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The New World is fraught with danger and filled with monsters both thinking and feral. It is a land where humans struggle to survive and coexist with forces far greater than themselves. Hence why the massive monsters that call this place home have taken it upon themselves to guard and guide them. To teach and train them and see to it these frail and imperfect beings have all that they need to survive if not one day thrive in these inhospitable lands.
And, if they have their way, live with and love the hapless humans they've come to treasure and adore.
Woah wow check it out even more Monster Hugger! Sweetness and shenanigans aplenty this time around along with some world building.
Hopefully you enjoy!
Thumbnail comes courtesy of Jazzumi!
FIRST, PREVIOUS, NEXT
Monster Hugger Freedom
By: RaddaRaem
“Absolutely not,” Brook shot down without a second thought.
“It's called the Insect Glaive not the Insect... Staff,” Jet replied. Pacing along the shoreline of the Old World's Epitaph, the roar of the receding waves echoing throughout the sun-kissed cove, the Hunter hummed when he drew near a beached galley boat. Wading into the tide, seashells crunching beneath his greaves, he brushed his a hand along its barnacle encrusted hull.
“Well it is now,” Brook brusquely declared. Never would they ever need, much less want, the towering Tobi-Kadachi to be swinging around a man-sized blade attached to what may as well be a tree trunk. Pinching at her forehead, the Huntress kneaded out the cavernous wrinkles carved into her brow. “Jet.”
Deeming the seafaring vessel structurally sound, Jet hurled his grappling hook up towards the salt caked planks lining the port side. “Yes, Brook?”
Eyes half-lidded, the heavily armored human, sans helmet, silently shook her head. “One last time. Walk me through this plan of yours.”
CRSSSSH
Lips pulled flat, Jet clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth when the railing he had latched on to came crashing down before him in a cloud of splinters. Along with some stray oars. The Hunter's eyes warily swiveled along the bottom of their sockets while he watched the sea swallow up the wreckage. “Right. Well. On the matter of training Taras...”
“Uh huh?” Reaching into her satchel, Brook tried her luck with the starboard side. Her grappling hook, sailing high into the air in a graceful arc, landed on deck with a worrying crunch.
Circling round the ship, Jet sheepishly sidled up alongside his all too unhappy accomplice. “To start we'll need a proper pole. Something stout. Something strong. Something... Tobi sized.” Laughing nervously he gestured towards the galley's sun bleached mast. Taras, while eager and enthusiastic to learn the tools of the Hunter trade, was uhhh... decidedly lacking in said tools. Jet's hope was that this outing could remedy that.
Biceps bulging, Brook tugged. Thankfully, mercifully, her grappling hook pulled taut when piles of nail pocked planks compacted together beneath the curved iron hooks. Nostrils flared, and brows arched, she wordlessly motioned for Jet to take the lead.
The Hunter gripped the knotted rope dangling over the deck murderously tight. Wrists straining, he ascended the side of the ship. Brook snorted at the infrequent yelps that slipped free from Jet's throat every time his armored soles punched through the rotted wood.
“Fine,” spat the Huntress. “Ignoring the matter of how we separate the mast from ship. Ignoring the time and effort it'll take to sand that down and refurbish it into a weapon. How again do you plan on keeping this under wraps?”
Grunting, Jet flopped on deck with a relieved sigh. “Byyyy keeping my big mouth shut?”
“...And Taras?”
“What abouhhhhh I see where this is going.” Leaning over the railing, Jet extended a helping hand to Brook.
SHFFFFFFFFFFF
At Brook's boarding the ship slid along the sands and into the shallows. White capped waves splashed over the stern and showered the Hunters in salt and seaweed.
“He's going to carry that Insect Glaive... errr... Staff with him everywhere he goes. Monsters and men alike are going to start asking questions. You do know that, right?” Reaching back around her head, Brook untied her ponytail and tossed back her sopping wet hair.
Popping off his helmet Jet took to fanning himself. “Would the other Monsters really even care that much?”
Teeth clenched, Brook warily shook her head side to side. “They're the ones that dictate who qualifies, who can even call themselves, a Rookie or Advanced or Master Hunter. They're the Trainers here, not us. Can you imagine the blowback if any of them catch wind of you being referred to as 'Trainer' Jet?”
“Taras...” Hand held up before him, Jet uneasily uhhed and promptly retracted his raised index finger. “Already calls me that. Oh no.”
Stepping forward, middle finger tucked against her thumb, the Huntress flicked at Jet's forehead.
Jet grumbled at the painful pinch. “...Alright, I get it. You don't think this is a good idea.”
Brook tched. “Because it isn't.”
Yet here she was, standing alongside him, helping dismantle the ship so that they could craft Taras a weapon to call his own. “...But?” Jet dared to press.
The Huntress tiredly rolled her eyes. “But...” Hands tucked beneath her armpits, Brook narrowed her gaze in frustration. “Seriously, Jet. Why am I always the last one to hear about these increasingly idiotic plans of yours?”
Popping back on his helmet, the Hunter scritched at his fluted visor while he choked on his entourage of excuses. “I. I'm-” Arms tossed out to his sides Jet impotently shrugged. “Iunno! Maybe because they really are as stupid as they sound?”
“You don't say,” Brook deadpanned.
Shoulders slouched, Jet smarted from her spoken slings and arrows. He had been expecting an explosive, and frankly deserved, diatribe upon her much awaited return to Astera. Instead, Brook saw fit to relentlessly roast him, to strip the very bark off him, at a slow simmer. Day in and day out she spared him no mercy whenever they crossed paths at the Canteen.
“You don't have to be here you know,” he limply shot back. Even though he knew this was coming, even though he knew to expect this, Jet asked for her aid all the same. Arming Taras, much less Alma, quickly and simply proved too much to manage by his lonesome.
The Huntress wordlessly thumbed at the dark bags that, weeks on from their frantic fight with the feral Tigrex, still lingered beneath her eyes. “That's a hell of a way to phrase an apology,” she bitterly sighed.
Jet wildly flailed his arms in exasperation. “What should I have done, Brook? Every day! Every day, Nell and I offered to lighten your load!”
Creaks wailed up from the hollow heart of the ship as it bobbed along the waves. Jet dipped his head and silently tugged down his visor while white foam bubbled up from the gaps in the deck. “And for the record? Alma approached me when Taras was taking care of YOU. Not the other way around.”
The tattered remains of the ship's sail, dangling from its weather-beaten mast, whipped wildly overhead as Jet curled his padded fingers against his armored palm. “If you're looking for an apology then here it is! I'm sorry! I'm sorry that I thought letting you rest was more important than waking your exhausted ass up just to tell you that Alma robbed you! I'm sorry I thought that letting you know the woman you hate brought back your Charge Blade could wait! I'm sorry that-”
“I do not hate Alma,” the Huntress snipped. Rubbing at the back of her neck, Brook's dour expression softened. “I just. It's just. That I had to hear this from her of all people, Jet!”
Arms hanging limply at his sides the Hunter idly took to fumbling with his hands. “I know.”
Slouching forward, Brook let slip a long held breath. “That she stole from me. That she hopes to study under you. A Slayer of all people, A SLAYER, is more forthcoming with me than you are!” The Huntress' eyes began to sweat. “Credit where credit is due!” Sniffling, she dragged her forearm across her face and stifled a cough. “She owned up and apologized! So, you know, I guess Alma's not the uncaring asshole I thought she'd be!”
“...Brook?”
Chest knotted, Brook violently shook her head as her voice cracked. “And now I have nobody to be angry with! Alma isn't the villain I made her out to be and, idiot that I am, I took it out on you instead! Cuz why would you need to apologize for something she confessed to?!”
Clutching at an elbow, Jet quietly accepted his friend's pent-up fears and frustrations.
“I... I... I thought I might lose him, Jet.” Intrusive images of the Canteen, silent and still, flooded to the forefront of Brook's thoughts. No more sassy snake arguing with the hired help. No more nosy noodle trying to sneak in extra servings. Choking back sobs, the Huntress shuddered while she struggled to force down a painful swallow. No more wumbo Wyvern keeping her company on slow shifts. No more Taras, with that dopey smile and heavy lisp of his, reminding her just how loved she was.
Clearing her throat, Brook slapped at her chest and tried to force the much needed ugly cry out of her system. “Yeah.” Thumbing at her nose, the Huntress snorted and dried her tears along the back of her knuckles. “I-I-I know I don't have to be here. But if it's for his sake...” Lips pulled flat, she shamefully turned away from Jet.
“Oh Brook...”
Arms bunched close, the Huntress tucked her chin to her chest. “He comes back from that ordeal to no one caring, no one waiting, for him only for you to roll up and rope him into all this! Making him feel wanted, making him feel appreciated, and and and-” Tossing a look over her shoulder she painfully groaned before locking gazes with her fellow Hunter. “And maybe, you know, I'd like to be a part of that! Maybe I'd like it if one of my best friends bothered to include me!”
Sighing, Jet shuffled along the seaweed soaked deck towards her. Hand held out before him he patiently waited for Brook to take it. “I'm sorry for not letting you know sooner. For trying to keep this to myself until I couldn't.”
Blinking away fresh tears, Brook wholeheartedly accepted his apology.
Swallowing hard, the Hunter clasped his companion's hand between both of his own. “But... if you can't trust us to share your burdens then how can I trust you to do the same? Taras is our friend too you know! As are you.”
“I know, I know, sharing is caring...” the Huntress quipped with a sniffle and a snort. Smiling, Brook gingerly punched at Jet's armored shoulder with her free hand. “No more secrets?”
Flashing a toothy grin of his own, Jet nudged her right back. “No more secrets.”
Thumbing at her nose, Brook nodded along. “Oh uh... and Jet?”
“Hum?”
The Huntress awkwardly tried to cough away her cracking voice while she leaned in for a hug. “Thanks uhhh... thanks for looking after Taras when I couldn't. Thanks for looking after me.”
“Always.” Squeezing one another tight, the pair of Hunters were slow to disengage from their embrace. With an ahemhem Jet swiveled about on his heels and, with an excess of razzle AND dazzle, he gestured to the mast once more. “Sooooo! With all that said... still think this is a terrible idea?”
GLRNNNNNNNNNN
Eyes gone wide, Jet and Brook warily watched on as their ship ruptured apart. Dragged along the shoals by the receding tide torrents of water, and sand, rushed in to the keel.
“...It could use some work,” Brook mumbled as saltwater lapped at their knees and they slowly sank beneath the waves.
A few days later...
“Ready?” asked Brook.
Sitting opposite of her, hands nervously tapping at the slab of stone that served as the Canteen's counter, Jet forced a smile even as he shook his head side to side. Blinding streaks of yellow, courtesy of the morning sun, drowned the whole of Astera in its warmth.
“Understandable!” Dropping to a crouch, the Huntress retrieved a pair of wooden steins from beneath the counter. Moseying past the roaring wood-fired ovens manned by many a Felyne she popped open the tap on an unmarked barrel. Liquid gold, amber in color, gushed out from it.
“Brook, I'll admit it. My idea was stupid.” Limbs quaking, he accepted the freely offered drink. Fingers clutching at the wrought iron rings wrapped around the cup, sticky foam trickling over his digits, Jet tossed his head back and forced down swallow after swallow of Ratha Whiskey.
TUNK
Slamming his stein down, head buzzing, the frazzled Hunter could do little more than stare into the stone before him. Liquid smoke danced along his taste buds and every time he exhaled his lips burned. “But this is... this... is...”
Hunched over, Jet tossed a guilty look over his shoulder. The palm trees lining the edges of the Canteen's clearing, their shadows swallowing up the tables perched beneath them, silently swayed for no one in particular. Interspersed tufts of grass, sprouting from the heavily trafficked path, had yet to broken beneath today's foot traffic. Confident that the coast was clear the Hunter rapped his empty stein against the counter as he all but begged Brook for another swig.
“I am cutting you off after this,” the Huntress warily warned him when she slid him the other stein. “Can't have you arguing this alongside me reeking of booze.”
“The Commander though, Brook! The Commander! We can't lie to him!”
“And we won't! We aren't!” she emphasized through clenched teeth.
Jet anxiously ran his hands through his long and wild mane of hair. “... We're sure, we're positive, that Nell and Taras are onboard with this?”
Fingers splayed, the Huntress sharply inhaled. “Jet. Buddy. Pal. You were there when we asked them. YOU were the one who ASKED them, even!”
Shaking like a leaf, Jet grimaced as he cupped the stein between his hands. “I want to practice our presentation again,” he groaned.
“Good because so do I,” Brook gasped as her own fraying nerves finally wore her down. Slinking around the counter she took a seat alongside Jet. “From the top. One last time.”
Balled fist held up to his foam covered lips, Jet cleared his throat. “Commander. Myself, and Huntress Brook, come to you today with a proposition.”
“Master Rank Huntress,” Brook quickly corrected him. “Flex every credential we have.”
The Hunter wordlessly nodded. “Myself, and Master Rank Huntress Brook, come to you today with a proposition.” At that he gestured towards the dark skinned and dark haired woman fretting beside him.
Straightening her posture, Brook spoke from her chest with a commanding confidence. “As you're well aware, in the wake of the recent... incident, tensions are high. Trainers of every rank have brought operations to a standstill until not just our safety, but their own, can be guaranteed. Astera's greatest researchers and gatherers, no strangers to danger, are hesitant to venture out into the field.” With a nod Brook turned to her erstwhile companion.
Hands clasped tight, his thumbs steepled together, Jet spoke his piece. “They are, understandably, right to think so. Having witnessed, having fought, a feral monster, we cannot help but come to the same conclusion. Caution is tantamount and well warranted. However! However. Paranoia is not.”
Index finger raised, Brook motioned for her imagined audience to let her speak. “Myself and Advanced Rank Hunter Jet have remained in contact with the Trainers that fought alongside us. Master Rank Trainer Nell and Rookie Rank Trainer Taras, both of whom were injured in their efforts to protect us, have retained their faculties, and more importantly, their affection for humans.”
Silence, awkward and heavy, hung over the duo as curious Felynes gathered round.
“Pssst. Jet!” Brook harshly whispered.
“Where was my cue?!” Jet mouthed back.
“Where was mine?!” Brook snapped.
“Mraow mrao maow meow!”
“OKAY, OKAY, OKAY.” Wiping the sweat from his brow, the Hunter composed himself. “In addition we met, and parleyed with, the monster bearing the title of Slayer, Alma. Given Trainer Nell and Trainer Taras' unremarkable recoveries, and Alma's continued cognizance, we can say with the utmost confidence that whatever madness plagues these ferals is not contagious. If it were these attacks would be an all too common an occurrence.” Jet tap tapped his palm against the counter as he passed the proverbial baton back to Brook.
“Better,” muttered the Huntress. Jaw hanging slack, Brook immediately blanked out and proceeded to uhhhhh at length.
“Mraow?”
Beads of sweat and goosebumps collected upon her arms. Reaching over towards Jet, Brook grabbed hold of his unfinished drink and pounded it back without a second thought. Coughing, and blinking profusely, she plodded along with her portion of the presentation. “W-w-while we understand there is some hesitation, some fear, to engage with our neighbors in the wake of this near disaster... now more than ever we should be seeking to strengthen not fray our ties. We get it. We do. There's frighteningly little that separates them from their bloodthirsty brethren.” With an embarrassed groan Brook noisily slid the emptied stein back to Jet.
Lips scrunched, Jet forlornly regarded his exhausted reserves of liquid courage. Puffing into what little foam remained he turned his attention towards the rapt Felynes. “But they're in just as much danger, if not more so, than we are! Think about it. If Astera ever was visited by such an abomination it would only be after it tore through the Trainers we've come to know and trust first. Along with who knows how many other monsters.”
The gathered Felynes grimly nodded.
Elbows resting on the counter, face cupped in her hands, Brook dragged out a heavy exhale. “Which is why...”
Heart caught in his throat, Jet pivoted to the crux of their proposition. The argument that they would use to shamelessly couch arming, and training, Taras and Alma with. “Which is why we come to you today in the hopes of proposing...”
“A cultural exchange?” The Commander, his wispy white hair swishing in the breeze, curiously repeated aloud their entreaty. “Elaborate.”
Standing at attention within his open air office, Jet and Brook both stoically maintained a neutral expression. Stepping forward, her iron soles scraping against the carpeted planks, the Huntress was the first to speak. “Forgive me if I am speaking out of line, Sir, but would you or would you not consider our relations with the Trainers... warm?”
Leaning back into his chair, arms crossed about his chest, the ebony hued elder thoughtfully hummed. His cracked and heavy leather armor, tattered and stitched together, bore the scars of innumerable battles. “Indeed I would.”
Mind racing, his heart smashing away at the back of his rib cage, Jet advanced up alongside Brook. Looking out over the Commander's desk, and the myriad maps scattered across it, the humbled Hunter dared to open his mouth. “Yet we know so little about them and they of us. Outside of training, and what little trading we engage in, there is hardly any interaction between our peoples.”
The Commander steepled his fingers. “Your argument being that this gap in our understanding is at risk of filling in with hearsay, rumors, and superstition. You would seek to plug that before any misunderstandings can arise?”
Brook ahemed and raised her voice. “Yessir. If I may, Trainer Nell and Trainer Taras both have repeatedly expressed interest, and have a noted curiosity, in human culture. We believe that inviting them into Astera, with ample warning and under close supervision mind you, would do much to allay fears on our side. Our neighbors are nothing if not courteous and kind and it would do our kith and kin good to be reminded as such.”
The Commander's office, comprised of little more than wooden walls and a floor overlooking the endless ocean, creaked in the salt-stained breeze. Devoid of any ceiling, any shelter from the elements, it was crafted atop a ridge overlooking the settlement such that he and every one of its occupants would always be reminded of their precarious place in the world. It was by the grace of the Sapphire Star, and the monsters that called this land their home, that humanity persisted from one day to the next.
Head tossed back the old man gazed up at the open sky; at the Blissbill's crooning overhead and the cotton swab clouds burning away beneath the sun's glare. “And you would build up this goodwill how? I would not waste their time, much less ours, with empty gestures.”
Drawing stuttering breaths, Jet prayed to whoever and whatever would heed him that he didn't fumble this delivery. “We would ask of them, especially now in these tense and trying times, to collect what our understandably risk-averse gatherers are reluctant to. Given the Trainers are already considered familiar, if not welcome, faces among us Hunters... we are optimistic that they will be just as well received by the general populace. In exchange for these favors we would afford them entry into the warmth of our hearth and homes. Where we can not only teach but learn from one another.”
With any luck this would ultimately prove to be a seamless segue. Taras and Nell, after indulging their love of human culture and cuisine, would of course ask about human weaponry! Why wouldn't they? They were Trainers, after all, and dealt with them day in and day out! Being the dutiful hosts that they were, Jet and Brook would happily indulge and educate the monsters by crafting them and training them to wield tools of their own. Under Astera's good graces no less!
…That was the plan anyway. To subtly seek sign off after the fact and work their way up to Alma. Trembling, Brook put her all into sealing the deal. “Our kitchens, apothecaries, and forges would be kept well stocked. The Trainers' protective presence would do wonders to soothe our people's spirits. In exchange for these services rendered we would leave these monsters without want. It is our hope, our aspiration, that these gestures will showcase to them that humanity will not cower behind them in the face of the feral threat.”
Side eyeing one another, Jet and Brook both dared to hope. This was the man who had overseen the establishment of the Trainer and Hunter system itself. This was the man who had ventured to the far reaches of the New World and lived to tell the tale. This was the man who not only spoke for Astera but whose very word the whole of it hinged upon!
The Commander rose to a stand with a grunt. “Hum. Likewise, this would demonstrate to the people of Astera that we need not fear our gracious hosts. They may look nothing like us, they may live differently than we do, but they share many of the selfsame fears and aspirations.”
Jet and Brook hastily choked down their premature celebrations. Say the magic words. Please. Pleaaaaaaaaase.
“This invitation... is to be extended to Trainer Nell and Trainer Taras specifically?” the Commander inquired.
“Yessir!” both Hunters answered in unison.
The esteemed elder stroked at the salt and pepper scruff that lined his chin. “And you would be the ones to supervise them?”
“Yessir!” both Hunters promptly replied.
“You would be the ones to relay requests to them?”
“Yessir!”
“You would be the ones to guide them through Astera proper? As you have many a time before?”
“Yes... sir? W-w-wait.”
Sporting a warm yet subdued smile, the Commander motioned for them to take a seat. “Come now. They already quite clearly know their way around their Canteen.”
Lips pulled flat, Brook and Jet stared at one another wide eyed and on the verge of panic. Torrents of cold sweat poured down the back of their necks at the dread realization they had faceplanted at the finish line
“I must admit...” the old man chuckled. “Takes some gumption to march in here and ask me to formalize not only their trespasses but your own.”
Blood rushing to his head, the pounding of his heart ringing in his ears, Jet struggled to remain standing. His vision blurred as he fought valiantly not to pass out on the spot.
“Brook?” the Commander's raspy voice gently asked of her.
The Huntress could but silently nod in response as she tugged a limp and shell shocked Jet down into the chair beside her.
“You of all people should know the Felynes are a gossipy sort,” he playfully tutted. “I'm well aware that the Nargacuga and Tobi-Kadachi are frequent, albeit uninvited, guests of ours.” The Commander snorted and gestured to the walls wobbling in the wind. “As if our borders could ever hope to dissuade them.”
Hopelessly tongue tied, Brook fearfully maintained eye contact with the Commander.
Hands tucked behind his back, the old man paced back and forth behind his desk while he mulled what future, if any, they had in Astera. “Let it be said I do not doubt your claims. I do not doubt the affection those monsters hold. They would not have endangered themselves for your sake if they felt otherwise.” Flashing a toothy grin the old man guffawed. “You ought to be lauded for fostering and nurturing such warm relationships! It's reassuring, really, to think such disparate peoples could grow so close over so short a time.”
Holding his breath, Jet reached over and squeezed Brook's hand.
“...But?” The Huntress worriedly asked.
Back turned to his guests, the Commander nonchalantly shrugged. “...No buts,” said the wizened old man. “We've already been feeding those two for how long now? It's about time they took up their tab.”
Brows raised, Jet's eyes nervously bounced around his sockets. “H-h-hold on. So you're saying...?”
Chin tucked against his shoulder, the Commander smirked. “Hunter Brook, Hunter Jet... I accept your proposition! Report back here tomorrow morning for Trainer Nell and Trainer Taras' first slate of deliveries to be relayed. I expect them to be tendered post haste.”
Slack jawed, and stunned silent, the Hunters sat motionless while the Commander sidled up behind them. Letting a heavy hand come to rest upon their shoulders he shook them with a smile. “Going forward... I would appreciate if you pursued my permission as opposed to my forgiveness. Understood?”
Brook and Jet dumbly nodded.
“Very good. Until then!” Sauntering out of his office with a wave, tossing aside the tattered curtains serving as a door, the Commander left them to stew in their success. The distant roar of the waves, lapping against Astera's shores, washed over the dumbfounded duo.
Licking his parched lips, Jet slowly recalled the ins and outs of inhaling and exhaling. “We should...” Sliding down in his chair, his limbs leaden and heavy, the Hunter heavily breathed innnnn and outttttt. “We should... we should probably let him know what we're really after sooner rather than later. Right, Brook?”
WHUMPF
“Brook?”
With a wordless flop the harried Huntress, still holding tight to Jet's hand, collapsed face first into the rumpled carpet lining the floor. The stress of it all having finally caught up to her, Brook passed out from a mixture of exhilaration and exhaustion.
“...Hoo boy.”
<<<<<>>>>>
QUEST FAILED SUCCESSFULLY
<<<<<>>>>>
“Ambasssss-” Forked tongue fluttering between his lips, Taras sputtered and pbbted.
“Ambassador,” Jet repeated back to the towering Tobi-Kadachi.
Scaly brows furrowed, Taras' new title danced upon his tongue. “Ambasssssssssssthador!”
“Am. Bass. A. Dor.”
“That'sss what I sssaid!” pouted the sizable snake-squirrel. Cupping a hill's worth of beehives between his hands, Cultural Ambassador Taras grumpily snarfed on a larva laden comb.
With a groan and a dismissive swat of his hand the Hunter left it at that. Bleh. It was too early for this. Rubbing at his sleep crusted eyes, Jet grumpily regarded the streaks of pink, orange, and purple bleeding across the atmosphere. Off and away on the eastern horizon, where the sea met the sky, not even the sun had yet to rise.
Growling contentedly to herself, fur fluffed and puffed out, Nell turned her attention to the knee high humans. “Just who is this Commander of yours, anyway?” she curiously chirped as aromatic herbs, freshly picked, tumbled out from between her thick fingers.
Jet wordlessly gestured to Brook with a tired grunt. Arms tucked behind her head, fingers interlocked, the helmetless Huntress hummed. Ferns and flowering beds of sun-kissed grass rustled alongside the beaten clay path as she thoughtfully chewed on her answer. “He's...”
Tapping at her beak, Nell's pointed ears flicked with every stray thought that came to mind. “Is he... your Slayer?”
In unison Jet and Brook unenthusiastically ehhhed.
Perking to attention, sparks crackling along the tufts of fluff and spikes lining his scaled spine, Taras leaned in close. “Ooh ooh ooh! I know I know!” Arms crossed about his peach scaled chest, honey trickling down along his torso, the Tobi-Kadachi proudly flaunted his unmatched expertise in human happenings. “He'sss-”
Smirking to herself, Brook brushed a hand along the Fanged Wyvern's leg. Densely packed with wiry muscle, his supple scales smooth to the touch, the Huntress blushed when the bashful behemoth wiggled and giggled at her every poke and prod. “She asked me you nosy noodle!”
“Pleassse!” Taras whined. Hands bunched together, the Tobi excitedly tamped his two toed feet against the earth. Muted thooms that nearly knocked Jet and Brook prone rippled out from beneath his broad soles. “Pleassse pleasse pleassse! ”
“No,” Brook teasingly tutted. “You're here to listen to folks not talk over them. Remember?”
“Aww...”
Shaking her head the Huntress bid the Nargacuga, her black fur streaked green with grass stains, come closer. “The Commander is... a lot of things. But first and foremost he's our leader. Every Hunter, every human, looks to him for guidance.”
Nell chirped as she fumbled with the unwieldy pile of mushrooms, herbs, and moss balls entrusted to her. “So he's... what? The biggest and strongest and oldest human there is? That's just a Slayer by another name, isn't it?” she asked uncertainly.
Both Brook and Jet couldn't help but snort.
“Wrong on every count,” Jet yawned. Eyes closed, he tiredly shuffled forward. Every time the Hunter stumbled into the brush or stomped through flower beds Nell guided him back towards the beaten path with a bump of her tail.
“Strength is a very subjective thing for humans...” Brook conceded. “More than anything he is where he is because he's the most experienced, the most traveled, of anyone in all of Astera. In his youth, before the Trainer system even existed, he traveled the breadth of the known world. The Wildspire Wastes, the Coral Highlands, the Rotten Vale... he's seen it all!”
Disbelieving growls tumbled free from Nell's maw.
“Is it really that hard to swallow?” the Huntress smirked. “Humans have set foot in nearly every corner of the New World! Not many survive the attempt, mind you, but the Commander has! His depth, and breadth, of experience is unmatched.”
Rubbing at his eyes, Jet blearily took in the sight of Astera slowly creeping into view as they followed the shoreline. He should've still been at home, curled up comfy cozy in bed, at this hour. “He may not look it but the Commander is a wise, and tough, old bastard,” the Hunter sleepily chimed in.
“How could he not? He's been here since the beginning,” Brook mused. “Before the beginning, even. Even though he was only a child the Commander helped build Astera from the ground up. He established contact and negotiated with the first Trainers. He's overseen, and lived through, a lot of what has and hasn't worked for humanity.”
Eyes half-lidded, the Nargacuga wistfully regarded her diminutive and delicate friends. “Strength isn't what you seek from this Commander of yours, is it? It's survival...”
Brook weakly smiled back at the behemoth batcat. “He's lived through the best, and worst, of what life here can throw at us. He's survived more mistakes than most. The Commander, more than anyone else, knows what it takes to scrape by. For that reason we willingly entrust to him a lot of power. A lot of authority.”
Resting his head against Nell's knee, brushing a hand along the spike tipped tail lovingly curled around him, Jet sighed. “His word is absolute. Abide by it or begone from Astera. That's really all there is to it.”
The monsters exchanged wary glances. Tongue clicking against the roof of her beak, Nell cleared her throat with a muffled chirp. “H-h-hold on now. Wouldn't humans separated from their hive struggle to, you know, ...survive?”
“That's the point,” Brook solemnly clarified. “If you can't play by Astera's rules, or worse yet threaten them, the Commander will cast you out.”
Taras and Nell winced as the color drained from their scales and fur. “W-w-wait!” Taras spat. “S-s-ssso all thossse timesss you brought usss to the Canteen...”
Flashes of teeth, saliva slicked and razor sharp, peeked out from Nell's gumline. “If this Commander had ever found out would... would he have-”
Nervous, and weary, laughter tumbled free from both humans' lips. “Oh... oh he knew,” Brook groaned.
Wrapping an arm around Nell's tree trunk of a leg, Jet planted an emphatic kiss on the Nargacuga's calf to calm her. “He could have, should have, taken us to task. But... on account of how well behaved the both of you are he decided to let it slide.”
Sighing, Brook followed her fellow Hunter's lead and leaned into her loomy lover. “We knew what we were getting ourselves into. You always have been, and will be, worth it.”
“Broooooooook...” Taras sorrowfully hissed.
Cheeks puffed out and hackles raised, Nell bunched her shoulders and grumpily swished her barbed tail. The crimson bands of fur wrapped around her eyes flared to life at the thought of this Commander visiting such a fate upon her Jet.
“Nah nah nah nah nah none of that now!” Jet chastised the Nargacuga as he took to rubbing at the back of her knees. “No showing up to our first delivery looking like that. Alright?”
Beak scrunched, the Nargacuga weakly chirped and tensed at Jet's oh so sensitive scritches. “But... but... but!”
Face burning bright, Jet bashfully mumble grumbled. “I-i-it's sweet that you wanna protect me from anything and everything, Nell, but...”
“It's your life to live,” sighed the Flying Wyvern. “I know, I know.”
In silence the enormous monsters trudged ever onwards while their bitty and beloved humans consoled them. Shoulders sagging, Taras tiredly nosed at his haul and nudged away some stray bees seeking to reclaim their half-eaten home. “...What if your Commander doesssn't like usss? What if none of the humansss do?”
“Taras, please!” Brook smirked. “If it isn't already obvious the Commander thinks very highly of you. That he extended this invitation at all speaks volumes.” Racing ahead of him, the Huntress turned to face her tremendous Tobi. Jogging backwards along the beaten path she motioned for him to meet her.
Dropping to a crouch, Taras leaned in close... only to wildly spark when Brook clasped his scaled snout between her hands. “And no humans liking you? Psshhhhhh! I'm human. Don't I count?”
Broad tail wildly flailing behind him, smoke and sparks erupting off of the keratin spikes that lined it, Taras stuttered. “I-I-I mean...”
Quiet, yet pronounced, smecks and smacks promptly sounded out when the Huntress buried her face into the Fanged Wyvern's scaly lips. “I like you at any rate,” Brook reassured him.
“...I know you do,” Taras happily hissed. Nosing and nuzzling into her, the Tobi-Kadachi rose to a stand with a very visible blush. Pinching another honey comb between his teeth Taras sheepishly changed the subject between swallows. “S-s-ssooooo...”
“So?” Brook hummed.
“Sssooooooo besssidesss the Canteen... where elssse ssshould we go? Now that we're proper ambassss... ambassssssss...” Taras pbbted and rolled his eyes. “We can go wherever we want within your wallsss now can't we?”
Nell's pointed ears fwipped to attention. Piercing yellow eyes pressing against the sides of her sockets, the batcat sharply chirped while her tail possessively curled about Jet.
The Huntress shrugged. “Within reason. Got some place in mind?”
“I mean if you're taking suggestions...” Nell cooed.
Arms pinched tightly together against his torso, Jet hurked at the Nargacuga's lustful if not impatient growls. She was all but inviting herself into his nest err home at this point. “Brook. Help.”
Tugging at her collar, Brook flashed a flustered smile as she longingly gazed up towards Taras. She had spent how many weeks living at his nest? It was only proper, it was only polite, to extend the same courtesy! “...I'm listening.”
“BROOK.”
FIRST, PREVIOUS, NEXT
And, if they have their way, live with and love the hapless humans they've come to treasure and adore.
Woah wow check it out even more Monster Hugger! Sweetness and shenanigans aplenty this time around along with some world building.
Hopefully you enjoy!
Thumbnail comes courtesy of Jazzumi!
FIRST, PREVIOUS, NEXT
Monster Hugger Freedom
By: RaddaRaem
“Absolutely not,” Brook shot down without a second thought.
“It's called the Insect Glaive not the Insect... Staff,” Jet replied. Pacing along the shoreline of the Old World's Epitaph, the roar of the receding waves echoing throughout the sun-kissed cove, the Hunter hummed when he drew near a beached galley boat. Wading into the tide, seashells crunching beneath his greaves, he brushed his a hand along its barnacle encrusted hull.
“Well it is now,” Brook brusquely declared. Never would they ever need, much less want, the towering Tobi-Kadachi to be swinging around a man-sized blade attached to what may as well be a tree trunk. Pinching at her forehead, the Huntress kneaded out the cavernous wrinkles carved into her brow. “Jet.”
Deeming the seafaring vessel structurally sound, Jet hurled his grappling hook up towards the salt caked planks lining the port side. “Yes, Brook?”
Eyes half-lidded, the heavily armored human, sans helmet, silently shook her head. “One last time. Walk me through this plan of yours.”
CRSSSSH
Lips pulled flat, Jet clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth when the railing he had latched on to came crashing down before him in a cloud of splinters. Along with some stray oars. The Hunter's eyes warily swiveled along the bottom of their sockets while he watched the sea swallow up the wreckage. “Right. Well. On the matter of training Taras...”
“Uh huh?” Reaching into her satchel, Brook tried her luck with the starboard side. Her grappling hook, sailing high into the air in a graceful arc, landed on deck with a worrying crunch.
Circling round the ship, Jet sheepishly sidled up alongside his all too unhappy accomplice. “To start we'll need a proper pole. Something stout. Something strong. Something... Tobi sized.” Laughing nervously he gestured towards the galley's sun bleached mast. Taras, while eager and enthusiastic to learn the tools of the Hunter trade, was uhhh... decidedly lacking in said tools. Jet's hope was that this outing could remedy that.
Biceps bulging, Brook tugged. Thankfully, mercifully, her grappling hook pulled taut when piles of nail pocked planks compacted together beneath the curved iron hooks. Nostrils flared, and brows arched, she wordlessly motioned for Jet to take the lead.
The Hunter gripped the knotted rope dangling over the deck murderously tight. Wrists straining, he ascended the side of the ship. Brook snorted at the infrequent yelps that slipped free from Jet's throat every time his armored soles punched through the rotted wood.
“Fine,” spat the Huntress. “Ignoring the matter of how we separate the mast from ship. Ignoring the time and effort it'll take to sand that down and refurbish it into a weapon. How again do you plan on keeping this under wraps?”
Grunting, Jet flopped on deck with a relieved sigh. “Byyyy keeping my big mouth shut?”
“...And Taras?”
“What abouhhhhh I see where this is going.” Leaning over the railing, Jet extended a helping hand to Brook.
SHFFFFFFFFFFF
At Brook's boarding the ship slid along the sands and into the shallows. White capped waves splashed over the stern and showered the Hunters in salt and seaweed.
“He's going to carry that Insect Glaive... errr... Staff with him everywhere he goes. Monsters and men alike are going to start asking questions. You do know that, right?” Reaching back around her head, Brook untied her ponytail and tossed back her sopping wet hair.
Popping off his helmet Jet took to fanning himself. “Would the other Monsters really even care that much?”
Teeth clenched, Brook warily shook her head side to side. “They're the ones that dictate who qualifies, who can even call themselves, a Rookie or Advanced or Master Hunter. They're the Trainers here, not us. Can you imagine the blowback if any of them catch wind of you being referred to as 'Trainer' Jet?”
“Taras...” Hand held up before him, Jet uneasily uhhed and promptly retracted his raised index finger. “Already calls me that. Oh no.”
Stepping forward, middle finger tucked against her thumb, the Huntress flicked at Jet's forehead.
Jet grumbled at the painful pinch. “...Alright, I get it. You don't think this is a good idea.”
Brook tched. “Because it isn't.”
Yet here she was, standing alongside him, helping dismantle the ship so that they could craft Taras a weapon to call his own. “...But?” Jet dared to press.
The Huntress tiredly rolled her eyes. “But...” Hands tucked beneath her armpits, Brook narrowed her gaze in frustration. “Seriously, Jet. Why am I always the last one to hear about these increasingly idiotic plans of yours?”
Popping back on his helmet, the Hunter scritched at his fluted visor while he choked on his entourage of excuses. “I. I'm-” Arms tossed out to his sides Jet impotently shrugged. “Iunno! Maybe because they really are as stupid as they sound?”
“You don't say,” Brook deadpanned.
Shoulders slouched, Jet smarted from her spoken slings and arrows. He had been expecting an explosive, and frankly deserved, diatribe upon her much awaited return to Astera. Instead, Brook saw fit to relentlessly roast him, to strip the very bark off him, at a slow simmer. Day in and day out she spared him no mercy whenever they crossed paths at the Canteen.
“You don't have to be here you know,” he limply shot back. Even though he knew this was coming, even though he knew to expect this, Jet asked for her aid all the same. Arming Taras, much less Alma, quickly and simply proved too much to manage by his lonesome.
The Huntress wordlessly thumbed at the dark bags that, weeks on from their frantic fight with the feral Tigrex, still lingered beneath her eyes. “That's a hell of a way to phrase an apology,” she bitterly sighed.
Jet wildly flailed his arms in exasperation. “What should I have done, Brook? Every day! Every day, Nell and I offered to lighten your load!”
Creaks wailed up from the hollow heart of the ship as it bobbed along the waves. Jet dipped his head and silently tugged down his visor while white foam bubbled up from the gaps in the deck. “And for the record? Alma approached me when Taras was taking care of YOU. Not the other way around.”
The tattered remains of the ship's sail, dangling from its weather-beaten mast, whipped wildly overhead as Jet curled his padded fingers against his armored palm. “If you're looking for an apology then here it is! I'm sorry! I'm sorry that I thought letting you rest was more important than waking your exhausted ass up just to tell you that Alma robbed you! I'm sorry I thought that letting you know the woman you hate brought back your Charge Blade could wait! I'm sorry that-”
“I do not hate Alma,” the Huntress snipped. Rubbing at the back of her neck, Brook's dour expression softened. “I just. It's just. That I had to hear this from her of all people, Jet!”
Arms hanging limply at his sides the Hunter idly took to fumbling with his hands. “I know.”
Slouching forward, Brook let slip a long held breath. “That she stole from me. That she hopes to study under you. A Slayer of all people, A SLAYER, is more forthcoming with me than you are!” The Huntress' eyes began to sweat. “Credit where credit is due!” Sniffling, she dragged her forearm across her face and stifled a cough. “She owned up and apologized! So, you know, I guess Alma's not the uncaring asshole I thought she'd be!”
“...Brook?”
Chest knotted, Brook violently shook her head as her voice cracked. “And now I have nobody to be angry with! Alma isn't the villain I made her out to be and, idiot that I am, I took it out on you instead! Cuz why would you need to apologize for something she confessed to?!”
Clutching at an elbow, Jet quietly accepted his friend's pent-up fears and frustrations.
“I... I... I thought I might lose him, Jet.” Intrusive images of the Canteen, silent and still, flooded to the forefront of Brook's thoughts. No more sassy snake arguing with the hired help. No more nosy noodle trying to sneak in extra servings. Choking back sobs, the Huntress shuddered while she struggled to force down a painful swallow. No more wumbo Wyvern keeping her company on slow shifts. No more Taras, with that dopey smile and heavy lisp of his, reminding her just how loved she was.
Clearing her throat, Brook slapped at her chest and tried to force the much needed ugly cry out of her system. “Yeah.” Thumbing at her nose, the Huntress snorted and dried her tears along the back of her knuckles. “I-I-I know I don't have to be here. But if it's for his sake...” Lips pulled flat, she shamefully turned away from Jet.
“Oh Brook...”
Arms bunched close, the Huntress tucked her chin to her chest. “He comes back from that ordeal to no one caring, no one waiting, for him only for you to roll up and rope him into all this! Making him feel wanted, making him feel appreciated, and and and-” Tossing a look over her shoulder she painfully groaned before locking gazes with her fellow Hunter. “And maybe, you know, I'd like to be a part of that! Maybe I'd like it if one of my best friends bothered to include me!”
Sighing, Jet shuffled along the seaweed soaked deck towards her. Hand held out before him he patiently waited for Brook to take it. “I'm sorry for not letting you know sooner. For trying to keep this to myself until I couldn't.”
Blinking away fresh tears, Brook wholeheartedly accepted his apology.
Swallowing hard, the Hunter clasped his companion's hand between both of his own. “But... if you can't trust us to share your burdens then how can I trust you to do the same? Taras is our friend too you know! As are you.”
“I know, I know, sharing is caring...” the Huntress quipped with a sniffle and a snort. Smiling, Brook gingerly punched at Jet's armored shoulder with her free hand. “No more secrets?”
Flashing a toothy grin of his own, Jet nudged her right back. “No more secrets.”
Thumbing at her nose, Brook nodded along. “Oh uh... and Jet?”
“Hum?”
The Huntress awkwardly tried to cough away her cracking voice while she leaned in for a hug. “Thanks uhhh... thanks for looking after Taras when I couldn't. Thanks for looking after me.”
“Always.” Squeezing one another tight, the pair of Hunters were slow to disengage from their embrace. With an ahemhem Jet swiveled about on his heels and, with an excess of razzle AND dazzle, he gestured to the mast once more. “Sooooo! With all that said... still think this is a terrible idea?”
GLRNNNNNNNNNN
Eyes gone wide, Jet and Brook warily watched on as their ship ruptured apart. Dragged along the shoals by the receding tide torrents of water, and sand, rushed in to the keel.
“...It could use some work,” Brook mumbled as saltwater lapped at their knees and they slowly sank beneath the waves.
A few days later...
“Ready?” asked Brook.
Sitting opposite of her, hands nervously tapping at the slab of stone that served as the Canteen's counter, Jet forced a smile even as he shook his head side to side. Blinding streaks of yellow, courtesy of the morning sun, drowned the whole of Astera in its warmth.
“Understandable!” Dropping to a crouch, the Huntress retrieved a pair of wooden steins from beneath the counter. Moseying past the roaring wood-fired ovens manned by many a Felyne she popped open the tap on an unmarked barrel. Liquid gold, amber in color, gushed out from it.
“Brook, I'll admit it. My idea was stupid.” Limbs quaking, he accepted the freely offered drink. Fingers clutching at the wrought iron rings wrapped around the cup, sticky foam trickling over his digits, Jet tossed his head back and forced down swallow after swallow of Ratha Whiskey.
TUNK
Slamming his stein down, head buzzing, the frazzled Hunter could do little more than stare into the stone before him. Liquid smoke danced along his taste buds and every time he exhaled his lips burned. “But this is... this... is...”
Hunched over, Jet tossed a guilty look over his shoulder. The palm trees lining the edges of the Canteen's clearing, their shadows swallowing up the tables perched beneath them, silently swayed for no one in particular. Interspersed tufts of grass, sprouting from the heavily trafficked path, had yet to broken beneath today's foot traffic. Confident that the coast was clear the Hunter rapped his empty stein against the counter as he all but begged Brook for another swig.
“I am cutting you off after this,” the Huntress warily warned him when she slid him the other stein. “Can't have you arguing this alongside me reeking of booze.”
“The Commander though, Brook! The Commander! We can't lie to him!”
“And we won't! We aren't!” she emphasized through clenched teeth.
Jet anxiously ran his hands through his long and wild mane of hair. “... We're sure, we're positive, that Nell and Taras are onboard with this?”
Fingers splayed, the Huntress sharply inhaled. “Jet. Buddy. Pal. You were there when we asked them. YOU were the one who ASKED them, even!”
Shaking like a leaf, Jet grimaced as he cupped the stein between his hands. “I want to practice our presentation again,” he groaned.
“Good because so do I,” Brook gasped as her own fraying nerves finally wore her down. Slinking around the counter she took a seat alongside Jet. “From the top. One last time.”
Balled fist held up to his foam covered lips, Jet cleared his throat. “Commander. Myself, and Huntress Brook, come to you today with a proposition.”
“Master Rank Huntress,” Brook quickly corrected him. “Flex every credential we have.”
The Hunter wordlessly nodded. “Myself, and Master Rank Huntress Brook, come to you today with a proposition.” At that he gestured towards the dark skinned and dark haired woman fretting beside him.
Straightening her posture, Brook spoke from her chest with a commanding confidence. “As you're well aware, in the wake of the recent... incident, tensions are high. Trainers of every rank have brought operations to a standstill until not just our safety, but their own, can be guaranteed. Astera's greatest researchers and gatherers, no strangers to danger, are hesitant to venture out into the field.” With a nod Brook turned to her erstwhile companion.
Hands clasped tight, his thumbs steepled together, Jet spoke his piece. “They are, understandably, right to think so. Having witnessed, having fought, a feral monster, we cannot help but come to the same conclusion. Caution is tantamount and well warranted. However! However. Paranoia is not.”
Index finger raised, Brook motioned for her imagined audience to let her speak. “Myself and Advanced Rank Hunter Jet have remained in contact with the Trainers that fought alongside us. Master Rank Trainer Nell and Rookie Rank Trainer Taras, both of whom were injured in their efforts to protect us, have retained their faculties, and more importantly, their affection for humans.”
Silence, awkward and heavy, hung over the duo as curious Felynes gathered round.
“Pssst. Jet!” Brook harshly whispered.
“Where was my cue?!” Jet mouthed back.
“Where was mine?!” Brook snapped.
“Mraow mrao maow meow!”
“OKAY, OKAY, OKAY.” Wiping the sweat from his brow, the Hunter composed himself. “In addition we met, and parleyed with, the monster bearing the title of Slayer, Alma. Given Trainer Nell and Trainer Taras' unremarkable recoveries, and Alma's continued cognizance, we can say with the utmost confidence that whatever madness plagues these ferals is not contagious. If it were these attacks would be an all too common an occurrence.” Jet tap tapped his palm against the counter as he passed the proverbial baton back to Brook.
“Better,” muttered the Huntress. Jaw hanging slack, Brook immediately blanked out and proceeded to uhhhhh at length.
“Mraow?”
Beads of sweat and goosebumps collected upon her arms. Reaching over towards Jet, Brook grabbed hold of his unfinished drink and pounded it back without a second thought. Coughing, and blinking profusely, she plodded along with her portion of the presentation. “W-w-while we understand there is some hesitation, some fear, to engage with our neighbors in the wake of this near disaster... now more than ever we should be seeking to strengthen not fray our ties. We get it. We do. There's frighteningly little that separates them from their bloodthirsty brethren.” With an embarrassed groan Brook noisily slid the emptied stein back to Jet.
Lips scrunched, Jet forlornly regarded his exhausted reserves of liquid courage. Puffing into what little foam remained he turned his attention towards the rapt Felynes. “But they're in just as much danger, if not more so, than we are! Think about it. If Astera ever was visited by such an abomination it would only be after it tore through the Trainers we've come to know and trust first. Along with who knows how many other monsters.”
The gathered Felynes grimly nodded.
Elbows resting on the counter, face cupped in her hands, Brook dragged out a heavy exhale. “Which is why...”
Heart caught in his throat, Jet pivoted to the crux of their proposition. The argument that they would use to shamelessly couch arming, and training, Taras and Alma with. “Which is why we come to you today in the hopes of proposing...”
“A cultural exchange?” The Commander, his wispy white hair swishing in the breeze, curiously repeated aloud their entreaty. “Elaborate.”
Standing at attention within his open air office, Jet and Brook both stoically maintained a neutral expression. Stepping forward, her iron soles scraping against the carpeted planks, the Huntress was the first to speak. “Forgive me if I am speaking out of line, Sir, but would you or would you not consider our relations with the Trainers... warm?”
Leaning back into his chair, arms crossed about his chest, the ebony hued elder thoughtfully hummed. His cracked and heavy leather armor, tattered and stitched together, bore the scars of innumerable battles. “Indeed I would.”
Mind racing, his heart smashing away at the back of his rib cage, Jet advanced up alongside Brook. Looking out over the Commander's desk, and the myriad maps scattered across it, the humbled Hunter dared to open his mouth. “Yet we know so little about them and they of us. Outside of training, and what little trading we engage in, there is hardly any interaction between our peoples.”
The Commander steepled his fingers. “Your argument being that this gap in our understanding is at risk of filling in with hearsay, rumors, and superstition. You would seek to plug that before any misunderstandings can arise?”
Brook ahemed and raised her voice. “Yessir. If I may, Trainer Nell and Trainer Taras both have repeatedly expressed interest, and have a noted curiosity, in human culture. We believe that inviting them into Astera, with ample warning and under close supervision mind you, would do much to allay fears on our side. Our neighbors are nothing if not courteous and kind and it would do our kith and kin good to be reminded as such.”
The Commander's office, comprised of little more than wooden walls and a floor overlooking the endless ocean, creaked in the salt-stained breeze. Devoid of any ceiling, any shelter from the elements, it was crafted atop a ridge overlooking the settlement such that he and every one of its occupants would always be reminded of their precarious place in the world. It was by the grace of the Sapphire Star, and the monsters that called this land their home, that humanity persisted from one day to the next.
Head tossed back the old man gazed up at the open sky; at the Blissbill's crooning overhead and the cotton swab clouds burning away beneath the sun's glare. “And you would build up this goodwill how? I would not waste their time, much less ours, with empty gestures.”
Drawing stuttering breaths, Jet prayed to whoever and whatever would heed him that he didn't fumble this delivery. “We would ask of them, especially now in these tense and trying times, to collect what our understandably risk-averse gatherers are reluctant to. Given the Trainers are already considered familiar, if not welcome, faces among us Hunters... we are optimistic that they will be just as well received by the general populace. In exchange for these favors we would afford them entry into the warmth of our hearth and homes. Where we can not only teach but learn from one another.”
With any luck this would ultimately prove to be a seamless segue. Taras and Nell, after indulging their love of human culture and cuisine, would of course ask about human weaponry! Why wouldn't they? They were Trainers, after all, and dealt with them day in and day out! Being the dutiful hosts that they were, Jet and Brook would happily indulge and educate the monsters by crafting them and training them to wield tools of their own. Under Astera's good graces no less!
…That was the plan anyway. To subtly seek sign off after the fact and work their way up to Alma. Trembling, Brook put her all into sealing the deal. “Our kitchens, apothecaries, and forges would be kept well stocked. The Trainers' protective presence would do wonders to soothe our people's spirits. In exchange for these services rendered we would leave these monsters without want. It is our hope, our aspiration, that these gestures will showcase to them that humanity will not cower behind them in the face of the feral threat.”
Side eyeing one another, Jet and Brook both dared to hope. This was the man who had overseen the establishment of the Trainer and Hunter system itself. This was the man who had ventured to the far reaches of the New World and lived to tell the tale. This was the man who not only spoke for Astera but whose very word the whole of it hinged upon!
The Commander rose to a stand with a grunt. “Hum. Likewise, this would demonstrate to the people of Astera that we need not fear our gracious hosts. They may look nothing like us, they may live differently than we do, but they share many of the selfsame fears and aspirations.”
Jet and Brook hastily choked down their premature celebrations. Say the magic words. Please. Pleaaaaaaaaase.
“This invitation... is to be extended to Trainer Nell and Trainer Taras specifically?” the Commander inquired.
“Yessir!” both Hunters answered in unison.
The esteemed elder stroked at the salt and pepper scruff that lined his chin. “And you would be the ones to supervise them?”
“Yessir!” both Hunters promptly replied.
“You would be the ones to relay requests to them?”
“Yessir!”
“You would be the ones to guide them through Astera proper? As you have many a time before?”
“Yes... sir? W-w-wait.”
Sporting a warm yet subdued smile, the Commander motioned for them to take a seat. “Come now. They already quite clearly know their way around their Canteen.”
Lips pulled flat, Brook and Jet stared at one another wide eyed and on the verge of panic. Torrents of cold sweat poured down the back of their necks at the dread realization they had faceplanted at the finish line
“I must admit...” the old man chuckled. “Takes some gumption to march in here and ask me to formalize not only their trespasses but your own.”
Blood rushing to his head, the pounding of his heart ringing in his ears, Jet struggled to remain standing. His vision blurred as he fought valiantly not to pass out on the spot.
“Brook?” the Commander's raspy voice gently asked of her.
The Huntress could but silently nod in response as she tugged a limp and shell shocked Jet down into the chair beside her.
“You of all people should know the Felynes are a gossipy sort,” he playfully tutted. “I'm well aware that the Nargacuga and Tobi-Kadachi are frequent, albeit uninvited, guests of ours.” The Commander snorted and gestured to the walls wobbling in the wind. “As if our borders could ever hope to dissuade them.”
Hopelessly tongue tied, Brook fearfully maintained eye contact with the Commander.
Hands tucked behind his back, the old man paced back and forth behind his desk while he mulled what future, if any, they had in Astera. “Let it be said I do not doubt your claims. I do not doubt the affection those monsters hold. They would not have endangered themselves for your sake if they felt otherwise.” Flashing a toothy grin the old man guffawed. “You ought to be lauded for fostering and nurturing such warm relationships! It's reassuring, really, to think such disparate peoples could grow so close over so short a time.”
Holding his breath, Jet reached over and squeezed Brook's hand.
“...But?” The Huntress worriedly asked.
Back turned to his guests, the Commander nonchalantly shrugged. “...No buts,” said the wizened old man. “We've already been feeding those two for how long now? It's about time they took up their tab.”
Brows raised, Jet's eyes nervously bounced around his sockets. “H-h-hold on. So you're saying...?”
Chin tucked against his shoulder, the Commander smirked. “Hunter Brook, Hunter Jet... I accept your proposition! Report back here tomorrow morning for Trainer Nell and Trainer Taras' first slate of deliveries to be relayed. I expect them to be tendered post haste.”
Slack jawed, and stunned silent, the Hunters sat motionless while the Commander sidled up behind them. Letting a heavy hand come to rest upon their shoulders he shook them with a smile. “Going forward... I would appreciate if you pursued my permission as opposed to my forgiveness. Understood?”
Brook and Jet dumbly nodded.
“Very good. Until then!” Sauntering out of his office with a wave, tossing aside the tattered curtains serving as a door, the Commander left them to stew in their success. The distant roar of the waves, lapping against Astera's shores, washed over the dumbfounded duo.
Licking his parched lips, Jet slowly recalled the ins and outs of inhaling and exhaling. “We should...” Sliding down in his chair, his limbs leaden and heavy, the Hunter heavily breathed innnnn and outttttt. “We should... we should probably let him know what we're really after sooner rather than later. Right, Brook?”
WHUMPF
“Brook?”
With a wordless flop the harried Huntress, still holding tight to Jet's hand, collapsed face first into the rumpled carpet lining the floor. The stress of it all having finally caught up to her, Brook passed out from a mixture of exhilaration and exhaustion.
“...Hoo boy.”
<<<<<>>>>>
QUEST FAILED SUCCESSFULLY
<<<<<>>>>>
“Ambasssss-” Forked tongue fluttering between his lips, Taras sputtered and pbbted.
“Ambassador,” Jet repeated back to the towering Tobi-Kadachi.
Scaly brows furrowed, Taras' new title danced upon his tongue. “Ambasssssssssssthador!”
“Am. Bass. A. Dor.”
“That'sss what I sssaid!” pouted the sizable snake-squirrel. Cupping a hill's worth of beehives between his hands, Cultural Ambassador Taras grumpily snarfed on a larva laden comb.
With a groan and a dismissive swat of his hand the Hunter left it at that. Bleh. It was too early for this. Rubbing at his sleep crusted eyes, Jet grumpily regarded the streaks of pink, orange, and purple bleeding across the atmosphere. Off and away on the eastern horizon, where the sea met the sky, not even the sun had yet to rise.
Growling contentedly to herself, fur fluffed and puffed out, Nell turned her attention to the knee high humans. “Just who is this Commander of yours, anyway?” she curiously chirped as aromatic herbs, freshly picked, tumbled out from between her thick fingers.
Jet wordlessly gestured to Brook with a tired grunt. Arms tucked behind her head, fingers interlocked, the helmetless Huntress hummed. Ferns and flowering beds of sun-kissed grass rustled alongside the beaten clay path as she thoughtfully chewed on her answer. “He's...”
Tapping at her beak, Nell's pointed ears flicked with every stray thought that came to mind. “Is he... your Slayer?”
In unison Jet and Brook unenthusiastically ehhhed.
Perking to attention, sparks crackling along the tufts of fluff and spikes lining his scaled spine, Taras leaned in close. “Ooh ooh ooh! I know I know!” Arms crossed about his peach scaled chest, honey trickling down along his torso, the Tobi-Kadachi proudly flaunted his unmatched expertise in human happenings. “He'sss-”
Smirking to herself, Brook brushed a hand along the Fanged Wyvern's leg. Densely packed with wiry muscle, his supple scales smooth to the touch, the Huntress blushed when the bashful behemoth wiggled and giggled at her every poke and prod. “She asked me you nosy noodle!”
“Pleassse!” Taras whined. Hands bunched together, the Tobi excitedly tamped his two toed feet against the earth. Muted thooms that nearly knocked Jet and Brook prone rippled out from beneath his broad soles. “Pleassse pleasse pleassse! ”
“No,” Brook teasingly tutted. “You're here to listen to folks not talk over them. Remember?”
“Aww...”
Shaking her head the Huntress bid the Nargacuga, her black fur streaked green with grass stains, come closer. “The Commander is... a lot of things. But first and foremost he's our leader. Every Hunter, every human, looks to him for guidance.”
Nell chirped as she fumbled with the unwieldy pile of mushrooms, herbs, and moss balls entrusted to her. “So he's... what? The biggest and strongest and oldest human there is? That's just a Slayer by another name, isn't it?” she asked uncertainly.
Both Brook and Jet couldn't help but snort.
“Wrong on every count,” Jet yawned. Eyes closed, he tiredly shuffled forward. Every time the Hunter stumbled into the brush or stomped through flower beds Nell guided him back towards the beaten path with a bump of her tail.
“Strength is a very subjective thing for humans...” Brook conceded. “More than anything he is where he is because he's the most experienced, the most traveled, of anyone in all of Astera. In his youth, before the Trainer system even existed, he traveled the breadth of the known world. The Wildspire Wastes, the Coral Highlands, the Rotten Vale... he's seen it all!”
Disbelieving growls tumbled free from Nell's maw.
“Is it really that hard to swallow?” the Huntress smirked. “Humans have set foot in nearly every corner of the New World! Not many survive the attempt, mind you, but the Commander has! His depth, and breadth, of experience is unmatched.”
Rubbing at his eyes, Jet blearily took in the sight of Astera slowly creeping into view as they followed the shoreline. He should've still been at home, curled up comfy cozy in bed, at this hour. “He may not look it but the Commander is a wise, and tough, old bastard,” the Hunter sleepily chimed in.
“How could he not? He's been here since the beginning,” Brook mused. “Before the beginning, even. Even though he was only a child the Commander helped build Astera from the ground up. He established contact and negotiated with the first Trainers. He's overseen, and lived through, a lot of what has and hasn't worked for humanity.”
Eyes half-lidded, the Nargacuga wistfully regarded her diminutive and delicate friends. “Strength isn't what you seek from this Commander of yours, is it? It's survival...”
Brook weakly smiled back at the behemoth batcat. “He's lived through the best, and worst, of what life here can throw at us. He's survived more mistakes than most. The Commander, more than anyone else, knows what it takes to scrape by. For that reason we willingly entrust to him a lot of power. A lot of authority.”
Resting his head against Nell's knee, brushing a hand along the spike tipped tail lovingly curled around him, Jet sighed. “His word is absolute. Abide by it or begone from Astera. That's really all there is to it.”
The monsters exchanged wary glances. Tongue clicking against the roof of her beak, Nell cleared her throat with a muffled chirp. “H-h-hold on now. Wouldn't humans separated from their hive struggle to, you know, ...survive?”
“That's the point,” Brook solemnly clarified. “If you can't play by Astera's rules, or worse yet threaten them, the Commander will cast you out.”
Taras and Nell winced as the color drained from their scales and fur. “W-w-wait!” Taras spat. “S-s-ssso all thossse timesss you brought usss to the Canteen...”
Flashes of teeth, saliva slicked and razor sharp, peeked out from Nell's gumline. “If this Commander had ever found out would... would he have-”
Nervous, and weary, laughter tumbled free from both humans' lips. “Oh... oh he knew,” Brook groaned.
Wrapping an arm around Nell's tree trunk of a leg, Jet planted an emphatic kiss on the Nargacuga's calf to calm her. “He could have, should have, taken us to task. But... on account of how well behaved the both of you are he decided to let it slide.”
Sighing, Brook followed her fellow Hunter's lead and leaned into her loomy lover. “We knew what we were getting ourselves into. You always have been, and will be, worth it.”
“Broooooooook...” Taras sorrowfully hissed.
Cheeks puffed out and hackles raised, Nell bunched her shoulders and grumpily swished her barbed tail. The crimson bands of fur wrapped around her eyes flared to life at the thought of this Commander visiting such a fate upon her Jet.
“Nah nah nah nah nah none of that now!” Jet chastised the Nargacuga as he took to rubbing at the back of her knees. “No showing up to our first delivery looking like that. Alright?”
Beak scrunched, the Nargacuga weakly chirped and tensed at Jet's oh so sensitive scritches. “But... but... but!”
Face burning bright, Jet bashfully mumble grumbled. “I-i-it's sweet that you wanna protect me from anything and everything, Nell, but...”
“It's your life to live,” sighed the Flying Wyvern. “I know, I know.”
In silence the enormous monsters trudged ever onwards while their bitty and beloved humans consoled them. Shoulders sagging, Taras tiredly nosed at his haul and nudged away some stray bees seeking to reclaim their half-eaten home. “...What if your Commander doesssn't like usss? What if none of the humansss do?”
“Taras, please!” Brook smirked. “If it isn't already obvious the Commander thinks very highly of you. That he extended this invitation at all speaks volumes.” Racing ahead of him, the Huntress turned to face her tremendous Tobi. Jogging backwards along the beaten path she motioned for him to meet her.
Dropping to a crouch, Taras leaned in close... only to wildly spark when Brook clasped his scaled snout between her hands. “And no humans liking you? Psshhhhhh! I'm human. Don't I count?”
Broad tail wildly flailing behind him, smoke and sparks erupting off of the keratin spikes that lined it, Taras stuttered. “I-I-I mean...”
Quiet, yet pronounced, smecks and smacks promptly sounded out when the Huntress buried her face into the Fanged Wyvern's scaly lips. “I like you at any rate,” Brook reassured him.
“...I know you do,” Taras happily hissed. Nosing and nuzzling into her, the Tobi-Kadachi rose to a stand with a very visible blush. Pinching another honey comb between his teeth Taras sheepishly changed the subject between swallows. “S-s-ssooooo...”
“So?” Brook hummed.
“Sssooooooo besssidesss the Canteen... where elssse ssshould we go? Now that we're proper ambassss... ambassssssss...” Taras pbbted and rolled his eyes. “We can go wherever we want within your wallsss now can't we?”
Nell's pointed ears fwipped to attention. Piercing yellow eyes pressing against the sides of her sockets, the batcat sharply chirped while her tail possessively curled about Jet.
The Huntress shrugged. “Within reason. Got some place in mind?”
“I mean if you're taking suggestions...” Nell cooed.
Arms pinched tightly together against his torso, Jet hurked at the Nargacuga's lustful if not impatient growls. She was all but inviting herself into his nest err home at this point. “Brook. Help.”
Tugging at her collar, Brook flashed a flustered smile as she longingly gazed up towards Taras. She had spent how many weeks living at his nest? It was only proper, it was only polite, to extend the same courtesy! “...I'm listening.”
“BROOK.”
FIRST, PREVIOUS, NEXT
Category Story / Macro / Micro
Species Unspecified / Any
Gender Any
Size 120 x 75px
Listed in Folders
Monsters openly allowed into town? Excellent, another major step toward... interspecies relations!
It is called Monster Hugger for a reason! Interspecies relations, and relationships, abound!|3
Yayyyyy! Update! <3
Gonna fave first, read next.
Gonna fave first, read next.
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