(2016-03-29) Hunter or Hunted
Hunter or Hunted
Summary: The hunting group is being followed, but they also find another refugee
Date: 3.29.2016
Related: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank. You have to use full URLs, like http://mushname.wikidot.com/logtitle)
Players:
elan..quinton..takara..terry..virgil..

It's been awhile since a group hunt was done, and with the trader in town dropping the news that there was some powered, fenced in compound area between Dumas and Stratford, hunting while scouting out for this place seemed like a good use of the groups time. The truck would be to obvious so either on foot or horseback is the way this group is getting around. They are a few hours south of town. Well past the reservoir, and surrounded by nothing but overgrown fields and the occasional group of wind breaking trees.

Quinton's walking, he's more steady on foot than on horse anyway. He's got his pistol strapped to him, along with a rifle and bow and quiver of arrows. Not that he's great with them, but they need to conserve bullets. He's taking up the rear, just letting his pale eyes scan the area, perhaps a tough more nervous thinking about lions …and tigers and bears.

Another one on foot is Virgil. Having his revolver with him, If there is any crossbow or rifle to borrow, he will. Along with a knife at the side of his leg. Studying the surrounding. Trying to move quietly. Trying to see if he can find anything.

Behind Quinton, head on a swivel, is Terry. As always, he's carrying his pistol (currently holstered, though), ready to draw down on any threat that dares cross the group's path. He has his backpack as well, and attached to the pack is his rifle. Presently, he's practicing his tactical breathing, keeping his heart-rate controlled so as to minimize issues with firing. He sports his usual boots, jeans, shirt, jacket, cap, and gloves.

You know that feeling, the whole being watched feeling, or suddenly the feeling of not being alone when its certain there is no one else there? Well that's the feeling the group starts to get…and Takara, where ever she happens to be.

Quinton slows in his walking, head swivelling around as he tries to identify the feeling he's getting. His voice is low, but fairly steady today, "Head's up. Soemthing's…off." The bow is already in his hand, so he slowly draws an arrow, loosely notching it.

Elan moves slowly along, leading his mount as they walk close behind the others, his rifle held vertical and braced against his right arm as he keeps an eye out for movement or for potential areas that a sniper might find most advantageous to nest. He knows that mounted, they'd make more noise, and he'd make a much higher target, but having been out in the field when the others departed, he decided to bring his mount along in case someone needed to be evacuated rapidly, with an eye to the fact that trouble seems to have a way of showing up every time he sets out with others, or runs into them. Then there's that feeling. That same feeling from the railyard. He drops the reins to free up his left hand and moves his rifle into a ready position, "…something's not right," he says in a whisper, peering even more intently around them as his posture tenses and moves into a crouch, ready to drop prone without notice.

Virgil pulls around the rifle. Crouching down as he moves. Nodding as he seems to agree with the others. Trying to listen for more. Moving to where he can be a bit hidden. Giving a gesture to the others. Which, if they know, would mean to move slow and keep low.

For the moment the feeling is strong, but nothing can be seen in the fields that surround the group except for a distance herd of what could be deer to the west, though to the east is a sudden cacophony of wing beats and the alarmed cry of pheasants as something spooks them into flight.

Quinton swears softly to himself before speaking to everyone agin in that same hushed voice, "…careful….Silencer wouldn't spook the birds…" At least, not in his experience. unless it wanted them to know it was there. So… "Bandit or predator." in his opinion. He takes a few steps towards the west, assuming they others will keep an eye on the other directions.

Elan shoulders his rifle, tracing the flushed pheasants back to where they emerged from the grass as he lowers himself to his left knee, crouching low in his kneel to keep his straw sombrero flush across the landscape of tall grass. He knows that the horse could draw fire, that it's already compromised their position…and he silently contemplates mounting for a charge, but recognizes that it must be advancing to have flushed the fowl. He says nothing, he just waits quietly, looking down the iron sight of his Kalashnikov. He nods towards Quinton, acknowledging both his statement and that he's taken up the flank.

Terry nods to the signal from Virgil, and readies his pistol. He shifts his stance, and begins monitoring a stretch of space for potential threats, working off of Elan. Breathe in, hold a beat, breathe out.. breathe in, hold, breathe out. Whatever's coming this way, if it isn't careful, may just end up with a Terry Special.

Virgil nods as he hear Quinton. Moving to try and cover their asses. In case whatever it is tries to ambush them. Though moving towards the west side. With Quinton. As that side seem less likely to give them direct trouble.

As the cry of pheasants fills the air, a softer noise might go unnoticed. From a nearby grouping of trees amongst the tall grass. The sound of a sudden shift of something against the ground followed by a slightly more audible, but still muffled grunt of something. Or someone. Takara kept herself pressed tight and low against the trees she had been resting against…trying to catch a glimpse of whatever the hell had just scared the birds.

Quinton's too focused to hear anything behind him. He briefly darts his eyes to see where the rest of the men are before he goes back to searching for whatever could be out there.

Elan hears the noise behind him, "Guard the front," he whispers in a hurry as he spins to move towards the muffled grunt he heard, "There's someone over here too." He advances towards the sound that Takara made, perhaps with a less menacing intent in spite of the fact that his rifle is still up. He begins to scan the vicinity of the area of motion and search for the culprit.

Military training does have its perks, especially sniper training, and part of that training involves gauging location based on sound. This training is useful, especially now. Terry holds up a fist, then taps his ear, and points in Takara's direction.

Peering up from behind the trees and grass, she raises herself enough to spot…well crap. Takara keeps herself shielded by the trees as best as she can, but reveals herself enough to draw a handgun from her hip and suddenly has it trained on the group. "Not another step…any of you…and don't point your finger at me…" the last bit directed at Terry.

Quinton frowns, now glancing in the direction of the unknown female voice. Terry and Elan are there though, and here's still possible danger from the birded area, so instead of saying anything he turns back and kneels down, making himself a small target in case she fires and trains his eyes to try to catch anything coming at them from this angle. He’s going to assume they'll be able to talk to her…he hopes.

Elan moves his rifle off of the target he's tracing as she rises up, taking little heed of the fact that she has a pistol trained on him, instantly changing his demeanor in light of the fact that he perceives her to appear frightened. Though his finger is still on the trigger, he holds the rifle in his left-hand, and points it well away from Takara, extending a flat, empty hand to her in an offering of peace as he kneels down before her and whispers, "Please don't be afraid. There's someone else nearby to the east, and we may be in danger. We're not going to hurt you, and I'm not going to let anyone hurt you if I can help it, I promise. I'm a medic, my name is Elan. Please keep close to the trees, and keep down, so that you're not a target," he pleads in a hurried whisper. When it rains, it pours, and it figures that there'd have to be an introduction made under fire. Well, they're not under fire, yet…but to his reckoning, it's much the same. Perhaps worse, since they don't know the numbers of the opposing force. He speaks to his latest strategic headache in a tone of worry, visibly less to the notion that she'll shoot him than to the notion she might draw fire to herself, "…please…keep down until we can clear the field."

Terry 's empty hands come up in a show of nonaggression. He holds position, not wanting to get shot. "We're not here to hurt you," Terry responds to Takara, echoing Elan and nodding to him.

While the group is searching for and confronting Takara the watched feeling doesn't really let up, though with the distraction of finding the woman it may just be less than what it was. I mean that rustling off to the west is probably just an animal, right?

Takara 's brow arches more and more steadily with each word that comes out of Elan's mouth. What. The. Hell? As he kneels she brings her gun around to aim directly towards his head. When he finishes his speech she gives a coarse chuckle. "Are you wanting an execution style death, Bonkura? Never drop your gun and kneel in front of an armed person you don't know. Tits or not. Now stand up."

Keeping her gun on him she glances back to Terry. Empty hands. Then back to Elan. "I'm not scared and I sure as hell don't need anybody protecting me. So listen close. How about I promise not to shoot your dick and you don't talk to me again until whatever's in those bushes is dealt with…okay?"

Quinton's listening while he keeps his eyes trailed on the brush around them. The rustling shifts and Quin's attention is brought much closer to himself. His grip readjusts on the bow and he tries to pinpoint what is hopefully just a deer. No lions. Or tigers….Are there bears in Texas?

Elan gives a lop-sided smirk, "Well, if you shoot me, I have half a dozen cohorts here who are going to open up on you…and that will be the end of that," he states frankly, assuming that she would have fired already if that was her immediate intention. He doesn't need her invitation to stand up, he pivots on his heel to turn back to the east, "But you're on your own. Terry, if she shoots me, kill her. Thanks," He says in a still hushed, but audible tone, "One back here who's not with the others, possibly hostile." His sense of humor exhausted, he moves back towards Quinton's position on the front.

"For the time being, I'm inclined to favor 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'. We have an unknown hostile out there, and we could sure use another pair of eyes to ensure we don't end up dog chow." Terry glances to Takara, keeping his voice and posture neutral, and hopefully nonthreatening. "Once we deal with the hostile out there, perhaps we can talk things over, and figure out a way for all of us to come away happy. How does that sound?"

The rustling was a quick bit of noise. There and then gone. No one steps out and there is no further noise to be heard from that direction. If investigation is made there is only a lone boot print in the dirt.

Takara can't help but chuckle as Elan walks off, looking to Terry. "So he has a posse to protect his stupidity? What is he gonna do when that loud mouth has gotten you all killed and he actually has to fend for himself?" That was rhetorical. With his suggestion, she thinks a moment before shrugging and lowering her gun a bit to be non threatening…ish. "Works for me. Don't start shit there won't be shit. That's what I'm inclined to favor…" Her attention then goes to the area Terry seemed to be referencing.

After the threat is gone and the lone boot print found, Quin's starting to change his mind on what was out there. "We should go back…" Bandits don't travel alone, and this guy was alone, he's guessing. They can't take on a Silencer, if that's what it is. He looks to Takara, "We have a camp, and welcome people. If that's what you're looking for." it's a simple offer, she can take it or leave it. Either way, Quin's headed home.

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