Special Delivery - Nesrin vs. the Carrion Deathbird

[sneakyonfoota]

Clutching a leather-bound ledger to his chest, a youth just entering his teens put a hand to his brow to shield his eyes against the scorching sun beating down upon him. He scanned the wide, desolate plain before him and sighed. Where could she be? He heaved a great sigh and rustled the cloak hanging from his shoulders to fan the still, dry air against his body. He could feel his shirt clinging to his chest and his hair sticking in spikes against his temples. He uncorked a calabash and took a refreshing but brief sip of warm water--who knows when he'd find the client and be able to go back to the academy.

Why me? he asked himself, for the fiftieth time that day. He quickly turned, his eyes darting from rock to shrub to desiccated, barren tree, suddenly feeling self-conscious. It was the first time he'd ever been to the Amboseli Plains and he had no intention of returning... From the moment Nebula had dropped him off hours ago he had felt as though he was being watched from all directions by innumerable pairs of invisible eyes. When he 'suggested' that Mistress Nebula's teleportation may have been slightly off the mark, she spun it as a 'character building exercise' and left the task to him to persevere. Me and my big mouth, the boy grumbled inwardly.

He spun slowly on his heel, looking all around him. He hadn't the slightest idea which way to go, as each direction offered more of the same: dry, dusty ground; waist-high grass that stood stiff and sharp like needles; the odd dead baobab tree and looming buzzards overhead patiently waiting for him to fall over so they may peck at his bones.

He scratched his chest, the brooch keeping his school cloak fastened was beginning to chafe. As he did his fingers found the signal whistle he wore around his neck, given to him by Nebula prior to her desertion.

"Blow into it only after you have found the client," he was instructed. "Not before."

Would anyone be the wiser if he had just blown the whistle now and signed the for the client? He was sorely tempted to test this. Alas, Tobias Tobermory was not known for his defiance, let alone any backbone to speak of. He sighed and let his hand drop from the whistle.

Bollocks to this! he thought. Straightening his posture and thrusting his chest out as far as it would go, he took a deep breath, cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered out, "Delivery for Ms. Nesrin! Hello?"

[DragonHeart]

((I apologize profusely for the long delay, it was caused by technical issues beyond my control. I had the post written within a week of the intro post date but I've since had to rewrite it from scratch. Please forgive me.))

Half a league away, Nesrin slept in the shade of an outcrop, heedless of the flies swarming in the suffocating midday sun. As the distant voice faded, a tufted ear twitched. Amber eyes slid open, pupils wide with the lingering haze of deep slumber. She clambered to her feet and yawned, stretching. She turned toward the north, her view blocked by the rock.

An easy leap brought her to the top, four meters above the grass. She grimaced, feeling the scorching heat through the thick pads of her feet. Scanning the surrounding plain, it didn't take long for her keen eyes to pick out a figure near a particularly aged baobab.

Another contract, no doubt. She wished these 'civilized' people would fight their own battles for a change. Or at least pay those they employed. Ah well, one more battle wouldn't hurt; she'd just demand her payment up front this time.

Nesrin hopped back down to collect her belongings. With the Thorns and a quiver on her belt, longbow and supply pack slung on her shoulders, she was ready to meet her next challenge. She set out at a brisk trot, unmindful of any threat she might blunder into.

Though the distance was moderate, it took little more than an hour to bring her in full view of the hume. She paused warily, gauging his strength out of habit. Young; barely more than a kit and clearly not a match for her. Satisfied, she approached, stopping a few meters away.

"Amboseli is no place for a hume," she said, her accent emphasizing the sibilants in otherwise perfect Common. "What is your purpose here?"

[sneakyonfoota]

Tobias had nearly given up hope. No, he had given up hope. Sitting on a low rock, he was mentally dictating a farewell letter to his mother to himself while going through the processes of meeting his end with some semblance of dignity. How cruel fate was, dying alone in this godforsaken wasteland.

Dearest mother,--remove cloak, lay it flat--It is with great regret--lay down on spread cloak, face up--that I was not able to become--open shirt, expose chest--a man you would be proud--wait for nature to take its--

"Amboseli is no place for a hume," said a voice. The boy flinched back into reality. Without looking he had sprung to his feet and spun on his heels to face the speaker. "What is your purpose here?" Female. Local quality, he assumed.

He was bowing profusely, his eyes downcast.

"Ah! Um! That is..." Get sorted you tit. Breathe. He ahemed and stood erect, eventually adopting a more casual posture. A hand wandered to the whistle. "Um... You're Ms. Nesrin, I take it? I've a delivery for you."

He breathed in deeply, letting his lungs expand tight against the inside of his ribs and then blew into the whistle so hard that his ballooning cheeks felt sore from the stretch. Nesting weaver birds abandoned their baobab nests from the barely audible sound. The boy stooped forward and panted from the exertion and then unstopped his calabash for a long draught, emptying it of what remained. From a pocket he produced a small, beat-up leather book, opened it to the first page and offered it to Nesrin with a fountain pen.

"Signature as proof of delivery, please," he said.

Just then, as if on cue, there was a sound like a distant thunderclap and a sound like the pained death cries of a flock of raptors.

[Ryu-Kentoshii Hirokima]

I say the Deathbird Wins...LOL Anyway, Good luck with this, and Happy Posting Fellas