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(Ireland) Hungry. Hungry Bastards

POSTED: 10 Apr 2013

  • Date and Time: September
  • Setting: Cal's ranch
  • Weather Conditions: Incoming rain
The sky hung around her like a grey smear. Clouds covered the sky, blocking out the dying sunlight and rising moon. The air smelt like rain and Ashling could hears distant clouds full of thunder and fury rushing in towards the lands she stalked. She'd jumped the fence, ignoring the rather garish "KEEP OUT" sign. She may not be able to read, but after so many incidents of trespassing she knew 'KEEP OUT' when she saw it. 'Trespasser's will be shot' still caused some problems, but since she still hadn't gotten shot at it didn't seem like a lesson she need learn. She notched an arrow as she slowly walked forward over the soft ground. It was covered in moss and rocks, and she made sure to walk on only the most stable stones. Ahead of her she saw the rabbit she'd followed in. It had alluded the traps she'd placed, but it wouldn't get far in field. Okay, so there was a likely chance she might be eating bark tonight, but she wasn't going to give up just because the situation was stacked against her.

"Nigh' nigh, bunny." She whispered, drawing the bowstring towards her cheek. Keep your elbow low, don't take your eyes off the target. She took a deep breath, then as she exhaled she let the arrow fly.

Right into a moss covered rock.

"D'ANAM DON DIABHAL!" She swore bitterly in Gaelic. "CAC! Run you fluffy fucker, you'll be ma' dinner yet!" Ashling shouted after the rabbit as she ran forward, grabbing the arrow on the way. She notched it again and ran ahead, squinting as she tried to spot the rabbit's slim shape darting across the field.

"FUCKER!" She shouted, letting an arrow loose as she ran forward. The arrow missed a second time as a strong gust of wind blew forward, throwing off Ashling's aim as the animal zagged off and down a hole.

"Well who want's ta eat'ya anayhow?" Ashling grimaced, kicking a rock down the hole after the rabbit. "Yea' pro'lly taste like shit!" She crouched down and rested her hands on her knees, and scowled down at where the rabbit had disappeared too. She took another deep breath and dropped her chin to her chest. Damn, she was really hungry... she was so hungry she could-

Not far from where she was, Ashling heard the whinny of a horse. It wouldn't be the first time, her mother had always prepared excellent horse. She withdrew another arrow from the quiver strapped to her back and hurried forward on careful feet. Ahead the storm gathered and prepared to release it's rains on the farm, meaning Ashling had very little time to do this unless she wanted to get very wet. She had reached the enclose that held the horses and raised her bow, and knelt down as she took careful aim.

Ashling bit her lip, then slowly slackened the pull on the bowstring. No, she couldn't shoot a horse, not when they looked so much like her Monty. She sighed and was just about to put her weapon away when she saw it. A chicken pen. Well, she didn't have any cuddly feelings for those, now did she?

She made her way into the coop, but oddly enough didn't find any chickens. Instead there seemed only to be a lone goose. Looping her bow over her shoulder, Ashling walked forward to the doomed bird. Wringing it's neck was an easy job, and after it was done Ashling sat down in the coop and began pulling the feathers off her dinner as she whistles a jaunty tune.

POSTED: 02 May 2013

“Bollocks!” “Shit!” “Feck!”

O’Brian, Burns, and Riley collectively groaned and, in defeat, threw their cards onto the rickety and weathered table they’d gathered around for their nightly poker game. Above them hung a single, rinky dink lamp suspended from the ceiling by a thread, rocking precariously in their boisterous company. It cast a low glow in the haze of their smoke and onto their petulant faces.

“Pay up, boys!” Cal whooped as he collected their precious shillings and swept them into his arms. The money wasn’t permanent – it’d be recirculated among his ranch hands, anyway. Having grown up poor and only tasted wealth for a short time, he was more than a stingy bastard with his money, but they were too poor to part ways with their pay, and Cal, having been as equally bad off since his escape from the good ole U.S. of A. (thank you, Grandpappy Wade), couldn’t do that to them. So for now, until things picked up a bit, it was mostly just for fun. They were just competitive.

Murphy, on the other hand, looked to be beside himself. Sullenly, he stared out the window and puffed on his Old Gold. He’d always been a sore loser.

“You gonna keep cryin into your cards, Murph, or you gonna show your hand?” Cal jeered from over his small mountain of coins.

“Storm’s rollin’ in,” observed Murphy with surprising indifference for the sore loser he was. Cal figured it was because he had a game-changer in his hand – he was too easily baited to just ignore his boss’s jibes. He dropped his cigarette onto the creaky floor below, crushed it out with his heel, and threw his head in the direction of the window. “Best put tha beasties up.”

As if on cue, thunder boomed off in the distance and his horses whinnied restlessly.

“Just this once, you fuckin’ cheat. Just this once.”

As the losers grumbled amongst themselves and shuffled out of the tiny ranch house, Cal lit himself a Camel and hung back to take a peek at Murphy’s hand. He wished he hadn’t. As soon as he turned the cards over on the table, he groaned and shot a baleful glare at his hard-earned winnings. Cal could hear Murphy’s high laughter from across the ranch.

It was a full house.

“Sumbitch! I’m takin’ that outta your pay!” hollered Cal as he collected his Stetson, and on second thought, his rifle. It went everywhere with him, even in the most mundane of places. Hell, he had half the thought to blast Murphy on the goddamn spot. And then he thought better of it, knowing he would have to replace him. He didn’t think the boys would be too happy with that, either.

Before it started pouring, Cal left his hands to the horses and took a good long look around his ranch to ensure that his small collection of livestock was secured in their pens. At this point in his ownership, he couldn’t afford to let any of his animals get sick – they were barely making ends meet as it was, and if tourism around the Ring didn’t pick up soon, the ranch would go under. No one talked about it. The impending threat of getting thrown out and losing their jobs was ever looming over their heads, and always in the foremost front of their minds, so instead, they distracted themselves with fiercely competitive games of poker, riding (in more ways than one), and husbandry.

A droplet of rain splattered onto his hat. Cal blinked and looked around – out of the corner of his eye, he saw something (or rather, someone) disappear into his chicken coop. It wasn’t one of his boys, Cal knew. That pen had been all but empty for months, with the exception of one goddamn goose he couldn’t seem to get rid of. Like most geese, she was a nasty old hag and terrorized anything that got within a yard of her. They affectionately referred to her as “the bitseach.” It would be a damn miracle if anyone could get close enough to shoot her, and they found her amusing, so largely, they let her alone.

Curiosity piqued more than alarm, he followed who he assumed was an intruder into The Bitch’s coop. Goddamn hounds aren’t worth shit, Cal thought crossly as he shifted his rifle in his hand and quietly stooped into the pen to find none other than the back of a fiery broad whistling a tune he didn’t recognize and gutting The Bitch. He watched her for a few moments, amused, irritated, and amazed that she’d even been able to wring the bird’s neck. He wasn’t sure he was disappointed or relieved that her reign of terror was finally over, but he was annoyed that she had the grit to poach on his land – so, he didn’t feel bad about what he was about to do next.

Wearing a wolfish grin, Cal dropped his Camel next to the girl, and, with a great stomp, put it out.

Trespassers weren’t common, but they weren’t unheard of, either. (Ireland was a fly on a horse, compared to the size of Texas - people were bound to wander in.) Usually, though, it was just a tourist run off-track from the Ring, and when they realized they were on private land, they left after profuse apologies, mostly under threat of being shot. It was on rare occasion, however, that the dumb fuckers actually squatted in his coop and cheerfully ate his livestock.

He cocked his Winchester at the back of her head.

“That was my last bird, you fuckin’ goose-killer.”
User avatar

37 years old
Irish Catholic

dude ranch-owner

1 posts

POSTED: 06 May 2013

Ashling's whistling stopped as she spotted the glowing butt of a cigarette drop to the ground. She didn't turn her head, but peeked from the corner of her eye, even as a heavy boot stomped out the embers. It was the gun that got her attention, or rather the sound of one cocking far to close to where her head was. She pursed her lips, and chewed thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek. This wasn't quite how she'd planned the night...but it wasn't entirely unexpected. This old grouchy farmer types got touchy about their live-stock.

"You'some shite farmer then?" She asked, turning her head around just enough to catch a look at him. She immediately did a double take, apparently unsure of what she'd seen. Ashling rests the goose of her lap, then shifts slightly so she won't be straining her neck as she looks at Cal. "Ya'know, yer' voice makes you soun' fatter." She says, sounding almost disappointed. "But'cha' ain't, ain't'cha? Jus' some under fed scrap like the rest o'us."

She spoke while she worked, and had already created a messy pile of feathers by the time Cale had arrived. Now she used her knife to create a hole to remove the gizzards, just like her mother had taught her.

"Noo, ya'see. I happen to be th'best goose chef thi'side o'the whole damn countray."

Ashling, up to her elbows in guts, blood and feathers, grins and shrugs, like she's just told him the most obvious fact their is.

Don't you know? Don't you feel lucky you've been robbed by me?

"Now, ya'bein' such a skinny fecker, and th'bird being as fresh as is'gon get, you'd at leas' lemme' live until I've cooked it." She tilts her head and pouts, and bats her eyelashes at the man still pointing the gun at her. "Last request n'all tha'."

She spun the knife around in her hand, then stabbed it into the wood beside her.

"Wanna show me th'damn kitchen or y'expectin' me to cook it with the chick'n shit?"
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