Beleg Strongbow likes pew pew! (beleg_cuthalion) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-04-25 00:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, beleg cuthalion, turin turambar |
Who: Turin, Beleg
What: When Bears Attack...and Bees Attack...and Swords Almost Attack. Otherwise known as Beleg's well intentioned hunting trip with Turin gone totally wrong.
When: After this message exchange.
Where: Out in the boonies somewhere in Cali.
Rating: So-so for language and for a bear attack and bee stings + the aftermath, but it's not in any real highly descriptive detail. It's more lulzy. TW just in case anyone's totally squeamish about that kinda stuff.
Status: Complete!
Turin decided he was going to have to kill Beleg. Slowly, and painfully. And just wait until he had that dream He wasn’t cut out for roughing it. He missed his bed.
But he rather did like the solitude, and the quietness. At least when Beleg wasn’t being Beleg. He lovedliked the man, but damn. At any moment he expected a swarm of bees or rabid badgers to descend upon their camp.
“I still fail to see why we didn’t need a tent.”Oh, those dreams are going to make things interesting.
Beleg adored loved totally liked Turin, too. That was why he was attempting to cheer his friend up by not bringing his camera buddies along, and they were having very manly camping times in a canyon, which probably did have foamy-mouthed badgers and killer bees in it.
"Because we are men, and you trust me enough to know that I can build us a suitable shelter, and keep the snakes at bay." He had been braiding a lock of hair, which did nothing to help the fact he looked like a indian hunched down next to a little campfire...if only he wasn't from France, home of baguettes, snails, and stinky cheese. To make matters worse, Beleg could likely sleep in a thorny briar bush with a rock for a pillow and think nothing of it. "It's the rest of the wildlife that we need to worry about, ha ha ha...."
Truer words have never been spoken.
Turin gave his friend a dry look. He had hit on the man once, when they’d first met, thinking he was a chick, and the braiding wasn’t helping that, either. “Like what, bears?”
"I'm sure there's some. I've heard they like hot tubs and swimming pools, and this place has those in abundance," was Beleg's all-too-calm response, as he finished the braiding. He wasn't girly! He was indescribably boy pretty, and deceptively strong. And that's pretty and strong in the manner of elves who just don't age much, mmkay? But no one knows that yet. Ahem.
He sounded like he was teasing Turin a little bit when he asked, "You aren't afraid of a little bear, are you?"Dun dun dun.
“I don’t see any hot tubs, or swimming pools,” Turin complained. He sat down on a rock and leaned back against the tree, closing his eyes with a sigh. Okay, he’d totally needed this. Shut up. “Of course I’m not afraid of a bear.”
"You shouldn't be afraid. There would be two of us and only one of the bear, so we could take it down without batting an eyelash." So says Beleg Cuthalion, big bow hunter. And he brought two big bows and a hunting knife, which he is keeping far away from Turin, thank you very much. "I think we can handle that little situation."
Hoo boy.
"Anyway," Beleg finished saying, "I believe we will have rabbit or squirrel for our supper, and a quiet time, overall."
Hooooooo boy.
“I’d prefer rabbit. Squirrel is pretty gamey and not all that filling.” Turin leaned forward as he heard a rustling to their right. “If that’s a bear I’m killing you.”
A curious beaver wandered out of the woods.
"Squirrel is good eating. As for you? You are too on edge, my friend," Beleg assured him, throwing a rock toward the beaver. Beaver was really too gamey and even Beleg took pity on the curious critter, hoping it would pass on it's way. Furthermore, he was familiar enough with the rustle of bears, having crossed paths with them several times before. "Relax. I don't think he'll gnaw your legs off and make a dam with them!"
“I’m not too jumpy.” Turin looked insulted. There was another rustling, this time behind him and he folded his arms stubbornly, ignoring the hot breath on the back of his neck, or the gruff sound.
“There’s a bear behind me, isn’t there.”
Beleg was sitting there, with his lips pressed together into a thin, white line, his eyes round as saucers. He didn't nod. He didn't move. He simply made a tiny, high-piched 'mm hm' noise in his throat, to let Turin know his assumption was correct, sir.
The bear rested it’s chin on the top of Turin’s head, drool dribbling down his face, making him squint his eyes up. He didn’t move otherwise. “What...kind of bear?”
Please don’t be a grizzly.
"Nah," Beleg whispered, like his doing so meant the bear couldn't hear them, "it's just a black one. In fact, I believe that's a ursus americanus californiensis, and they like hot tubs and trash cans. He's...oh, well, probably a good three or four hundred pounds. He'd make a nice rug."
Of course, he'd probably make a even better rug, if his mouth wasn't so close to Turin's head.
Tempting fate and foregoing some better judgment (for the sake of one of those shots that's a once in a lifetime deal), Beleg began to inch his hand in the direction of his bow, while smiling brightly at the drooling bear. He is so doing this.
“I so got this,” he reassured Turin, because he’s a master hunter, even if he gets mauled or bloodied sometimes.
“You’re an idiot.” Turin said the words with a great amount of scathing. He didn’t move, he couldn’t move, though his hand closed around his knife. Maybe he could make the bear wince before he was chomped to death. Maybe he’d even do enough damage to be remembered as more than that sister-fucker that got eaten by a bear.
“I’m an idiot for sitting here.”
"We're both idiots," Beleg was saying in a soft but cheerful voice, his hand closing around his bow. He slowly began to reach over with his other hand, for an arrow. He had an idea that Turin was going to take a stab at the situation and not sit there, ineffectively, so that was going to leave him open with a good shot at the bear. Go them! "But we're capable idiots."
That somehow made it all better.
Turin closed his eyes, and started to count backwards from twenty. Slow, steady, in time to the bear’s breath, even. He had to place his trust into Beleg’s hands, which was, oddly enough, easier done than he would have thought.
It was as though something primordial were going through him.
He turned, twisting, slashing with his knife only it wasn’t a knife it was a sword, a black blade that hummed like music. The bear roared, rearing up on it’s hind legs. In shock, Turin dropped his sword and scrambled away. He thought he heard laughter.
If Beleg was laughing, it was because he had his bow in hand and an arrow notched, and he had drawn the string for what he deemed to be a great open shot. The arrow musically zipped through the air and hit it's mark. The problem was that a bear that big was going to require a second shot for a take down. Beleg didn't seem flustered at all, popping up onto his feet with another arrow drawn, already taking aim.
Bear? You goin' down! Unless all attention was off Turin and now onto Beleg, which was always a possibility, since animals seemed to gravitate toward him like he had Snow White Syndrome. It was a good thing, sometimes, because it meant less tracking. It was a bad thing when they gravitated toward him, with their teeth, claws, or horns, first.
Turin was pretty sure it wasn’t Beleg that was laughing. It was the sword, covered in bear blood.....although the bear shrugging it off was kind of scary, in and of itself. He watched the bear barrel past him, right at Beleg.
The thing about bears, is they’re more than capable of incredible bursts of speed. And this bear was pissed off.
Beleg would have said that laughing swords were weird, but he had no time to point that out as he swiftly fired the second shot, hoping it would stop the bear’s progress. Alas, it was not to be. It instead grazed the side of the bear's head and lodged itself deep into it's shoulder, but that didn't cause it to pause or falter. Thus Beleg made a face that was of the profoundly oh no, not again variety, and dropped into that fetal position that is supposed to shield a person during episodes of When Bears Attack.
Now he is a Beleg Ball, being batted around and bit on by a pissed off bear.
Everything's fine. This is considered normal. He hasn't gotten his uber elf hunter cred or super bow yet, mmkay?! Move along, nothing to see.
“Beleg!” Turin picked up the sword in trembling hands, and charged at the bear, hacking at it’s hind legs. He flailed back, narrowly missing losing his face to bear claws, and landed hard on his ass. “Fuck!” How the hell do you wield a sword?
"I got this under control!" Beleg called out, from somewhere under his bleedy arms and bruised shoulders, and gnawed on body. He totally had this under control and was thinking only of his friend, having to endure this camping and hunting excursion, gone horribly wrong. "Save yourself!" The bear tried to give him a nibbling on a leg, which he kicked out and landed his booty foot on the bear's nose, ungracefully, but with enough force to momentarily stun it. "Ahhh!"
Was that a battle cry? It could have been. Maybe. Or it could have been a cry of ouchitudes.ADVENTURE! (this mun is totally singing along with this right nao kk)
“Do you have a gun!?” Turin scrambled through the camp, looking for weapons or anything to distract the bear. He found the beef jerky and flung it into the woods. “Bear! BEAR! There’s FOOD! Go eat that FOOD! Not the Beleg!” He grabbed onto some more arrows and threw them at Beleg’s...foot? That might be a foot.
Since the bear had gotten Beleg's boot off, that was indeed Beleg's foot. The toes wriggled around until the owner of said toes was able to grasp the arrow between his big toe and nexty toe, and he kicked at the bear with it. Ineffectively.
The jerky probably smelled better than a bloody Beleg did. That was why, after one last swipe, it tuckered itself out (probably from blood loss) and it lumbured off in search of jerky. Mmm. Jerky.
Beleg's foot kicked once and the arrow went kerplunk on the ground. He laid there like a rag doll covered in red paint, desperately in need of mama's spit and bandaids. At least his defensive posture had saved his boy pretty face from the brunt of the attack.
"Ouch," croaked Beleg, which basically summed up his current status. Yep.
Turin had come out of that whole thing remarkably unscathed. Call it luck, call it Beleg’s special animal attracting capabilities.
He crouched nearby. “Are you alive? Or are you dead? Beleg? There was a bear. This is all your faul, there’s a bear.”
The bear finished the beef jerky, and stumbled into a tree. A hive of bees came crashing down.
“This is also your fault.”
"...ouch," was all Beleg could say at first. "...yes...yes, it's all my fault, I am a very magnetic person. Oh look. Bees. Among nature's hardest workers. I like honey. Go grab me some."
While the bear was innundated with angry bees, likely of the killer variety, Beleg was pointing over toward the hive, like it was very important. As important as it could be, if his hand was laying flopped there, with his index finger extended. As it was, he sounded like a drunk and mangled nature show commentator.
"...natural...antibacterial..." he was trying to tell Turin, when - to add insult to injury - a bee landed and stung him right on his pointed fingertip. "...ouch."
“I hate you,” Turin said, morosely, as he darted forward and grabbed some honey. He ran past Beleg, tossing the combe on the man, and continuing past him towards the water, an angry swarm of bees hot on his tail!
"...nuuu...you love me, platonically," Beleg whimpered, getting stung but not as badly as Turin was going to, if he didn't run his ass off, pronto. Even if they were going to get stingy, Beleg rubbed some honey over the largest of the gashes, then used a nearby shrub to pull himself up, so he could limp off to safety. Gimpedy gimp gimp.
The bear was probably not only dying, but dying while feasting. And feasting made it okay. That bear was like a viking. Hardcore and gluttonous. Go you, viking bear, with your last meal of jerky and honey. Go you.Honey BadgerThe bear was feastdying, and enjoying it.
Turin dove into the water, arms flailing to get bees off of him. Why had he agreed to this insanity? And why was this kind of fun?
That's because it was Beleg, and he always made things kind of insane fun...but he also made it sound supremely reasonable - the best and wisest idea EVER - before he found himself in terrible situations and wondered why it happened, also.
He was wondering that as well, as another bee sting landed on the nape of his neck. The bee had gotten caught in his ponytail.
"...crawling to hospital now," said mister self-sufficient, after tearing off a part of his t-shirt and using it as a makeshift tourniquet-slash-bandage to stop some severe arm bleedy.
FUN TIMES.
Turin came back, slapping his hand on his shoulder. “Do you have anything for bee stings?” He supposed it could be worse. He could be dead, or look like Beleg right now. Something told him that his friend would be none the worse for wear. Damn elves.
He picked up the sword, wondering where it had come from and why it felt so comfortable in his hand. It seemed to hum in his hand, the tip pointing at Beleg, and in his mind’s eye, he saw the man impaled upon it. He threw it to the side.Amazing powers of recovery, plus Beleg lvl 99 healing skillz! Oh wait, he doesn't have that yet.... Give him a week. He'll be ready for more camping and adventurizing.
Beleg had been about to answer that question after he had carefully pulled out some stingers, and was about to put some of the honey on the sting for temporary relief, when he noticed there was a blade pointed at him. He gave Turin a stare as though he was wondering if he was going to get stabbed through the stomach again, only this time with something much larger than a paring knife.
It was also a deja vu moment, but Beleg chalked that up to what happened back in France, waking up with said paring knife in his guts. Because drunk freaked out friends like to stab their drunk well-meaning friends in the gut, MMKAY?
He heaved a sigh of relief when Turin threw the weapon off to one side, and instead sat there bleeding and dabbing blood and honey on his stings.
"I think we'll have to cut our hunting trip short," was Beleg's very wise observation, because he was hurt enough and didn't need a stabbing on top of it. No way, no how.
Turin ran his fingers through his hair, and applied honey to his own stings. He didn't trust that sword. It made him do things, it made him see things. Like waking dreams.
"You need to see a doctor."
"I got this," Beleg was saying, as he applied another bandage to a wound, and tried to stumble up onto his own two feet. Ok, maybe he'd go to the hospital, later. He so didn’t have it, but he was all too happy to put up appearances that everything was under control (and look good doing it, despite being roughed up). "You going to pick up that sword? You'll look like a bad ass at a ren fair."
“That sword is a pain in the ass,” he said, knowing this on an instinctive level. But he picked it up anyway, and flicked the blood off with a shake of his wrist. “It has no practical use, Beleg. I couldn’t even scare away that bear with it.”
"I'll take it." Beleg held out his hand, not the least bit scared off by any sword being called a pain in the ass, or that it was deemed impractical. "If there is a ren fair, I'll look impressive with bow and sword. Then, if you'd like it back, I'll return it to you."
He smiled, past all the bruising and wounds, blood and honey. His tone was teasing, "Unless you're scared of it."
“I’m not scared of it,” Turin said, looking at the blade. What was it made of, that could make it so black and sharp? “It’s mine, I found it. I’ll just..hang it up until that Ren Faire or whatever.”
"So that means you'll go to one of those things with me? Great! Looking forward to it!" Of course, Beleg took stock of his current state of medical disarray. "After I get thee hence most swiftily to a healer."
He forgot about that weird sword - for the time being - and began to hobble off in the direction of civilization. Go Beleg! You get to hike out now, because you wanted to get Turin back to nature!
At least he'd gotten his friend's mind off his angsty funk. First Age Elf wisdom!
“Fuck...” Turin laughed, wrapping the sword up in some torn up fabric from their camp, and started to follow his friend, shaking his head. Maybe it wasn’t all bad.