[PRP] Stupid Crow. (My Trouble & Maple Milk)
Posted: Thu Oct 17, 2019 10:44 pm
[imgleft]http://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/image ... lemilk.gif[/imgleft]Up above the waters which limited the movements of terrestrial beasts, a sleek, black shape rested on a branch. With surprisingly intelligent eyes, it watched as the world toiled beneath it. The intermittent sunlight alternated between illuminating its silhouette and framing it on a backdrop of gray as the crow preened. It looked up briefly, looking around again. When it was done enjoying itself, it would find something to bring back to its master, perhaps some small dead thing or fruit... but that wasn't obvious from looking at it, of course.
The only obvious thing, as far as the crow was concerned, was that it was gorgeous.
Haww, haww, haww.
It turned gently in the warm air, looking for a new place to land. It settled on a springy kuzdu vine, watching the white doe intently.
... Unless to return, at an angle of better advantage?
The long hours under its master's harsh tutelage taught it to be continue expecting attack until given reason not to. Taking a calculated risk, it gave another haww... and dove down to the ground, after waiting just a moment on the vine. It made sure to move slightly in the direction of home as well - this hunter was interesting enough to bring home, and dangerous enough that the master might be needed to allay her pursuit.
That ear belonged to a pale old biddy of a doe, by all appearances quite frail and somehow wicked - her long, coarse hair lay carelessly to one side, her horns and scales were cracked and broken, her tail and ears were in tatters.
In a hoarse voice filled with false sweetness, she crooned to the crow, "Now, now, Mildew, whatever is the matter? Come, settle down now..."
The crow obligingly landed on its master's back, but did not cease its chattering, and looked back in the direction it had come.
Haww.
Either not noticing or not caring about the interloper's breathlessness, she asked, "What in the world would you want to kill my bird, of all possible birds, for?"
When the hunter finished, she acted sympathetic. "That is quite a problem, young lady," she said. "But I am afraid I am not willing to let you kill my own Mildew, because old Maple does so love her friend Mildew, yes she does," she coos to the unaffected bird in the same sappy gush that animal lovers everywhere use. After a moment of affected consideration, she continues, "Hhhowever, she has laid a clutch of eggs recently. If you were willing to wait, you could have your perfect black bird to kill..."
The hag fixed one beady eye on the troubled doe. "Of course, there is also the question of payment. I'm certain," she bustles right along, "that you are a fair and reasonable doe, who will be willing to pay a fair and reasonable price."
"Hmm. Well, then," she began, "The first thing I would like, my dear," then, she brought her gaze back down to the young doe, "is to know your name, please? My own is Maple Milk," she finished with a (secretly purposefully) shaky little bow of her front legs.
Might as well dispense with the pleasantries... and know who to ask after if she backs down, the hag thought.
The only obvious thing, as far as the crow was concerned, was that it was gorgeous.
[imgright]http://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/image ... le_jun.gif[/imgright]Today was monochrome day. The first had been a little songbird, snowy white, with a pale pink beak. (More poetic kimeti might have noted how poignant it was, that the hunter who'd taken its life looked so much like it, small and white, with a rosy flush across her scales and horns. To Vexed, it was Target A, already plucked bare, feathers sorted and pouched.) The second had been a cause of some internal conflict: a mourning dove, just the right size up, and respectably grey - but not entirely, perplexing. The offending sections, however, were merely white and black, ergo a passable entry. To make up for that, however, the third had to be perfect.
It was hard to find perfect. Three hours had passed, and in those hours she had dismissed countless candidates. It could not be just any black bird: the size had to be exact to finish up the trio, the feathers had to be jet, it had to look - to look - to look exactly like that crow perched high, right in her line of sight.
It was magnificent, without a doubt the best she'd seen today - or, perhaps, she'd ever come across. Her heartbeat quickened even as her breath caught in awe. She must have it. Failure was not an option. Carefully selecting the best stone for the job, she rubbed it spotless and lined it up, a few soft clicks in calculation all she needed. The whole time she had not taken her eye off the crow for more than a few seconds, and there it still perched. Not for long. A hoof was swung.
The stone took flight -
[imgleft]http://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/image ... lemilk.gif[/imgleft]- and suddenly the crow wasn't there. It had taken off even as she swung, leaving but one drifting feather in its wake. It cawed harsh laughter at the doe who'd thought to slay it so easily.
It was hard to find perfect. Three hours had passed, and in those hours she had dismissed countless candidates. It could not be just any black bird: the size had to be exact to finish up the trio, the feathers had to be jet, it had to look - to look - to look exactly like that crow perched high, right in her line of sight.
It was magnificent, without a doubt the best she'd seen today - or, perhaps, she'd ever come across. Her heartbeat quickened even as her breath caught in awe. She must have it. Failure was not an option. Carefully selecting the best stone for the job, she rubbed it spotless and lined it up, a few soft clicks in calculation all she needed. The whole time she had not taken her eye off the crow for more than a few seconds, and there it still perched. Not for long. A hoof was swung.
The stone took flight -
Haww, haww, haww.
It turned gently in the warm air, looking for a new place to land. It settled on a springy kuzdu vine, watching the white doe intently.
"No!" she cried as the feather fell - each one lost from its sleek plumage before she could get her hooves on it was an unmitigated disaster! Only after this burst of panic did the indignation register: most birds stood no chance against her, still or mid-wing - few ever saw the blow coming. Not only did this crow live, it was shedding precious feathers - and - and laughing at her!
...Laughing at her. And now, as it landed a distance away, it...seemed to be waiting for her next move. This, she reflected grimly, is no ordinary crow. What was she to do now? She cast a half-hearted eye at another stone briefly, but if it had sensed her strike with its back turned, she would stand no chance with it staring right at her. What was she to do? She couldn't simply give it up; never, she knew, would she again come across a specimen as supreme as this - and after such a mediocre take as the last bird, too!
Stamping a hoof sharply into the ground, she turned to leave, melting away into the dense foliage.
The crow was confused by this behavior - so otherwise skilled a hunter leaving the chase?...Laughing at her. And now, as it landed a distance away, it...seemed to be waiting for her next move. This, she reflected grimly, is no ordinary crow. What was she to do now? She cast a half-hearted eye at another stone briefly, but if it had sensed her strike with its back turned, she would stand no chance with it staring right at her. What was she to do? She couldn't simply give it up; never, she knew, would she again come across a specimen as supreme as this - and after such a mediocre take as the last bird, too!
Stamping a hoof sharply into the ground, she turned to leave, melting away into the dense foliage.
... Unless to return, at an angle of better advantage?
The long hours under its master's harsh tutelage taught it to be continue expecting attack until given reason not to. Taking a calculated risk, it gave another haww... and dove down to the ground, after waiting just a moment on the vine. It made sure to move slightly in the direction of home as well - this hunter was interesting enough to bring home, and dangerous enough that the master might be needed to allay her pursuit.
It took all she had not burst out of the bushes as the crow made its dive - but that would have accomplished nothing...and the unusual deviation of its angle made her wonder. Was it looking towards some secure location? A customary perch? A nest? An area, in other words, where its guard might fall enough for her to strike, once and for all?
Every inch of her body tensed for the chase; once the bird had winged far enough, she would follow - to the ends of the earth if she had to!
[imgleft]http://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/image ... _kitty.gif[/imgleft]The crow waited tensely for an attack that didn't come. After a minute (which might have felt like hours to anyone waiting impatiently in the bushes), the crow hawwed again, confused. The crow abruptly took off in the direction of home; it felt that it had put up with enough bullshit for one day. It traveled with surprising speed, dodging nimbly through the trees, and did not slow until it was home once more, circling anxiously over its master's head, cawwing its woes to the only sympathetic ear it knew.[/color]Every inch of her body tensed for the chase; once the bird had winged far enough, she would follow - to the ends of the earth if she had to!
That ear belonged to a pale old biddy of a doe, by all appearances quite frail and somehow wicked - her long, coarse hair lay carelessly to one side, her horns and scales were cracked and broken, her tail and ears were in tatters.
In a hoarse voice filled with false sweetness, she crooned to the crow, "Now, now, Mildew, whatever is the matter? Come, settle down now..."
The crow obligingly landed on its master's back, but did not cease its chattering, and looked back in the direction it had come.
FINALLY! Now, now, now! She raced after the bird full-pelt, never taking her eye off as it flew far in the distance before her. The slight trips and stumbles over roots and stones in her way were pushed off, barely noticed as she concentrated entirely on keeping its dark form in her sight. It was not easy, once or twice she'd nearly lost it as it took its weaving flight through the trees overhead - but finally she could see it begin to slow as the path between them closed. Was it home? Had it reached its nest where she could - oh, no.
No no no no! It was owned?!
She may not have been thinking properly, the frustration of the chase may have gotten to her; it was certainly not the kind of thing you should do upon entering another's abode, but for better or worse, as she crashed into the scene, she cried, "Excuse me, may I please kill your bird?!"
The old doe briefly froze, then turned her head - and only her head - to the intruder, looking her over coldly. With great deliberation, she said, "No, you may not,"No no no no! It was owned?!
She may not have been thinking properly, the frustration of the chase may have gotten to her; it was certainly not the kind of thing you should do upon entering another's abode, but for better or worse, as she crashed into the scene, she cried, "Excuse me, may I please kill your bird?!"
Haww.
Either not noticing or not caring about the interloper's breathlessness, she asked, "What in the world would you want to kill my bird, of all possible birds, for?"
Was that a rhetorical question? Vexed shrunk back into herself, unsure, but the older doe's eyes seemed to bore straight into her soul (or skull, at any rate) and make it an imperative.
"W-well…I'm a bird hunter…and it's monochrome day," she started, only half-aware of how ridiculous she sounded, "I started with a white songbird, and then a grey dove," indicating the plucked carcasses on her vine-sling, dangling from their twined feet, "I must have three, and the third must be black, and a proportional increase in size from the last. And the dove wasn't perfect -" biting a black and a white feather out from the vine-tangle that hung off the side of her sling as a pouch, "so the black bird must be. It must be. And your bird - your bird is the most perfect crow I've ever seen. Ever. Such perfect feathers - jet black, so sleek…the glossiest feathers I've ever seen on a bird. It is the only bird in this entire swamp that could possibly - possibly - fulfil my last slot. The only."
Her eyes were more than slightly crazed by now, glazed over with a preternaturally bright sheen from the near-religious fervour she had worked herself into. It was almost certain she saw only the bird and not the biddy - also almost certain she may, in some sense, be quite psychotic.
The elder doe listened to the bird-hunter, first with veiled apathy, but then with growing interest. This kimeti obviously had some issues - but they were systematic issues, predictable - and therefore manipulable. The hag kept her face calm, but the excitement in her heart leapt and danced."W-well…I'm a bird hunter…and it's monochrome day," she started, only half-aware of how ridiculous she sounded, "I started with a white songbird, and then a grey dove," indicating the plucked carcasses on her vine-sling, dangling from their twined feet, "I must have three, and the third must be black, and a proportional increase in size from the last. And the dove wasn't perfect -" biting a black and a white feather out from the vine-tangle that hung off the side of her sling as a pouch, "so the black bird must be. It must be. And your bird - your bird is the most perfect crow I've ever seen. Ever. Such perfect feathers - jet black, so sleek…the glossiest feathers I've ever seen on a bird. It is the only bird in this entire swamp that could possibly - possibly - fulfil my last slot. The only."
Her eyes were more than slightly crazed by now, glazed over with a preternaturally bright sheen from the near-religious fervour she had worked herself into. It was almost certain she saw only the bird and not the biddy - also almost certain she may, in some sense, be quite psychotic.
When the hunter finished, she acted sympathetic. "That is quite a problem, young lady," she said. "But I am afraid I am not willing to let you kill my own Mildew, because old Maple does so love her friend Mildew, yes she does," she coos to the unaffected bird in the same sappy gush that animal lovers everywhere use. After a moment of affected consideration, she continues, "Hhhowever, she has laid a clutch of eggs recently. If you were willing to wait, you could have your perfect black bird to kill..."
The hag fixed one beady eye on the troubled doe. "Of course, there is also the question of payment. I'm certain," she bustles right along, "that you are a fair and reasonable doe, who will be willing to pay a fair and reasonable price."
EGGeggeggeggegg... First, she had been relieved when the doe had expressed her sympathy, having half expected a righteous strike upon her for coveting her dear pet's life. Then, against all sense and logic, she could not help but experience a certain crushing disappointment (and panic of sorts - how could she ever adequately fulfil that slot now?) when the her desire was once more denied. But when the magic word was said...
A perfect black bird... Indeed, if the parent was anything to go by, it would be wondrous. And surely it was not a coincidence that...Mildew, the bird was called? had gained her impossibly lustrous feathers under the older doe's care - if she, too, cared for the hatchling to come...feed it the best...let it grow luxuriously plump...oh...those feathers...
"Oh, yes," she said, faintly at first from the unbearable pleasure of her fantasy, then with growing excitement, "Yes. Yes! I will certainly pay!"
How utterly delightful! Agreeing to a contract with a stranger - potentially dangerous, and especially so when with this old doe - with so little forethought! It was really quite fortunate that Maple had the restraint not to cackle in front of the young huntress - that would, no doubt, have aroused some suspicion even in this unseeing filly's mind. Maple, instead, made a show of thinking, looking up at the sky and idly tapping a hoof on the ground.A perfect black bird... Indeed, if the parent was anything to go by, it would be wondrous. And surely it was not a coincidence that...Mildew, the bird was called? had gained her impossibly lustrous feathers under the older doe's care - if she, too, cared for the hatchling to come...feed it the best...let it grow luxuriously plump...oh...those feathers...
"Oh, yes," she said, faintly at first from the unbearable pleasure of her fantasy, then with growing excitement, "Yes. Yes! I will certainly pay!"
"Hmm. Well, then," she began, "The first thing I would like, my dear," then, she brought her gaze back down to the young doe, "is to know your name, please? My own is Maple Milk," she finished with a (secretly purposefully) shaky little bow of her front legs.
Might as well dispense with the pleasantries... and know who to ask after if she backs down, the hag thought.