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View character profile for: David 'Iceberg' Cornwall Roose
Hungry like the Wolf (Day 2 Evening->Day 3 Morning)
It was a hard climb back down out of the mountain, and he regretted not being a bit more persuasive with that doctor with the shuttle with every step of the way. The pair of wolf corpses had now fully bled out, leaving his backside a distinct shade redder than it usually was. That's the priced you paid for coming unprepared though, bloody jackets and cold meat was hardly the worst he had to deal with.
Once he got back in town he wasted no time going about his business. Took the wolves back to a tanner, peeled them himself and sold the hides for a more fresh deer carcass. He didn't mind the wolf stews too much, but his latest few rounds of trying them had gone...well he didn't need to worry about getting sick if you puked it up at least. So the fresher kill and the better meat were definitely welcome. Butcher's paid a few credits to grind up the wolves though, so at least now he had a little padding going his way as well. That is until he blew it all on some vegetables and fruits that he knew he probably didn't need but then again, he had a feeling this next stew could be a make or break kinda stew.
He didn't need to remind himself of the situation he was stuck in. With his groceries collected and no one else in town wanting to give him the time of day, he made his way to the small cabin that he called home. He used to much more well liked in town, hell he might have even qualified as something of a local celebrity, but things had changed in the last few years. After the war, everything just became so much more...complicated. He didn't want to dwell on it as he kicked set down his pack just before his small door. He let out a sigh as he ran a hand along the door, wooden and cut from years of mishaps and larger bones scraping through the doorway. Gods those had been good times.
Opening it now, the only mighty trophy left was the perilous dust bunnies huddled under his splinter box of a bed. He flicked the light switch and started counting a few seconds as he reached down and with some pain packed it back up onto his shoulders. The walls inside were slowly illuminated by the barely-functioning light. On the walls the marks where trophies and photos used to hang in what had been splendor brought the memories of a younger man.
God damn it was easier then. But he couldn't do anything about that at the moment, just do everything he could to keep pushing forward. And the first step of that was getting this stew right. Or at least something close enough to a stew. How hard could it be? Get some water, throw in meat and blood and just let it sit...right? He didn't like not knowing, and getting worried made him thirsty. He finished the Doc's 'Medicine' and started cutting up the vegetables and fruit with his Bowie knife...after he washed off the blood of course.
Everything in the pot going over a nice fire, and his own body groaning from fatigue David finally allowed sleep to overtake him. Stationed in his armchair, the only other piece of furniture he had kept besides the bed, he passed out.
Morning broke, but before the sun could crest into his eyes he already could smell the pot boiling over and some smoke caressing the metal hinges. Springing up from his chair he was met with a great deal of pain and gripped at his back and then to his knee as the stretch to his back through that out of place as well. He hobbled over to stove and cut the flame. His first attempt to grab the pot nearly burned his hand and he considered himself lucky for the first time in a while that his window was so iced over.
A few spare clothes substituted for a more proper grip and the smell of boiled meats, vegetables, and fruits filled the air. To his hungry belly it smelled like heaven, but he'd been wrong before. Either way though, it wasn't as if he could actually afford to pay the Doc for whatever help he was able to offer. Now it was just a matter of finding a ship just outside of town, hopefully before the stew got cold.