The Pathogen

Current Events: News of the T. Rexes' deaths is just spreading into the town, causing particular concern within the Hunting District. At the same time, excitement abounds at the high likelihood of an egg run being organized. Many experienced hunters enjoy trying their luck at snatching eggs from wild nests, although many are aware of the high possibility of injury. Recent reports of more eggs snatched from the hatchery has caused great panic among breeders who rush to protect their stock. In a poor attempt to subdue the chaos, the Breeders Organization has cancelled the Velociraptor show planned for the week. Unease is rampant among civilians and most are confused as to what the next step should be.

Conditions: It is a moderately nice day with slightly overcast skies and a balmy but not unpleasant temperature. Light breezes whistle through the streets, occasionally picking up into a small gust before relenting once more. Gathering clouds in the distance suggests light rain this evening and carries a hint of dampness on the air.

His head was absolutely spinning. It was heading in a thousand different directions while spinning a mile a second while being pounded in by a herd of sauropods. All of his body throbbed and ached and it showed no signs of slowing down. The day had been a long one for him in the most grueling of fashions and to be rather honest he wished he could crawl back into bed and pretend it didn't happen. Sometimes it happened that the world had a funny way of showing you it remembered your existence by sending a fair bit of malice your way. There was no sign of his usual jokes today, only a grim countenance as he flicked through the papers in his hands.

The papers were all collected in a thick stack and had remarkably clear handwriting on them. Cleaner than he could ever write, at least. Thick black letters were etched near perfectly on the lines to make a readable font, especially in the header. Bold words could be read as "Egg Hunt Commission: T. Rex" along with lighter scrawling beneath, outlining the details. A few underlined words jumped out: "no more clutches", "genetic preservation", "lacking resources", "cannot fail", "highest urgency." He groaned at the words as he read them, his shoulders visibly dropping with each sentence. Now the roaring carnivore in the official stamp on the corner of each paper mocked him, laughing at his misery. It knew the repercussions these few slips of paper had on the upcoming weeks of his life. Exasperated at their consequences already, he slammed them against his legs while banging his head on the main gate behind him.

"Trigger, we're fucked... you know that? We're fucked so hard... and not in a good way either... I don't like this way."

Seeing as she was thoroughly muzzled, the blue utahraptor couldn't reply. She opted instead to sit there angrily a few steps away from her owner and glare at him with hungry eyes. A worn saddle was strapped upon her back and a harness adorned her head, a thick reins drooping from the sides of her skull. Her muzzle was covered in military grade canvas and wrapped securely around the edges of her snout. Straps stretched out to her neck and slid down to the very back of her face. Only the fringes of her snout are visible and her nostrils flared with displeasure. It was extremely evident that she hated having the stupid thing on underneath her harness, but truth be told the raptor had a deplorable attitude. Trigger was very rarely in town. She was only a few years old and had already acquired the reputation of being the most despicable hunting mount around. Even a glimpse of her was enough for most people to give her and her owner a very wide berth. Quite a few wondered why her owner even kept her with her frequent... fits, he called them, instead of putting her down and opting for another, more functional animal. Sometimes, Colden had the same thoughts. She was wicked intelligent with all the wrong features. Her current muzzle was the fifth one in as many months and was the only one she hadn't managed to completely destroy... so far.

"No sign of her, eh? She should've been done by now. Those two recruits weren't too bad."

Once again, no reply except a very muffled and very agitated hiss. He shook his head at his raptor as she plopped her head unto the grass and curled even tighter into a ball.

"Well, maybe if you weren't so problematic, missy, we wouldn't need to go through this."

No motion this time. Fine, let her mope in her corner. Not like he particularly cared. When she stopped trying to murder everyone whenever she was... well, anywhere, he wouldn't have to muzzle her so often. He'd rather deal with a pissy, muzzled Trigger than have to deal with an accidental homicide investigation because she decided to go AWOL on a whim. It was for her own good, really, because he knew any incident would result in her destruction... and he'd grown attached to the psychotic nut.

The sun grew higher as he waited, so he'd figure he would take use of the growing light and scan the horizon. She was coming back later than expected, but he eventually found her trotting towards the main gate on that ceratosaur of hers. Even from this distance he could tell by the gait that they were both utterly exhausted from the hunt. No sign of the others either... knowing Alire she had dismissed them already to continue the rest of the journey alone. If she was tired, she was more than likely to be irritable and cranky and... ah, just nothing he was overly thrilled to greet. May as well wait until she got closer to break the news.

Her face fell immediately once she saw both of them there and the papers he had in hand. Trigger leapt up at the arrival of Lavender and strained on her reins, running to sniff her neighbor. She got a few good whiffs in before pawing and scratching at her muzzle while begging pathetically at the larger dinosaur. She chirped as loudly as she could, hoping her friend would get the hint and remove the stubborn piece of fabric and free her to go chase things. Upon not receiving any indication of being noticed, she began tipping her head and bouncing with limitless energy.

Colden paid no heed to his raptor, casually walking around her with her reins to the flank of the grey carnivore Alire was astride. He lifted the leather straps over Trigger's tail and saddle, gripping them tightly with a clenched hand. The look upon Alire's face, crestfallen horror, said everything he needed to know. Sheepishly he smiled up at her  with a tiny chuckle in a small attempt to lighten the mood. His mouth opened only to close right afterwards, the words he needed failing him in this moment. It took him a few deep breaths before he could say what he needed to be said.

"Oh, hello there. I presume the hunt went well, seeing as you're tired and shit. Well, I won't keep you long. You know, these aren't the worst news," as he waved the papers in his free hand, "I have even badder stuff... that's not a word. We're going to roll with it anyway. I have good news, too, I guess? I'll give you that first. I found a muzzle Trigger can't break... for now, at least. Dare I ask for details about how it went?"

It was the heat and mugginess that woke him, mostly. Aven kicked his comforter off his legs without opening his eyes and rolled over. As his brain marched towards consciousness, he began to be aware that he was hungry. And had to pee. Still, Aven lolled around for another solid 20 minutes before his body's needs were too insistent to ignore.

He stumbled towards his small apartment window first, almost punching it open to let some of the mugginess out. A cooling breeze washed over him as he turned and careened in the vague direction of his bedroom door. It was his day off today, and he looked forward to spending most of it doing absolutely nothing.

Northel meeped at him as he headed towards the kitchen. The microraptor was in the midst of a nap, and that groggy squeak was just her half-hearted quest for attention. Which was a good sign - she would be far more insistent if Aven had failed to feed her earlier.

Getting up at the crack of dawn to feed Northel was complete habit for Aven by now, and he tended to just flop down and go right back to sleep afterwards. Oftentimes he had no recollection of even taking care of it, with only her happy and sleepy behavior later to reassure him.

Aven paused to give her some head scratches. It would be a few hours before she digested enough to want to go anywhere, which suited him nicely. By the time he and Northel made it to the open air exercising grounds, most of the morning and lunchtime crowd would be cleared out, and that meant more space for Northel to glide around.

...Provided his clock was not correct. Aven eyed the offending object as he scrambled his eggs...was it really after 1pm? Had he really slept in that late? Well shit.

"Northel, you were supposed to bother me at 11." He whined, as if she could respond and was in any way responsible. The microraptor was busy preening her glossy black feathers on her perch, apparently feeling as lazy and indolent as Aven himself today. Aven tossed the spatula into the sink roughly - so much for having any sort of lazy morning. The training grounds became a nightmare in the evening, and Aven refused to subject himself to that.

Washed and clothed an hour later, Aven laced up his padded glove and shoulder guard, then went to collect Northel. She cheerfully stepped up to his arm as he tied her jesses to his belt, and she vocalized her eagerness for Aven to stop messing with straps and get on with the program. She dodged the muzzle the first couple times Aven offered it, before finally realizing she was not getting her way today.

Aven squinted into the sunlight as he meandered towards the hunting district, Northel fluffing and making subdued chattering noises on his shoulder. At least someone was happy, despite the muzzle.

A slight breeze tousled Aleron’s hair as he leaned back on the bench. He sat with one leg propped casually atop the other, his sleeves rolled to three quarter length, and a newspaper in his hands. The wind whistled across the pool in the center of the Hunting District’s courtyard, sending small waves in his direction, and a few puffy clouds drifted lazily overhead. Despite the pleasant feel of the scene, however, Aleron was rigid with tension as his eyes scanned the paper’s headline: LAST MALE TYRANNOSAURUS DEAD.

There’d been talk of a mysterious, fatal disease all week. Aleron had caught bits of this story from conversations held in hushed tones in shops and outside of the Black Raptor, but he hadn’t bought into any of the rumors at first. It was common in this area for stories to be blown out of proportion; Aleron had initially suspected that, perhaps, one of the military mounts had fallen ill and died and then some loudmouth had open their trap about it. Why, just last month, a family near where he lived moved away and the speculation had been that the husband had been part of a secret society planning to overthrow Zenith’s government.

It all seemed so absurd. T. rexes didn’t just get sick and die… Aleron glanced anxiously over at his own mount who had fallen asleep in the grass beside him with his nose tucked under one arm. Aurel must have heard his rider shift because he blinked open one eye and lifted his mottled head slightly in response.

“You’re not going anywhere, though.” Aleron mused. Blinking again, Aurel flopped back onto the ground to resume his nap. Aleron sighed, folded the newspaper, and laid it on the bench before going to stretch out beside Aurel. It was his day off and, at the moment, there didn’t seem to be anything he could do about the tyrannosaurus situation. Sighing once more, he slowly shut his eyes.

Alire showed no signs of actually paying attention to Colden's words, too busy staring at the papers in his hand with her horror written all over her face. The flashes of a tyrannosaur's teeth passed her mind's eye, the cry of her mount as it was ripped apart by the pair of parents she'd run into on her first Gold Rank Hunt. The blood that'd splashed across her face when they'd bitten into Thorn's hide. Thorn's adamant behavior on forcing her to flee beforehand was what got her out of the situation...but it'd also costed her the first mount she'd had and such a young one at that which had been ingrained into her mind. Frankly she still had night terrors all the time about that day 5 years ago when she'd been young and fresh to Gold Rank Hunting. Still years from now she couldn't stand big predator egg hunts, T-rexes worst of them all but she still did them if necessary. Rosie was the only exception to the rule, she adored the older Tyrannosaur to death but wild ones scared her. As they should, usually she gave all huge predators a wide berth.

She couldn't help the fear that bubbled up in her gut, or the noise she made before finally Lavender's gentle rumble of confusion at her rider's abrupt silence snapped her out of her daze. Shaking her head the Hunting headquarters' leader glanced at Colden and tried to force a tiny smile. "Hm? Oh sorry, I was reading it....and that's good, at least she can't get out of it now." Alire answered, her cheery tone forced. Finally she took a deep breath, steeled herself and shook off the memories of the past enough to slip out of Lavender's saddle and pull out the muzzle, clipping it onto and around her mount's head before reaching over and taking the reins with one hand. Reaching out with her other hand she took the papers from Colden to read them over herself, frowning deeply. She'd heard vague reports of the two large carnivores falling ill, but had never gotten them confirmed until now.

"I guess we're doing an egg run. I'll start organizing it as soon as possible, as this is so urgent...as for how it went, it went just fine, they passed and they're good. Got tossed around a little but nothing too serious and the mounts are fine." The black haired woman gave a nod and glanced up at Colden, green eyes exhausted but now full of something else aside from the haunting memories that had come back to her just moments before: intense determination. Despite her fear of Tyrannosaurs, she had no issue going on egg hunts if it was needed. She had to be level headed and strong during these times. Didn't necessarily mean she was strong all the time, as once the egg raids for large carnivores was over, she tended to hold up in her home for a couple of days aside from working Lavender in the hunting headquarters' training arena and scheduling hunts.

They shook her, but the news of the last two Tyrannosaurs dying shook her more than it should've. This was weird, Tyrannosaurs didn't just up and die like that and as far as Liam had told her, the pair were still young, maybe no more than 6 years of age each. Finally she put the papers in her saddlebags on Lavender's neck and started leading her off to the hunting district, speaking quietly now. "Now what's this bad news you've come to tell me exactly?" She asked, but a sinking feeling in her gut told her she probably already knew.

Aven removed Northel's muzzle when they crossed over into the hunting district, much to the little raptor's relief. She immediately fluffed her glossy feathers and chittered happily - she knew very well that they were getting close to the open air training grounds. Aven double-checked to ensure her jesses were well-secured to his belt - the last thing he wanted to do today was chase an overexcited microraptor through the market grounds.

Aven typically wandered right by the newstands, but it seemed more people and dinosaurs than usual clustered around the place, faces drawn in with worry or anger. Curious, he stood up on his tiptoes to catch the headline being brandished at the stand. "LAST MALE TYRANNOSAURUS DEAD."

Well then. He kept walking with a vague shrug, then paused as the implications set in. The last time Aven encountered Tyrannosaur tracks in his missions, he'd turned around right on the spot and headed in the other direction. No scout ventured into Trex territory alone, whether they were there for mapping or egg-locating or whatever. With the massive predator's keen sense of smell and eyesight, it was far too dangerous.

No, never alone. But in teams? Aven's shoulders slumped a bit. He suspected that soon, he would be called in for a tracking team. He didn't mind the thrill of following and locating the nest sites of large predators, but he did prefer to not get harassed by grumpy hunters while he worked. As much as he adored some of them, other hunters get on his nerves quickly.

Aven's annoyed thoughts turned quickly from "I hope I don't get called on this mission" to "I hope I get a halfway decent team."

He got startled out of his reverie by the feeling of teeth lightly scratching and nibbling at his scalp. Northel had sensed his change in posture and mood, and she began "preening" his hair to placate him. Many handlers trained their raptors out of preening behaviors on humans, but Aven rather liked the tickling feeling and the affection. He just snorts at her in admonishment if she pulls too hard - a sound he got from mimicking other grumpy raptors.

"Sorry girl, I got distracted." He mumbled apologetically, and kept on walking to the training grounds. Northel spotted another micro in the distance and was quickly distracted chirruping a greeting, so Aven figured himself forgiven.

Pramen chattered softly as Kresnik let the Dilophosaur slowly make his way around the central pond, the dinosaur's eyes curiously darting to see the multitudes of people thronging and passing through. Even with blinkers on, the dilo was starting to show signs of overstimulation from all the moving things. Pramen's claws were twitching and his head was darting around, head tugging at his reigns. He was probably going to dart after something that looked like prey soon, and Kresnik didn't want to have the youngster causing a scene.

This was the first real time Pramen was in a large area, away from the small crowds or small amounts of dinosaurs back in where he was hatched and raised. Kresnik veered him into the hunting district, more sparsely frequented and with more familiar, hunter-type dinosaurs. The center, and the pool, was noisy, but nothing compared to the main square.

At the pool, the breeder stepped off Pramen, still holding onto his reigns. The Dilophosaur chittered, eyeing him, tail wagging eagerly. Kresnik mentally weighed putting a hood onto the dinosaur until he calmed down, or allowing him more freedom. He still had his muzzle, the blinkers, nail caps, and mittens that gave the claws and arms limited movement. A bit excessive, but the last thing Kresnik wanted was a very dangerous dinosaur having to be corralled, and in the process being hurt or even killed. And Pramen was very jumpy to begin with.

He scratched the dinosaur's cheek gently. Such a small hassle, you are, he thought. Pramen didn't mind at all when Kresnik took his arm away, moving to settle near the water. Kresnik turned to his thoughts, half watching the dilophosaur, tugging the reigns to making him focus back onto the pool instead of a microraptor fluttering about that caught his attention.

Such a shame about the velociraptor show. He half wanted to attend and see all the different ones, maybe make a few bids on some sport bred ones if his father allowed. The hatchery, though, was a more... pressing matter. If someone was stealing from the public one, how long until some wanted to raid the more private, much mroe lucrative houses that stored eggs for show or sport breeders. Ech, it made Kresnik fill with anxiety just thinking of the ramifications of finding one nesting house destroyed.