10393/No Sniping like Bilgesniping

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No Sniping like Bilgesniping
Date of Scene: 11 December 2019
Location: Asgard Wilds, Asgard
Synopsis: Sif and Caitlin manage to avoid getting into fisticuffs with a Bilgesnipe while riding a circuit about Asgard's wilds.
Cast of Characters: Sif, Fairchild




Sif has posed:
Another invitation extended, another opportunity to galavant about the outer range of wilderness that rings the city of Asgard! Sif admittedly is in love with the bracing air that comes hand-in-hand with the arrival of winter's mirror in this world. She's dressed beneath her armor in fur-lined elements of thicker leather, these still shaped and formed to allow maximum range of motion. Everyone's breath puffs silvery in the late afternoon light, from horses to riders.

"I am glad you were able to attend upon my invitation yet again, Lady Caitlin. I remembered you were busy in your station with your work, but there is a saying on Midgard that I have come to well love, and that is that all work and little play makes one very dull." Her horse tosses its head and the small bells on its halter ring cheerily. "Would that we complete the circuit before it begins to snow! I believe I can taste it on the wind."

Little breezes skirt by scented with the high thinness of the white pufflets still hanging in the clouds above. Pine resin dominates along with horse, leather, and the wet ground itself. The pair on horseback are nearly through the section of the trail dedicated to behemoth evergeen-like trees. Sif, at least, has a fur-lined hood pulled up about her head; her braided hair lies along her front, peeked free of it. On her back, her sword within each reach and her buckler at her arm.

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin's dressed fairly lightly despite the chill-- the promise of snow doesn't seem to bother her much. But then again, Caitlin's metabolism burns fairly fast. It's likely she's comfortable in some pretty chilly weather. Her attire's a little mismatched, with a long-sleeved purple shirt with a hem that'd be indecently short for a skirt except for the grey winter leggings she's wearing. Fur-cuffed boots are jammed into the stirrups and a borrowed Asgardian fur jacket is worn casually open with the hood laying on her shoulders.

The chiming of bells makes her own steed, a surly mare, snort and stop walking for a few paces. "Yeah, I can, uh, smell it too!" Caitlin calls. She wriggles on the saddle, then flicks the reins a few time. The mare looks back at her with a dismissive eyeroll and starts poking around for tall stalks of grass on the ground.

"Uh... go! Gidyup! Yah!" she tries, and bounces a heel off the mare's flank, to no effect.

"Sif, she's stuck again!" Caitlin calls with a note of resignation.

Sif has posed:
Gently reining in her own mount, Sif then turns in the saddle to look back. There's a sharp click of her tongue and a frown to follow. "She was well-fed this morn before we even considered this foray. Come now," she chides the mare as she turns her gelding in a circle on the trail to pass and then swing up beside Caitlin once more.

"Here, allow me." With gentle but firm insistence, she takes a handful of reins and pulls upwards, attempting to separate the mare's mouth from the absolutely delicious lingering greenery of early winter.

Then comes the distant hollow bellow, almost metallic with the way the evergreen trunks break up the sound. Sif's horse immediately sidles and she expertly turns it in place towards the sound's direction, her glacially-blue eyes gone wide.

"Bilgesnipe," she hisses, her teeth left bared in a grimace.

Fairchild has posed:
It's good that Sif has the reins. The mare whickers and dances nervously sideways, forcing Caitlin to grap the pommel with both hands to keep from falling off. "Bi-Bilgesnipe?" Caitlin asks, nervously. She looks around, but her agitation only serves to make her steed more apprehensive. "Those are like big mooses. Meeses? Asgardian moose. Where-- I can't see it. How far away is it?" she inquires. Tension raises her voice to a higher register and she twists this way and that, furthur upsetting the already exhausted and waspish mare under her.

Sif has posed:
"A moose is an adequate descriptor," the Princess admits as her own horse dances to keep out of the stepping path of the shying mare. "Lady Caitlin, do try and keep your seat."

Again comes the bellow, this time closer.

Both horses are absolutely whale-eyed now and Sif's own mount's halter continues to ring. "Had I chosen the silent one instead," she laments to herself, voice gone hard and hissing in annoyance. "Lady Caitlin, should this creature appear, spur your horse for the city. I will deal with it. I have dealt with them single-handedly before."

Well...a juvenile male, full of hormones and idiocy. Adult male Bilgesnipe are the size of a shipping container and a whole other set of problems -- and it's rutting season.

Fairchild has posed:
"Yeah, that's not happening," Caitlin tells Sif in a low, resigned voice. She abruptly swings a foot out from the stirrups and gets on the ground. With an uncharacteristic force, she twists her mare's reins around so the creature is facing Asgard's distant towers. Caitlin slaps her flank and shouts 'HAH!' and the mare bolts for the safety of home at a fast gallop.

She looks up at Sif, already whipping her hair back up into a fast bun at the base of her neck. "I'm not leaving you behind," she says, bluntly. "I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna out run it, either. So we might as well hit it coming both ways," she says, with a perfectly matter-of-fact tone. "If you've solo'd one before, then the two of us tag-teaming it should be a cakewalk, right?"

Sif has posed:
Away Caitlin's horse goes, tail bannering, headed for the city's gilded stables and sure to cause a stir when it arrives sans rider!

Sif's face whips towards the section of the forest hailed by the tremendous vibrating crash of a tree knocked clear from the ground. Her mein is ferocious now even as her gelding rears and circles widely away from Caitlin. "Yes, a walk of cakes, but with much blood and musk. We will need to be the more fearsome in order to deter it. The hides are thick and it takes great weaponry to break them."

Oh yes, it's definitely an adult male by the span of the rack of antlers -- like a private airplane's wings -- and the fact that its nearing silhouette just took out another tree with a swing of its head.

"I have no weapon but for my sword. Do you wish to borrow my buckler?" Giving up the horse as a loss in its panicked state, the Vanir Princess dismounts and does a similar dismissal. A slap to the butt and off it goes, disappearing into the distance on the tail of Caitlin's mare.

The Einherjar //might// have a panic attack themselves seeing the gelding arrive sans Aesir warrior.

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin looks around for a few seconds, eyes rapidly flickering. "No, but thanks," she tells Sif. "I'm pretty sure the buckler's just going to throw my weight off."

Her backpack's unslung and Caitlin digs inside of it, then comes up with a wicked looking energy weapon that looks like it might have been repurposed from a soldier's rifle into a pistol. The charge cell is checked with a hum of electricty and she slings her pack over her shoulder again.

"C'mon, I think I see a little softer ground over here, and the trees are denser. We might as well make him work to get to us," she suggests to Sif. "Anything I should know about these Bilgsnipes?" Her tone is growing tense with readiness, though she's at least projecting an air of professional calm. "Are they like horses, with weak ankles, or what?"

Sif has posed:
"Know that they have three eyes on each side of their nostrils and to blind them is to hinder them greatly. They have poor sense of smell, but great hearing," the Vanir Princess quickly confers in a far quieter tone now that the Bilgesnipe buck is less than a football field's length from them. He bellows again, a great volume that makes the chest vibrate, and stomps, his strength enough to be felt in the ground itself.

Daring to look away at Caitlin, Sif nods, prompting her to lead the way to cover. Brumeoalfold, her enchanted sword, is drawn with a musical ring from its scabbard, and gleams in the lowering light of day.

As if drawn to such a sound, the Bilgesnipe's head can be seen to turn at them dead-on.

Fairchild has posed:
"That... is super helpful," Caitlid tells Sif. She flicnhes reflexively at the bellowing that rattles her breastbone. Felt in the gut. It's a monster of a creature by Earth standards. The sort of thing that most sensible craetures get the hell away from in short order.

Caitlin is clearly not feeling very sensible. Her fingers work quickly over the energy weapon, adjusting a few settings. "I think I'm only gonna get one clear shot, so I'm dumping all six cores at once," she mutters to Sif. "It might burn out the emitter. Probably won't get another charge out of it. If it doesn't blow up."

There's a *whirrr*, a building humming noise, and Caitlin extends her arm with the pistol in hand. Her eyes narrow through the focusing aperture at arm's length, shooting with impeccable posture.

Her finger depresses the firing stud and a blazing font of red and orange energy the diameter of a soda can lances forth. It strikes the Bilgesnipe on the left side of its head and she walks the short but intense burst across its face. Scales crack, hair burns, and the Bilgesnipe lets out a dreadful scream at the sudden and unexpected precision attack.

She tosses the backpack and weapon aside, and settles her hips low in a ready stance. "Oh he's angry now!" she yelps, and lifts her fists in readiness.

Sif has posed:
Needless to say, the Bilgesnipe buck wasn't prepared at all for lasers to the eyes. It bellows, the sound greatly antagonized, and flails about. Each swing of its head fells trees left and right. Distance is in the favor of both women now, for the trees are old and tall, and they crash to the ground with tremendous destructive force despite being moved like toothpicks by the creature.

Sif continues grimacing, the lines of her face gone sharp and tense in the face of such power on display. "You were precise in your aim, Lady Caitlin, you may have deterred it with this alone. They do not respond well to ambush, being less than the most predatory of Asgard's creatures."

Which makes //what in the living hell// at the top of the food chain?!

Fairchild has posed:
"Well yeah, it's an apex-- wait, what?" Caitlin turns to give Sif a stunned, querulous look. "The *most* predatory? That thing is huge! What could possibly prey on it?!" she demands, and gestures emphatically at the raging, half-blind bligesnipe lumbering around and wailing protest.

Sif has posed:
Sif can't seem to pull her attention away from the Bilgesnipe. It's now wiping its eyes on its forelimb. Churning up the wet earth, it then buries its face in it, thickly coating the burned flesh with the mud to soothe it.

"A good number of creatures could eat one of their offspring when they are first born. A Bilgesnipe fawn is no bigger than one of our war-steeds." Which, of note, are comfortably the size of a Midgardian Percheron. "There are eagles in the mountains which may endeavor to carry off a fawn, or feast upon a wounded, old Bilgesnipe."

Groaning in an atonal pitch, the gigantic Bilgesnipe buck turns and begins to navigate back the way it came -- it will have nothing to do with anything that shoots lasers, thank you very much!

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin holds her breath until the Bilgesnipe has turned around and lumbered off, conceding defeat to a Space Age Annie Oakley impersonator. It's not until the crashing of trees becomes distant that she finally exhales, a low and controlled expulsion of breath. The redhead shakes her head in disbelief, standing akimbo, then starts retrieving her backpack and the pistol. The depleted charge cells are ejected and replaced, and she gives it a wary once-over. "Totally ruins the warranty when you do that," she mutters, and jams the weapon back into her large backpack-- but not before extracting a pair of high-density calorie snackbars. Once chocolate, one coconut and chocolate. She offers Sif her pick. "Victory snack?" she offers, and beams exultantly at her heroine.

Sif has posed:
Brumeoalfold remains upraised and readied at Sif's side even as her friend goes about collecting objects temporarily discarded for the battle abruptly ended. While Caitlin looks over the gun, the Vanir Princess squints at the retreating shadowy bulk of the Bilgesnipe until it very much disappears beyond even the range of vision of the most sharp-eyed Asgardian.

Only then does she let the gleaming blade fall to align to her thigh and sigh as well. Her buckler-hand lifts to push back the fur-lined hood from her face, revealing it to be flushed with battle-blood risen and diused. The offering of the food, however, brings her to glance over and appear very truly if momentarily perplexed.

"Oh. Yes, thank you, Lady Caitlin," she says as she slips the enchanted sword back into its scabbard in order to take the coconut and chocolate bar. Its wrapper is peeled back and she takes a small bite, still frowning at the absolute forest-clearing effect left behind by the Bilgesnipe.

Rude.

Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin busies herself with the mundane task of eating her snack. It's more to calm her nerves than anything else-- a familiar habit, and also it calms the grumbling precipitation of hunger approaching. After all, it's been almost two hours since they had a massive brunch at the palace, and Caitlin's already craving her next meal.

"I'm just glad the laser worked," Caitlin admits, finally. "I can never tell how magic and technology are going to interact. For all I knew, it was just going to make it angry and not hurt it," she confesses. "But I didn't want to bring anything too bulky, neither."
% She laughs then, a low and relieved sound. "I guess I should be lucky I didn't have to try and wrassle that thing. That's a bout out of my weight class, I think," she says with a confidante's amused candor.

Sif has posed:
"Indeed, I would leave the wrestling of the Bilgesnipe to those more inclined to risk severe injury." Thor has a long history of doing this and some few of the Einherjar guards who sally off with him. Sif herself rarely encourages the behavior...until it's brought up by someone other than herself, of course. The protein bar disappears fairly quickly and she sticks the silvery wrapper in her belt.

The distant pealing of horns has the dark-haired goddess glancing back towards the city. "The horses have returned safely. It is time we did the same. Let us jog, I think. It will keep any cold away from us during our travels." That, and cut their travel time greatly, given the speed at which both women can travel. Sif waits until her friend has her backpack comfortably in place before breaking into the loping jog. Her armor rings lightly.

"And now you can say you have fought one of the great Bilgesnipe of Asgard and survived to tell the tale!" A thoughtful pause and then Sif adds, "I would aggrandize greatly in your telling, personally. Claim you flipped it to its back by its nose and be grand in the sharing of how its mucous coated your arms."

Such a grand tradition in tale-telling in Asgard.