In Dire Straits - Bite the Hand That Feeds [Shatter]

A strange wind blew in from the north, rattling the dark and deadened forest. Orcrist could smell the sweet scent of water before he heard the brontide, monstrous clouds looming over the mountains that separated them from the false Gods. The commandant’s gate was casual, leisure as he took every stride. He was seeking someone, and he knew exactly where she resided. Their previous encounters had gone awry, something he regretted as she could be a good asset. As a man of business, he needed to make amends to past disagreements. They were both friends of the Dragon, both needed to work together in order to assure greatness. They were a family of sort through marriage, their children cousins now.

It was time to give congratulations in the form of a gift.

A gift that stained his breast red; a trail of treats behind him as he dragged the animal along with ease. A prize Orcrist was generous with as he usually kept large prizes like this to himself as a true glutton, but today he had acquaintances to forge. As a father, he knew new mothers were ravenous. They had pups to feed after all, though if they started to wean already, they could have share of the meat. Either way, Orcrist proceeded to where he knew Shatter resided, making sure to make noise before he entered the den of a mother.

They were often vicious.

Once he was close enough, the Commandant paused and dropped the neck of the doe, licking his chops of the blood. A shame he was filthy, but that could hardly be helped. “Anyone home?” he inquired out loud, enough to alert anyone within the den. Once Shatter emerged, Orc would bow his head some in greeting, gesturing toward the kill. “Thought y’could use a feast.” A humble offer from one of the most notorious gluttons around, but Orcrist could extend a hand when he was inclined.

Though he was sure she could tell he wasn’t just here to give gifts. There was always a reason. “I’d like t’amend past aggressions. I know I’ve been… intolerant in the past. Seein’ how we’re a family now, ain’t no reason to quarrel.”

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Quote:As Shatter moved and prowled and hunted in the world beyond her den, she felt herself roaring back to life - albeit it began as a growl. Shatter was not entirely an attentive parent, and she could only stay isolated with the rowdy youngsters for so long before she clawed for freedom. Independence was achieved in sporadic bursts, mainly as she started to rely on Rosewood for assistance in raising her children. Antaeus's attentions were divided between fetching food and whatever business kept him attended, but Rosewood was a slave manacled to her stove top. It was a strange trust, but Shatter had some confidence that the children would not slip through Rosewood's supervision. She was capable as she was capricious, and more importantly, she understood the repercussions of negligence.

While Shatter recovered and stretched her legs, trying to regain her footing after the turbulent birth, she savored these precious intervals.

But necessity drew her back to the den, and with great reluctance, she made her way back home. She was astounded and intrigued to find a familiar face lurking at the entrance; to remember his name required some rumination, but Orcrist had a way of preceding himself. Not to mention, their first encounter, the one that Orcrist sought to rectify, unbeknown to her, had left quite an impression. Since his embarrassment at the Herald recruitment, Orcrist had redeemed himself quite nicely and carved out a niche in Alteronian society. He commanded a house. He led a rank, succeeding where his absent partner had failed.

Shatter's nostrils pricked at the scent of a recent kill. "YOU'VE COME TO CHAT, ORCRIST?" asked Shatter casually. Orcrist turned to meet her, and placed the gift at her feet. A token of good will that was most unexpected, but not unwelcome. Shatter placed a paw on the doe's neck, turning it over on the ground. Her stomach rumbled.

Orcrist laid bare his intentions in a wheedling tone. Shatter should have anticipated this meeting. After all, rivalries between nobles was-- unbecoming. Let bygones be bygones, she supposed. There was no further reason to quarrel with Orcrist, and her role in his disgrace had never originated from personal intent.

"HM. A FINE PRESENT," Shatter mused. "I AGREE. LET US MAKE AMENDS."

After all, insinuates the toothy smile, are we not civilized? With a bloody and vicious bite, she carved a jagged bite out of the crunchy cartilage of the doe's severed neck, snapping up the gobbet of meat and choking it down her throat. Perhaps it was intended as a statement, but as capriciously as this old grudge had been solidified through her actions, it had now been cast aside.

As expected, the mother wolfed down the meat he provided, carving a chunk from the neck — the snapping of muscle and gristle echoing in his ears. A smile would plant firmly along his muzzle, his seat comfortable as he spectated her generosity in the form of gluttony. The tensions between the two denizens were vanquished, forgotten within the form of a simple gesture. Orcrist knew what she wanted — what she needed from mere experience. Mothers were always hungry, always demanding sustenance for their whining grubs for they always demanded just as much. As a father, he had to provide, much more than he was used to, but the stock of his blood was valuable.

Curiosity fueled his need to see Shatter as well, not just to offer a simple meal and to lay upon her feet for forgiveness for his own foolishness, but also to see the family she created. Azuhel’s brood was expanding, snapping their teeth against her wealth, demanding her attention and power. Orcrist wondered if his children would have to compete against Antaeus’ clutch, though would it matter? If his children could not step up to the demand of the people and take power into their hands with grace, they did not deserve to be elevated as nobles.

“Tell me ‘bout ‘em.” he said as the Commandant settled into a more comfortable position. He lay before Shatter, watching her eat the gift he so graciously gave her, tail curled just under his chubby belly. He wanted to know about the cousins his children would one day meet; wondering if any could keep up with the viciousness of the twins or the intelligence of Oleander. Hercules was more of the adventurous type while Sikre was soft. A diverse set of children, one he hoped Shatter would provide as well. The reputation she wrought could prove to be an interesting case of motherhood, yet only time would tell.

Orcrist survived, after all, under the thumb of Rapier.

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Quote:Orcrist scrutinized her for a few silent moments, attempting to excavate hidden intent from the crags of Shatter's jagged face; Shatter, who was accustomed to lengthy silences interspersed throughout her conversations, nonchalantly weathered it. The intermission was broken with a smile cracking the glutton's face, the expression his firm handshake. He made himself comfortable beside her while she chewed apart the carcass (with a voraciousness that exceeded her believed control).

As Orcrist contemplated his children's future, Shatter likewise reflected on her own brood's prospects. She supposed it was a matter of time before childhood grudges jeopardized the armistice newly forged between these houses, but if Orcrist's lackadaisical approach to conflict extended to parenting, hopefully, those issues would not be as troublesome as she imagined. And she did predict issues -- her children were squabbling and greedy and terribly vicious, as little beasts should be.

Dissension was something to be encouraged here and then, to ensure her children knew how to struggle their way to the top. Learning to pick and choose your battles was another virtue to be nurtured. Cherish your allies; slaughter your enemies.

Between gnashing mouthfuls of flesh and gristle and bone, Shatter withdrew her bloodied muzzle from the carcass's ruined bowels and licked her mouth clean. Evidently, Orcrist picked up on their mutual musings or at least discerned from the recent developments in Shatter's life that her pregnancy was the only subject worth discussing. To summarize her feelings towards her offspring was a difficult task because her feelings often fluctuated between indifference, contempt, aggravation, and pride. Sometimes she felt a twinge of something most akin to maternal affection -- intense and vicious ownership, and that was all, the feeling that someone was manhandling a breakable prized possession, and the rage that followed.

Shatter settled for something that was mostly accurate. "I THINK MOST OF THEM WILL LIVE TO SEE ADULTHOOD," she said. Most of them-- her personal theory was that she would eventually kill Jyggalag in a fit of rage, or maybe Amdusias if that rebellious streak threatened her own standing. But anything could happen. "I KNOW YOU HAVE CHILDREN OF YOUR OWN, ORCRIST."

Shatter recalled her meeting with the young and inquisitive Sarissa, whose parentage she had gleaned through her scent. "I MET ONE OF THEM. THE LITTLE BLACK AND WHITE ONE." Again, she settled for accuracy over flattery. "SHE WAS INTERESTING." Perhaps Shatter did not intend for that statement to read as a backhanded compliment. She did not presume enough of Sarissa's character from their chance encounter to determine her value as a future noble.

And then, with a pointed curiosity: "WHO IS THE MOTHER?"

He wondered deeply just how Shatter felt about her children. She was not a creature — he felt — that would easily be amused by curious worms. Her infamous aggression made the Commandant curious and was part of the reason why he sat before her now, watching her dig into the belly of her meal. Those olive eyes searched in fire for his answer, but Shatter's cold gaze could not be easily penetrated. Instead, Orcrist sat relaxed, letting her speak out for herself. Her answer to his question made him laugh, a belly-deep laugh that echoed against the trees.

He would find it interesting to see how many came to adulthood. Orcrist was quite proud of how his own brood grew with Atlas as their mother. She kept them in shape, biting and aggressively threatening them if they even looked the wrong way. She taught them how to be obedient, which he found amusing more than anything else. Orcrist was the type of father who did not grip them so tightly, he was relaxed and let them make their own mistakes, let them find out how the world was by themselves. They were old enough now to do so.

"Aye." he commented back. "Nearly full grown by now." The time had passed amazingly fast, from them being small grubs to adults that had their own agendas. Oleander and Sarissa were his pride and joy, they had done so much for themselves, had established independance faster than the rest. In fact, Shatter had met the Rapier-look-a-like. The Commandant smiled slightly, curious to see how Shatter felt about his daughter, one who was violent in such a beautiful way. Though perhaps their meeting wasn't quite long enough to establish a concrete opinion as the woman before him only made a single statement about Sarissa. "Ah, yes, Sarissa. Jus' like 'er grandma, ain't she? Looks so much like m'ma."

Oh how he missed his mother on some occassions.

Shatter inquired about the mother, and he smiled some. "'Er name is Atlas. One o' Azuhel's lost daughters. Bought 'er when she arrived, an' 'er unborn pups. Shame she ate some of 'em. Gave Azu a few, part o' the payment." And how much Atlas had changed since then. He did not regret his purchase or the decision to make her his mate.

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