Hunting during the Holidays
folder
M through R › Predator
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,302
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Predator
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,302
Reviews:
16
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Predator movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Hunting during the Holidays
Disclaimer: all copyrights belong to Twentieth Century Fox and the screenwriters of Predator. I receive no profit from my writing of fan fiction and so only for enjoyment.
Timeline: present day
Warning: there is no smut in this
----------------------------------------
Hunting during the Holidays
Gar grumbled as he thawed out, eyeing his pale, cold clammy skin with distaste. His beautiful mottling had turned to a faint echo of its usual glory. He shivered as another blast of freezing wind found his haven and crouched closer to his blazing trash can that he had appropriated from shabbily dressed Oomans. This hunt was either a lesson to him of the perversity of Ooman prey or a reminder that he was often labeled as stubborn by other Hunters. His current predicament could truly be blamed on the female he wished to mate with. She was young and as thus her breeding cycle was still in flux and had fallen at an odd time of their sun rotation. And her preference of Ooman trophies had been blatantly announced. The fact that it was the wrong time of the climatic cycle for this planet was obviously easily ignored by the young female.
Oh, but her spots were sooo pretty, Gar recalled. The rest of the clan warriors had disregarded her hints and had sought more accessible prey for her. He, though, was determined to please her. It had nothing to do with his clan brothers scoffing at his plans, claiming the inclement weather would make his hunt impossible.
Gar sourly remembered how his carefully plotted agenda had fallen apart. He had chosen with intense deliberation his trophy. An Ooman of leadership in the current conflict taking place in one of the planet’s deserts Gar had decided, a warrior that wasn’t too old and infirmed. The Ooman was called a Cap-tan’ in one of their military organizations Gar had figured out with the aid of his computer. He had planned to take his prey while it was surrounded by other warriors of its kind, leaving no trace of the occurrence behind. This would make an interesting retelling to go along with his trophy Gar had happily concluded.
After studious days of watching to learn his prey’s routine he had prepared to pounce. Abruptly the Cap-tan’ had changed its usual habits and had boarded a large primitive flying contraption. Gar had determinedly raced and attached himself to the underside with his webbing. He had swiftly revised his plan to cutting an opening in the metal hull but further investigation had shown him that would be a very bad idea. Grimly he had clung, discovering that the increased altitude made this revision of his plans an extremely chilly prospect. After the airborne vehicle had landed it had taken him some time to thaw out sufficiently enough to fall the short distance to the hard ground. Earth that was covered with frozen, condensated water Gar discovered. His portable computer had identified it as something Oomans referred to as ‘Ice’. He believed it would feature prominently in all future nightmares concerning the Yautja’s Place of Punishment of the Afterlife.
A faint beeping noise drew his attention from his depressed contemplation and Gar glanced again at his equipment. He had had the foresight to plant a tracking device on the green bag of the Cap-tan’ as it had waited to be loaded much earlier. It now showed that his Ooman prey had remained stationary and he grimly resolved to finish this hunt quickly. Leaving his merrily blazing trash can Gar swiftly traveled between the close together buildings to an area of the Ooman settlement where the dwellings were further apart. He noticed an insidious cold, white substance falling down from the night sky to land damply on his chilled skin and found yet another reason that he would never return to this awful planet.
Curling his mandibles closely to his clenched jaw he trudged through the crisp covering discovering, to his dismay, that the solid surface was deceiving. Suddenly, without any warning, he would find himself thrashing in huge depressions filled with the white substance making him worry that his weapons would be ruined. He did not care enough to check his computer and translate what Oomans called this substance; he only knew that it was evil. He tried to ignore the fact that he could no longer feel the tips of his dreads. Thank the Blessed Stars that his taloned toes gave him adequate traction on the slippery surfaces. Every so often the camo function of his amour that he had activated would short in the damp coldness, causing a power surge to dance uncomfortably over his exposed skin. He could not recall a more miserable hunt in his entire existence.
Examining the reading on his equipment Gar paused in front of a particularly brightly lit dwelling. He tilted his head as he considered it, flinching as the freezing metal bands of his decorations touched his bare neck. It had different colored lights strung around the outside matching the ones on either side of it, but this one had the addition of an overweight Ooman hunter in a crimson vehicle chasing a small herd of fleeing, fierce appearing, horned herbivores. The smaller, lead one was depicted with blood on its muzzle showing what fearsome fighters these animals could be, Gar guessed.
He redirected his attention back to his equipment and realized that the Cap-tan’ was quite serious in keeping his personal adobe secure. A highly advanced, for this technology, alarm system was attached to all of the dwelling’s openings. He calibrated his device to disable it and was irritated to notice that the cold had apparently damaged his equipment. Gar growled in frustration as he considered his options. He could just barge in, his strength making it a simple matter to rip open the closed panel that guarded the dwelling, but his clan prided itself on stealth and he was loath to do this.
Gar’s sharp vision scanned the dwelling again and saw an unprotected opening on the roof. A wide square, hollow stone column rose and he considered it closely. Quietly stalking the structure, Gar nimbly climbed up to the roof and approached it. His hands registered it was warm and by peering down he could see smoldering embers far below. Rather than a deterrent his body actually welcomed the lingering hint of heat. He had to remove most of his weapons, leaving them carefully close by on the white covered shingles, but with just his camo amour and a single blade Gar barely had the clearance needed to wiggle his way down the narrow opening. The warm stones felt wonderful against his chilled skin and he considered pausing, perhaps until springtime, but the urge to finish this ill fated hunt was too strong.
As he cautiously clamored from the column he had a brief moment of excitement when his loincloth almost caught on fire but quick slaps saved his other, personal ‘equipment’. When he was done checking to make sure nothing was damaged he peered around in the semi darkness. He frowned as he considered the large vegetation placed in a prominent place within the main room of the dwelling. It was the presents and the faint breathing close by that alerted Gar to what actually was occurring. Sure enough, young ones were sleeping close by and he considered them with resignation. Only a hunter with his bad luck would choose the Great Hunt Festival to begin tracking his intended quarry. The presence of the sleeping little ones with wrapped weapons waiting as gifts to open on their awaking made it unmistakable. Now the lights on the outside of the dwelling made perfect sense, no doubt the damp cold would damage the skins and skulls usually used in his own culture. Upon reflection there had been a sense of competition in the severity of the decorations on the different dwellings that Gar understood in hindsight.
His gaze searched and easily found in the semi darkness the waiting offering of food to the older warriors that would stop by and give their blessings. Gar scanned the offering to make sure it wasn’t poisonous to his kind and noted the unusually high glucose content. He thought it was cunning of the Ooman little ones to leave fattening round morsels instead of the usual raw meat, no doubt hoping the visiting Hunters would become overweight and slow and thus less worthy competition in the future. Double checking to make sure his camo unit was still working at rendering him hidden from sight, as it was considered bad luck to been seen, he sighed and silently gestured the ritual blessing. Bending down he unsheathed his dagger and left it under the blinking lights with the other wrapped containers. This duty done, Gar devoured the round morsels clicking his mandibles happily when his taste buds registered the delicious taste. He also drained the cylinder of processed cream as well. Sighing again he turned to leave the way he had arrived, sadly respecting the restriction against acquiring trophies while the Festival was in progress. Even though it wasn’t his homeworld Gar did not want to risk further bad luck by continuing his Hunt.
As he climbed back up the narrow stone column the young ones below began to stir. Faintly he heard, “Wow …Santa can turn invisible!!!”
The end
------------------
Happy holidays to everyone
Timeline: present day
Warning: there is no smut in this
----------------------------------------
Hunting during the Holidays
Gar grumbled as he thawed out, eyeing his pale, cold clammy skin with distaste. His beautiful mottling had turned to a faint echo of its usual glory. He shivered as another blast of freezing wind found his haven and crouched closer to his blazing trash can that he had appropriated from shabbily dressed Oomans. This hunt was either a lesson to him of the perversity of Ooman prey or a reminder that he was often labeled as stubborn by other Hunters. His current predicament could truly be blamed on the female he wished to mate with. She was young and as thus her breeding cycle was still in flux and had fallen at an odd time of their sun rotation. And her preference of Ooman trophies had been blatantly announced. The fact that it was the wrong time of the climatic cycle for this planet was obviously easily ignored by the young female.
Oh, but her spots were sooo pretty, Gar recalled. The rest of the clan warriors had disregarded her hints and had sought more accessible prey for her. He, though, was determined to please her. It had nothing to do with his clan brothers scoffing at his plans, claiming the inclement weather would make his hunt impossible.
Gar sourly remembered how his carefully plotted agenda had fallen apart. He had chosen with intense deliberation his trophy. An Ooman of leadership in the current conflict taking place in one of the planet’s deserts Gar had decided, a warrior that wasn’t too old and infirmed. The Ooman was called a Cap-tan’ in one of their military organizations Gar had figured out with the aid of his computer. He had planned to take his prey while it was surrounded by other warriors of its kind, leaving no trace of the occurrence behind. This would make an interesting retelling to go along with his trophy Gar had happily concluded.
After studious days of watching to learn his prey’s routine he had prepared to pounce. Abruptly the Cap-tan’ had changed its usual habits and had boarded a large primitive flying contraption. Gar had determinedly raced and attached himself to the underside with his webbing. He had swiftly revised his plan to cutting an opening in the metal hull but further investigation had shown him that would be a very bad idea. Grimly he had clung, discovering that the increased altitude made this revision of his plans an extremely chilly prospect. After the airborne vehicle had landed it had taken him some time to thaw out sufficiently enough to fall the short distance to the hard ground. Earth that was covered with frozen, condensated water Gar discovered. His portable computer had identified it as something Oomans referred to as ‘Ice’. He believed it would feature prominently in all future nightmares concerning the Yautja’s Place of Punishment of the Afterlife.
A faint beeping noise drew his attention from his depressed contemplation and Gar glanced again at his equipment. He had had the foresight to plant a tracking device on the green bag of the Cap-tan’ as it had waited to be loaded much earlier. It now showed that his Ooman prey had remained stationary and he grimly resolved to finish this hunt quickly. Leaving his merrily blazing trash can Gar swiftly traveled between the close together buildings to an area of the Ooman settlement where the dwellings were further apart. He noticed an insidious cold, white substance falling down from the night sky to land damply on his chilled skin and found yet another reason that he would never return to this awful planet.
Curling his mandibles closely to his clenched jaw he trudged through the crisp covering discovering, to his dismay, that the solid surface was deceiving. Suddenly, without any warning, he would find himself thrashing in huge depressions filled with the white substance making him worry that his weapons would be ruined. He did not care enough to check his computer and translate what Oomans called this substance; he only knew that it was evil. He tried to ignore the fact that he could no longer feel the tips of his dreads. Thank the Blessed Stars that his taloned toes gave him adequate traction on the slippery surfaces. Every so often the camo function of his amour that he had activated would short in the damp coldness, causing a power surge to dance uncomfortably over his exposed skin. He could not recall a more miserable hunt in his entire existence.
Examining the reading on his equipment Gar paused in front of a particularly brightly lit dwelling. He tilted his head as he considered it, flinching as the freezing metal bands of his decorations touched his bare neck. It had different colored lights strung around the outside matching the ones on either side of it, but this one had the addition of an overweight Ooman hunter in a crimson vehicle chasing a small herd of fleeing, fierce appearing, horned herbivores. The smaller, lead one was depicted with blood on its muzzle showing what fearsome fighters these animals could be, Gar guessed.
He redirected his attention back to his equipment and realized that the Cap-tan’ was quite serious in keeping his personal adobe secure. A highly advanced, for this technology, alarm system was attached to all of the dwelling’s openings. He calibrated his device to disable it and was irritated to notice that the cold had apparently damaged his equipment. Gar growled in frustration as he considered his options. He could just barge in, his strength making it a simple matter to rip open the closed panel that guarded the dwelling, but his clan prided itself on stealth and he was loath to do this.
Gar’s sharp vision scanned the dwelling again and saw an unprotected opening on the roof. A wide square, hollow stone column rose and he considered it closely. Quietly stalking the structure, Gar nimbly climbed up to the roof and approached it. His hands registered it was warm and by peering down he could see smoldering embers far below. Rather than a deterrent his body actually welcomed the lingering hint of heat. He had to remove most of his weapons, leaving them carefully close by on the white covered shingles, but with just his camo amour and a single blade Gar barely had the clearance needed to wiggle his way down the narrow opening. The warm stones felt wonderful against his chilled skin and he considered pausing, perhaps until springtime, but the urge to finish this ill fated hunt was too strong.
As he cautiously clamored from the column he had a brief moment of excitement when his loincloth almost caught on fire but quick slaps saved his other, personal ‘equipment’. When he was done checking to make sure nothing was damaged he peered around in the semi darkness. He frowned as he considered the large vegetation placed in a prominent place within the main room of the dwelling. It was the presents and the faint breathing close by that alerted Gar to what actually was occurring. Sure enough, young ones were sleeping close by and he considered them with resignation. Only a hunter with his bad luck would choose the Great Hunt Festival to begin tracking his intended quarry. The presence of the sleeping little ones with wrapped weapons waiting as gifts to open on their awaking made it unmistakable. Now the lights on the outside of the dwelling made perfect sense, no doubt the damp cold would damage the skins and skulls usually used in his own culture. Upon reflection there had been a sense of competition in the severity of the decorations on the different dwellings that Gar understood in hindsight.
His gaze searched and easily found in the semi darkness the waiting offering of food to the older warriors that would stop by and give their blessings. Gar scanned the offering to make sure it wasn’t poisonous to his kind and noted the unusually high glucose content. He thought it was cunning of the Ooman little ones to leave fattening round morsels instead of the usual raw meat, no doubt hoping the visiting Hunters would become overweight and slow and thus less worthy competition in the future. Double checking to make sure his camo unit was still working at rendering him hidden from sight, as it was considered bad luck to been seen, he sighed and silently gestured the ritual blessing. Bending down he unsheathed his dagger and left it under the blinking lights with the other wrapped containers. This duty done, Gar devoured the round morsels clicking his mandibles happily when his taste buds registered the delicious taste. He also drained the cylinder of processed cream as well. Sighing again he turned to leave the way he had arrived, sadly respecting the restriction against acquiring trophies while the Festival was in progress. Even though it wasn’t his homeworld Gar did not want to risk further bad luck by continuing his Hunt.
As he climbed back up the narrow stone column the young ones below began to stir. Faintly he heard, “Wow …Santa can turn invisible!!!”
The end
------------------
Happy holidays to everyone