[Bonfire Solo] Food All The Time! [Death in the Afternoon]

[Soldier of Song]

The Festival of Plenty had been the perfect opportunity for Death in the Afternoon to find a captive audience for his latest tales of bravado. It wasn't hard to find a group of kin lounging in the warmth of the flames eager for some stories, and while there was plenty of cajoling and scoffing at some of Bloodsport's more lurid descriptions of the beasts he'd encountered at the edges of the Swamp (really, he'd been out there!), he was enjoying himself. The fermented fruit they shared helped especially. Eventually, however, the topic moved from beast-fighting to beat-hunting, as the kin challenged Bloodsport to do a little more than just scuffling.

Well, when was he ever one to turn down a challenge?

 

[Soldier of Song]

Bloodsport noted he was, perhaps, just a bit unsteady on his hooves as he paced out to some hunting grounds not far from the festival. Despite that, he was feeling good. His senses were sharp and the blood running through his veins was fire. He was ready for a fight, moving his heavy hooves through the brush, blinking blearily as he swung his head around. Any second now, he'd find a creature to get the jump on, all right --

Instead, it was Bloodsport who jumped about a foot in the air as he heard the snarl of a lynx sound out not far in front of him. Quickly recovering, and so glad no one had been around to see that, he bellowed out a challenge of his own at the wily creature, charging forward, but the area had fallen silent again. Ha! That's what he thought!

 

[Soldier of Song]

While a fight with a lynx would have been quite thrilling, in the back of his mind, Bloodsport couldn't deny feeling the effects of the fermented fruit that had flown so freely. He wandered through the grounds with unfocused instinct, the silence of it pulling at him more and more. Before long, he found his way to a quiet clearing, no dense brush around for any animals to lurk in, no other kin tracks, just some dry grass that felt cool and comforting as he sunk down to his knees, and less gracefully, flopped onto his side.

Bloodsport dreamt of the fire, of creatures in it, a fight he couldn't possibly hope to win as every kick and thrust only brunt his flesh, and he dreamt of the lynx fighting his cheetah and not knowing who the victor was because he awoke with a start, unaware of just how much time had passed. Ah... that nap didn't do much to help, Bloodsport's stomach roiling as he picked himself up off the ground.

 

[Soldier of Song]

Retracing his steps, Bloodsport was relieved to find he hadn't meandered too far from the hunting grounds previously. While he felt sick, eating food the farthest thing from his mind, he didn't feel quite so impaired by the fruit as he had earlier. Maybe he'd be able to hunt a little something up after all.

Or maybe he'd step into some other kin's trap, the earth giving way beneath his hooves as he pitched into darkness with a bang. Bloodsport groaned at the bottom of the pit, the side he'd landed on burning with the pain of impact.

Maybe he'd just wait here for a while. Maybe something else would fall in, too, and he wouldn't have to return with nothing after all.

 

[Soldier of Song]

Bloodsport eventually did leave the pitfall trap, pulling himself up gracelessly with much flailing and kicking up of dust. Sore and throbbing all over, he made his way back to the festival, knowing he'd only be returning to laughter and scorn.

It was actually quite a relief when he found his little group all passed out. Bless you, fermented fruit. You cause and solve problems both.