Red Sky at Night (garden plot)

Jack Lexington
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Red Sky at Night (garden plot) Apr 7, 2012 15:35:17 GMT -5

Post by Jack Lexington on Apr 7, 2012 15:35:17 GMT -5

Now the meaning to 'I had to get away from my parents' has changed a lot. I finally understand why Noreen wanted to get away from them and why this hidden garden with its flowers and peaceful solitude was so appealing. When she first showed me I didn't get the full meaning but now that I know what her parents are capable off I know. And suddenly I understand why she's taking a liking to this guy here. Most likely he let the pig out, which got attacked but some wild biest, and Scrutcher got the beating of a lifetime by his mom or dad. No wonder Noreen liked him.

A little softer I say to him. "I know a few weeds. Not many though. Why?"
I'm much more concerned about his well being and ours than weeds growing in this garden.
Despite my first impression I step closer and offer him a hand.
"Give me that shovel. I'll finish the grave for your pig."
With a few full shovels I fill up the rest of the uneven ground and flatten it out with my shoe.
"Do you want to plant anything on top?"

When he offers Noreen his filthy jacket I can't help but wrinkle my nose and say. "You can have mine if you're cold." Oh my, why am I jealous of this guy out of all the people? Maybe because my girlfriend and him share something that I can't offer...the secret passion of the beaten down.

Nicanora Strong D2 - Matthew Dunham D2 - Torfin Forsberg D6 - Tyler Jameson D7 - Nick Travis D4 (wanderer) - Jack Lexington D10
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laphae8ash

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Red Sky at Night (garden plot) Apr 7, 2012 16:10:46 GMT -5

Post by laphae8ash on Apr 7, 2012 16:10:46 GMT -5

Suddenly the looks on Jack's face make sense. He's jealous of Scutcher. My handsome, strong, Cowboy of a man is jealous? As to not offend either man I just keep working "Oh, I'm not that cold! You guys need those jackets too." I lie though chatters. The wind cuts through a knife and the ride back to Jack's is going to be awful.

Jack finishes the final touches on the resting place of Rags while Scutcher and I fumble in the darkness with some dandelion weeds. Scutcher's hands are clumsy and hulking making a mess of the straight line. Cautiously I lean forwards and take his grimy hands in mine. His are large, calloused, and lined, caked with god knows what, but in them is the gentleness of a newborn calf. "Let me help you?" I ask. My small nimble fingers show him how to grasp the lower portion of the greens pulling in a quick tug to remove even the roots. Smiling up at him he looks so content, its not like the boy we saw earlier tonight.

"You like working in the garden, huh? I do too. Its relaxing, almost soothing." I continue helping him, but Jack lags back just staring down at us. Soon the chill does become more than I can handle though, and I walk over to Jack snuggling up into him and his jacket. No need for both of us to be cold. "Scutcher, you going to be okay getting home tonight?"

Last Edit: Apr 8, 2012 20:07:52 GMT -5 by laphae8ash

kneedles

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Red Sky at Night (garden plot) Apr 9, 2012 5:48:02 GMT -5

Post by kneedles on Apr 9, 2012 5:48:02 GMT -5

Now this was something strange, something different, quiet and tender. Without wanting to be overly sentimental, Scutcher could admit that there was something rare and warm in this moment. Jack finished off Rag’s grave and patted down the earth with care, Noreen knelt to help him with the weeds, both of them showing him more kindness than he’d been used to in his entire eighteen years. It wouldn’t last; a rustling shake in the trees brought on by a light breeze reminded him, it was a fleeting thing like the first sip of hot cocoa dowsed in cream or the very first moment the sunlight hits you on a bright summer morning. Things went cold, the world goes dark but there are pockets of calm in everything, just like this, like the pocket of light that had been cleared in the wood and the bramble to make way for the garden. He smiled and he couldn’t really explain why, not when the thought that this would be over and it would be over soon was such a sad one.

It was over even quicker than he’d expected. Noreen took Scutcher’s hand and the earth seemed to quiver. She was right, he was making a mess of things- his large hands were far from nimble and delicate and the very expression ham- fisted seemed tailor made for a pig boy from district 10 above everything else. All the same he stiffened at such a delicate touch, uncomfortable, not really wanting to have his personal, private spaces violated but not really not wanting it either. He just let the flush of his face curl upwards towards his hair line and kept his eyes fixed firmly on the earth, concentrating on being a bit more delicate when it came to the business of weeding.

Weirdly enough, a strange feeling of loneliness seemed to over take him that he hadn’t felt in the garden before, and certainly never felt when he was on his own. It was always odd how it seemed to happen when Scutcher stepped into more populated places- school, at home when his mother and father and sister tried to sit down to dinner- though those usually ended in disaster, usually by some outburst from his father and now here even though he was with Noreen and Jack and they seemed like really nice people, now that the fog from the earlier incident had cleared. That seemed nice though, having someone there to hold close to you and share something more than warmth with.

All Scutcher had for that was pigs. Noreen asked Scutcher if he was okay to get home in a maternal kind of way and he just shrugged. Scutcher didn’t see why not, it was dark out but there was enough light from the moon bouncing off the cornfields and he could make out the shapes that would lead him due south. His injuries were bad but not debilitating, he could still walk and everything- Scutcher kind of wished that he could find away to show them that no, honestly, he was less stupid than everyone thought.

“I’m okay, my farm aint far. Thanks.”

Maybe they meant his dad or something, since Scutcher really couldn’t give off the impression of someone that got into a lot of bar fights but genuinely, Scutcher wasn’t afraid of his dad in the slightest. He pitied the old man about as much as Noreen and Jack probably pitied him. That was a sad thought, that all of this was borne out of only pity. But it made sense, there was no reason why they should be talking to him or helping him. And pity or not, Scutcher was still grateful.

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Red Sky at Night (garden plot) Apr 9, 2012 14:56:16 GMT -5

Post by Jack Lexington on Apr 9, 2012 14:56:16 GMT -5

This boy, the way he looks at Noreen when she takes his hand in hers, it all makes me uncomfortable. But at the same time I don't want to leave him to his fate. Something inside of me tells me that he's been beat for the wrong reason and that it'll happen again.
I've seen Noreen been beaten by her folks and this man here is probably no different, so instead of turning my back on him I say what's on my mind. "Who beat on you, Scrutcher?"
I'm not the strongest person myself but I have a way of standing up for others that has gotten me into a lot of trouble-aside from my big mouth.
"We can walk you home...or we could come back and check on you tomorrow."
The air is quite chilly by now because the last rays of the sun have vanished behind the big trees surrounding the garden. Even the birds have fallen quiet, which is a sign that it's time to go home.
"I'd say we'd better pack up if we don't want to join your pig in the ground. the wolves are going to be out soon."
On cue a howling can be heard in the distance so I take Noreens hand in mine.

Nicanora Strong D2 - Matthew Dunham D2 - Torfin Forsberg D6 - Tyler Jameson D7 - Nick Travis D4 (wanderer) - Jack Lexington D10
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Red Sky at Night (garden plot) Apr 9, 2012 20:05:15 GMT -5

Post by laphae8ash on Apr 9, 2012 20:05:15 GMT -5

It seems like Scutcher is getting upset with me for trying to be nice, he acts like we're intruding on his personal area, and maybe touching his hands offended him? The wolf howls and I snuggle closer to Jack and shiver at least we have the horse to ride back, even if Jack is still not tops at it. Leaving Scutcher to walk back alone like this kind of bothers me, but the look on Jack's face lets me know he's feeling odd about my kindness to this boy.

It hurts me that Jack can't see that Scutcher is hurting and just needs some friends. We have each other and the way he's acting he has no one, and really at school when I see him the other children are cruel. Slipping out of Jack's arms I go over to Scutcher, careful not to touch him since he seemed to be unsure of my contact, I ask "Do you want us to walk you home? I'd hate to see who ever hurt you do it again." My voice was truthful.

I'd been there not long ago, blocking the blows from my father's "loving" hands. The bruises. The blood running down my face. I felt it all...but I had someone there for me. Jack saved me that night, and every night since. How could I let Scutcher walk off to the same thing I got out of. The thoughts tore me apart even though Scutcher didn't seem phased in the least.

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Red Sky at Night (garden plot) Apr 11, 2012 15:10:40 GMT -5

Post by kneedles on Apr 11, 2012 15:10:40 GMT -5

Who did this to you, Scutcher? Jack asked and Scutcher looked at him the way a drowning man might at the land as he struggled for a way to answer it. Scutcher’s dad has this way of pulling himself in, folding into himself like a ball of wrinkled up paper- crinkled and crushed into a tiny ball, sort of the way that a Jack in the box does when you push on the spring and shut the lid tight. He’d sway bleary eyed and rough shaven from room to room as though the house were a boat on a rough sea, seemingly oblivious under a drunken haze but he was always watching through his milky watery eyes , turn the crack in the Jack in the box and wait for the ‘pop’.

Dealing with the pop was the easy part, Scutcher could handle that, the moment not long ago when his dad had seized the hair at the back of Scutcher’s head between fingers and nails that were kept unusual clean for a pig boy from District ten and slammed his face into the kitchen wall without a word. He could deal with hot, murky breath like turpentine on his face, the jag of the corrugated iron walls against his cheeks as his father slammed him again and again til there wasn’t much to do but concentrate on how it shined in the lamplight, slide onto the floor and wait for his dad to get tired. That was fine, really it was- normally it was the waiting that was unbearable. Turning the crank on the Jack in the box- knowing that the pop would come, but never quite knowing when.

This time, though, this time had been better; there was a reason, a crime and a fair punishment. Noreen and Jack had seen the dead pig. Scutcher had messed up, he got a hiding- and people thought he was stupid. It was weird, but here among strangers who didn’t know his family all that well, Scutcher felt compelled to defend his dad. And anyway, he didn’t want to talk about it- shouldn’t have to either.

“The pig got out...she was supposed to be havin’ babies an’ I was the one who I left the gate open,” Scutcher shrugged. He toed the dirt beneath his boot and stared firmly at the earth, his face growing cloudier as he began to grow a little weary of this. His face and ribs did still hurt, now that he thought about it, they hurt quite a lot.

If Scutcher were his sister he might snap something angry and tell Jack and Noreen that it really wasn’t any of their business what went on between him and his dad because it wasn’t- but that wasn’t scutcher’s way- he simply looked moodily past them to the darkness beyond the trees in the thicket and for the first time wished that Noreen and Jack would leave him alone, never mind how kind they thought that they were being. Pigs didn’t pry like this, never assumed that Scutcher couldn’t handle himself if he had to.

“I aint afraid of my dad or anything, you know,”he said simply, not posturing, not showing false bravado, just stating a fact.

And why should anyone be afraid of Loomis Tansy? In his prime, maybe one could be forgiven for finding something intimidating in the frame of a man well over six foot, broad of shoulder with strong arms and an aloof, cold set in his thin mouth. Now though, Loomis was a sallow faced shadow, hollowed out like deerskin, dead behind the eyes, mouth filled with dead graying teeth, limping around with the remnants of a dead, decomposed leg. There was no reason whatsoever to be afraid of a dead man.

They were both of them, Scutcher and Loomis, pitiful creatures. The father broken down, whiskey soaked, stewing in bitterness and in a rage at everything, the son beaten down and confused, too dumb to be mad at anything at all.

What happened to the years when there was always food on the table? Scutcher’s mother would smile and hum quiet songs in her soft, deep tremble like cattle lowing while his father would walk home from town on two legs and press a pack of new, pure white chalk into the boy’s little palms so that he and Tallow could play hopscotch and hangman on the paving leading up to the old house. What happened to those smiling people? What happened to that happy family? It felt like only Scutcher had stayed the same, and it felt like that had been to everyone’s detriment including his.

He didn’t even care about his face- let it bleed and swell all it liked, he didn’t much care about the tooth either, had left it where it had fallen and was learning to accept the gap where it had once been, but how to explain any of this to anyone. At the best of times, words were like thick lumpy custard sticking in the back of his throat refusing to go anywhere, and that was over simple things like questions at school, haggling over pig feed or talking shop to other pig farmers in the district while this was something more complicated. Quite simply, people think that being beaten up is a bad thing and Scutcher didn’t like it, sure, it hurt a lot at the time. But it was his life, his fault the pig got out, his dad, his problem- if it was even a problem at all. Mostly, it would all heal right up anyway. Good as new; a second bloom in the garden after a bitter winter.

The wolves sang a mournful strain that carried on the wind and Scutcher almost wished they would find their way into the garden so he could hit them with the flat of his spade for what they’d done to Rags. All the same, he accepted that this wouldn’t be wise, not with Jack and Noreen around as well- it wouldn’t be fair to them, so he began to collect his stuff- the old wheelbarrow, the spade, watching the smoke from his lungs curl out into the frost bitten air.

“Yeah...I should go...my mom will probably worry,” he nodded, well...as worried as she could be. Scutcher favoured his mom really in attitude, helpless and out of touch as the world passed them by like the delicate fluff of dandelion seeds caught on a breeze. When she couldnnt deal with any more worry she simply shut down and nothing worried her at all.

Jerking with his head to signify that if they wanted to follow him they could- it was the best way out after all, it avoided the worst of the bramble, Scutcher started out of the garden.

Jack Lexington
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Red Sky at Night (garden plot) Apr 13, 2012 10:47:18 GMT -5

Post by Jack Lexington on Apr 13, 2012 10:47:18 GMT -5

This boy will probably remain a mystery forever. He is so consumed by his thoughts and off in his own world that he falls silent for minutes at a time and simply doesn't respond to us any more.
I've never met anybody like him and have no idea how to place him. He simply doesn't fit any cliche.
The only thing i know about him is that his family lives of pig farming and he got punished for letting one out, which seemed fair. Only the way it had been done doesn't sit right with me. I feel that anger rise deep inside of mee again. That same sort of frustration and rage that i felt when Noreens dad lashed out at her.
Gritting my teeth I exchange a few silent glances with her.

"I'll go and get the horse." I offer so she can convince Scrutcher that we will walk him home.

Pushing my way through the thick brush I finally reach the horse that Noreen has tied to a tree. I circle around the garden with the strong, proud animal in tow and find both of them on the other side where the actual 'entrance' is, no matter how hidden.

Together we walk through the almost dark forest while my eyes are constantly scanning the area for approaching threats. The fact that I'm quite slow due to my bad leg and that night is already falling gives me a creepy feeling.
"Why don't you get on your horse, just in case?" I suggest.

Nicanora Strong D2 - Matthew Dunham D2 - Torfin Forsberg D6 - Tyler Jameson D7 - Nick Travis D4 (wanderer) - Jack Lexington D10
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Red Sky at Night (garden plot) Apr 13, 2012 18:42:42 GMT -5

Post by laphae8ash on Apr 13, 2012 18:42:42 GMT -5

With Jack's urging I got on the horse, I know he was trying to be a gentleman, but I also felt a little odd being the only one riding while they others were walking. The night was getting deeper and the wind chillier, at least this way I could press my body against the animal getting some of its body heat. I couldn't take the coat from either as much as I wished I would've.

Shivering I looked down at the two boys. They were so different, two extremes on the same spectrum of District 10. I hoped that the garden, and more specifically this night would open a friendship between the three of us. Scutcher was a good guy, he just needed to come out of his shell, and I wanted to be the one to help him...I just hope Jack understands.

A smile passes my face when I catch his eye in the moon light. "I hope we get to see you around school more often. I know I haven't been going like I should, but with my new situation I'll be there daily. Maybe we can have lunch together?" Its an odd question, but I want him to know I won't forget tonight. I know I'll see him around the garden, but why should our friendship end there?

A howl in the distance puts Jack on edge. He wants this trip over as soon as possible, being out in the dark in the country isn't safe. So following Scutcher's lead we head down the gravel road that leads away from the city. The lights on the left would take Jack and I home, but I want to make sure that we weren't the only two of our threesome to make it home without incident.

[/size]

kneedles

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Red Sky at Night (garden plot) Apr 14, 2012 10:14:50 GMT -5

Post by kneedles on Apr 14, 2012 10:14:50 GMT -5

Like Noreen, Scutcher didn’t remember the last time he’d been truly present at school. He might as well not have been there, if all that he’d learned over the thirteen years plus of formal education was to be taken into consideration. Scutcher Tansy could no more read a book from start to finish, cover to cover than he could sprout wings and fly to the moon. Still, he went, for a quiet life and to keep his mom and dad out of trouble. The math lessons were okay; he’d fill out complicated algebraic equations with as much effort as breathing if the mood ever took him, which it really did but as for the rest...well. Younger kids with something to prove to their friends would lean in and call him stupid, try to rile him up which was almost impossible, would thread dirt and worms through his locker and throw paper planes festooned with hurtful scrawl at the broad expanse of Scutcher’s shoulders and the back of his head when he hunched to eat his sandwiches at lunchtime. It might be nice though to have someone there at lunch, smiling. Like a friend.

“That sounds real nice, Noreen,” he said, before blushing furiously. There was something right, to Scutcher, about the way her name sounded, the long ‘oor’ of ‘nor’ like a question or a gentle exclamation of surprise , shaping his mouth into a small perfectly round circle and the answer coming in the form of the elongated ‘eee’ of ‘een’ forcing his lips to turn up at the corners so it was impossible to say her name without smiling. Noreen- a real pretty name. It was a name that Scutcher felt like he wanted to be able to say more often.

Scutcher’s name only sounded like it should be barked in a harsh guttural voice, probably by his father when he got in one of his ‘moods’. But that was probably one of many different places where he and Noreen differed. Now as for Jack, with his flushed face Scutcher wasn’t sure he could be cool and casual about all of this so he just looked at the floor. Jack was probably smart, he’d probably read a tonne of books- more than once too, and, despite the leg- of which Scutcher could make out a vague limp as he moved, he looked the way that girls liked men to. You could see his cheekbones and everything. Some people had all the luck.

Following the track, Scutcher eyed the horse warily as Jack brought it to them. As good as he was with pigs, and honestly you’d be hard pressed to find anyone better, Scutcher had always been taught to treat horses with a wide berth. Whatever issue Scutcher’s dad had with the ranchers who rode horses to cross the vast expanses of their farms had never really come to light but he had passed them onto his children. Scutcher and sister had never been taught to ride, but they had been taught to never stand near the hind leg of the beasts. His mom could ride though, she’d mentioned it once that she might have been quite good- maybe that was related to why Scutcher’s dad didn’t like it, maybe not. Scutcher didn’t know. All the same, Scutcher wasn’t a horse fan- they were tempremental, flighty show offs, while pigs were smarter, more steadfast and more affectionate.

He was just thinking of a way to shake off Noreen and Jack, oddly enough he’d never been ashamed of his circumstances before, never had enough pride for that but Scutcher found he didn’t really want them to see that his house was corrugated and on cinderblocks when something in the air unsettled Scutcher. The rustle of leaves didn’t bother Scutcher earlier but it seemed as though he’d learnt his lesson as he stopped still, eyes round as shapes moved in the frost, clenching his knuckles around his wheelbarrow as though it were a shield.

The eyes were like twin stars, hovering in the darkness surrounded by thick autumnal fur. Scutcher looked at the wolf, the wolf looked at them, waiting, the snarl of its snout seemingly saying ‘your move’.

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Red Sky at Night (garden plot) Apr 15, 2012 15:44:04 GMT -5

Post by Jack Lexington on Apr 15, 2012 15:44:04 GMT -5

Noreens got her mind set on 'rescuing' this boy from his loneliness and home. At least that's my impression. As for me-I'm not so keen on being friends but if she insists and Scrutcher is up for it I will not hinder her. Why would I? I'm not that jealous that I'm worried about her exchanging me for him. For all I know Noreen's falling for me head over heels and I feel the same. She's probably just being kind.

Unfortunately I've been so lost in thoughts that I forgot about the rustling the howling until the dangerous creature steps out of the brush next to us.
Noreen's horse throws his head around and backs up against the next tree while I freeze.
My breath is caught somewhere deep in my lungs when I stare into the eyes and the teeth which the wolf is exposing to let us know that he means business.
Any wrong move and he'll attack sinking his pearly whites in either my or scutchers flesh.

Out of the corner of his eye I see the expression on the boys face. It's fearless, almost angry.
Is he going to try and get revenge for the loss of his beloved pig?
What good would that do? He'd only get himself torn to shreds but maybe this boy thinks it's a way to earn his fathers respect again.
As slowly as I can I back away and mutter.
"Scutcher, don't look him in the eyes. Move away slowly. C'mon."

Last Edit: Apr 15, 2012 15:46:49 GMT -5 by Jack Lexington

Nicanora Strong D2 - Matthew Dunham D2 - Torfin Forsberg D6 - Tyler Jameson D7 - Nick Travis D4 (wanderer) - Jack Lexington D10
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Red Sky at Night (garden plot) Apr 15, 2012 22:54:18 GMT -5

Post by laphae8ash on Apr 15, 2012 22:54:18 GMT -5

The horse noticed the beast before I did, pushing its head away from the direction we were headed, nearly backing itself into a tree. I tried coaxing it forward before I saw the beady eyes staring at us. Oh how I wish Jack was on the horse with me, I just wanted to get out of there...but Scutcher he was eying down the wild dog-like form like he was about to take it on. To release the pain he had felt from losing his friend to it or its family.

The horse keeps pushing back and I'm trying to still its anxious movements afraid that if it keeps prancing its going to set the wolf off. My hands are shaking and I'm trying to catch the attention of either boy as to what to do. My heart says to place myself and the large animal I'm on between the boys and our attacker, but my head is telling me that's just asking for trouble. I can't even imagine letting something happen to Scutcher, let alone Jack.

Before I can make up my mind the horse decides for me. He kicks his hind legs trying to get me off of him. When that doesn't work he rears up throwing his front legs in the air. By now I'm screaming to the boys to run. I throw my body against the crazed horse gripping handfuls of its mane, praying to dear life that I don't fall off under it. There is no way my tiny frame can handle the effects of being trampled.

I finally give up holding on and my body flies like a rag doll to the ground, my shoulder pops and I can tell it is not where it should be. I lay there writhing in pain for a second before pushing up and trying to find Jack. I need to make sure he's okay. Oh god, oh god, don't let him get hurt. I have to make sure he's okay! My eyes scan the darkness and I suddenly I see red flowing before my eyes. I realize I am bleeding from a cut on my head and I am doing no good just standing here frantic. Finding the closest try I scramble towards it, clutching my arm to my body.

[/size]

kneedles

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Red Sky at Night (garden plot) Apr 19, 2012 17:09:12 GMT -5

Post by kneedles on Apr 19, 2012 17:09:12 GMT -5

And here
Is a young wolf, still intact.
He knows how to lie, with his head,
The Asiatic eyes, the gunsights
Aligned effortless in the beam of his power.
He closes his pale eyes and is easy,
Bored easy.

Scutcher took up the handle of the spade before he’d remembered that he’d thought to bring one, before he’d remembered what the weight of the wood felt like beneath his fingers; splintered and corneous as a thigh bone or the tip of a fang. It felt the way that corrugated iron did against his cheek, slammed hard against the wall and waiting to break through, out of the house, out of his body, out of his life. Somewhere behind him he felt the dull thud of dead leaves and lichen against Noreen’s body; an austere eiderdown to lay down upon. There was a curl of panic in his chest but still Scutcher didn’t take his eyes off the wolf, he didn’t dare do that. Not when Jack and Noreen told him not to, certainly not when the horse began to startle. Not so much a rabbit startled and confused as the bright lights from a torch catch it and reflect in the hollow orbs of ink black eyes, just watching.

Studying, really. Scutcher didn’t know anything about history, put him in a classroom and teach him the correct way to spell a word and it’d slip from him the minute he stepped out of the door the way that dreams do in the waking world, science left him muddled for the most part and his geography was patchy at best. His schoolhouse was the parameter of a tiny pig farm and the few steps it took to get from there to a clearing in a thicket, everything in his life contained within those boundaries. But this was Scutcher’s world and Scutcher knew it well. Too well, perhaps, that the messy earth outside of the limits exceeded the limits of his brain as well, unable to find space in a mind so filled with pig weights and flower names and a map of the delicate nerve endings fraying out like threads inside of a pig when it came to slaughter.

For example, Scutcher could recall the very day that his father had taught him about the wolves; one of those heavy, sultry days in summer when the flutter on the wings of a blue bottle provided welcome air against your face if you could stand the buzzing, when the pigs coated themselves in the mud to keep cool and then lay like corpses, panting from the heat and the momentous effort that it was to keep a heart beating. Scutcher’s dad stood in full height and glory with a cigarette balanced between his lips and a misshapen straw hat stiff and askew on his head, barely moving with the heat, like a carving of himself set into pine, freshly varnished with the thick sheen of sweat across his forehead.

...Aint got no respect fer wolves..., he said, barely moving his lips around the cigarette that burned orange and luminescent against the muggy air, a sky more dim and sulphuric with the light from a smouldering sun than blue at all. ...Some people call ‘em noble creatures.

Here he spat on the cracked ground, and Scutcher was surprised that it didn’t boil as it hit the earth. His own throat was a desolate place, barren and desiccant as stripped bark and tumbleweed and the small boy doubted he could spit at all. Inside, his mother was making lemonade- diluted to the point of near transparency even then but enticing all the same – but his father was saying something important so Scutcher tried his best to keep his mind from the thought of a droplet of lemon juice slipping down the side of a cool glass.

...Not me though, boy. They’re just as dogs and foxes. Same family, same urge to be dominated....

Like man then.

...Nine times out of ten, they won’t bother with you if you don’t bother with them. And the tenth time they’ve probably got rabies. You know bout rabies don’t you?

Scutcher said he did. An old beagle got close to the schoolhouse once, swaying almost as though drunk, a look in its eye that looked more at home on a man liquored up on home fermented potato peelings and looking for someone to take out his bitterness with the world on. The kids pressed their noses up against a glass and watched as the men came, with their spades and their sticks. He didn’t howl as they set about bashing his brains in, as though he was so diseased that he’d forgotten pain and didn’t know that he was dying. Yes, Scutcher knew about rabies.

Scutcher’s father’s laugh was a humourless one, wet in the humid air and wrapped around a globule of phlegm lodged somewhere deep, tainted with inhaled tar. At least they teach you something at that darn school. Only not so polite as that.

It was why he was looking the wolf in the eyes now, looking for the telltale signs of weeping eyes, the ashy fur around them sodden and strange with that same odd madness in them that the beagle had. But all Scutcher saw were two polished yellow marbles, clear as a glass of water against plush fur. A well fed wolf then, but not a rabid one. Slowly, the tips of his fingers bristling like the wind through branches, Scutcher pulled out his arms, like a tree extending towards the sun, the shovel held in one hand above his head.

“Is she okay?” he asked the space behind him where he assumed Jack was. “You okay, Noreen?” he repeated.

He wasn’t afraid of the wolf, oddly enough, even though he’d seen what had happened to Rags, felt the bulk of it beneath his finger tips earlier. All the wolf had were teeth and claws and Scutcher knew teeth and claws well enough, better than most since he’d already felt the keen bite of his father’s fury earlier this evening. The worst a wolf could do was bite him up a bit, maybe kill him, but that was unlikely. He hoped that Noreen hadn’t hurt herself, since she was supposed to be his friend now, and since he’d never had a friend before he’d like to see what that was like before anything bad happened. But the wolf was the least of anyone here’s problems. Nine times out of time they left people alone.

Drawing in air, making his chest expand, Scutcher began to let out a flurry of guttural noises, deep and harsh, echoing through the air. The kind of call he kept for pigs to keep them from wandering too far, but doing well enough to make a man seem intimidating in front of a wolf. The worst thing to do, would be to hunch in small and try to get away- that made them look like prey. The calls said, here I am, I’m not afraid of you- just you try something.

If only that kind of thing worked on people at school, but they were more complicated than that and even though they’d killed Rags Scutcher had to admit he still understood, understood if not out and out liked the wolves more than people.

Jack Lexington
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Red Sky at Night (garden plot) Apr 21, 2012 5:21:39 GMT -5

Post by Jack Lexington on Apr 21, 2012 5:21:39 GMT -5

As if the situation wasn't bad enough Noreens horse gets startled and acts up. this can only end bad. It's either going to set of the wolf, who is a fierce creature that can easily kill a human, just like it's ended Scrutchers pigs life. Or it'll throw Noreen off in between trees and logs. Just when i finish that thought exactly that happens and I can hear a nasty pop, which can only mean that my girlfriend is been hurt.

Adrenalin is rushing through my veins as I try to decide what to do. Should I go and help her first? She could have fallen on her head or spine or keep the biest in check.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see Scrutcher lift his shovel top be ready to strike in case the wolf attacks. Instantly I decide to fend of the wolf first because it won't do Noreen any good if I help her and the animal attacks us both in the meantime.

Unnoticably I pull my knife out of it's shed on my belt and grip it tightly until my knuckles turn . My green eyes are fixed on the wolves hind legs to anticipate his next move because I know I'm not supposed to stare him down as it could aggravate him.

For a moment time seems to stand still. The only thing moving are the branches of the trees as the breeze rustles them. Again I command Scrutcher in a whisper. "Back away slowly."
To show him what I mean I move backwards towards my girlfriend, whose horse has run off into the woods. Each step I carefully test so I won't trip over any logs.

I'm almost next to Noreen when the biest makes an unexpected move and jumps forward towards Scrutcher. A scream escapes me. I have to help him even though me and Noreen could easily escape now.
Working up all the gutts I have I sprint towards the ferocious biest and slam my knive deep into his grey and brown furry back, once, twice, th...

At my third attempt his sharp teeth stop my arm and seem to tear it to shreds instantly. The shiny blade of the knife falls to the ground where it's absolutely useless for us. Unfortunately I'm paralized by pain and fear and can only feel my heart hammering all the way up to my neck.

If we're unlucky we will all join Scrutchers poor pig today, torn apart and bloody with lips that turned snow white.

Last Edit: Apr 21, 2012 5:52:20 GMT -5 by Jack Lexington

Nicanora Strong D2 - Matthew Dunham D2 - Torfin Forsberg D6 - Tyler Jameson D7 - Nick Travis D4 (wanderer) - Jack Lexington D10
www.hungergamesrpg.com/index.cgi?board=lowchar&action=display&thread=24108
hungergamesrpg.com/thread/68369/torfin-forsberg-d6-completed

laphae8ash

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Red Sky at Night (garden plot) Apr 22, 2012 13:05:56 GMT -5

Post by laphae8ash on Apr 22, 2012 13:05:56 GMT -5

As soon as Jack nearly reaches me the wolf makes an unexpected move and lunges towards Scutcher, before I can react Jack is up and shoving his knife into the back of his assaliant. I stifle a scream as it sleeps to clamp its teeth around his arm before it slumps to the ground in a lifeless heap with a whimper.

I run out from behind the tree struggling to pull my flannel off to make a touriquet for Jacks arm. My left arm is screaming in pain from the dislocation but I fight the urge to yell, not knowing what else is out there. Using my teeth I rip a shread off the of the shirt and tie it tightly around Jack's arm and try to asess the damage.

"Scutcher, did you get hurt by the wolf" my voice is shakey and I can't tell what is what with the mud and dried blood covering his clothes. "Do you need help?" my voice soft trying to coax him out of this far away place that I see in his eyes. It was like he was in a memory he just couldn't shake.

Jack is moaning and groaning and I turn back to him taking care to roll up his sleeve to get a better look at the bite. It doesn't seem to be bad at all, more of a few deep scratches but nothing that we can't fix back at the house. "You're okay love. Nothing your mom and I can't take care of." I say with a sigh of relief. I lean forward and kiss him, "One of these times your bravery is going to get us killed, but I can't help love you for it." Shaking my head I offer my hand to pull him up.

once Jack is on his feet I head over to Scutcher, and reach out to touch his arm. "Are you okay?" my eyes search his face for some sort of of signal that he's ready to head on. This night has been experiences that I never thought I'd have, and my body is starting to feel the effects of it. The screaming pain in my shoulder and the aching in my bones from the fall. All I want is to head home now.

[/size]

kneedles

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Red Sky at Night (garden plot) Apr 23, 2012 16:47:57 GMT -5

Post by kneedles on Apr 23, 2012 16:47:57 GMT -5

It happened in a blur, in flashes of snarling tooth and extended claws, the time it took to blink or simply draw breath and far too fast for Scutcher to fully comprehend. There he was, slack mouthed and stupid as the world around him rushed to action. The woods seemed to twist into something sinister as night fell, gnarled branches became long, extended fingers and the call of the owls was a taunting laugh- and there was the wolf, bloodied on the floor after the knife wounds. Jack had killed it, had done what Scutcher never could and he thought of his father.

He was seven years old again and standing in the smokehouse staring up at his dad. Under the disinfectant the smell of blood was like the scabbed clots in his nostrils, persistent and playing on his senses with that same rusty trace. The floors were scrubbed clean but the channel running the length of the floor was forever stained with the gallons upon gallons of pig blood- and somewhere in the future the wolves blood seeped through the dark earth. The adolsecant pig hanging from the ceiling was still alive, still conscious, squealing in disgust, raw and pink as an open wound. His name was Apples and Scutcher had raised him from birth to what he was then; not quite a piglet, but far from grown. He was always meant to get heavier, meant to get older- but there he was, Scutcher’s favourite pig hanging from the ceiling and scared out of his mind, as though he could sense his fate.

Kill it, Scutcher’s dad ordered him coldly. He knew that Scutcher didn’t know how.

Now, Scutcher wanted to be at home more than anything, the sounds of his hog farm permeating any silence. Scutcher’s pigs never just squealed, see, they grunted when they were happy and barked whenever they felt threatened. In the moments following the wolf attack, Scutcher couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been caught and chained too, struggling and squealing- when he coughed, a pain seized his rib cage and he clutched at it, wishing the trees were close enough to grab onto to steady himself. There was a hot ripple of shame coursing through him as well, that he’d been dumb enough to try and wait for the wolf to get bored.

Kill it.

Scutcher remembered the look of disappointment on his father’s face when he couldn’t kill his favourite pig, the first time and imagined it echoing through the empty woods now. It could almost be etched into the slowly stiffening last toothy sneer that the dead wolf would wear for all eternity. He remembered the looks of disgust his dad wore too, saturating his childhood, running like channels of blood through everything. He could imagine Loomis Tansy here now, wondering what he’d done to deserve a son as dumb as Scutcher who froze up when wolves attack when there were people like Jack in the world, infinitely braver, faster and smarter. That there was the kind of son Loomis Tansy wanted, was why he balled all of his resentment and fury into a fist aimed directly at Scutcher’s head.

Kill it?

All of the world was a blur of in flashes of snarling tooth and extended claw, there was hurt and hardness with the kind of frost that bit through the flesh, right down to the bone and scraped away at the marrow. And then there was Noreen, soft and kind and warm- asking him if he was okay, when Scutcher had heard her horse rear up, startled and knock her horse aside. Twin feelings rose up inside of him like bile, to hug her and say thank you- though he was sure he would die of shame moments afterwards- and to say in a strained voice that Jack was still bleeding over there. Jack, the brave one.

So Scutcher just nodded and gently rolled her arm out of his grip- saying, don’t do that again, please, was another urge he fought to keep inside of him. “It didn’t do nothin’ to me. I’m fine.” He shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant but coming out shaken and strained. And it wasn’t so much fear of the wolf, more the relentless pace of it all. They had been standing, and now Jack was on the floor and the wolf was dead and she’d touched his arm again.

Ask her how she is too, Scutcher. It’s what you’re supposed to do.
“You…you got thrown, did you hurt anything?” he asked her seriously, all wide robin’s egg blue eyes.

And thank Jack. He was the one who saved your sorry ass. Came a thought that sounded eerily like Scutcher’s Dad.

“He just…” said Scutcher impotently to Jack. “That was crazy. I aint never known a wolf to just...” he struggled a little and mimed claws and fangs to fill in the gaps, “Don’t’ reckon it had rabies do you?”

Last Edit: Apr 23, 2012 16:49:05 GMT -5 by laphae8ash

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Post by Jack Lexington on Apr 7, 2012 15:35:17 GMT -5

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Post by Jack Lexington on Apr 21, 2012 5:21:39 GMT -5

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Post by kneedles on Apr 23, 2012 16:47:57 GMT -5