[pm] They are all very sweet, they quite like being petted and allowed on your lap. I am always happy to have you visit. My door is open to you no matter the time. Oh! Unless I am not there, then I cannot guarantee you will be let in.
[pm] Chickens [...] sit on your lap? [User's never once considered chickens to be pets.] [...] Jonas, I'm not going to your house when you aren't there. [...] You're the reason why I go over to begin with.
"it's okay, i can peel back the layers of you until i find the soft and gentle core of you you've had to work so hard to hide"? no. no, it's okay, i know you're hollow; i'm here anyway. you don't have to pretend it isn't masks the whole way down. whatever face you want to wear, i still love you. i don't need you to be good or unflinching or the antonym of violence. if i did, i wouldn't be here. i wouldn't ask that of you.
i have nothing against a character who is layers of scar tissue and callous protecting a small little sliver of their before self, who just wants to be safe to let that sliver grow and heal
however. when the only thing under all the scarring is more scarring. when there's nothing of the before self left at all. when there was a precipice, and they tumbled over it, and even if they got back up they'll never heal right.
and then to have someone still say i care for you. you are broken and i can't fix you and i'm here anyway. so what if you're a ghost of yourself? you can haunt me
Wouldn't be the first time that happened in town-- weirdest thing to happen in town. And hey, sometimes fire is the answer. If you're the groundskeeper in the common or something, you can probably call in the fire dept or some shit to be there to put out the fires as soon as the patches are gone. But hey, your job, not mine. I deal with things that have a pulse, not plants.
Hey at least I was polite about it. Mostly. Sorry I give a shit about the crap way people treat animals. I'll try remember that you don't give a damn next time. Plants only, I guess.
Controlled fires might be the most beneficial arrangement. It'll be irritating for people not to read why that may be the case, though.
[...] I'm also in the business of protecting things with a pulse.
I wasn't saying you were incorrect in your worry; your concern is expected as you work in the appropriate field. I was returning your sarcasm. You said "signs won't work", but hidden behind sarcasm. I said "telling people what to do won't work" in a similar vein.
That's a false apology. You don't need to be upset that I responded to your tone with the same tone.
Yeah... that's fair. There's a lot of stupid kids out there. Lucky I'm not one of them. [...] Fuck, does that mean it landed, or...? [...] Well they usually are. I can't help that I'm the most interesting person in the room at any given moment.
A lot of humble kids out there, too. That was also sarcasm. [...] It means I was able to recognize your joke. I have no sense of humor, so whether or not it was a good joke isn't in my area of expertise. [...] Really? What's one interesting thing about you.
It is sweet of you to let me use it for one of the chickens. I will make sure to take good care of Hortense.
[pm] I have a coop for them already, I hired someone in January to have it built. I would not mind if you want to come see them though, I am always happy to have you visit, and if you see an area that could be improved upon I am more than willing to let you fix it.
me trying to convince myself that the whole spectrum of human emotions is a good and necessary thing to feel even if its not comfortable while im actively experiencing emotions that make me feel like my bones are being dissolved in acid
Right. So you're telling me the grass is going to hurt people? If that's the case, seems like it would be a better idea to get rid of the grass instead of just putting up a sign. People don't fucking read. And those that do usually don't give a shit.
Right. Big red circles with lines through them. That will definitely keep people from walking on the grass. I'm sure not a single rebellious teen will take that as an invitation to do the exact opposite.
I think people seeing a man wielding a flamethrower or otherwise setting patches of grass on fire would elicit concern. [...] Then again, perhaps they might actually listen. [...] Some of the patches are in public locations. It's [...] difficult to get rid of without using fire.
[...] Just as I'm sure telling people not to dye rabbits is effective and that your say-so will [...] definitely keep people from buying them for Easter-related projects. Your sarcasm is acknowledged and reciprocated in kind.
I am not allergic to pollen. I have heard it said that the people who are have grown too distant from nature. Because of evolution, which I think is a true theory. Do you think this too? I will not walk on fire ants, both because I don't like it personally and because I don't want to hurt them. They're just trying to live as well. I think pollen travel by air, though. So I don't think not stepping on grass will help those affected.
I don't know. I am not used to these kinds of signs. Where I come from we don't prohibit people from walking in parts of nature. I think it should all be public. But I will heed your advice. Even if it confuses me. And as long as I can still walk on grass that has no signs.
You don't have to be allergic to something for it to still negatively impact you; I'm not allergic to fire, but that doesn't mean I'd walk into it. [...] I think it's a number of factors; personal physiology, inherited deficiencies and genes, location, exposure, et cetera. [...] Also grass pollen is [...] a common trigger for allergies.
[...] By that measure, would you walk through a wildlife preservation even if there was a sign telling you not to? Usually signs like that are erected to protect vulnerable or [...] endangered species. [...] If you'd like, you can imagine these patches of grass as potentially endangered. Whatever keeps you off of it.
I [...] can't stop you, but I also can't guarantee your safety or survival should you not heed my instructions to step on the grass. Where there are signs specifically stating to keep off the grass.
That flowers can talk? These hissing pansies sure fucking can-- Of course I don't believe that. Dude was probably just high.
My point is that I'm not stupid just because I'm young, and you're not smart just because you're old. I've known plenty of stupid old people. My dad is-- was-- is one of them. [...] I'm not obtuse, I'm acute, on account of how precious this face is. [...] Whoa, did you just call me intellectually unburdened? You're a bit of a dag, aren't you?
Insightful. I've also met plenty of stupid elderly people. I've also met stupid young people. Stupidity isn't restricted by age. [...] Your joke is acknowledged. [...] I wasn't referring to you specifically, but that's another trait of being young. You assume every comment is about you.
I mean, people been wrong about less important things, so I wouldn't take it personally. I'll still fuckin' fight 'em, though.
Sky's for the birds, simple as that. People in metal tubes goin' five hundred miles per hour is fuckin' unnatural. Eighty on the good, solid earth, though... so different! I mean, okay, we're still sat in metal death traps, but...
[...] I appreciate the [...] enthusiasm. I don't take anything personally. [User's partially lying; he's realizing that the things other people say about him do affect him. Sometimes.]
I think I concur; there are still things in cars that can go wrong. But fewer than a plane, it seems.
[pm] I would NEVER :/ [...] You're right, that's why I know. I'm speaking from experience. Don't trust those emojis. Hm... You are pretty good at lots of stuff. Maybe he was onto something. [user is a little uncomfy with the topic, actually]
SAME! We're lit two people vibing unbothered. :D That could be it, German people do look very serious and strict. Maybe that's why your dad didn't
Tea shop! That sounds cozy, I love it. I hope they have little pastries. I'm a minty gal myself. But I would never turn down something fruity :) maybe some watermelon or something berry.
I DID NOT. Then why do they freaking advertise them in green or beige, that's just silly. They could even have goths in their pockets if they tried hard enough. Wooo <3 Now you gotta conquer one fear in turn.
[pm] Fortunately, I don't tend to. Emojis seem like placeholders when someone isn't sure what to say. [...] You think so? I don't think I'm good at "lots of stuff". I was created to perform a series of specific instructions, as all hunters are. Perhaps I'm just [...] not as multi-faceted as you. Part of my [...] upbringing, I suppose. My family always said I wasn't
[...] "Lit"?
He has a dog. Are you averse to dogs? [...] Which do you want? I draw the [...] line at buying three different flavors of gum for you. A man [...] has his limits. [.....] That was a joke. But I'd still rather not end up carrying an excess of gum around. [User considers any gum to be excessive but no one asked him.]
Most people [...] wear them for tactical reasons. Earth tones to blend in during combat scenarios. The woods. But they're still clothes; I'm sure you could find a pink pair if you searched for them. [...] I'm not afraid of anything.
[pm] I suppose I also have had more years to grow distant from my parents. They are also dead and I can't say they were particularly invested in me as a child. [...] So your parents don't appreciate your mutilation of fae and would prefer it if you just killed them? A strange reason to cast judgment by my estimates. So why don't you kill them?
No, I do not. I don't twist their dreams, I give them ones of my own imagination. Sometimes my art and dream creations overlap, sometimes they don't. I don't do it for attention. I make art as I value creative expression, as I've always done.
[pm] Death is likely something you have to tolerate often. My father has passed, but his influence is still present. My mother is another exception to the general rule for hunters.
They do not, no. Every family member who's spoken to me save my mother has called my profession a waste of time. [...] I'm not [...] interested in killing. I'm not a killer, contrary to how I'm perceived. I kill in self-defense.
Creative expression is, in of itself, attention. You're expression your creativity externally, just as how I express my creativity publicly via my exhibition. There's nothing inherently wrong with that. I do it, too. I enjoy receiving attention for the things I've collected and display.
Hortense? What a cute name, I will make sure to write it down!
[pm] I bought them a few days ago, I have been planning on getting them for awhile. The[...] incident happened and was well the final push. It is nice to have something to care for on my days off. Well along with Lil and Jamie. And Blue. And Auggie. And Luna! Our home is getting filled with quite the number of inhabitants.
[pm] I see. I'm [...] glad that you ended up getting them. [...] Indeed. Quite the menagerie of animal companions [...] and Lil and Jamie. Where are you keeping them? Have you built them an enclosure? If you need or would like assistance [...] I'm available.
TIMING: Early February
LOCATION: Mossthorn Bog
SUMMARY: More like “How to Train your Lamia” AMIRITE Parker (@wonder-in-wings, while on his way home after hunting dinner, encounters a big alligator mutant (@loftylockjaw who wants his food.
CONTENT WARNINGS: None
This bog, though cold, was the closest thing Wyatt had to home. Not Boston—not that Boston had ever been home—but the one he’d left behind as a frightened teenager. He wished he could go back, wished he had the courage to face his mother and own up to what he’d done, to what he continued to do… he just felt certain she’d be disappointed, upset, and angry, and he’d never made her feel that way before. At least not that she made known to him. He’d always been her perfect son, eager to help with the restaurant, maintaining his grades in school, excelling in sports and having plenty of friends. But she didn’t know about the night fights, about the money that passed hands when he let himself loose and terrorized lesser creatures and shifters alike. It was one thing to defend himself against the hungry, territorial jaws of his infant siblings and other gators in the swamp, but this was not self defense. This was not even natural, unlike his defeat of the rest of his clutch. This was blood sport. She’d hate that, he knew. It had never been about killing for the sake of killing. So he couldn’t return, and had to make due where possible: that’s where the bog came in.
The lamia was out for a spa day, as it were, ready to relish the muck of the bog and return to his baser instincts—ones that’d been baked in during his first near half-decade of life spent as a monstrous reptile of the swamp. He’d found some decently deep water, which was again, too fucking cold, but no worse than the lake. Actually, it was a bit warmer than the lake, for which he was thankful. The bottom of the bog was squishy and sloppy, the water dark and murky and pungent. The lamia looked like little more than a log among all the moss and reeds and scum, until he opened his yellow eyes at the sound of footsteps. They weren’t terribly close, but not that far off either. He remained still, not really wanting to disturb the peaceful day if he could help it, and not feeling particularly hungry, either. Whoever or whatever it was had gotten lucky today.
——
There was a semblance of where he came from at the Mossthorn Bog, even if the last time he’d been there was when he was interrupted in the middle of his project. Parker held more confidence in that type of environment than any in town, if he was being honest - the soft peat beneath his steel-toed boots squelching as he tread lightly, with a hunter’s gait in an attempt to be as careful as possible. ‘Catlike’, as someone had called it before. He never quite understood the sentiment as he’d previously known cats for being graceless and clumsy as they believed themselves to be agile and clever when jumping up onto countertops that didn’t suit them, but as he finally took the time to learn more, he was starting to come around to the comparison.
He tread through the silent, chilly, misty bog that afternoon, feeling slicked with an uncomfortable humidity that coated his skin, but satisfied as he hauled three supernaturally-massive frogs with him with two in one hand and one in the other. It was places like this that reminded Parker of home, and the things he knew to look out for, including him stopping expertly at the edge of what appeared to be more regular earth coated with dull moss. The Warden glanced down at the ground before his eyes scanned up and down an invisible line; the untrained person would’ve missed it but he was standing on a bank, where just under the deceiving surface inches ahead of him was murky brown and gray water. He wondered if there would be any more hibernating frogs in the mud, but as he thought about it and he let his gaze wander absently–
When he saw the pair of eyes. Parker recognized them immediately, having grown up with more alligators than humans in his life. As per usual, most of it was completely submerged, having been there long enough to appear to have been reclaimed by nature itself. ‘This is the part where someone else would turn and leave.’ Walker suggested boredly, sarcastically as Parker instead kept his icy blue eyes on the creature, his curiosity and affection for the reptiles keeping him from simply going in a different direction. No, Parker wasn’t someone else, he was Parker, a strange man who lived out in the bayou for his formative years and he opted to find a nearby log to sit on for a while so he could observe it from the shore, wondering how it got there, where it was from and if it knew how far away it was from home. Similar to him sometimes, perhaps.
——
The arrival of the human didn't alarm Wyatt in the slightest, but it did pique his curiosity. He watched as the man stared back at him, then moved to sit on a log and continue watching. How strange. Most folks would've gone running—if they even noticed him in the first place. The pause at the bank was enough of an indicator that this man knew his way around swamps and bogs, and Wyatt wondered very briefly if this was the same person he'd spoken to online, the other Louisiana transplant. Surely there couldn't be that many of them in this town.
With this in mind, the lamia only waited a few more minutes before moving rather than allowing the staring match to persist for however long the stranger was willing to sit there. With a flick of his tail, he glided smoothly through the pond scum in the stranger's direction. He did angle himself slightly away from the man the closer he came, keeping an eye on him while trying to keep from spooking him. The gator came to a slow stop, lazing at the edge of the water for a few minutes to see if he would remain seated.
When he did, and when Wyatt felt certain that there was no possible threat, the lamia lifted his massive head out of the water and slid it up onto the bank, parting his jaws and letting out a low rumble of acknowledgement.
He wasn't going to speak. Not yet, anyway. That fun prank could come later.
——
However much time elapsed between Parker sitting on that log lightly to when the alligator began to move wasn’t paid much mind by him, and while he did find himself tensing instinctually as the gator moved closer to the shore, he stayed where he was; he’d grown up fighting gators, and now he just had more tools to assist him. There seemed to be something curious about this particular gator as it drew closer to the shore, the Warden thought, in that it was almost moving in a way that wasn’t directed at him. Rather, it seemed as though the creature saw him, the two stared at each other, then it advanced but not out of interest of attacking him.
Either that or perhaps the gator didn’t think he saw it, as impossible as that seemed. Parker kept his steely stare on the creature as it drew closer, and closer… and when it could practically come ashore, its head was pulled out of the water in its entirety and Parker realized that this was no ordinary gator. No, this thing was easily twice as big, coming closer to deinosuchus than a living, modern alligator. Admittedly surprised by the size of the head alone, but still not quite afraid (or at least afraid enough to react yet), the Warden grew still.
That was, until the massive head was placed on the soft mud, not eight feet away from him - if it wanted to, the gator could’ve tried to take one of his legs and if he himself weren’t quick enough, Parker could’ve gone down the same unfortunate beginning path as Rhett - and opened its mouth.The sound it emitted wasn’t the warning hiss of aggression, but rather… almost like a greeting. Or at least, it certainly knew that Parker was there. Rather lazily, the hunter gathered the legs of one of the overgrown frogs and tossed it over to the creature.
— —
Yellow eyes tracked Parker’s minimal movement, slitted pupils dilating slightly as one of the frogs was picked up. Those parted jaws twitched in response and his head jerked very subtly to the side, but the hint of motion became a full snap at the air to catch the frog in his mouth as it was tossed his way. Free snacks? Fuck yeah, free snacks. Wyatt pushed himself further up onto the bank, getting his arms and legs back underneath him as the water grew shallow around his body. He was built for bipedal locomotion, but his slightly shorter back legs meant that he could easily transition to being on all fours, with a sloped spine and gait similar to that of a scaly, two-ton German Shepherd.
The man had more frogs, and Wyatt wanted them. He pushed himself up out of the muck, moving slowly closer. Suddenly he was struck by a memory that he’d forgotten about—he’d done something similar to this with a few humans that’d turned up in his swamp back home, when he was about two years old. They were rightfully fascinated by the vaguely human-shaped alligator monster, and surely his small stature at the time had everything to do with them being curious instead of scared. But… he’d shown them, hadn’t he? Ah, yes. He’d bitten off a few fingers of one of them when they reached for his snout. Bearing this in mind as he came to a stop just a few feet from the man on the log, the lamia lowered himself back to the earth. No biting the human, he reminded himself, finding it all too easy to slip back into old habits when presented with a situation like this. It was a tough thing to shake, sometimes, since he’d spent so many years like this after hatching. Maybe if he’d been born as a human, maybe if he’d grown up as a human, he wouldn’t be so inclined to act like a big, stupid creature when he had the chance. But he hadn’t, and he was. He loved it. Thought it was a riot after the fact, but during… well, during interactions like this, he couldn’t help it. It was instinct.
His jaws parted again and he waited patiently for his treat.
——
The first frog was deftly caught and swiftly consumed, the motion hoisting the large creature a little more out of the murky swamp water. Parker tilted his head slightly and for a moment, he recalled Anita’s large, powerful rattlesnake transformation in the crypt. He wasn’t sure what to call what she was, if there were other things like her but “shifter” would have had to suffice for the time being. He wondered if his unusual company was similar to her.
Regardless of whether or not this creature had the intelligence of a human (or at least a mammal), the Warden wasn’t going to treat it as though it was stupid. However, Parker quirked a brow as the alligator monster moved closer to him, stopping just short of one of his steel-toed boots and opening its mouth as though expecting something else. He couldn’t keep a scoff from escaping him and he shook his head slowly, but reached for another one of the frogs anyway. ‘This is why you don’t feed the animals, boy.’ His father reprimanded him in a memory from a long time ago, as Parker emotionlessly pinned an alligator’s mouth shut against the ground after the animal advanced on him. ‘They keep coming back. Start to see you as a dispenser, then get mad when you don’t got anything else for ‘em.’
Wordlessly, he threw the second frog to the large reptilian, taking care not to overaim or accidentally hit the thing anywhere less convenient than its mouth.
— —
There wasn’t much effort needed to catch this frog, and Wyatt happily gulped it down after it landed on his flat, white tongue. There was not a good reason for this man to not have taken off running yet unless the sight of something like Wyatt came as no surprise. He wasn’t sure if that meant the man knew he was a lamia, a shifter, or just a beast of the bog like so many of the other fucked up creatures around these parts, but… at any rate, it probably meant the man was dangerous. Or at least that he had the capacity to be dangerous, since it didn’t seem very high on his list of priorities at the moment. Still, Wyatt tried to see if there were any visible weapons on his person, and finding none, rose to his feet once more. This time, though, he rose to his full height, stretching clawed hands up over his head and letting out a guttural groan.
Feeling a bit limbered up, the lamia sat in a squat beside the man, angling his head down again as he set one clawed hand on the log. His long snout bumped against the man’s side, perhaps silently asking for that final frog.
—
The catch was expected. The giant reptile standing on its hind legs and stretching as though it were a person was much less expected and it was the closest that Parker had gotten to actually considering retreating for a moment. This was reflected in a subtle move, his legs shifting and repositioning in such a way that made it even easier for him to leap to his feet to get out of the way of a snapping maw with several tons of bite strength behind it. And yet, even as he felt that animal instinct tugging on the corner of his mind, he still couldn’t help but admire the thing; the muscles rippling under its slick, plated skin, the way its teeth neatly layered themselves over its lower jaw. The gleaming yellow eyes, even its humanoid, sloped body. The long, powerful tail.
Parker was compared to reptiles on occasion, he remembered throughout his childhood. ‘Why? I don’t understand.’ He had asked, his dull tone still managing to make itself sound curious in its own way, the way his mother had long since grown to be able to tell. ‘You’re an ambush predator.’ His mother replied as she absently cut vegetables for their dinner. ‘You lie in wait for someone or something to bother you. That’s when you strike with decisive precision.’ Did Parker see himself in this creature that “sat” very close next to him now, claws inches away from his flesh and a massive nose nudging him?
No. He wasn’t capable of that level of self-reflection, he didn’t think. Alligators were powerful, adaptable and cunning. And this one, a strange blend of human-adjacent movements and primal reptilian genetics, was nosing into his side expectantly, to which Parker calmly gathered his third and final quarry and offered it to the lizard. “Last one I have.” He finally spoke to the creature.
— —
Wyatt devoured the final frog just as quickly as he had the other two, and found himself disappointed that that would be the end of it. His more human, more civilized thoughts were falling into the background, muffled and quiet as his baser instincts took over. He was a hatchling again, toddler-aged and knowing no other life than the life of a swamp monster, only much bigger and much more dangerous, now.
He could eat the man, and be satisfied for a time. This idea, one that he’d previously told himself to abandon, came back to the forefront. He could be eaten. Flesh torn, blood spilled, bones crunched… memories of eating humans flooded his mind and he let out a low rumble in response, his gaze settling on the seated figure with new intent. He hadn’t been very hungry before, but passing up a meal as easy as this would be a mistake, wouldn’t it? The lamia’s open jaws hung dangerously close to the man, and he was as perfectly still now as he’d been in the water, contemplating a strike. The taste of mammal blood on his tongue was a welcome one, and he wanted—
Wyatt blinked, closing his mouth again and moving to a less threatening proximity, lowering himself to the ground once more. Don’t eat the hand that feeds, he reminded himself, trying to draw on the humanity that’d momentarily been lost. This could be a sweet deal. Just keep playing along. An idea struck him, a rather genius idea, he thought, and he stared up at the man for a few beats before parting those massive, toothy jaws.
“... last… one,” he grated, doing his absolute best to make it sound like he’d hardly ever spoken in his life.
——
The monster snapped up the last of his quarry and while Parker was rather looking forward to those, he didn’t blame anyone or anything on the decision he’d made. It would’ve been just as easy for him to simply turn the other way and abandon the beast to the swamp, knowing that it wasn’t close to starving, to go home and prepare the abnormal frogs for himself. He didn’t, though, and now as he sat there, observing the creature getting closer to him, he himself stared up at the thing that now stared back down at him. There was a sense of familiarity about this scene, as Parker himself moved imperceptibly to retaliate if the monster decided to give into its primal nature but unlike last time, when an overwhelming futility had gripped the core of his humbled frame, this alligator mutant wasn’t nearly as large or daunting as the mighty serpent beached in that rocky cove months ago.
He might’ve sustained damage. He likely would’ve sustained damage. But he could also move fast enough to exchange a bite with his own dagger to the creature’s golden, slitted eye that stared back down at him. He himself remained nearly motionless and even his breath seemed to cease… until the creature lowered itself, creating some space between the two. Parker, with his blue eyes still warily on the reptilian, allowed himself to breathe again though he felt himself instinctively tensing all over again as those same golden eyes were exchanged with him–
Then the monster spoke. Eyebrows raised in what could’ve been called surprise as the Warden wasn’t expecting this turn of events. Parker was sure that if this had been almost any other human except for Rhett perhaps, this wouldn’t have gone over the way that it was going. He was sure someone else would’ve emoted more. “You’re either more intelligent than I previously thought or I’m under more hallucinogens.” He admitted, his expression returning to its emotionless stare though he kept one of his brows quirked in evident interest. He pointed to himself, not going out of his way to be exaggerated with his motions. “Parker.”
— —
“Parker,” the beast repeated, struggling with the ‘p’ sound but otherwise mimicking him perfectly. No name would be given on his part—this was the man from Louisiana, the one Wyatt had shared recipes with. There’d be no indication to him that the creature in front of him was a shifter, at least not one that had ever shifted in its life. Wyatt couldn’t even be sure that he’d know what that was, but judging by the abnormal frogs he’d been carrying, there was a chance. Besides being an easy source of food, this was free entertainment. It wasn’t malicious by nature, but there was some amount of bullying behavior in the lamia’s decision to play along like this woven into the deception. Not that Wyatt was psychoanalyzing it himself. He never did that, he likely wasn’t even capable.
Turning himself so he could slowly begin to back up into the water, Wyatt kept his head low. “More…” he growled, wriggling himself deeper into the mud as his top half remained visible. “Parker… more.”
— —
This was a strange situation, indeed. It repeated his name back to him, in a rather clean imitation. If Parker didn’t know any better, he’d have thought that this creature was capable of further speech, but he opted not to think too much about it. The reptilian monster moved once again, slowly turning to sink itself back into the murky depths of the bog once more.
Then the Warden’s brow furrowed slightly at the next words the creature said, not taught to it by Parker himself. So it did know other words. “You’re a giant alligator mutant.” He replied first, rather dryly considering the scenario he found himself in. He was still tense, though, ready to move in an instant the millisecond the creature decided to discontinue the conversation in favor of attempting to eat him. “Surely you can hunt for yourself.” He had already given the creature the entirety of his quarry that day; he wasn’t a depository for alligator monsters out in the swamp. ‘I told you once you feed things, they get attached.’
— —
A rumble that could’ve been categorized as ‘grumpy’ (if you were the type to assign emotion to animals) sounded in response to Parker’s insistence that Wyatt could feed himself. Of course he could feed himself. He could feed himself right now if he wanted, could have a veritable feast in the form of one bayou transplant that’d keep him full for weeks. He wasn’t incapable, goddamnit, this was just a bit of fun.
As if to push the point, the creature sank back into the muck and just stared at him, as silent as he’d been when the man had first arrived. He might get back up again and follow Parker if he left, he might not. Wyatt was a fickle creature, guided by instinct and impulse rather than careful, planned out action. Following him would probably be more fun, though. And it might get him to understand that the want was for him to return here another day, with more treats, maybe.
Only one way to find out, and it required patience. So the beast lay in wait, staring at Parker, challenging him to rise from his seat and try to leave.
—
No response aside from what sounded like a grunt, almost a begrudging ‘hmph’ at what Parker had said. It was impossible for the Warden to know this was what it meant, if that was what it meant, but it clearly knew other words that Parker hadn’t taught it so the likelihood that it held some semblance of higher sentience or intelligence than other brutes was relatively high. The reptilian creature trudged back into the mud and disappeared below the surface until it was back to staring at the hunter with its slitted yellow eyes.
And Parker contemplated. He had already made more deals over the past few months than the rest of his life combined up until that point and from what he could gather about this particular arrangement, he got absolutely nothing from it aside from an alligator mutant who probably only saw him as a food source, whether that was from the things Parker hunted or the Warden himself. This was the problem with mammals, he had learned years ago; he didn’t expect critical thought or deep emotions from reptiles. They existed, acted on their instincts and held little if any remorse over their actions. Reptiles were adaptationally intelligent (enough) but emotionally vapid, simple things that were easy to predict because there was no advanced circuitry below the scaled flesh.
That was why Parker could identify with them.
For now, though, he offered a pointed exhale of his own, not quite a scoff but it also wasn’t as much of an actual ‘hmph’ of his own as it could’ve been. “We’ll see.” Parker replied, placing his hands on his belt and starting to get to his feet though he never removed his icy blue eyes from the smoke-shrouded gaze of the reptilian.
— —
They were locked in a staring contest as the man rose to his feet, Wyatt waiting patiently until he’d finally moved far enough away that the lamia’s second emergence from the bog wouldn’t seem like an imminent threat. The last thing he needed was this guy pulling a knife on him, or something. Not that it’d do much, the durability of his scales was tried and true, but still. This wasn’t meant to be a fight.
Keeping on all fours, the beast lumbered slowly after Parker, his head turning this way and that as he glanced around them, a sort of non-threatening display of a lack of laser focus. Part of him wondered if the man lived nearby, because he’d like to know where he lived, if only to further his ability to play little pranks on him. Maybe someday he’d find a gator asleep on his porch, or slinking into his kitchen through a broken window. What fun that would be! For Wyatt. Probably not for Parker. He didn’t really care if it was fun for Parker, though.
When Parker stopped, he stopped. When the human moved, he moved. He was like a massive, growling shadow, curious to see where his waiter for the afternoon was headed.
——
His hearing might’ve been deficient but the other nuances in the hunter’s skills didn’t pass him by - he was being followed. Not that the reptilian seemed particularly built for stealth on land, but it still gave the Warden pause on occasion, and he stopped every few steps, noticing that the alligator monster would, too. What was its angle? The swamp provided a measure of humidity that was otherwise absent in the rest of the town, for sure, but the fog didn’t keep the unpleasant chill from stinging Parker’s skin and nose, so he found himself curious about why the reptilian would bother following him.
Eventually, as he kept calm and fell into a more steady pace of walking, the unlikely duo neared the edge of the Mossthorn Bog, where Parker eventually turned, keeping one of his hands near the hilt of his broadest dagger just in case the monster decided that the fun was over and that the frogs he’d been given weren’t sufficient enough. “Are you going to follow me into town?” He asked, regarding the creature and locking eyes with it again. “I’m not sure where your level of intelligence rests but I don’t recommend it, if that’s your plan.”
— —
Into town? He lived in town? Damn. So much for that plan. Wyatt took the info rather poorly, letting out a long, soft bellow of complaint, ending it with a hiss for good measure. He sat back on his haunches, regarding the man thoughtfully for a few moments longer, then whipped his tail through the underbrush of the bog and rocked forward, letting his clawed hands sink into the hardening mud. He was planning to stay put, it seemed, and when the warden walked away from him a second time, he did not follow.
He did, however, wait until Parker was a good distance before calling out in that same deep, gravelly voice, “More!”
