| Logs |
2009-05-30
| Dreams |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
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Coyote Sings!
The rain is a steady drumming on the roof of the hotel room, curiously soothing. Over the noise can be heard the faint tinniness of a radio somewhere nearby, and the combination of noises makes an oddly pleasant harmonic in the now-cool room. Jason goes to check himself in the mirror now that he's in the safety of his room... he had rolled with the blow, the biker barely grazing him, and yet there is a bruise; a small one, but a bruise. At the time it felt worse, like a punch in the face. He makes a clear plan, then and there... he's staying away from the bikers. The young priest clearly had reason to be cautious around them, and it also seems clear they're not all that friendly. They have their own business, so Jason will leave them to it, unless he has no other choice. Just because they are clearly supernatural, doesn't mean they have anything to do with his mission.
Jason pulls out a map from the desk drawer when he leaves the bathroom, and starts planning his trip to Montezuma's Castle: to be honest, the Window Rock sounded far more fascinating to him, but the Castle is closer -- and unlike the Grand Canyon, it's likely far less well known as a tourist trap.
The night passes mostly peacefully, and when the bikers nearby seem to be partying so loudly that Jason can hear them, at least the steadily drumming rain mutes all but the most strident of their roaring laughter and drunken song. The next morning dawns startlingly beautiful and clear; Jason realizes this at the same time he realizes there's someone knocking at his door.
Jason is relieved that he got a restful sleep this time... sort of. More dreaming of the muttering whatever might give him more chances to make contact, or learn more. But rest is important too. No, this time the dream was far more strange and vague: an X-man character he'd read about what feels like a billion years ago was trapped on earth, and asking for his help to fly her into space. Except even though he mentally identified her as the marksman called Hepzibah, she looked far different than she'd been depicted. Instead of an anthropomorphic skunk, she was an iridescent snake-lady. Being roused from sleep with this on his brain, he rubs the crust from his eyes, and lurches over to the door in a t-shirt and his boxers, peering through the peephole.
A peculiarly distorted eyeball is all that Jason sees -- peering right back at him! Jason jerks back when he sees an eyeball peering right back at him! "Guh. Smart ass." he mumbles, pawing at his face... needs to shave. But he puts the chain on, and opens the door a crack. "Yah?" he queries, peering out.
The eyeball has receded, and there's more tapping on the door as it opens. When Jason peers out, he sees Jed, who leans in -- he has dreadful breath! -and whispers to Jason, "Git out inna desert, boy, if'n yer lookin' fer th' spirits!" He leans back, nodding sagely once, and muttering, "When th' fire's dyin' an' th' moon's settin' -- look fer 'em then! Oh, and tobaccy, cain't fergit th' tobaccy -- they like that." He nods again, turning and heading off.
Jason continues to look after Jed... and then closes the door. "Excellent. The spirits and I can get lung cancer together." He's not awake enough for this right now, and flops spread-eagled back onto his bed. He starts getting himself together fifteen minutes later... shower, shave, breakfast, and pays his bill. He also look into if he can purchase actual tobacco, or only cigarettes around here. It's not like he has a peace pipe to put it in, but... Maria offers him the choice of chewing tobacco, cigarettes, or a pouch to roll-your-own.
As he stands there, there's a sudden commotion behind him -- the bikers are leaving, and in a hurry! The big one is roaring, the one whose face is covered is hastily throwing things into a saddlebag, and the third one is standing tall and curiously assured, staring off into the distance. Then one arm lashes out, pointing beyond, and all three of them leap on the bikes and burn rubber hastily out of the parking lot. Maria crosses herself, her lips moving silently as she watches them depart... then she looks back at Jason and smiles, "Well?"
Jason blinks at the startling departure. "Good riddance." He decides on a pouch, some rolling papers, and a small box of matches... and a lighter too, just in case. "Don't know how the spirits feel about filters, you see," he half jokes.
Maria nods amusedly at Jason's assessment, "Me too. Oh, they pay cash up front -- that is nice -- but... " the plump woman hesitates, then gives a small shudder, "Scary, you know?" She sells Jason his selections, chuckling at his small joke, "Ah, well, what I hear is they wish the scent of the burning tobacco, si? So the roll your own, it is just better for that!" She beams at Jason, adding a cheerful, "Dios te bendiga, mijo!" as he heads out.
Jason agrees with a grunt, and feels quite content at the farewell... she's certainly made him feel welcome, and it's a little sad to leave. "And to you, Maria." He hefts his pack, and sets out on the road.
It's a lovely morning -- still cool and pleasant. A roadrunner skitters along the asphalt at the side of the road, ahead of him, flashing forwards to stab an unwary lizard. It tosses its head, gulping the lizard down head-first, and pauses to study Jason with one beady black eye. The hapless lizard's tongue flaps a few times from where it hangs from the bird's beak -- then the roadrunner apparently decides Jason should be avoided, and it skitters swiftly off. Jason waggles his eyebrows. "Jason Burke. Suuuuper genius," he says to the retreating road runner.
Fortunately no coyotes come bounding out after the swift little bird, although Jason could swear at one point that he spotted a pronghorn for just an instant on a far butte. The shy, endangered little antelopes are rare enough that it's sort of a nice pick-me-up to the solitary young man -- maybe it's a sign of good fortune? Cars are rare this early in the morning, and Jason has time to walk out the tiredness and the kinks in his legs from the big effort of two days ago. In fact, it's well on into the afternoon before one pulls over for him. Jason ambles over to the vehicle, peering in the passenger side window. "Preciate the kindness... heading to Flagstaff, if you can take me any piece of that..."
An attractive blonde middle aged woman smiles at him, "Sure, honey. Just hop in the back." Beyond her, in the driver's seat, is an attractive, muscular man with a blond buzzcut. He grins and waves, "Hey, fella! Just push the stuff over, OK?" Both of them are wearing reflective shades and light tan Safari shirts -- the kind with the almost military looking cut, rolled up sleeves, and button down breast pockets. The big white truck has a cover on the back, and is the type with a passenger section behind the driver area and the pickup in the back. The back is a neat jumble of duffels, shovels, wooden boxes with metal reinforcements, a gun rack, a locked gun case, and military style metal ammo boxes.
Jason bobs his head. "Done and done," he quips, heading in back and nudging stuff to one side, making room for himself and his pack. "Don't mind the exercise none, but the sun can be a real insistent traveling companion, and the road runners aren't real talkative. Thanks again." He eyeballs the arsenal a little warily, but says nothing, yet.
There's also a book bag full of books, but Jason can't quite see the titles. The man laughs, leaning around to offer one large, callused hand, "I never worry about that until I hear them talking! Name's Joe, and this is my wife Betty." She dimples at Jason, nodding once.
Jason takes that hand firmly. It's odd, but the more time he spends out here the more he starts sounding like the natives. He figures it's some kind of social chameleon thing. "Pleased to meet, Joe, Betty. I'm Jason. On a bit of a trek, see the real America," he introduces himself.
Joe has an almost startlingly strong grip, but he doesn't squeeze like bullies sometimes do. With his other hand he tilts his shades up, studying Jason with piercingly blue eyes. He smiles quietly, then drops the shades again as he turns back to drive. His voice is casual, "Real America, eh? You found it yet?" Betty remains with her arm along the back of the bench seat so she can see Jason, and she glances at her husband as he speaks.
Jason shrugs goodnaturedly, and then remembers that the man is paying attention to driving again. "Just one small step in a bigger journey, sir. Won't know what the puzzle looks like till I find all the pieces. Do make good pies out here, though."
As the woman looks to the man, he seems to tilt one hand resting on the steering wheel, fluttering it once or twice, then put it back on the wheel. It's a small, quick enough gesture that Jason might have missed it -- except the woman nods as if she was watching for it before she turns back to Jason. Her voice is cheery, "Pie? You like a good pie? Oh, you haven't lived until you've tasted the pie at the Stuckey's on the way to Flagstaff!" The man chuckles and nods, "Ayup, they do make a mighty fine pie." Smoothly Joe adds, "So, seen anything interesting yet in your search, son?"
Jason tries to remain calm. Anyone with that many guns is bound to be... on edge. Placating is the best idea. "Got some friendly traveling men of the cloth around. And some unfriendly bikers. Awful curious to see whether the Indians around here really do have their own dragon. And when it rains around here, you get all the rain, not just a little."
Betty laughs and claps her hands, "Oh, that must be Father Bermudo, yes? He's a charmer, he is!" Joe smiles, relaxing a little, "That he is." His voice is wry as he adds, "The good father's a little... lax when it comes to... the supernatural, I think, but his heart's in the right place. He does care for his flock, after all."
O-kay. That's some information. "You wouldn't know it to hear him talk. Man insisted I take a rosary with me. But I've been okay enough. No brushes with the devil just yet." Sort of. He doesn't really care to know what the biker that won't take his helmet off looks like.
Joe snorts amusedly, "Ain't the Devil to worry about here. It's all the smaller demons plaguing the innocent-" Betty lays a hand on Joe's arm and he cuts off, glancing down at her and smiling. The woman says apologetically to Jason, "Joe takes things so personally sometimes!" Joe chuckles, "Sorry, dear. But metaphorical or not, the desert Southwest has its fair share of oddities and just generally bad folks." His voice drops into a growl as he adds, "Like those damn bikers... "
Jason realizes, then, that it's a darn good thing he's not armed right now. He's not a professional, so he'd have no good way of hiding it on his person... and this sharp-eyed man is just paranoid enough that he might rifle through his pack on a whim. "Cause a lot of trouble? I found out last night that I don't even look at their bikes unless I want a bruising. And the Father was right jittery around them couple days past."
Betty says seriously to Jason, "That's a very good idea, honey -- stay well away from them! They're... not quite right in the head, you know?" Joe snorts disdainfully again, and Betty says in gentle reproof, "Joe! Christian charity, honey!" The man subsides, frowning, and Betty turns back to Jason, "We believe everyone should get a chance, of course... but poor Joe has reason to hate them. He's been tracking them on and off for years along these highways." She shivers slightly, adding, "Eerie how often they're spotted at fatal accidents along here, you know?"
Jason nods agreeably... clearly, Betty is the moderating influence, here. Husband and wife of like mind... that would be harder to deal with. "Hunting them? isn't that something best left to the sheriffs, and that? I mean, if they're as shifty as you say, and they's suspects in some bad sh-" He censors himself, looking at Betty. "Stuff. Well then, seems like the thing to do is clear."
Betty's laughter is as delighted as a child's, and even Joe grins as he reaches up while driving, flipping down his sun visor. Clipped to the back is a leather-backed silver star, "County sheriff's deputy." Betty dimples at Jason again, adding with a hint of pride, "See? You couldn't be safer, hitchhiking in this area, 'cause of folks like my Joe!" The big man nods, "Folks here believe in community."
Jason has the good sense to look abashed. "Sorry about that, sir... officer. Shouldn't have assumed nothing. Glad to know I'm safe enough backpacking across yer, ah... community, though taking a load off my legs is still appreciated." He looks at Betty. "Is Flagstaff home for y'all, then?"
Betty beams, "Phoenix, actually, but we do a lot of traveling. The Southwest is our home, after all!" Joe nods, his deep voice grave, "Got to protect what's yours, son. Gotta keep folks safe, just like the cavalry."
Jason tilts his head. "Cavalry, huh? Hope the horses aren't disappointed you're using trucks, now. Breaking up the team, and all that." He suddenly gets a little worried. "Wait... are y'all on the trail of the bikers right now? No offense, but I didn't back a bullet-proof vest in my pack... "
Joe chuckles, "Son, if we meet up with the bikers you and Betty are going to hop into the back and stay there while I deal with 'em!" After a moment the man adds casually, "So where'd you last see Father Bermudo? and the bikers?" A bit puzzledly he adds, "And what was that about a dragon?"
Jason gives Joe and Betty a brief rundown of his last couple days, mentioning the girl at the diner, Jed and Maria at the motel, and the bikers late arrival and early departure, and giving a brief outline of all the stories that Jed had to tell about the local weirdness. He also mentions that he started in Nevada, and was schooling in Cali, up till recently, but diverts too much attention as to how he got from A to B -- just saying that he's "meeting up with his friends later."
The couple listen attentively and interestedly. When they stop for a restroom break some hours later Joe and Betty apologize to Jason, but they feel they should backtrack and make sure Father Bermudo is all right, especially with the bikers around. That means they're going to have to turn back, and while they're happy to take Jason along, he wants to continue east, right? Joe promises to keep an eye out for the young man, however, once the couple is headed eastwards again. Betty dimples at Jason, gently squeezing his hands in hers in a friendly way, "Sure you don't want to ride with us, honey?"
Jason smiles broadly at the woman. "You're very kind, Betty, but my little trek is taking me elsewhere... and goodness knows, I don't want to confuse folks by not being where I'm supposed to be." Or spirits. And besides that, he was already told that who he needs to see won't show up if he's not alone. "Maybe our paths will cross again... but I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep."
Betty looks regretful, but nods understandingly, and soon the big white truck is speeding off. Jason continues walking east. That night he finds another motel, but the day after he has to spend in the desert. Time gets a little odd for the young man... he walks, he eats, he sleeps, the sun rises, the sun sets, the road flows lazily along next to him like a black asphalt river with fewer and fewer cars on it... this is a curiously peaceful time for Jason, and as the hours slip sleepily by he finds himself daydreaming surprisingly often.
This engenders a rather accepting mental state in the young man, so when he finds himself sitting in the desert late one night before a small, dying fire, it's not really a surprise. He's dirty and a bit hungry, but that's not uncommon out here, and he's not really uncomfortable. The moon is big and round and full, setting behind the distant buttes, and a coyote yips and wails off in the distance. Jason can smell the sweet-acrid scent of the tobacco he tossed onto the fire, as a small and slightly squeaky voice says, "Do you have any food?"
Perhaps it's the state of mind he's in, but he doesn't even bat an eyelid that there's someone talking to him in the middle of the desert. "What's your preference? I've got some trail mix, some jerky... " he suggests, hands going to his pack as he casually looks around for the speaker.
Stepping cautiously into the light... is a lean, scruffy coyote. He sniffs carefully at Jason, then says eagerly, "Jerky?" Curiously, it's not the same voice as before. A pair of eyes that are very low to the ground glow a brilliant green in the firelight. Closer in, the coyote's eyes flash scarlet as he glances warily around.
Jason tsks. "Hey, hey, now... no need to worry. Everyone's welcome at my fire," he assures, feeling deliriously calm as he unwraps a bag... taking two pieces... one, he tosses in the direction of the coyote. He knows better than to try and feed the canine from his hand, like a tame pet. And then he takes another, and holds it out for the green-eyed mystery squeaker.
The squeaky voice snaps, "Trail mix!" It sounds grumpy, and the coyote chuckles as it snaps the piece of jerky out of the air in its jaws. It sits, with its tail neatly curled around its body... then settles on its hind haunches as it brings up both forefeet to hold the jerky as it nibbles delicately on the dried meat. Jason can tell it's a male, as the coyote dog adds in a surprisingly mellifluous voice, "Not bad! The store-bought stuff has sugar in it -- much sweeter than the smoke-dried fly-specks we used to get." As short, stubby fingers uncurl out of the former paws, the coyote grins, his jaws gaping wide, and winks mischievously at Jason.
Jason makes a nod of acquiescence, putting the jerky aside, getting another bag, and scattering a few nuts and dried fruit on the ground. "That's America for you. We put sugar in everything. It's no wonder we're so fat," he comments to the coyote good-naturedly, staring at its fingers for a few moments before realizing what he's looking at. "Huh," is all he says in response, at first. "Sure, makes sense. You need fingers to smoke your tobacco."
The coyote tosses his head back, yipping with laughter, then grins over his shoulder, "Come on in, spooky! He's okay." Slowly, very gradually, another shape comes hopping warily into sight, green eyes glittering like jewels. It's a big, lean desert jackrabbit that sits up a moment later with some trail mix between its big, splay-toed feet, nibbling nervously fast at it while it stares at Jason. Sprouting from its forehead are a pair of delicate little pronghorns, and it pauses long enough to grouse, "If this one laughs at me, Coyote, I am so hexing him -- I don't care what you say!"
Jason doesn't laugh... he looks more confused than anything. Are rabbits supposed to have horns? "Anyone that makes this hot place his home and likes it has my respect," he assures, putting the second back to the side... taking the pouch he bought, he sprinkles a little more tobacco on the fire, watching it flare slightly. "I need to give some to the four directions, honored ones? Or should I just roll one for you?"
Coyote brightens at sight of the pouch, bolting the last of the jerky and reaching behind himself. He withdraws a long pipe, holding it out to Jason over the fire, high enough that the feathers swaying lazily at the bowl end aren't singed, "Pack it in there, boy!" The jackalope mutters a grudging, "Hnh... not bad," himself, his big nose wiggling as he sniffs the smoke.
Jason accepts the pipe with respect, inclining his head, and proceed to fill it. "When in Rome," he tells the jackalope and the coyote -- and then he thinks about it. Do they even know where Rome is? "I just mean... sugared jerky, okay. But I thought to get the real tobacco." Once he feels it's properly packed, he gets out his matches and strikes one.
As Jason starts to light the pipe the coyote jumps up to his feet, "Hold on there!" He neatly twitches the pipe out of Jason's hands.
Jason uhs? as the pipe is taken from his hands. "What's wrong? Matches inappropriate?"
The big dog coyote nods firmly, "That's not your fire -- this is." He pulls a burning twig from the fire between his dexterous, stubby fingers, and uses it to light the pipe. His long canid head looks slightly odd, sucking on the end of the pipe to get the burning tobacco drawing properly. Once he's got it going well he stands up on his hind legs, looking up at the startlingly brilliant night sky and smiling his wide canid grin. Then he turns to face a different direction, waving the pipe that way and singing something in a foreign language. His voice is quite pleasant again, yipping and howling over the long vowels. Once he's done he turns clockwise 90 degrees, and repeats his actions. Twice more he turns and repeats, and then he smiles at Jason, waving the pipe over the fire so their smoke intermingles in lazy swirls. "Blessings and praise also to the hearthfire, the home for the honored host, and the center for the weary traveler."
Jason is appropriately quiet and respectful as the coyote howls and does his ceremony... he's heard of similar ones in times past, but never before been in the presence of one. Although he thoughtfully provides more fresh nuts for the jackalope as Coyote honors the four directions. Hearing the canine-man's explanations, it makes sense that the fire is also important. The jackalope almost greedily grabs the nuts as Jason's hand leaves them, and he soon has a peculiarly round-faced look from stuffing them into his cheeks. He spits one out into his long-clawed forepaws and starts contentedly nibbling on it once Coyote is done singing -- he doesn't seem to have the same neat, stubby fingers as the other entity. Coyote takes a long draw on the pipe, then sighs contentedly, his gleaming eyes going half closed as he exhales, and smoke trickles lazily from his nose and jaws. He sighs contentedly again, then passes the pipe to Jason. "Here, join us! I'll get us some milk to drink."
Jason does smile, as he sees the jackalope so furiously feasting on his bounty -- but more from pleasure that what he offers is well received, than the comical features of the animal. That's his story, and he's sticking to it. He takes the pipe, and puts it to his lips... and then what was said sinks in. "Milk?" he queries in bemusement. Where would Coyote get milk in the desert? Jason absently notices the difference between his two guests... he's read that Coyote can walk like a man, and has fingers. But has no idea why the difference is there.
The jackalope snorts in soft amusement, still nibbling furiously fast on the nut he's holding. Coyote grins at Jason over his shoulder, then looks up at the night sky. The stars look huge and close, spangling the sky so thickly there's hardly any space for the darkness, and the Milky Way swims lazily across the night like a river of stars. Coyote tosses his head back exuberantly, and starts singing, while the jackalope mutters a bit thickly (from his mouth being full), "Draw, mortal, then pass to me."
Jason is distracted for a moment, wondering what Coyote is about to do -- and then, reminded by Jackalope, he draws from the pipe... fortunately not swallowing the smoke. He's smoked before -- cloves -- so he knows how to inhale properly. This is perhaps more intense, but he exhales and then passes to Jackalope, looking back to Coyote.
The smoke tastes acrid on his tongue and hot against his skin, but the smell seems to rush through his head and tingle in his temples. As he looks up, the night seems momentarily lighter to the young man, the stars closer. The jackalope's fur brushes against Jason's skin for a second as the pipe is passed, like coarse velvet, and Jason can almost feel the night breeze caressing and penetrating his skin, and the comforting cradling hold on him the desert sand has beneath him. As Jason looks, Coyote pauses in his singing, gathers himself tightly close -- then leaps up into the air and out of sight! Jackalope looks between the nuts in one hand and the pipe in the other... then he mutters grumpily to Jason, "By your spirit soul, do you swear not to steal my nuts while I smoke?"
I can certainly understand why you'd be worried, as humans have amazing love for saliva-coated nuts that have been held in the cheeks of a jackalope. Fortunately, even in his state, Jason is smart enough not to think the irreverent thought out loud. "I do swear," he says solemnly. Wait, did Coyote just leap into the sky? Whu?
The Jackalope stares beadily at Jason for a moment, then grunts once and nods, carefully setting the nuts down in a small, sticky pile between his out-sized hind paws. He has a little more difficulty with the pipe than Jason or Coyote, considering he's balancing it on his claws, but he too draws a long, slow inhalation, then releases it. As the smoke trickles from his little rabbit mouth, his ears slowly lay back, as if he's finally relaxing. When he's done he looks lazily at Jason... then murmurs, "Now, now, he did promise," to himself. He has another long draught before he passes it back to Jason, "There you go, mortal. Have another."
Jason is staring around trying to figure out where Coyote went when Jackalope reminds him, 'hey now, pipe ceremony happening here.' So he takes the pipe back, and leaves the furry fellow to his nuts. "How come you don't get special fingers too?" he does query folksily after taking another puff.
Jackalope actually chuckles at that -- a small, squeaky sound, "Eh, I will eventually. Takes time, you know. I'm the youngest, so they tease me about it." The smoke seems to wreath prettily around Jason's head, like wispy dancing figures. Jackalope finishes another nut, then chattily adds, "That's why it's hard to find friendly mortals too -- not many believe in me yet. Coyote, now -- he's been here forever! As long as there've been people to see him." He looks up curiously, adding, "You're white, not red. What're you doing out here?"
Jason rolls his eyes. "Now that's gotta be totally unfair. Sorry, fella, you're the new guy, so whenever we smoke, you're gonna have a hard time because you can't hold the pipe proper," he mumbles, only getting more relaxed himself. He hmms? at the question, and has to think about it for half a minute. "Oh! Right. Uh... bad medicine going around. I was sent by the Sphynx and the She-Wolf to investigate. A vision was sent that told that I would be the one that the people would talk to. And I guess they were right." He oddly finds sympathy with the young jackalope. They're two of a kind... both relative newcomers to this world.
Jackalope's ears perk straight up at Jason's words -- he even stops chewing on his nut! He gulps down his mouthful, then squeaks, "You?! You're the key?!"
Jason blinks. "Key? No one mentioned anything about a key. They just saw me walking into the east, all on my lonesome... and from there I've just been feeling my way around, taking advice where I can get it from."
Jackalope rises up onto four feet, his mouth opening to say something and an earnest look on his furry face -- and with a gust of wind, a shower of sparks, and a burst of triumphant laughter, Coyote drops down from the sky! He rises up onto his hind legs again, grabbing the pipe and taking a deep draught -- then dancing about for a moment, "Yes! Yes, it is I, Coyote -- the graceful, the clever, the ever-so-admired!" He bows gracefully to the other two entities, sweeping the pipe before him and lowering his head -- one eye twinkles mischievously as he adds, "The humble!"
Jason jumps slightly in his seat as Coyote abruptly returns. "Well, anyone that can get milk from the sky sure has reason to, to, ah... be humble, that is," he replies, smiling at the trickster as he prances about. "Does the humble Coyote know anything about Keys?"
Jackalope bounces back, coughing and waving a paw before his face. His amused mutter, "The noisy!" is magnanimously ignored by the Coyote, as the canid shoves the pipe back into Jason's hands, "The bringer of sweet milk for the feast!" He produces a wooden slat bucket from behind himself, holding it up proudly by the old rope handle, "Behold! Tonight we shall dance!" He shifts his grip, lifting the bucket in his paw-hands, and has a long drink, lapping sounds accompanying him. Jackalope leans to whisper to Jason, "Tell you later! Don't let me forget."
Jason finds it fascinating that the spirit that everyone knows is caught up in his own awesomeness... but the mythical Jackalope, who's a half joke used to fool foolish tourists, is the one that knows things. A fascinating juxtaposition. Then again, given Coyote's role... he makes a nod to the whispering beast spirit, and then gives his full attention to the, ahem... noisy Coyote.
After a long draught, Coyote lowers the bucket, grinning delightedly as he licks droplets of milk off his whiskers with his long red tongue. "Delicious! Enjoy, little mortal!" He hands the bucket to Jason, his eyes sparkling with excitement, and produces a long wooden flute from behind himself. Jackalope brightens, sitting up on his hind legs with his forelegs tucked in neatly against his furred chest, "Oooh, dancing? It's been simply ages since we've had a good dance!"
Jason takes the bucket. "Do I have to know the steps? I've never danced around a fire before." It's not clear how serious the question is, but then he's drinking from the bucket, clearly curious what Milky Way milk tastes like.
Jason finds himself drinking what tastes like honeyed milk, except it's crisp and clear and cold and delicious. He feels both filled and giddy, his head swimming and his feet itching to dance. The scent of the milk is smooth and sweet and alluring, and the velvety taste almost caresses his tongue, slithering down inside him like a serpent of smoky-eyed enticement. A small, warm, furry paw on his arm sings warning, "Don't drink it all, mortal -- you haven't opened your gate yet, and you don't belong among the starfolk yet."
Jason is thankfully stopped from the intoxicating milk by Jackalope. "Didn't think I had a gate... just Diana... " he murmurs, giving the bucket over to his new Best Friend as he rises to his feet and poses, as if he were a ballerina, feeling light on his feet. Jumping into the air! Coyote's eyes sparkle delightedly, but he continues playing the pipe, twirling and dancing around Jason as well. The Jackalope watches them both for a moment, then chuckles and shakes his head once before he has some of the milk himself.
Soon thereafter the three entities are enjoying themselves, dancing around the huge and roaring fire, bouncing over it in acrobatic backflips and gleeful bounds through the sparks, singing along with the flute in wordless harmonies. They pause occasionally for more pipe smoking and milk drinking, although Jackalope is judicious in how much Jason should drink. He even snorts and lowers his head, facing the prongs towards Coyote once, when the other entity rocks laughing back on his rump, hindpaws held in his front ones as he cheers Jason on to drink more, drink more!
The milk certainly removes Jason's self-consciousness. He leaps like a gazelle around the fire, dancing with the others. Not the most graceful man ever, but what does he care! It's dancing time! That said, he's so caught up in the ebullient spirit of the celebration that it's a good thing the horned rabbit is looking out for his best interests. He dances with both Coyote and Jackalope, although he has to be more careful with the horned jackrabbit, what with his pointy bits. He loses complete track of time, and wants this moment to never end as he worships the sky and its honeyed bounty.
Jason remembers the night later as a lovely, exuberant, joyous time, in flashes of vision. At one point he and Jackalope are stretched out side by side, staring up at the night sky, with the little entity pointing out constellations with his long-clawed fingers, "That's the Cub circling around the She-Bear -- never get between her and her cub! There's the Hawk, and over there the Starflower... " Jason nods, listening carefully and unsure if he's going to remember after this magical night, until Coyote bounces over from where he's been playing the flute and dancing alone around the fire. His teeth flash as he grins, "Too much talking -- more dancing! Up, up!" Later the Coyote and Jason are dancing together, bowing towards each other, the canid's tail waving behind him as he grins, "The alluring dance! Remember it for the girls, lucky mortal!" There's shared nuts and trail mix and jerky -- far more than Jason remembers bringing -- and more pipe smoking and dancing and singing.
Jason remembers the smoke wreathing the young faces of the Jackalope and the Coyote. The canid has ancient, merry eyes; the Jackalope's are less expressive, more solemn... and it's the big desert hare that holds up a clawed finger and murmurs, "Remember, spirit's mate and key, remember this if nothing else: they are welcome here once the gate and they are repaired... if and only if they remember respect! They are not the natives here, even if we are the younger. It is our land, and they need to know that."
Jason wakes up neatly tucked in his sleeping bag in his little tent, with a raging thirst and all his equipment scattered higgledy-piggledly about the inside of the pup tent. He groans as he awakes, thirsty like the desert. He finally finds his canteen, but it's a struggle to drink sparingly from it. Enough, at least, to think clearly... and he takes the knife he bought to go in search of cacti, in hope of more to drink without diminishing his own supply.
As he stumbles around the tent, the Jackalope's words come back to him... the gate? The gate that all the supernaturals remember, clearly... the one that may or may not have expulsed them from Hell. And he is the key to this gate? Is it that only he has the power? Or is it that he is merely the only one that can piece it together? And why does it need repairing? He understands, he supposes, why the natives are restless... this is their home, and not that of the peoples from across the sea. Which only begs one to wonder: why are there so many of them here, and not in their native lands?
The water tastes sweet and pure, cold and delicious against his parched throat. He gasps in relief, setting the canteen aside as he reaches for the knife -- and, disastrously, he brushes the still-open canteen and it tips, the water glugging out of it! Jason gahs! -then snatches up the canteen, before it can spill any more of his water! Fortunately Jason seems to have caught it in time -- it still feels heavy with water. As he does so the spilled water on the tarp floor of the tent pools in a small depression. Curiously, the bright gleaming beads of water seem to form what looks a bit like... a footprint! A long, thin foot, with claws on the slender toes. Then the water seeps through the woven tarp into the thirsty earth below.
Jason stares stupidly at the disappearing footprint for a moment. "Yuh. Okay. Message received, mighty Coyote. Don't molest the local plant life, or you'll end up like the young brave who lusted after White Buffalo Woman." He closes up his canteen and starts packing up. "You're still noisy, though," he mumbles.
The canteen glugs liquidly -- and then, startlingly, there's a sharp stinging prick against his hand holding the canteen. Jason ows! and fumbles, trying not to drop the canteen, and checks his hand. There's a cactus spine in Jason's hand, and for a moment he swears he can hear a truly exasperated snort, followed by, "New Best Friend didn't last long, I see!" The canteen spills all over his feet with a kersplash!
Jason groans! "That was meant to be a compliment!" he growls at the puddle, nursing his wound, trying not to swear. "Sheesh, figured the new guy wouldn't be giving the other new guy a hard time... " He removes the tweezers from his knife, and sets about removing the painful spine. Ow. Ow. Ow.
The spine, fortunately, comes out without problem. The canteen lies on its side at his feet; the water has flowed away by the time he's done dealing with his injury. Jason sighs at the lost water... there's nothing to be done about it now. He's just going to have to be careful. He bandages his wound, and starts collecting his things, including the canteen... maybe he'll make it to a rest stop, or a car will pick him up.
He's soon struck the tent, packed everything away, and cleaned up his campsite. He shoulders his backpack and slips the canteen onto his belt, and it glugs lazily as he does so. Jason uhs? He shakes the canteen again, carefully. It feels heavy, like it's at least half full, and glugs again as he shakes it. Jason looks around, and thumbs up. "Thanks, dude. I'll leave some trail mix out for you every night. Might not get you your fingers, but at least you'll have a good treat." The heavy canteen glugs lazily again. Aside from that it's pretty quiet... but then the desert is like that. Jason chuckles, and finishes collecting his things. He hopes to make Flagstaff today.