Tally ho! [Priest]

[MOURGLES!]

Absolute madness, this was. Her small, pink paws dug through the massive pile of rubbish, nose twitching madly as she snuffed and sniffed for any sign of what she might need. Her mismatched eyes were narrowed in concentration, the pure, electrifying blue focused seeming to glare from the contrast of her warm, pink skin, most of which was covered in her skin-tight, bright red long-johns. Hand stitched, thank ye very much.

"Bugger," She huffed, tossing a hunk of rusted old metal over her shoulder, watching it tumble down the teetering mass of rubbish. She balanced precariously on the tip of some other rusted metal bit. It scraped uncomfortably, but she was on a solo mission, hunting for some more red thread. It was one of her favorite colors, and she needed to weave some sort of bag, and was searching, quite loudly, for her supplies.

She'd already found an old sheet of canvas which at one time looked to have been part of some sort of...boat? She sniffed at it - yep. Smelled of the wharf, most definitely. She'd never been there, but some of the seedy folk who came from that area smelled like that, and she recognized it. Sighing softly, she wished she could get out more - to see the sights of the big city she'd heard so much about. She sat back on her haunches, long clawed paw wrapped around the thick, straight shaft of her crafted spear blue and black eyes scanning over the territory below, grey tipped nose twitching as she snuffed at the breeze, her stiff, curled whiskers trembling. It stank of trash and rotting food. But it was that food that often filled the stomach of her and her comrades.

Her thin body twisted suddenly as the buffeting wind knocked down a large, dented pot from just above her, eyes thrown wide as it headed straight for her. She squeaked, yanking her spear from where she'd wedged it between two bits of metal, grunting when it stuck fast. The pot tumbled closer, and with one last yank and a strangled mix between squeak and squeal Hannibal dodged to the side of the heavy iron pot, but it glanced off her shoulder and sent her tumbling headlong downward. "Bloody hell!" She cussed, managing to catch her footing after a few foolish looking tumbles, she bunched her legs and leapt into the bottom of the pot, hurling her spear to the dirt ground below, wondering if she'd beat it to the ground.

Hannibal rode out the fall in the pot, managing to keep it on it's bottom and make it into a reject sled of sorts, heart hammering in her chest as the sheer exhilaration washed over her; dodging sharp stakes of metal, being launched into the air by an inconveniently placed cardboard slab which made a ramp - needless to say she ended up sailing through the air and landing in a heap on the ground, the pot slamming down over her.

She kicked it off her with a huff, laying sprawled on her back, paws stiff in the air, splayed as if she were some dead mouse. Hah. Mice. Tiny little twerps. Hannibal caught her breath and looked lazily for her spear, still to winded to attempt getting up. Plus, she'd landed on something soft. Hm. It was comfy. And she was tired. She'd been up sewing all night, trying to get some sort of pockets into her coat. As she thought on the past couple of weeks, full of trips here and there and foraging for food, training...before she knew it, she had drifted off to sound sleep, the junkyard echoing with her loud snores.



ooc; sorry for suckfest D:

[Makarov]

After having relieved himself of the annoyances of the presence of other rats, particularly one by the name of Miss Cassie, Priest had settled down on the far southern side of a trash mound. Here he had found the tools he so needed, especially an old human Skate sharpener, and was now pulling the length of his soon-to-be sword through the long notches that ran down the length of strange orange thing. The movement was large and strenuous, Priest's tongue poking out of the side of his mouth as he gripped the handle end of the metal sliver with one hand, and pressed down gently on it as it swooped through the sharpener's own blades. Every time it made a definitive Shing! Shing! Shing! All the while the muscles down his massive back, across his shoulders and in his arms, bunched up against his pale fur. They rippled with determined force as he shaped the piece of former scrap metal into a blade fit for a soldier.

Peace was never a long-lasting aspect of his life though. It never had been. Priest's ears picked up the sound of clattering garbage as a nearby pile shifted into a miniature landslide. It sent things tumbling here and there, Crash! Bang! Boom!. Priest rolled his single useful eye, whilst the other remained dead and unmoving within it's socket. Gripping his blade between his teeth he scurried expertly around the maze of the pile and made it all the way around to see the last of the junk coming to a stop at the summit of another pile. A couple of gulls had taken off to noisy wing around the pile, shriking uproariously as if it offended them so to be displaced from their trashy perch.

The sun was in his eyes a little, he had to cup his paw over his forhead a little to get a good look, but he swore that a cast iron pot overturned at the base was now wiggling and... "Well blimey," he uttered under his breath, sliding the blade out from between his teeth. It was more a sound of blithering annoyance, and he was about to about face and ignore the whole thing ever happened when the whole pot overturned and out from underneath popped a familiar, yet fleshy figure. Priest's whiskers twitched briefly, his muscles undecided on whether he wanted to go back or not before he finally threw up his paws and started down Trash Mountain, making his way towards Hannibal's resting spot.

"Oh sod it," he growled to himself, doubling up on a few choice cursewords and getting his fill of them before he was in ear range of the she-rat.

Despite how little he cared about the well being of any rat who was not immediately well... him, Priest knew that if anything happened to any of the other escapees - particularly the females - on his watch, he would pay dearly for it. Play it by the rules for now, Six. As Hanni lay there sleeping, the big fellow crept almost noiselessly up to her. Was she unconscious or just asleep? He wanted to bet highly on the former of the two options but as the shadow of his bulk slid over her face, blotting out the setting sun in a full eclipse. Hannibal was one of the surely stranger creatures to have come from the labs. Either through some freak incident of breeding or laboratory trials she had been rendered completely furless, her skin bunching in loose rolls about her. She also took to wearing pants, and the bird's feathers on her long and equally naked tail were just another odd piece to quite a twisted jig-saw.

"Hannibal?" the fellow grunted, giving her a gentle nudge with his footpaw. Nude flesh touched nude flesh and he felt an uncomfortable jitter run all the way up his spine like a shot of electricity. Taking his own only half-shaped blade he jabbed the sharp tip into the rubbage beneath him, catching purchase before he leaned heavily on it and waited, unsure of what was to be done.

[MOURGLES!]

She was quite pleasantly enjoying her little nap when a gruff voice and a poke to her side roused her, quite unceremoniously, from her sleep. She jerked awake halfway through a snore and ended up nearly choking on it as she came to the realization of the giant hulking shadow of another rat leaning over her. Her muscles tensed instinctively, her heart beginning to race as the thought of a fight crept into her mind, and she grinned in anticipation.

"Hannibal?" Asked a familiar voice, and almost instantly her body relaxed as she grinned lopsidedly up at the shadowy form of him, Priest. She shielded her eyes with a paw, trying to get a better look at the huge mass of rat she admired. So buff and burly, and boy was he capable. She'd been watching him for some time now, and they'd had a few interactions - just enough for her to develop a fondness for the brutish fellow.

"Priest!" Hannibal squeaked happily and leapt to her feet, hurling herself at the brawny rat and tackling him with a fierce hug, her arms barely wrapping around his broad shoulders. She snuggled into his thick, pale fur for a moment before wrinkling her nose. "You smell like rubbish!" She sniffed at her own paw, nose wrinkling again in distaste.

"Can't say as I really mind much though. Smell like an ol' sock, I do." She leaned back on her haunces and fussed with some fur he'd mussed up, her keen, often obsessive eye demanding it so. She could care less about her own appearnce - she was constantly covered in dirt and grime and mud - but others, well. They had to look spiff, their tip top.


Hannibal eyed the makeshift sword stuck in the ground and ran a paw across it, admiring it's shape. "Right good start you got there, eh?" She patted it. "She's a beaut." She darted to the side, small paws pounding the packed dirt ground of the dump with a determination as she sped toward her spear stuck deep into the ground from the force of her throw from such a height. She yanked it from the dirt and hurried back to Priest's side, wiping off the dirt from it's carved bone tip - it was the jawbone of one of the Rat King's pathetic followers. She admired it's ivory gleam and polished it fondly.

Looking back to her friend she leaned against her spear, similar to his pose, and grinned. "Finally got yourself a weapon, huh? About time." She paused, eyes glinting. "Imagine ye'll need it, and soon, too. Those Loyalists are growing more and more aggro...won't be much longer now 'til Mako decides to lead a full scale raid. I've been doing my own raids, y'know." She rummaged through one of the few pockets she kept and pulled out a scrumptious looking crumb.

"I got a whole lot of these from their foodstores. You should see it, P, they got a lot o' good stuff that we're goin' wifout." She paused, large, pink ears twitching. "Oi! Reminds me, that's why I came 'ere! Lookin' fer ye, to give ya yer share!" She nodded, handing it to him. She was making sure he got his ration - she'd already delivered the rest to Mako and the others back home, making sure everyone got something.







ooc; I dunno what to dooooo *flails*

[Makarov]

Her eyes flickered open, batted a little to clean out the bleary glaze of sleep from her gaze and then suddenly started with a surprising amount of force. Hannibal was well known amongst her cohorts for being a tad overzealous. She had a lot of heart, many of the escapees of the Laboratories had to be strong in their spirit - it had been one of those initial things that had led him to be apart of the whole Coup d'état in the first place. It was the misplaced ambitions that came later on that soon caused him to second guess the nature of what he was doing, and the rats he had chosen to follow. Without warning, Hannibal cried out his name, flinging herself into his arms from a laying position somehow and clinging to his powerful shoulders. He was taken aback by this, but not altogether surprised, and his large body only rocked slightly with the addition of her weight.

Again there was that strange feeling of wrinkling, bare skin which his fur prickled uncomfortably against. He bit his tongue on this though, and waited until Hannibal had disembarked, exclaiming that he smelt of garbage. Priest rolled his single good eye, hardly bothering to keep the freakish half of his head under wraps, especially in the presence of another...weirdo, he supposed he could relax just a tad. At least they had some things in common. "Speak for yourself," he grunted, watching her spasmodic movements. She began to groom some deshevelled fur of his - he assumed because she had none of her own - talking idly all the while. Priest bore this with the lordly composure of a massive family dog being plucked at by the careless hands of children. Finally when her attention fell to the blade at his side he released a longheld breath of relief.

"Right good start you got there, eh? She's a beaut."

For a moment, Priest felt his already massive chest swell with pride. If there was one thing he appreciated about his fellow escapees and their wild counterparts it was that they had a cognizance to the ways of war and coveted it highly. Perhaps too highly. The brutish rat nodded his head slightly. "Ay, she's a work in the making. Deadly balance, perfect curve on the leading edge. All's I need to do now is carve out the fuller for the bloodline to run down, and fix me a hilt of some sorts." Priest had never been a rat to chat much, but when it came to the language of battle and weaponry, he had plenty to say. He had been playing with the blade as he spoke, not noticing that Hannibal had slipped passed him and retrieved her own handily carved weapon. She cast her weight upon it, mirroring his former stance and grinning like a fool. "Finally got yourself a weapon, huh? About time. Imagine ye'll need it, and soon, too. Those Loyalists are growing more and more aggro...won't be much longer now 'til Mako decides to lead a full scale raid. I've been doing my own raids, y'know."

Priest's ears suddenly rounded with a new interest. He gazed studeously at Hannibal as if trying to pick out the parts of the story he needed from her mind before finally speaking. There was a gruff yet unsure edge to his voice.

"Methinks anyone would be a little aggressive if'n their bleedin' winter supplies were being tapped dry by outlaws and rebels." He made himself paused there, catching the animosity in his own tones and checking it carefully so it did not drip from his words in earnest. Hanni produced a crumb, handing it his way. Priest simply shook his head, waving it away with a deft shake of his paw. "I can feed myself, thank you. If the rest can't it's their prerogative. And please don't call me...P."

He scanned her gaze off towards the sunset, sending streaks of fiery color across the horizon and turning the fading sky further off the ripe hue of plum flesh. He felt odd for allowing so much of his real facade to play off in this conversation, it made him antsy.

[MOURGLES!]

"Ay, she's a work in the making. Deadly balance, perfect curve on the leading edge. All's I need to do now is carve out the fuller for the bloodline to run down, and fix me a hilt of some sorts."

Hannibal watched him, soaking in his knowledge of weaponry. She didn't really know much about making swords - but she knew enough to know that what he held in his paws promised to be a fine blade. But she wouldn't let him know she really hadn't an idea of what he was talking about. She ran a pink finger along the tip, following the trail his paw had taken. But she drew it away and glanced up at the taller, larger rat, a spark of indignance lighting in the pit of her stomach.


"Them's the ones whose gettin' fat on all the food we try and gather." She grunted, mismatched eyes narrowing at his comment. She could understand his point, but really - she'd been the one bandaging her comrades wounds from all the battles and confrontations. "Got a whole city to scour, they do. And they still come 'n take our stuff." She frowned at his refusal of her gift, but she shrugged it off with a look that said 'suit yourself' and quickly stuffed it in her mouth. She mumbled through her mouthful, "Sho I figured I'd get bachk at dem. Anyway, I ain't stole nothin' them fatties can't do wivout."

"I can feed myself, thank you. If the rest can't it's their prerogative. And please don't call me...P."

"You could stand to lose a few pounds anyway," She joked, prodded at his tummy - really more of just an excuse to touch his muscles. She grinned unabashedly at the big buff brute, rocking on her long back feet slightly, considering his request. "I'll call you whatever I'd like, Holyman." She saluted him, winking briefly before wiping away the few tiny crumbs at the corner of her pink mouth, quickly grooming her curled, brittle whiskers with a couple swipes of her paws.

She sighed, tugging thoughtfully at one of her large, thin ears, gripping her spear deftly in her paw she twisted round suddenly and padded toward the nearest mound of garbage, poking at bits here and there.

"Need to find me some material to make a bag. I wan' take more for my next raid." She held her tongue - she trusted her comrades with her life, especially the male at her back - but there were some things she preferred to do alone. "And you need a hilt. Anythin' else? Might as well help ye out lookin' fer stuff while I'm at it." After a few minutes she called over her shoulder, "Get off yer tail, mate, an' help me look!"




ooc; I dunno what to dooooo again.

[Makarov]

Hannibal seemed a tad indignant at his response, almost a little taken aback by the sheer gruffness of his mannerisms. He was a hard nut to crack by any means. And the strange little looks that Hanni shot him did little to shake the huge rat's nerves or emotions. The tip of his tail twitched like a hungry worm reaching up towards the damp surface of the soil during a summer rainstorm. Either way, the bald she-rat was rather entranced by the appearance of his blade, the babble of his fancy words. Had Priest looked up he would have noticed the glimmer of sheer 'what the hell are you talking about?' in her mismatched eyes. Just her appreciation of it, running a tiny paw across it's surface up to the tip and then back again, it took his mind off of the less then desirable things in his head... for now.

No his head was in his blade, a fine creature of fantastic make. It would be a one handed affair, crafted for it's superb balance and it's daring speed and accuracy. He did not much care for two handed swords anyways, finding them cumbersome and unwieldy, befitting of a knight sewn up inside of a tin-can suit of armor. Broadswords were made for hacking and beating at one another with the accuracy of whirling a club over your head and smashing it into your opponant. There was something seriously uncouth about that ideal to Priest, so he chose for a lighter and more artistically capable blade, and despite his size he was quite swift himself. He was listening deftly as Hanni spoke of the King's rats coming in and raiding out the supplies that the rebels themselves had. This was something he did not remember at all. His jaw set grimly.

"If they 'ave all the good stuff we're going without then does it make sense for them to take off with all the meager supplies we've gained? Think about it Hanni, something doesn't quite add up." He moved around the female and began pulling at some larger pieces of garbage, surveying for materials he could salvage for the hilt and grip of his blade. As he did so his muscles moved and bunched sinuously beneath his pelt, grunts of effort wracking his large bodice with shuddering musculature. "But then again most have been prone to letting others think for them lately." This was said in a lowered voice. He turned back towards Hanni, placing a paw on either side of his hip. She reached out deftly and touched his tummy, regarding his weight and making a little comment. In response he jutted his belly out against her paw in an amusing effort to knock it away.

"This Holyman'll drop ya!" he growled and brandished a fist, some damp humor returning to him.

"Need to find me some material to make a bag. I wan' take more for my next raid. And you need a hilt. Anythin' else? Might as well help ye out lookin' fer stuff while I'm at it."

She went to picking about the pile deftly in his place, announcing that he should get off his fat arse and lend her a paw with these things. Indeed. Priest wriggled his whiskers thoughtfully and snubbed his nose with the back of his forearm, wiping away a tiny bit of grime that had become smeared there somewhere in the process of his sword-making. "I'd like a lot of things," he said. "A vacation in the sun, a rat-pile of lovely ladies, a mask - amongst other things." Priest was jesting. He swung his sword in his hand, relishing the whistle of the wind over it's leading edge.

"Alright alright I'll h-.."

Suddenly the brute's ears jumped up and his body went rigid. Priest rotated his head about, adjusting his ears as his single good eye took in the suddenly disturbingly quiet area of the Dump around them. Hanni meanwhile busied about herself, in her own little world for the time being. Something just wasn't right though, the huge male could feel it in his bones, in the way his heart quickened instinctively inside of his chest and bet a rapid tattoo warning upon his ribcage. Grip tightened on his sword. "Hanni?...Hanni!"

Suddenly a shadow fell across the setting sun, the only indicator he had before the rush of air over wings was upon him and shadow grew larger and larger over them. He could just make out the vicious golden eyes and the black talons angled towards them. "Hannibal, scatter!" And he threw the bulk of his weight into the smaller she-rat's side, hoping to knock her far enough out of the way as he tumbled out of reach.