Life is hard for Nene and her unemployed 'Dog'
745Hololive's Nene Momosuzu plays ARK: Survival Evolved.
Original stream: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VpbKcOQRpI0
@MomosuzuNene
The ferns were unfurled and thick. There was no path but the one we blazed ourselves. Somewhere in all this green was a raptor, red in tooth and claw, ready to spill our guts without provocation. It was a circumstance I never thought I’d find myself in. By rights, I should’ve been scared out of my wits. But I wasn’t. I had The Pro with me, after all.
With her rancher’s hat and her swaggering gait, the jungle seemed to part for her like the proverbial seas.
Her hunting equipment consisted of two things: A compound bow with pulleys the size of Frisbees, nocked with an arrow that could spit roast an elephant; a ‘canine’ companion whose appearance was more akin to a depressed walrus than any kind of dog I had ever seen. Every now and then it would turn its head and look back and up at its master. I saw nothing but pain in those watery, rheum-afflicted eyes, but apparently its master saw something else. Wisdom, perhaps?
“This way, Laid-off?”
The creature nodded like a sad donkey.
“Everyone, stay in line. Our quarry is not far now.”
By ‘everyone’ I assumed she was referring to me since I was the only one following her. I did as she commanded and walked carefully in her footsteps.
“Raptors have an acute sense of hearing,” she said, loudly. “It is of the utmost importance that we keep verbal communication to the barest minimum. If you must say something, say it in the shortest and most direct way possible. If you can communicate in sign language, that would be ideal. To reiterate, now is not the time for long-winded monologues or extensive instructions on how to communicate when stealth is needed. Though, I must admit, this whole expedition reminds me of my time hunting mastodons under the shale-coloured shadow of Kilimanjaro. Many meditations did I have in those weeks. What does it mean to be a hunter? I deal in death, as you likely know. It is a sublime feeling, seeing your prey bleed out, looking up at you with glassy eyes, no doubt wondering, ‘Why?’. I often ask myself the same question. Why? Actually, I have quite a few theories—”
“Uh, Momosuzu?” I whispered.
“Shh! What did I just say about being quiet?”
I pointed ahead at what appeared to be a seven-foot-tall raptor standing in the open, studying us with a crocodile’s curiosity. It looked down at Laid-off, tilting its head as if it couldn’t quite decide whether the creature was suffering from a bevvy of birth defects or that’s just how it was supposed to look.
“Laid-off!” cried the hunter. “Duck!” She pulled on the drawstring of her bow, the pulleys whining under the strain. She loosed the arrow and, with a resounding twang, it whistled through the air and hit Laid-off broadside, taking him twenty yards further on and pinning him to a tree where he dangled like a piñata. “OH SHIT.”
At this point, I had seen enough. I’ll be the first to admit I acted like a coward. The truth is I simply wasn’t interested in being disembowelled. I turned and ran and ran and ran some more. When I had left the jungle behind, I braced myself on my thighs and tried to catch my breath. My mind continued to race long after my body had come to a stand-still. What was I going to tell the Park Manager? Who would hunt the raptor now? Why didn’t I take that cashier position at McDonalds?
My worries scattered like a swarm of flies blasted by a gale. The Pro emerged from the ferns wearing the skin of the raptor like Hercules wearing the pelt of the Nemean Lion. Behind her, Laid-off waddled diligently, a peach-shaped band-aid over his impalement boo-boo.
She walked up to me and said, “Problem solved.”
ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/leifmaplesson