Oldtom
February 28th, 2009, 10:57 PM
Like the title says, a work in progress. Don't know what all it will contain yet, or how far I want to take it. I definately want Bjørn to get his vengeance, but beyond that...?
Anywho, constructive criticism and comments are appreciated!
Fire was good. Fire was very good, all the talk of infernos, volcanoes and their ilk aside, Timothy was happiest with a nice warm fire in the stove. Prices, though, prices. Fire could be expensive, if you wanted to splurge on the luxury of a second stove to keep your room warm at night. The logs had burnt down, now, leaving the room with only the dull orange glow of the embers for light. Sure there was a small pile of chopped logs waiting for use nearby, but the stone slabs that lined the stove had absorbed so much heat it wasn’t really important to keep it going anymore.
Plus he just like the dull light more than the dancing flames. Everything was close, quiet and warm in the otherwise still dark of the night. A tiny, haven from trouble and woe. He’d bought the old inn reasonably cheap, attracted to the solitude it provided being so far from the main thoroughfare. Still close enough to bring about a handful of regular customers looking for a place to relax from the midday sun, or a chance to avoid the daily drudgery of cooking. . These regulars had brought him into the local system of barter, with it’s heavy reliance on favor trading, and gossip, the odd traveler bringing a few coins that he stored until he wanted to indulge.
Timothy yawned at the pop of a log, rolling over to reveal a white and black spotted belly to the fire, neatly trimmed claws sliding into the weave of the fabric as a slight purr built in his throat. . He almost bit is tongue, and did in fact fly a few feet in the air when the house shook violently under the blow of some unseen force. Thomas staggered to his feet, shouldering on a warn in old bathrobe that had lay over one side of the stove. The heat of it was almost unbearable, and would make a sure guard against whatever nuisance awaited out the main room.
Padding around still chairs, and tables in the gloom, Timothy made his way to the front door, and flung it open before him to reveal a perfectly still line of trees, lurking with no real intent about fifty feet away. He scowled at them, finding no other suitable outlet for his anger at having been roused this late in the night. Idly his ears flicked back and forth, listening a telltale whisper from whoever had shaken his home.
No answers coming, Timothy shook his head and muttered something about punk kids, and turned to go back to his lovely fire before the winter chill sapped the last warmth from his robe. And came face to face with a very large, slightly red-stained set of teeth.
Something gave out a cry of alarm then, though it couldn’t have been Tim, who was buy stumbling over what surely had to be a misplaced stair and falling to the ground below. Bjørn the bear, for his part, laughed loudly at the cat’s misfortune.
“Christ almighty, Bjørn, what do you want with me at this our.”
“Well certainly not yer potatoes! Looks like all you’re planting this year is your ass!”
“Oh no, don’t give me a hand up or anything. I’m fine.” He grumbled, pushing himself to his feet. “Now what do you want?”
“My my, aren’t we the cheery one tonight?” Bjørn asked, rhetorically, flipping down from the roof to stand between Thomas and the beautiful fire. “Anyways, I‘d rather not give you or anyone else a hand. Been doing a bit too much of that already!”
To illustrate his point the bear shoved a large, bloody stump into the slighter cat’s chest. This was met by a certain amount of revulsion, and Thomas flung himself back a few steps, much to the obvious enjoyment of Bjørn. Tom’s ears went back, as he pulled himself up off the ground for the second time that evening, quickly licking a hand and smoothing out his whiskers. For some reason, this made the wounded ursine laugh even harder. The loud, roaring cackle washing over him was providing more reason for delicate ears to flatten.
“So how did this happen?” He asked, tersely.
Bjørn paused a moment before answering, scratching at a deep cut on his shoulder, and pulling the flesh over to look at it. “Some little fellow. Long, wirey. Uhhh… one o’ them whattaya call ‘ems? Eat snakes.”
“A mongoose?”
“Ha! Leave it to you to know some obscure thing like that! Yeah, one of them”
“well why’d he cut off your arm?”
“Well he was rather cross with me wasn’t he?”
“What did you do now?”
“Well what do I ever do!? Don’t’ be thick! I was stealing his provisions and valuables!”
“Did he have any valuables?”
“Ah, bit of a buzz kill there. Turns out he didna have anything worth having, until now.”
“He’s got your hand?”
“HE’S GOT MY HAND!”
Bjørn turned then, ducking into the too-small doorframe and moving towards Tom’s private sanctuary. The cat just sighed, righting the chairs that his massive “guest” was shoving out of the way and following to the back. Thomas was not big, by any standards. Somewhat scrawny, and no more than five feet tall, his fur a light orange that was only just beginning to grey around the muzzle.
Bjørn on the other hand, was huge, standing at just over 9 feet tall he wasn’t able to stand fully upright in the low-ceilinged inn, instead hunching over in the gloom. A shaggy, brown shadow that tuned slightly to watch Tom make his way over. By the time Tom made it over, Bjørn had already shed his shirt, leaving his heavy chest bare. He was riddled with thin, bald patches from old scars, and by the looks of the wounds he’d taken there were sure to be a few more soon enough. Most notable was a large bald patch on his chest, Bjørn swore it was from when he’d been struck by lightning. Tom wasn’t sure how true that was, or how untrue. He certainly seemed healthy enough to get back up after a lightning bolt, and bears were notoriously tough to start with.
“Enjoying the show,” he growled. “Good, but I’m going to need a hot bath, and heat up some metal.”
“Metal?”
“What are you, daft? Yes metal!”
“I’m no blacksmith!”
“I don’t need anything crafted, just cauterize this!” He said, jabbing the stump at him.
“You mean…?”
“Well it’s not going to grow back, now is it?”
“So what do you do now?”
“Now I take a bath, covered in river mud.”
“You rubbed mud into your fur!?” He moaned, not wanting to think of what was happening to his carpeting, or bed.
“Ha! Of course I did! That’s so they can’t smell you! Then we go hunting. He took my hand, and isn’t the law something like ‘an eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth?’”
“No that’s not ho-“
“Well I’m coming for eye and tooth! With interest!”
“So you’re going to…?”
“Blood fer blood!”
Anywho, constructive criticism and comments are appreciated!
Fire was good. Fire was very good, all the talk of infernos, volcanoes and their ilk aside, Timothy was happiest with a nice warm fire in the stove. Prices, though, prices. Fire could be expensive, if you wanted to splurge on the luxury of a second stove to keep your room warm at night. The logs had burnt down, now, leaving the room with only the dull orange glow of the embers for light. Sure there was a small pile of chopped logs waiting for use nearby, but the stone slabs that lined the stove had absorbed so much heat it wasn’t really important to keep it going anymore.
Plus he just like the dull light more than the dancing flames. Everything was close, quiet and warm in the otherwise still dark of the night. A tiny, haven from trouble and woe. He’d bought the old inn reasonably cheap, attracted to the solitude it provided being so far from the main thoroughfare. Still close enough to bring about a handful of regular customers looking for a place to relax from the midday sun, or a chance to avoid the daily drudgery of cooking. . These regulars had brought him into the local system of barter, with it’s heavy reliance on favor trading, and gossip, the odd traveler bringing a few coins that he stored until he wanted to indulge.
Timothy yawned at the pop of a log, rolling over to reveal a white and black spotted belly to the fire, neatly trimmed claws sliding into the weave of the fabric as a slight purr built in his throat. . He almost bit is tongue, and did in fact fly a few feet in the air when the house shook violently under the blow of some unseen force. Thomas staggered to his feet, shouldering on a warn in old bathrobe that had lay over one side of the stove. The heat of it was almost unbearable, and would make a sure guard against whatever nuisance awaited out the main room.
Padding around still chairs, and tables in the gloom, Timothy made his way to the front door, and flung it open before him to reveal a perfectly still line of trees, lurking with no real intent about fifty feet away. He scowled at them, finding no other suitable outlet for his anger at having been roused this late in the night. Idly his ears flicked back and forth, listening a telltale whisper from whoever had shaken his home.
No answers coming, Timothy shook his head and muttered something about punk kids, and turned to go back to his lovely fire before the winter chill sapped the last warmth from his robe. And came face to face with a very large, slightly red-stained set of teeth.
Something gave out a cry of alarm then, though it couldn’t have been Tim, who was buy stumbling over what surely had to be a misplaced stair and falling to the ground below. Bjørn the bear, for his part, laughed loudly at the cat’s misfortune.
“Christ almighty, Bjørn, what do you want with me at this our.”
“Well certainly not yer potatoes! Looks like all you’re planting this year is your ass!”
“Oh no, don’t give me a hand up or anything. I’m fine.” He grumbled, pushing himself to his feet. “Now what do you want?”
“My my, aren’t we the cheery one tonight?” Bjørn asked, rhetorically, flipping down from the roof to stand between Thomas and the beautiful fire. “Anyways, I‘d rather not give you or anyone else a hand. Been doing a bit too much of that already!”
To illustrate his point the bear shoved a large, bloody stump into the slighter cat’s chest. This was met by a certain amount of revulsion, and Thomas flung himself back a few steps, much to the obvious enjoyment of Bjørn. Tom’s ears went back, as he pulled himself up off the ground for the second time that evening, quickly licking a hand and smoothing out his whiskers. For some reason, this made the wounded ursine laugh even harder. The loud, roaring cackle washing over him was providing more reason for delicate ears to flatten.
“So how did this happen?” He asked, tersely.
Bjørn paused a moment before answering, scratching at a deep cut on his shoulder, and pulling the flesh over to look at it. “Some little fellow. Long, wirey. Uhhh… one o’ them whattaya call ‘ems? Eat snakes.”
“A mongoose?”
“Ha! Leave it to you to know some obscure thing like that! Yeah, one of them”
“well why’d he cut off your arm?”
“Well he was rather cross with me wasn’t he?”
“What did you do now?”
“Well what do I ever do!? Don’t’ be thick! I was stealing his provisions and valuables!”
“Did he have any valuables?”
“Ah, bit of a buzz kill there. Turns out he didna have anything worth having, until now.”
“He’s got your hand?”
“HE’S GOT MY HAND!”
Bjørn turned then, ducking into the too-small doorframe and moving towards Tom’s private sanctuary. The cat just sighed, righting the chairs that his massive “guest” was shoving out of the way and following to the back. Thomas was not big, by any standards. Somewhat scrawny, and no more than five feet tall, his fur a light orange that was only just beginning to grey around the muzzle.
Bjørn on the other hand, was huge, standing at just over 9 feet tall he wasn’t able to stand fully upright in the low-ceilinged inn, instead hunching over in the gloom. A shaggy, brown shadow that tuned slightly to watch Tom make his way over. By the time Tom made it over, Bjørn had already shed his shirt, leaving his heavy chest bare. He was riddled with thin, bald patches from old scars, and by the looks of the wounds he’d taken there were sure to be a few more soon enough. Most notable was a large bald patch on his chest, Bjørn swore it was from when he’d been struck by lightning. Tom wasn’t sure how true that was, or how untrue. He certainly seemed healthy enough to get back up after a lightning bolt, and bears were notoriously tough to start with.
“Enjoying the show,” he growled. “Good, but I’m going to need a hot bath, and heat up some metal.”
“Metal?”
“What are you, daft? Yes metal!”
“I’m no blacksmith!”
“I don’t need anything crafted, just cauterize this!” He said, jabbing the stump at him.
“You mean…?”
“Well it’s not going to grow back, now is it?”
“So what do you do now?”
“Now I take a bath, covered in river mud.”
“You rubbed mud into your fur!?” He moaned, not wanting to think of what was happening to his carpeting, or bed.
“Ha! Of course I did! That’s so they can’t smell you! Then we go hunting. He took my hand, and isn’t the law something like ‘an eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth?’”
“No that’s not ho-“
“Well I’m coming for eye and tooth! With interest!”
“So you’re going to…?”
“Blood fer blood!”