2.15 Fetch
turbofluffysnek
Getting sticky.
- Joined
- Feb 8, 2023
- Messages
- 97
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- 390
You know what? This one's short enough I should post it today. They'll normally be longer than this. I've got a vacation coming up which means I'll have to work on the backlog, but I'll try to keep posting where revelry with the family doesn't stop me.
Fetch
Dog was… well he wouldn't call himself a happy bunny as it were, but he was filled with a kind of optimism. The collar around his neck was a constant reminder — as was his inability to even call himself anything other than 'Dog' — of how badly he'd fucked up, but he'd been given a chance to not only redeem himself, but hopefully correct a mistake.
He'd have his friend back if it killed him. Literally.
He had to say though: having one purpose in life really focused his edge. He shot, he stabbed, he kicked and punched, he snuck up on, and he bludgeoned his enemies as he forged his way through the mall. A cadre of kobolds came with him, occasionally blasting with water, lightning, poison gas, or even occasionally casting some sort of spell on him that made him… apparently really hard to see and therefore hit.
He was wondering how to get into the jewelers when some sort of bomb went off and the electricity went out. Shrugging, he then just smashed his way into the shop and started pocketing gold, jewels, necklaces, anything that looked like it might either be expensive enough or at least add up to being expensive enough, that would work, right?
He just couldn't shake the feeling of it being somehow… unclean, to be clearing out a jewelry shop when they were here to rescue kidnapped people and kill the last of the bastards that had attacked that night.
He looked in disgust down at the jute bag he was using to stash the valuables in. Another lesson, definitely, though he wasn't sure this one was planned.
Whether it was or wasn't, he would learn it well.
He grunted, unable to properly speak, until one of the kobolds approached. He handed off the bag of goodies, then mimed a number of physical activities that he hoped got his message across. A sporting goods store. When the kobolds chattered together and turned back to him, they ordered him to follow. He had no choice, but apparently his decision to try for something more had worked as he was lead to a folksy-looking shop with faux wooden slats and campfires made of red and orange felt outside it.
He headed inside the store and nodded happily, grabbing item after item and tossing them to his scaly friends. Knives, bigger knives, gloves, hats, pots and pans, and finally… crossbows, guns and ammunition. When the five of them left the store, they were moving a lot slower, but were wearing ridiculously wide grins to match their bulging backpacks.
One of the kobolds tugged his clothes. Dog looked down curiously, turning his head. The little guy — or gal, he couldn't really tell with kobolds — held up a fist. Snorting, Dog's fist met the kobold's, who immediately drew his own fist back and made a 'pow' noise in his throat.
Okay, he did kinda like these little guys. Now to make his journey worth it, and get out with the goods.
Fetch
Dog was… well he wouldn't call himself a happy bunny as it were, but he was filled with a kind of optimism. The collar around his neck was a constant reminder — as was his inability to even call himself anything other than 'Dog' — of how badly he'd fucked up, but he'd been given a chance to not only redeem himself, but hopefully correct a mistake.
He'd have his friend back if it killed him. Literally.
He had to say though: having one purpose in life really focused his edge. He shot, he stabbed, he kicked and punched, he snuck up on, and he bludgeoned his enemies as he forged his way through the mall. A cadre of kobolds came with him, occasionally blasting with water, lightning, poison gas, or even occasionally casting some sort of spell on him that made him… apparently really hard to see and therefore hit.
He was wondering how to get into the jewelers when some sort of bomb went off and the electricity went out. Shrugging, he then just smashed his way into the shop and started pocketing gold, jewels, necklaces, anything that looked like it might either be expensive enough or at least add up to being expensive enough, that would work, right?
He just couldn't shake the feeling of it being somehow… unclean, to be clearing out a jewelry shop when they were here to rescue kidnapped people and kill the last of the bastards that had attacked that night.
He looked in disgust down at the jute bag he was using to stash the valuables in. Another lesson, definitely, though he wasn't sure this one was planned.
Whether it was or wasn't, he would learn it well.
He grunted, unable to properly speak, until one of the kobolds approached. He handed off the bag of goodies, then mimed a number of physical activities that he hoped got his message across. A sporting goods store. When the kobolds chattered together and turned back to him, they ordered him to follow. He had no choice, but apparently his decision to try for something more had worked as he was lead to a folksy-looking shop with faux wooden slats and campfires made of red and orange felt outside it.
He headed inside the store and nodded happily, grabbing item after item and tossing them to his scaly friends. Knives, bigger knives, gloves, hats, pots and pans, and finally… crossbows, guns and ammunition. When the five of them left the store, they were moving a lot slower, but were wearing ridiculously wide grins to match their bulging backpacks.
One of the kobolds tugged his clothes. Dog looked down curiously, turning his head. The little guy — or gal, he couldn't really tell with kobolds — held up a fist. Snorting, Dog's fist met the kobold's, who immediately drew his own fist back and made a 'pow' noise in his throat.
Okay, he did kinda like these little guys. Now to make his journey worth it, and get out with the goods.