out from behind the tree, starting again towards the fire, neglecting to form a plan of action other than 'eat the fish'.
With a plan that solid, it doesn't take more than a few moments for Jaksor's ears to perk up and dark brown eyes to lift to gaze over the rim of the small crater he's sat in, where he spies a rather curious-looking rat. In a hat. No, just a rat. "Well, rat-face, not sure what y'r plan was here," comes a gravelly rejoinder to his appearance, "but it's mis-placed." The compound is broken up and dropped separately, for emphasis. Or for lack of understanding of compounds. "Like y'r clothes."
Bindi has always prided himself in flying by the seat of his pants. At least, when he wore pants he did. The Little Rat stops a few feet away and holds up placating paws and attempts a rather grimace worthy disarming smile, "Oy, com'mon now, friend. Don'tcha have'a bite ta spare fer a fellow tr'vler?" He takes a mincing step closer, "An' that's a fish! Oi avnt 'ad one o' those in ever so long." He gives a wistful sigh and tries to look pitiful.
Pitiful probably goes over better when freshly washed and mostly dressed. Then again, maybe not. The smile, cringe-inducing as it is, induces... a cringe. "Move along, ratty," Jaksor replies, waving dismissively with his hook. "Nothin' to see," read: eat "here." His paw falls suggestively on the hilt of his scimitar, although it's doubtful the rat poses any real threat. Just look at that potbelly and those scrawny arms.
Bindi curls a mental lip. Time to change tact! This stingy, food hoarding polecat clearly has no heart for the less well off. Bindi takes another step closer and raises his twiggy arms in the air; at this point the musty smell he brings with him is weapon enough, "Listen 'ere, sonny! Oi 'aven't 'ad a desent meal in-" His advance is cut off as he trips ungracefully over a root. He falls face first onto the ground, and there he remains, stock still. Either he's knocked himself out, or fallen asleep, it's anyones guess.
Sonny? They might as well be the same age. Jaksor's brow raises as the rat approaches, and his nostrils raise as he approaches a little bit more. When Bindi takes a nice trip, the polecat snorts softly. "At least you shut up." The rat is either injured, dead, or sleeping. Or faking, which is the obvious option. "Hopefully dead," Jaks notes, but it's probably too much to hope for. "Get up. I wasn't born yest'rday, an' neither were you. We both know I'm not comin' ov'r there to poke you with my foot so you c'n try y'r little tricks."
There is a long pause. Then, from his face first position, Bindi lets out a disgruntled sigh and a muttered, "Oh, alroight.". It was worth a shot. The rat sits up, but doesn't make any further attempts at advancing, "Can Oi at least share in your fire? Rat's honor Oi won't try any funny business." He raises one paw and speaks earnestly enough. In some cases, he might even seem somewhat trustworthy, though the effect is a bit dampened by his current appearance.
"Should ask y' t' bathe in the riv'r first," Jaksor notes, wrinkling his nose peremptorily. "But well enough. You c'n sit." The polecat slides his hook under the fish and levers it into a beaten, dented tin bowl, producing a primitive two-pronged fork from his pack. "Jus' don't get any bright ideas."
It's doubtful Bindi is capable of 'bright' ideas. His would be more of a dingy gray. His eyes light up and he shuffles over to the fire, nodding vigorously and saying, "Oh no, don't worry about Oi." He continues in a quieter voice to himself, "'Sides, Oi'm not all that 'ungry anyhow." He sidles over to the opposite side of the fire and settles down, making a show of rubbing his paws over the warm coals near the edge.
"Good." Jaksor munches away on his fish, the primitive prongs poking at the perch. It's delicious, despite being burnt. Probably helps that he was so hungry... which reminds him of how much that sucked. Sucking on a bone, the polecat glances over at the pathetic, pawing parasite that is Bindi. "...alright /here./" He shoves the remainder of the fish towards the rat. "But you owe me, got it?"
Bindi gives a crow of delight and swoops up the fish. However, before shoving it all into his mouth, he gives the polecat a suspicious glance, "What'll Oi owe ye? Oi don't loik havin' debts." However, debt or no debt, the rat starts to munch slowly on the fish, nibbling around the edges. It only lasts a few seconds, though, before Bindi stuffs the everything that was left into his mouth, chewing noisely.
Jaksor pokes at the fire with the end of a stick, adjusting the way things sit on the coals, his lips pursed. "Four paws're better 'n two," he notes, as sparks fly up. "Might be as we c'n make some serious purse together. Some well-off places 'round 'ere. Help me out, an' we split th' loot. Equal shares. Y' c'n start wearin' clothes again, even." He gives the rat a wry grin.
Bindi knits his fingers together and nods slowly, "Sorta loik, Oi scratch your back you scratch mine?" The rat looks slightly perplexed at the comment about cloths. Isn't his current state of dress clothing? Well, he thinks so. After a moment, he slaps the ground decisively, "Oi like it! When da we start?"
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