ClosetMonster

Hey there. *wink*

Welcome to RPG! Nice to have you and very nice name. :)

Introduction... yay

Stay away from rabid RPers.... they chew on fingers and toes and leave the best bits behind. Seriously. Stick to face huggers or some other manner of more monster-like monstrosities. You know, the ones who take themselves and their place in the world seriously. As they should.

Welcome to the guild!!! Don't fall in!

Over the Hill ~ ClosetMonster x PopeAlessandros

*LOL* I'm sure however it works out, it will be fun.

Over the Hill ~ ClosetMonster x PopeAlessandros

As the man behind him settles lightly, Wren things uncharitably for a moment that Marge's magic has worked better than the mage had thought. It only served the man right to be shown up by a basic hedge witch.

But then, there is a moment and Chall tenderly slips only one arm around Wren's waist. Wren can feel the tension radiating from the young man's body and he winces in sympathy. No – Marge would have advised Chall to stay in bed longer. It is the mage's stubbornness and certainty that he is right that has put him into this painful position.

Like that, the sympathy is gone. Nevertheless, Wren nudges their ride forward gently and does not ask for a trot which would unnecessarily harm the man behind him.

Chall is warm against his back, despite trying to keep himself with some space between them. He's almost as warm as a child and Wren begins to wonder if the high metabolism that indicates is from Chall's non-human side. Wren knows little of the cat-like people as they are, for good reason, shy of humans. He hadn't ever been in a position either to get a proper introduction either and he's always thought it would be fun on his next journey out into the world. If he ever gets back out into the world.

He has settled in nicely, actually and he feels he's bedded the wanderlust to a greater extent. He's spent fifteen years away from home and seen a great many wonders. It is nice to be home.

The dobbin under them is very much like being at sea. Heavy shoulders and hips roll opposite of one another and Wren can feel Chall hold onto him, obviously unaccustomed to either riding dray horses, riding bareback, or riding in general. Wren doesn't feel as if he needs to ask, however, and instead, he merely sets the dobbin's head toward the town.

Chall's presence has already been talked of so none are neither overly surprised to see him atop the horse nor with Wren. A few folk pause in their duties in the village to wave to Wren, call a greeting, and eye Chall with interest. But none stop them and in a matter of a few moments, they are through and on their way beyond.

It is a long ride and Wren does not speak. He suspects Chall is in too much pain to want to converse, or he's preparing for the spells he'll need. Wren considers what he'll ask Marge to do when Chall is done magicking the pond. It seemed almost wrong to give the waters to the mage, but Chall hadn't stated that the waters would be destroyed, as many mages were given to do. It was almost a source of pride that they would have to declare destruction of whatever natural phenomenon they were poisoning with their work. Either Chall was too young to have that kind of pride, or what he intended to do, he felt was menial and innocuous.

Still, Wren considered talking to Marge to see if she could ensure it truly was before the day was out. Children were wont to jump in the waters on particularly hot days.

The pond hadn't a name. It was a fishing hole or a swimming hole, dependent on what it was needed. A watering spot if one had livestock, a trysting spot if one were going at night. Wren did not name it either and when he pulled the horse up at the edge of it, under a spread of elm, he cleared his throat and glanced back at the slender man behind him.

“That enough?” he asked shortly.

Over the Hill ~ ClosetMonster x PopeAlessandros

Good! I wonder, mayhaps it could be tied in with his gift to Chall? He's giving a blanket and some foods, but perhaps something of his slipped in there accidentally? Or perhaps something into the herbs he gave him? *g* Urr is a land of prophecy and fate. Maybe the enchantments from there had a hand in twisting things about? It could allow for them to go their separate ways and not manage to really get far. That would give Chall a chance to have a focus for his anger as opposed to being a mistake of his own.

Over the Hill ~ ClosetMonster x PopeAlessandros

I love how Wren's assumptions are so off base. He is coming around slowly to the fact that Chall is not half as bad as he might have seemed at first blush. They will be friends easily if this keeps up.

That said, maybe we will have to orchestrate some manner of contention to get the sparks flying should we deem it necessary.

The Highwayman Came Riding

It had been an audacious request, but Bess flamed all the same when she thought of how she'd darted in and set a light peck on his cheek. With a laugh, she had told him to give him more would ruin it, oh but she'd taken liberties she'd not taken with anyone! Even with the morning light, the smell of him in her nose and the feel of his rough cheek under her lips left her heart racing. She fingered the gold necklace at her throat whenever she was in the kitchen. There, beset by the hidden moment, she would think that the patrons could smell it on her, that she'd been so close to a man. That she had acted so wantonly!

And she had laughed, like a child, and made light of him for the mask he wore because the gleam in his eyes had been something she had felt to her toes. He'd fed her and she'd drunk a wine which tingled in her nostrils and she'd laughed more, overcome by the evening.

Such a grand thing, a pique-nique! What a grand lord, her Reynard.

Lord Vaughn had graced them once more, walking down from Grenmere Hall. He had smiled at her when she served him and he'd spoke to her of her color, which made her more certain that the magic of the evening had to be glowing out of her. That, or the hidden gold of the necklace. It remained out of sight when she was out of the kitchen. It would not do to have it seen. No doubt it was stolen, much like the fine foods and drink must have been. Not that she cared one wit! It was her magic and if a bit of pilfer had to happen along the side for it, it only gave a touch of danger which thrilled her.

Danger, however, was the very thing upon the minds of the small entourage atop the small carriage which carried Mrs. Oren Harcourt toward the very hall Lord Vaughn had removed himself from. Fannie it was, and her husband, a respectable rector of Northern Framlingham, glad to be freed of her attentions for a fortnight. She was a delightful thing, round as a french bun, with pink upon her cheeks not even powder could cover. Her bow-like lips were often in laughter and she was a force of light and noise in any room she inhabited. It had made her a great guest to have in London, but in the small town in which her husband oversaw, she rattled about in the small house beside the rectory.

Given an opportunity, she had squeezed into one of the travel gowns of yesteryear which she had not sold and packed the other three she had kept. She'd taken some funds to have two more quite needful gowns created and sent behind her to Grenmere and with little more than a litany of things for to remember, had left her husband to blissful silence as she'd climbed aboard the rented carriage with her father's footman and driver atop.

Fannie hadn't a thought to the wood through which they passed. She moaned some over the frightful road, as it left bruises in delicate places. Above, however, both men clutched tightly to the sides of the bench and kept a keen eye on the forest surrounding. For here, there were rumors of bandits and highwaymen.

The Highwayman Came Riding

Ick - allergies. I understand the muddled feeling. So no worries. And you're more than likely asleep by now. I had to do some work in the kennel because it was getting dangerous (the dogs were digging under the entrance platform, turning every step into something of a balancing act) and then picked raspberries before I came home. So I'm late.

The Highwayman Came Riding

Haha! Very smooth, our Reynard.

So I'll leap us ahead some and close this adorable scene out. Give me a bit of planning time. I'm off to do chores for, according to psychological research (and just plain, common sense), doing a repetitious, physical activity gets the creative juices flowing. I'll no doubt have something by this evening.

Light in the Dark

Short is good. Sometimes length is a killer to a moment and the last thing we need do is beat the horse until it can't walk no more.

So how are the thunderstorms treating you? We haven't had many this spring. They tend to show more during the fall here.

And a weeping birch sounds beautiful. As does a garden. I keep staring out at my front yard and wondering if I'd not be better off rota-tilling half of it up and putting in something like radishes and lettuce and corn and tomatoes and the like. I would love to have fresh, out of my own ground food. Of course, then I'd have to work out where to put the horses though when they come to "mow" my lawn. *L* Still - the idea has merit. That and a couple of laying chickens to eat the bugs and feed me eggs.