Oscar called from behind, catching sight of the looming stranger under a lamp, brandishing a... stick before the ominous figure of the Mothman perched upon the street lamp. The encroaching darkness arriving so suddenly in the evenings had taken Oscar by surprise-- but, fortunately, he was prepared. A month of investigating (and befriending) the strange creatures had taught him as much about them, and the Mothmen...
Uncertain of what to do but unwilling to put a new Dreamer at risk, Oscar abruptly switched off his small flashlight and, spying a metal trash can on the edge of the street awaiting pick up the next morning, he flung the tool at the bin with as much force as his skinny arms could muster.
The mothmen didn't like loud noises, or so the rumors went. Setting his jaw in his nervousness, he hoped that the raucous clatter of metal upon metal, which knocked off the unsecured let and set it crashing into the street with an unceremonious bang would be enough to scare the cryptid away.
Something in the back of his mind wriggled with a certain familiarity, somehow, but he could deal with that later. He couldn't do much--
Hopefully, this was enough.
Sorry, Oz. There's a tiny farm hand walking a second hand bike down the street with a small drove of Jackalopes following him. The antlered hares didn't budge. They merely stared at the happenings before them, dark eyes watchful for any danger that would drive them to scatter.
D
Oscar called from behind, catching sight of the looming stranger under a lamp, brandishing a... stick before the ominous figure of the Mothman perched upon the street lamp. The encroaching darkness arriving so suddenly in the evenings had taken Oscar by surprise-- but, fortunately, he was prepared. A month of investigating (and befriending) the strange creatures had taught him as much about them, and the Mothmen...
Uncertain of what to do but unwilling to put a new Dreamer at risk, Oscar abruptly switched off his small flashlight and, spying a metal trash can on the edge of the street awaiting pick up the next morning, he flung the tool at the bin with as much force as his skinny arms could muster.
The mothmen didn't like loud noises, or so the rumors went. Setting his jaw in his nervousness, he hoped that the raucous clatter of metal upon metal, which knocked off the unsecured let and set it crashing into the street with an unceremonious bang would be enough to scare the cryptid away.
Something in the back of his mind wriggled with a certain familiarity, somehow, but he could deal with that later. He couldn't do much--
Hopefully, this was enough.
Sorry, Oz. There's a tiny farm hand walking a second hand bike down the street with a small drove of Jackalopes following him. The antlered hares didn't budge. They merely stared at the happenings before them, dark eyes watchful for any danger that would drive them to scatter.