The Stranger And The Snit
Stranger crouched over the Fuzzle trap and listened, one ear twitching. The box trap was shaking violently and from inside came the sounds of a very angry Fuzzle, it was practically eating it’s way of the box, or it would, if it could get it’s teeth around it…
Stranger gave a small half grin. Vicious, practically rabid Fuzzles were always helpful when trying to take out an Outlaw. It also helped somewhat that he was very good with critters, he’d never sustained a bite from any of his ‘Live Ammo’, maybe it was because he was- Stranger shook his head to dispel
that line of thought. Soon – he hoped – he wouldn’t have to deal with
that anymore…
Picking up the box trap Stranger levelled one end of it with his bag and slid open the end slat, dropping the Fuzzle in with the other critters. If the satchel’s lining hadn’t had a soporific effect on small creatures Stranger would have been worried that the rabid Fuzzle would eat all of his other ammo, but as things were, the Fuzzle was now happily snoozing along with about four other Fuzzles, a swarm of Zappflies, a couple of Chippunks, a Stunk and some Sniper Wasps.
Stranger crouched down again and set the Fuzzle trap, baiting it with some scrips of meat he’d saved from his last meal.
It was then he heard a scream, loud and terrified, that set the birds sitting in the trees exploding into the sky with shrieks of alarm and the small creatures on the ground scuttling for cover.
Stranger was up and ready for anything a fraction of a second later, muscles tense, all senses on full alert. The scream came again, desperate now and this time Stranger heard words in the yell;
“GERROFF ME YOU OVERGROWN TARANTULA!” Stranger now knew where the screaming was coming from and broke into a loping sprint. Someone had somehow become entangled in the Bolamite webs he got his ammo from. How they’d managed to get that deep into the jungle without being eaten was beyond the bounty hunter but right now he wasn’t interested, he just wanted to get to the source of that voice.
It was curiosity more then good-will that made Stranger impatient to get to the Bolamite nest. The voice was strange, a timbre he hadn’t heard before and he’d seen and heard more then most. He mentally checked off the possibilities.
It wasn’t a Clakker, it was lacking the southern drawl and that irritating squawk and Clakkerz were basically stupid in his opinion, they wouldn’t have been able to get this far.
It wasn’t an Outlaw either, an Outlaw would have spouted a stream of profanities by now. And it wasn’t a Vykker like the Doc, didn’t have the accent of a Vykker. So what was it?
Exactly what Stranger wanted to find out.
It only took him a few minutes to reach the source of the commotion. The Bolamites were boiling all over the communal webs and right in the middle of it was-
Something Stranger had never seen in his entire life.
It was hanging upside down in his Bolamite trap by one leg and the Bolamites were all over it. Stranger suppressed a cringe, knowing what they do to the hapless creature.
They’d wrap it up in their silk threads and then suck it dry of all it’s juices. Very unpleasant, very painful, especially because the victim was alive when they did it.
Stranger saw one of the bigger, mature adults crawling down towards the creature’s neck. It would bite the victim and paralyse it. The creature would still be able to feel pain, but not move.
It was arguably the most undesirably death this side of Oddworld had to offer.
On impulse Stranger dug his claws into the nearest tree and scrambled up it with surprising ease, when he was above the Bolamite hoard he brought out a flint, tinder and snapped off some smaller tree branches above his head. It took seconds for him to light the first fagot of wood and place it in the wrist mounted double-barrelled crossbow and another second to aim for the huge adult Bolamite creeping towards the captive creature’s throat. He fired.
The Bolamite squealed and fell, Stranger reloaded with the second splinter of wood, also lit and fired again, igniting one side of the huge communal web.
The Bolamites scattered. Using a couple of Zappflies he reloaded again and shot six of the younger and considerably smaller Bolamites and scooped them into his ammo pouch.
Clouds of noxious smoke were rising now, billowing like the plumage of a huge grey phoenix rising out of the ashes.
The strange creature was unconscious by this time. Stranger crouched on the tree branch and began pulling the rope hand-over-hand, drawing the limp creature up like a well bucket.
It was just below him when Stranger noticed the tongue of flame eating at the rope.
“Stupid, Odd-damn-” He only just had time to grab the creature’s green woollen jumper before the cord snapped. As he held onto the creature, just about to swing it up onto the branch it stirred and after a minute looked up at him.
It stared at him in blank surprise and then it studied him with muzzy interest and he studied it in turn.
It was a pale peach colour with a smattering of faint ginger-brown dots across it’s nose and cheeks and forearms. It had very long fur on it’s head of a red-brown colour that was roughly and quite frankly, badly cut with a green strip of fabric tied around it’s head. It’s eyes were a hazel-amber, a colour that was quite unique in Oddworld.
It wore black pants and black and green boot-cross-shoes with rubber soles, it had a green woollen jersey (which Stranger was at the moment holding it up by) with sleeves that didn’t even go to it’s elbows, and a darker shirt of lighter, closer-woven material underneath that just reached past it’s elbows.
It’s forearms were covered in Zappfly bites. And it’s hands were covered with black, fingerless gloves. Stranger found himself fascinated by it’s hands. It had five fingers, very like his own but they were slender and pale and it’s nails were bitten down to the fingertip.
The creature was well armed but Stranger recognised it as hunting gear more then actually weaponry, a short bow and quiver of arrows were on it’s back. A dagger and a coil of leather with three round stones on the end as well as a pouch were secured onto it’s belt and a sling was wrapped around one forearm.
They blinked slowly at each other, the creature opened it’s mouth to say something but before it got any sound out, it’s eyes rolled in it’s head and it went limp.
Stranger frowned before he pulled the creature up and into his arms, the creature’s head lolling on his shoulder, it didn’t weight very much actually. In fact it was very light and rather short, it probably didn’t even come up to his chin. It was taller then the Clakkerz but definitely shorter then most Outlaws as they were taller then himself.
So why did he have the feeling he was letting himself in for something big?
A sinister clicking brought Stranger’s attention away from the strange, small creature he was holding to the many Bolamites swarming around the base of the tree he was in. They weren’t very happy about having their webs burned and they were slowly and steadily making their way up towards to them…
Not good.
Stranger slung the unconscious thing over his shoulder and vaulted to the next tree, digging his claws into the bark he shimmied along another tree limb then sprang to the next tree, he continued this pattern until the Bolamites lost interest and gave up the chase, going back to the ruined communal web and starting spinning.
It wouldn’t take long before they ruled this hollow again.
Meanwhile Stranger had carried the unconscious creature some way before he stopped and set it down. He crouched down on the tree limb they were on and studied the creature intently. By all rights it should have died a long time ago, it could never have survived in the jungle forest this long. It only seemed to be a young creature – whatever it was.
Some questions needed answering.
He had to wake the thing up.
Stranger tapped the creature’s face.
“C’mon squirt.” He muttered, “Time ta wake up.” The creature groaned and opened it’s eyes.
¤§¤
Someone was tapping her face and talking. At first Bailey’s muddled brain couldn’t actually process what was being said, just the voice itself. It was a deep, harsh voice, it rumbled deep down in the speaker’s chest and Bailey could almost feel it as much as she could hear it. It took a while but the words finally started to make sense in her murky mind.
“C’mon squirt, time ta wake up.” Bailey groaned and put a hand on her forehead, leaning on her other hand and letting her head hang. She forced her eyes open.
And the first thing she saw was that it was a very long distance to the ground. She jerked and almost fell out of the tree but something caught her jersey.
“Holy heck!” She yelled and locked her arms around the closet thing at hand. Fur brushed her forearm. Bailey went completely still and turned, finding herself face to face with the It and inches away from luminous green eyes bordering on neon. “GAH!” she yelped.
¤§¤
Stranger was so surprised that he dropped the creature and it landed hard on it’s backside though fortunately on the tree branch.
“Ow,” it whined, “What d’you do that for?” it scrambled to it’s feet, rubbing it’s back. “That hurt.” Stranger stood up. Establishing that he was in fact a lot taller and considerably more intimidating.
Stranger didn’t answer questions, he asked them.
“What tha hell are ye!?” he interrogated fiercely, the creature oddly didn’t seem intimidated. This surprised Stranger, why wasn’t it afraid of him? Although, he mused, the only creatures that were truly afraid of him were Clakkerz and they were only spineless, yella-bellied feather-brains anyway.
“Are you naturally bad-tempered or are you just bein’ stroppy?” the creature asked frowning. Stranger scowled and his voice became a deep growl.
“You listen ‘ere whelp, I just saved your sorry hide back there so you’ll answer ma questions or I’ll-”
“You’ll what? Throw a wobbly?” the creature was
definitely not intimidated, in fact it was an imprudent, ungrateful little snit. And it must have been reckless too or just plain crazy, no one in their right mind baited Stranger, not even the cockier Outlaws.
And it was getting Stranger annoyed.
In one quick stride Stranger closed in on the smaller being and grabbing it’s jersey front, easily raised it up to his eye-level, making them practically nose-to-nose.
“Or I’ll make yer sorry.” He growled. But instead and quaking and stammering apologises the creature cracked a vaguely evil half-grin and Stranger felt something prod his lower abdomen. He glanced down.
The dark grey barrel of some kind of gun pressed against his stomach. Stranger hated guns.
“Where in Odd’s name did it get that
from?”
“Stalemate.” It grinned, “You put me down,” the creature was staring right at him, still grinning that infuriating grin and imitated Stranger’s accent, “Or I’ll put a purdy liddle hole though yer gut.” It paused, jabbing in the gun a bit more to emphasize it’s statement. “Yer dig?”