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Grayback Nimblefoot stands at the bottom of the ramp, looking at the forest beyond, paw to his muzzle as he is deep in thought.
Patchear proceeds down the ramp, tail flicking behind her. "Everrrything alrrright, sirrr?" she asks of Grayback, cocking one ear to the side in question.
Silvertips comes around from the side of the ship, scanner in hand. She blinks in surprise to see the other two, "Firrst Fang, Long Claw Patchearrrs, hello."
"All is well, at least forrr the time being." Grayback says. "I have been thinking how best to go about making morrrre peaceful contact with our... hosts, I guess you could say."
"I would imagine that given theirrr level of technology, they have no idea what exissstsss in thisss univerrrssse," Patchear muses, her gaze settling toward the tree line. "They will eitherrr be verrry excited about the idea of making contact with an alien or verrry much want to shoot ussss to make surrrre we arrre rrreal."
Ears twitching at the thought Tipsy considers the other two, "Perrrrhaps but why shoot us to prrrrove that? They should be able to ascertain ourrrr rrreality with converrrrsation. What about attempting to send a message of some sorrrt?"
Grayback Nimblefoot nods. "Therrrre must be a way. Perrrhaps some gesturrre of peace, to show we arrrrre not a thrrrreat." he says. "I..."
He doesn't have much time to say more, as it's about that time four Calzonites step out of the woods, effectively surrounding the trio. With a loud click, lever action rifles are cocked and made ready. One in particular steps forward...
Tarsenon
A rather tall Calzonite at nearly 10 feet, Tarsenon is a large presence. His fur is a dark chocolate brown, with a lighter tan mane running down from his ears to his lower back, and his tail is the same tan shade. His humanoid torso is dressed in a white button up shirt, a tan vest over top, a checkered bandana tied around his neck, and a large shiny gold star is pinned to the right breast of his vest. Atop his head he wears a tan colored cowboy hat, with holes in it to accomodate his ears which poke up through it. Slung around his 'waist' is a leather belt in which two large caliber six shooters are holstered, with the ammunition in pockets around them.
Tarsenon stops before the trio, a Winchester-styled rifle held in his hands, looking down at the trio of cats for several moments, his ears twitching and his tail swishing rather idly. For now, he says nothing.. he just observes.
Patchear's ears flick forward when the Calzonites appear and tenses as one in particular moves forward. Keeping her hands carefully away from her weapons, she is silent, allowing for Grayback to speak.
Silvertips stills, eyes wide, ears pointing backwards she watches carefully, hands away from weapons as well.
"Don't make any sudden moves." Grayback says, looking carefully at the large Calzonite, particularly at his very large rifle. "Herrrre is wherrre a linguist would be verrrry helpful..." he says, tail twitching idly, his own hands away from his weapons, and he spreads them apart, palms forward, in what he hopes is a gesture of peaceful intent. "Grrreetings..." he offers simply... perhaps futile, but he tries it anyway.
Patchear's rear paws spread slightly to offer better balance should she need to do something like run, but for now keeps her forepaws lifted and spread away from anything that could be conceived a weapon. Her ears flick back and forth before perking forward.
Tarsenon observes the motion rather carefully for several moments. His rifle remains at the ready, but it is not pointed at the trio.. for now. He turns to one of the others that have joined him, and speaks with him in a series of whinnies, grunts, and bleats. It seems that he's in the process of deciding what the Demarians are...
Silvertips is a statue as she watches the proceedings, not wanting to appear anything other then harmless, at the moment at least, she keeps limbs and hands where they can be seen.
It's about this time another one joins the group... and it would appear to be the hunter from the woods. Instead of his hunting gear, however, he is dressed much more formally. A clean white shirt, a black waistcoat, and a black suit jacket adorn him, as well as a pair of large glasses perched before his eyes. There is a bit of conversation between him and Tarsenon for several moments, and then the hunter, or possibly professor, steps forward with a large writing tablet and a pencil in hand.
Grayback meanwhile watches, not moving a muscle, until the professor writes something on the tablet, and then offers it to Grayback. Taking it carefully, he looks over it. It appears to be a series of geometric shapes. "I.. wonderrr what this is forrrr..."
"Could it be theirrr forrrm of language?" Patchear asks slowly and quietly, her voice barely a rumbling purr, deep in her chest. She squints her eyes as she looks at the shapes, seeking answers for the mystery.
Silvertips peers closer at the tablet, "Orrrr they arrrre trrrrying the univerrrsal language of mathmatics." she notes
Grayback Nimblefoot looks to Silvertips. "Verrry possible. Perrrrhaps...." he says, taking up the pencil and beneath each shape, he makes a series of dots that equal the number of points in each shape, and then a series of lines that equal the number of sides that each has, offering the tablet back to the 'professor'.
The professor takes the tablet back, adjusts his glasses, and looks over what Grayback has written. His mouth curls up into a smile showing his 'buck' teeth within, and he speaks excitedly to Tarsenon.
Tarsenon listens to the professor, and then with a signal, his 'deputies' all lower their rifles.
"It looksss like you passsssed sssome kind of tessst," Patchear muses as she watches the interactions with flickering ears. "What do you sssuppossse they want?"
Silvertips nods in agreement with Patchy and relaxes a bit as the guns come down, "Lets hope we continue to pass."
"Yourrrrr guess is as good as mine, Long Claw." Grayback says, relaxing a bit himself. "It's theirrr move."
The professor then steps forward, and makes a gesture indicating he would like them to come with him, motioning into the forest in the direction where their unfortunate first meeting occurred.
"I just hope they arrre not discussssing how nice ourrr peltsss would look asss a thrrrow forrr cold winterrr nightsss," Patchear grumbles and flicks her tail back and forth. She takes a few hesitant steps forward at the motioning, but does not start walking in earnest until Grayback leads the pack.
Silvertips follows along behind Patchy and rumbles in agreement, "I prrrreferr my pelt to rrremain as it is, I have grrrrown rrrather fond of it."
"Well, at least it might make our plans for trrrade a bit easierrrr." Grayback says, stepping forward to follow. As he does, the rest of the Calzonites move along side them as Tarsenon leads the way forward.
"Werrre you volunteerrring to give up your pelt then, sirrr?" Patchear asks, flicking her ears towars Grayback. "They might apprrreciate sssuch a sssentiment. Orrr prrreferrr the thrrrill of the hunt."
Grayback Nimblefoot grins a bit at that. "I... have no plan to." he says with a chuckle. "But perrrhaps if we can figurrre a way to communicate..."
Silvertips eyes Grayback, "I don't think skinning oneself is an accepted forrrrm of communication sirr."
"Charrradesss?" Patchear suggests. "One of the humansss in Alhirrra wasss explaining thisss game to me. Ssspeak yourrr meaning without worrrds. Using body language and underrrstanding."
"Verrry possible... and I think that the intelligent looking one may be the one we arrrre going to be dealing with." Grayback says. "I am surrrprrrrised at their lack of fearrrr..."
Silvertips blinks in thought, "Charrades? I have hearrrrrd of that. When I was in school therrrre werrre a few games." she considers Grayback, "They seem morrrre currrrious then fearrrrful, that is trrrue. Hopefully not as something to study."
"Wherrre arrre they taking usss?" Patchear asks as she follows along. "Do you sssuppose they have sssomeone herrre that ssspeaks Terrrrran?"
As the group moves out of the forest, the three deputies offer waves to Tarsenon and the professor, and they gallop off on their own separate ways. Meanwhile, Tarsenon and the professor continue on through the field, headed towards the farm house the group spotted the previous night.
Grayback looks back to Patchear. "That is a good point... perrrhaps therrrre is rrrreason to theirrr lack of fearrr?" he says. "I do not know wherrrre they are taking us, but we will find out." he says, his ears laying back slightly as his tail gives a twitch.
Silvertips follows behind and watches as the others leave, "The do not seem to be afrrrraid, that is good. I hope."
"It would make sssenssse why therrre is sssuch a nice landing clearrring forrr us in the forrrest," Patchear continues. "It ssseeemed an apprrroprrriate ssspot to land when we came down."
The group enters into a large farmer's field, which for now is lying fallow; it seems the planting season has not yet started. The sheriff and the professor lead them across it towards the farm beyond.
"One does have to wonderrrr." Grayback says. "I get the feeling we'rrrre about to find out." he says.
Silvertips seems to now consider that, "That is odd, and I had not thought of it beforrrrre. It did seem just a bit too convenient."
Patchear's tail flicks back and forth behind her as they come closer to the farmhouse. "It isss a quaint little houssse," she comments offhandedly.
As the group arrives at the farm proper, the sheriff and the professor head towards the barn, and the professor opens the doors wide. It appears that the answer lies within, as the light of the sun shines into the open doorway: Inside, damaged, but still mostly intact, is the probe originally sent to this sector. Tables are set up around it with oil lamps on them, along with sheafs of paper, books, microscopes, magnifying glasses, chemistry sets, and a variety of tools.
Grayback's ear twitches as he sees what is within. "Well... I think we have ourrrr answerrr." he says. "They've had a visitorrrr of anotherrrr kind..."
Silvertips nods in agreement as she takes a look at the probe, "Not one of ourrrs?"
"Isss it Consssorrrtium?" Patchear asks, taking a step forward but thinking better and waiting, her attention on Grayback.
Grayback Nimblefoot looks at it. "Yes... it is..." he says, glancing back to the pair. "I rrrrecognize that ID number from the brrrriefing I was given. It is the prrrobe that was sent ahead... it seems that it did not simply vanish... it crrrashed." He looks back to the probe. "And they found it." He then looks back to Silvertips. "These prrrobes often contained a univerrrrsal trrranslatorrrr cirrrcuit... If they will let us access it, perrrrhaps you could see if it is rrrrepairrrable. If so... then we may be that much farrrrtherrr ahead in talking to them."
Silvertips nods, "Yes Sirrrr, I would be happy to trrry and get it worrrking." she looks at the probe with eager eyes.
Jigglepelt is currently cowering in the corner eating a microwave burrito and making scans with a rather fancy PDA. His lazy flicks as he works. "Well.."
Grayback Nimblefoot nods to Silvertips. "For now let's let herrrr worrrk. I think we can safely say that therrre's no immediate dangerrr from them."
Patchear flicks an ear in affirmation. "Yesss, sirrr," she says. "We can ssstay and watch overrr herrr if you need to rrreturrrn to the ship," she offers.
Jigglepelt takes a bite from his burrito and glances over at Grayback and Patchear. "Not going to leave herrr behind alone?" His ears droop.
As Silvertips approaches the probe, the professor and sheriff watch, but make no moves to stop her. In fact the professor looks to be rather excited, and clops over to get a look at what Silvertips is going to do.
Silvertips looks the probe over carefully and removes an access panel, she starts attempting to locate the program for translation, all while mutterting to herself, her tail swishing.
"I will rrrreturrrn to the ship. If this worrrrks, then we will have ourrrr means to make trrrrade discussions." Grayback says. "I think that's morrrre than we could have hoped forrrr."