Riddle Heights the lily-livered and the potty-mouthed

Set immediately after/during this thread.

@Gilligan

Why was running so hard.

Wheezing, Duck stumbled up the rocks, unable to believe that this was the same incline they had just come down. That had been a gentle angle; this was a cliff face! Seriously! He had been fleeing for upwards of ten minutes, and still was barely back on the mountain, no, he couldn't even make it past the whole 'oh Duckling this bit is DANGEROUS there are THINGS that WANT TO EAT YOU' before his lungs felt like exploding and why was running always so hard?!

Stopping was not an option, though. He had glanced back a few minutes ago, but the flat ground he had left her at was out of sight, obscured by rocks and brittle shrubbery and other stupid mountainy things. Now he couldn't even see if she was still alive or not! How could he have just left her like that, even if she had told him to? Mother was never frightened of anything, not like that. Not like that.

Duckweed shivered when the image of the golden man swam to the fore of his mind, imagination adding a bloody, gruesome smile and haunting laugh, cold eyes, and all the things that should terrify and torment. How had he just left his mother there?! Not that he would have helped in a fight, or anything, but, but, it was the principle - Tauza and Staleek wouldn't have done it, even those proud assholes valued family to some degree. He'd abandoned her, the coward! Left her to that monster! What if he never saw her again? What if-

Panicked and not paying nearly enough attention, he slipped on a loose stone, and his left foreleg flew out to the side; with a shriek, and a failed attempt to catch himself, he landed face-first in the dirt and rubble. A second passed, and then another, as his chin throbbed painfully and his left wrist complained, probably twisted. There was dust in his nose, and his lungs was tired, and his legs ached. And his mother was probably dead. And he only had Staleek and Tauza left in the whole world, and he couldn't even get that far.

Sniff. The first crack broke through his pain, and pure misery poured through it. Sniff. His eyes watered, and his energy seeped out into the rocks around him, and he couldn't move. He sniffed back the tears, fighting them, wanting so desperately not to be that pathetic. He couldn't just lay here and sob into the earth like some child, he couldn't, he couldn't!

He didn't win, like usual.

(This post was last modified: Sep 08, 2015, 03:58 PM by Duckweed.)

   

It wasn’t often they got to leave Silent Moon Plateau, but his father had gotten some sort of permission and the pair was off, back to the mountain he’d slowly become obsessed with.  Father and son had split off – two noses were better than one, and even Gilligan was capable of scenting a wolf (or a pack) as they searched for any remains of the members that had once made up the Poison Path pack.  Perhaps the redhead had wandered a bit further than he should have, but it was the mouth-watering stench of a nearby carcass that dragged his attention away from his task.  The boy had just finished scavenging when a nearby shriek caught his attention.
 
The yearling startled, ears pivoting as he quickly licked his lips to hide any evidence before Gil realized that @Datura would never allow himself such an undignified squawk.  Still, it didn’t hurt the youth to be cautious, not after the recent unrest between himself and his sire, and he cleared his throat.  “Dad?” he called, waiting impatiently.  He only made it to the count of ogdoad before the wolf set off in that direction.
 
To his great surprise, he found a completely different wolf piled on the ground, making horrible little sniffling noises as he curled up in on himself.  Intrigued more than anything else, the Plateau yearling approached with no hesitation.  “Yo, what that you, just now?  Fucking scared the wits outta me, you know?” Gil began conversationally, ears swinging like radar dishes.  He prayed to his little star that his father was no where near here.  “You from this place?  I’m supposed to be fucking looking for something.”
 
Not that I’m doing a great job of it.

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So consumed by his own misery, and with his own crying filling his ears, Duckweed missed the initial, tentative call of a son to his father. If he had, the boy might have shut up right quick in an attempt to go unnoticed, because the only thing that could make sobbing into the dirt worse would be an audience.

"Yo, was that you, just now?"

The pale boy about jumped out of his skin. Mind momentarily scrambled, he stared at the reddish wolf from his undignified vantage point tangled up on the ground, eyes wide and wet, heart pounding a familiar beat. He barely registered, at first, what was actually being said at him, so distracted by his own torment, but something about the rough manner of speaking, or maybe it was his totally nonchalant manner, or maybe it was... wait, what was that thing on his neck...?

Whatever it was, it was a small plug in the drain that was Duck's mental fortitude, and it was enough for the pale boy to regain some bearings. So broken, lost and afraid, he could hardly have sunk any lower - and so, for the first time, he could only look up.

"Y-y-y-yes?" he squeaked out, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to, unable to stop staring at this creature which had come upon him at the worse time and yet seemed to be entirely preoccupied with his own problems? Wait, he'd done what? Fucking scared the wits out of him? What? Taken aback at both the notion that he could be responsible for anybody else's fear (not that the red wolf looked any measure of scared) and the easy way that the swears fell off his tongue, Duck's bewilderment continued to slowly fog his mind, blurring the icy pit of despair which had previously consumed him. "Who-o-o...?"

   

Well, okay, that wasn’t quite the affirmative he was looking for, but he’d at least found the source of the yelp.  He couldn’t blame the other wolf – they looked the same age, and Gil would be lying if he tried to claim he’d never yelped himself.  Offering a friendly wag of his tail, he slunk closer to the cowering wolf, plopping his hindquarters down next to the white wolf.  “Who?  Oh yeah!  Yo, sorry, forgot about that for a second.  Dad woulda fucking killed me, man.  He’s all about manners, and stuff?  It’s lame, it’s really lame.  But I’m Gilligan Aquila!  You can call me Gil,” the ginger prattled on, immune to whatever shyness was plaguing his new companion.
 
“What’s your name?” he asked conversationally, deciding this wolf, much like @Leotie – a loner he’d found in the fern forest – would be his friend.  The other yearling clearly wasn’t a threat, all piled up on the ground and making no attempt to greet him, much less present some sort of dominant posturing.  The young Aquila found himself nicely settled, perfectly content, and only then did he finally realize the other wolf’s eyes were wet, and his voice had been shaking when he’d first answered.
 
Ears pivoted and Gil cocked his head to one side as he studied the pathetic heap, his tail swishing from side to side.  “Uh, hey…you okay, yo?  You’re looking kinda…uh…not okay,” he hazarded, completely at a loss.  @Datura had never so much as mothered him, much less babied him if ever he’d been hurt.  “…should I get someone?”

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@Gilligan

Was this real? Duck shifted back slightly as the red wolf sat down, giving him more room (and trying to preserve his tattered personal space), but couldn't stop staring up at him. His own thin tail twitched almost imperceptibly at the wag from the other, a reaction in himself that Duck didn't notice. Easily, yet somehow simultaneously with little grace, the other boy introduced himself, as well as his relationship with his father and his opinion on that - and the curse made Duck's eyes a little wider, and knowing that somehow this other wolf had a mean father too but wasn't a mess on the floor like him, and did he say Aquila? Where had he heard that before...?

Abruptly, given little time to really absorb the barrage of words that had already been hurled his way, Duck's name was asked - that hated question. But with how distracted this wolf, this Gil, was with himself, Duck almost wondered if he would even notice if Duck said anything at all; he barely felt like a participant in this conversation, and more like an unwilling audience. Wait, wasn't Gil supposed to have been the unwelcome audience? Confused, the pale boy stammered out, "D-d-duck," without really thinking about it.

But Gil wasn't the completely oblivious sort. Duck's discomfort grew by magnitudes when those orange eyes focused on him, and the boy flinched away from the eye contact as he anticipated the pity or disgust there. But, again, while his words pinpointed Duck's pathetic heap on the floor, somehow they weren't as cutting and cold as he braced himself for, and it was the haltering, unsure nature of them which turned Duck's expectations on their head.

He couldn't cope with all this at once, why wasn't Gil being an asshole like he was supposed to? Not used to dealing with any measure of true empathy from anyone other than his mother, that thought was the final straw, and Duck's throat tightened as a single, desperate sob escaped him. "I think I k-k-k-k-k-killed my m-m-m-m-ma," he said quietly, biting down tears.

   

“Duck?  Okay.  That’s kinna a weird name, yo,” the ginger wolf decided, humming softly to himself.  But, he hadn’t named himself, had he.  His par--  The wolves before had given him the name Gilligan, and his father had given him the family name he wore so proudly.  Just as likely, Duck’s father (or mother) had named him as such, and the White Goat native prattled on, remembering his conversation with Leotie.  “It’s okay, though.  I’m weird, too.  My friend decided so.”
 
I have a friend, the boy thought excitedly, not for the first time.  Meeting the wandering young woman had been a gift from the heavens, affirming that Gil was, in fact, capable of associating and empathizing with like-minded individuals.  He cared about her, and cared about getting her home – and there was no benefit for him!  It was a profound experience, truly, and perhaps that meeting was why he’d been able to notice that the small white wolf was upset in the first place.
 
Of course, if the Plateau yearling had known what the other youth’s answer was going to be, he’d have never asked.  But he was no fortune teller and had blindly stumbled into the emotional pitfall, and with Duck’s answer, his eyes grew wide and he inhaled sharply.  “You killed your mama?  What the fuck!?  Why the fuck would you do that?” Gil babbled, completely taken aback by the notion.  Oh, sure, @Datura absolutely infuriated him sometimes – he’d attempted insubordination once already – but never had he actually contemplated causing his father physical, lasting harm.  Duck was regarded with nothing short of bewilderment (and here he’d thought this would be another mundane conversation where he’d find none of the answers his father so desired), and after a moment, the boy cleared his throat again.  “I mean…uh…you sure you killed her?  Maybe it…wasn’t…that…???”

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@Gilligan

Somehow the usual sting was dulled, for though he still hated to admit his name and have it out in the open to be judged, Duck's problems extended far beyond that. Though Duck had sniffed at the declaration that it was 'weird', because he knew that already, he was given pause as Gil went on to equally declare that he himself was also weird. Did that make them... even? Had Gil just deliberately put Duck and himself on the same level? Who did that?

He didn't expect Gil's reaction to his heartwrenching confession, though perhaps he should have done. Stupid, stupid, you don't just say something like that - but Gil had asked what was wrong, and it had just come out! What the fuck?! Why the fuck would you do that? It took Duck a moment to realise the possible misunderstanding between them, but even then, it was pointless to explain - either way, if she was dead she was dead, and why did it matter in what manner Duck was to blame? If he had stayed, maybe he would be dead too, but without his mother he was as good as gone anyway.

Sniffing, still fighting the torrent of sobs which were caught in his throat, waiting for just one tiny opportunity to render him a blubbering mess, Duck attempted to clarify, not that it mattered. "Th-th-there w-was a m-m-m-m-m-man," he choked out, staring at the wide-eyed Gilligan, desperately needing comfort but she wasn't here and he was lost. "Sh-sh-sh-she s-s-said to r-r-r-r-run, b-but I should have s-s-st-st-stayed."

"I-i-i-if," he sniffed, and, unable to finish that particular sentence, skipped it and carried on to the next one: "it's m-m-m-my f-fault."

   Oh, shit, oh shit, Gil thought, eyes growing wider by fractions as the sniffling devolved into broken sobs.  I broke it! his mind cried, and the yearling had half a mind to step away and take off deep into the forest, before anyone else could realize what he’d done.  Oh, sure, there’d been no tact involved with that question, but Duck had claimed he killed his mother!  While Gilligan had never had one of those, that certainly didn’t mean he’d kill one if he did!  Even at his worst, he never considered actually harming @Datura – that was his dad!

Swallowing hard, the collared male was beginning to wonder if perhaps he should call his sire for help when the white wolf finally started to stuttered again.  Brows furrowed as he tried to find the words mixed among the lone letters, tail tip thrashing thoughtfully – eventually, though, the boy did comprehend some of what the boy was saying.  His mother was protecting him, he realized, and now Duck felt guilty.

“Well…” he began slowly, shifting his eyes up towards the sky.  What would he have done if Datura had barked the same order?  Probably the same thing, in truth – would he be such a wreck in the aftermath?   “You did what she said, yo.  I bet that’s what she wanted.  That’s what moms are supposed to do.  Besides, maybe she knew the man?  Maybe she was in love with him, or something.  My dad said that woman are like that,” Gilligan explained offhandedly, grasping at any straws that might bear an ounce of optimism.  “She’s probably fine.  Dad tells me to get lost all the time.  What did this guy look like, anyways?”

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Ashamed of himself and caught up in panic and grief, Duck purposefully stared at his paws, unable to meet @Gilligan's gaze. He missed all the thoughts which flashed across the red boy's face, believing there to be only disgust and disapproval. It was easier to just assume the worst. Still, Gil's harsh judgement would not hurt half so bad as the idea that his mother was dead at his actions.

So when Gil's words, instead of cruel and jeering, were clumsily comforting, the contrast with Duck's expectations jerked his head up to stare at the red boy. Why would a total stranger choose to console him, when he got nothing from it? Duck wasn't his son or his brother and they were hardly friends. Duck didn't have friends. That wasn't a thing that he was allowed (more subconsciously, it wasn't a thing he allowed himself). His mother comforted him because that was what she was supposed to do.

He swallowed at the lump in his throat, still unable to really understand why Gil was trying to sympathise with him. Was it a trick? @Tauza and @Staleek were very good at sweet talk, but Duck had not fallen for their sugary deceptions in a long time. This felt different, and he could see no maliciousness lurking beneath the red boy's words or manner. Maybe he really was just trying to be kind, in a weird, awkward, but somehow genuine way.

All of Gil's suggestions rattled and raced through Duck's head, and their very presence helped to suppress the previously overwhelming belief that his mother was murdered. There were other possibilities, too, so it wasn't a certainty! Unable to cope with the idea that she was truly gone, the pale boy clung to them all, wanting any of them to be true.

"I d-d-d-dunno," he muttered, wiping at the wetness on his face with a paw, wanting to reclaim some semblance of composure. If Gilligan could make the effort, so should he. "B-big and y-yellow and s-s-scary looking." All he could really remember was a monster standing there, hardly a wolf at all, but he had enough sense to know that his recollection was entirely twisted by fear and grief. Staring up at Gil, Duck paid the question not much mind, seeing no reason why the red boy would know the man at all. Instead, his eyes flickered back to the object around the boy's neck, and, mind desperate to distract itself, he blurted: "W-w-what is that th-thing?"

   

He’d broken Duck, but perhaps he hadn’t broken the other yearling too badly, for he was still able to make words.  They were stuttering and shaky, but they were words all the same, and as the ginger leaned in, he found he was able to decipher most of what the other wolf was trying to say.  “Big and yellow and scary looking…” he repeated, rolling the idea over in his mind.  A wolf that looked suspiciously like Datura seemed to appear in his mind, and he quickly shook the notion off.  His dad could be grumpy sometimes, but he’d never, ever kill someone.

He might have inquired after Duck’s mystery man further, but the boy’s attention had shifted to Gilligan’s favorite topic.  His collar!

Brightening visibly, the Aquila preened as he lifted his chin, showing off the blinking apparatus so his new friend could have an unhindered look at the beacon.  “This is my star, yo,” he explained happily, his tail thumping behind him.  “Everyone in my pack got one when they became an adult.  And I got mine!  It’s so cool,” he sighed happily, wishing he could crane his head enough to admire it properly.  “My dad doesn’t like it at all – but it’s mine, and it’s special.  Ain’t never gonna give it up, man.  Besides!  I’m grown, I can decide if I want it, right?”

AHHH SIKI I AM SO SO SO SORRY.  ;~;  This thread totally got away from me.  Please poke me if I ever do that to you again ahhhhh.  D:

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