multiversallogs | i never thought much of the courage of a lion tamer

Who: Jaime Lannister and Fauxlivia Dunham
What: Monsters are nothing more than animals, having a bad day.
Where: Sangwine.
When: Right now!!
Warnings: Animal death. 8(

Sometimes, trouble just finds you. Jaime may have a talent of running headfirst into it, but that can only account for half of the situation he's in now.

One of the horses is already dead, half-gutted, half-eaten. It's famously known by contemporary society that female lions are the true hunters, but this one finds itself quite without a pride to tend to his every whim. A fighter himself, muscular, mane bushy and nearly black where it isn't golden, his muzzle rosy red and dripping. The dead gelding is a mess where it lays, still tangled in the rigging that ties it to abandoned carriage, and its partner-- miraculously still alive and miraculously uninjured. But after the lion had slow-choked its partner, it will only be a matter of time before he improves the size of his dinner.

Around him, the cobbled street is mostly dead in its abandonment, the hour grown dusky and late in the date. The little Sangwine village has emptied, more or less, as people temporarily relocated for the safety of Sobek Croix. Athough Jaime had expected to find looters upon venturing out, this was a little more than he'd bargained for. Smarter men would probably fuck off around now.

Instead, as he does so many times in his life, he draws his sword.

A flowerpot that had been sitting innocently on the sill of a nearby window is sharply hurled, breaking against the lion's shoulder and spattering dirt and pottery. The horse, the one that's still alive, shrills and tugs more against its restraints, the carriage rocking but ultimately going no where when still attached to the unmoving carcass. The smell of the predator is an assault on the gelding's senses, hooves working against the cobble as if it might break out into a useless attempt of a gallop at any moment.

But the lion turns for this new distraction, and Jaime's mind goes to the more savage carnival shows, where both fighters and criminals were thrown into pits for the purpose of besting the beast or getting jeered at while being consumed. It's not the most heartening thought. He still smiles, a little. He likes and is irritated by the poetry of this.

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Holy shit, it's a lion. Of all the things Olivia's seen since she's arrived here, and further more since reality kind of broke, she's actually surprised by the presence of something as mundane as a lion.

There are times when the pistol held tightly in her hand doesn't pack enough fire power. Like now, probably. She's far enough down the lane that she hasn't been spotted by the beast yet, but she can smell the blood in the air just as clearly as that frightened horse can. There's something in her inherently against shooting a species as endangered (in her world) as a lion, but any misgivings she might have are derailed when that flowerpot shatters against his side.

Jaime receives an incredulous look. She supposes that's one way of handling it.

Jaime has armor with the emblem of lions embossed across the leather and metal. Not here, anyway, although perhaps he may commission such on a particularly homesick whim. Much like the direwolf of the Starks, and the roaming great cats of contemporary Earth, such beasts don't simply walk down the street, and perhaps back in Westoros, even Jaime might fancy himself superstitious enough not to fell such a creature. (Or not.)

Out here, it's alone, and the dead horse could well be someone stubbornly left behind, or the next person come to investigate the little ghost town, or the next band of Baedalites attempting to get to the safety of Sobek Croix.

The lion silently refocuses on the knight, giant paws spreading its steps on the cobble as it lumbers around, mouth gaped open with strings of saliva and blood both. Jaime probably seems like easy enough prey, the sword a meaningless thing, and he wonders if he's really going to best the lion or if his remains will be buried by Tyrion. It's a giddy sort of thought, and he knows he has to try, or find some clever method of escape if he begins to fail.

He sees the woman out the corner of his eye, suddenly, a glance of recognition, just as the lion abruptly steers around and rises up, all teeth and one huge swiping paw. The edge of Jaime's sword catches the feline in the face, steering it off, and then another to deny it a second attempt, both of them ever moving in a circle.

Edited 2012-03-12 11:04 (UTC)

Of all the moments that could seem surreal after (mostly, somewhat) acclimating to Baedal, watching a man fight a lion with a sword really should not rank. And it isn't that she's disinclined to simply shoot the beast to ensure that the knight won't come to harm, but she's actually short on ammunition. If she's going to shoot, she's going to make sure it counts.

For now, she looks for higher ground, a perch. Somewhere she can fire from and possibly not have to promptly scramble to avoid the charge of an angry lion in retaliation. Cautiously, she makes her approach.

"You make a habit of this?" Query deceptively casual as she steps up onto an overturned rubbish bin and pulls herself onto a low rooftop.

If the lion was as ferocious as its smaller counterparts, and not already drooling from exhaustion and gluttony, this would probably not be faring so well for Jaime. The fight has not become thick and fast, the predator still circling as if judging what to do about the metal needle being waved in between it and its next meal. Jaime, more lion tamer than combatant for a few blessed moments, spares a glance towards where Olivia is making her approach. One of safety or good range, he can't tell. She doesn't appear to be holding a projectile he knows much about.

"Not specifically," he says, and he sounds quite calm even if he isn't really taking his eyes off the yellow stare from the lion. But generally, yes, Jaime does make a habit of putting himself in these situations. "Are you planning to--"

What he was going to say gets cut off when the beast suddenly rears with the intent to enfold Jaime in its paws and closed its jaws anywhere between his throat and face. He moves, bringing up his sword to slide its edge along the exposed joint of front leg and body, and keeps moving before one massive paw can take his head off. He lands awkwardly, rolling, sword held out of the way and clattering against the cobble stone. Spatters of blood glistening in the thick mane of the beast show that his sword didn't just cut into protective fur, but it didn't slow it down much either.

Unable to get up before the lion can redouble its efforts, Jaime two handedly swings his sword from his back, catching the lion in the mouth hard and sharp enough to turn its head.

At least he hasn't said anything sexist yet.

Edited 2012-03-18 05:05 (UTC)

BANG!

Was the question shoot it? Because that's what Olivia just did. The bullet buries itself somewhere in the lion's shoulder, but doesn't disable it. Inhaling slow and deep, she watches him stagger, lining up a second shot, while also tracking Jaime's next movement. If she misses, or if the bullet passes through (she's never tried to kill a lion before, okay?), it could hit the man. And that would rather defeat the purpose of protecting him.

Not having said anything sexist does improve his chances of avoiding collateral damage.

The sound is loud, abrupt, and nothing that Jaime is particularly used to. The shot drives the lion aside, whipping around with a snarl, while the large blonde man on the ground flinches as well, an arm going up compulsively to protect himself. By the time the gunshot is echoing off the further reaches of the landscape, Jaime allows himself a moment to squint-stare up towards her perch.

It's all the time he receives, as he uses the rest to get to his feet, sword dragging against the ground as he brings it with. He's quick to strike again, almost teasing blows to its head and heavily protected throat until the lion once again surges up in an effort to drag Jaime down. This time, the sword finds that vulnerable underside, point biting flesh and digging, turning the lion aside.

A flash of a paw, as big as a frying pan, finds Jaime's shoulder, slicing leather as if it were paper.

Jaime doesn't make a sound, but does twist away, sword coming away scarlet as the lion lands hard on his side. The knight is backing up with some distance, now, sword held out front as the lion wrestles with its own injury and sense of hurt while red streaks across its belly, smearing up its flank.

Slowly, Olivia exhales, watching the lion writhe on the ground for a moment before she begins to move again, taking the drop off the roof again and moving toward Jaime somewhat cautiously. He's still holding a sword, after all. But her gun isn't trained on him.

Her green eyes track over his wound before coming up to the man's face. "You all right?"

"Never better." He can only sort of feel it; his heart is racing in a way he enjoys, out of place with the pain that bites into his shoulder. Blood is bright and clear, torn flesh beneath torn fabric, but Jaime will likely be lifting swords again even if this one is held in his better hand while the other arm hangs at his side.

His breathing is even, but his eyes are bright from the rush of this little contest. Red streaks his sword, and the lion is groaning, instead of snarling. Jaime looks to her, then, studying her face quickly and then the object in her hands.

He wants to see it again. "The honours are yours," he says, wry, sword tipping in a gesture of shrugging.

It doesn't feel much like honour as Olivia points and shoots, delivering the killing blow to the lion with precision that spatters blood and brain across pavement. She barely has to look, or think about it. It feels cold, and ruthless, even if she does silently apologise in her head. Kill or be killed, however, goes the saying.

"You mind if I escort you to one of the safe houses? You should have that injury looked at."

i never thought much of the courage of a lion tamer

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