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maskormenacelogs2016-09-03 10:30 pm
infomodder) wrote in maskormenacelogs2016-09-03 10:30 pm
Come away little lamb come away to the water
WHO: Jorah Mormont & Will Graham
WHERE: a river a stream a creek
WHEN: early September
WHAT: Part two in the adventures of a bear and a dog who only ever run into each other at inopportune times. It's fun for the whole family.
WARNINGS: gore at the very least; will update if needed
He cut these organs out. It's only fitting he's the one to get rid of them. And he can't bring himself to just stuff them down the garbage disposal like someone else without Cannibal Issues might, which means it's time for a trip out.
...with a bunch of mostly hacked up, thawing organs in the trunk. Good thing he's a careful driver. No one has reason to pull him over. That's the last thing he needs. In plain sight isn't quite the goal here. Not like that, anyway.
He pulls up to one of his usual fishing spots. It's away from the road but he's not the only one who's ever used it. This isn't his secret, unlike the fact he's hauling a different cooler to the edge of the water this time. Dressed in vest and waders, hat, the whole nine yards, he looks like he's ready for just another day of fishing. He's thought of that, too, using the contents as bait. Tempting, tempting. But then if he ate anything he caught...not so tempting.
He sits on the bank, boots dangling into the water. Most of the contents have already been sliced and diced; a horrible sort of food preparation, but necessary. Because Will's plan is to simply toss chunk by chunk, perhaps small handfuls, at a time. Into the water. He's sure there are alligators around who'd appreciate the free meal. He's just a guy with several bags of weird organic chum, nothing to see here. Goddamn hipster. Probably can't even fish.
Except, well...the heart of the matter. The heart, that is. Dorian's heart. It's still whole, carefully placed in the middle of this zombie dream dinner. He wasn't sure what to do with it, only knew it had to go as well. So of course it's the thing he's just grabbed out and is squinting at fondly when he smells someone else. When he turns...
An eyebrow goes up. That's it; he doesn't scatter or try to cover anything up. He doesn't hunch. He doesn't offer an explanation. He's just there.
In fishing wear.
Holding a heart in his hands.
As you do.
WHERE: a river a stream a creek
WHEN: early September
WHAT: Part two in the adventures of a bear and a dog who only ever run into each other at inopportune times. It's fun for the whole family.
WARNINGS: gore at the very least; will update if needed
He cut these organs out. It's only fitting he's the one to get rid of them. And he can't bring himself to just stuff them down the garbage disposal like someone else without Cannibal Issues might, which means it's time for a trip out.
...with a bunch of mostly hacked up, thawing organs in the trunk. Good thing he's a careful driver. No one has reason to pull him over. That's the last thing he needs. In plain sight isn't quite the goal here. Not like that, anyway.
He pulls up to one of his usual fishing spots. It's away from the road but he's not the only one who's ever used it. This isn't his secret, unlike the fact he's hauling a different cooler to the edge of the water this time. Dressed in vest and waders, hat, the whole nine yards, he looks like he's ready for just another day of fishing. He's thought of that, too, using the contents as bait. Tempting, tempting. But then if he ate anything he caught...not so tempting.
He sits on the bank, boots dangling into the water. Most of the contents have already been sliced and diced; a horrible sort of food preparation, but necessary. Because Will's plan is to simply toss chunk by chunk, perhaps small handfuls, at a time. Into the water. He's sure there are alligators around who'd appreciate the free meal. He's just a guy with several bags of weird organic chum, nothing to see here. Goddamn hipster. Probably can't even fish.
Except, well...the heart of the matter. The heart, that is. Dorian's heart. It's still whole, carefully placed in the middle of this zombie dream dinner. He wasn't sure what to do with it, only knew it had to go as well. So of course it's the thing he's just grabbed out and is squinting at fondly when he smells someone else. When he turns...
An eyebrow goes up. That's it; he doesn't scatter or try to cover anything up. He doesn't hunch. He doesn't offer an explanation. He's just there.
In fishing wear.
Holding a heart in his hands.
As you do.