ClosetMonster

Justice

I think I'm missing a post? I feel like you had one after that one? I can't find it, though. :(

Looking for a few good... amoeba moosen. (g'on, ignore post count, eh?)

Foster said I guess... Most of the time I've followed the literary ideologies of American Rationalism (Poor Richard's almanak, 'Summer solder and sunshine patriot' [Crisis]) Transcendentalism, and Realism (Pretty much the 19th century version of the gritty '80s, and included such writers as Mark Twain).I generally don't preach, but I practice... in a blue-orange morality sort of way.-Killing, totes alright. One could call me a naturalist, but a post-modern natralist would punch you in the face for lumping him in my boat; and I, his.

You have captured my attention. There are a great deal of literary references here, some of which I've read without thinking one moment about naturalism, but now I have to go off and look at it all again with new eyes. And in doing so, (even the little taste you've given) it puts a whole new eye on a book I've been reading (of no consequence, it is a minister's account of his dogs in Canada during the 1870's) and the mindset of the man who, while mentioning Providence a time or two, is really not interested in nature beyond its striking beauty a time or two (in particular the Northern Lights while in a fight with native dogs off the bow of his sled) and more so, it's incredible danger. Thank you for the insight!

Though, you do need to explain to me the "blue-orange" reference, as that makes me think of opposing religions as well as how you, beyond literary choices, personally exercise your naturalistic tendencies.

Looking for a few good... amoeba moosen. (g'on, ignore post count, eh?)

GLAWWWWWW! Oh my goodness! I hadn't hoped to find you! And personally, I haven't a clue what we were doing either, other than it was something to do with an abominable caravan and a multitude of characters... or was that YOU TOOK MY CHARACTER'S EYE!!!!! And it was cool. :)

Shall we? You were missed! Oh so missed! And I would go on any half-cocked, cliche about to become anything but, episodic/diverse RP. You know all you need do is crook your finger and I follow wherever you lead. :)

oh. Hallo, theah!!! What a pip you've been. Oh let's go, captain! :)

The Highwayman Came Riding

The girl turned at the strange voice and her eyes widened in surprise. True, gentlemen enough they had what with the country estates on either side, but rare it was a single one could be found walking in town. It was more the wives and servants one saw.

She had bright blue eyes which, had she been of a more subdued color, might have seemed muted, but as her entire face was framed in raven hair and her cheeks pinked by the winds and youth, they perhaps seemed more alarming then otherwise. Her gaze swept him with a keen and quick thought behind them. He was a dapper fellow, fine looking and clean. The cut of his cloth, above what a servant or footman might wear, it would not have taken the fine walking stick to inform her as to his station. And had Bess been any other girl, she no doubt would have had the correct maidenly flutter. But he was so jaunty and playful and it teased and tempted at her wilder, more fae side. She laughed, covered her mouth and took a step backward with a second laugh.

The laughing was not derisive and her hand left her mouth to settle at the hollow of her throat, fingertips trapped by the swallow's wing of bone. Her small, fine head tilted to the side and her lips curved openly. “It's Bess,” she said. “My name. You said Kate, but it is Bess and what a clever one you are, giving a name to get one.”

After introductions, at least on her side, were completed, she glanced at the inn at whose yard they were just shy and turned back to him with another gay laugh. No doubt he knew her, though she did not know him. And if he did not, then what fun! “It is beautiful out, i'nt it?” she bobbed to him then held out her arm for him. “I've been assured, sir, that th' barman is indeed at his taps and more'n willing he is to give a fine gentleman as y'self a seat by his fire. I will be the one ter person-ally guarantee it.”

As she took his arm, offered or not, she guided him toward the inn and laughed once more, her own world a private joke which he may or may not have been in on. “Have you traveled far, sir?” she asked by way of conversation even as she led him across the yard to the door of the tavern.

The Highwayman Came Riding

I am going to leave this slightly open in established relationship for Bess and the highwayman. Would you care for her to already know and be attached to him or would you like to orchestrate that at a later scene? It will give her slightly (but not overly) different responses to this handsome man asking for her attention.

Only Bad Guys Call Their Lawyers

SKYRIMMMM!!!!

I'm on my second file - my first got bogged down with the plethora of places to go, so this one is just following the quest line to see where we end up.

And I'm having the same difficulty. PMs are far easier to keep an eye on. Shall we move this to PMs until a subscription or something better comes along?

Looking for a few good... amoeba moosen. (g'on, ignore post count, eh?)

Foster said
Nature is a tool, like a woodcipper that is always on. Immense fun, but get too cocky and stupid and it will chew you up and scatter your ashes.

I'm sure there is a spectrum of Tree-Hugger. Everything from those who would be better off slapping a sticker on their SUV about being a nature conservationist, right beside their MLP sticker and under the Transformer emblem, to the Trapper who will suck your soul if you so much as LOOK at his chosen tree wrong. It's all about the tree's feelings, right? We should REALLY be asking if the tree wanted to be hugged in the first place.

The Great Hunt

-Weapon: Long bow/various other cross bow like thingies, with various explosive and incapacitating potives to attach to heads, as well as poisons and other such ill-intentioned liquids/powders to dip dart tips into prior to letting them fly.
-Age & Gender: 42/F
-Name/Alias: Dr. Marjorie Fell
-Character Branch: Ranged

Hawk's Journey

Krista curled up in her makeshift bed of blankets of the floor of the wagon, curled up almost like a cat with a small smile on her face. The morning sun was warm outside, but failed to penetrate the wagon’s shutters until Evie decided that she wanted to snuggle up with her owner. The cat jumped up onto the ledge and pawed open the window, slinking in and slipping silently onto the floor. There she curled up, though only proceeded in rousing her. Krista yawned quietly and stretched out in the dim light, the sun shining brightly on her face.
She loved that warm feeling. Giving Evie a pet as she stood she made her way out into the sunshine and looked around the camp, but only saw signs of Barral, who was snoring away and his pony. Shrugging contently she made her way over to Maggie and petted the horse affectionately before she began to wonder where Martin and Garrum had gone off to. It was concerning, primarily because it was Martin and Garrum that were missing and she often feared that one day the strange creature would do something to her knight. “You better not have done anything to him.” She whispered softly.
It wasn't exactly a threat, because even if Krista tried to make it sound threatening she doubted she could. It may seem strange to some; that she’d speak out loud to someone who clearly wasn't there. But the strange thing about Garrum was that she always felt like he was there, somewhere close by; watching her with those golden eyes. Sometimes they were possessive, sometimes protective but always with this hidden intent that she just couldn’t read. Garrum’s offer and her apology to Martin was still fresh in her mind as well as his failure to truly acknowledge it. Perhaps Garrum really had done something to him...
He seemed to be such a powerful creature, just because of the careless attitude he took towards everything. Only something that didn’t feel threatened ever took such a casual attitude. Their camp looked different in the day time, more opening and friendly. There was evidence that Evie had indeed caught something to eat last night, the carcass lying near the fire where she’d eaten it. Then again maybe it had been Garrum. It was so hard to tell with that man. Maybe it was because he wasn’t, in fact, a man at all.
Moving over to the smouldering remains of the fire Krista knelt down beside them, running her hand along the charcoal and looking at the black smears it left on her fingers with interest. They didn’t have things like this back where she came from, wood and plant materials were much too much of a precious resource to burn, so she’d never actually seen a fire in real life, rather just in books and videos back on the station. Everything here... was like everything she’d ever dreamed of, yet everything she’d ever hated at the same time. All the beauty and life, yet the rules and constraints that didn’t allow her to enjoy them fully.

~~

The coals of the fire stirred and something red, hot, unfurled and blinked at her. Its eye, for only one side of its head was visible in the cold, was a dull red, almost black, like the coals. It was no larger than her palm and as it shook itself off, a puff of black coal smoke flitting into the air, it wasn't much longer either than her full hand. Perhaps if one took in the length of its tail, which seemed to turn hair thin and disappear into the black, it might have been longer, but it was so small that tail seemed hardly part of the picture it made.

It was on fire, or rather, it looked much like a live coal and it radiated a slight bit of heat. It tilted it's oblong head and opened a wide mouth to taste the air and let loose a few sparks. Once it was certain she wasn't about to move much, it turned its head and looked at her out of the other side of its head before, with a wisp of black coal on the grass, it slid out of the fire and disappeared into the trampled grass around the fire.

Barral, in his heap, was still asleep so was not there to note. But the pony, her large brown eyes more old and wise than any pony's had right to be, blinked in thought and she shook her head, her hide flapping about her. With a snuff, she stumped toward where the fire lizard had fled and snuffled at the ground before she went to the girl and proceeded to do the same to Krista. Her hot breath tickled at the girl's nape, then she snorted in relief and lipped at Krista's hair.

It was warm, that morning, under the chill on the grass. Beyond the encampment, a knight had gone about the business of ablutions far from prying eye, and then made his way in search of more firewood for their breakfast. He was human and sensed nothing, but the fae in the trees, the cat-eyed golden man, stiffened in time to that first eye blink and turned his head, his nostrils flaring. There was something. Something dangerous on the air.

Or was there? For a moment after sensing it, it was gone, nothing more than an imagination which, despite mankinds' view of fae, was something they had in abundance. Garrum shook his head then turned his attention back to the conundrum he had begun to try and figure on. The knight too, there was a scent about him that, despite having smelled one human too many, niggled under the fae's memories, too long ago to trap, but not so far as to be forgotten. He had remained apart from the knight but for his short attempt to control the man. But then there was the cat, wasn't there? Cats, it was true, were something for which there was no boxing, no settling of territory, and perhaps more than human, the fae tended to take their words for a greater Truth, even if, in Garrum's case, they did not like it all that much.

No – the cat had crossed more than once. The orange tom had spoken, Garrum would have bet his hat on it, had he had a hat. The girl had thought Garrum had done something, and there was only one who might have warned her. Barral was sense dulled with little to no magic left in him, all of his magics lent out to this or that. The knight was as blind as a newborn in a cave and the girl? The girl was useless for what she did see, she had no words for. No – it was down to that cursed tom in the last town. The cat had gone out of its way to interfere in Garrum's plans which was not the same thing as a Prophecy nudging itself along, but might have been very close.

It wasn't just her, then. The Dove, that delicious creature, was delight enough. To stand in the center of storm of magic and opportunity, it made Garrum's nose itch.

Back in the camp, Barral snorted and tried to turn over. He sat up, instead and looked about, his hair a wild, grey storm alongside his head, his beard pulled up and against his face where his sleep had tousled it. “What? What?” He gaped about him blearily and one of the hummingbirds which had been keeping a strange look-out (down by one which had been eaten in the middle of the night – quite a bit of upset stomach for one bat) flitted down to sit atop his head and preen with miniature beak at the flyaways.