Most of the question was coughed and spit out as Rafael struggled to his hooves. His head was splitting and he had no idea of where he was or how he got wherever the hell he was. All he was aware of besides the pain and lingering dizziness was dry heat and a very loud growl nearby. His rifle was unslung and leveled on muscle memory, and as the shot echoed, Rafael was satisfied to hear the growl cut off with a yelp.
It came back, of course it did, so Rafael spit dirt and blood, and laughed in the direction of the sound. His vision was still blurry, but he hadn't relied solely on that to line up shots since he lost his right eye.
"I ain't dyin' here, son of a bitch. Let's see how much lead you can eat before ya drop." He squeezed the trigger again.
D was a superb rider, but there were hazards even he could not save a well-made cyborg horse from, and while he had emerged from the surprise encounter with a flight of harpies unscathed, his horse had not been so fortunate. Which was how he came to be walking along carrying saddle and saddlebags over his long coat, his hat shielding his face from the sun.
He heard the sound of a predator, and something with hooves struggling to its feat. Speaking, too, though D could not have foreseen the odd sight that would greet him amid the sound of low-yield gunpowder. With speed that should not have belonged to anything with two legs, D closed the rest of the distance to slice through the furry, mutant predator with a swing of his sword that looked more like a flash of silver than anything else.
A centaur. D had never seen one quite like this. The Nobility were known for using science and dark magic to recreate beasts of myth, but few achieved such a flawless level of craftsmanship. Perhaps a lost herd of them had kept to themselves somewhere, as there were few vampires left to engage in such experiments. D wasn't quite sure. He had hoped to rescue someone with a horse and to secure some transportation for himself, but now, faced with a man who was his own horse, he wasn't quite sure what to do.
"You should be more careful." The weapon the centaur was holding was exceptionally low-tech, lower, even, than most of the frontier with their makeshift mix of things like horse and carriage and salvaged technology from Nobles or the budding resurgence of human-made technology.
The arrival of someone else, even if Rafael couldn't make out much besides tall and bipedal, was something of a relief. In spite of the boast, his supply of bullets was very finite, and if two rounds hadn't taken the thing out, who knows how many it would have done.
He squinted in the direction of the stranger. His vision was starting to clear, at least, although the headache was redubling its efforts. Then the comment made him snort a laugh. "You don't say, stranger," he drawled as he let the rifle lower to a position where he wasn't threatening, but could still get it up again if something else jumped out snarling.
With a few blinks, and squinting against the light, he turned a careful circle to take in the surroundings. He spotted the disturbance his own movements had made easily enough, and the tracks of the... monster was the only word he had for it. And the tracks of the stranger. But nothing else that he could make out as sign of vehicles or moving bodies. Like he'd been dropped right out of the sky somehow. Far cry from what he'd expect men he'd made enemies of to do as some kind of half-baked revenge.
No point in wondering about that without any clues yet, and he did have someone here who didn't want him dead right away, so he'd started out with less before. He stopped his circle to face the stranger and turned up the charm. "But bullets are worth more 'n their weight in gold out here. Who do I owe thanks to for saving me more than I could probably spare?"
Aside from a split lip, and unfortunate coating of dirt, Rafael didn't look injured so much as dazed. His clothes were worn, but well cared for, decent shirt under a leather coat, and a necklace of turquoise hinting at some income. The kind of income being clear, well, that depended on whether the star-shaped badge that looked like it'd been shot through at least once was recognizable. He didn't look like he'd been robbed either, what with the rifle, a pistol mostly hidden by the jacket, and full packs strapped to his withers.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2020-05-03 02:06 am (UTC)Most of the question was coughed and spit out as Rafael struggled to his hooves. His head was splitting and he had no idea of where he was or how he got wherever the hell he was. All he was aware of besides the pain and lingering dizziness was dry heat and a very loud growl nearby. His rifle was unslung and leveled on muscle memory, and as the shot echoed, Rafael was satisfied to hear the growl cut off with a yelp.
It came back, of course it did, so Rafael spit dirt and blood, and laughed in the direction of the sound. His vision was still blurry, but he hadn't relied solely on that to line up shots since he lost his right eye.
"I ain't dyin' here, son of a bitch. Let's see how much lead you can eat before ya drop." He squeezed the trigger again.
no subject
Date: 2020-05-04 12:43 am (UTC)He heard the sound of a predator, and something with hooves struggling to its feat. Speaking, too, though D could not have foreseen the odd sight that would greet him amid the sound of low-yield gunpowder. With speed that should not have belonged to anything with two legs, D closed the rest of the distance to slice through the furry, mutant predator with a swing of his sword that looked more like a flash of silver than anything else.
A centaur. D had never seen one quite like this. The Nobility were known for using science and dark magic to recreate beasts of myth, but few achieved such a flawless level of craftsmanship. Perhaps a lost herd of them had kept to themselves somewhere, as there were few vampires left to engage in such experiments. D wasn't quite sure. He had hoped to rescue someone with a horse and to secure some transportation for himself, but now, faced with a man who was his own horse, he wasn't quite sure what to do.
"You should be more careful." The weapon the centaur was holding was exceptionally low-tech, lower, even, than most of the frontier with their makeshift mix of things like horse and carriage and salvaged technology from Nobles or the budding resurgence of human-made technology.
no subject
Date: 2020-05-04 01:46 am (UTC)He squinted in the direction of the stranger. His vision was starting to clear, at least, although the headache was redubling its efforts. Then the comment made him snort a laugh. "You don't say, stranger," he drawled as he let the rifle lower to a position where he wasn't threatening, but could still get it up again if something else jumped out snarling.
With a few blinks, and squinting against the light, he turned a careful circle to take in the surroundings. He spotted the disturbance his own movements had made easily enough, and the tracks of the... monster was the only word he had for it. And the tracks of the stranger. But nothing else that he could make out as sign of vehicles or moving bodies. Like he'd been dropped right out of the sky somehow. Far cry from what he'd expect men he'd made enemies of to do as some kind of half-baked revenge.
No point in wondering about that without any clues yet, and he did have someone here who didn't want him dead right away, so he'd started out with less before. He stopped his circle to face the stranger and turned up the charm. "But bullets are worth more 'n their weight in gold out here. Who do I owe thanks to for saving me more than I could probably spare?"
Aside from a split lip, and unfortunate coating of dirt, Rafael didn't look injured so much as dazed. His clothes were worn, but well cared for, decent shirt under a leather coat, and a necklace of turquoise hinting at some income. The kind of income being clear, well, that depended on whether the star-shaped badge that looked like it'd been shot through at least once was recognizable. He didn't look like he'd been robbed either, what with the rifle, a pistol mostly hidden by the jacket, and full packs strapped to his withers.