Dead Empress Backwater hokey-pokey

tw: TW: swearing

January 19th; Late afternoon, almost twilight; Overcast Clouds; -9.49° F, -23.05° C.

Anatole was glad for the break in what seemed to be like a never-ending winter storm. Like almost everyone else in the pack, he was using the cold season to rest and collect himself. Most days he strolled through the forest around the Backwater. He liked to keep himself available should someone have use or need of him. In his moments of isolation, he practiced dropping his 'accent.' Usually, he spoke in his head but, on rare occasions, he whispered aloud as if he were teaching someone else.

"Bonjour.
"Hallo."
"How are you today?"
"Ah, comme ci, comme ça."
"As-tu vu... what's 'is name..."[/i]
"Anat-"

A strange rustling stopped the wolf in his tracks and wide brown eyes watched in fear. What looked like a pile of sticks emerged from behind a bare shrub. It waddled into view and then stopped as it realized the presence of something larger.

Anatole pulled his tongue from the roof of his mouth, "Aha. I 'ave not seen Anatole, but je vois ce... thing." He canted his head and frowned as the weird creature continued to just stand there. It craned its head to look up at Anatole and as both eyes locked, the wolf's jaw dropped. "Hell-o," his voice trembled, his nostrils twitching as he slowly bent down to give the furry-sticks-on-legs a sniff. "Nice winter day, 'sn't it?"

One whiff was all it took. The tail end of the creature swung up. Anatole didn't even have a chance to blink as it whacked the yearling in the face. The terrible yelp that rose from him could've been heard a couple of territories over. As Fate would have it, he had never seen a porcupine before.

Oleander returned over the pack borders when he heard a yelp that made him jump. As acting Medic, it was his responsibility to be on alert whenever someone got hurt. He scampered through the trees, already dreading what he would find... a broken limb, a torn pelt, a cut paw pad, a scuffed nose...

The scene he ended up coming upon was a strange one. Anatole was face-to-face with something Oleander, too, had never seen before. It looked half-fluffy and half-covered in what looked like dark evergreen needles. His eyes went from the creature to the yearling.

"Whoa now," a poor start to diffusing the situation in case the large rodent-thing had other plans in mind. "Easy does it... Jus'..." The Valle ground his molars together, moving as slowly as he could to Anatole's side. His eyes never left the creature's body, his paw came down into the space between them. "Everyone stay calm."

they say pray it away, i swear,
OLEANDER VALLE
that I'll never be a saint, no way

Holy... shhhh--! Anatole stumbled back, eyes watering and nose burning. The breaths he was taking in a rush of adrenaline were both hot and icy at the same time. He snarled and growled and whimpered, blinking over and over in disbelief. His hackles rose and he flashed his teeth as he squared his shoulders.

How dare, he wanted to say, but the sharp quills sticking out of his nose had him part cross-eyed and in a panic. When Oleander came onto the scene, he sealed his lips. Though he knew he was larger than the porcupine, he was tense. The fur along his neck and spine stood straight up. He began to recoil with his bottle-brush tail between his legs.

"Whoa now."

"It started it!" he bit back the pain that threatened to lace his words.

"Easy does it... Jus'..."

Anatole whined, the sound whistling through his muzzle as the Valle drew closer. When all he could see was a wall of white, Anatole barked and hollered, warning, "Leave! Vermin! You don't belong 'ere!" He raised a paw to swipe at his nose, a sad attempt to rid himself of the stinging objects that stuck out in all directions. Tears fell from his eyes, desperate for Oleander to look at him, to help him. He didn't want or need to be calmed, he wanted the offender taken care of! Couldn't he see that he had just been attacked?!

The words that left his mouth were supposedly French with a snarl. But, in his helplessness and shock, it came out in a jumble spilling off his tongue. "Qui pensez vous être?! Que faites-vous ici?! Ce ne lakjoi ho;waieh najsdpi otjewpaiejl;ksd..." If Oleander did nothing else, he was going to become absolutely hysterical.

there used to be a greying tower
ANATOLE GERAU
alone on the sea

It was clear that something had happened. Whatever had happened between the duo, though, Oleander could not discern. The creature in question was not a wolf and not a good candidate to subject to questions. As it was, the Medic turned around as Anatole began to flail, pawing the end of his nose and telling the thing to leave. It was then that Oleander saw the quills...

"Qui pensez vous être?!" The Gerau began to ramble, clearly offended. "Que faites-vous ici?!"

"Ana-" Oleander started to no avail. His words were drowned out by syllables that he couldn't understand. Unsure of what to do, he took a step back... which was a horrible decision. His brows rose and all while Anatole was freaking out, he felt the pricks in his rump.

Waves of white and red flashed behind his eyes, and an alarm in the fashion of a screeching bat or frog sounded in his head. "AHHH! F-CK!" He stumbled forward in an attempt to get himself and Anatole away from the offender. He nudged his head into the yearling's chest, anything to put more distance between them and it...

Shoulder up against Anatole's sternum as his rump stung, Oleander had only one question he had to ask. "What did you do to it?!" He stared as the creature rattled its quills, a forelimb splayed before the yearling to hold him back. He tried not to panic. The Medic was not allowed to panic. "What'd ya do to make it so mad?!"

(This post was last modified: Jan 22, 2024, 01:32 AM by Oleander.)

they say pray it away, i swear,
OLEANDER VALLE
that I'll never be a saint, no way

The yearling watched as the older male faced him, shaking his head to stave away any form of consolation. His nose hurt, his tongue felt funny and there was something pointy in his mouth, he had no idea what that monster was... he was already riled up beyond his means. But, the soothing words did not come, and in its place:

"AHHH! F-CK!"

Every single fur Anatole possessed stood up on end as if he had jumped in his skin. His anger was quickly replaced with newfound panic. Before he knew it, Oleander's large frame was up against him, both holding him back and shielding him from harm. Now he knew the pain of the deviant creature.

Oleander seemed to be holding himself together with a spider web, "What did you do to it?!"

Anatole cringed, falling to his rump, unable to scoot back any further while sitting on his tail. "I di'n't do aneh-thin'!"

"What'd ya do to make it so mad?!"

"Nothink, ah swear!" Another whine lifted from him as the porcupine did an eerie thing with the sticks on its back and tail. He trembled. Maybe if they didn't move, didn't do anything else, didn't say anything else, it would leave. "It was juth suddenly there!"

there used to be a greying tower
ANATOLE GERAU
alone on the sea

The thing was only about one-third of a wolf in length and a fraction of the average lupine's weight but, boy... it had two near-grown wolves under its sway. Oleander woofed at the porcupine, oblivious to how much he was leaning back on Anatole now, "Go on! Git!" Inwardly, he steeled himself, wondering if he would have to do more to convince the creature.

The large rodent shook its quills in one more warning, staring the wolves down with black, beady eyes. When it seemed the duo held no interest in it, it shrugged and began to shuffle away, turning its back to the youths.

Oleander flinched, bracing himself against Anatole when the porcupine turned about. The three seconds that followed felt like an eternity. Only when it was a good distance away, at four or five or six meters for good measure, the Medic exhaled in relief. He hissed as he moved, limping to one side as he withdrew from the yearling and looked him over. His eyes gawked at the long dark things sticking out from Anatole's nose. "Well," he fought the urge to squirm. "Could've been worse I guess?" Once recovered, he instructed, "Hold still."

The Medic leaned close to Anatole, opened his jaws, and pulled on one quill, removing it in one swift yet fluid movement...

(This post was last modified: Jan 20, 2024, 11:00 PM by Oleander.)

they say pray it away, i swear,
OLEANDER VALLE
that I'll never be a saint, no way

Anatole bit back a whimper, his face overwhelmed by the stinging sensations in his face and mouth. One forepaw lightly draped around Oleander as the two of them watched and waited. The Medic braced himself and Anatole did the same. His tail pressed against his belly. He closed his eyes. Cause of death: poked by a monster, bled out from puncture wounds.

Was it dramatic? Yes. Did Anatole care? Not in the slightest.

"Go on!" Oleander barked in what seemed like a last resort. Anatole could taste the blood in his mouth now as he closed his eyes. "Git!" He felt Oleander brace against him.

This was it...

The yearling anticipated the worst as he heard the terrible rattle of quills again. The nerve-wracking clickity-clack that could only be likened to a woodpecker beak against a tree trunk.

Nothing came.

Anatole opened an eye, then the other, following Oleander's gaze to the back of the monster. He couldn't believe it. It was leaving! Merci les dieux... Brown eyes watched as his savior staggered away and to one side. Concern spread across the mask on his face, worry taking hold as he looked at the quills on Oleander's flank. Three or four dark needles were woven into him, an endless stretch of ivory fur with spots of red. He had done that. If it hadn't been for his stupidity, the Medic wouldn't have been hurt.

Anatole whined as the Valle drew close. He did not even hear what he had said before; he had been staring at Oleander's side in grief. For a second, their noses touched. A wave of warmth washed over him, turning the tips of his ears hot. His breath caught in his chest, but then Oleander pulled away. The yelp was instinctive, near-involuntary... an inane reaction to having a needle with a barb yanked from a tender part of his face.

"AAAIIIIIIIII-AAAHHHHHHH!!"

(This post was last modified: Jan 20, 2024, 11:25 PM by Anatole.)

there used to be a greying tower
ANATOLE GERAU
alone on the sea

Anatole's yelp seemed to echo through the forest. It was loud enough to make it seem like it made their prickly adversary scurry away even faster. Oleander gave a jolt, the quill clutched between his teeth. Well, one down and... The Medic's eyes scrambled to count the remaining quills as Anatole jerked away. One-two-three... and the one in the mouth. Damn. Never mind the three in his flank, Anatole got the worst of it and it had to hurt baaaad.

Oleander eyed the yearling seriously after flinging the quill away from them. It flew through the air like a javelin landing hidden in a nearby bush. "Stop, stop, stop," he half-barked, trying to corral his patient in. He pawed at Anatole's shoulder to get his attention, "You're going to make it worse. Let. Me. See."

When the moment presented itself, the Medic drew close again. He bared his teeth, then with the gentlest of grips, he pulled at the two close together on Anatole's nose.

(This post was last modified: Feb 03, 2024, 12:48 AM by Oleander.)

they say pray it away, i swear,
OLEANDER VALLE
that I'll never be a saint, no way

I'M STILL BREATHING, I'M STILL BREATHING

---

(I knew what I wanted, I went in and got it, did all of the things that you said that I wouldn't)

At first, Asmund could just barely hear anything. His prowling form was seeking food, and his prey's trail just happened to lead this way. The voices strengthened with each step, and their true tones began to bleed through. His muscles tensed and his fur rose, anxiety as familiar as a lover rising up to envelop him. Abusive in its touch, demanding he run with each frantic beat of his heart. A scream pierced the air and his indecision both, sending him racing not away, but forward.

It was only @Viorel's influence that allowed Asmund such determination. He had never seen a Valle run from danger, wouldn't prove his guardian wrong by allowing his cowardice to keep him from helping. Clearly, someone was in trouble.

He burst onto the scene with a booming snarl that fizzled just as abruptly. It was just Oleander (who Asmund assumed did not like him) and the strange teen who had joined them a few months ago. His cheeks flared with embarrassment and his tail and gaze both dropped. Az knew what those quills in Anatole's face were, and could put two and two together. He'd been all worked up for nothing, it would seem.

But, he hadn't fled.

(I told you that I would never be forgotten, and all in spite of you I'm alive, you took it all but)

---

I'M STILL BREATHING, I'M STILL BREATHING

(This post was last modified: Feb 04, 2024, 08:02 AM by Asmund.)

Anatole's paws came up, pawing at the air around the quills that remained on his face. He whimpered and whined as Oleander eyed him. His dark tail tucked closer against his white underbelly. Anatole's ears pinned back.

"Stop, stop, stop," the medic was on him already, a paw to the shoulder capturing his full attention. "You're going to make it worse. Let. Me. See."

The yearling's head trembled. Eager to please, Anatole grew still. Another wave of uncomfortable warmth washed over him as Oleander came closer. At the sight of teeth, he shut his eyes, waiting for the yank. A flash of white behind his eyelids. Brown eyes blinked but the sound of crunching snow had him on edge.

Another wolf lunged into the clearing and Anatole, much like a startled deer, leaped up and away. Never mind that he knew the sound was lupine. He wanted nothing to do with it. If Oleander wanted to help him further, he'd have to catch him... or, well, he'd turn up at the Infirmary sometime later... the quills that remained were much more painful now than he anticipated.

He hid behind a large exposed tree root.

there used to be a greying tower
ANATOLE GERAU
alone on the sea