For Tomarrow We Dine...
Yes, Rascal is NOT dead...yet. But at this rate...continued from this http://rwmuck.limitless.org/rwmuck/content/only-way
It was a strange feeling, being plucked from the walls as if the very hand of God had lifted the fox and carried him away. Although admitedly this was a bit more painfull, what with the talons digging into his light green tunic.
The fox only quit his paniced screamings due to lack of breath to continue said paniced screamings. He hangs limply in the talons of the eagle, staring at the ground as it flashes before him, "GonnadiegonnadiegonnadieohIdon'twant to DIEEEEEE..." The fox begins to whine, "This is just a dream. This isn't real. I'm back in my nice comfortable bed...or passed out in the cavern hole from too much mead. Yeah, that's it. Yeah...this can't be real..."
The winged instrument of death is not oblivious to his cries, and makes no effort to make him any more comfortable because of them. In fact, it is quite the opposite. "Oh stop your caterwauling, ja?" She finally grumbles, eyes rolling upwards. "Meet death with dignity, you should." Powerful wings curl, angling the massive creature and her prey downwards with shocking speed - whiplash is a danger for those unprepared for the sudden drop. It's already been established that she has no interest in keeping her dinner happy.
"Dignity? DIGNITY!?" The fox shakes a fist angirly in the air, "Why in the blazes should I die with dignity? Why? So you can feel better about killing me? So I can go out with some sort of /honor/? Are /you/ going to eat my liver out with /dignity/ you son of a biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiird!" the fox clutches onto the tallons and screams as the eagle dive bombs the earth. Tears flow freely away from his eyes as the eagle heads for the ground in what the fox can only imagine to be an act of self destruction.
As her wings unfurl again, the pair level off with sickening abruptness. The eagle continues speaking, calmly. "There is not honor in dying in one's sleep. No meaning in dying for some silly war. You on the ground; you are petty, no? But now you serve purpose. Your death permits life, ja?" She nods. "Meaningless your life may be, but death is to be beautiful thing. At a good time, it comes." The motion of her wings, beating the air with savage grace, ceases as the limbs stiffen, catching the air current and pulling them into a gradual turn. One wingtip brushes through the tops of the leaves. "It is a beautiful evening, no?"
A beautiful evening the fox can hardly see with the way his paws are wrapped around his eyes. Blazes, he not only got plucked from the earth by an eagle he got an /honorable/ one. "If that was ment to be comforting..." He says, yelping as his head brushes a tree top. Spitting out pine needles the fox growls, "If you are going to eat me at least don't insult me. My life HAS meaning. I will have you know that I am very important back at the abbey, the abbey that YOU stole me from. They will come looking for me and they will be very cross with you when they find out you ate me. You think my death permits life? How much life will YOURS permit when they make you into...into SOUP! Yeah! How do you like them apples huh?" The fox glances down, clutching his muzzle, "I think, I think I'm going to be sick..."
"I care not for your Abbey politics. Your death was to happen anyway, yes? This is much better than falling from the red castle wall." She doesn't seem concerned for her life. After all, from the way she saw things, the Abbey beasts were trying to throw him from the very walls. "This way, not as painful. Not as messy, no." She pulls up, wings beating downwards to steady her, encumbered as she is by her vulpine load, and she brings them into the upper branches of a large oak tree, carefully dodging the limbs that would otherwise hamper progress. "Now is time to be sick, please. Nasty in the stomach may make others sick too, now? Best get it out now." Handling the fox in one foot, she bounces to a landing using the other, and 'politely' holds him over the ledge. "Is this good? I will wait." Graciously, she turns her head to permit him privacy.
And graciously the fox loses his lunch. It's more from fear that he is about to die rather than the ride here, although that didn't help much either. After a moment or two of...unpleasentness...the fox spots a small sappling of a branch. He glances with only his eyes towards the eagle and then moves forward in her claws, "One sec, not done. That was just lunch, working on brunch, then breakfast." He reaches for the sappling, trying to break it as naturally as he can while pretending to commit more unpleasentness. When he is done he slides a small section of the branch into his shirt sleeve no longer than his paw. That would be his act of final desperation if his wits and silver tongue could not get him out of this.
"Listen, you look...look like a reasonable beast." the fox twists so he can see the eagle, "What if, what if it didn't have to be /my/ life, that permited others to live. What if I found a beast to take my place as your or..." he gulps, hoping 'other' simply ment the eagle herself, not 'other' eagles as well. The idea of being eaten by one bird was terrifying enough. The thought of being eaten by a flock of them was enough to drive Rascal over the edge. "What if I found a beast to take my place as dinner? Think of it as a bargin! In exchance for my life I give you a beast that is much plumper and fatter! It's only logical, right?"
The look of disgust and horror which the eagle turns upon Rascal is withering. "You would put another in your place?" She turns her beak up at him and brings him, roughly, back to the branch. "This is not logical. This is selfish of the foxbeast, yes?" She shakes her head, snorting in haughty derision. "Death is to be your only honor. Bah." Bringing Rascal, and her talon, up to her stomach, she hops - one footed - along the branch, skips to an adjacent one, and then flutters to a thick bough beneath that. As they move, a soft sound grows louder and louder... It is a tumult of chirping. And she's hopping towards a nest.
"What if I told you that he deserved it!" The fox whines, "He's a fox...I'm sure he's done something to deserve it!" The irony of his statement is not lost on Rascal but he keeps going, either digging himself out of, or further into, the grave. The sound of nestlings around the corner only drives him to further panic, "And so what if it's selfish? Sometimes you have to do something in the morally grey to survive! Look, you want your chicks to live, rigth? Feeding me to them is hardly the wise choice. I'm scraggly and skinny and hardly any meat on me! But this fox, he's so plump his belly grazes the ground when he leans over!" The fox begins to squirm and wriggle in the eagles grasp, "No, not the baby birds! Not the baby birds!" He shrieks.
The eagle gives the fox a light shake. "Enough. These things do not matter. Would explaining this process only stress you further? I think so." The chicks, three in total, all crowd to the edge of the nest and she releases her grip on the fox to let him plop right into the middle. "Don't worry, zey cannot eat you, no." The mother joins this unlikely gathering, and is immediately surrounded by her offspring, all vying for her affections. She chirps and flutters about her young before regarding Rascal once again. "This is to be your meal, yes? Be polite and say thank you, now." And then he is being tackled by a trio of fluffy, young chicks in an affectionate show of gratitude which is morbidly adorable, given the situation.
Reguardless of their morbidly adorableness the fox still screams and curls himself into a tight ball. This is it, THE END. Next stop the gullet and then the dark forest. The baby eagles are still adorably fluffy he thinks.
So adorable they could soften the heart of even the most hardened warrior.
Rascal opens one eye as an idea begins to form. Maybe he is tugging on the wrong heart strings....
"Alright, alright. You win." He says with a somber sigh, uncurling himself and leaning against the rim of the nest. "I can't...I can't deny these wonderfully beautifull little mon- er, dibbuns a meal. I mean, I couldn't let my own kit's go hungry, right?" He sniffles, "I think little Zoe would actually find this to be rather funny. She's says she wants to grow up to be an adventurer, like Martin the warrior. Bah, woodlander superstition but, that's what you get for raising kits around woodlanders. And little Widget, I will miss playing games with him, he...he liked to toss a ball back and forth even though, even though he is lame in one paw," the fox begins to cry. He sniffles, rubbing at his eyes, "But you go ahead and eat me now. It's ok. I'm sure they the abbey will take care of them. It's just, so soon after their mother was taken by plauge. They couldn't even hug her goodbye!" The fox continues to half cry, leaning back on the nest, "But you go ahead and feed your chicks. I...I'm ready for you to eat my liver." He draws an imaginary X on his belly then closes his eyes and tenses.
"I am glad you have come around, yes!" The eagle seems... Genuinely pleased by this. "Do not worry, these hatchlings you speak of will have strong characters. We lost my mate, yes, and are much stronger for it. Independence is good!" She nods. "But it is not time for your death now, no. It is late, too late - I am afraid. Flight was too slow. We will have leftovers, tonight, yes." She nestles into the middle of the nest, adjusting her feet beneath feathered midsection. "Come, young ones." And then she is regurgitating into their mouths as they run to her. "Now, do not bother our guest tonight, no?" The smallest of the young ones disregards this, and runs toward the fox... And crawls into Rascal's lap. His largest sister nestles against the captive's side, and the remaining shoves himself up under his other arm. It is like a warm, snuggly, bed of down.
This may not be the tear jerking moment of 'oh I can't eat you after all!' but if it opens the door for dialog later on he will take it. He's not going to be eaten tonight? Perfect. That gives him a whole night to think of a way to-
Rascal watches the eagle feed her young and gasps. "Dear lord what are you DOING to...no, no nononono...oof!" The fox can only watch as he is surrounded by chicks.
"You know...I was going to ask for a last meal, but..." He chuckles leaning his head back on the rim of the next, "This is not how I pictured today ending." He rubs his eyes with his free paw then leans his head back up to reguard the eagle, "You lost your mate you say?"
"Oh, yes. It makes raising the chicks alone difficult, you understand this, so you say." Her eyes flutter lazilly shut. "But it is time for sleep. Please wake me if you are not comfortable." And she is asleep - while the climb from the nest may be harrowing and deadly, it is not impossible! Moving the sleeping chicks may be, though.
Rascal has to admit, there is a certain charm to having the eagle chicks gather around him like cats on a heat source. He was sure they were going to grow up and become wonderfull little bundles of death and destruction. It was, hard to ignore the fact that they would be dinning on his /flesh/ tomarrow and that alone fueled his desire to NOT let that happen.
All he had for a weapon was that little broken stick. And Rascal has the fighting skills of a turnip.
Alas, his climbing skills are hardly better.
It is the only thing left to him, short of dangling one of the chicks over the side of the nest and pretendings to save it from a fall. The fox pauses for a moment to mull that thought over, then chastises himself for even considering it. He was desperate, but not THAt desperate.
Instead he tries to, gently remove the obsticals around him, grabbing the fluffy chick by on his lap by the sides and trying to lift it slowly off of him.
One eye opens. And then another. The smallest of the chicks blinks, blearily, at the fox. "Misser warna go somewhere?" The sheer amount of heartbreak in his voice is soul-crushing. The little one clicks his beak, gently, ruffling his downy feathers as he is moved. "Not safe fall down, no no no. Farra down." He nods, vigorously. "Boom."
The fox blinks back in reply. "Uh," He looks up avoiding the eye contact with chick, biting his lips as he tries to figure out what exactly to say to the chick. "Me? Go somewhere? No no no. I'm just stretching my legs. You should, uh, go back to sleep, yes. This is all a /dream/." He pats the baby bird on the head."
"Murder?" He tilts his head to a remarkable degree. "What is this? Oh, yes, yes." Thankfully, he comes from a family of very deep sleepers and is able to scramble up and over the edge of the nest. He's done this before. "Please mind where you place your steps, yes?" Tiny talons (well, tiny by eagle standards) clutch and scratch along the bark of their tree as he hops, skips, and slides towards the base of the bough. "Just short glide to next branch, okay?" And he jumps - spreading his wings open to help aim his landing. He can't fly properly, yet, but he understands the basics enough to flit from one place to the next. Admittedly, this is going to be a bit more difficult for the fox.
Admittedly the fox hasn't lost enough hope yet to welcome the fall to his doom, as opposed to being dinner. He leans over the nest, staring at the darkness below that obscures the ground, making it quite literally look like he is suspended above an abyss. The fox's ears flatten out, rubbing his wrists Rascal chuckles nervously but steps out onto the branch. "M-maybe this isn't such a good idea?" he crawls on all fours, claws digging into the bark of the wood. "I mean, it's only a long way to...to...boom." He gulps, "Out of, pure curriosity, how many of your mother's dinner guests have...have escaped?" He leaps for the far away branch, catching it in the chest with a loud OOF, and wrapping himself around it before pulling himself up ward. As much as he hated landscaping, if he was left to his own devices and not forced into manual labor the fox admits he probibly would have resembed that fat bellied swift fox that is visiting the abbey, and completely unable to do this...
On the other paw, if he was made a teacher from the get go like he wanted he would probibly still be safe in side the abbey...
"Escape? This is not escape." The little bird cheeps from the further branch. "Is game with guest! I play with all the friends mama brings." She wiggles his tail feathers and continues along his perch, slowly putting distance between him and Rascal. "Tomorra mama eat and then puke you into up so /we/'a-eat!" He bounces, excitedly. "Come, come!"
The fox has to stop and stare. "That is...such a lovely thought." One that will haunt him to his dying day. Rascal has a pretty vivid imagination. The prospect of being devoured is already harrowing as it is, but now?
Rascal shivers, then follows the bird, wobbling and nearly falling to his death at least twice. "Game huh? What sort of game are we playing here...can I call you Fluffly? I want to call you fluffy."
"Fluffy? What is this thing you call me?" The bird stops and turns to regard the fox. "Mama calls me 'Destra'. Is short for Magnaimus Destrakhansi. What is fluffy?" The branch is becoming thinner, and starts to bend beneath the combined weight of the fox and the bird. "Hold on good-tight."
