[Chr24] Unwanted Visitors

Masheck startles awake in his chair, his whole body almost hopping up from his seat in doing so. It was already dark outside, and had been for some time, but he had stayed up late to finish a few small chores before tomorrow. His master and employer, a local merchant baron of some prominence, had torn some stitches in his clothes and gave Masheck the task of repairing them. With a small sigh and shake of his head, the Viverra stood up and collected the items he had dropped on the floor as he dozed off. Well, he hadn’t quite fallen asleep but he was certainly in that twilight between wakefulness and sleep when the cloak had slipped from his grasp, sewing needle still buried in its rich mahogany cloth. This would need to be completed when he woke up tomorrow, before breakfast; he could not keep his eyelids open another minute longer than necessary.

He rubbed the weariness from his face as he hung the cloak up and set his sewing supplies away in their proper place. A glance at the clock proved it was indeed very late, passed midnight even; he will just barely get enough rest to make it through tomorrow. A tired sigh is all the noise he makes as he begins turning the lights off in his room. Being a servant means he lives in one of the servant quarters near his master’s home; certainly, it could be more elegant or extravagant but it’s a roof over his head, walls to hold in the warmth and keep out the weather, and his needs are met. He’s never known any place beyond the boundaries of his master’s property, and he has very little reason to leave or explore outside of this relatively small area. Why would Masheck leave his only home?

The final light is dimmed, and he checks that the door to his home – a space much like what some of those Earth bucks would call an apartment – is locked and secure. War has left many scarred, physically and mentally, and while Masheck himself does not know the struggles of the war, it has left his mentor more cautious and suspicious. These traits have been instilled in him now, and he checks that all the windows are also locked and secure. On warmer days, it’s very nice to have a gentle breeze through his home, but it’s the middle of the cold season for this place and he does not want to wake up as an ice cube or snow creature. Nor does Masheck want to wake up to an unexpected new roommate. The thought had only just left his mind as he made his way in the darkness to his bed when a sudden, violently loud crash nearly made him jump right out of his skin. He freezes mid-step, a hand on the doorknob of his bedroom, as the hairs at the back of his neck and along his arms begin to stand on end.

I-Intruder. That is the first thought in the deafening silence after such a raucous noise. Someone, or something has entered unannounced to his home. Slowly his hand lets go of the doorknob, a difficult task given how tightly he was gripping the cool metal in his surprise and rising panic, and very slowly he turns around to see what he will find. His sharp vision, particularly good in the dark, can still make out fine details in the gloom even without any additional lighting. But…he sees no sign of the invader. Still, dread sits in his stomach like a very heavy weight and his left hand comes up to grip his night robe a bit tighter over his torso. He takes one silent step forward and there’s another crash, this time from inside his home. His heart pounds in his chest, the rushing of blood in his ears as he very quietly makes his way towards the noise.

I must be out of my mind, he thinks to himself as he fights his own fears to seek out what made the noises. Several other clatters and now noises he’s not heard before continue to sound from deeper in his home. A loud metal clanging gives him the first clue to this unwanted guest – the kitchen. He has nothing to defend himself in this short hallway connecting his bedroom to the main living space, nor does he own anything that would help him in there either. His best hope is to get into the kitchen unnoticed where the heavy pans and sharp knives are stored. Yes, that seems like the most reasonable option. Get something to protect himself, then confront the intruder. Reaching the end of the hallway, Masheck presses his back against the wall before very carefully leaning around the corner to peek at his adversary. His blue eyes scan the area, sure enough seeing the fragments of the broken window directly down the way from him. Some white snowflakes have already begun dusting his windowsill and floor, though the retained heat is melting them almost as quickly as they can enter his home. But no intruder.

He leans back and stands there, back against the wall, left hand worrying at the fabric of his robe. What are his options here? Perhaps the invader has left already? That would be the best possibility, but how likely is that? More likely they have simply moved to another part of the home, to the washroom next to the kitchen perhaps. It would make a rather convenient spot for an ambush if Masheck were to go into the kitchen. Or perhaps…

His thoughts are interrupted by more crashing items in his kitchen, the sounds of a panicked animal and a separate angry animal, some frantic scampering before he feels the brush of something rushing past his legs. How he didn’t immediately scream or jump is a miracle; but now he sees the source of all the commotion. Before it slid under the small couch, Masheck caught sight of the oversized ears and pale fur of a young Polar Bavee, and just a few paces behind it was a Glacial Twiwa. He had read about Bavee in his master’s library when the time allowed, but he’d only ever heard rumors about the steel-grey Twiwa. Still, even though its attention was entirely focused on the hidden Bavee, he knew enough about them to be weary. They were particularly aloof and anti-social, and Twiwa as a whole seem naturally inclined to avoid ‘bucks on principle. But lords if it isn’t a beautiful specimen. Its monochrome fur is stunning, and though it only stands just tall enough to be level with his ankles the talons on its scaled front legs are as long as his pinkie finger or thumb. …And its currently using them to tear at his couch! No!!

All fear left behind, Masheck sprints to get the Twiwa away from his couch. He’d later admit this had been a terrible, awful, dreadful idea and would never recommend anyone anywhere ever try doing this ever again, but in this moment all he can think of is getting the very handsome predator away from his furniture. It was probably the sound of his hooves hitting the hard floors that made the Twiwa even acknowledge his existence, and it was probably his robe billowing around him that made it second guess itself just long enough to give Masheck the chance to snatch it by the middle and pick it up. This is exactly when his impulsive decision began to quickly, regrettably, and painfully backfire. The Twiwa, of course being feral and entirely uninterested in physical contact with a member of the buckleo race, began flapping its wings and bending its body into impossible shapes as it screeched and hissed and clawed his arms and bit at his wrists and fingers within reach. His skin, being just flesh, was of course no match for such sturdy and sharp weapons as a Twiwa beak or its talons and claws, and neither was the soft fleece-like material of his soft and warm robe.

“Ahhh!!” The breath he had been holding since he first heard the shattering of that window finally burst out into a pained shout as he quickly ran to the bathroom to try and shut the Twiwa away. It turns out extricating a Twiwa from one’s grasp is much harder to do when its talons and claws have embedded into your arms. But after a few attempts, and several more gashes and bites, Masheck is able to slam the bathroom door shut; the sound of agitated growling and scraping claws are enough to tell him the next time this door opens will be a very unpleasant one. But he has another guest to deal with before he can think about that right now. He examines his arms and hands, making sure he still has all 10 fingers he was born with; thankfully, it seems his robe sleeves took the brunt of this assault, but he will have to dress the deeper wounds before he can rest. He returned to the living space and took a moment to look around the room. Nothing else seems to have been destroyed or broken beyond the edge of his couch where that Twiwa was trying to catch its late-night meal.

Slowly, calmly he approaches the couch and kneels before getting onto his hands and knees. Peering under the couch he can see a very timid, shivering, and suspicious baby Bavee. It’s managed to find its way to the very far side of the couch against the base of the wall, roughly in the middle to be as far as possible from the edges of its new-found sanctuary.

“Hey little one,” Masheck whispers softly, not making any motion to prevent startling the terrified creature, “you’re alright now. The scary monster is gone.”

But this didn’t seem to reassure the Bavee. Well, Masheck is significantly larger than it, and he must sound odd to a wild animal. It doesn’t seem to have any markings or indications that it has an owner of some kind, and from what he’s read Bavee typically don’t wander from their chosen people. A new strategy is needed to coax the little critter out of hiding. “Hold on, I have an idea. Don’t move.”

He gives those soft commands before getting up and going to the kitchen. Oh…his poor kitchen. Everything is such a mess, and there’s pieces of broken crockery all over the floor and even on the counters. This is going to take him ages to clean up. No distractions though, he has to find something for the Bavee to eat. He carefully maneuvers around the pieces of broken glass and ceramics on his way to the cold storage space. He knows he has those around here somewhere… Aha! He finds the container of interest before returning to the living room and again kneeling by the couch. He peeks underneath to see the Bavee is still there, still worried and still very suspicious of him.

“Look what I have,” he coos softly, setting the container on the ground and opening it. Inside are some sheewi berries, just a handful, that he had snuck out of the master’s kitchen the other day. He’d never eaten them before and wanted to try them, but the opportunity had never presented itself before now, when he needs to get this animal out. Gently he rolls one under the couch at the Bavee, watches and waits.

He’s not sure how long it must have taken – minutes, hours – but eventually the small Bavee cautiously approached the berry just a few centimeters in front of it. He watched silently as it sniffed, then licked, then snatched the berry up and rapidly consumed the treat. A light smile lights up Masheck’s face, and he rolls another berry under the couch, this time a bit further away. He waits but less time than before, before the Bavee moves and eats this next berry; again, he rolls another that’s a bit closer yet and again the Bavee musters up its courage a bit quicker. It takes him several minutes be eventually he has the baby Bavee in his arms, happily eating the peace offering of sheewi berries.

“There you are, little one,” he whispers, lightly stroking the Bavee along its back with a finger. Its quite soft but from what he can see, its unharmed and now has a fuller stomach than before it crashed into his home. “Now you must go back home to your family,” he mutters, slowly moving towards the broken window, “I’m certain your mother and littermates will be worried about you if you don’t return.”

Is it right for him to send this juvenile back outside? It is rather cute in its own way, and it’s young enough that he could make it into a fine pet. …But his master would need to approve of such a companion and that is something Masheck does not think is likely to happen. Besides, it is a Polar Bavee after all, it thrives in these frigid snowstorms and chilly nights. He waits for it to finish off the berries before carefully setting it down on a cleared spot of the windowsill. The Bavee takes very little time before leaping out the window and making its way back from whence it came, wherever that may be. He keeps an eye on it but the slightly gusting window is too cold for him to linger. How can he cover this window up for the night? Well, given the damage, he doubts there’s actually anything he can do about it right now without finding the groundskeeper to help him repair it. Best to clean up first and then deal with the window.

It’s not until after he’s swept up all the fragments and fine pieces of broken items that he even remembers about the Twiwa still locked in his bathroom. Right, that. Well, he certainly doesn’t have any berries to give it anyway. What do Twiwa even eat? Who can he ask that would know the answer to this question? …Actually, the groundskeeper may be the one with this solution as well; his master does keep some dogs and Reetles for his own purposes. And judging by the intermittent low growls, Masheck will need all the help he can find to deal with such an unhappy little beast. He gets dressed as quickly as he can before dashing out to find that groundskeeper. Hopefully he’s not completely drunk or asleep…

Though there remains no sign of the sun, Masheck knows it is quite late by the time his window is repaired. The groundskeeper did have some insight for him about Twiwa dietary needs – meat – but was much less enthusiastic about the intrusion. He almost thought his window would be left in its current state when he first spoke to them. But with the fix, a better idea of what to do with his unhappy and hungry guest, Masheck gets a few small piece offerings for the creature ready. A few mice, provided as a supposed courtesy from the groundskeeper, and some pieces of meat from various other creatures. Now in his thickest jacket and wearing some thick gloves also from the groundskeeper, foodstuffs in hand, he cautiously opens the bathroom door.

At first it seemed like maybe the Twiwa was asleep or had somehow escaped, because nothing happened. But only for a moment; quickly he found himself the focus of those claws and that beak yet again, this time on his legs. The sudden pain and how quickly the Twiwa moved was just as startling as when his home was broken into, and in his surprise the plate with the offerings falls from his hand and lands on the floor. Shattered. The Twiwa jumps and runs away a bit before turning and hissing at him, beak clacking loudly as it does its best to look very intimidating. He is, of course, in pain once again, wincing as he holds his legs with his hands. Why must everything be violence? “I was bringing you something to eat, you absolute monster,” he complains loudly, looking up at the Twiwa as it keeps a watchful, distrusting eye on him. He picks up some of the food, brushing flecks of broken dinnerware out before tossing the bits at the Twiwa a few paces away.

It jumps back a bit again with a screech and flap of its wings, and it does sniff at the items but keeps its icy gaze on Masheck. Still, the smell of food must be more enticing than its interest in bringing him pain, because it too accepts the items he has presented. As it eats he grabs a few more items and cleans them off as well before tossing them towards the Twiwa. He does not make the effort to coax it nearer – at this point, if it weren’t so confoundingly beautiful and alluring, he would have happily let it loose like the Bavee. But even the groundskeeper said that Glacial Twiwa are prized by some, including his master. He would be a very special servant if he could tame this wild creature enough to make it into a house pet, one that he could offer to his master. But he can see it will take a lot of time and patients, mice and meat. And more researching about Glacial Twiwa.