Hokum

A Goat Named Jed

5

One can never be too careful when dealing with unfamiliar forms of life. What might at first appear to be a cute little bundle of sleeping joy can - in response to as little as a wave of a hand and a few short words - quickly turn that bundle of joy into a formidable savage beast that screams like a demon unleashed from hell.

Jack launched himself backward shielding his face with one arm against the sudden frenzy of gnashing teeth, beating wings and slashing claws. Before he knew it he was down, face to the ground, hand grasping protectively to the back of his head while the other hand groped desperately for his gun. Never in his life had he felt in such mortal danger over a creature so small and feathery. He felt the skin of his shielding hand being shredded by its claws, small yet powerful talon-like feet sinking into the flesh of his shoulder, and a bitter freeze of air pouring over his neck and head as he drew the gun from his belt, propped his elbow on the ground to aim the weapon at the sky, and then squeezed the trigger. The thunderous crack of gunfire cascaded through the forest and across the land, leaving in its wake a silence that made Jack instantly groan with regret.

‘Well that sucks a great deal,’ he said, lifting his head to take a cautious look around. Concluding a moment of wait, he pushed up and sat back on his heels to better survey the area and ensure the little beast had truly fled. His hand was bleeding from cat-like claw marks, his shoulder was throbbing, his favourite leather jacket was torn, and the skin of his neck was beginning to thaw from whatever had started to turn it into a hide of ice. But the little terror of a beast was gone and, more importantly, it had not returned to sleep on his duffel bag.

Unfortunately, aside from the personal damage and a stinky little deposit the creature had left on his bag, every soul within a good distance would have heard the gun fire.

A Goat Named Jed

4

Jack smiled, slightly amused by Theolan’s attempt at offending him. He stood thoughtfully rubbing the short stubble of his face with thumb and finger until the rider had disappeared around a bend down the road.

Judging by the beads of dew still lingering on the tips of grass and leaves and the low angle of the sunlight breaking through the canopy of the trees, it was still early morning, while drifting aromas of food accompanied by periodic faint voices and other sounds of activity told Jack he wasn’t too far from a township of some variety, most likely in the direction Theolan had headed. Both these things were promising. Early morning meant he wasn’t pressed with time to get his shit together, and having a town nearby was convenient for quickly establishing a way to blend in.

The most immediate concern was finding his duffel bag, if it was even around to be found at all. As much as trees and other clustered landscapes provided a decent place to lay low when arriving in a new place, it really could result in more frustration than need be when locating his belongings.

Still, searching the immediate road and forest for the bag did have its benefits. If he wasn’t previously certain about whether he was actually on Earth – and given that the majority of immediate plants and trees did show a striking resemblance to the flora found on Earth – it was stumbling upon a bizarre rat-size creature in a small clearing several meters from the road that confirmed his suspicions. He was not on Earth, at any time in history.

As luck would have it, the rather cute creature which resembled a lizard in head and body shape with a bluish scaled underbelly, but soft white feathers lining its face and back and wings, was nestles somewhat snugly in the fold of his duffel bag.

‘Get off!’

A Goat Named Jed

3

Jack, but not really Jack, hailed from somewhere in the 20th century – though he wasn’t prepared to inform the rider of that - while Theolan, the rider, was apparently dressed for the Middle Ages. The attire of people in this, the medieval era - and more so the men than the women - normally struck Jack as ridiculous and somewhat amusing, but more in regards to the wealthier folk, and more due the always unexpected eye-popping colours than their old fashioned designs. Theolan was no exception. He wore, as wealthier men often did, a full-length tunic which, due to the man being saddled on a horse, was currently gathered about his waist to expose his lemon yellow knee-length breeches secured by silver ornamental buckles to white skin-tight leggings, which appeared more like smooth and pale skin that led to the distracting shine of his polished black shoes. The tunic, in deliberate contrast, was an extremely deep shade of purple, made from what was probably a hemp-like fabric, and closed about the torso with lightly stained wooden peg buttons. Showing beneath the open V neck of the tunic was a lime-green collarless shirt. There was also an insignia of his initials, MST, embroidered with silver stitching on the left breast pocket of the tunic.

Feeling the urge to irritate the pompous prick some more, Jack ignored the question - and besides, he didn’t have a convenient lie at the ready. It was time to get off the ground, though, so he shot to his feet abruptly enough to startle the rider who reached for his sword, then paused, hand suspended just an inch from the hilt while he watched Jack straighten his jacket and give himself a light dusting off. Jack was careful, however, not to turn and bend on such an angle that would cause his jacket to lift and expose the gun tucked in his belt. It wasn’t that Theolan would have recognised the Glock as an actual weapon, but Jack in no way wanted to encourage the curiosity of the dinosaur any more than he already had. In fact, he really just wanted the guy to ride on, because he required some time alone to think, search for his duffel bag, and prepare for his stay in this world.

‘You haven’t seen a black duffel bag around here, have ya?’ Asked Jack, eyes searching the dirt road and nearby undergrowth. It was unusual for his bag not to make the journey with him, but it was fairly common for the bag to end the journey in a different location, yet not too far away. It was nevertheless imperative that he find it before anyone else did, that is, if they hadn’t already.

‘A what, did you say?’ Theolan said, looking quizzically around. He appeared to be rather disturbed that he may have missed an import item lying about.

‘It’s fine.’ Jack was glad that the rider hadn’t seen it. He clapped his hands together, pouched his lips in a blasé manner. ‘But if you don’t mind pissing off now, Theo, I’d like to tend to my business. Thanks for all your concern, though.’

Theolan was genuinely shocked by this, mouth gaping in astonished horror for an annoyingly calculated amount of time, and finally thought of what he believed to be an adequate affront before departing.

‘I merely feel it my duty to assist the impoverished whenever I can,’ he said, and rode off slowly as he concluded the insult, ‘be them at times a lost cause, it seems.’

A Goat Named Jed

2

‘What?’ The man on the ground uttered his delayed reply to the rider, having heard very little of what he had said. But then he realised that maybe his reply was too soft to be heard, and duly spoke up a little; ‘I didn’t really hear what you said there, buddy, wanna run that by me one more time?’

The rider couldn’t have been a day over thirty, and despite his thin build, sloping shoulders, crane-like neck and disproportionately large head, his stiffly posture gave no illusions to his bloated ego. Yet the capricious stare of his beady blue eyes - combined with his sharp beak-like nose and thin upper lip - gave the immediate impression that he was unstable and couldn’t be trusted. The only features that managed to subtract from this shifty aura, though not doing a crack-up job of it, was the air of distinctive dignity portrayed by the salt-and-pepper goatee that matched diligently to the loose ponytail of his long, wavy black hair, which was, despite his apparent age, also silvering about the temples and nape.

‘I said,’ he replied in the former suspicious tone, though now with additional impatience, ‘that it is not safe to be sleeping on the side of this particular road. You should know this, unless you are not from around these parts.’

‘Ah right, yes. Heard ya that time,’ said the man, who remained splayed on the ground with his back against the tree while keeping one curious eyebrow raised to the rider. He was feeling a little unsettled about various aspects of his current situation. One such related aspect was the object still digging into his lower back. Initially, while lying on the ground, he had figured it was just a rock, but - since it was still digging into him while sitting back against the tree - he realised that no, it was not a rock, rather his handgun lodged in the leather belt of his jeans. Being in possession of a firearm wouldn’t have always been problematic for the man, but in this particular situation such a weapon would need to be stowed away unless absolutely needed. Fortunately, the gun was currently out of sight, but that could not be said about his attire. Blue denim jeans, black Gerson boots, white snug-fit T-shirt, brown leather jacket and an imitation Rolex watch strapped to his wrist; an ensemble just as far detached from the outmoded clothes of the rider as the handgun was to the sword housed in a sheath on the riders back.

Now, having not received his idea of a substantial response, the rider was about to crack with anxiety as he continued to scrutinise the man below him. Yet somehow, despite himself, he managed to set aside the strain brought on by the man’s less than cooperative behaviour and decided to proceed with another question waiting in line to be asked.

‘Perhaps you could share your name, then?’

‘Sure.’ The man answered with an uneasy smile, and then he lied. ‘My name’s Jack. How about you?’

The rider took a moment to sneer sceptically at the man before he reciprocated. ‘My name is Theolan.’ He paused for effect, raising his chin as if he had spoken a word that should be revered by anyone fortunate enough to hear it. ‘Sir Mallicone Starlip Theolan.’ He expounded, then turned his hooded eyes of contempt down at the man. ‘Jack, you say? That is quite an unusual name. Not sure if I have had the displeasure of hearing it before, though I am sure I would have remembered. From where do you hail, Jack?’

A Goat Named Jed

1

He woke feeling calm. For a moment his eyes remained closed while short bursts of warm air wafted over his face, laced with the smell of grass and roughage, a trace of wild flowers, and accompanied by a deep grunting sound unmistakably that of a horse.

This was odd. He knew it was, yet his mind was amiss of any immediate reason why, thoughts obscured by the inability to recall where he had fallen asleep. The lumpy contours of the ground, the grass against his neck and ear, the extremely uncomfortable bulge of something sticking into his lower back – all things that in no way assisted in removing the sense of being displaced. For the moment outside with a horse was the sum of all the facts he had.

Prompted by a small, unfounded sense of alarm, he opened his eyes, blinking twice at the two brown-haired nostrils flaring wide in his face and then quickly sat up, avoiding the animal by swinging to one side and landing his back against the trunk of a large tree. The interest of the horse did not pursue, instead it went to a nearby clomp of grass silently screaming to be eaten.

‘Not the best place to be sleeping, friend.’ Said the rider, saddled upright and somewhat stiffly on the horse. ‘Many a traffic pass down this road, both civil folk and those who are not. You should know that…’ The rider paused to glance dubiously over his shoulder at the woods that crowded the winding dirt road in his wake, ‘…unless you’re new to these parts?’

The suspicious tone the rider used was not at all subtle. He looked the man on the ground over searchingly, apparently not about to ride off until receiving an answer to his query. His anxious demeanour made no secret of the fact that there were more questions just waiting in line to be asked.

It was then, while being scrutinized by the rider, that the man on the ground recalled where he was and what he was doing before waking in this place, where, as it turned out, had apparently nothing at all in common with the place he last was. The incomprehensible difference between his current and previous location caused his face to distort in a way that one might look while observing an actual real life unicorn in downtown London.

A Goat Named Jed

This RP is not open to join.

A Goat Named Jed

Part 1

A Beginning

Devils and Dust

𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖊𝖑

As the musical piece came to a close, Darrel snapped from his swaying trance and tapped the power button. Swift and precise, his movement could have been considered robotic. He couldn’t chance the next piece starting up, for if it did, he would need to listen to it in full as well. With a faint smile still imposing its presence upon his typical stone face, he exited the house.

On the front porch he stood for a moment to analyse the morning. The air was a little more crisp and fresh than usual. A good thing. He closed his eyes for a time to enjoy the fragrance. It was something like a cross between the scent of fresh snow and a distant forest fire. He savoured the moment. But then, opening his eyes once more, his good feelings were gone –

The smile ran away from his face, replaced with his usual stone chisel.

There she was. Across the street and two doors down. That filth. Dustynn Knight was her name. Though he had never actually spoken with her, he was well aware of who she was by way of the many letters he had stolen from her mailbox since she moved into the neighbourhood. Not that he was stalking her, he did the same for every resident on the street, because this, like many of his incessant behaviours, was a product of his obsessive need to know the people who resided around him.

Dustynn was basically harmless, or so it would seem. But she was revolting. Just looking at her sitting there amid the overgrown lawn of her yard made him sick to the stomach. How hard was it to simply cut your grass? If only she would, at the very least, dress like a decent lady and stop punching holes in her flesh, she might pass as an actual human.

His morning was ruined.

He gave her the dirtiest look he could while swallowing back the urge to vomit. Just the thought of how repugnant her woman parts would taste…

He looked away sharply. Clearing his mind of the image of her. It was time for his scheduled cup of Earl Grey tea at Emily's Family Diner. Had the staff there had so much as an ounce of intelligence his usual table in the quiet corner would be reserved and waiting for him.

As he moved down the path between the oak trees to the street, yet another abomination caught his eye. A young man with a guitar and duffle bag making his way up the sidewalk. How loathsome. No dignity at all. No wonder he appeared lost and bemused. How did the youth these days even manage to live with themselves? Could he not even keep his attire straightened? God knows he would likely not even be capable of playing a decent tune with that hammer of his.

Darrel paused by the gate to his yard, chin up and eyes rolled down to the side as the young man passed by, admiring his perfectly kept lawn to avoid making eye contact. It was fortunate the young man passed by without a peep. Perhaps this day wouldn’t turn out so bad after all.

Once he exited the gate, Darrel paused a moment to take in another breath of the mildly fresh air, and then started walking up the sidewalk in the direction of the diner. Unfortunately, like all mornings, this walk to the diner would involve having to pass Dustynn's house, not to mention the rundown shithole that the guitar man was now self-loathing in front of.

‘Please…. Cry me a river.’

---

𝒮𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓃 𝒞𝓇𝑜𝓌𝓃

Despite her rank in law enforcement, Sharon wasn’t one for dressing the part. Uniforms and prestigious attire just made her feel downright uncomfortable. Still, she did have her badge exposed on the belt of her well-worn black cotton pants, slightly covered by the partial overhang of her brown leather jacket. Her eyes were green, hair a deep auburn and tied back in a loose ponytail. She was a good-looking woman, cute button nose type and in her mid-thirties – but at a glance there weren’t many people who would take her as a day over 25, seemingly far too young to make detective. But she was just that. She was the lead detective in the case surrounding the many young women that had gone missing in Blacktown and surrounding areas. The case had recently been named The Rapture, since it was the best anyone could think of as reference to so many women going missing without a trace… or at least that was the way things were until today.

Early morning was spent at the local morgue getting a rundown by the head coroner on all the reasons why the recent recovered body of a young woman, a pretty blonde by the name of Alice, could have actually been the first of the missing victims to actually turn up. But was Alice one of them? Sharon wasn’t convinced. She, however, had to admit that the report the pathologist gave had its convincing elements. But why now? Why after all this time did the abductor become sloppy enough to leave evidence behind?

The first order of business was visiting Alice’s parents with the morbid news of their daughter’s death - always one of the hardest parts of the job - but Sharon didn’t have the mindset for that shit at the moment. That would have to wait for an hour or two. Right now she had to think and organise her thoughts, and the best way to do that was with a much needed coffee and possibly a pancake or two. She arrived at Emily's Family Diner a little after opening time and parked herself neighbouring the table that seated a pretty young lady with hair dyed pink. Possibly a call girl or worker at one of the local clubs dropping by after her shift for a bite to eat. Sharon knew the type but wasn't one to judge. As she nestled uneasily in her seat, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this particular young lady was to be the next victim in The Rapture case. A feeling of dread sunk into Sharon’s stomach as she took out her field notes and started to assess them while waiting for service.

Devils and Dust

@Witryso

Ah yes, the sense of indirection. Well, you obviously feel the setting enough to work with. The direction of your character, of course, is up to you. But there will be an underlying GM plot at work along the way. Looking forward to meeting your character!

Devils and Dust

@AtomicNut

Ah yes, Smokes is good boi.

By all means feel free to drop him in the CS tab.