Post by isoba on Dec 19, 2006 1:26:42 GMT -5
OOC: Harr. I would have gotten this log up a long time ago, but Unz and I have this unfortunate habit of never connecting at the same time to finish our RP. 
So as it is, the log *technically* isn't done, but it's close enough. Enjoy. <3
Warren - Honeycomb
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Myrtle - Female underdog (underrabbit?)
Blackbriar - Captain of Owsla
Sunflower - Blackbriar's kit
Burnshyre (spoofed by Blackbriar) - Contending bully.
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The mood across the entire warren has been quiet for some time as the echoes of old Rowanoak's death still linger in the underground caverns. Most of the residents are subdued and uninterested in even going above ground to feed and warm themselves in the sun; it seems life has come to a near stand still. It is this that has caused Captain Blackbriar to rouse not only himself but the entire warren with a heavy, steady thumping of his hind leg on the floor of the Honeycomb. It is not an alarm, but an assembly. Slowly, bodies begin to slink into the great cavernous structure as rabbit settle themselves against roots and smooth walls. Murmurs echo across the warren, but Blackbriar continues his steady thumping until one of his officers comes close to whisper that all are in attendance.
The Captain stops then, settling himself down on his haunches in order to rise above the other rabbits still on all fours. His nose twitches in the dim light, taking in the scent of earth and saddness, but the Owsla leader doesn't let him demenour change or his stature droop. Blackbriar issues a little cough, quieting the gathering before speaking, "As you all know, we have been mourning the tragic loss of Rowanoak." Here the dark rabbit pauses, letting his gaze rove over all those present. His attention lingers for a moment on his young daughter, his eyes twinkling a little before his serious nature kicks in
again. "But we cannot continue without a Chief, and so I have gathered you all here to decide who shall step up to take Rowanoak's place. He had no kits, and gave no indication who he would like as his successor, so it falls to me to choose. Those rabbits strong enough, please, step forwards." That done, Blackbriar falls silent, and waits.
The said daughter that is looked upon is rather quiet where she sits merely eyeing the ground. This would be Sunflower's first dealing with death and she doesn't like it one bit. A ear twitches now and then as she listions to what her father says but her attention is else where. The kit had known the leader thanks to her parents ranking in the colony, she liked the old leader even if he was rather senile at times. She takes in a breath and snuffles some while lifting her head to peer at her father as he goes on talking about picking a new leader.
Upon hearing the first ‘thump’ of solicitation, the tips of Myrtle’s deftly rounded ears had been among the first to perk up, as did those of all the others in the vicinity- wary for an upset, an indication of danger present. But assurance was upon them- the thumps were stolid and steadfast, occurring at uniform intervals; far different from the agitated footfalls that signified an alarm. And so it was that the small-framed doe had been among the first to arrive, accompanied by a female friend with whom she was engaged in a low conversation. Only quiet phrases and sporadic nods were exchanged, and even these were soon dropped upon emergence into the cavern- the atmosphere clearly required a state of solemnity from all present. Both Myrtle and her companion remain silent during the duration of the Captain’s speech, merely two more faces indistinguishable from the crowd of others inhabiting the confined space. But the moment Blackbriar draws his speech to a close, Myrtle is instantly among only two amongst the gathering who deigned to step forward, cool, grim-faced, interminably self-assured - despite her heavily beating heart and the shocked stares and murmurs accompanying her momentous shift.
He waits for a moment, but as the murmurings that were at first only quiet grow, he tenses and thumps his foot down until there is silence once again. His stern gaze slides over the entire Honeycomb before settling on the two candidates that stepped up. Blackbriar's ears twitch slightly, but little else. "Let it be noted that Burnshyre and Myrtle have expressed that they are willing to lead us." That said, the buck pauses and settles himself a bit more comfortably on all fours, giving both young rabbits a close examination. He coughs, "For both of you, I will ask a single question. Each will give your answer in turn. Based on your answers, I will ask all those gathered who is more suited to become Chieftain. Majority rules. This is a special case, as I've said, because Rowanoak had no heirs. If you still wish to prove yourselves, then remain, if not, no one will chastise either of you for stepping down."
Burnshyre had comes with the rest of the warren and almost muscled his way to the front when Blackbriar called for all interested parties. He had thought that this would be an easy ride to the top because of the sad mood that prevailed over Hawthorn, but as a doe of all creatures steps up with him, his face becomes dour indeed. The young buck draws himself up as much as he can, keeping his ears erect and his chest swelled, trying to appear that much better than his competition. As the Captain dictates the rules, Burnshyre faulters slightly; he thought it was going to be a test of strength. Fighting back an indignant snort, the male twitches his nose and issues a nod, "Aye, I understand. I'll remain."
Sunflower watches and listions quietly, she blinks as Myrtle moves forward and tilts her head while her sister's murmure around her. She quickly shhs them with a tilt of her head which lifts as she sits up more, rather curious to see what might happen. Her nose wiggles while her gaze drifts over to Burn and she makes a face as he goes up and stays there. She doesn't really like that one, his ego bigger then the colony itself when ever she hears him talk about something. Oo questions.. Well then Myrtle should have that without a problem seeing how Burn has no brain to think up answers with.
A sidelong glance is shot at the rather overinflated male standing but a few yards away, but no other inclination is made. Myrtle cups her ear-tips forward attentively, letting no outward sign of relief permeate her features- if what Blackbriar proposed was indeed to be, then Burn would be out of the running from the word ‘go.’ Great skies! No wonder he looked so angry. Catching the eye of the young kit, the doe tips a tiny wink before returning her attention to the floor, secretly amused by the reactionary expression etched on Sunflower’s face. This would be a comparatively easy trial, then- no excuse, however, to let her guard down now; Myrtle was far too experienced to let a simple, silly thing like pride overcome her primary objective. And besides, if this overblown buffoon were to become Hawthorn’s leader… trying fervently to push the galling picture out of her mind, the doe re-asserts herself with a brisk nod. “Understood, sir. I, also, shall remain.”
The Captain looks at both Burnshyre and Myrtle respectively, giving each a slow and solomn nod. "Very well," he churrs, taking a moment to examine each rabbit before him. Burn's reaction doesn't go unnoticed and neither does Myrtle's, and although Blackbriar is well aware of the mental capacity of both rabbits, only the deciding vote shall decide the fate of Hawthorn and these two. "Then let us begin: Myrtle, I will start with you. Your question is this: Many of our rabbits have been struck with a disease that no one can trace. It is swift and deadly, and many are infected. Dissention reigns underground, and chaos is near. As Chief, how would you remedy this situation?"
Burnshyre can't help but issue a soft snort as the doe decides she's up for the challenge, but he won't let someone like her ruin his chances and rising to the top of the pile. The young buck visibly withers under Blackbriar's level stare, though, and is content to remain silent for the time being. He catches Mrytle's glance and the corner's of his muzzle twitch in a grimace, but as Blackbriar speaks and begins to trial, Burn' doesn't get his chance for a biting remark... or a bite. Hrpmh. He snuffles a little, and decides to idly wash his forepaws while he's not being addressed.
Sunflower tilts her head and smiles some at the wink she gets from Myrtle, she's already winning over the kit's vote. Not that there votes really matter seeing how all the other adults will be sure to voice there opinoin. Her sister's murmur around her along with a few other kits and she gives them all a look which makes them all hush rather quickly. Look who's turning out more like dear 'ol dad, mere looks causes them to hush!
Myrtle takes a few, careful moments to internally deliberate this question, turning the possibilities over and over within her mind. While the cogs of her brain are working feverishly, the doe keeps her eyes firmly closed, pointedly ignoring the sour looks intermittently thrown at her by her opponent. Finally, what seems to be the most suitable answer is withdrawn from the depths of her mind, and placed carefully upon her tongue. It teeters there for a just a moment longer before being given hard, clearly audible voice: “This is what I would do. You have told me that the disease is untraceable, and all those who meet it are instantly taken by it. The first thing I would do, then, would be to immediately quarantine in a separate chamber all those who were infected, so that the sickness could not spread further. Judicious care, of course, would be given to the ill- a select few would be designated to care for them, and they would be required to don a full bodily covering (perhaps of chaff, or some such material – something is better than nothing, however crude) that would be thoroughly washed the instant they left the unit of care. In the meantime, the efforts of those who were neither sick nor busy tending the sick would be poured into finding a cure of some sort, or at the very least, an alleviation. Those rabbits who are young and can run fastest would be dispatched to find a cure as quickly as possible; beasts would be questioned, acclaimed healers sought after. A guard would be posted both at the entrance to the quarantine chamber and at the entrance to the warren, so as to ensure that no-one could get through without personal permission of the chief.” As the doe wraps up, she gives another brisk nod. “And that is what I would do, sir, were I Chieftain in that situation.”
The entire Honeycomb falls deathly silent, perhaps only the slightest sounds of breathing can be heard as the doe gives her reply to Blackbriar's rather horrifying question. Still, a situation like the one he described would call for leadership and Myrtle's response seems to resonate through the gathering. What were once murmurs of astonishment and snickering turns into nods of approval and quiet chatting back and forth. The entire underground hums. Once it's clear that she has finished, Blackbriar gives he a slow nod and even a soft smile. "Thank you, Mrytle." Shifting his position, the buck then turns to
Burn' to whom he gives his stern, business-like demenour. "Burnshyre, your question is the same. The warren is set with a dangerous disease that cannot be traced. Many are sick and dying. Many are frightened and on the verge of revolt. What would you do to remedy the situation as Chief?"
Burnshyre's ears flick backwards slightly, irritated at the noises coming from those around him once the doe is finished answering the stupid question. He snorts indignantly, placing his paws down on the ground and casting a cold, steady glare at Myrtle. The young buck doesn't have time to be snarky at her as Blackbriar turns his attention on him, and he draws himself up to his full height. Burn' nods his head briskly, twisting his ears round as he gives a rather immediate response. "This is what I would do: If the disease were untraceable, then there would be no way of finding a cure because there are no ways to prevent it. There would be no garuntee quarenteen would effectively stop the spread, and so every rabbit that shows even a trace of the disease would be driven away. Some might question that wisdom, but in such a case the safety of the many outweight the unfortunate circumstaces of the few." With a final, curt nod, Burnshyre preens his ears and settles himself down, "That.. is what I would do.
Sunflower maw twitches, her ears lower at the question and she peers from her father to Mrytle listioning and waits. Her ears wiggles and twitch much like someone who would clentch and unclentch there hands. She smiles as she hears Myrtle's answer and nods a bit seeming to agree toher answers. Ya she might be a kit but she's a rather smart one for her age. Her gaze bounces over to Burn waiting and twitching as she can only guess what his answer might be. "An what if you had the disease?" She questions rather quickly while sitting up stright herself, ears standing stright and forepaws pulled to her chest while her fur is a but fluffed up to help carry her question better over the voices of the others. She wants a answer!
At this, a great rumbling surges through the gathered throng like a shockwave- only a low sort of grumble at first, but rapidly gathering strength and depth as it’s picked up by each rabbit until it resounds across the surface of the entire Honeycomb. The thunderous reverberation fades away after a long moment, broken into separate pieces of agitated chattering back and forth as individual mutterings break out all over the room. Some of the elder rabbits rock back and forth on their heels, clearly shocked by the reply, and a low, drawn-out murmur can be heard running through the crowd: “Driven away. Driven away. This fellow would drive away those of his own warren. Can you believe it?”
In the midst of the booming of the crowd, Myrtle alone remains silent, although she, too, is taken aback by the brusqueness of the response. By way of agitated instinct, the doe slicks her ears back against the compounding noise, striving to let no emotion show on her face. It seemed to be working: the mad fluttering within her chest seemed to have at least died down somewhat, and her composure gleams triumphant in the light of the cavern. Raising her voice slightly above the level of the crowd so as to make herself audible, Myrtle seizes the opportunity to call out: “Burnshyre- do you realize what you are saying? If the rabbits who are infected are allowed out into the world, then what is to stop the disease from spreading further, as blight spreads through a corn crop? The animals of the meadow would catch it first, and then those of the forest, and the mountains, and the woodlands, and the settlements- until the fate of everybeast is sealed. You will have doomed us all.”
Even Blackbriar's face shows a flicker of shock, his ears pricking ever so slightly as he eyes the young buck and listens to his horrifying description of his choice course of action. The officer's behind him join into the disgruntled and worried murmurs, too, but with a quick glance over his shoulder he silences his ranks. Now, for the rest of the warren. He lets the chatter die down naturally, but as it does and Myrtle speaks, it is only her voice that rises above everything else across the cavern. A surprised blink is given when even his daughter Sunflower stands and issues her own challenge of words.
Blackbriar issues a deep burr from within his chest and rises to his hind paws, waiting for the place to settle completely. When it does, his intense gaze shifts to Burnshyre. "Well, young buck, two questions have been asked of you. Answer them."
Clearly taken aback, Burnshyre turns in alarm to face the gathering behind him, standing up on his hind legs in defiance of the outrage and in defense of his choice. The fur along the back of his neck bristles with aggitation, anger, and even fear. Although, when the litte kit pipes up and then when his opponent directly challenges him, Burnshyre bares his teeth. Blackbriar's interjection causes him to stumble, though, and he falls again to all fours before facing off to the two females. "A leader cannot abandon his post, sickness or no," the male offers rather weekly, and the murmurings in the crowd start up again. "There is no garuntee that this sickness would spread to other animals or any food supplies, so you cannot say that it would." He can't say that it couldn't, either. "When there is a crises there is a need for swift and final decisions, of which I have made. If you were afriad of getting this sickness, then you two wouldn't mind if your dying neighbor were as far from you as possible!" As he talks, Burn' becomes angry and more aggitated, his voice rising with each punctuated word. Oh boy.
Almost growling, Burnshyre turns against the crowd that is still thrumming with worried and strained conversation and stands upon his hind legs. He faces Blackbriar, staring with as much courage as he can muster into the Captains eyes. "Captain of the Owsla, I'm issuing a formal challenge of the right to succeed Rowanoak as Chief of this warren! It's always been strength of body before, not this! I demand the right to fight any challengers, and that means her!" He nearly snarls, dropping to all fours and whirling to face Myrtle with a deadly serious look in his eyes. The crowd ripples and space is given to the three rabbits. Everyone knows Burnshyre is right; they all just wished that he wasn't.
If the murmurings of the crowd had been merely agitated before, they were now absolutely frantic. Fearful glances are thrown directly at Myrtle, and edgy whisperings filled with sympathetic pity are what now run through the crowd like a cross-wind ruffling heads of wheat. Heads are shaken, and some of the rabbits turn away, unwilling to witness what they were sure would be an ignominious defeat for the ill-fated doe: although Burnshyre wasn’t overly enormous, he was all but massive compared to poor, tiny-framed Myrtle. “Poor gel… what is she going to do? She’ll be crushed to a furry pulp if he decides to jump on ‘er.” The doe that had accompanied Myrtle on her way in actually faints, sliding halfway down to the earthen floor before three other females manage to catch her and set her gently down. But in the midst of all this uproar, Myrtle herself lifts up a hand for silence. And although the fringes of her whiskers have gone deathly white, her face is calm, and her voice cuts through the anxieties of the crowd like a clear, cold beacon: ”Burnshyre is right. This is the way the law of our warren has always had it: it will not be me who breaks it. I accept the challenge.” Turning back to the larger rabbit, the small doe inclines her head respectfully, sinking into the obligatory bow that was customary for both opponents before a ritual duel.
Only Blackbriar remains still while the rest of the gathering shuffled uncomfortably in front of the two rabbits. While it seems that the vote would have been quite clear, Burn's challenge has caused great worry to coarse through the entire warren. The maleapproachs both Myrtle and Burnshyre, giving each a long and steady look. "As acting Chief, I'll announce the rules as follows: The first one of you to be flipped onto their back must concede defeat. There will not be a fight to the death. That is not what we are hear for. Burnshyre, Myrtle; this will not be a challenge of bloodshed." That said, he moves slowly off to one side, hunkering down my his daughter and placing a protective paw across her back. His face is stern, his expression is cold.
Burnshyre snorts and scrapes the floor of the Honeycomb with his nails, irritated and ready to crush the living daylights out of Myrtle. He doesn't much care for the rules; he's much more interested in the power. For him, the crowd is gone and only his opponent stands in his way. Burnshyre lumbers forward and bares his teeth, going for a quick and instant knock-out of hopefully the unsuspecting doe. He doesn't bother with the formalities. He just doesn't care. The rest of the warren, however, is watching closely... and they don't like what they see.
Sunflower glowers out at Burnshyre and snorts some while her chest fluffs home. Her attention turns to her father, whom she leans back against and a faint sigh escapes her. "I want Myrtle to win.." She murmurs faintly as the two go about fighting now.
Saying the crowd disliked what they saw would be a gross understatement. Some of the rabbits watching mortified from the audience now surged to their feet in anger, furious at this unfair maneuver put on by the big brute, but are quickly restrained by their fellows. Myrtle is alone. Eyes wide and painfully dry, she only has a moment to prepare herself before the maddened onslaught is upon her. With virtually nothing between her and a painful death, the slender doe manages to slip right past the gargantuan buck, whipping out a forepaw in a desperate attempt to trip him. It was a nice try, but was ultimately doomed to fail- it /might/ have worked, had not Burnshyre been standing two inches from her nose, causing his bulk to clip her side in a lightning-fast move and send her spinning heavily onto her stomach some yards away. The crowd gives a massive, collective groan: Myrtle wasn’t moving. Somewhere from the back of the crowd, a kit stands up and yells, “Big bully!”
"Don't worry," Blackbriar whispers down to Sunflower, taking a brief moment to smooth down some of her fur, "Myrtle will win." Although he is just as worried for the little doe as the rest of the gathering, he has done all he could as Captain of the Owsla; now.. it was up to her. His heart surges as she's knocked away and he very nearly stops the fight. He manages to stay put, but his dark eyes are locked upon the still doe.. watching for her chest movements. Up and down.. There. She's alive. She's breathing. She's.. waiting. All this doesn't register with Burnshyre, though, although the kit's jeer is echoed back with a gruesome snarl. The rabbits nearer the the front crowd together in case the brute decided to take it out on the youngest, but Burnshyre instead turns on the now still Myrtle with a air of glee. She's down, now came the easy part. The buck charges forward again, his forepaws spreading wide as he bounds towards vcitory!
Sunflower gasps as she watches Myrtle get knocked aside.. "Hey!" She half cries out but is quick to hush down and swallow as she watches Buck come racing forward to trample the falling Myrtle it seems..
Myrtle is indeed down. But, down for the count? Not quite. As Blackbriar had correctly discerned, the doe was faking it (although the breath /had/ been knocked clean out of her body when she’d landed), lying facedown with her eyes wide open, limbs at the ready. The dust of the ground brushes unpleasantly onto the cusp of her bottom lip, and she is forced to patiently endure the execrable taste of moist earth so as not to give herself away prematurely. It seemed the doe had one last, desperate trick up her sleeve, and she chose this crucial moment to put it into play: as the juggernaut stampedes toward her once again, hell-bent on a bloody blietzkrieg, Myrtle springs up the last second like a jack-in-the-box, whipping out low both of her powerfully muscled hind legs. Her hindquarters may not have been half as long or as girthy as Burnshyre’s, but she was a rabbit, and that alone counted for something. At the rate he was going, Burnshyre couldn’t possibly help but fall- and fall hard.
Burnshyre's heart soars despite the angered noises from the crowd and the large buck leaps towards Myrtle in an attempt to hurt her -- a lot. He's lost all concept of rules, large teeth barred in anticipation of ripping large chunks of the doe's fur from her neck. Seems like the heat of battle has made him stupid. Blackbriar on the otherpaw, is far from stupid, and sees what the buck has on his mind. He bolts upright, a deep barking noise issues from his chest as he lunges towards Burnshyre, hoping to put him off the doe in time.. but doubtful that he'll make it.
And he does fall, quite quickly in fact, his legs sprawling suddenly out from underneath him and the little doe somehow manages to keep him off balance long enough to flip him on to his back. A surprised gasp ripples through the crowd as the male goes down, and for a moment Burnshyre lays there in a daze. This pause gives Blackbriar time enough to work his way through his officers and get between the buck and Myrtle. He rises to his hindlegs and thumps the ground steadily for silence. A wary eye is kept upon Burnshyre as he staggers to his feet. "That is enough of this barbarism," he intones sharply, indicating that he really didn't want to do this in the first place, "It is clear that young Myrtle has won with her intelligence and compassion, and I will be proud to follow her as my Chieftain." That done, he nods to two officers to escort the seething Burnshyre outside. When the trio vanishes down one of the runs, Blackbriar falls to his forepaws and smiles at the doe. "Congratulations."
For a few moments, Myrtle merely stands where she is, mesmerized. She had collected enough of her wits to back off from Burnshyre when he had fallen to stand wearily with her back to the earthen wall, but other than that, she might as well have been staring into the headlights of some fast-approaching motor. Her shining eyes were glossy and glazed thickly over, as one who is in tharn, and her forepaws hung limply from her sides. The doe manages a dry-mouthed gulp, ears and eyes swiveling to meet both the fallen form of Burnshyre, and then up to Blackbriar’s face. Slowly, her lips part- and then, as though finally reacting to the hearty cheering echoing round the crevices of the Honeycomb, those lips curve into a truly heart-felt smile. She had done it- she had done it- but then, of course, she knew she would. Against a dunderheaded-excuse for a Lapine such as this? Such a victory was nearly a given. “Thank you, Frith,” is murmured breathlessly, all but inaudible to the roaring throng, but then- in a louder voice, “Thank you, Blackbriar.”
"You are welcome," Blackbriar whispers back to the young doe, his ears twitching in a mixture of elated excitement and sheer amazement. Not only is their new Chief a doe, but she has taken on a buck and won. This will be interesting indeed. The Captain then rises to his hind legs again, thumping steadily until the Honeycomb quiets once again. There are still some excited murmurs, some of them even beginning to turn to concern about a doe being in charge, but a quick eye from Blackbriar silences everything; for now. "Please, address your warren," he coaxes gently as he returns to all fours.
Interesting? Perhaps interesting wouldn’t be quite the right word, is the thought that wryly crosses Myrtle’s brain. Interesting it certainly would be- and in consideration of the physical ordeal she had just gone through, her trials weren’t over yet- rather, they had just begun.
So as it is, the log *technically* isn't done, but it's close enough. Enjoy. <3Warren - Honeycomb
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Myrtle - Female underdog (underrabbit?)
Blackbriar - Captain of Owsla
Sunflower - Blackbriar's kit
Burnshyre (spoofed by Blackbriar) - Contending bully.
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The mood across the entire warren has been quiet for some time as the echoes of old Rowanoak's death still linger in the underground caverns. Most of the residents are subdued and uninterested in even going above ground to feed and warm themselves in the sun; it seems life has come to a near stand still. It is this that has caused Captain Blackbriar to rouse not only himself but the entire warren with a heavy, steady thumping of his hind leg on the floor of the Honeycomb. It is not an alarm, but an assembly. Slowly, bodies begin to slink into the great cavernous structure as rabbit settle themselves against roots and smooth walls. Murmurs echo across the warren, but Blackbriar continues his steady thumping until one of his officers comes close to whisper that all are in attendance.
The Captain stops then, settling himself down on his haunches in order to rise above the other rabbits still on all fours. His nose twitches in the dim light, taking in the scent of earth and saddness, but the Owsla leader doesn't let him demenour change or his stature droop. Blackbriar issues a little cough, quieting the gathering before speaking, "As you all know, we have been mourning the tragic loss of Rowanoak." Here the dark rabbit pauses, letting his gaze rove over all those present. His attention lingers for a moment on his young daughter, his eyes twinkling a little before his serious nature kicks in
again. "But we cannot continue without a Chief, and so I have gathered you all here to decide who shall step up to take Rowanoak's place. He had no kits, and gave no indication who he would like as his successor, so it falls to me to choose. Those rabbits strong enough, please, step forwards." That done, Blackbriar falls silent, and waits.
The said daughter that is looked upon is rather quiet where she sits merely eyeing the ground. This would be Sunflower's first dealing with death and she doesn't like it one bit. A ear twitches now and then as she listions to what her father says but her attention is else where. The kit had known the leader thanks to her parents ranking in the colony, she liked the old leader even if he was rather senile at times. She takes in a breath and snuffles some while lifting her head to peer at her father as he goes on talking about picking a new leader.
Upon hearing the first ‘thump’ of solicitation, the tips of Myrtle’s deftly rounded ears had been among the first to perk up, as did those of all the others in the vicinity- wary for an upset, an indication of danger present. But assurance was upon them- the thumps were stolid and steadfast, occurring at uniform intervals; far different from the agitated footfalls that signified an alarm. And so it was that the small-framed doe had been among the first to arrive, accompanied by a female friend with whom she was engaged in a low conversation. Only quiet phrases and sporadic nods were exchanged, and even these were soon dropped upon emergence into the cavern- the atmosphere clearly required a state of solemnity from all present. Both Myrtle and her companion remain silent during the duration of the Captain’s speech, merely two more faces indistinguishable from the crowd of others inhabiting the confined space. But the moment Blackbriar draws his speech to a close, Myrtle is instantly among only two amongst the gathering who deigned to step forward, cool, grim-faced, interminably self-assured - despite her heavily beating heart and the shocked stares and murmurs accompanying her momentous shift.
He waits for a moment, but as the murmurings that were at first only quiet grow, he tenses and thumps his foot down until there is silence once again. His stern gaze slides over the entire Honeycomb before settling on the two candidates that stepped up. Blackbriar's ears twitch slightly, but little else. "Let it be noted that Burnshyre and Myrtle have expressed that they are willing to lead us." That said, the buck pauses and settles himself a bit more comfortably on all fours, giving both young rabbits a close examination. He coughs, "For both of you, I will ask a single question. Each will give your answer in turn. Based on your answers, I will ask all those gathered who is more suited to become Chieftain. Majority rules. This is a special case, as I've said, because Rowanoak had no heirs. If you still wish to prove yourselves, then remain, if not, no one will chastise either of you for stepping down."
Burnshyre had comes with the rest of the warren and almost muscled his way to the front when Blackbriar called for all interested parties. He had thought that this would be an easy ride to the top because of the sad mood that prevailed over Hawthorn, but as a doe of all creatures steps up with him, his face becomes dour indeed. The young buck draws himself up as much as he can, keeping his ears erect and his chest swelled, trying to appear that much better than his competition. As the Captain dictates the rules, Burnshyre faulters slightly; he thought it was going to be a test of strength. Fighting back an indignant snort, the male twitches his nose and issues a nod, "Aye, I understand. I'll remain."
Sunflower watches and listions quietly, she blinks as Myrtle moves forward and tilts her head while her sister's murmure around her. She quickly shhs them with a tilt of her head which lifts as she sits up more, rather curious to see what might happen. Her nose wiggles while her gaze drifts over to Burn and she makes a face as he goes up and stays there. She doesn't really like that one, his ego bigger then the colony itself when ever she hears him talk about something. Oo questions.. Well then Myrtle should have that without a problem seeing how Burn has no brain to think up answers with.
A sidelong glance is shot at the rather overinflated male standing but a few yards away, but no other inclination is made. Myrtle cups her ear-tips forward attentively, letting no outward sign of relief permeate her features- if what Blackbriar proposed was indeed to be, then Burn would be out of the running from the word ‘go.’ Great skies! No wonder he looked so angry. Catching the eye of the young kit, the doe tips a tiny wink before returning her attention to the floor, secretly amused by the reactionary expression etched on Sunflower’s face. This would be a comparatively easy trial, then- no excuse, however, to let her guard down now; Myrtle was far too experienced to let a simple, silly thing like pride overcome her primary objective. And besides, if this overblown buffoon were to become Hawthorn’s leader… trying fervently to push the galling picture out of her mind, the doe re-asserts herself with a brisk nod. “Understood, sir. I, also, shall remain.”
The Captain looks at both Burnshyre and Myrtle respectively, giving each a slow and solomn nod. "Very well," he churrs, taking a moment to examine each rabbit before him. Burn's reaction doesn't go unnoticed and neither does Myrtle's, and although Blackbriar is well aware of the mental capacity of both rabbits, only the deciding vote shall decide the fate of Hawthorn and these two. "Then let us begin: Myrtle, I will start with you. Your question is this: Many of our rabbits have been struck with a disease that no one can trace. It is swift and deadly, and many are infected. Dissention reigns underground, and chaos is near. As Chief, how would you remedy this situation?"
Burnshyre can't help but issue a soft snort as the doe decides she's up for the challenge, but he won't let someone like her ruin his chances and rising to the top of the pile. The young buck visibly withers under Blackbriar's level stare, though, and is content to remain silent for the time being. He catches Mrytle's glance and the corner's of his muzzle twitch in a grimace, but as Blackbriar speaks and begins to trial, Burn' doesn't get his chance for a biting remark... or a bite. Hrpmh. He snuffles a little, and decides to idly wash his forepaws while he's not being addressed.
Sunflower tilts her head and smiles some at the wink she gets from Myrtle, she's already winning over the kit's vote. Not that there votes really matter seeing how all the other adults will be sure to voice there opinoin. Her sister's murmur around her along with a few other kits and she gives them all a look which makes them all hush rather quickly. Look who's turning out more like dear 'ol dad, mere looks causes them to hush!
Myrtle takes a few, careful moments to internally deliberate this question, turning the possibilities over and over within her mind. While the cogs of her brain are working feverishly, the doe keeps her eyes firmly closed, pointedly ignoring the sour looks intermittently thrown at her by her opponent. Finally, what seems to be the most suitable answer is withdrawn from the depths of her mind, and placed carefully upon her tongue. It teeters there for a just a moment longer before being given hard, clearly audible voice: “This is what I would do. You have told me that the disease is untraceable, and all those who meet it are instantly taken by it. The first thing I would do, then, would be to immediately quarantine in a separate chamber all those who were infected, so that the sickness could not spread further. Judicious care, of course, would be given to the ill- a select few would be designated to care for them, and they would be required to don a full bodily covering (perhaps of chaff, or some such material – something is better than nothing, however crude) that would be thoroughly washed the instant they left the unit of care. In the meantime, the efforts of those who were neither sick nor busy tending the sick would be poured into finding a cure of some sort, or at the very least, an alleviation. Those rabbits who are young and can run fastest would be dispatched to find a cure as quickly as possible; beasts would be questioned, acclaimed healers sought after. A guard would be posted both at the entrance to the quarantine chamber and at the entrance to the warren, so as to ensure that no-one could get through without personal permission of the chief.” As the doe wraps up, she gives another brisk nod. “And that is what I would do, sir, were I Chieftain in that situation.”
The entire Honeycomb falls deathly silent, perhaps only the slightest sounds of breathing can be heard as the doe gives her reply to Blackbriar's rather horrifying question. Still, a situation like the one he described would call for leadership and Myrtle's response seems to resonate through the gathering. What were once murmurs of astonishment and snickering turns into nods of approval and quiet chatting back and forth. The entire underground hums. Once it's clear that she has finished, Blackbriar gives he a slow nod and even a soft smile. "Thank you, Mrytle." Shifting his position, the buck then turns to
Burn' to whom he gives his stern, business-like demenour. "Burnshyre, your question is the same. The warren is set with a dangerous disease that cannot be traced. Many are sick and dying. Many are frightened and on the verge of revolt. What would you do to remedy the situation as Chief?"
Burnshyre's ears flick backwards slightly, irritated at the noises coming from those around him once the doe is finished answering the stupid question. He snorts indignantly, placing his paws down on the ground and casting a cold, steady glare at Myrtle. The young buck doesn't have time to be snarky at her as Blackbriar turns his attention on him, and he draws himself up to his full height. Burn' nods his head briskly, twisting his ears round as he gives a rather immediate response. "This is what I would do: If the disease were untraceable, then there would be no way of finding a cure because there are no ways to prevent it. There would be no garuntee quarenteen would effectively stop the spread, and so every rabbit that shows even a trace of the disease would be driven away. Some might question that wisdom, but in such a case the safety of the many outweight the unfortunate circumstaces of the few." With a final, curt nod, Burnshyre preens his ears and settles himself down, "That.. is what I would do.
Sunflower maw twitches, her ears lower at the question and she peers from her father to Mrytle listioning and waits. Her ears wiggles and twitch much like someone who would clentch and unclentch there hands. She smiles as she hears Myrtle's answer and nods a bit seeming to agree toher answers. Ya she might be a kit but she's a rather smart one for her age. Her gaze bounces over to Burn waiting and twitching as she can only guess what his answer might be. "An what if you had the disease?" She questions rather quickly while sitting up stright herself, ears standing stright and forepaws pulled to her chest while her fur is a but fluffed up to help carry her question better over the voices of the others. She wants a answer!
At this, a great rumbling surges through the gathered throng like a shockwave- only a low sort of grumble at first, but rapidly gathering strength and depth as it’s picked up by each rabbit until it resounds across the surface of the entire Honeycomb. The thunderous reverberation fades away after a long moment, broken into separate pieces of agitated chattering back and forth as individual mutterings break out all over the room. Some of the elder rabbits rock back and forth on their heels, clearly shocked by the reply, and a low, drawn-out murmur can be heard running through the crowd: “Driven away. Driven away. This fellow would drive away those of his own warren. Can you believe it?”
In the midst of the booming of the crowd, Myrtle alone remains silent, although she, too, is taken aback by the brusqueness of the response. By way of agitated instinct, the doe slicks her ears back against the compounding noise, striving to let no emotion show on her face. It seemed to be working: the mad fluttering within her chest seemed to have at least died down somewhat, and her composure gleams triumphant in the light of the cavern. Raising her voice slightly above the level of the crowd so as to make herself audible, Myrtle seizes the opportunity to call out: “Burnshyre- do you realize what you are saying? If the rabbits who are infected are allowed out into the world, then what is to stop the disease from spreading further, as blight spreads through a corn crop? The animals of the meadow would catch it first, and then those of the forest, and the mountains, and the woodlands, and the settlements- until the fate of everybeast is sealed. You will have doomed us all.”
Even Blackbriar's face shows a flicker of shock, his ears pricking ever so slightly as he eyes the young buck and listens to his horrifying description of his choice course of action. The officer's behind him join into the disgruntled and worried murmurs, too, but with a quick glance over his shoulder he silences his ranks. Now, for the rest of the warren. He lets the chatter die down naturally, but as it does and Myrtle speaks, it is only her voice that rises above everything else across the cavern. A surprised blink is given when even his daughter Sunflower stands and issues her own challenge of words.
Blackbriar issues a deep burr from within his chest and rises to his hind paws, waiting for the place to settle completely. When it does, his intense gaze shifts to Burnshyre. "Well, young buck, two questions have been asked of you. Answer them."
Clearly taken aback, Burnshyre turns in alarm to face the gathering behind him, standing up on his hind legs in defiance of the outrage and in defense of his choice. The fur along the back of his neck bristles with aggitation, anger, and even fear. Although, when the litte kit pipes up and then when his opponent directly challenges him, Burnshyre bares his teeth. Blackbriar's interjection causes him to stumble, though, and he falls again to all fours before facing off to the two females. "A leader cannot abandon his post, sickness or no," the male offers rather weekly, and the murmurings in the crowd start up again. "There is no garuntee that this sickness would spread to other animals or any food supplies, so you cannot say that it would." He can't say that it couldn't, either. "When there is a crises there is a need for swift and final decisions, of which I have made. If you were afriad of getting this sickness, then you two wouldn't mind if your dying neighbor were as far from you as possible!" As he talks, Burn' becomes angry and more aggitated, his voice rising with each punctuated word. Oh boy.
Almost growling, Burnshyre turns against the crowd that is still thrumming with worried and strained conversation and stands upon his hind legs. He faces Blackbriar, staring with as much courage as he can muster into the Captains eyes. "Captain of the Owsla, I'm issuing a formal challenge of the right to succeed Rowanoak as Chief of this warren! It's always been strength of body before, not this! I demand the right to fight any challengers, and that means her!" He nearly snarls, dropping to all fours and whirling to face Myrtle with a deadly serious look in his eyes. The crowd ripples and space is given to the three rabbits. Everyone knows Burnshyre is right; they all just wished that he wasn't.
If the murmurings of the crowd had been merely agitated before, they were now absolutely frantic. Fearful glances are thrown directly at Myrtle, and edgy whisperings filled with sympathetic pity are what now run through the crowd like a cross-wind ruffling heads of wheat. Heads are shaken, and some of the rabbits turn away, unwilling to witness what they were sure would be an ignominious defeat for the ill-fated doe: although Burnshyre wasn’t overly enormous, he was all but massive compared to poor, tiny-framed Myrtle. “Poor gel… what is she going to do? She’ll be crushed to a furry pulp if he decides to jump on ‘er.” The doe that had accompanied Myrtle on her way in actually faints, sliding halfway down to the earthen floor before three other females manage to catch her and set her gently down. But in the midst of all this uproar, Myrtle herself lifts up a hand for silence. And although the fringes of her whiskers have gone deathly white, her face is calm, and her voice cuts through the anxieties of the crowd like a clear, cold beacon: ”Burnshyre is right. This is the way the law of our warren has always had it: it will not be me who breaks it. I accept the challenge.” Turning back to the larger rabbit, the small doe inclines her head respectfully, sinking into the obligatory bow that was customary for both opponents before a ritual duel.
Only Blackbriar remains still while the rest of the gathering shuffled uncomfortably in front of the two rabbits. While it seems that the vote would have been quite clear, Burn's challenge has caused great worry to coarse through the entire warren. The maleapproachs both Myrtle and Burnshyre, giving each a long and steady look. "As acting Chief, I'll announce the rules as follows: The first one of you to be flipped onto their back must concede defeat. There will not be a fight to the death. That is not what we are hear for. Burnshyre, Myrtle; this will not be a challenge of bloodshed." That said, he moves slowly off to one side, hunkering down my his daughter and placing a protective paw across her back. His face is stern, his expression is cold.
Burnshyre snorts and scrapes the floor of the Honeycomb with his nails, irritated and ready to crush the living daylights out of Myrtle. He doesn't much care for the rules; he's much more interested in the power. For him, the crowd is gone and only his opponent stands in his way. Burnshyre lumbers forward and bares his teeth, going for a quick and instant knock-out of hopefully the unsuspecting doe. He doesn't bother with the formalities. He just doesn't care. The rest of the warren, however, is watching closely... and they don't like what they see.
Sunflower glowers out at Burnshyre and snorts some while her chest fluffs home. Her attention turns to her father, whom she leans back against and a faint sigh escapes her. "I want Myrtle to win.." She murmurs faintly as the two go about fighting now.
Saying the crowd disliked what they saw would be a gross understatement. Some of the rabbits watching mortified from the audience now surged to their feet in anger, furious at this unfair maneuver put on by the big brute, but are quickly restrained by their fellows. Myrtle is alone. Eyes wide and painfully dry, she only has a moment to prepare herself before the maddened onslaught is upon her. With virtually nothing between her and a painful death, the slender doe manages to slip right past the gargantuan buck, whipping out a forepaw in a desperate attempt to trip him. It was a nice try, but was ultimately doomed to fail- it /might/ have worked, had not Burnshyre been standing two inches from her nose, causing his bulk to clip her side in a lightning-fast move and send her spinning heavily onto her stomach some yards away. The crowd gives a massive, collective groan: Myrtle wasn’t moving. Somewhere from the back of the crowd, a kit stands up and yells, “Big bully!”
"Don't worry," Blackbriar whispers down to Sunflower, taking a brief moment to smooth down some of her fur, "Myrtle will win." Although he is just as worried for the little doe as the rest of the gathering, he has done all he could as Captain of the Owsla; now.. it was up to her. His heart surges as she's knocked away and he very nearly stops the fight. He manages to stay put, but his dark eyes are locked upon the still doe.. watching for her chest movements. Up and down.. There. She's alive. She's breathing. She's.. waiting. All this doesn't register with Burnshyre, though, although the kit's jeer is echoed back with a gruesome snarl. The rabbits nearer the the front crowd together in case the brute decided to take it out on the youngest, but Burnshyre instead turns on the now still Myrtle with a air of glee. She's down, now came the easy part. The buck charges forward again, his forepaws spreading wide as he bounds towards vcitory!
Sunflower gasps as she watches Myrtle get knocked aside.. "Hey!" She half cries out but is quick to hush down and swallow as she watches Buck come racing forward to trample the falling Myrtle it seems..
Myrtle is indeed down. But, down for the count? Not quite. As Blackbriar had correctly discerned, the doe was faking it (although the breath /had/ been knocked clean out of her body when she’d landed), lying facedown with her eyes wide open, limbs at the ready. The dust of the ground brushes unpleasantly onto the cusp of her bottom lip, and she is forced to patiently endure the execrable taste of moist earth so as not to give herself away prematurely. It seemed the doe had one last, desperate trick up her sleeve, and she chose this crucial moment to put it into play: as the juggernaut stampedes toward her once again, hell-bent on a bloody blietzkrieg, Myrtle springs up the last second like a jack-in-the-box, whipping out low both of her powerfully muscled hind legs. Her hindquarters may not have been half as long or as girthy as Burnshyre’s, but she was a rabbit, and that alone counted for something. At the rate he was going, Burnshyre couldn’t possibly help but fall- and fall hard.
Burnshyre's heart soars despite the angered noises from the crowd and the large buck leaps towards Myrtle in an attempt to hurt her -- a lot. He's lost all concept of rules, large teeth barred in anticipation of ripping large chunks of the doe's fur from her neck. Seems like the heat of battle has made him stupid. Blackbriar on the otherpaw, is far from stupid, and sees what the buck has on his mind. He bolts upright, a deep barking noise issues from his chest as he lunges towards Burnshyre, hoping to put him off the doe in time.. but doubtful that he'll make it.
And he does fall, quite quickly in fact, his legs sprawling suddenly out from underneath him and the little doe somehow manages to keep him off balance long enough to flip him on to his back. A surprised gasp ripples through the crowd as the male goes down, and for a moment Burnshyre lays there in a daze. This pause gives Blackbriar time enough to work his way through his officers and get between the buck and Myrtle. He rises to his hindlegs and thumps the ground steadily for silence. A wary eye is kept upon Burnshyre as he staggers to his feet. "That is enough of this barbarism," he intones sharply, indicating that he really didn't want to do this in the first place, "It is clear that young Myrtle has won with her intelligence and compassion, and I will be proud to follow her as my Chieftain." That done, he nods to two officers to escort the seething Burnshyre outside. When the trio vanishes down one of the runs, Blackbriar falls to his forepaws and smiles at the doe. "Congratulations."
For a few moments, Myrtle merely stands where she is, mesmerized. She had collected enough of her wits to back off from Burnshyre when he had fallen to stand wearily with her back to the earthen wall, but other than that, she might as well have been staring into the headlights of some fast-approaching motor. Her shining eyes were glossy and glazed thickly over, as one who is in tharn, and her forepaws hung limply from her sides. The doe manages a dry-mouthed gulp, ears and eyes swiveling to meet both the fallen form of Burnshyre, and then up to Blackbriar’s face. Slowly, her lips part- and then, as though finally reacting to the hearty cheering echoing round the crevices of the Honeycomb, those lips curve into a truly heart-felt smile. She had done it- she had done it- but then, of course, she knew she would. Against a dunderheaded-excuse for a Lapine such as this? Such a victory was nearly a given. “Thank you, Frith,” is murmured breathlessly, all but inaudible to the roaring throng, but then- in a louder voice, “Thank you, Blackbriar.”
"You are welcome," Blackbriar whispers back to the young doe, his ears twitching in a mixture of elated excitement and sheer amazement. Not only is their new Chief a doe, but she has taken on a buck and won. This will be interesting indeed. The Captain then rises to his hind legs again, thumping steadily until the Honeycomb quiets once again. There are still some excited murmurs, some of them even beginning to turn to concern about a doe being in charge, but a quick eye from Blackbriar silences everything; for now. "Please, address your warren," he coaxes gently as he returns to all fours.
Interesting? Perhaps interesting wouldn’t be quite the right word, is the thought that wryly crosses Myrtle’s brain. Interesting it certainly would be- and in consideration of the physical ordeal she had just gone through, her trials weren’t over yet- rather, they had just begun.