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Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Takethra:
The night was dark, as usual, made no more lucid by the green tint in Gris’s goggles; the scorched and bitter smells of the wasteland came through a veil of purification through her respirator. In short, she was reduced to only three senses in the Wastes, and only two, if you didn’t count the useless sense of taste.
In short, the wastelands sucked. And they sucked even more at night. But that was never a deterrent for her. It wasn’t a deterrent for raiders, so she could not allow herself rest over so minor a handicap. The moon was shining, anyway, and that was light enough for her.
Despite her size and skill, she hardly entered the city in her nightly wanderings. Too many things could go wrong therein, and signs of passage are harder to discern in the star-shadow of the buildings and their trackless black trails.
The places with cold dirt underfoot, brittle sprigs of grass and weeds, and unbroken flow of air; the places with a horizon. That was where she hunted.
Not for anything as foolish as the infected meats that scampered nocturnally in the wastes; she combed the convoy paths, the black-hole dens, wherever might a dog be roaming.
She’d found and killed a few dogs in this manner before. As she was quite incapable of interrogating a beast as to the whereabouts of her parents’ killers, she just did her best to dispatch every raider she came across; who knows, maybe one of them was the one who’d done it. Who knows, maybe she’d slain her parents’ killers a long time ago. But then again, maybe she hadn’t yet. Maybe they still were roaming about, and killing other people’s parents.
So she hadn’t stopped this practice, not for almost two years. Every bright-mooned week, she was off convoy duty, and on the night hunts. Only now and did she return with the need to sanitize her claws with infected blood, but that now and then was enough to convince her that her actions were not in vain.
MokiHunter:
Strike shook out his fur as the grayscale elkhound took a few moments to stare up at the moon. It was bright and plump in the sky, looming over the horizons of the Wastelands as if daring to challenge its beauty. It was almost as if the moon was the only release from the horrid effects of this rotten place. This landscape, so beaten down and full of despair. And yet the elkhound found himself sitting back on his haunches, staring at the stars and wishing their brightness could transfer onto this forsaken expanse.
Though he picked up smells of other canines around him, the odor was faint, and Strike had learned by now to act neutrally to new threats. Fear only invoked further danger. Strike had learned long ago the lesson of predator and prey. Predators rarely went towards prey near their size if they didn't run. Because if honey didn't run, the predator had no advantage. And it was surprising, if nothing else, to see a supposed meal simply stand firm and unafraid. For most Wastelanders, the hunt would end there. Simply because it was unappealing to them. They loved to watch their prey squirm. And by now, Strike was determined not to give them that satisfaction. Though... Lately, he'd been becoming a lot more reckless. It scared him.
The smell which invaded his nostrils in the first place became stronger, though. Strike's ears flicked back in slight fearful irritation. The lack of sick stench was a clear indicator that whoever would be in this vicinity soon wasn't a raider. Or at least not one far enough into the infection. But whoever they were, Strike couldn't afford to take chances. He stood.
Takethra:
A smallish lupine. It was moongazing. The sight of its silhouette against the stars came to her through tinted glass. Nestled half-hidden in a stand of rubble, it was. A thick, hot feeling of energy pressed into her paws and throat. She took a step forward.
A wind came to proceed her to the animal. It ruffled her bearlike pelt, and though she could hardly smell, knew it was carrying her musk downwind to the creature.
It stood.
Well, that’s just what I need, she thought bitterly.
It’s time to go meet it, then. It already knows I’m here.
She was less than a hundred feet from it on its left side. So she started walking towards it, making no attempt to mask her presence. Let it hear her breath, and her heavy footfalls crunching in the frost.
MokiHunter:
Strike was suddenly frozen with the fear he'd been burying as he heard the heavy footfalls of the approaching dog. An Edener. He knew it for sure. The Wastelander couldn't help but flinch ever so slightly at the close proximity, and the elkhound finally turned, trying to set his gaze hard but unable to rid his body of the shivers that wracked it. Strike cursed under his breath. "I don't want any trouble... please, just leave me be. I'll be on my way. Just don't..." Memories came flashing through his head, of many different times in his life.
Through his mind coursed the memories of the first time he had talked to an Edener one on one. Inaya, the graceful menace. His near-death experience afterwards. Not too long after, meeting Ramses... the friend with whom they planned to start a pack soon. A pack of those who wanted to keep their sanity for as long as possible. He remembered the raiders they had gone up against, as he hung against the ledge with a bleeding throat and only the other dog as a hope to bring him back up. And then he remembered his encounter with Vlad... the brindled Chief Raider who attempted to kidnap him from the clutches of Edeners who he sought protection from. It had been a decision Strike had made without thinking twice - although he hated both choices. Go on the side of the Edeners, because at least their cruelty could have a chance of being predicted.
The elkhound shook his head furiously to rid himself of the flashes of remembrance. He backed away slowly, sensing the huge female's bloodlust from a mile away.
Takethra:
Gris noted to herself the degree of tentativeness in the lupine’s voice, as it rather promptly made words out of the darkness that surrounded it. She saw a glimmer of the moon’s reflection in its retinas, two pinpricks in the distance. She drew in a surveying breath through her snout; the blood-stink of waste-fiend was not on the creature, now decidedly male, judging by his voice. One of the craven raider Weaklings, perhaps; or perhaps, a simple wastelander; or perhaps, a raider who’d just taken it upon himself to bathe. Time would tell.
She didn’t stop in her approach. She was quite certain there were no other beasts nigh, and this little one wouldn’t go anywhere, unless it was particularly cowardly and decided to flee. She sealed her mouth, breathing now only quieter through her nostrils.
The retinas before her, closer now, disappeared for a blinking moment, and reappeared again. But she knew that they would very soon diminish entirely if she came any closer. She did not want him to run off. She stopped, a good thirty feet distant. And then she plopped her hindquarters to the ground, and sat, staring quietly at him through dark animal eyes. And waited.
MokiHunter:
Strike wasn't sure what to make of the newcomer as she came closer and closer still. He prepared himself for the dance of attack that usually awaited him when it came to raiders, but he knew also that it was a whole other ball game when it came to Edeners. And this larger than himself canine was beginning to frighten him more than he was willing to admit. She was acting quite a lot like Inaya first had when he'd come across her. Quiet. Calculating. Waiting for Strike to make the first move. His legs shook despite himself, and Strike fought every urge within him to run. Or... was it just the fear which kept his paws rooted to the dusty ground below him?
"Don't," he repeated, though this time, all traces of the fear he'd had moments ago was gone. It was still there, but Strike had managed to somehow bury it - of only just beneath the surface. His voice was firm, as if to dare her to come closer. The second she made a move, he knew he would bolt. He could feel it in his bones. Even with the lessons of predator and prey, he knew the instinct to run was too strong this time. He wasn't about to stand there and die, when he knew what might come next. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. His mother's words came back to his mind. A phrase he hadn't thought of since his earlier years.
Takethra:
“Don’t.” The dog’s word was announced with the hard and brittle insistence of obsidian.
And how well it worked out for him that she had no mind to move forward just yet. She sat, still, lowering her head a little and opening her maw to pant audibly. Even in the rimey night her fur made her stuffy. She shook out her ruff, mask fastenings clanking a little, and blinked languidly at the dog. He’d not much moved except to bristle a bit. Brave little fellow; she admired that.
But still, she was not decided on his alignment. He didn’t look like a raider, from what she could tell in the dark, nor did he have the posture of a craven-gutted eater. And his voice sounded quite lucid, not slurred or jittery with insanity. But she would have to wait and see.
So she plopped herself down, quite content to continue staring until her fur was frosted to the ground; till the dog proved himself harmless or an enemy. She would not walk away until it was resolved, she knew that much. So she nestled her head quite comfortably atop her mane shoulders and let out a deep breath. And continued mutely to observe.
MokiHunter:
Strike couldn't help but shake now - if only a slight tremor. The elkhound knew that no response from the heathen across from him meant that the female was attempting to watch him. Come to think of it, Strike couldn't remember a sound coming from those jaws. He would wonder if hue could speak, but the elkhound was certain that if she couldn't, she would have made attempt to do it another way: scrawling in the dirt with her claws, miming actions, anything. But instead she simply sat there, waiting, as if it pleased her to watch him squirm.
This small Wastelander, however, wasn't about to stand there and allow her the satisfaction. He wouldn't allow himself to be lured in, like he had been lured in the last time. The memory hit him like a bullet once more, and the elkhound visibly grimaced in the expanse of darkness as he decided with finality his course of nation. Perhaps it was stupid to do, but Strike couldn't take the nervous and wrenching feeling he now felt in his gut and in his heart. The sinking suspicion that this might turn badly for him was too much for him to bear, and by gauging his chances, the elkhound presumed if she was alone, she may be too strong and therefore too heavy to chase after him properly.
He bolted. Turning on his paw, Strike sprinted in the opposite direction, feeling his claws remark traction against the dirt. The dust kicked up after him in his wake, and the elkhound could only pray that he'd be able to escape the Edener. But of course, luck never had been on his side. Not since he'd received his third strike.
Takethra:
Oh, bother. So he was running. It was with disappointment that Gris absorbed the scrawling sound of moving paws, the stirring of earth in the night wind. Her nostrils twitched with displeasure, as her respirator did only a medial job at filtering out the dust.
Now, she decided, he was either a particularly cowardly hostile, or had no mind for maliciousness whatsoever. She stood and shook out her pelt. Either way, the night was young. She would follow.
In a sprint she knew she had no chance of catching up to the nimbler beast, so she did not mean to try. She might find him eventually if she kept at an easy pace, or else come across a more antagonistic creature to occupy her night instead.
He was quite invisible, now, dissolved into the darkness; but she could still hear him a little, his steps, his breaths, but even that would fade soon.
But the ground was relatively flat and vacant all around him; he may very well stay on one course of direction, it sounded like he did, thus far at least. So she would just move in thus a trajectory. And follow the old paper smell that seemed to be on him, odor quite faint through the filtration system.
She tread on quieter paws, now. Leave him guessing, just as she was now.
MokiHunter:
Strike knew he couldn't run for much longer. His limping leg clung under him like a dead weight, and though he'd felt it for the first time in his life only recently, the feeling had numbed away again. The elkhound could only suppose extreme pain or adrenaline could allow him to feel his hanging limb, and it saddened but also excited him. Still, even as agile as Strike was with the dead weight, the large expanse of land out in front of him didn't promise any shelter. And he knew the library was a bit too out of the way in any case. Besides, leading an Edener there? He'd rather get killed here and now. Okay... maybe not killed, but... the point still stood.
And what if another Raider came bursting at him? What would he do then? He'd be out of energy with no chance of escape. The male stopped in his haste and sat down on his haunches, gazing up at the rocks he'd finally come to stop at. Narrowing his eyes as if to see better and study it, Strike quickly made the decision to hop up and onto the boulders, preferring to have a vantage point in case anything else came strolling by. He was nearly certain that he'd lost the Edener a while back, but he could be wrong.
Takethra:
Gris had veered off of the trail, she came to be sure, after a dozen minutes of walking. She had long-since been unable to hear him, and his scent was hardly a breath on the air. And forget finding any visible traces in the dark. She was even about to consider stopping and leaving to find something else for the night. The only things she could make out around her, black shapes blotting out the stars, was the city in the distance to her right, and what looked like a few lumpy hills a little off to the left. The moon gleamed silver on them; they appeared to be ruinous piles of boulders. She strained her eyes past the yellow tint of her lenses, but could not see anything else.
And then her long ears pricked. The faintest sound caught her attention, and she would not have heard it if it hadn’t come in-between breaths. The cackle of falling stone. Her whiskers pressed attentively against the inside of her mask.
Well, it wouldn’t hurt to travel another hundred yards or so, to see what those mounds held.
So Gris continued onward, as quietly as a heavy dog might, careful not to scuff over pebbles or crunch on frostbitten plants.
It was slow going, but she had all the time in the world. She lumbered on until the hills wholly blotted out the stars before her, and she could faintly see the blighted lichens that studded each rock. But the wastelander: if he was here, she could not see him. It was possible he was on another hill, or hidden amongst the rocks.
Well, she had no mind to clamber on up after him. She didn’t know how stable the boulders were, and anyway, she would likely make a din going up. So she just sat again, close enough to tap the foot of the mound with her nose, gazing up and around for any sign of her stealthy quarry.
MokiHunter:
Strike had settled for lying down within the safety and protection of the rock walls which skyrocketed around him, seeming as if their infinite goal was to touch the sky. The elkhound breathed deeply inwards, letting out breaths which may have suggested the stress which grew around him was thickening to an incalculable level. Strike had always hated strangers. He hated not knowing what might come next, and well... That was a lie. He had always hated strange Wastelanders, for most tended to be raiders out for a meal. And Strike tended to be what they called "easy pickings". Edeners were a whole different story, though. It wasn't until very recently that he had begun to hate them too, and he found somehow that he had come to hate them in recent weeks. Loathe. Despise. Because if it weren't for an Edener, he wouldn't have nearly died. He wouldn't hold such terror in the fibers of his heart. He wouldn't feel so... Helpless.
The elkhound ground his teeth as the female Edener's scent was on the wind again, even as she quietly tread. Strike was tempted to stay put and out of sight, but his better sense betrayed him, urging the canine to instead seek an escape outlet. Before he could even get up, however, he saw Gris waiting by the bottom, as if she had all the time in the world and all the boredom to use in killing it. Strike gulped despite himself. He knew in his gut that she wouldn't give up, and for a sickening moment he wondered just what horrors she planned to entrust to him. He never wanted what happened with Inaya and that crazy hound to happen again. Never. The mental scar was seared on his mind.
Staying down between the rocks and out of sight, Strike called out bravely, "If you're planning on taking me back for your experiments, I'm afraid you have another thing coming. You Edeners... The lot of you, you're all the same." His voice was quiet enough to seethe through the cool night air, though loud enough for the brutish female to hear. "You say you're so different from the raiders, but you're not. You long for vengeance, and you pick at the bones of the innocent for your own entertainment purposes. What kind of cure could there possibly be, when the monsters come from not one sole source, but two separate and clashing powers?"
Takethra:
Gris cocked her head as she absorbed the boiling tirade that echoed quietly from the rocks. She laid herself down as he spoke, though paid attention to every word. Curious. He seemed to think she wanted to bring him in for experimentation; that was an extraneous notion. She hoped that she didn’t look like the sciency type.
But she was a little aroused by his third sentence – likening her to a raider, as though he thought they were a loathsome thing himself. Well, unless he was a particularly keen liar, she could now guess what that made him. How refreshing.
That meant that he was likely just an innocuous denizen of the Wasteland, not much more than a victim himself, she guessed. She didn’t suppose he knew anything about her parent’s killers; the world was not small enough for that.
That established, she decided that she would not have a mind to kill him; he was not guilty of any offense that she could tell – just another tired, hungry dog. That also meant that he was a dead end.
Not to say that he wasn’t unusually engrossing; she hardly got much past expletives and snarls from what she usually encountered, but from him, she’d received a whole sermon. What spunk. She would have lauded his bravery and engaged him in his one-sided and passionate conversation, should she have chosen to speak. He seemed smarter than a good portion of dogs she suffered the company of in Eden.
When he fell silent, she decided to give him a response. Maybe it would offer him some peace of mind that he wasn’t corresponding with a drooling animal, to know that she merely did not talk, yet still understood him. She would give the feverish waster that much before she moved on.
Bwoof. It was a half-bark, a low rumble like the sigh of a bear. She was sitting upright again, gazing motionless up at the place whence she thought his voice’d originated. Her ears hung loose, and the mane that swathed her entire body did not bristle. If he looked down, let him see that she did not intend to kill him. She even slackened her jaw, and panted laxly past her respirator. Come on out, you most unusual waster.
MokiHunter:
Strike began to feel awkward, to say the least. He felt as if the female's gaze was penetrating through his very being and essence. And it sent a shiver down his spine. But he was intrigued - despite everything - by her silence. The elkhound found himself cautiously jumping from one rock edge to another, finally stopping on the one lowest in the range. In other words, he was as close to the dog without putting himself in any danger of being attacked. And he refused to come down. Strike narrowed his eyes, however, staring down at Gris with determination and a fire in those icy orbs.
He wondered why she couldn't speak. The only explanation he could come up with was that she could be mute. That shake of her head indicated perhaps she couldn't speak. Not that she didn't want to. But that she couldn't even if she tried. Was that why she was only making sounds? Not saying anything besides? If that was the case, this would be difficult at best. Strike knew he couldn't just run again. Most likely, she'd keep walking after him for Fenrir knew what reason. So instead he forced himself to maintain as calm an air as he could muster.
"If you can't speak... can you write?" He asked tentatively. He then drew letters in the stone below his paws, spelling his own name: 'S-T-R-I-K-E'. He then chanced a glance at the huge female dog, hoping perhaps she could write. Then maybe this would be easier. If she couldn't, well... he might be here a while. For as far as Strike could tell, she wasn't letting him go off without satisfying whatever need for entertainment she had. And Strike would be damned if he was going to let that be experimentations on him again.
Takethra:
Gris watched mildly as the grey lupine descended. He was more than a lunge away now, but she could see the ice in his eyes quite clearly, now. The flare of his whiskers as he spoke.
Gris had no ability to write. She knew dogs in Eden who could, and she had been pressed by many to learn to right, to make up for what she lacked in speech. But she’d never put it upon herself to learn. She didn’t much like the idea of putting sounds to her thoughts.
She watched as the dog waved his paw over the stone he stood upon, the motion a white blur in the darkness. Maybe it was his name, whatever he was signing. She recognized some of the characters from the impatient scrawlings of some of her comrades. Did he mean to say Sir Ike? Sirike? No, that was a T, she was certain. Strike. So he had a title. He was inquiring if she could tell him his.
She tried to remember the characters for her name. Some of them were similar to what he’d signed; she certainly recognized the curve of the s. But she was at a loss. She did not know how many letters were in her name. Three? Five? No, not three, that didn’t make sense. Maybe five. But what did the letters look like? Gris… Gris…
This was more intense thinking than she’d done in a long time. She lowered her head into her mane and scanned the ground through her lenses. Why did he need to know her name? He just needed to know her by a name, some means of address.
So her eyes found a rock within reach of her. A piece of granite, stuck halfway in the ground, bordered by feeble weeds. She took her time in standing up, glanced up at the dog who called himself Strike, and tapped the stone with a paw. There, let him take whatever name he might from that. She sat back down and shook out the loose fur on her neck. And blinked up at him.
MokiHunter:
Strike tilted his ears at the female's attempts. He could see she was desperately trying to form the letters. He supposed that meant she couldn't read after all. Well, this will be difficult, at best. I can't run, because she'll ceaselessly follow me. So what choice do I have than to satisfy her craving for discussion? Though... it's hard to chat when it's only one-sided...
Still, the elkhound looked down to Gris, wondering what he should call her if she could not spell out her name. He looked down at the rock she put a paw on an tilted his head further. "What? You want me to call you some sort of rudimentary name? Why? You must have a true name..." The canine mused to himself, though his words were clearly audible. An idea suddenly lit up as he smiled despite himself - as well as the situation.
"Perhaps... you're able to bark, yes? Or... nod?" Strike paused for a moment before continuing, "I can say the letters... and you can confirm which they are." Excited with this idea, trying to boost his own bravery (not to mention his vantage point made him feel more comfortable eventually), Strike began. "Alright... so how many letters are there?"
Takethra:
Oh, what a persistent little fellow. Even in Eden it was uncommon for someone to be so perseverant in acquiring her name. The animal sighed huffily, breath hissing from the respirator. Now he was intent upon using a method as inane as a pup’s game of charades to extract a proper title from her.
What a most confounding and obstinate little dog.
For him, she would relent. Why not.
But she would not sound like a yapping cur in the process. She thumped her paw on the ground instead, hitting the dirt four times before stopping to look up at him. Go ahead and rattle of your letters, now.
MokiHunter:
Strike's ears swiveled forwards happily, excited now that he might be able to figure out the canine's true name. It struck him as odd that she might not have found a way to say it previously. Did her brethren really not care as much? Or did they just submit to her giving up, pointing to something random, and responding to whatever the dog she talked to came up with. It was a strange thing to think about, but to Strike, names and proper introductions were important. "Four letters... alright. So... does the first within A through G? And if so, is it either A or G? Or in between?”
Takethra:
And for some reason, the expression on the waster’s face seemed to resemble happiness. Was it the amount of letters in her name that he found so marvelous, or her cooperation? Gris did not know, or attempt to inquire. She just looked up at Strike as he asked of the first letter.
Well, it was between A and G. So she nodded. And she nodded again when he said, “ – or G?” mentioning it a second time. Yes, she was quite sure that that was the first letter of her name. Then she recalled the R, I, and S that followed. One time on a convoy, one of her literate comrades had pointed out a sign on a restaurant of sorts that read Pinot Gris, and thence showed her how her name was spelled.
And Gris wished she had the prissy curly-lettered sign now, for all the trouble this dog was going to to extract her dumb name. Was he not very troubled by her prior hostility?
Well, she didn’t know what a dog like this was doing in the wastes. He was different, so she would abide him and his courteous interrogation.
MokiHunter:
Alright, so the first letter was a G. Strike carefully alighted down the rocks, eventually landing - with hesitance, no doubt - on the one Gris had originally indicated. He figured if anything happened, he could always jump back up again. Those calculating icy orbs of his looked from the top where he had recently been back to the massive female who he was quite close to now. His scars seemed to tingle under the moonlight, making Strike shiver at the feeling.
Using one of his claws, the elkhound made it a point to remember the letters. He marked the first, G, on the stone below him. "Alright. So what about the next letter? Is it A-G?" He paused, waiting for an answer, before continuing. "H-M?" He waited for another answer. "Hmm... How about... N-R?"
Takethra:
Gris, rather amused, looked down at the elkhound as he finally descended to her level. Well, almost her level – even sitting, she towered above him. If she wanted, she imagined she could very easily pin him down with one paw and relieve him of his innards with the other, in a matter of seconds. He must have been either very naïve or very trusting in her integrity to be so close. She figured it was the latter, if he’d survived so long in the wastes. And anyway, if his brittle composure was any indicator, she could assume that he was certainly not naïve of her.
But even if he was, she didn’t think she would take advantage. He seemed a decent sort of wastelander; and even if he wasn’t she didn’t think he could do anything about it.
So she continued with his game. No, no A-G, H-M. N-R – R sounded right. She nodded then, yellow lenses fixing on his glacierous eyes, putting her paw down on the R.
MokiHunter:
"R?" Strike repeated, allowing a smirk to cross his features. Alright then! He scratched an 'R' beside the 'G' in the rock, taking care to look up every so often. Though he was choosing to trust this large brute of a female, he was certain she had the advantage here, and he knew it well. He wouldn't take any chances by letting his guard down. But still, it would be nice once he finally knew her name. Somehow, the elkhound doubted the behemoth made friends easily, if for no other reason than her frightening appearance. And so he continued onwards. "Alright, third letter than. I would assume it's a vowel by the previous letters, though I could be wrong. Just in case, though, is it A, E, I, O, or U?"
Takethra:
Gris didn’t know what a vowel was, but apparently i was one. She notified the dog of this with a nod at its enunciation, and then lifted a paw to tap him on the chest. The taut hide covered in grey felt as hollow as a drum, unhealthy pelt pulled taut over ribs. She blinked a moment. Strike, he’d said he was. One, two, three, four, five, six – she began to make marks on the ground, swiping six visible, if ambiguous, scratches in a row between them. They didn’t look like letters, and she didn’t try to make them look so. They were just six identical marks lined up at her paws.
Confident that she had the elkhound’s attention, she pointed to the name he’d been scratching on the rock, and then to herself. And then she tapped the six marks and pointed to him. And then she indicated the first mark in the row, and then the empty space where an s should be on her half-written name. You got that, book-dog?
MokiHunter:
Strike looked around the lands of the Wastes, not sure what else he could do. Now that he had found out the dog's name, there was nothing left to keep his mind occupied. The only thing he could think of to distract him was far too dangerous, as it involved getting too close to Gris for comfort. So, he settled with the other option. He could always ask the question which burned at his soul. The one he hoped the answer was 'no' to, but he doubted his hope was the truth. But he needed to know. He needed to know how weary he must be these days. Whether he should be more cautious or... really, just to hold the knowledge. "Do you..." Strike hesitated, trying to gather the courage to finish his question. After a few more minutes and a gulp, he finally continued, "Do you know an Edener named... Inaya?"
Takethra:
Gris tilted her head at the name – Inaya. She was one of the higher-ups, was she not? Her name’d been spoken more than once in the gossip of the Legion Compound. In the orations of the Overseer, or the chronicle of the weekly death toll?
Gris didn’t know her, but she knew of her. She nodded slowly, recognizing the thorns the elkhound seemed to be standing on now. The aching ice in his eyes. Perhaps it was this Inaya that had poisoned him against Edeners.
MokiHunter:
Strike hesitated, seeming as if he was looking far too deadly at the ground below him. The memories and thoughts surged through his mind like lightning bolts. He didn't know if he should continue, but a voice in the back of his head told him that he probably should. After all, what else did he have to lose? Besides, it wasn't like much else was going to happen anyways. All there would be is silence if he didn't continue speaking, and for some reason, Strike wasn't sure he could handle that sort of silence, with Gris watching him so closely.
"I-Inaya," he finally started. "She... she's not who you think she is. She's..." He licked his lips in uncertainty before finally going on, "She's a monster." He looked up at Gris's eyes finally, the pain in them evident as he recalled what happened. He'd never truly told anyone this story except for Roua. Perhaps his reasoning for telling someone else now was a hope that redemption was possible. "She... lured me into this building... It had clean air. But she locked me in this room... it was full of..." He shuddered. "It was full of body parts. Wayward limbs, and... heads. I was fearful, until she opened a door deeper into the complex. I followed the trail she'd paved for me and found a dog... an insane dog I tried to help, because he was trapped in chains. But then she locked that door too, leaving me to his rage..." He stopped for a moment. "That's... that dog gave me all these scars. Inaya gave me all these scars. She may have never laid a paw on me, but she did worse. She sat and watched with a grin on her face as I nearly died by the jaws of some dog she'd driven to madness."
Takethra:
Even through her stifling respirator, Gris could smell the fear radiating from the elkhound, a metallic bloody sweat smell. His eyes seemed to go far away as he spoke, as though he was watching the shadows of circling vultures. His fur and tail stood on treble end and his breath came in controlled gasps as he spoke. Spoke of this Inaya-beast who haunted the halls of Eden.
Gris would rather like to know where this building was, where and why she kept the body parts of other dogs, and from where she acquired the beast she used to maim Strike.
Of course she could ask none of this. Strike probably didn’t even know the answer to any of those questions save for the former, and she highly doubted he would deign to take her there. The fear in his eyes was too cold and sharp. He had shell-shock. Who knew how he’d fare at the source of his fear.
She should probably find out more about this Inaya when she returned to Eden. The mastiff sat still as he finished speaking, but her thick fur rose on her back, bristling. Her tail began to slowly swish in circles as she looked with new eyes at Strike’s many scars.
MokiHunter:
Finally feeling the fear ebb away, as he finished telling his gruesome tale, the elkhound relaxed visibly, sitting down slowly before allowing himself to lay before the mastiff. He cared not if she chose to end his existence now; he still couldn't be sure whether she was a friend or a foe, but he supposed if she hadn't attacked him yet, she could be a friend... maybe, perhaps... he wasn't sure, but all he could do was hope. That silly hope which had driven him into many a bad situation, but kept him sane all the same. "Sorry..." he whispered, barely audible enough to capture in the silence of the night. "I just... I need to rest... It's... been a long, stressful day... and I can't get back to my library tonight..."
Takethra:
Gris nodded absently at the little dog’s words, mind still mulling over Inaya. He seemed considerably wearied, all the zeal in finding her name diminishing in the sobriety of his tale.
“…and I can’t get back to my library tonight,” she heard his silent voice trail off, as he was lost in his own private thoughts. Gris blinked. A library? What an odd thing for a waster to possess. She wondered if perhaps it was his home. She watched his sunken blue eyes move with his words. And it at once it occurred to her how weary he must be. A rational soul detained in an irrational land, where one cannot ever be too careful or too cautious, where every minute of undisturbed sleep is a blessing. Perhaps this library was a refuge for him; perhaps he could sleep there. Why could he not make it there, tonight, she wondered. Was it too distant, or perhaps he would not dare the venture in the dark?
She was merely left to conjecture, of course, as she could not inquire herself. All she knew was that he was tired with no will to sleep. In the growing silence, she flopped onto her side, laying in the dirt with her back to the lupine. She turned her grizzly head to him, and nodded to the ground, indicating that he ought to follow her suit in reclining. I’ll keep watch, she expressed when she panned her gaze over the dark horizon.
Perhaps he would not lie down or sleep at all, even if he could decipher her offering. It was not like he trusted her enough yet to let her keep vigil over him. But then again, maybe he did, and perhaps he was very tired and might accept and so be better for it. Either way, Gris kept her flank to the dirt, tail drooped, waiting patiently for him to make up his mind.
MokiHunter:
Strike's dreary eyes blinked rapidly, as he tried to figure just what Gris was doing. Was she... Lying down? Was that a sign that he could relax? Thoughts raced through the elkhound's mind all at once, as he tried desperately to decipher her meaning, but then it hit him like a runaway freight train. Like those he'd seen in his books, those giant mechanisms the two-leggeds once build. It didn't matter now, though. All that mattered was what Strike was understanding. Gris was willing to watch over him, to let him sleep. In any other circumstance, he might never trust an Edener enough to do such a thing for him. He'd be too fearful of them trying to kill him in his sleep like the raiders. But... Something about the peaceful giant relaxed him. She seemed... Trustworthy. And so Strike allowed himself to fully and completely trust an Edener, for the first time since his meeting with Inaya. "Thank you... Gris... I'll repay you, someday..." He laid down behind her, curling into himself and finally allowing his eyes to close. And his slumber was instant; the Wastelander was asleep.
Takethra:
Gris allowed herself a smile, an expression he could not see for the darkness or the mask on her face. She herself was rather surprised that Strike chose to trust her enough to let her keep watch – yet he’d thanked her, and fallen asleep quite promptly after a minute of considering her offer.
I’ll repay you someday, he’d reassured her, before descending into sleep. Gris did not know how a destitute wastelander could do anything of form for her, but then again, this little dog was full of surprises. A very different sort than what could usually be found in the wastes, definitely worth preserving.
The sound of his soft breathing was the only sound of significance in the night. Whether or not trouble avoided them for her presence, or it was just not in the vicinity, they were not bothered. But the mastiff did not let her vigil slacken, keeping her head high throughout the darkness, until dawn tinged the horizon with red.
It was then that she stood. The guards would be waiting for her return; she was usually not so long absent at night. She looked down at Strike, who was sleeping very soundly, scarred form in the attitude of most innocent and well-deserved repose. She wondered again how long it’d been since he’d had a good sleep. Hopefully this made up for any previous sleepless nights, anyway. Now he could reach his library with a fresh mind.
She had no qualms for leaving him there, dawn as it was. Nothing more needed to be said on his part, and she could not say anything on hers, and with her lingering scent, predators would remain at bay for the remainder of the dark; so it was her ought to leave. And she’d turned her tail to him and was about to, before an afterthought came to her. She turned her head to her harness, to dislodge the canteen on it. The container fell off to the ground, sloshing-sounds emitting from inside. The big dog nosed it to rest before the scarred wastelander.
Perhaps he would appreciate a refreshed palate as well, she figured. She did not need the water; she was returning to where it ran fresh. And perhaps he’d never had Eden water before, and her gift would be dually appreciated. She did not know. But it couldn’t hurt to leave it.
Now she herself was sated. She turned away, and began lumbering back from whence she’d come, in the growing orange of the rising sun, leaving Strike behind. But even when she returned to the halls of Eden, try as she might, she could stop thinking about the one who had found her name.
The night was dark, as usual, made no more lucid by the green tint in Gris’s goggles; the scorched and bitter smells of the wasteland came through a veil of purification through her respirator. In short, she was reduced to only three senses in the Wastes, and only two, if you didn’t count the useless sense of taste.
In short, the wastelands sucked. And they sucked even more at night. But that was never a deterrent for her. It wasn’t a deterrent for raiders, so she could not allow herself rest over so minor a handicap. The moon was shining, anyway, and that was light enough for her.
Despite her size and skill, she hardly entered the city in her nightly wanderings. Too many things could go wrong therein, and signs of passage are harder to discern in the star-shadow of the buildings and their trackless black trails.
The places with cold dirt underfoot, brittle sprigs of grass and weeds, and unbroken flow of air; the places with a horizon. That was where she hunted.
Not for anything as foolish as the infected meats that scampered nocturnally in the wastes; she combed the convoy paths, the black-hole dens, wherever might a dog be roaming.
She’d found and killed a few dogs in this manner before. As she was quite incapable of interrogating a beast as to the whereabouts of her parents’ killers, she just did her best to dispatch every raider she came across; who knows, maybe one of them was the one who’d done it. Who knows, maybe she’d slain her parents’ killers a long time ago. But then again, maybe she hadn’t yet. Maybe they still were roaming about, and killing other people’s parents.
So she hadn’t stopped this practice, not for almost two years. Every bright-mooned week, she was off convoy duty, and on the night hunts. Only now and did she return with the need to sanitize her claws with infected blood, but that now and then was enough to convince her that her actions were not in vain.
MokiHunter:
Strike shook out his fur as the grayscale elkhound took a few moments to stare up at the moon. It was bright and plump in the sky, looming over the horizons of the Wastelands as if daring to challenge its beauty. It was almost as if the moon was the only release from the horrid effects of this rotten place. This landscape, so beaten down and full of despair. And yet the elkhound found himself sitting back on his haunches, staring at the stars and wishing their brightness could transfer onto this forsaken expanse.
Though he picked up smells of other canines around him, the odor was faint, and Strike had learned by now to act neutrally to new threats. Fear only invoked further danger. Strike had learned long ago the lesson of predator and prey. Predators rarely went towards prey near their size if they didn't run. Because if honey didn't run, the predator had no advantage. And it was surprising, if nothing else, to see a supposed meal simply stand firm and unafraid. For most Wastelanders, the hunt would end there. Simply because it was unappealing to them. They loved to watch their prey squirm. And by now, Strike was determined not to give them that satisfaction. Though... Lately, he'd been becoming a lot more reckless. It scared him.
The smell which invaded his nostrils in the first place became stronger, though. Strike's ears flicked back in slight fearful irritation. The lack of sick stench was a clear indicator that whoever would be in this vicinity soon wasn't a raider. Or at least not one far enough into the infection. But whoever they were, Strike couldn't afford to take chances. He stood.
Takethra:
A smallish lupine. It was moongazing. The sight of its silhouette against the stars came to her through tinted glass. Nestled half-hidden in a stand of rubble, it was. A thick, hot feeling of energy pressed into her paws and throat. She took a step forward.
A wind came to proceed her to the animal. It ruffled her bearlike pelt, and though she could hardly smell, knew it was carrying her musk downwind to the creature.
It stood.
Well, that’s just what I need, she thought bitterly.
It’s time to go meet it, then. It already knows I’m here.
She was less than a hundred feet from it on its left side. So she started walking towards it, making no attempt to mask her presence. Let it hear her breath, and her heavy footfalls crunching in the frost.
MokiHunter:
Strike was suddenly frozen with the fear he'd been burying as he heard the heavy footfalls of the approaching dog. An Edener. He knew it for sure. The Wastelander couldn't help but flinch ever so slightly at the close proximity, and the elkhound finally turned, trying to set his gaze hard but unable to rid his body of the shivers that wracked it. Strike cursed under his breath. "I don't want any trouble... please, just leave me be. I'll be on my way. Just don't..." Memories came flashing through his head, of many different times in his life.
Through his mind coursed the memories of the first time he had talked to an Edener one on one. Inaya, the graceful menace. His near-death experience afterwards. Not too long after, meeting Ramses... the friend with whom they planned to start a pack soon. A pack of those who wanted to keep their sanity for as long as possible. He remembered the raiders they had gone up against, as he hung against the ledge with a bleeding throat and only the other dog as a hope to bring him back up. And then he remembered his encounter with Vlad... the brindled Chief Raider who attempted to kidnap him from the clutches of Edeners who he sought protection from. It had been a decision Strike had made without thinking twice - although he hated both choices. Go on the side of the Edeners, because at least their cruelty could have a chance of being predicted.
The elkhound shook his head furiously to rid himself of the flashes of remembrance. He backed away slowly, sensing the huge female's bloodlust from a mile away.
Takethra:
Gris noted to herself the degree of tentativeness in the lupine’s voice, as it rather promptly made words out of the darkness that surrounded it. She saw a glimmer of the moon’s reflection in its retinas, two pinpricks in the distance. She drew in a surveying breath through her snout; the blood-stink of waste-fiend was not on the creature, now decidedly male, judging by his voice. One of the craven raider Weaklings, perhaps; or perhaps, a simple wastelander; or perhaps, a raider who’d just taken it upon himself to bathe. Time would tell.
She didn’t stop in her approach. She was quite certain there were no other beasts nigh, and this little one wouldn’t go anywhere, unless it was particularly cowardly and decided to flee. She sealed her mouth, breathing now only quieter through her nostrils.
The retinas before her, closer now, disappeared for a blinking moment, and reappeared again. But she knew that they would very soon diminish entirely if she came any closer. She did not want him to run off. She stopped, a good thirty feet distant. And then she plopped her hindquarters to the ground, and sat, staring quietly at him through dark animal eyes. And waited.
MokiHunter:
Strike wasn't sure what to make of the newcomer as she came closer and closer still. He prepared himself for the dance of attack that usually awaited him when it came to raiders, but he knew also that it was a whole other ball game when it came to Edeners. And this larger than himself canine was beginning to frighten him more than he was willing to admit. She was acting quite a lot like Inaya first had when he'd come across her. Quiet. Calculating. Waiting for Strike to make the first move. His legs shook despite himself, and Strike fought every urge within him to run. Or... was it just the fear which kept his paws rooted to the dusty ground below him?
"Don't," he repeated, though this time, all traces of the fear he'd had moments ago was gone. It was still there, but Strike had managed to somehow bury it - of only just beneath the surface. His voice was firm, as if to dare her to come closer. The second she made a move, he knew he would bolt. He could feel it in his bones. Even with the lessons of predator and prey, he knew the instinct to run was too strong this time. He wasn't about to stand there and die, when he knew what might come next. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. His mother's words came back to his mind. A phrase he hadn't thought of since his earlier years.
Takethra:
“Don’t.” The dog’s word was announced with the hard and brittle insistence of obsidian.
And how well it worked out for him that she had no mind to move forward just yet. She sat, still, lowering her head a little and opening her maw to pant audibly. Even in the rimey night her fur made her stuffy. She shook out her ruff, mask fastenings clanking a little, and blinked languidly at the dog. He’d not much moved except to bristle a bit. Brave little fellow; she admired that.
But still, she was not decided on his alignment. He didn’t look like a raider, from what she could tell in the dark, nor did he have the posture of a craven-gutted eater. And his voice sounded quite lucid, not slurred or jittery with insanity. But she would have to wait and see.
So she plopped herself down, quite content to continue staring until her fur was frosted to the ground; till the dog proved himself harmless or an enemy. She would not walk away until it was resolved, she knew that much. So she nestled her head quite comfortably atop her mane shoulders and let out a deep breath. And continued mutely to observe.
MokiHunter:
Strike couldn't help but shake now - if only a slight tremor. The elkhound knew that no response from the heathen across from him meant that the female was attempting to watch him. Come to think of it, Strike couldn't remember a sound coming from those jaws. He would wonder if hue could speak, but the elkhound was certain that if she couldn't, she would have made attempt to do it another way: scrawling in the dirt with her claws, miming actions, anything. But instead she simply sat there, waiting, as if it pleased her to watch him squirm.
This small Wastelander, however, wasn't about to stand there and allow her the satisfaction. He wouldn't allow himself to be lured in, like he had been lured in the last time. The memory hit him like a bullet once more, and the elkhound visibly grimaced in the expanse of darkness as he decided with finality his course of nation. Perhaps it was stupid to do, but Strike couldn't take the nervous and wrenching feeling he now felt in his gut and in his heart. The sinking suspicion that this might turn badly for him was too much for him to bear, and by gauging his chances, the elkhound presumed if she was alone, she may be too strong and therefore too heavy to chase after him properly.
He bolted. Turning on his paw, Strike sprinted in the opposite direction, feeling his claws remark traction against the dirt. The dust kicked up after him in his wake, and the elkhound could only pray that he'd be able to escape the Edener. But of course, luck never had been on his side. Not since he'd received his third strike.
Takethra:
Oh, bother. So he was running. It was with disappointment that Gris absorbed the scrawling sound of moving paws, the stirring of earth in the night wind. Her nostrils twitched with displeasure, as her respirator did only a medial job at filtering out the dust.
Now, she decided, he was either a particularly cowardly hostile, or had no mind for maliciousness whatsoever. She stood and shook out her pelt. Either way, the night was young. She would follow.
In a sprint she knew she had no chance of catching up to the nimbler beast, so she did not mean to try. She might find him eventually if she kept at an easy pace, or else come across a more antagonistic creature to occupy her night instead.
He was quite invisible, now, dissolved into the darkness; but she could still hear him a little, his steps, his breaths, but even that would fade soon.
But the ground was relatively flat and vacant all around him; he may very well stay on one course of direction, it sounded like he did, thus far at least. So she would just move in thus a trajectory. And follow the old paper smell that seemed to be on him, odor quite faint through the filtration system.
She tread on quieter paws, now. Leave him guessing, just as she was now.
MokiHunter:
Strike knew he couldn't run for much longer. His limping leg clung under him like a dead weight, and though he'd felt it for the first time in his life only recently, the feeling had numbed away again. The elkhound could only suppose extreme pain or adrenaline could allow him to feel his hanging limb, and it saddened but also excited him. Still, even as agile as Strike was with the dead weight, the large expanse of land out in front of him didn't promise any shelter. And he knew the library was a bit too out of the way in any case. Besides, leading an Edener there? He'd rather get killed here and now. Okay... maybe not killed, but... the point still stood.
And what if another Raider came bursting at him? What would he do then? He'd be out of energy with no chance of escape. The male stopped in his haste and sat down on his haunches, gazing up at the rocks he'd finally come to stop at. Narrowing his eyes as if to see better and study it, Strike quickly made the decision to hop up and onto the boulders, preferring to have a vantage point in case anything else came strolling by. He was nearly certain that he'd lost the Edener a while back, but he could be wrong.
Takethra:
Gris had veered off of the trail, she came to be sure, after a dozen minutes of walking. She had long-since been unable to hear him, and his scent was hardly a breath on the air. And forget finding any visible traces in the dark. She was even about to consider stopping and leaving to find something else for the night. The only things she could make out around her, black shapes blotting out the stars, was the city in the distance to her right, and what looked like a few lumpy hills a little off to the left. The moon gleamed silver on them; they appeared to be ruinous piles of boulders. She strained her eyes past the yellow tint of her lenses, but could not see anything else.
And then her long ears pricked. The faintest sound caught her attention, and she would not have heard it if it hadn’t come in-between breaths. The cackle of falling stone. Her whiskers pressed attentively against the inside of her mask.
Well, it wouldn’t hurt to travel another hundred yards or so, to see what those mounds held.
So Gris continued onward, as quietly as a heavy dog might, careful not to scuff over pebbles or crunch on frostbitten plants.
It was slow going, but she had all the time in the world. She lumbered on until the hills wholly blotted out the stars before her, and she could faintly see the blighted lichens that studded each rock. But the wastelander: if he was here, she could not see him. It was possible he was on another hill, or hidden amongst the rocks.
Well, she had no mind to clamber on up after him. She didn’t know how stable the boulders were, and anyway, she would likely make a din going up. So she just sat again, close enough to tap the foot of the mound with her nose, gazing up and around for any sign of her stealthy quarry.
MokiHunter:
Strike had settled for lying down within the safety and protection of the rock walls which skyrocketed around him, seeming as if their infinite goal was to touch the sky. The elkhound breathed deeply inwards, letting out breaths which may have suggested the stress which grew around him was thickening to an incalculable level. Strike had always hated strangers. He hated not knowing what might come next, and well... That was a lie. He had always hated strange Wastelanders, for most tended to be raiders out for a meal. And Strike tended to be what they called "easy pickings". Edeners were a whole different story, though. It wasn't until very recently that he had begun to hate them too, and he found somehow that he had come to hate them in recent weeks. Loathe. Despise. Because if it weren't for an Edener, he wouldn't have nearly died. He wouldn't hold such terror in the fibers of his heart. He wouldn't feel so... Helpless.
The elkhound ground his teeth as the female Edener's scent was on the wind again, even as she quietly tread. Strike was tempted to stay put and out of sight, but his better sense betrayed him, urging the canine to instead seek an escape outlet. Before he could even get up, however, he saw Gris waiting by the bottom, as if she had all the time in the world and all the boredom to use in killing it. Strike gulped despite himself. He knew in his gut that she wouldn't give up, and for a sickening moment he wondered just what horrors she planned to entrust to him. He never wanted what happened with Inaya and that crazy hound to happen again. Never. The mental scar was seared on his mind.
Staying down between the rocks and out of sight, Strike called out bravely, "If you're planning on taking me back for your experiments, I'm afraid you have another thing coming. You Edeners... The lot of you, you're all the same." His voice was quiet enough to seethe through the cool night air, though loud enough for the brutish female to hear. "You say you're so different from the raiders, but you're not. You long for vengeance, and you pick at the bones of the innocent for your own entertainment purposes. What kind of cure could there possibly be, when the monsters come from not one sole source, but two separate and clashing powers?"
Takethra:
Gris cocked her head as she absorbed the boiling tirade that echoed quietly from the rocks. She laid herself down as he spoke, though paid attention to every word. Curious. He seemed to think she wanted to bring him in for experimentation; that was an extraneous notion. She hoped that she didn’t look like the sciency type.
But she was a little aroused by his third sentence – likening her to a raider, as though he thought they were a loathsome thing himself. Well, unless he was a particularly keen liar, she could now guess what that made him. How refreshing.
That meant that he was likely just an innocuous denizen of the Wasteland, not much more than a victim himself, she guessed. She didn’t suppose he knew anything about her parent’s killers; the world was not small enough for that.
That established, she decided that she would not have a mind to kill him; he was not guilty of any offense that she could tell – just another tired, hungry dog. That also meant that he was a dead end.
Not to say that he wasn’t unusually engrossing; she hardly got much past expletives and snarls from what she usually encountered, but from him, she’d received a whole sermon. What spunk. She would have lauded his bravery and engaged him in his one-sided and passionate conversation, should she have chosen to speak. He seemed smarter than a good portion of dogs she suffered the company of in Eden.
When he fell silent, she decided to give him a response. Maybe it would offer him some peace of mind that he wasn’t corresponding with a drooling animal, to know that she merely did not talk, yet still understood him. She would give the feverish waster that much before she moved on.
Bwoof. It was a half-bark, a low rumble like the sigh of a bear. She was sitting upright again, gazing motionless up at the place whence she thought his voice’d originated. Her ears hung loose, and the mane that swathed her entire body did not bristle. If he looked down, let him see that she did not intend to kill him. She even slackened her jaw, and panted laxly past her respirator. Come on out, you most unusual waster.
MokiHunter:
Strike began to feel awkward, to say the least. He felt as if the female's gaze was penetrating through his very being and essence. And it sent a shiver down his spine. But he was intrigued - despite everything - by her silence. The elkhound found himself cautiously jumping from one rock edge to another, finally stopping on the one lowest in the range. In other words, he was as close to the dog without putting himself in any danger of being attacked. And he refused to come down. Strike narrowed his eyes, however, staring down at Gris with determination and a fire in those icy orbs.
He wondered why she couldn't speak. The only explanation he could come up with was that she could be mute. That shake of her head indicated perhaps she couldn't speak. Not that she didn't want to. But that she couldn't even if she tried. Was that why she was only making sounds? Not saying anything besides? If that was the case, this would be difficult at best. Strike knew he couldn't just run again. Most likely, she'd keep walking after him for Fenrir knew what reason. So instead he forced himself to maintain as calm an air as he could muster.
"If you can't speak... can you write?" He asked tentatively. He then drew letters in the stone below his paws, spelling his own name: 'S-T-R-I-K-E'. He then chanced a glance at the huge female dog, hoping perhaps she could write. Then maybe this would be easier. If she couldn't, well... he might be here a while. For as far as Strike could tell, she wasn't letting him go off without satisfying whatever need for entertainment she had. And Strike would be damned if he was going to let that be experimentations on him again.
Takethra:
Gris watched mildly as the grey lupine descended. He was more than a lunge away now, but she could see the ice in his eyes quite clearly, now. The flare of his whiskers as he spoke.
Gris had no ability to write. She knew dogs in Eden who could, and she had been pressed by many to learn to right, to make up for what she lacked in speech. But she’d never put it upon herself to learn. She didn’t much like the idea of putting sounds to her thoughts.
She watched as the dog waved his paw over the stone he stood upon, the motion a white blur in the darkness. Maybe it was his name, whatever he was signing. She recognized some of the characters from the impatient scrawlings of some of her comrades. Did he mean to say Sir Ike? Sirike? No, that was a T, she was certain. Strike. So he had a title. He was inquiring if she could tell him his.
She tried to remember the characters for her name. Some of them were similar to what he’d signed; she certainly recognized the curve of the s. But she was at a loss. She did not know how many letters were in her name. Three? Five? No, not three, that didn’t make sense. Maybe five. But what did the letters look like? Gris… Gris…
This was more intense thinking than she’d done in a long time. She lowered her head into her mane and scanned the ground through her lenses. Why did he need to know her name? He just needed to know her by a name, some means of address.
So her eyes found a rock within reach of her. A piece of granite, stuck halfway in the ground, bordered by feeble weeds. She took her time in standing up, glanced up at the dog who called himself Strike, and tapped the stone with a paw. There, let him take whatever name he might from that. She sat back down and shook out the loose fur on her neck. And blinked up at him.
MokiHunter:
Strike tilted his ears at the female's attempts. He could see she was desperately trying to form the letters. He supposed that meant she couldn't read after all. Well, this will be difficult, at best. I can't run, because she'll ceaselessly follow me. So what choice do I have than to satisfy her craving for discussion? Though... it's hard to chat when it's only one-sided...
Still, the elkhound looked down to Gris, wondering what he should call her if she could not spell out her name. He looked down at the rock she put a paw on an tilted his head further. "What? You want me to call you some sort of rudimentary name? Why? You must have a true name..." The canine mused to himself, though his words were clearly audible. An idea suddenly lit up as he smiled despite himself - as well as the situation.
"Perhaps... you're able to bark, yes? Or... nod?" Strike paused for a moment before continuing, "I can say the letters... and you can confirm which they are." Excited with this idea, trying to boost his own bravery (not to mention his vantage point made him feel more comfortable eventually), Strike began. "Alright... so how many letters are there?"
Takethra:
Oh, what a persistent little fellow. Even in Eden it was uncommon for someone to be so perseverant in acquiring her name. The animal sighed huffily, breath hissing from the respirator. Now he was intent upon using a method as inane as a pup’s game of charades to extract a proper title from her.
What a most confounding and obstinate little dog.
For him, she would relent. Why not.
But she would not sound like a yapping cur in the process. She thumped her paw on the ground instead, hitting the dirt four times before stopping to look up at him. Go ahead and rattle of your letters, now.
MokiHunter:
Strike's ears swiveled forwards happily, excited now that he might be able to figure out the canine's true name. It struck him as odd that she might not have found a way to say it previously. Did her brethren really not care as much? Or did they just submit to her giving up, pointing to something random, and responding to whatever the dog she talked to came up with. It was a strange thing to think about, but to Strike, names and proper introductions were important. "Four letters... alright. So... does the first within A through G? And if so, is it either A or G? Or in between?”
Takethra:
And for some reason, the expression on the waster’s face seemed to resemble happiness. Was it the amount of letters in her name that he found so marvelous, or her cooperation? Gris did not know, or attempt to inquire. She just looked up at Strike as he asked of the first letter.
Well, it was between A and G. So she nodded. And she nodded again when he said, “ – or G?” mentioning it a second time. Yes, she was quite sure that that was the first letter of her name. Then she recalled the R, I, and S that followed. One time on a convoy, one of her literate comrades had pointed out a sign on a restaurant of sorts that read Pinot Gris, and thence showed her how her name was spelled.
And Gris wished she had the prissy curly-lettered sign now, for all the trouble this dog was going to to extract her dumb name. Was he not very troubled by her prior hostility?
Well, she didn’t know what a dog like this was doing in the wastes. He was different, so she would abide him and his courteous interrogation.
MokiHunter:
Alright, so the first letter was a G. Strike carefully alighted down the rocks, eventually landing - with hesitance, no doubt - on the one Gris had originally indicated. He figured if anything happened, he could always jump back up again. Those calculating icy orbs of his looked from the top where he had recently been back to the massive female who he was quite close to now. His scars seemed to tingle under the moonlight, making Strike shiver at the feeling.
Using one of his claws, the elkhound made it a point to remember the letters. He marked the first, G, on the stone below him. "Alright. So what about the next letter? Is it A-G?" He paused, waiting for an answer, before continuing. "H-M?" He waited for another answer. "Hmm... How about... N-R?"
Takethra:
Gris, rather amused, looked down at the elkhound as he finally descended to her level. Well, almost her level – even sitting, she towered above him. If she wanted, she imagined she could very easily pin him down with one paw and relieve him of his innards with the other, in a matter of seconds. He must have been either very naïve or very trusting in her integrity to be so close. She figured it was the latter, if he’d survived so long in the wastes. And anyway, if his brittle composure was any indicator, she could assume that he was certainly not naïve of her.
But even if he was, she didn’t think she would take advantage. He seemed a decent sort of wastelander; and even if he wasn’t she didn’t think he could do anything about it.
So she continued with his game. No, no A-G, H-M. N-R – R sounded right. She nodded then, yellow lenses fixing on his glacierous eyes, putting her paw down on the R.
MokiHunter:
"R?" Strike repeated, allowing a smirk to cross his features. Alright then! He scratched an 'R' beside the 'G' in the rock, taking care to look up every so often. Though he was choosing to trust this large brute of a female, he was certain she had the advantage here, and he knew it well. He wouldn't take any chances by letting his guard down. But still, it would be nice once he finally knew her name. Somehow, the elkhound doubted the behemoth made friends easily, if for no other reason than her frightening appearance. And so he continued onwards. "Alright, third letter than. I would assume it's a vowel by the previous letters, though I could be wrong. Just in case, though, is it A, E, I, O, or U?"
Takethra:
Gris didn’t know what a vowel was, but apparently i was one. She notified the dog of this with a nod at its enunciation, and then lifted a paw to tap him on the chest. The taut hide covered in grey felt as hollow as a drum, unhealthy pelt pulled taut over ribs. She blinked a moment. Strike, he’d said he was. One, two, three, four, five, six – she began to make marks on the ground, swiping six visible, if ambiguous, scratches in a row between them. They didn’t look like letters, and she didn’t try to make them look so. They were just six identical marks lined up at her paws.
Confident that she had the elkhound’s attention, she pointed to the name he’d been scratching on the rock, and then to herself. And then she tapped the six marks and pointed to him. And then she indicated the first mark in the row, and then the empty space where an s should be on her half-written name. You got that, book-dog?
MokiHunter:
Strike looked around the lands of the Wastes, not sure what else he could do. Now that he had found out the dog's name, there was nothing left to keep his mind occupied. The only thing he could think of to distract him was far too dangerous, as it involved getting too close to Gris for comfort. So, he settled with the other option. He could always ask the question which burned at his soul. The one he hoped the answer was 'no' to, but he doubted his hope was the truth. But he needed to know. He needed to know how weary he must be these days. Whether he should be more cautious or... really, just to hold the knowledge. "Do you..." Strike hesitated, trying to gather the courage to finish his question. After a few more minutes and a gulp, he finally continued, "Do you know an Edener named... Inaya?"
Takethra:
Gris tilted her head at the name – Inaya. She was one of the higher-ups, was she not? Her name’d been spoken more than once in the gossip of the Legion Compound. In the orations of the Overseer, or the chronicle of the weekly death toll?
Gris didn’t know her, but she knew of her. She nodded slowly, recognizing the thorns the elkhound seemed to be standing on now. The aching ice in his eyes. Perhaps it was this Inaya that had poisoned him against Edeners.
MokiHunter:
Strike hesitated, seeming as if he was looking far too deadly at the ground below him. The memories and thoughts surged through his mind like lightning bolts. He didn't know if he should continue, but a voice in the back of his head told him that he probably should. After all, what else did he have to lose? Besides, it wasn't like much else was going to happen anyways. All there would be is silence if he didn't continue speaking, and for some reason, Strike wasn't sure he could handle that sort of silence, with Gris watching him so closely.
"I-Inaya," he finally started. "She... she's not who you think she is. She's..." He licked his lips in uncertainty before finally going on, "She's a monster." He looked up at Gris's eyes finally, the pain in them evident as he recalled what happened. He'd never truly told anyone this story except for Roua. Perhaps his reasoning for telling someone else now was a hope that redemption was possible. "She... lured me into this building... It had clean air. But she locked me in this room... it was full of..." He shuddered. "It was full of body parts. Wayward limbs, and... heads. I was fearful, until she opened a door deeper into the complex. I followed the trail she'd paved for me and found a dog... an insane dog I tried to help, because he was trapped in chains. But then she locked that door too, leaving me to his rage..." He stopped for a moment. "That's... that dog gave me all these scars. Inaya gave me all these scars. She may have never laid a paw on me, but she did worse. She sat and watched with a grin on her face as I nearly died by the jaws of some dog she'd driven to madness."
Takethra:
Even through her stifling respirator, Gris could smell the fear radiating from the elkhound, a metallic bloody sweat smell. His eyes seemed to go far away as he spoke, as though he was watching the shadows of circling vultures. His fur and tail stood on treble end and his breath came in controlled gasps as he spoke. Spoke of this Inaya-beast who haunted the halls of Eden.
Gris would rather like to know where this building was, where and why she kept the body parts of other dogs, and from where she acquired the beast she used to maim Strike.
Of course she could ask none of this. Strike probably didn’t even know the answer to any of those questions save for the former, and she highly doubted he would deign to take her there. The fear in his eyes was too cold and sharp. He had shell-shock. Who knew how he’d fare at the source of his fear.
She should probably find out more about this Inaya when she returned to Eden. The mastiff sat still as he finished speaking, but her thick fur rose on her back, bristling. Her tail began to slowly swish in circles as she looked with new eyes at Strike’s many scars.
MokiHunter:
Finally feeling the fear ebb away, as he finished telling his gruesome tale, the elkhound relaxed visibly, sitting down slowly before allowing himself to lay before the mastiff. He cared not if she chose to end his existence now; he still couldn't be sure whether she was a friend or a foe, but he supposed if she hadn't attacked him yet, she could be a friend... maybe, perhaps... he wasn't sure, but all he could do was hope. That silly hope which had driven him into many a bad situation, but kept him sane all the same. "Sorry..." he whispered, barely audible enough to capture in the silence of the night. "I just... I need to rest... It's... been a long, stressful day... and I can't get back to my library tonight..."
Takethra:
Gris nodded absently at the little dog’s words, mind still mulling over Inaya. He seemed considerably wearied, all the zeal in finding her name diminishing in the sobriety of his tale.
“…and I can’t get back to my library tonight,” she heard his silent voice trail off, as he was lost in his own private thoughts. Gris blinked. A library? What an odd thing for a waster to possess. She wondered if perhaps it was his home. She watched his sunken blue eyes move with his words. And it at once it occurred to her how weary he must be. A rational soul detained in an irrational land, where one cannot ever be too careful or too cautious, where every minute of undisturbed sleep is a blessing. Perhaps this library was a refuge for him; perhaps he could sleep there. Why could he not make it there, tonight, she wondered. Was it too distant, or perhaps he would not dare the venture in the dark?
She was merely left to conjecture, of course, as she could not inquire herself. All she knew was that he was tired with no will to sleep. In the growing silence, she flopped onto her side, laying in the dirt with her back to the lupine. She turned her grizzly head to him, and nodded to the ground, indicating that he ought to follow her suit in reclining. I’ll keep watch, she expressed when she panned her gaze over the dark horizon.
Perhaps he would not lie down or sleep at all, even if he could decipher her offering. It was not like he trusted her enough yet to let her keep vigil over him. But then again, maybe he did, and perhaps he was very tired and might accept and so be better for it. Either way, Gris kept her flank to the dirt, tail drooped, waiting patiently for him to make up his mind.
MokiHunter:
Strike's dreary eyes blinked rapidly, as he tried to figure just what Gris was doing. Was she... Lying down? Was that a sign that he could relax? Thoughts raced through the elkhound's mind all at once, as he tried desperately to decipher her meaning, but then it hit him like a runaway freight train. Like those he'd seen in his books, those giant mechanisms the two-leggeds once build. It didn't matter now, though. All that mattered was what Strike was understanding. Gris was willing to watch over him, to let him sleep. In any other circumstance, he might never trust an Edener enough to do such a thing for him. He'd be too fearful of them trying to kill him in his sleep like the raiders. But... Something about the peaceful giant relaxed him. She seemed... Trustworthy. And so Strike allowed himself to fully and completely trust an Edener, for the first time since his meeting with Inaya. "Thank you... Gris... I'll repay you, someday..." He laid down behind her, curling into himself and finally allowing his eyes to close. And his slumber was instant; the Wastelander was asleep.
Takethra:
Gris allowed herself a smile, an expression he could not see for the darkness or the mask on her face. She herself was rather surprised that Strike chose to trust her enough to let her keep watch – yet he’d thanked her, and fallen asleep quite promptly after a minute of considering her offer.
I’ll repay you someday, he’d reassured her, before descending into sleep. Gris did not know how a destitute wastelander could do anything of form for her, but then again, this little dog was full of surprises. A very different sort than what could usually be found in the wastes, definitely worth preserving.
The sound of his soft breathing was the only sound of significance in the night. Whether or not trouble avoided them for her presence, or it was just not in the vicinity, they were not bothered. But the mastiff did not let her vigil slacken, keeping her head high throughout the darkness, until dawn tinged the horizon with red.
It was then that she stood. The guards would be waiting for her return; she was usually not so long absent at night. She looked down at Strike, who was sleeping very soundly, scarred form in the attitude of most innocent and well-deserved repose. She wondered again how long it’d been since he’d had a good sleep. Hopefully this made up for any previous sleepless nights, anyway. Now he could reach his library with a fresh mind.
She had no qualms for leaving him there, dawn as it was. Nothing more needed to be said on his part, and she could not say anything on hers, and with her lingering scent, predators would remain at bay for the remainder of the dark; so it was her ought to leave. And she’d turned her tail to him and was about to, before an afterthought came to her. She turned her head to her harness, to dislodge the canteen on it. The container fell off to the ground, sloshing-sounds emitting from inside. The big dog nosed it to rest before the scarred wastelander.
Perhaps he would appreciate a refreshed palate as well, she figured. She did not need the water; she was returning to where it ran fresh. And perhaps he’d never had Eden water before, and her gift would be dually appreciated. She did not know. But it couldn’t hurt to leave it.
Now she herself was sated. She turned away, and began lumbering back from whence she’d come, in the growing orange of the rising sun, leaving Strike behind. But even when she returned to the halls of Eden, try as she might, she could stop thinking about the one who had found her name.
![[MHU] Aspen Whittaker](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/9d14a133-cd83-4cce-8d5b-463799daee67/dcky0fb-4eeb4786-a3da-4d50-b488-8ea36a20f918.png/v1/crop/w_184,h_184,x_34,y_0,scl_0.11111111111111/_mhu__aspen_whittaker_by_reiki_kun_dcky0fb-92s-2x.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9OTIwIiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvOWQxNGExMzMtY2Q4My00Y2NlLThkNWItNDYzNzk5ZGFlZTY3XC9kY2t5MGZiLTRlZWI0Nzg2LWEzZGEtNGQ1MC1iNDg4LThlYTM2YTIwZjkxOC5wbmciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9MTYwMCJ9XV0sImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl19._SyiS7ANUsem8GCezlzLvNUdp5KH8fopwja0HZPpHYg)
![[MHU] Aspen Whittaker](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/9d14a133-cd83-4cce-8d5b-463799daee67/dcky0fb-4eeb4786-a3da-4d50-b488-8ea36a20f918.png/v1/crop/w_92,h_92,x_17,y_0,scl_0.055555555555556/_mhu__aspen_whittaker_by_reiki_kun_dcky0fb-92s.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9OTIwIiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvOWQxNGExMzMtY2Q4My00Y2NlLThkNWItNDYzNzk5ZGFlZTY3XC9kY2t5MGZiLTRlZWI0Nzg2LWEzZGEtNGQ1MC1iNDg4LThlYTM2YTIwZjkxOC5wbmciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9MTYwMCJ9XV0sImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl19._SyiS7ANUsem8GCezlzLvNUdp5KH8fopwja0HZPpHYg)
![[HGC] Dobre](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/de382e59-f689-4c6b-a1b2-2b35b6438702/dbo9l44-60620465-f258-4a5f-83ae-b581a1e76850.png/v1/crop/w_184,h_184,x_0,y_2,scl_0.058412698412698/_hgc__dobre_by_t4iro_dbo9l44-92s-2x.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTM0MSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2RlMzgyZTU5LWY2ODktNGM2Yi1hMWIyLTJiMzViNjQzODcwMlwvZGJvOWw0NC02MDYyMDQ2NS1mMjU4LTRhNWYtODNhZS1iNTgxYTFlNzY4NTAucG5nIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.GFkTcMQ-qSfQTOHvzDJxWqSNEaBqI6DOI0zsGt0R_YA)
![[HGC] Dobre](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/de382e59-f689-4c6b-a1b2-2b35b6438702/dbo9l44-60620465-f258-4a5f-83ae-b581a1e76850.png/v1/crop/w_92,h_92,x_0,y_1,scl_0.029206349206349/_hgc__dobre_by_t4iro_dbo9l44-92s.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTM0MSIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2RlMzgyZTU5LWY2ODktNGM2Yi1hMWIyLTJiMzViNjQzODcwMlwvZGJvOWw0NC02MDYyMDQ2NS1mMjU4LTRhNWYtODNhZS1iNTgxYTFlNzY4NTAucG5nIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.GFkTcMQ-qSfQTOHvzDJxWqSNEaBqI6DOI0zsGt0R_YA)
![[CLOSED] MQA-G00B14 ADOPT](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/5ca63d85-6e60-4aab-9af5-20e7812f6403/de1hfr3-bffe6bf8-36ad-4765-ad27-38551632b8e9.png/v1/crop/w_184,h_184,x_0,y_9,scl_0.095238095238095,q_70,strp/_closed__mqa_g00b14_adopt_by_goobieroo_de1hfr3-92s-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTIxNyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzVjYTYzZDg1LTZlNjAtNGFhYi05YWY1LTIwZTc4MTJmNjQwM1wvZGUxaGZyMy1iZmZlNmJmOC0zNmFkLTQ3NjUtYWQyNy0zODU1MTYzMmI4ZTkucG5nIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEwMjQifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.KFFYCaSj0WkoQSuKLLO3zUVfL-kOgRmyLnMGcMRdPU8)
![[CLOSED] MQA-G00B14 ADOPT](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/5ca63d85-6e60-4aab-9af5-20e7812f6403/de1hfr3-bffe6bf8-36ad-4765-ad27-38551632b8e9.png/v1/crop/w_92,h_92,x_0,y_4,scl_0.047619047619048,q_70,strp/_closed__mqa_g00b14_adopt_by_goobieroo_de1hfr3-92s.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTIxNyIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzVjYTYzZDg1LTZlNjAtNGFhYi05YWY1LTIwZTc4MTJmNjQwM1wvZGUxaGZyMy1iZmZlNmJmOC0zNmFkLTQ3NjUtYWQyNy0zODU1MTYzMmI4ZTkucG5nIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEwMjQifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.KFFYCaSj0WkoQSuKLLO3zUVfL-kOgRmyLnMGcMRdPU8)
Another RP between me and MokiHunter, with yet another mention of one of Gaybies' characters - this time Inaya! xD
Hoohohohoo it was a pleasure roleplayin withya again, Moks! <3
Strike, 15 logs - 75
Gris, 16 logs - 80
© 2014 - 2024 R0B0tak
Comments7
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IT'S BEEN THREE YEARS AND I STILL LOVE THIS TO PIECES
also hi I am gathering all of my babes' old RPs and I miss youuuu <3
also hi I am gathering all of my babes' old RPs and I miss youuuu <3