scurlock | oom: amarillo, tx

oom: amarillo, tx - for yrael

True to his word, he's downstairs early, with his bag packed and his gun at his hip. He's ready to head back out to Amarillo, and this time he's taking along a guest for a bit of the ride.

At breakfast, he orders himself bacon and eggs, coffee, and a dish of cream. The first three are for himself. The latter is placed beside him on the bartop.

He figures Yrael has cream-sensing senses no matter what form he's in, so it seemed the quickest way to find him.

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Doc winces at that. "No, can't say I blame you for that either. If you start...I dunno, feelin' not okay? Let me know and we can get back. Cortez here," he leans forward and pats the horse's neck lightly with one hand. "Can haul ass if he feels so inclined and motivated."

"Bet I'm faster."

Did that cat sound smug?

He just might have.

Doc smirks.

"Well if you're not tired later, we could race."

The cat snorts. "Right, tired."

He gets to his feet on Doc's shoulders before leaping lightly down to the ground. That his tail knocks into Doc's hat, possibly knocking it askew as Yrael leaps down, is a complete coincidence. Really.

As the cat runs alongside the cantering horse, it grows larger. He is about the size of a leopard before he has settled into a comfortable, loping run.

There is really not much to say to that display, especially when he's keeping a solid grip on the reins in his hand because Cortez is now very interested in just what the hell is running alongside them.

Thankfully, for all involved, he does not spook.

Doc fixes his hat with one hand.

"Better horses in Texas than in the Old Kingdom, it seems," laughs the not'cat.

He's being uncharitable. The horses of the Old Kingdom know the smell of Free Magic, and know to get the hell away from it as fast as they can. Earth horses have no such prior knowledge.

"He ain't happy but he knows better than to throw me a second time," he calls back. "I wasn't too happy the first time he did it."

He studies Yrael the not'cat.

"That's a mighty impressive form y'got there," he adds.

"It's a shape," he replies, in a tone that indicates that, were he standing still, he would be shrugging. "It's useful."

He's not even breathing hard.

He might not be breathing.

Doc will ask about this not-breathing later, once they've stopped for a rest and that nap on that flat rock they'll eventually find.

For now? He's enjoying being out of the bar and out where he belongs, which is the desert.

Plus, he's kind of looking forward to watching Yrael hunt.

Yrael enjoys the opportunity to stretch. There isn't enough open space at Milliways to run flat-out. There are always trees and roots and things to dodge. Here, though, with the flat earth stretching before him, he can really let loose.

It's only when he scares up a bird, a roadrunner to be exact, that he is distracted. The bird runs as a first instinctual reaction, rather than flying, which breaks Yrael's urge to keep running just as soon as the temptation to catch the strange new thing appears.

The half-swerve, half-pounce sends up a sudden cloud of dust.

The horse does not enjoy this swerving-dust-kicking motion, and shies away from his current path, Doc reining him in with a quick hand before he manages to rear and startle too much.

Doc, for the record, hollers; amused as all hell.

The bird realizes quickly that running just isn't going to cut it, and leaps, flapping its wings.

Just in time to be neatly* plucked out of the air by the not'cat.

There are feathers, and blood, and a curious Yrael. "What... kind of bird is this?" It looks like the overly-large, mutated cousin of a brown thrasher or a cuckoo. It's almost as big as a crow, for the Charter's sake.

*almost neatly. No one is perfect.

"That, my friend," Doc comments, as he pulls Cortez up to a stop, the gelding stamping his feet a little in irritation. "Is a 'road runner'. They can haul ass 'cross the ground, ain't all that great at flyin'."

As evidenced by the fact that Yrael has it caught and being investigated.

He spits out a mouthful of feathers.

"Not something... pth!... we have in the Old Kingdom. Wrong climate, I'd think."

Not bad tasting. Hmm. A bit dry, but he'd think that to be expected, in a desert.

"What's the Old Kingdom like?"

Plus, with something so active and always-on-the-go, he doubts they've got much fat on them.

"Greener," Yrael answers between bites, amused. "But that wouldn't be hard to do. Mostly forest and grassland, towns and villages. The southern boundary is the Wall between the Old Kingdom and Ancellstierre, the northern boundary the Clayr's glacier. Though there are hills of varying size, the only real peak is Mount Aunden, south of the capital."

He nods slightly.

"And that's your...where you're from, originally?" He's not sure where 'home' is, and it can be a touchy subject with some people.

A glance around the desert.

"And it wouldn't be much to get this place greener, just some solid rain. Y'get wildflowers, come spring."

"Originally enough, at least. I was before it was," he says, ignoring the feathers that are getting stuck in his fur.

"You wouldn't know it to look at it," Yrael murmurs, looking around at the desert scrub.

"The Old Kingdom's climate reminds me much of that we get at Milliways, though it is a bit warmer in general. Perhaps the Old Kingdom is like southern Scotland, then."

"I've never been to Scotland," he comments. "My old boss from was England, though."

So was Kate's dad.

He shifts a little in the saddle, not making mention of the feathers weaving their way into Yrael's fur. Professional courtesy and all. He shakes his head.

"Monsoon season in the summer, but really, it's just hot."

"Prefer the hot to the wet," he says, making a face. There's red on his whiskers, but it will be dealt with, soon, as he settles down to see to his face and paws.

"I've visited Scotland a few times. To the place the outdoors at Milliways is modeled after, in fact. Had a friend who taught at the school, there, but she no longer comes to the bar."

"So it's modeled after an actual place. Huh...that must be a helluva place."

Obviously 'modeled' means there are differences. Given the end of the universe and all? It's not surprising. Doc smiles slightly. "And I'll take the desert over anything myself, one thin I didn't like about bein' back east, in New York, was that it snowed."

"Snow can be fun," he allows, after a moment of whisker-cleaning, "if one knows how to take advantage of it."

He purrs, amused. "It is lovely as camouflage."

He laughs at that.

"So long as you're a white cat," he says. "Otherwise you'd just be a target."

"True, true," he mwrrs. "Pity for them that the demon rabbits do not have winter coats, but stay red through the year."

Yrael stretches, yawning, and wanders back up towards Doc. "Forgive the detour. It was rather... distracting."

Roadrunner. He'll have to remember that.

"Don't mind at all."

And the horse, well, he might have minded a bit but that doesn't really matter.

"You want to look for that rock, now?"

oom: amarillo, tx - for yrael

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