Strips of meat hung across a crude tripod above a small fire, its juices dripping into the flames, popping and sizzling as it cooked over the direct heat. These would be saved for later, when food was scarce during their trek. Pulling two thick steaks from the lower portion of the contraption, she placed them on the backs of two flat rocks, handing one off to the awaiting man and then took her place beside him.
The meat was tender, charred perfectly on the outside, a mash of available herbs she’d found while Bar butchered the carcass lending its pungency to the dark brown crust of their meal. They ate ravenously, savoring the sweet meat of her kill.
Laying her empty plate/rock aside, she wiped the grease from her lips with the bottom of her clean shirt. Bardock reached for the other two strips of meat hanging from the rack, quickly laying waste to them as well. “Jeez, Bar, you eat like a-“
“Saiyan?” He offered between mouthfuls. He dipped a piece of meat in a puddle of juice and popped it in his mouth. “That is what I am, or did you forget that in the last few hours?”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Bardock, shit.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“You misunderstood the joke, as always.” Rolling her eyes, she pushed herself from the rock and walked over to the tiny stream a few feet away from their resting place. Bathing the remnants of the buffalo’s blood and its subsequent juice from her arms and face, she turned back to the gruff Saiyan. “I simply meant that you’ve devoured almost half that bison by yourself. Even for a Saiyan, that’s quite a bit.”
“You don’t know much about my race, then.”
“Hey, hey, I spent almost a year on that planet, damn it;” she defended, fists thrusting into her shapely hips, glaring down at him as he continued to stuff morsels into his gaping maw. She’d removed the bloodstained armor, which now hung over a tree limb above the water, drying from its fresh washing. Her jean shorts had seen better days, but it was a hell of a lot better than walking around smelling like death. “I’ve seen the massacres you call ‘dinner’.”
Shrugging, Bardock polished off the remaining meat and set his plate down beside hers. Rising to his full height, he stretched his limbs, a long, audible yawn rumbling from his grease stained lips. “Well, at least you can cook;” he commented, ignoring her callous barb. “If you stick around, maybe you can teach Smitty how to cook a decent steak, for a change.”
A giggle burbled from her throat, the tension that had laid between them lightened its cumbersome load from their shoulders. Too soon, they’d be off once more, heading towards their destination for the day. It wasn’t too much further, according to the map. The only hindrance had been the meal that had suddenly popped into their path. “Come on, Bar, don’t crack on Smitty. He tries.”
“This reminds me, thanks for those fried wontons the other night. I really enjoyed them;” he snickered. It wasn’t that he was sore over her not sharing one of his favorite snacks, he just enjoyed the rise he got from the female on those rare occasions that he could get away with it.
“Wontons?” She paused, confused for a moment. “I didn’t give you any…oh. Those.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Those.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Come on, let’s get this stuff together and be on our way. The longer we sit here, the better chance that someone we don’t want will sneak up on us.”
The streaks of grease were really starting to irk her, so, before she started packing up her things, she ambled up to him, a smug grin on her face. "If I hadn't witnessed the carnage myself, I'd say you missed your target."
"What?"
She lifted the hem of her shirt to his face and wiped away the traces of his dinner. "Can't have that pretty face of yours all fucked up for the audience, right?"
Rebuffed by her display, Bardock pushed her lightly out of the way and pulled the cooked food from the tripod, wrapping each piece and laying it to the side.
The pair cleaned up camp, stuffing their supplies back into their respective bags, along with 30 pounds of freshly roasted meat wrapped in broad leaves to sate their hunger during the trek. Most of Violet’s was backup for her gluttonous companion, as she knew his meager portion would barely sustain him for long. “Let’s move.” He directed, and once again, they were off.
The meat was tender, charred perfectly on the outside, a mash of available herbs she’d found while Bar butchered the carcass lending its pungency to the dark brown crust of their meal. They ate ravenously, savoring the sweet meat of her kill.
Laying her empty plate/rock aside, she wiped the grease from her lips with the bottom of her clean shirt. Bardock reached for the other two strips of meat hanging from the rack, quickly laying waste to them as well. “Jeez, Bar, you eat like a-“
“Saiyan?” He offered between mouthfuls. He dipped a piece of meat in a puddle of juice and popped it in his mouth. “That is what I am, or did you forget that in the last few hours?”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Bardock, shit.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“You misunderstood the joke, as always.” Rolling her eyes, she pushed herself from the rock and walked over to the tiny stream a few feet away from their resting place. Bathing the remnants of the buffalo’s blood and its subsequent juice from her arms and face, she turned back to the gruff Saiyan. “I simply meant that you’ve devoured almost half that bison by yourself. Even for a Saiyan, that’s quite a bit.”
“You don’t know much about my race, then.”
“Hey, hey, I spent almost a year on that planet, damn it;” she defended, fists thrusting into her shapely hips, glaring down at him as he continued to stuff morsels into his gaping maw. She’d removed the bloodstained armor, which now hung over a tree limb above the water, drying from its fresh washing. Her jean shorts had seen better days, but it was a hell of a lot better than walking around smelling like death. “I’ve seen the massacres you call ‘dinner’.”
Shrugging, Bardock polished off the remaining meat and set his plate down beside hers. Rising to his full height, he stretched his limbs, a long, audible yawn rumbling from his grease stained lips. “Well, at least you can cook;” he commented, ignoring her callous barb. “If you stick around, maybe you can teach Smitty how to cook a decent steak, for a change.”
A giggle burbled from her throat, the tension that had laid between them lightened its cumbersome load from their shoulders. Too soon, they’d be off once more, heading towards their destination for the day. It wasn’t too much further, according to the map. The only hindrance had been the meal that had suddenly popped into their path. “Come on, Bar, don’t crack on Smitty. He tries.”
“This reminds me, thanks for those fried wontons the other night. I really enjoyed them;” he snickered. It wasn’t that he was sore over her not sharing one of his favorite snacks, he just enjoyed the rise he got from the female on those rare occasions that he could get away with it.
“Wontons?” She paused, confused for a moment. “I didn’t give you any…oh. Those.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Those.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Come on, let’s get this stuff together and be on our way. The longer we sit here, the better chance that someone we don’t want will sneak up on us.”
The streaks of grease were really starting to irk her, so, before she started packing up her things, she ambled up to him, a smug grin on her face. "If I hadn't witnessed the carnage myself, I'd say you missed your target."
"What?"
She lifted the hem of her shirt to his face and wiped away the traces of his dinner. "Can't have that pretty face of yours all fucked up for the audience, right?"
Rebuffed by her display, Bardock pushed her lightly out of the way and pulled the cooked food from the tripod, wrapping each piece and laying it to the side.
The pair cleaned up camp, stuffing their supplies back into their respective bags, along with 30 pounds of freshly roasted meat wrapped in broad leaves to sate their hunger during the trek. Most of Violet’s was backup for her gluttonous companion, as she knew his meager portion would barely sustain him for long. “Let’s move.” He directed, and once again, they were off.
![[Image: visigjune08_v2.jpg]](http://storm.novahost.org/mysigs/visigjune08_v2.jpg)
Fuck you, Photobucket.