Somebody knows, somebody's seen. Somebody knows right where you've been.

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark is in a tree.

Yes, you read that right. This would make a great deal of sense if he were a ferret and some sense if he were a tiger, but, at the present moment, he is a person. In a tree.

No, he really doesn't want to talk about it, but he suspects he's going to have to. Apparently, he was taking a walk through the park, contemplating whimsy

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[the_vesmier]

The Vesmier is out for a walk, risky as it may be, but he hasn't been disturbed by the CLF recently and there are a dearth of things in this city which can occupy his attention. The TARDIS has wandered off and he's intending to track her down to see about going through her library of reading materials, when he finds...

Sark. In a tree.

...well, this is at least somewhat familiar, even though the last time, if memory serves, it was April up in branches. Which might serve as an explanation for how Sark found himself in a similar state.

He pauses under the tree, folding his hands into his sleeves and directing an inquisitive glance upward. "Mr. Sark."

[the_vesmier]

"Running" is not a concept the Vesmier's loaded into his quick-access list. The best he can do at short notice is sidestepping briskly, throwing a psychic wave of CALM RATIONALITY at the thing. Not his first choice, not in the least, but - what else is one to do when one is being attacked by gargantuan wild animals?

The problem with nonsentients is that one never knows how they'll react to psychic influence. Some are as susceptible as anyone might expect. Some run so totally on instinct, so totally devoid of the presence of thought and reason, that one might as well attempt psychic control of a simple machine.

[sarkraticmethod]

Unfortunately for Ves, the sabretooth mooselion falls into the latter category. Fortunately for Ves, there is now a tiger... This is a very low example of the word 'fortunately.'

Sark held off the shift about as long as he could, but eventually the tiger won and he felt like he suddenly tripped, only to be greeted by the ripping of clothes and the tumbling feeling of hitting the ground and rolling and then realizing that all of your senses are sharper and... Oh yeah, you're a tiger

[the_vesmier]

The Vesmier startles a little at the tiger nudging his knees, but when a cursory mental brush reveals it to be Sark, that's... at least somewhat reassuring. he turns his attention back to the mooselion.

"I doubt very much we'll be able to outpace or outrange this creature," he says, stepping toward the treeline. "If I may presume a strategy, it seems as though you've slowed it down with that tree..."

His words are quick, but they're perfectly enunciated. The day the Vesmier loses his cool is... well. Not a day anyone really wants to see.

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark plops down on the ground and nods. Of course, Ves can hear him, but the tiger is in the front seat and Sark's struggling to regain enough of his senses to actually think properly. Stupid animal instincts.

After a moment, he finally wrestles the tiger into submission and responds, his mental tone deeply concerned and equally as quick, What else are we meant to do exactly? If they can't outrun it and they can't fight it and they can't just... Trot off and hope it doesn't hunt them down like dogs... What else is there?

...It's then he realizes that he's talking to Ves and that strategy isn't Ves's strong suit. That's also around the time Sark realizes that they're kinda fucked.

[the_vesmier]

Well, "stand there and die" is on the list of options. Fortunately, it's pretty far down.

"The trees are thicker toward that section of the park," Ves says, nodding back without quite taking his eyes off the mooselion. "I doubt it would be able to pursue us without sustaining significant injury."

Unless the tree it just ran into was mooselion kryptonite, or something.

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark nods again, slightly distracted by cleaning his ruff, which is more a nervous habit than a desire to die with clean fur. Something moves in the direction Sark left the aforementioned mooselion in and he jerks his head up and leaps to his feet in a predatory crouch, which he slowly eases out of when he remembers that didn't work so well the last time.

Then I suggest we show the meaning of haste. He trots off towards the trees, more for Ves's benefit than just feeling like trotting away from death is the way to go. Sark's not so unobservant that he doesn't quickly get that running and Ves aren't close personal friends.