Mint's New Family
The Reavers decide what to do with their newly acquired otter kit and start to brainstorm ideas to keep angry otters off their backs...
Participants: Mint, Ferilla, Jaksor, John Wesley Weasel (spoofed)
Back at the Guosim camp once again, Jaksor prowls broodingly between a pair of huts, pausing to tighten one of the straps holding the hook on his arm. "Next time y' get shot, do me th' fav'r of /dying,/" he growls, giving John Wesley, seated nearby and holding a patch of poultice to his leg, a pointed glare. "An' don't blame it on th' stream-dogs when th' fletches match th' arrows fr'm /that/ armory." His paw jabs towards the shrew building.
Ferilla approaches just in time to hear the last sentence or so, rolling her eyes a little. She pads over to one of the huts, leaning on her side against it and folding her arms across her chest. "Still no sign o' Vannon." she says, holding back the addition of a 'fortunately'. "I take it he'll be fine?" she asks, gesturing to the weasel. Her tone is one of resigned disappointment.
"You norra care 'bout John Wesley," John Wesley pipes up at the ferret, with an insolent frown to match. "She-face wish'a me dead!"
Mint is a captive, where ever it is she has been placed and now wakes up whimpering, It is clear she doesn't like it here and she has a small cut on her bare footpaws.
Jaksor shakes his head at the outburst. "Seems like it," he answers in a mutter, appendages on his hips. A small whimpering emits from the hut to their right. "Sounds like th' otter kit's awake."
The ermine hits her fist on the dry wood of the hut wall, snarling a bit at John Wesley. "It wouldn't upset me, that's for sure!" She turns to Jaksor, adopting a slightly more business-like approach. "And?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
Mint hears the sound and now cries out in fear, she can't really go anywhere as is traped in here, but it does not mean she will be quiet about it.
Jaksor winces slightly at the sound of the otter kit crying. "/And/ maybe y' shouldn' upset it more than necess'ry," he replies, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "We don't know tha' th' otters didn' see us make off with 'er. Until we're ready t' demand ransom or somethin', I'd prefer not t' draw their attention." A shifty glance goes towards the surrounding woods. "We've been at this camp f' too long."
The jill snorts derisively. "Gag it." she says, stepping close to the male, "I know we cain't hurt it, but a gag would do no harm to it, an' keep us from getting discovered any easier than we already kin be." she jabs him in the chest with a finger. " 'less having a crying babe around camp's made ya soft, in which case i'll be more'n happy to do it fer ye." she suggests.
Mint has started wailing, hey she is a dibbun and she wants to go home. She can speak but has not yet done so since she has been here.
In response to the jab, Jaksor lifts his hook into view. "Not much f'r tyin' knots, 'she-face,'" he replies, borrowing a line from John Wesley, who cackles at the phrase. The polecat gives the weasel a swift kick. "Shuttup, John." He glances back to the hut, wherein Mint is contained. "If y' wanna gag 'er, be my guest. I'm jus' tryin' t' decide how t' get th' rest of th' group caught up if we take off fr'm here."
Standing in the doorway of the hut where Mint is being kept, Ferilla calls to Jaksor. "Vannon's on 'is own, the rest are around enough ta follow us outta here." she says, digging in her pockets for a couple strips of cloth, ending up being forced to unwind the linen bound about her forearms.
Mint has quieted down a little and looks around the hut she is in.
"True enough," Jaksor grunts, glancing in over the ermine's shoulder. "Just shove some in 'er mouth an' tie it t' keep 'er fr'm spittin' it right back out ag'n."
"I know how to make a gag." the ermine retorts, somewhat ominously. "Hey there, sweetheart...” she says, squatting down next to the otter dibbun. Physically speaking, the ermine's slender frame and clean white fur make her most likely the least intimidating of the vermin band. Her paws work at knotting up the cloth while leaving enough on either side to tie.
Mint whimpers as the ermine comes closer, she is tried up still, of course, and tries to get loose as she watches what she is doing, but not fully understanding yet, "Me...wanna go home." Yeah she has tears on her face now
Ferilla figures her retort to that would probably scare the kid, so she bites her tongue. "I know ya do, little one, and we'll get you home, soon enough." she says, making certain the gag is tight in the center and then scooting in a bit closer. "If that's how yer looking to get rid of someone, why not Bindi?" she says, mostly joking. "If ye need, I kin swim it over there, sneak across the river an' up the bank. Put it right on their doorstep, I can." she tells him.
Mint eyes go wide, why is she getting closer. She then wiggles and tries to get loose and then wails loudly again as she is getting scared again, tears going down her face and she tries to kick at the ermine.
"Would y' /shut/ 'er /up,/" Jaksor growls, the tip of his hook sinking into the doorframe as the dibbun begins to wail, pressing his anger into the wood. "Bindi's dealin' with 'is own business. Won' be back f'r a few days. If y' think y' c'n get it there an' back without growin' feathers like John, y're welcome t' try."
Ferilla's not exactly motherly, but she was hoping she'd have better luck than this. "Ah!" she gasps a bit as the dibbun's foot nails her hard in the wrist, the white-furred female shaking it gently. "That's it...” she grabs at Mint, forcing the wad of cloth into the dibbun's mouth so she can tie it in place behind her head.
Mint tries her best to try and get away, but fails and wails as she is grabbed and is wails are stopped mostly when the gag is placed, the dibbun shivers and her whimpers are a lot more quiet now but more tears flow down her face now.
"...Finally. Get some peace an' quiet around this place." Jaksor's face sags slightly with relief, his tail swishing contentedly behind him. "I'm not sure how much th' otters'd give f'r their kit, but 'm guessin' as much as they could. We ask f'r too much, they're liable t' just attack us." Silence. Shrug. "They're liable t' attack us eith'r way."
Ferilla finishes knotting the gag, patting Mint on the head and seating herself beside the dibbun. "How much did you wanna ask?" she asks, looking thoughtfully at Mint. "They'll likely attack us anyhow, like ye say." she nods, changing tact. "How much'd we make from the Ferravale hit?"
Mint whimpers softly, after a little while her eyes droop and she ends up falling back to sleep.
"'er weight in precious metal?" Jaksor muses, extracting his hook with a spongy pop. "First time dabblin' in kidnappin', myself." The polecat smooths out his tunic with the backside of his hook. "All told, 'bout a cubit bar'a silver apiece, I think."
"Perhaps a touch high." Ferilla suggests, but she's past that now, content to let Jaksor decide on it. "We need to start movin' out of the camp, set up 'round it, on the side furthest from the nearest ford. Keep a big fire burning at night, maybe even set up some dummies, make them believe we're still there, an' then, when they come cross the river or through them trees.." she raises an invisible weapon to her shoulder, aiming it and miming firing it at the nearby woodline. "Crossbows."
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