Post by Lucas Walker on Feb 8, 2018 18:50:54 GMT -5
We open on Lucas Walker sitting on a rock near a frozen-over river, deep in the woods of West Virginia. He rubs the back of his neck, clearly seeming ill at ease with being on-camera but pushing through. He's bundled up appropriately for the temperature, a compound bow and quiver resting against the rock that serves as his seat, and his breath fogs the air when he speaks. "Hey there all. So, uh, as y'might have guessed, last week didn't go quite to plan. Got a little caught up in the bright lights, though not literally. If I'd jumped just a bit higher, maybe they woulda had to pick me out of the lighting rig. One heck of a photo op, though, wasn't it?"
Lucas flashes a grin at the camera, still somewhat bashful, and shakes his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Can't dwell on that forever, though. One thing my old man taught me was never to kick yourself too hard about failing. You gotta take what you can learn from it and move on. Live your life, not your past." He chuckles, shaking his head. "Good advice, but hard to listen to, ya know?"
He sighs, looking out into the frozen landscape with a contemplative gaze. "Now, what I learned last week was a lesson I already knew. When you're hunting, you gotta focus on that which you're hunting for. Y'can't get distracted by things, because if you look away for a second, you might lose something you've hunted for weeks, maybe longer." Lucas's toe traces along in the snow absentmindedly, looping and whirling in abstract ways. "I took my eye off the target, and Ethan King cold-cocked his way to the win. Underhanded? Yeah. Dishonorable? Oh, most definitely. Effective? I can't argue with results."
Lucas blows on his gloved hands, rubbing them together. "But I ain't wrestlin' Ethan King this week. Nah, I got the opposite of that. I got Taane. Son of a legend. Legend in his own making. Great athlete, by rep and by what we all saw last week. You've got some mean kicks on you, man. You're what I woulda called a sleeper pick when I was a bouncer."
Lucas pauses, sensing that needs explanation, and stands up, continuing to speak. "See, you got three main kinds of guys that get into barfights. You got the showoffs, big guys all covered in tanner, guys who go to the gym and show it off. But they train for size, not for strength, and they never get their cardio the way they oughta. Make 'em do anything useful, they blow up like a fireworks display on the Fourth. You got the old, grizzled tough guys, the ones nobody messes with unless they're real close or real drunk. And then you got the sleepers."
He grins at that one, reaching down and slinging the quiver over his back. "I always like the sleepers. Y'all don't look like fighters to the untrained eye, but y'all got what it takes to go. Some loudmouth pushes you, tryin' to look tough in front of his boys, and you lay 'em out, whip-crack-bang, just like that." Lucas picks up the bow as well, squinting out into the horizon. "I like sleepers 'cause y'all are the ones that make things interesting. Y'all bring the fun to a fight, and the last thing I want is a boring fight."
Lucas begins to walk down the riverbank, eyes alert and scanning the horizon. "But this ain't a bar fight. It ain't about win at all costs, no rules fist-flingin'. We got rules, we got reasons for everything. And make no mistake, we're gonna throw down like two rams buttin' heads. I don't want less, you don't want less, and somethin' tells me you'd be insulted if I didn't. I'm gonna bring all I got to the table, Taane. You better hope you're quick enough to get out of the way, and let me tell you, plenty of men have made the mistake of thinkin' I'm just another lumbering big man. Only lumbering I do is splittin' wood, son."
He pauses, clearly sighting something in the distance, and his confusion turns to a grin. "There we go. You gettin' as excited as I am, Taane? I know you are. You're a fired-up kinda guy. You made yourself the bull of these here woods with that win of yours last week. Painted a mighty fine bullseye on your backside. Well, you know what that means. As a proud hunter, I can't just let that kind of thing pass me by."
Lucas adjusts his gloves, continuing to move along at a reduced pace. "You're a twelve-point buck, and that means you're gonna make me work for this. You're gonna make me run you down and put you out for good before you drop, 'cause as long as you can move you're gonna fight. That's good. Make me earn my keep, man. Show me all that fire in your blood, show me the legacy of greatness. Y'call yourself the Polynesian Prodigy? Alright, wunderkind. Show me that skill beyond your years. But just know..."
Lucas's voice and expression get serious, losing their playful edge. "All it takes is one well-placed Hunter's Arrow, and every prey drops." After a long moment, he cracks a grin, winking at the camera. "Hunt's on, man. See you out there. And, uh...no hard feelings." With that, he turns and begins stalking off into the woods, and we fade to black on Lucas slowly melting into the treeline.
Lucas slips through the branches, eyes picking out the faint trail of feline tracks that stretch behind him into the distance and ahead. He carefully picks out each step, moving with far more grace than a man his size has any right to. As he moves, he hears a loud roaring and crashing ahead of him, through a thicket of trees. Lucas picks up his pace, pained bleating mixing with the guttural feline roars as he finally peers through the foliage.
In a small clearing beyond the brush, a bobcat has pounced upon a doe, its teeth and muzzle red and slick with blood. The doe is crumpled in a pile on the ground, and the bobcat is busy eating its fill from the dying animal. Lucas nods, silently reaching back and drawing an arrow from his quiver. He whispers to himself, grinning as he nocks the arrow to the string and pulls the bowstring taut. "Alright, kitty...you done enough damage around here..."
Suddenly, a breeze rustles the branches near Lucas's hidding spot. The bobcat looks up from its kill, eyes wide, and Lucas has a second to react before it leaps off the kill, charging his hiding space. Lucas drops the bow, string detensing as the arrow clatters to the ground. He reaches back, yanking a Bowie knife from its sheath as the bobcat bursts through the treeline, pouncing on Lucas with a ferocious yowl.
The bobcat claws at Lucas's face, jaws snapping inches from him. He manages to get his arm up to deflect most of the slash, heaving the cat off with a grunt and forcing himself to his feet. The bobcat spins in midair and lands on its feet, growling at Lucas. He turns the knife over in his hand, grinning back. "Come on, kitty. Show me yer teeth."
Obliging, the cat rushes him again, leaping. Lucas charges forward at the last second, leaping in return and catching the bobcat midair. The two collide and drop to the earth, a tangled heap of feline and human. Lucas quickly rolls to his knees, using his body weight to keep the bobcat pinned, and without hesitation rams the knife into its midsection, angling just under the ribcage. The bobcat spasms in agony, and Lucas responds by ramming the knife in deeper. After one more flail, it falls still, dying roar turning into a wet gurgle in its throat.
Lucas stands up, heart pounding, and reaches up, checking his cheek. When he pulls his fingers back, beads of blood are smeared across them. He sighs, shaking his head, and reaches down, picking up the bobcat's corpse and slinging it over his shoulders. "Good God, but you've been a menace. Gonna be glad to be rid of you..." he shakes his head, fishing his phone out of his pocket and dialing a number as he walks.
After a second, the party on the other end picks up, and Lucas grins. "Hey Sheriff, it's Lucas Walker. ...yeah, I'm doin' fine. Callin' to let ya know I bagged that bobcat was harassin' those folks up around Stillwell. ...yeah, I know you'd been gettin' complaints. Took a day and tracked the bugger down. Gonna make a nice fur for someone." He pauses again, chuckling with genuine joy in his eyes as he continues to walk. "Yeah, big one. You wanna see it, come by the place. You know how to get there. Talk to ya later, Sheriff."
He hangs up, sighing, and looks back at the rapidly-cooling big cat he's picked up as a passenger. "Hear that? You're an attraction now." Lucas chuckles to himself, sighing, and walks back through the woods, lugging his quarry along as he fades into the setting sun.
Lucas flashes a grin at the camera, still somewhat bashful, and shakes his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Can't dwell on that forever, though. One thing my old man taught me was never to kick yourself too hard about failing. You gotta take what you can learn from it and move on. Live your life, not your past." He chuckles, shaking his head. "Good advice, but hard to listen to, ya know?"
He sighs, looking out into the frozen landscape with a contemplative gaze. "Now, what I learned last week was a lesson I already knew. When you're hunting, you gotta focus on that which you're hunting for. Y'can't get distracted by things, because if you look away for a second, you might lose something you've hunted for weeks, maybe longer." Lucas's toe traces along in the snow absentmindedly, looping and whirling in abstract ways. "I took my eye off the target, and Ethan King cold-cocked his way to the win. Underhanded? Yeah. Dishonorable? Oh, most definitely. Effective? I can't argue with results."
Lucas blows on his gloved hands, rubbing them together. "But I ain't wrestlin' Ethan King this week. Nah, I got the opposite of that. I got Taane. Son of a legend. Legend in his own making. Great athlete, by rep and by what we all saw last week. You've got some mean kicks on you, man. You're what I woulda called a sleeper pick when I was a bouncer."
Lucas pauses, sensing that needs explanation, and stands up, continuing to speak. "See, you got three main kinds of guys that get into barfights. You got the showoffs, big guys all covered in tanner, guys who go to the gym and show it off. But they train for size, not for strength, and they never get their cardio the way they oughta. Make 'em do anything useful, they blow up like a fireworks display on the Fourth. You got the old, grizzled tough guys, the ones nobody messes with unless they're real close or real drunk. And then you got the sleepers."
He grins at that one, reaching down and slinging the quiver over his back. "I always like the sleepers. Y'all don't look like fighters to the untrained eye, but y'all got what it takes to go. Some loudmouth pushes you, tryin' to look tough in front of his boys, and you lay 'em out, whip-crack-bang, just like that." Lucas picks up the bow as well, squinting out into the horizon. "I like sleepers 'cause y'all are the ones that make things interesting. Y'all bring the fun to a fight, and the last thing I want is a boring fight."
Lucas begins to walk down the riverbank, eyes alert and scanning the horizon. "But this ain't a bar fight. It ain't about win at all costs, no rules fist-flingin'. We got rules, we got reasons for everything. And make no mistake, we're gonna throw down like two rams buttin' heads. I don't want less, you don't want less, and somethin' tells me you'd be insulted if I didn't. I'm gonna bring all I got to the table, Taane. You better hope you're quick enough to get out of the way, and let me tell you, plenty of men have made the mistake of thinkin' I'm just another lumbering big man. Only lumbering I do is splittin' wood, son."
He pauses, clearly sighting something in the distance, and his confusion turns to a grin. "There we go. You gettin' as excited as I am, Taane? I know you are. You're a fired-up kinda guy. You made yourself the bull of these here woods with that win of yours last week. Painted a mighty fine bullseye on your backside. Well, you know what that means. As a proud hunter, I can't just let that kind of thing pass me by."
Lucas adjusts his gloves, continuing to move along at a reduced pace. "You're a twelve-point buck, and that means you're gonna make me work for this. You're gonna make me run you down and put you out for good before you drop, 'cause as long as you can move you're gonna fight. That's good. Make me earn my keep, man. Show me all that fire in your blood, show me the legacy of greatness. Y'call yourself the Polynesian Prodigy? Alright, wunderkind. Show me that skill beyond your years. But just know..."
Lucas's voice and expression get serious, losing their playful edge. "All it takes is one well-placed Hunter's Arrow, and every prey drops." After a long moment, he cracks a grin, winking at the camera. "Hunt's on, man. See you out there. And, uh...no hard feelings." With that, he turns and begins stalking off into the woods, and we fade to black on Lucas slowly melting into the treeline.
Lucas slips through the branches, eyes picking out the faint trail of feline tracks that stretch behind him into the distance and ahead. He carefully picks out each step, moving with far more grace than a man his size has any right to. As he moves, he hears a loud roaring and crashing ahead of him, through a thicket of trees. Lucas picks up his pace, pained bleating mixing with the guttural feline roars as he finally peers through the foliage.
In a small clearing beyond the brush, a bobcat has pounced upon a doe, its teeth and muzzle red and slick with blood. The doe is crumpled in a pile on the ground, and the bobcat is busy eating its fill from the dying animal. Lucas nods, silently reaching back and drawing an arrow from his quiver. He whispers to himself, grinning as he nocks the arrow to the string and pulls the bowstring taut. "Alright, kitty...you done enough damage around here..."
Suddenly, a breeze rustles the branches near Lucas's hidding spot. The bobcat looks up from its kill, eyes wide, and Lucas has a second to react before it leaps off the kill, charging his hiding space. Lucas drops the bow, string detensing as the arrow clatters to the ground. He reaches back, yanking a Bowie knife from its sheath as the bobcat bursts through the treeline, pouncing on Lucas with a ferocious yowl.
The bobcat claws at Lucas's face, jaws snapping inches from him. He manages to get his arm up to deflect most of the slash, heaving the cat off with a grunt and forcing himself to his feet. The bobcat spins in midair and lands on its feet, growling at Lucas. He turns the knife over in his hand, grinning back. "Come on, kitty. Show me yer teeth."
Obliging, the cat rushes him again, leaping. Lucas charges forward at the last second, leaping in return and catching the bobcat midair. The two collide and drop to the earth, a tangled heap of feline and human. Lucas quickly rolls to his knees, using his body weight to keep the bobcat pinned, and without hesitation rams the knife into its midsection, angling just under the ribcage. The bobcat spasms in agony, and Lucas responds by ramming the knife in deeper. After one more flail, it falls still, dying roar turning into a wet gurgle in its throat.
Lucas stands up, heart pounding, and reaches up, checking his cheek. When he pulls his fingers back, beads of blood are smeared across them. He sighs, shaking his head, and reaches down, picking up the bobcat's corpse and slinging it over his shoulders. "Good God, but you've been a menace. Gonna be glad to be rid of you..." he shakes his head, fishing his phone out of his pocket and dialing a number as he walks.
After a second, the party on the other end picks up, and Lucas grins. "Hey Sheriff, it's Lucas Walker. ...yeah, I'm doin' fine. Callin' to let ya know I bagged that bobcat was harassin' those folks up around Stillwell. ...yeah, I know you'd been gettin' complaints. Took a day and tracked the bugger down. Gonna make a nice fur for someone." He pauses again, chuckling with genuine joy in his eyes as he continues to walk. "Yeah, big one. You wanna see it, come by the place. You know how to get there. Talk to ya later, Sheriff."
He hangs up, sighing, and looks back at the rapidly-cooling big cat he's picked up as a passenger. "Hear that? You're an attraction now." Lucas chuckles to himself, sighing, and walks back through the woods, lugging his quarry along as he fades into the setting sun.