I need to actually add things to my list. I made it very lazily and then forgot it existed.
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Yay words! It completely slipped my mind to ask if the Abbeybeasts have been setting up inside or outside, Wraith, so please do forgive my assumption of there being a table or two outdoors for them to hide under. Though I suppose they might have some out as picnic tables, anyhow, if not for Nameday. If edits must be made, I shall happily make them.
“Ha! Sure, I’ll follow with a treat of my own and enjoy it right in front of you two. Won’t share a crumb!” Rigby shouted after Zaris as the otter bid them farewell to return to his post. He was mostly jesting, but if he worked to earn a little snack, then he definitely wasn’t sharing it with anyone. Well, not unless they asked really, really nicely…
Honestly though, the work was a pleasant break from not working. Mostly because it was simple, and he felt useful. He would have been more disgruntled if Friar Ruddy had put him on chopping duty too, which the jocular chef may have been aware of. Cutting things wasn’t hard, they kept the knives sharp in the abbey kitchens, but doing it for any length of time was a tedious chore. And the thunk of the knife was annoying… He could hear two now behind him, both being inexpertly wielded against tough vegetables. Too much effort by half, if you asked him. No, he’d go for peeling shrimp any day over dicing turnips. That being said, however…
“I’m going to be dreaming of shrimp for days by the end of- Huh?” Both fox and mouse jumped as a voluminous shout rose behind them, and both wheeled to find a rather odd sight. There was Scraggs, by no means a small ferret, no, nor one who looked disarming, no matter how hard he’d tried earlier at the gate. And berating him with the very knife he’d been using was a small, spiky-furred shrew marm. Rawback’s sniggers at his companion’s plight were cut short when she turned both knife and temper on him. The poor beasts looked so put-upon confused that Rigby was struggling hard not to burst out laughing as he exchanged a glance with Rubella. She wasn’t trying at all, her own amusement clear to see as they turned back to their task. From the one-sided conversation, it was clear they were being lectured on proper knife handling safety. Rigby figured it was better if he didn’t butt in. He’d received a similar lecture, though with slightly less fervent zeal, when he’d first started learning as well. It was useful information, even if it was delivered in a no-nonsense manner and with a horrifyingly dazzling display of blade skills that… didn’t really belong in a kitchen.
He coughed to cover his giggle as Rubella elbowed him and snickered.
And for a brief moment, things continued in a mostly peaceful manner, mild background harangue not-withstanding, and festival chaos taken in stride… It was just another day at the Abbey.
Being in the kitchen where it was already noisy meant no one heard the distant shouts raised upon Zaris’ initial warning. The Friar did send someone out to see what the fuss was about when they caught a few raised voices in the Great Hall, but it wasn’t until the bells started ringing that everything fell still and all the Abbeybeasts froze to listen to the slow but unsteady rhythm of Matthias and Methuselah that signalled alarm rather than celebration. No one liked the sound of that. No one had been expecting it either. But, just in time, the young mouse who’d gone to find out the source of the fuss came back shouting. “It’s a hawk! A hawk or something bigger! Circling the Abbey, Friar. We’ve got to get everybeast inside! There’s some been caught under the tables and no way to the doors. We need more able paws!”
Well, with that news delivered, she turned right around to go back to help herself, and everyone else hurried to follow, or to check on their family members. Rigby spared a moment’s thought and then heaved a sigh of relief when he recalled that his mother and grandmother should be in the Great Hall going through the linens and his father knew better than to stay in the open with a hawk about. They’d told him often enough about their adventures, warning him on what to do. And now they all knew about it, so they should all be safe. And at least it didn’t sound like anyone had been taken, but…
Rigby stayed out of the crowd, knowing so many rushing paws would only trip him up or be tripped up if he joined in. But he did put the paring knife down and was staring worriedly after them all, concerned enough for everyone who’d been outside enjoying the gorgeous spring weather that it took him a moment to realise he was the only one left. Well, him and Rubella, Scraggs, and Rawback. They obviously didn’t have anyone they were instantly worried about, nor any idea how to help, probably. That, or they saw no need to. Rigby supposed it didn’t really matter, but since it was only them now, and no clear idea how the festivities might be affected, nor how long it might take everyone to come back, he sighed and shook his head. “Well, never mind your work for now. I know you three are hungry, so let’s take a break before we get back to it. Here’s some scones to tide you over.”
He felt a bit bad that they’d come asking for food and had then been forced to stare at food without being able to eat any of it, and now they might well be eating even later. So better to let them have a snack now, keep their energy up and all, and then they could finish their work. He stole a scone for himself as he went past the ovens, sniffing the air as carefully as he could to test the readiness of anything in them, though it was honestly hard to tell, and stirring the soup in the big cauldron as well as he was able before he gave in to his own worries. He knew he wouldn’t be much help even if he went. In fact, he’d probably be more helpful if he stayed here and kept an eye on things and made sure nothing started burning or anything, but… well, but. He didn’t want to stay and be useful not knowing if everyone was safe or if there really wasn’t anything he might do to help the others.
“Well, feel free to rest your paws for the moment, though if you could give that pot a stir now and again, and pull out anything from the ovens if you start to smell burning… Really appreciate it. Bit of a sorry welcome, right? Uhh, should be a beaker or two of something to drink on that shelf over there…” He was already at the door before he’d finished speaking, and he balanced there with a fidgety sort of hop as he tried to cover all the bases, too impatient to settle properly. When his brain wouldn’t tell him what it was that he was sure he was forgetting, he gave up, waved a crutch vaguely towards the corner where he knew the Friar kept refreshment for his helpers, and then started after everyone in his own delayed rush. Zaris had been heading for the Gatehouse, so he was outside and not near any tables, and Brother Jethro might have been on the wall again, which had to be even worse! Abbot Murty may have still been with him, too. Grant’s father had been outside, as well, and there were several Nameday regulars from the surrounding woodlands who hadn’t shown up yet, and Bancroft… what about him and his family? Did they know about the bird? He hoped anyone who heard the bells would know to tuck in out of sight somewhere safe.
Honestly though, the work was a pleasant break from not working. Mostly because it was simple, and he felt useful. He would have been more disgruntled if Friar Ruddy had put him on chopping duty too, which the jocular chef may have been aware of. Cutting things wasn’t hard, they kept the knives sharp in the abbey kitchens, but doing it for any length of time was a tedious chore. And the thunk of the knife was annoying… He could hear two now behind him, both being inexpertly wielded against tough vegetables. Too much effort by half, if you asked him. No, he’d go for peeling shrimp any day over dicing turnips. That being said, however…
“I’m going to be dreaming of shrimp for days by the end of- Huh?” Both fox and mouse jumped as a voluminous shout rose behind them, and both wheeled to find a rather odd sight. There was Scraggs, by no means a small ferret, no, nor one who looked disarming, no matter how hard he’d tried earlier at the gate. And berating him with the very knife he’d been using was a small, spiky-furred shrew marm. Rawback’s sniggers at his companion’s plight were cut short when she turned both knife and temper on him. The poor beasts looked so put-upon confused that Rigby was struggling hard not to burst out laughing as he exchanged a glance with Rubella. She wasn’t trying at all, her own amusement clear to see as they turned back to their task. From the one-sided conversation, it was clear they were being lectured on proper knife handling safety. Rigby figured it was better if he didn’t butt in. He’d received a similar lecture, though with slightly less fervent zeal, when he’d first started learning as well. It was useful information, even if it was delivered in a no-nonsense manner and with a horrifyingly dazzling display of blade skills that… didn’t really belong in a kitchen.
He coughed to cover his giggle as Rubella elbowed him and snickered.
And for a brief moment, things continued in a mostly peaceful manner, mild background harangue not-withstanding, and festival chaos taken in stride… It was just another day at the Abbey.
Being in the kitchen where it was already noisy meant no one heard the distant shouts raised upon Zaris’ initial warning. The Friar did send someone out to see what the fuss was about when they caught a few raised voices in the Great Hall, but it wasn’t until the bells started ringing that everything fell still and all the Abbeybeasts froze to listen to the slow but unsteady rhythm of Matthias and Methuselah that signalled alarm rather than celebration. No one liked the sound of that. No one had been expecting it either. But, just in time, the young mouse who’d gone to find out the source of the fuss came back shouting. “It’s a hawk! A hawk or something bigger! Circling the Abbey, Friar. We’ve got to get everybeast inside! There’s some been caught under the tables and no way to the doors. We need more able paws!”
Well, with that news delivered, she turned right around to go back to help herself, and everyone else hurried to follow, or to check on their family members. Rigby spared a moment’s thought and then heaved a sigh of relief when he recalled that his mother and grandmother should be in the Great Hall going through the linens and his father knew better than to stay in the open with a hawk about. They’d told him often enough about their adventures, warning him on what to do. And now they all knew about it, so they should all be safe. And at least it didn’t sound like anyone had been taken, but…
Rigby stayed out of the crowd, knowing so many rushing paws would only trip him up or be tripped up if he joined in. But he did put the paring knife down and was staring worriedly after them all, concerned enough for everyone who’d been outside enjoying the gorgeous spring weather that it took him a moment to realise he was the only one left. Well, him and Rubella, Scraggs, and Rawback. They obviously didn’t have anyone they were instantly worried about, nor any idea how to help, probably. That, or they saw no need to. Rigby supposed it didn’t really matter, but since it was only them now, and no clear idea how the festivities might be affected, nor how long it might take everyone to come back, he sighed and shook his head. “Well, never mind your work for now. I know you three are hungry, so let’s take a break before we get back to it. Here’s some scones to tide you over.”
He felt a bit bad that they’d come asking for food and had then been forced to stare at food without being able to eat any of it, and now they might well be eating even later. So better to let them have a snack now, keep their energy up and all, and then they could finish their work. He stole a scone for himself as he went past the ovens, sniffing the air as carefully as he could to test the readiness of anything in them, though it was honestly hard to tell, and stirring the soup in the big cauldron as well as he was able before he gave in to his own worries. He knew he wouldn’t be much help even if he went. In fact, he’d probably be more helpful if he stayed here and kept an eye on things and made sure nothing started burning or anything, but… well, but. He didn’t want to stay and be useful not knowing if everyone was safe or if there really wasn’t anything he might do to help the others.
“Well, feel free to rest your paws for the moment, though if you could give that pot a stir now and again, and pull out anything from the ovens if you start to smell burning… Really appreciate it. Bit of a sorry welcome, right? Uhh, should be a beaker or two of something to drink on that shelf over there…” He was already at the door before he’d finished speaking, and he balanced there with a fidgety sort of hop as he tried to cover all the bases, too impatient to settle properly. When his brain wouldn’t tell him what it was that he was sure he was forgetting, he gave up, waved a crutch vaguely towards the corner where he knew the Friar kept refreshment for his helpers, and then started after everyone in his own delayed rush. Zaris had been heading for the Gatehouse, so he was outside and not near any tables, and Brother Jethro might have been on the wall again, which had to be even worse! Abbot Murty may have still been with him, too. Grant’s father had been outside, as well, and there were several Nameday regulars from the surrounding woodlands who hadn’t shown up yet, and Bancroft… what about him and his family? Did they know about the bird? He hoped anyone who heard the bells would know to tuck in out of sight somewhere safe.
February deserves more days and less time. Let’s steal from June, I say. June doesn’t need 30. Let’s make both 29, and add only half a day on leap years; but then let’s also alternate leap years to a two year gap instead of four. We can then alternate June/February Leap Days. I just feel this would work better.
For some reason my brain just tried to leave through my ears.
So very true. I should have the post finished today.
I shall hopefully be getting out a post today or tomorrow. My brain has been dead all week. Apologies for the wait.
Did I say tomorrow? I clearly meant overmorrow... >.> But a post! In which nothing happens, except that poor mustelids are put to work at the chopping block. I feel for them I do, chopping root vegetables is my least favourite kitchen chore. Probably. Until someone mentions one I"m forgetting...
Seeing Ellis had been a momentary jolt of surprise for him, both because it reminded him of his curiosity as to the possible continued existence of that wildberry and pear cordial and he’d not been expecting to see the old Cellarhog until feast time. He was rather serious about his craft, after all, and ensuring the drinks always satisfied. The friendly hedgehog seemed preoccupied, however, probably by the errand that had coaxed him from the cellars, so Rigby only gave him a grin before continuing towards their objective. He was less surprised by Zaris’ apparent preoccupation with his own thoughts, and their current company, and Rigby could hazard the guess that it was for a similar reason that the Abbott and Brother Jethro had been so cautious. So he didn’t try to include the otter in the conversation, such as it wasn’t really, anyway, and took the shortest route to the kitchens after ascertaining that Friar Ruddy was not in the Great Hall, and that most everyone else apparently was.
Too crowded by half. It would be much better to sneak through Cavern Hole. Glancing over his shoulder to be sure the other four were still with him, Rigby rather enjoyed the expressions on the three newcomers’ faces. It was a sight he’d seen many times before. It always made him prouder than it likely should have, given as he’d had absolutely no paw in building the impressive structure, but it was his home, and he certainly thought it was well worth a bit of awe. He happily explained the origins to them, and coaxed their names out along the way, though it didn’t take long for them to find Friar Ruddy.
He was exactly where Rigby’d thought he’d be, and all in a tizzy, too. The welcome they received was enthusiastic, to say the least, and it caught him somewhat flat-footed… He hadn’t… Or well, he had brought a few able-bodied volunteers, but he hadn’t been meaning to include himself among their number! Clearly taken by surprise, the young mouse blinked at the otter’s instructions before glancing around the wide area and back to the three strangers, all unsuspecting… Well, he had been taking it pretty easy all morning, and it wasn’t as though Brother Jethro or Zaris actually needed him at the gate. Friar Ruddy, however, looked like he’d lost several of his usual helpers to other chores. Besides which, he’d really only been waiting at the gate in the hopes of catching Bancroft’s arrival, but Bancroft would be bound for the kitchens with fresh stores anyhow, so staying here served much the same purpose.
And it would be more useful.
Decision made—more like foregone conclusion given into—Rigby led everyone to the broad sink, washing his own paws while he was at it. He was happy to help out, despite the initial baulking, but he still couldn’t help a wistful glance over his shoulder as Zaris wandered off, scoffing the treat he’d been handed with obvious relish and utterly ignoring the imploring stare at his back. Half of him wanted the otter’s company around a little longer, dour though it could be, now he was suddenly surrounded by the three taller, sturdier, potentially far more dangerous creatures he’d led here. The other half wanted to join in on the errand to see how Grant was doing, but he was mostly disappointed that he hadn’t gotten a candied chestnut, too.
Abandoning that train of thought quickly in favour of shaking the wet off his paws before drying them and considering the chance to sneak a bite of something else for himself, Rigby handed the towel to the stoat next to him and surveyed the room.
“Right, Rawback, Scraggs, there’s your table where Ruddy’s just passed now. Looks like he’s got a mountain of carrots, turnips, and parsnips for you. Best of luck whittling that lot down before he adds the beets I can smell baking.” Pointing the table out, Rigby sent them on their way. They had their work cut out for them and he was sure they’d have sore paws by the end of it. “Try not to cut yourselves, or you’ll be physicked half to death on Nameday of all days. Sad fate, that’d be. Trust me though, the works’ worth it for the feast come’s out of it.”
Giving their sullen faces an encouraging grin, he waved the vixen after him to the table with a large bowl of shrimp on it, and several empty ones waiting to be filled. “As for me and you, Rubella, I guess we’ve been volunteered to avoid disappointing the otters. Don’t worry, this’s easy work.” Well, as easy as standing on your feet and dealing with finicky, somewhat delicate shrimp could get. He preferred it over chopping turnips, at any rate.
Once they were standing next to each other, the vixen watching him with a very direct, yellow stare, Rigby had to swallow the nerves trying to get to him. She was very big and rather toothy… But it wasn’t as though he hadn’t gotten used to being among the smallest in any group already. He just couldn’t help remembering several stories in which a fox's most fearsome traits had been happily embellished... They weren’t all that reassuring to have in his mind, just now, but they’d come asking for a meal and were willing, even if somewhat begrudging, to work for it, so there wasn’t any reason to be nervous, was there?
He hoped not.
After showing her the deft twist of paw that removed a shrimp’s head, and how easy it was to slide a claw between shell and flesh to peel it free along with the legs, Rigby pointed out the bowl for the shell and took up the paring knife himself to do some deveining, leaning his hip against the table for support as he did. Nobody was likely to notice the difference, but he figured he might as well, since there were two pairs of paws doing the work. It was a steady sort of process, easy to see the results piling up.
While he’d learned a good number of skills with a varying, and occasional utter lack, of actual skill, the kitchen was, luckily, one of his better areas, and he settled into the task readily once he’d made sure Rubella was confident on her end and that both Rawback and Scraggs were managing. Eventually, unconsciously filling in the quiet, he found himself humming the song the Dibbuns had been singing earlier. It was a tradition that always won smiles from every beast, audience and participants alike, and he had a few fond memories of the one Nameday he could remember when he’d been a Dibbun joining in the parade. He was looking forward to the evening, wasn’t he just.
Too crowded by half. It would be much better to sneak through Cavern Hole. Glancing over his shoulder to be sure the other four were still with him, Rigby rather enjoyed the expressions on the three newcomers’ faces. It was a sight he’d seen many times before. It always made him prouder than it likely should have, given as he’d had absolutely no paw in building the impressive structure, but it was his home, and he certainly thought it was well worth a bit of awe. He happily explained the origins to them, and coaxed their names out along the way, though it didn’t take long for them to find Friar Ruddy.
He was exactly where Rigby’d thought he’d be, and all in a tizzy, too. The welcome they received was enthusiastic, to say the least, and it caught him somewhat flat-footed… He hadn’t… Or well, he had brought a few able-bodied volunteers, but he hadn’t been meaning to include himself among their number! Clearly taken by surprise, the young mouse blinked at the otter’s instructions before glancing around the wide area and back to the three strangers, all unsuspecting… Well, he had been taking it pretty easy all morning, and it wasn’t as though Brother Jethro or Zaris actually needed him at the gate. Friar Ruddy, however, looked like he’d lost several of his usual helpers to other chores. Besides which, he’d really only been waiting at the gate in the hopes of catching Bancroft’s arrival, but Bancroft would be bound for the kitchens with fresh stores anyhow, so staying here served much the same purpose.
And it would be more useful.
Decision made—more like foregone conclusion given into—Rigby led everyone to the broad sink, washing his own paws while he was at it. He was happy to help out, despite the initial baulking, but he still couldn’t help a wistful glance over his shoulder as Zaris wandered off, scoffing the treat he’d been handed with obvious relish and utterly ignoring the imploring stare at his back. Half of him wanted the otter’s company around a little longer, dour though it could be, now he was suddenly surrounded by the three taller, sturdier, potentially far more dangerous creatures he’d led here. The other half wanted to join in on the errand to see how Grant was doing, but he was mostly disappointed that he hadn’t gotten a candied chestnut, too.
Abandoning that train of thought quickly in favour of shaking the wet off his paws before drying them and considering the chance to sneak a bite of something else for himself, Rigby handed the towel to the stoat next to him and surveyed the room.
“Right, Rawback, Scraggs, there’s your table where Ruddy’s just passed now. Looks like he’s got a mountain of carrots, turnips, and parsnips for you. Best of luck whittling that lot down before he adds the beets I can smell baking.” Pointing the table out, Rigby sent them on their way. They had their work cut out for them and he was sure they’d have sore paws by the end of it. “Try not to cut yourselves, or you’ll be physicked half to death on Nameday of all days. Sad fate, that’d be. Trust me though, the works’ worth it for the feast come’s out of it.”
Giving their sullen faces an encouraging grin, he waved the vixen after him to the table with a large bowl of shrimp on it, and several empty ones waiting to be filled. “As for me and you, Rubella, I guess we’ve been volunteered to avoid disappointing the otters. Don’t worry, this’s easy work.” Well, as easy as standing on your feet and dealing with finicky, somewhat delicate shrimp could get. He preferred it over chopping turnips, at any rate.
Once they were standing next to each other, the vixen watching him with a very direct, yellow stare, Rigby had to swallow the nerves trying to get to him. She was very big and rather toothy… But it wasn’t as though he hadn’t gotten used to being among the smallest in any group already. He just couldn’t help remembering several stories in which a fox's most fearsome traits had been happily embellished... They weren’t all that reassuring to have in his mind, just now, but they’d come asking for a meal and were willing, even if somewhat begrudging, to work for it, so there wasn’t any reason to be nervous, was there?
He hoped not.
After showing her the deft twist of paw that removed a shrimp’s head, and how easy it was to slide a claw between shell and flesh to peel it free along with the legs, Rigby pointed out the bowl for the shell and took up the paring knife himself to do some deveining, leaning his hip against the table for support as he did. Nobody was likely to notice the difference, but he figured he might as well, since there were two pairs of paws doing the work. It was a steady sort of process, easy to see the results piling up.
While he’d learned a good number of skills with a varying, and occasional utter lack, of actual skill, the kitchen was, luckily, one of his better areas, and he settled into the task readily once he’d made sure Rubella was confident on her end and that both Rawback and Scraggs were managing. Eventually, unconsciously filling in the quiet, he found himself humming the song the Dibbuns had been singing earlier. It was a tradition that always won smiles from every beast, audience and participants alike, and he had a few fond memories of the one Nameday he could remember when he’d been a Dibbun joining in the parade. He was looking forward to the evening, wasn’t he just.
...Bancroft is actually still alive, right?
3/4s of me is all, Wraith is joking. The other 1/4 is considering the fact that joking doesn't necessarily mean it won't happen. This is Wraith, after all. But also, can you imagine the confusing moment that would be for Ellis to be spending a quiet moment reminiscing when suddenly this dark shadow flashes past, someone shouts a warning, and then there's a dead mouse at his feet and probably a squirrel having a guilty fit up a tree somewheres... How much "I did not sign up for this," resignation do you think is allowed in a Redwall-based story?
Karmelita was the vixen from Ellis’ backstory, so as long as this one isn’t ALSO Karmelita nobody has to get hurt and Name Day can be enjoyed by all.
Someone's going to get hurt anyway, this is how the wonderful world of Redwall works (vermin in the Abbey during a merry celebration...), and Bancroft already died. >.> <.< Though seriously, if he did, that wouldn't be the shortest-lived character I've ever seen, cuz, y'know, some don't ever get written (and expendable NPCs), but it would certainly be close.
<Snipped quote by Fading Memory>
Ahh, I completely blanked on that.
It took me a moment, too. I recognized the name and knew I was supposed to know it, but I could not remember why until I was about to google it.
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