The park, Friday

[one-for-vanity.livejournal.com]

The weather might not have been the warmest today, but M. du Vallon felt that he ought to actually go walking and explore this new island he had moved to. It was while admiring the exotically elegant birds -- flamingos, perhaps? -- in the duck pond that he was beset from behind by a flock of yet more exotic fowl.

It had been ages since Porthos was in a decent battle, but his sword was in his hand by the time he'd turned around. ...And it looked as though it would be ages still. This was not a battle; this was barely a nuisance. "/My friends,/" he told the birds, with a sigh of disappointment, "/I suggest you reconsider. You will clearly be no challenge to defeat, and I will therefore take no pleasure in killing you./"

The birds would not understand French, of course, so he punctuated his statement by waving his sword fiercely and shouting "SHOO!"

[Open park is open]

Comments

[fh-critters.livejournal.com]

The mob of dodos - for that was what it was, well, no, technically it was an extinction of dodos, but that was getting into the nitty-gritty of it all - stopped moving in eerie unison.

Their eyes were set on the sword.

It was shiny.

"OURS! OURS! OURS!" they bellowed, and hurled at Porthos as one.

[one-for-vanity.livejournal.com]

"Mordieux! You can speak?!?!" Porthos exclaimed, as he batted one bird aside with his blade and punched a second in the beak with his off-hand. In English -- because that was the language of this place, the language they had used -- Porthos tried reason again. "Quiet yourselves, and let us discuss!" he bellowed. "You are too fascinating to be slaughtered!"

[fh-critters.livejournal.com]

The one that had gotten a punch to the face fell to the ground like a fish on water, twitching a little before - somehow - hurling himself into the pond.

The other dodos barely spared him a glance.

"Ours!" they called again. "Ours! You took our things! Now we kill you! For DODOKIND!"

One dodo punctuated this by attempting to peck at Porthos' foot.

[one-for-vanity.livejournal.com]

Porthos struck out again with the flat of his blade, intent on wrapping his mind around JUST WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON before he started skewering things. After a brief moment, the full import of the feathered creatures' words struck him.

"Upon my honor!!!" he declared. "You accuse me -- ME -- of vile thievery!?! It is well that we are already engaged in a battle, as it saves me the trouble of starting one!!!"

He hauled back his leg and aimed a powerful kick at the dodo that had been pecking at his boot, and then thrust the tip of his sword at the next one.

[fh-critters.livejournal.com]

One dodo went SOARING HIGH INTO THE SKY! ... only to come crashing down into the ocean a few hundred feet away.

"THIS IS WAR!"

Or at least a couple of dodos launching themselves at Porthos' face, in spite of their colleague lying around on the ground writhing in pain. Feathers! Feathery rage! FEATHERS!

[one-for-vanity.livejournal.com]

"This is not war!" Porthos shouted back. "THIS... IS... CARNAGE!!!"

The dodos aiming for Porthos's face were going to have to contend with his forehead flying at them. No matter how thick their skulls were, Porthos's was harder and thicker.

[fh-critters.livejournal.com]

Squawk! "Squaaaaaaaaaaawk!"

The dodos hit the ground! One of them folded a wing over her poor heart! Beating so rapidly!

"That was my female!" Take that, Porthos's foot!

[one-for-vanity.livejournal.com]

"...It was?" That offended le chevalier's notions of chivalry!

Porthos gave the stricken bird a bow. "My apologies, Madame," he insisted graciously. While attempting to slice her boyfriend's head off.

[fh-critters.livejournal.com]

It was starting to be a bit of a massacre, wasn't it?

One dodo slipped in a compatriot's blood. A second hurled himself at Porthos's sword-hand. A third started braying very loudly for no reason at all.

Survival instinct was not a big thing here.

[one-for-vanity.livejournal.com]

That it was. Of course, if the dozens of birds had instead been soldiers armed with swords and a reasonable amount of training, it would STILL be a massacre, just a slightly more challenging one.

Porthos's sword -- used to hitting people who were actually trying to AVOID it -- darted out with deadly accuracy. In between thrusts, he reached out with his left hand, grabbed a dodo by the throat, and hurled it at the others.

[fh-critters.livejournal.com]

"NO TOUCH! NO TOUCH! NO TOUCH!"

"I"m flyyyyyyyyiiiiiiiing!"

The flying dodo squashed two of his bretheren and sent the rest skittering off into two different directions.

... well, most of them. One of them ran squarely into another dodo.