— the dove, she promised land, as she laid the branch right into my hand | OPEN.

[extramuralise]

Who: John Irving (extramuralise) + OPEN!
What: Catch-all for various threads (event-adjacent or otherwise), and everything else in between!
When: Throughout March
Where: Milton & surrounding areas.
Content Warnings: Repression, religion, repentance etc... you know, the usual. Will update as needed!




( closed & open starters! feel free to PM / plurk me @ reggiemantle for plotting. )

Comments

[astrogator]

[ooc: this may be the oldest tag you ever get, but I just noticed that I never responded here and I feel awful - sorry! I am definitely up for still doing this with extreme backdating, but I fully understand if it has been too long, feel free to ignore if so <3]


[Tayrey isn't a hunter. Oh, she has killed people and animals both, and not thought twice about it, having developed the sort of callous pragmatism that comes when you see your first airlock execution at thirteen, but she doesn't have the instincts for it. She likes things swift and civilised, a blast of energy from a distance, clean hands.

What Tayrey does happen to be is a lieutenant without a ship, which is an especially useless sort of thing to be under normal circumstances, let alone being stuck planetside in primitive conditions that everyone else seems better at handling than her. It makes her want to prove her usefulness, to be something other than that spacer who has so much to learn.

This is why, when she saw The Bear, she saw opportunity. Everyone wants the creature dead. Who better than her to take the risk, to protect the damn colony, uninsured wasteland or not?

She's a good shot, and the temperature doesn't affect the reliability of her energy pistol. She hit the creature once, and again, right on target - but the result wasn't to kill the thing, but enrage it. Suddenly it's thundering down on her, and she's tumbling, and all she sees is white on brown on white, and then the hot red of her own blood beneath her fingers, the torn blue strips of her uniform sleeve. Staggering to her feet, she doesn't retreat but presses forward. Only a coward would let a scratch deter her, when the freezing air is already numbing the pain. She'll try again. She'll hit it through the eye, or-

The shotgun blast shatters her thoughts, and she turns toward the sound, sees the man, and starts hurrying towards him, leaving more drops of red on the snow behind her.]

Peace and prosperity! [Her greeting is hushed, urgent.] I'm going to kill that bear. If you're here to help, I'll be glad of it. If not, I'll advise you to stay well clear.' She doesn't explain why. Those claw-marks down her arm are all the reasoning needed.