Apr 01 05:53:26 106 PA
From Chronicles
Weather at Fri Apr 01 05:53:26 106 PA (-2.37C, 27.74F): Indecisive wind churns a moderate snow fall from wavy ridges of clouds overhead.
The Kingsdale Plaza Park stretches out to the west approximately sixteen-hundred feet until it meets with a residential area. The ground is covered with sporadic grass and wild flowers. Deep craters from some long-ago weapons fire cover this area of the park making the ground uneven and in some places difficult to walk. Nonetheless, this area has seen extensive use by the people of Kingsdale. Bike trails criss-cross the area and one of the craters has been filled with water where duck and other water birds come. These waterfoul seem to have quite a good living too, with people almost always present to feed them. Here and there are stands of conifer trees that people often sit beneath to read and otherwise forget the trials and tribulations of city life. The exception to this is during the night though, and nobody comes to the park after dark unless they are either foolhardy in the extreme or looking for trouble. The wind blows through the area unhampered and on good days it carries with it the laughter of children feeding ducks and the sweet scent of pine and wild flowers. Benches and places to sit are also scattered through the park area, and to the south is a Pavillion of five statues -- all previous dictators and people of note to Kingsdale's past.
In the early evening, Hund and Ruel finally make it back to town, their hunting trip successful. Ruel's trip perhaps wasn't planned and his clothes show the damage a seven year old can do in ten days of living rough. His hair and body require a wash, and there are tears and dirt throughout his clothing. However, there is dead food slung over his shoulder; fish and meat, and he is oblivious to any worry he might have caused hasn't arrived yet in his mind, flown in the sight of hunting with his furry friend.
The snowy park contains few at this hour, and those that do speckle the environs are of a hardy sort. All are spaced far from one another, and one in particular perches on a bench, feet on the seat, rump on the curve of the bench's back. She appears to be resting, looking halfway between settled and ready to move at any instant. The wolf's tail twitches thoughtfully behind her. Perhaps she's thinking.
While admittedly somewhat perturbed with Ruel's initial appearance in the wilderness, Hund appears to have simply accepted the child-creature's appearance in the midst of his hunting. After all, he's far from the authority on child-creatures, and Ruel seemed so sure of himself. As such, returning from his hunting and gathering, the mutant idly trails alongside the youth as they return to the canine's more regular stomping grounds - the ever pleasant Kingsdale Plaza park. Hund himself is carrying a satchel slung over one shoulder, and he wears the worn plated armor that is his norm.
Ruel's loud telepathic chatter goes on, "And if we clean it up and put it over a fire, we can eat it and then ..." And on and on. His grin is pure small boy, and can be seen despite the dirt that covers every other inch of him. He aims for the lake, source of relatively clean water and flat bits on which to light a fire, thoughts of Max far from his head as he drops the dead things onto the floor. He begins the search for wood.
The sounds of the pair's approach crunches in the snow, and radar ears swivel toward the source. She's wearing white today, which makes her more difficult to see against the backdrop of snow. The direction Ruel takes to search for wood is mimicked by the wolf, who moves into the denser trees ringing the park.
Hund continues to trail alongside Ruel, his head bobbing in occasional mute agreement with the child's tele-talk. Mute, that is, to the outside viewer, although even in direct telepathic communication he does little more than agree with the explosively enthusiastic child's constant stream-of-consciousness. His good ear twitches and flicks every so often, testament to his perpetual awareness, but he seems entirely content to allow Ruel to lead the way for the time being.
Ruel has no awareness, nothing to distract from the babble he puts out into the psi-ether. "I'll find us some wood and then we can cook it and eat it, and I know you'd like it rawer but it tastes better done and..." And on and on and on. He hunts down some ancient trees, scrambling up to pull off branches, hurling them down towards Hund with the satisfaction of a hunter tracking a difficult foe.
Nose a-twitch, Hex moves between trees with quiet steps, eyes on Ruel, and one ear tilted in Hund's direction. When the boy pauses to scramble up a tree, she pauses, stooping low to the ground and gathering snow. Stepping sideways, she begins to wind up for the pitch, possibly stepping into Hund's view.
Hund twitches his good ear a few more times, perhaps in response to some nagging sense or thought at the back of his brain. Head tilting, gaze turned off to one side, he continues to reflexively agree with everything that Ruel says - although his attention is snapped back to the here-and-now as a rain of old branches cascade from the youth's perch. Attentively plucking them out of the air with his plated gauntlets, he diligently resumes attentively focusing on the fascinating thoughts that are flying out of Ruel's brain.
Sliding from the tree, having removed the optimum number of dead branches for a fire over which they can cook the foor, Ruel lands on the floor with complete disregard for his clothing or cleanliness. He pushes a flop of hair from his face as he turns back towards the flat bit to start the fire. "And I can start this so that we can cook it and then my stomach won't rumble and we can get some sleep, because it is nearly dark and ..." The train of thought rumbles on, his lack of caring over those around him and comfort and trust in Hund obvious.
Zyooooooom -- BIFF! A snowball pops out of what seems to be nowhere and crumbles against the boy's shoulderblades with enough force to be felt, but certainly not enough to hurt. It's followed by another, and then the wolf is moving out of the trees toward him at a fast walk. "Ruel, you'n me gotta have a talk."
Ruel spins, dropping into a defensive posture immediately. He realises, after a second, that it was a snowball and he relaxes for a moment. "Ain't got to talk to you." He responds quickly, turning towards the pile of firewood. "You ain't my ma." The psychic speech is loud, defiant.
Hund is active, the moment snow starts flying, although he's not nearly fast enough for interception. The bundle of sticks and branches spilled onto the ground, he wheels about, arms upraised before he spies Ruel's relaxed demeanor. A brow arched, curiousity peaked, the mutant is silent but for the slight creak of armored joints and the scuff of his plated boots against the snow as he sidesteps. Interposed between the approaching Hex and Ruel's position at the base of his climbing tree, Hund simply crosses his arms and acts as a living barrier. Evidently, he is the physical representation of Ruel's defiant response.
The wolf's pace doesn't falter or slow, and she strides forward, leaving wide prints in the snow. "But y'should. An' no, I aintcher ma. Think I'd know it if I squeezed you out, an' I didn't. But I know your da, an' he's plenty worried 'boutcha. On th'other side of th'city lookin' fer you, y'know. Y'ain' been very good t'him, bein' missin' all this time." Hex preaches, and then turns eyes toward Hund. There's a subtle shift in her expression that goes from gruffly concerned to gruffly grumpy. Hackles prickle faintly, b ut beyond that, Hund gets ignored.
Ruel stays firmly behind Hund, using him as he is, a protective barrier against wolfs who are in the way, between him and his beloved bear. "Bet he was too busy to notice." The words hold a world of petulance and sulkiness. "I wasn't in the city, I hate the city, I hate you, I hate him!" There is almost a metaphysical stomp of a foot there. "He doesn't need me, he has you to make family now."
"Don' act like y'know, kid. Y'ain't been there t'see him worry over ya. An' y'may hate me all y'want, but y'can't hate him. He's your da, an' I aintcher family. 'M on the outside. Now I don't so much care about what y'may think of me, but it ain't fair t'Max whatcher doin'. All th'choices he's been makin' are for your good, your benefit. Me'n him? That was him makin' a small choice for himself. Y'think your goin' off an' scarin' him half t'death is proportionate t'all that he's done fer you?" Arms cross over her chest and Hex's features soften as she looks at the boy. "I ain't part of your family, an' I wouldn't even dare t'try t'be. Ain't polite, fer one thing, an' jes' cause Max'n'I are friends doesn' mean he likes me more'n you. You're his son, an' your his world. Surely y'gotta know that by now."
Hund remains where he is, silent and stoic. He doesn't seem to know any better than to stand strong in the midst of a personal squabble.
The boy wavers, and it shows in the thoughts he sends out. "He said he wanted to make a real family. Means I'm not family." He doesn't emerge from the protective shield that is Hund, staying firmly behind him. "You aren't friends. You are something else." Stubborn, and angry, and an undertone of hurt boy. He turns, taking up the wood Hund dropped and putting it into a pile, and as if he wants to show his powers, he glows brightly, sending a light to ignite it with a whoosh.
"Fer someone's sposta be a smart kid, yer preddy dumb. You /are/ Max's family. He loves you more'n anythin' in this life. If anythin' happened t'you, it'd break 'is heart. An' I dunno what about genetics you've learned, but wolf plus bear don' equal children." At that, Hex at least has the wherewithall to look embarrassed. She takes a break and smiles. "In th'grand scheme a' things, I don't matter. You do. Max needs you jus' as much as you need him. You're th'best thing he's got. You really gonna take that away from him by disappearin' like y'did?"
Hund wavers a tad, evidently in response to Ruel's own newfound uncertaintly. Ear flicking, his eyes narrow a tad before he spares a quick glance over his shoulder at the child-thing. A brow arched a second later, he eyes Hex as if she were some manner of space-creature or the like, patiently listening to her commentary before he finally utters a single word to break his silence. "...what?" Oh, that wacky, confused psi-hound.
The certainty is certainly gone and there is sniffling from behind Hund as the boy sits down facing the fire. The resentment that has carried the boy through his 'hunting' trip and vanishing act has gone. He takes out a small knife and begins working on the fish he had, gutting it with practiced movements. "Thought he'd have you and wouldn't need me." The first ever quiet thought from the boy floats across the park, along with a sniffle.
It's now that Hex continues her approach, quiet feet crunching snow. Her voice reflects a quieter tone. It may even be considered gentle. Hund is eyed briefly before she leans to the side to look around at Ruel. "Now /that/'s down right silly. If there's one thing yer gonna learn 'bout girls, kiddo, s'that we come an' go. We might be around a while, or we might not. S'how r'lationships work. But fam'ly is forever, an' you'n'Max? You're family. I wouldn' try t'barge my way int' that without askin' you first. Cause hey, you were there first an' what you think'n'feel matter a whole lot. T'Max, an' even t'me."
Hund snorts softly, but he falls by the wayside. Head turned off to one side, as if he's now ignoring Hex just as hard as she's ignoring him - possibly even harder, just to teach her a lesson - he occasionally tosses a fleeting glance from the corner of one eye in her direction. Hunkering down, he crouches on the opposite side of the sulking child, as if awaiting a new mental or physical cue from his young charge.
The fire is crackling now, and the boy pushes the stick through his fish, putting it over the flames to cook before sitting back on his heels, the posture mimicking the hunters that range the woods. "He said real family." The words are a mental mumble, upset boy style and he pokes the fire with another stick. He leans into Hund, seeking reassurance, his face set with the mouth upside down, sulky.
"He was thinkin' of you when he said it. Prolly thinks havin' a mum around'd do y'some good, 'cause he thinks he ain' good 'nough for you on his own. Don'tcha get it? He's tryin' to do what's best for you. All th'choices'n'decision he makes.. all of 'em are driven by what he thinks will make life better fer you. Cause that's what dads do for their sons." Hex says, also having hunkered down several feet away. Ruel's personal space is being respected. Hund is getting suspicious looks.
Hund veritably radiates uncertainty, still pointedly looking away from Hex, although he remains still as Ruel leans against his person. An arm is uplifted, and he awkwardly pats the boy lightly atop the head, armor-plated hand tapping the youth's mussed mane with excrutiating care. It's as if he feared that the child-creature will shatter into a thousand broken pieces, were too much pressure exerted. Ear twitching, spares another brief and not-quite covert look in the wolf's direction. Yup, she's still there.
Ruel is obviously wavering, but pride of a seven year old is a mighty thing and it stands in the way as much as Hund did earlier. There is a long pause before he asks, awkwardly. "Is Max mad with me?" He lets Hund pat him, snuggling against him, watching Hex around him. "I don't want him to be mad with me, won't go home if he is."
"More worried that sommat bad might'a happened to ya. Ain't mad." Hex states. "An' I think y'oughta go home, least so he can stop bein' worried an' start bein' real glad t'see ya."
Hund peeks at the youth once more, head tilted some so that he can angle his gaze at Ruel. Eyes narrowing, then relaxing once more, he seems thoughtful for a moment before musing telepathically to the youth. "Is maybe a good idea? You have strong feelings for the Max-Creature, I think." ...see? He's been listening all this time.
Hund's words, and Hex's do the job and the boy looks up at the dog-man, giving a slow nod. "You have the fish." This apparent decision made, important things first, he scrambles to his feet. "I'm going home but not because you said." He informs Hex loftily, haughtily before turning and bolting for the flats.
Hex smirks a little bit and laughs. "Well /duh/, yer goin' home 'cause it's th'smart thing t'do, an' your a smart boy." The wolf hollers after. Tags: hex, hund, ruel
