No CGI (female) 6
Story by Tagenar on SoFurry
Never thought I'd revisit the central idea of Huvek. (https://furplanet.com/shop/item.aspx?itemid=729)) I think this is what I originally intended to do with it: knife-fight with a dinosaur. Now it has a different effect. Something more tangible.
No CGI (female) 6
by tagenar (https://www.furaffinity.net/user/tagenar | https://tagenar.sofurry.com/)
{Never thought I'd revisit the central idea of Huvek. (https://furplanet.com/shop/item.aspx?itemid=729) I think this is what I originally intended to do with it: knife-fight with a dinosaur. Now it has a different effect. Something more tangible.}
Charles had never been to any of the metro parks before. Until he looked it up, he hadn’t paid much attention to them. But when T called him at home and told him to meet her and J at this park whenever he could, he realized just how many public parks the city had.
This one seemed the most out of the way, and it was the largest. As he pulled into the parking lot, he noticed quite a few cars. Children playing on the swings and monkeybars.
When he stepped out, T’s scent hit him. He immediately turned and walked down the path across the grass, past the playgrounds and picnic tables and into the forest.
Difficult to believe forest this dense existed within city limits. Even more difficult to believe it didn’t go on forever. Charles paused and scented the air. T’s heat was coming from somewhere off the path, so he veered into the underbrush.
He went far enough in to lose sight of the bike trail/walking path, and then he noticed a red-scaled raptor sitting in a clearing. J was watching him, and he rose to full height as Charles came closer.
“Hi, J,” Charles said. “Where’s T?”
J bobbed from the neck, unfolding his claws. “She’s not here.”
Charles stopped about ten steps away from the dinosaur and stared. “I followed her scent.”
“She left a scent trail for you, then she ran [b]ack to the house. It’s just the two of us today.”
Charles clenched his teeth. He was about to speak when he noticed J was holding a plastic shopping bag from Wal-Mart in one hand. The raptor high-stepped like a chicken, keeping his head and neck at the same height.
“We can tell you’re frustrated. You want to do [m]ore, [b]ut you can’t, so I [b]ought you this. I’[m] here to teach you how to s[p]ar.”
He was two steps away. Charles always felt uneasy whenever J came close to him. He reached out and took the bag. He could see what was inside through the plastic. It was still in the box: a machete.
Charles took the box out and studied the design. Basic knife meant for cutting through vegetation. The picture on the box depicted a survivalist wearing camo, blazing a trail.
$29.98
A three-clawed hand set something else on top of the box. Charles looked up.
“Every father teaches his son how to s[p]ar. There’s a lot of etiquette [b]ecause we don’t have to fight each other over [m]ating rights any[m]ore. We do it to scratch an itch, and everything you do [b]reaks the rules, Charles.”
J drummed his claws on the box as he pulled his hand back. He had left a butter knife on top of the box.
“This will even things out. For now, let’s [p]ractice.”
J turned around and picked something up from the ground and slid them over his hands: a pair of large gloves that covered his claws in rubber.
“Where did those come from?” Charles asked.
“Required in so[m]e states and countries when we leave our district. Not in Ohio, [b]ut we still kee[p] a few [p]airs around in the unlikely event we have to go to Utah or [M]ississi[pp]i or Tennessee or wherever. Father wore the[m] when he taught [m]e.” He snorted. “You have the [b]irds-and-the-[b]ees talk. We learn how to fight for a [m]ate. Ritually.”
J crouched in attack stance.
“[b]asic for[m]at. Show [m]e your fighting stance.”
Charles blinked a few times. He took a deep breath. “I came to see T.”
J was shifting from thigh to thigh, waving his gloved fingers. “I don’t [b]la[m]e you. She s[m]ells so nice now, but if you want her, you have to learn how to fight for her.”
Charles looked down at the butter knife in his hand. He smiled. “I think I’ve been holding my own good enough without help.”
“It [w]on’t [b]e just [m]e you have to fight at the s[p]arring. You’ll have to fight every other [m]ale who’s interested. They won’t [b]ack off from a [p]unch to the snout, and they will use claws. We slash to the snout. The shoulders. Legs. Everywhere [b]ut the neck, and even then so[m]etimes it ha[pp]ens. You think your [b]are knuckles will hel[p] you against all of the[m]? What we do in the house is quarreling. The real thing is [m]uch [m]ore organized [b]ecause it’s not fighting. It’s how we socialize, and if you want to kee[p] visiting, you [m]ust learn how to fit in. You have a cou[p]le weeks to [p]re[p]are. Now’s a good time to ex[p]erience how it’s done.”
He looked like a character in an arcade fighting game, shifting from leg to leg, hopping a little to the side, then back, then forward, waving his hands.
Charles took another deep breath. Taking lessons made him feel weak, somehow. He had held his own several times against against J, physically and verbally, but yes, the doubt remained. Fists against claws. J was at least three times Charles’ weight. No matter what, Charles was outmatched, and it was silly to imagine he could overcome that. He had scored a victory, but only on the first night. J had won every other time since. Being audacious wasn’t working. Something felt missing this whole time, and he had hoped to find it on his own.
Now he was going to learn it from his rival.
Charles set the box by a tree and held the butter knife at ready. He crouched in attack stance.
“Not a [b]ad stance,” J said.
“I took Karate as a kid. Made it to green belt.”
“It’ll hel[p]. First thing that ha[pp]ens is...”
Sparring wasn’t just males hacking and slashing each other. In utahraptor culture, that’s what hatchlings and teenagers did, and everything Charles and J had been doing up until this point had been childish by dinosaur standards. Not without charm, but that would wear off quickly if he broke the rules too often.
As best as raptors could tell, their ancestors lived in packs and fought like this when the females went into heat, and even when they were animals, it couldn’t be just males killing one another. That wouldn’t help the pack survive, after all, so structure emerged. Though blood often spilled, it was merely enough to demonstrate prowess.
That was the point: to show off one’s agility, claw control, muscle control, measuring movements and responses to threats. The winner rarely went to the biggest and strongest, but to the most well-rounded combatant. That was what earned respect in the group.
Lesson one for Charles was learning how to move like a dinosaur. Karate lessons came in handy, as the fighting stance felt similar, but J was obviously more agile. Sparring was more about showing off one’s agility, and Charles hated to admit it, but seeing a dinosaur in motion like this was intimidating.
No strikes. No advances. Charles was waiting for it. Holding the knife, expecting him to charge. After about fifteen minutes of circling, switching legs, watching how J bobbed up and down and crouched, he relaxed a little.
“[b]etter, Charles, [m]uch [b]etter, you’re getting a feel for it. Now, co[mb]at isn’t always one-on-one. Soon you’ll deal with [m]ultiple o[pp]onents, but so long as you re[m]e[mb]er the goal isn’t to take everyone else out [b]ut to show yourself to [b]e a well-rounded individual, you’ll fit in [m]uch [b]etter.”
“Is this all you do when sparring? Dance around each other?”
“Agility is [m]ore i[mp]ortant than strength in hunting. Even now it’s what we find attractive.”
“Except R?”
J snorted. “[P]lenty of exce[p]tions.”
Charles noticed J had closed the distance a little. Six yards instead of ten. As he circled the dinosaur, Charles opened it again. “How well does he do when sparring?”
“He’s [m]ore agile than he looks. He [p]artici[p]ates, [b]ut he never was interested in heat. He has E and X and now a hu[m]an. You should see hi[m] in [m]otion. It’s i[mp]ressive to hu[m]an eyes, but he never looks good co[mp]ared to so[m]eone who can run circles around hi[m]. He s[p]ars to [b]e social.”
They had circled one another twice. J had closed the distance again. This time Charles moved in. Five yards. Charles held the knife up.
J pushed off and reached out with his gloved hand and smacked Charles across the cheek, and then hopped away. The human’s face felt hot, but he wasn’t injured. It was more of a shock, how fast it had come. Charles wanted to hit back, but J was already six yards away, hopping and strafing him.
“That’s a standard strike,” J said, crouched so low to the ground his chin nearly rested on the dirt. “Rarely draws [b]lood. Shoulders and ar[m]s are also valid targets. Anything exce[p]t the neck.”
“How am I supposed to counter that?”
“[P]ractice. We don’t always [m]ove away. Sometimes we infight for a while, and that’s when it gets interesting.”
“What do you mean?”
“[M]ultiple strikes. Don’t [b]e afraid to take a hit. You don’t lose [p]oints. Winner isn’t the one who takes the least da[m]age, or last thero[p]od standing. Show how well you control yourself. Start [m]oving in.”
Charles did. Hopping, dancing, prancing, ten yards, then eight, then six, then seven, then six. His thighs hurt, but seeing J in motion like this made him determined to match his agility. It seemed impossible. The motion picture didn’t do justice to how dinosaurs moved. It made them look rigid and bulky.
He hopped a few times and then lunged, thrusting the knife out. J easily dodged and slashed Charles across the flank. Charles expected him to bounce away, but he moved in, winding up for another strike.
Ignoring the new ache across his flank, Charles slashed across. The butter knife caught him along the shoulder, and he pushed away, covered claws dragging down his other arm as he opened the distance.
J straightened up. “Good, good, you’re getting it.”
Charles was out of breath, and his arm ached just from blunted claws scraping it.
“So... If no one’s keeping score, who wins? I thought this is what you did to see who gets to mate.”
“Fe[m]ale chooses the winner. Not all s[p]ecies do it that way.” J huffed. Charles heard a note of haughtiness in that breath of air. “T chose [m]e after I s[p]arred in her scent, and we agreed to [b]e together.”
“I don’t get it. How do I win?”
J laughed. “You win [b]y [b]eing [p]art of the grou[p], and then so[m]eone chooses to let you [b]e close.”
“Oh.”
“I get it, Charles. You’re here for the scent. It’s all you can think a[b]out. I was the sa[m]e way when I was younger. It’s how teenagers react. If you’re only here for the sex, you won’t fit in very well, and you’ll be gone when T is out of heat. Are you here for sex, or are you here for so[m]ething else?”
Charles was out of breath. It took him a moment to reach inside himself for an answer. “I don’t know. All I know is when I’m at work, I am dead. When I’m with other people, I feel like I can’t do anything. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a voice actor.”
J rose. “Really?”
Six yards. Charles switched knife hands as he circled. “Yeah, I wanted to be the voice of Bugs Bunny. I can kinda do some voices, but... that’s it. Not getting anywhere. Thought about becoming a cartoonist, drawing the next Garfield. I doodled for a while, but no matter how much I practice I don’t seem to get any better. That’s been the story of my life. So I go to work. I’m too tired to try anything else when I get home, and that’s been me for ten years. Then I smelled T. I fought you. I won. For the first time in my life I did well at something. I felt alive! I don’t want to let go of this. I don’t want to lose it.”
Two yards. Charles lunged, slashing while turning, catching J on the forearm and hopping away as J tried to return the strike but missed.
J remained still. Crouched and ready, but still for the first time since they began. “[M]aybe you’ll fit in after all. I was worried you would thrash and give u[p] when it didn’t work.”
Charles’ mouth hung. “Uh, J...” He looked down at the knife. “Shit!”
Now J noticed he was bleeding from his arm. “Fuck, hu[m]an!”
“You said it was a butter knife!”
J cradled his arm. “It is! How did you cut [m]e?!”
“I don’t know! You brought it! Where’d you get it, anyway?”
“So[m]eone had one a few houses over! She told [m]e she used it for [b]utter!”
“I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!”
He looked over the knife. It was indeed a knife for spreading butter. Nothing unusual about it, and yet it had blood on it.
J laughed. “Well.” He dropped the gloves and spread his bare claws, six brown sickles at the end of his fingers. They looked like a dog’s claws, but as sharp as a cat’s.
“Hhhhhh, now it gets good.”
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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4539730.James\_L\_Steele