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Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (56d/?)
Date: 2016-05-06 02:03 pm (UTC)“Which way do we tip it?” Twist asks.
“Sideways, or backwards,” Birdy replies. “Not forward, though.”
“Got it. Backward is easier, with the line of them.”
“Alright. Let’s do this.”
“Easiest way is to tip from the bottom.” Twist steps out from behind the building, points at the foundation of the outhouse, where there’s a single sagging, splintery wooden step.
Birdy nods, and they approach on quiet feet.
Drummer is humming to herself, and Twist gets her fingers under the bottom step, squats. Birdy squats next to her, grins wide as Twist nods and throws her weight into lifting.
Drummer shrieks as the outhouse tips backwards, and Twist and Birdy start sprinting, are already back in their places--Birdy with her baby in her arms, out in front of the house, Twist on top of her sleeping bag, blanket over her shoulders--by the time Drummer storms back into the camp, her hair a mess and her belt still undone.
Birdy buries her nose in her baby’s scalp as Drummer storms past, eyes wide, and makes a beeline for Burn.
“This is a prank, isn’t it?” Birdy asks, narrows her eyes at the burlap sack Runner handed her. “There’s no such thing as a snipe.”
“Go ahead and ask the boss. Hey! Boss!” Runner puts her hands on her hips, twists at the waist to yell over her shoulder. “Is a snipe a bird?”
“Yeah!” Lucinda yells back, without looking up from her crooked attempt at mending the widening hole in the knees of her jeans.
“Told you they were real.”
“I’ve hunted ‘em before,” Dredge agrees, shoves her own sack into her belt. “They’re dumber’n a back of rocks, in all the important ways. Real dumb when it comes to people voices, but they’re real good at avoiding animals. Works for us.” Dredge bobs her head, grins.
Burn looks down at her own burlap sack, scowls.
“I’m not buying it,” she says.
Tooth, Twist, and Watch trot into the circle, bags over their shoulders.
“Is this everyone?” Tooth asks.
“Yeah!” Runner agrees. “Hey, Boss, we’ll be back in time for dinner.” She holds up her bag, shakes it.
Lucinda lifts one hand, waves without looking up.
Siri, Photo, and Drummer stay in their chairs--Siri with her textbook, Photo with her pulp novel, Drummer tapping her fingers on her thighs as she watches people pass by on the main street.
“When do we send someone out for them?” Drummer asks, sits up in her chair to scan the horizon. The sun is almost down, just a sliver left over the horizon, sky turning deep blue and stars starting to prick out against the night, low in the east.
“They’ll be back tonight,” Lucinda replies, doesn’t look up from her bird, perched on her lap, pecking at the bouncy rubber ball Lucinda is playing keep-away with. “The whole point of a snipe hunt like this is that it takes forever and they don’t catch on until they’re hungry, tired, and realized they’ve looked like idiots yelling for a bird for…” she trails off, looks up at the sky, squints. “Eight hours?”
“Nine and three quarters,” Photo says, softly, holds up Tooth’s wristwatch.
“Nine and three-quarters hours,” Lucinda agrees and nods. “They’ll be back when they’re back, they can handle whatever the next ten miles out can throw at them.”
Drummer grunts, stands and turns her chair to watch for their approach.