9/10THS OF THE LAW [P]

[Darryl Vojak]

It was an hour past noon, the summer sun mercilessly hot on the forest below. The shade of the trees did nothing; the only relief from the heat came from the cool wind that whipped pleasantly through the undergrowth. Or it might have been pleasant, if it wasn't changing direction every other minute and making staying downwind of anything straight up ridiculous. He was trying to get promoted to full hunter, something that was never going to happen if he couldn't bring back a haul from a solo hunt. All morning had been a streak of miserable failure; a cougar stole his pheasant, something had shredded one of his traps, and the deer had been driven too hard by someone else recently, and bolted, crazed, at the small sound of a squirrel fight.

In short, it sucked. Lina would be laughing herself sick at him if she was here, which he was so, so glad she wasn't. He bet she would have been able to take one of the deer anyways, even without him and her pack of dogs. It was unfair, defeatist thinking, he knew that. It didn't make his brain shut up about it though. He was going to bring back a kill if he had to camp his butt out overnight up in a tree, dangit. Tib would be so mad. So will all the hunters, if we waste the time it takes to hike out here and back. And Isk, Lina, and Jo were all way scarier than Tib.

And really, it wasn't like he'd gone super far into the forest. Desert sand had given way to peat moss and soft leaves no more than half a mile ago, even though the trees towered and tangled high. Sunlight barely reached the earth there, and where it did thick fern and young birch surged upward to swallow it. In the shadier parts fern gave way to moss and blackberry brambles, much like the one he had just raided for lunch. The smoked meat he had wrapped tight in a pack could wait to be his dinner, particularly if he was going to spend the night.

A soft crunch, green-wood misshaped underfoot. The gentle grind of damp leaves against rock. The abrupt absence of sound as they stepped onto the thick carpet of moss he knew was there. To call his hearing sharp after what the scientists had done to it would be to grossly understate the issue, it was an advantage in hunting that put him a level above his prey. But what would be coming from the immediate Northeast? He had, and he really wasn't dense enough to miss anything that was as big as this sounded; around a hundred pounds. His thoughts turned from prey to fellow hunters, and he was immediately nervous. Animals he could handle, people that wanted to gut and kill him, however, not so much.

He was safe for now, downwind and twenty-five feet up a massive oak. So he held his breath, closed his eyes, and listened. The birds were still singing, whatever it was didn't worry them. Yet, he reminded himself. The shrug of fabric, or something like it. A muffled thump. Someone had sat down, or set something down. Either way, he was sure it was a someone rather than a something. And they were.. moving again, maybe gathering food, or supplies. Maybe what they set down was a kill. Stealing, scavenging, and appropriating drops from the scientists was all very much within his job description. Food was food was food, after all. And still, anxiety fluttered. The steps were moving away, not far, toward where he thought he'd seen more berries growing by a small brook. They could be wanting the food or the water.

Either way, a better chance was not like to present itself. He slid a rail spike out of it's holder by his belt into his left hand, and closed his fingers tight around the warm metal, trying to take some comfort in it. Then with a sharp inhale, his eyes slid open, scanned the ground, and he stepped into open air. Clear of the branches, wide wings knifed out and pressed down, and the fall ended as lightly as if Darryl had jumped out of one of Fallen's traincars. It was nice that they provided some use after how long it took the scientists to get his body to grow them; he was far too heavy to actually fly. But not too heavy to sneak, and sneak he did. He had the advantage of already scouting out the area, and he stuck to the spongy moss as he moved through the trees. A hundred feet away or so and there it was, a backpack type deal leaning up against the base of a birch. Score.

There was no time to rummage and investigate right now; it was nothing he recognized from his fellow Fallen, and he wasn't interested in waiting around to find out just who he was stealing from. He grabbed it mid-stride and headed back west, away from the brook and the direction they'd come. The pack was heavy, though not obscenely so. It was a very good sign, and he was ferociously pleased with his little act of sneaky bravery.

[Holly]

The trees approached rapidly as she glided over the forest, steadily dropping lower, searching for a suitable landing spot. One ancient pine speared through the tangled canopy, and she banked toward it, wings flaring as she dropped her hindquarters under. Talons sank into the bark as Holly transferred her weight onto it, a backpack swinging gently from her beak. She made sure not to jostle it unduly as she descended the tree, leaping lightly from branch or branch. (Though they were thinner, this high up, they held her well enough. For all her size, the griffin was surprisingly light - she was pretty sure her bones were as hollow as a bird’s, if not nearly as fragile.)

For all her care, she wasn’t particularly worried about waking Tain, in otter form, curled asleep and utterly exhausted in the pack. A hunting patrol had run into a little trouble with a boar, and the resulting mess has wiped him out. She wouldn’t dare to fly with him otherwise, not with his fear of heights. If he ever found out she had, he’d likely panic at the very thought.

Best not let him find out, then. Dropping the last distance to the ground, she straightened and shifted back to human, settling the pack over her shoulders. There was a stream not far from here, and her mouth was dry as the desert she would soon enter to skirt the mountain range. By herself, she probably would have chanced crossing the mountains, as it was a more direct route. With her precious cargo, however, it was riskier. With a passenger, she couldn’t fly as high as she usually did - the air got too thin for land dwellers - and it would make them a target for the bird retros.

Holly could have left him with the patrol and headed back on her own, but the idea didn’t sit well. They weren’t the most competent of her ringmates, and she felt responsible for Tain. She didn’t want to leave him when he couldn’t defend himself.

The cheerful sound of the water reached her ears, so she turned toward it. Setting the pack against a tree, she skirted a thicket of brambles and knelt by the stream, cupping the clear water to bring it to her mouth. A few grateful swallows later and she straightened, shaking drops from her fingertips as she circled the brambles again. Only to freeze.

The pack was gone.

Hands curled into fists as sharp gray eyes scanned the ground, and then she was off in pursuit of the footprints she could see snaking across the forest floor. A normal human wouldn’t be able to make out the faint depression in the moss, a broken blade of greenery, a scuff in the pine needles or leaf litter. She hadn’t been normal for a long, long time, though, and enhanced vision was only the beginning.

She ran quick and light through the foothills, the shadows growing patchy as the chase led toward the desert, letting in more sunlight. It became obvious when the person - it was a single person, the prints revealed that much - realized they were being followed. Their strides lengthened, the trail twisting and turning, and in cases disappearing entirely for a short distance. A couple times Holly had to stop and circle, but she managed not to lose it entirely.

Slowly but surely, she was catching up. The thief was slowing, slightly - she would guess they were hesitant about breaking out into the desert, where it would be impossible to hide. Then, a sudden flash of movement ahead. Holly was surprised, she hadn’t thought she was that close, but that didn’t stop her from putting on a burst of speed. She shifted mid-stride, used her wings for a boost to leap over a thicket, and pounced on the thief’s back.

The wings flailing in her face startled her - an anthro or a virus? - but she recovered quickly, pinning them under her paws and extending her talons to let them be felt through the feathers. “Give me the pack,” she snarled, pressing him hard into the earth. It wasn’t on his back, nor did she see it nearby. She would have noticed if it went flying when she tackled him. “Where is it?”

[Darryl Vojak]

His wings, though heavy, did very little to slow him as he foxed through the forest. They were an accustomed burden, one the hunters and Wynn in particular had insisted he train twice as hard to make up for. But still, he didn't really need the extra slam of adrenaline to make his heart pound as he booked ass. What if the person he'd stolen from was massive? What if they were a totally psychotic murderer and he just stole their favorite stuffed animal that was the only thing that kept them from going totally postal? What if it was life saving medicine they needed or they were gonna die in ten hours? What if it was full of the rotting body parts of viruses or people or something? No, wait, it totally doesn't smell bad enough for that. And crap, he could hear the sounds of someone following him.

Left, right, left and left again. He made a muckery of his trail, but he had the sneaking, sick suspicion that whoever was following him was freaking good at tracking. Even in the more open areas when his wings could cut out wide and jump, leaving a twenty foot gap in his trail, he didn't lose them. They did fall back, though, enough to give him a little breathing room. Maybe I should just ditch the pack, they won't have to chase me then, right?! It was about the zillionth time he considered that, but this time he thought it might actually have to happen. He was right up on the border to the desert, and they were still after him. If he went out there, he was toast if he couldn't find a patrol almost immediately. There was no hiding tracks in the sand, and the visibility today was incredible. So he turned right and kept along the border. He'd find a visible place to ditch the pack, then flee back into the forest. If he went far enough he could start again on the hunting, and not come back empty handed.

And there it was, a small clearing with soft dirt, perfect. He focused on it, leaping up over a birch log and skidding to a stop in the duff, wings flares as a brake. It couldn't get much more obvious a place, right? He leaned and set the pack on the ground between his feet.. and got hit like a linebacker from his blind spot. he'd have shouted if the air hadn't been slammed out of his lungs as he crunched into the ground, dirt whipping through the air as his wings drove up dust and leaves and more. In a rush Darryl twisted and threw up both arms, and nearly lost a finger to the bright slash of a blade. A last second jerk back of his hand and instead a line opened on his forearm before the other man jumped back, swinging the pack up onto his back in an easy motion, the hunting knife still pointed at Darryl. Darryl, for his part, kept right on scrambling backwards until his back hit a tree, and then used it to climb to his feet. "L-l-look, no t-trouble, right? S'all you-yours." He held out both hands in submission, something the man, short, broad, and dressed in jarringly bright orange, seemed to abruptly accept.

"Danke, wing'ed boy! And do not have get inflection, ja? ..Oi! BOYFRIEND, COME BACK!?" the stranger boomed as there was a loud crash in the trees on the far side of the clearing, and Darryl stared, dumbfounded, as he turned on his heel and ran back off into the forest.

He'd robbed a crazy person in prison fatigues and a German accent thicker than the glass of the freakin dome. What the hell. At least they'd stolen their pack back without bloodshed. Too much bloodshed, he corrected, as the angry burn of his cut arm came back into focus. He wandered a few steps into better light, lifting his arm to peek at the damage. It was bleeding freely and looked awful until he dared poke at it a little, and found it to be much shallower than it looked. Still, everyone was going to be able to tell it was from a knife and give him hell about getting that close to a stranger. Not that I was trying to, dangit, short dude was fast.

And then he heard it as the blood pounding in his ears died down, the rush of paws, ferns brushed aside directly behind him. His panic reflexes were fast, but it was faster. He hit the dirt again, this time with a yowl of pain as he banged his chin into the ground, his teeth biting into his tongue and his glasses going flying. I'mgonnadie I'mgonnadie I'MGONNADIE, his mind screamed as he tried to buck the animal off, hands slapping back to cover the back of his neck. A moment later though, and he had to yank them down to cover his ears with a yell of pain as they snarled at him, too loud, way too loud. His head rang like he'd been next to a gunshot and hurt.

"I don't have it! I don't!" It didn't sound like she was going to believe him, and what the heck could he do?! And then he remembered, all at once. He had one ace up his sleeve, and if there was ever a time to use it, it was now. He forced an inhale, throwing his adrenaline and his panic and his pain into it, and every hair on his body stood on end. Then it exploded across his skin with a vicious, white-hot crack of electricity that made his fingertips and lips blow into pins and needles and his vision swim.

[Holly]

Holly barely had time to process the panicked denial before a sharp crack gave her a nanosecond of warning. She reared back, not quickly enough, vision flashing white and wings half flaring, then convulsing as a hot-cold pain gripped her, muscles seizing up as she staggered sideways. It lasted an endless moment, but almost immediately darkness overtook her, and she toppled.

She stirred within moments, numb to the core with the taste of ozone on her tongue, eyes slitting open, narrowed against the pain. With some effort, she managed to lift her head off the ground, shifting more onto her belly, rather than splayed out her side. Her gaze landed on the offending anthro - for that was clearly what he was - and a vicious snarl tore from her throat. “I can see that, where is it?!” It was a struggle, but she dug her talons into the soft turf and hauled herself to her feet, unsteady as the tingle of sensation exploded through her limbs.

A hard, full-body shake made her head spin, but seemed to help recalibrate things. Hackles raised and ears pinned back in fury, she advanced toward the anthro, wings extended slightly for balance. A logical voice in the back of her head informed her that stalking the walking electric fence was a bad idea, but he’d stolen her Medic, and she didn’t take that lightly. “What. Did. You-” She broke off abruptly, crest flaring and ears swiveling forward, when her gaze caught on a disturbance of tracks. Veering off her trajectory toward the stranger - Fallen, her nose informed her - Holly circled out around the clearing, scanning the ground intently. Trying to decipher the exact events was tricky, but at the very least, she could see that someone else had been in the clearing.

It looked as though there might have been a struggle, but Holly didn’t particularly care how the pack had been exchanged, only that she was now falling further behind. With a new objective fixed firmly in mind, she reversed her circle, found the trail leading out of the clearing, and bounded after what appeared to be a second thief.

The trail led back into the foothills, climbing consistently, and even though the foliage thickened, she remained shifted. She had a feeling it was going to be a few minutes before her muscles stopped sporadically twitching, and four legs were steadier than two. As the strange sensations faded, she was able to pick up the pace, and felt almost normal when she glimpsed a flicker of bright orange ahead. With a soft growl, she slowed, slinking low and careful through the underbrush.

The person was on horseback - two sets of hoof prints - and if she spooked them, she was in trouble. There was no way she could run down a horse, and while she could take to the air, it would be easy to lose them in the trees. So she approached as she would a true hunt, predator after prey. When they circled a steep ridge, Holly took the opportunity to race up and over, to cut them off on the other side. She settled in to wait on a suitable vantage point, crouched among a tumble of boulders. It was a relatively open stretch, the trees finding it difficult to grow on the rocky slope, but hopefully the advantage of height would make up for it.

The thief appeared below, outfitted in his blinding orange, the pack over his shoulder. Holly waited, impatient, for the horses to pick their way along the game trail, coming into range. When they were as close as they were going to get, she broke from her cover, flinging herself headlong down the hill, wings boosting her over most of the distance. The man saw her almost instantly, and urged the horses to a run, even as arrows began to fly. She ducked the first, the second glanced off the side of her neck to embed itself in the back of her wing as it swept down. With a pained snarl, she leapt after the horses as they dashed into the cover of the trees.

Now the chase occurred at speed, and options were limited - she launched into the air at the first gap in the foliage, banking just over the tree tops. Pain seared in her wing as the motion caused further damage, but there wasn’t much to do about it. Ignoring it as best she could, Holly sped after the fleeing horses. It took her only a few moments to catch up, the figures flashing in and out of sight below. With a frustrated snarl, she increased her height, looking for an opening to stoop through.

Instead, she found a wide trail blazed through the trees a half mile ahead. Drifting in that direction revealed a small river - more like a stream, really - snaking through a gorge. The gorge was only 50 feet or so deep, the water shallow and rocky below, littered with pitfalls such as waterfalls and fallen trees. It was probably a run-off from the mountains. Unless the man did a complete U-turn, he would hit the river at some point. Holly decided it would be a great place to meet him.

She was circling tightly when he arrived a few minutes later, slowing the horses as they emerged into the open. He looked up, their gazes meeting as she slowed to a near hover, blood flinging from her wing as she beat the air to stay aloft, and Holly could see he understood his predicament. From here, it would be easy to swoop down upon him.

What she wasn’t expecting was a wide, cheeky grin, and for the man to casually fling the backpack into open space. With a cry, she dove, only to pull up hard - the gorge was just wide enough for her wings. Just. If she went it, she wouldn’t be coming back out, and indecision left her drifting for a stricken heartbeat as the pack sailed through the air.

It caught, tangling on the branches of a fallen tree that leaned out over the drop. Weak with relief, momentum lost, Holly twisted toward the safety of the ground before she fell. The landing was ungainly, her left wing held awkwardly to accommodate for the arrow stuck in it, but she hadn’t plummeted into the gorge, so she called it a success. The man and his horses were gone, the tracks disappearing back into the trees.

She sat down hard, staring at the pack, suspended in the middle of a deathtrap. This was an entirely different sort of problem, but at least she knew where it was.