| Welcome to Ocean Of Stars. We hope you enjoy your visit. You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. Join our community! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| Caught in the storm; CI: Wyatt || ISO: Open | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: May 2 2010, 12:23 AM (195 Views) | |
| Ricochet | May 2 2010, 12:23 AM Post #1 |
![]()
The Stalking Cat
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
[dohtml] <table align=center cellpadding=20 cellspacing=0 width=500 bgcolor=#7F4A33 style="border:1px dotted #484034;"> <tr> <td background="http://i42.tinypic.com/2ns7yn5.jpg" height=400> </td> </tr> <tr> <td> <font color="#F4BA69"> Winer 12th, Year 07<br> Early Afternoon <br><br> Wyatt apparently had not gotten the weather report for this day. Leaving the house a while after Clint and Irene had, having been a bit out of it and not even noticed their departure, he had hesitated only a moment before snagging up Clint's hat when he'd realized what had happened. <br><br> Wyatt hated being idle, and even though he hadn't intended to stay this long and so didn't have the best wear for the Winter weather, he'd donned the lined jean jacket he did have and had approached the little pegs by the door where the hats were supposed to be. Only somehow, Clint had accidentally made off with Wyatt's white Stetson. So, today he was wearing a little more fancy black hat than he was used to, turned mostly white by the snow at this time. Not that he noticed, 'cause...well, it was on his head. <br><br> Wyatt had intended to leave just about the day that Clint had managed to hurt his arm. ... Well, after some debating within himself, and in light of several other factors surrounding the event, Wyatt had decided to stay on a little while longer. He had already called home, in Mississippi, to inform his mother and make sure everything was still going all right over there. It was, and she assured him to take whatever time he needed. And that had been the end of that. <br><br> Now, one hand on the different-fitting black hat, Wyatt turned his face down and away from the majority of the wind-driven snow. He paused and attempted to take in his surroundings, knowing he should get inside pretty quick here. However, in the White-out conditions, he couldn't see anything. Grunting to himself, he continued on, and finally a building took form. Hastening his steps to reach it, he pulled the door open, and quickly shut it behind him. Breathing a sigh of relief, he dusted off what snow would come, and looked around the place. <br><br> "...The cafe?" He muttered to himself, drawing down his brows. He'd wandered that far..? Ah, well. He shrugged and walked forward, gazing idly at various things, but didn't sit down just yet. </font> </td> </tr> </table> [/dohtml] |
| Ulysses & Trey Sloane | Clint Allen | Irene Parker | Wyatt Tanner | |
![]() |
|
| Pianoblink | May 2 2010, 03:23 AM Post #2 |
|
"I think 67 is a good number."
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
Had there been less to the equation, had it been a calm day, Sandy was certain her three dogs would not be allowed in the door. She was thankful for the shelter and sat drinking a hot chocolate, her whiskey cutting the sweetness. She needed the drink with this weather. Her dogs clinging against her legs and trying to keep warm. Panting happily they all enjoyed being able to stay together in this sweeping weather. The four heads jerked to the door when it slammed shut and a tall man stood trying to collect himself, he didn't seem to knew where he was. "Welcome to Alaska." She chuckled, in a bit of a joking mood, owed in part to the alcohol. She had been sheltered here for the better part of two hours. The dogs all got up to investigate the stranger before he got closer to Sandy, sniffing at his hands and letting out little curious sounds. "Hey, kids, back off." She stood and waved her hands, the dogs didn't listen at first but as she approached him they shrunk back to let her take the lead. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Ricochet | May 2 2010, 11:18 PM Post #3 |
![]()
The Stalking Cat
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
[dohtml] <table align=center cellpadding=20 cellspacing=0 width=500 bgcolor=#7F4A33 style="border:1px dotted #484034;"> <tr> <td background="http://i42.tinypic.com/2ns7yn5.jpg" height=400> </td> </tr> <tr> <td> <font color="#F4BA69"> "Welcome to Alaska." <br><br> He heard someone greet him, and rubbing his bare hands together in order to get some circulation again, he looked over at the woman. In that moment, the three dogs also got up to eagerly investigate the newcomer. A sketch of a smile on his face as he looked at the dogs, he held a hand up and out, holding very still, for them to sniff. <br><br> "Hey, guys," He greeted quietly, having the sudden urge to kneel and start petting the dogs. Be nice to warm up his hands, at any rate, but not knowing their temperament, he refrained. He'd had a dog or two back in Mississippi, growing up, so...dogs were useful, too, and next to horses as far as his favored animals went. Yet, he never had bothered to get one here... Well now, the woman walking over, the apparent owner of the dogs, was now coming up to him. Glancing back towards the door, he sighed lightly and said, <br><br> "Hope that storm'll lighten up soon," Indeed...he was never one for much conversation. He wasn't good at talking or starting conversations, needless to say. </font> </td> </tr> </table> [/dohtml] |
| Ulysses & Trey Sloane | Clint Allen | Irene Parker | Wyatt Tanner | |
![]() |
|
| Pianoblink | May 4 2010, 06:59 PM Post #4 |
|
"I think 67 is a good number."
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
Sandy smiled and looked him over for a second, waved her hand in slight dismissal which was the go-ahead for her dogs to crowd back in while she returned to her seat and kicked one out for Wyatt. She waved a hand in careless beckoning and continued to drink her hot-chocolate. Sandy watched the stranger, but being easily distracted she paid little mind to him, lest things get awkward. She thought back to what she had gotten on her stops over, did she have a deck of cards or something? should she invite him for a game of something? She didn't quite know and stayed quiet. The dogs on the other hand panted happily and bumped their noses against his hand smelling him and trying to understand the strange yet familiar scents that clung to the cowboy. They had no intention of backing off like Sandy, they wanted some attention. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Ricochet | May 24 2010, 02:15 AM Post #5 |
![]()
The Stalking Cat
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
[dohtml] <table align=center cellpadding=20 cellspacing=0 width=500 bgcolor=#7F4A33 style="border:1px dotted #484034;"> <tr> <td background="http://i42.tinypic.com/2ns7yn5.jpg" height=400> </td> </tr> <tr> <td> <font color="#F4BA69"> Seeing that the dogs were not looking to eat him for dinner, Wyatt knelt down on one knee in order to better get at the pups. He actually grinned as the dogs craved attention from him, no doubt jumping all over or at least trying to knock him over in some way or another. After a few minutes of giving the dogs sufficient time and attention, Wyatt then tried to stand up. <br><br> "...How long've you had 'em?" He asked quietly, after successfully making it to his feet once more, his smile now faded. Glancing down at the pups, he dragged his boots over to the table, careful of where he stepped, not particularly wanting to step on one of these dogs and, by so doing, undoubtedly get on its bad side. He was also contemplating whether or not he really wanted to take a seat with this stranger, but, eh...as he really had no where else to go at the moment, it would be rather rude, to go and sit somewhere else. <br><br> So, another glance around, and he plopped himself down to the chair that she'd kicked out. However, he didn't raise his eyes to meet hers yet, he was still watching the dogs. Animals were often much better company than people, anyhow. At least, this was usually the way with him, the way he thought. </font> </td> </tr> </table> [/dohtml] |
| Ulysses & Trey Sloane | Clint Allen | Irene Parker | Wyatt Tanner | |
![]() |
|
| Pianoblink | Jun 1 2010, 05:56 AM Post #6 |
|
"I think 67 is a good number."
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
"Officially since I was eighteen but I rescued 'em when I was 'bout fifteen." she took another drink of her hot chocolate, lovingly spiked with whiskey. The Pups all crowded happily around Wyatt, curious, content and warm. Sandy reached out a hand and scratched one behind the ear, her skin caramel against the blacks and grays of their fur. "You're good with them." she chuckled a little and payed as much visual attention to him as he was paying to her. They both preferred the dogs it seemed. Sandy was very visibly another race, from her flattened face to the color of her skin. She didn't seemed to treat the newcomer as if she assumed he'd treat her poorly, not apprehensive nor was she welcoming. Although not rude she held herself at a distance and treated him with indifference. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Ricochet | Jun 13 2010, 01:56 AM Post #7 |
![]()
The Stalking Cat
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
[dohtml] <table align=center cellpadding=20 cellspacing=0 width=500 bgcolor=#7F4A33 style="border:1px dotted #484034;"> <tr> <td background="http://i42.tinypic.com/2ns7yn5.jpg" height=400> </td> </tr> <tr> <td> <font color="#F4BA69"> "...Thanks." He said, glancing up at her with a sketch of a smile. Having nothing else to say, however, had him soon looking back down and at the pups. If asked to give a description later, Wyatt more than likely couldn't have given a good one. Other than, of course, her having been native and a woman. Further than that though, he wouldn't have been able to add anything. After several long minutes of silence, he finally thought to add something to the limited conversation, seeing as they were stuck here for a while. <br><br> "...Back on our ranch in Mississippi, we had a couple dogs." He finally said, his voice not all that loud. Hopefully not too startling from the silence that came before it; not that he would have noticed anything anyway, seeing as his eyes were still on the dogs. He leaned over to try and scratch the nearest one under the chin, or really wherever the pup preferred. </font> </td> </tr> </table> [/dohtml] |
| Ulysses & Trey Sloane | Clint Allen | Irene Parker | Wyatt Tanner | |
![]() |
|
| Pianoblink | Jun 13 2010, 11:13 PM Post #8 |
|
"I think 67 is a good number."
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
Sandra smiled at the thought. "Really? What breed?" She lifted one eye up as she watched one of her pups lifting his head up and letting out a pleased yawn. That was nice, someone they could be calm around. She figured most of the island would be fairly mild mannered and thus earn her dog's trust. She wasn't sure if it would be as easily, the circumstances were different here, the gods were bored and needed attention. Most days they'd be a little more on guard. Then again, most days she'd be on guard. She wasn't exactly on the easy side to get to know. Then again, someone who was in the same field of work would be easier to talk to. She wondered about work on the island. She hadn't exactly planned any of this. She hadn't really thought about what she'd be doing but she figured there would be enough farms on this island to allot her some work. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Ricochet | Jun 26 2010, 03:00 PM Post #9 |
![]()
The Stalking Cat
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
"Australian Cattle Dog." (Clickie click.) [dohtml] <table align=center cellpadding=20 cellspacing=0 width=500 bgcolor=#7F4A33 style="border:1px dotted #484034;"> <tr> <td background="http://i42.tinypic.com/2ns7yn5.jpg" height=400> </td> </tr> <tr> <td> <font color="#F4BA69"> "Really? What breed?" <br><br> "Australian Cattle Dog." (Clickie click.) Wyatt said, after a small sigh as he shifted position, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling. He remembered when they'd first got the dog, too, and it had required quite a bit of training. But after a while, the pup had become just about the best companion that a rancher could ask for. ... Except, of course, his horse. <br><br> Not that he was about to bring up dog-training tips with the just-less-than-a-stranger girl; no doubt she wouldn't be asking and he wouldn't have anything to say. These pups must have required a good deal of training as well, and besides...by now, Wyatt had forgotten most everything from that department. It had been a number of years ago, and they'd had that pup for quite a while, it had eventually died from old age. Wyatt himself had been rather young when they had first gotten it. </font> </td> </tr> </table> [/dohtml] |
| Ulysses & Trey Sloane | Clint Allen | Irene Parker | Wyatt Tanner | |
![]() |
|
| « Previous Topic · Fluorite Cafe · Next Topic » |






![]](http://z6.ifrm.com/static/1/pip_r.png)




7:03 PM Jul 11