For what it is, Cathal should be happy for the slow day. And yet. He can’t help but feel suffocated, as if something bad is waiting just around the corner for the perfect opportunity to strike. Of course, he has his fair share of enemies and people who don’t like him because he’s gotten stuff done thus is certainly more trusted ( albeit not by much ) with important matters or difficult jobs.
It’s not long before he grows restless, pushes his chair back and leaves the bar he’s been sitting inside but not before paying. He’s earning enough to not have to resort to thievery to live and see another day. Long gone are the days in which he used to steal in order to survive and that’s how they are going to remain.
A quick look around assures him that he’s in no immediate danger of being spotted by ‘competition’ ( how childish some people can be ) so he makes his way away at a quite leisure pace. There are no jobs waiting to be done nor is he required to hurry towards a meeting point to get the next piece of information he requires or instructions for what he is supposed to do next. Dare he say, he’s actually gotten a free day on his hands and he’s not quite sure what to do with it.
Aimless walking through the city ( Belfast, quite a nice place ) turns steadily into a hurried pace, seemingly with a destination in mind. Does he have any idea what lays at the end of his trip? No, but it’s worth a shot to check it.
Colour him surprised the moment he finds himself in a woodland area with only the wind howling through the trees for background noise. Huh. It’s a nice sight, that is indeed true, but it still begs the question; why is he here?
There is a sudden shift in atmosphere as if that something that has been following him the whole day has suddenly become real despite there being nobody else aside from himself. Or so he thinks before the sound of low, pained noises reach his ears. He strains his hearing the best he can, slowly following the sounds until he finds the source.
Instinctively one of his hands goes for the gun hidden in his coat, hand curling around it while he holds the other one out. Despite the danger he’s found himself into, he doesn’t rush to finish the trapped animal off.
“Easy there.“ Cathal begins softly, an unusual gentle tone to his normally hoarse and low voice. “I’m going to disarm the trap, okay? Then you are free to go.”
Yet. Yet the feeling of suffocation accentuates even more, nearly asphyxiates him. What is going on…?
altair has never had any issues with the human species before (though they’re horrible and selfish; their sins are what have allowed his kind to exist- to feed), but there’s an unfamiliar kind of panic thrumming through his veins now, causing ears to fly backwards to rest against his head and a low growl to slip past his muzzle at footsteps. if this is the hunter, he refuses to go down easily. he doesn’t exactly have a close relationship with humans (murdering and cursing is one thing, but he also accompanies humans who are about to pass into the afterlife, so he figures he knows them well), but the blood matting his fur definitely has his opinion turning rather sour.
when the human appears (and altair has eyes on him immediately; judging him by what he wears, the way he carries himself), the hellhound’s first reaction is to flee, because there’s this feeling of being utterly helpless that he hates. but, with nowhere to go (and the trap still biting brutally into his leg), altair has to stay as still as he can, eyes sliding shut and a whine escaping him almost involuntarily. he really, really doesn’t feel well.
as a hellhound, altair has the ability to understand any kind of human laguage flawlessly and so, despite the other’s accent, he can pick up on what they’re saying, tail flicking to settle beside him, head tilted downwards a fraction. if this human is truly going to disarm the trap, then altair will be free to go? that’s very unlike what a human would usually do in his position. or, at least, that didn’t sound like the humans from the stories and tales that altair had heard spread around.
altair stays still, as quiet as can be, simply allowing the human to reach the trap easily, though it was still guaranteed to be quite difficult to find due to the amount of crusted blood and fur that was over the metal by now. so it seemed that he had gotten lucky- this wasn’t the hunter that had set the trap, and altair could even allow himself to feel a little bit of relief.
after a minute, altair glances up, daring to let their eyes meet. he won’t curse the human, simply because he appears to be helping, and that’s more than an animal like altair deserves. especially since he wasn’t considered a pleasant being to their kind. to find such a human (so willing, and kind-) was a rarity. after the trap is disengaged, altair immediately pulls back, only to fall back down with a pained growl, leaning across to lap frantically at the bleeding wound. ah, this really wasn’t good.
curiously, he gently nudges the human’s leg with his blood-stained muzzle. if he’s going to die here from blood loss, he may as well thank the person who had at least attempted to save his life. usually, altair would be able to heal himself, but his energy has been drained almost completely, and so he’s at the mercy of this person, it seems.
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