Beg Off [Closed] - Printable Version
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RE: Beg Off [Closed] - Tindome - 11-06-2019
"Twenty years!" the King confirmed. "Shackles and everything. That's what the bracelets are for, you know, to cover all the scars. Don't tell em I told you, obviously, ey's sensitive about it. Well, ey says ey is, but ey'll show you in a heartbeat, really. Anyway, ey heard everything down there, knows all sorts of fun things."
He felt that her hand was still tiny, and found it funny the way she tried to hold on. He idly rubbed his thumb along the edge of her index finger.
"He was always a very sickly boy," he said loftily. "It's why he's so sheltered," he said to a sympathetic nod. He wrapped his arm around Ren's shoulders along with his cloak, feigning protectiveness. "I'd offer to come back and see you later, but I imagine you'll be tired of handling prodigious meats by then."
He swept Ren away in the wake of laughter, feeling quite pleased with himself. He bit at his turkey leg now that they were without a close audience to notice his teeth. "You do look young like this, don't you? How terrible. There's so many impressive chests here, I can usually find one or two to play with, but now they'll think I like to stick my dick in eggs." He sighed mournfully, and tore more turkey off the leg. "And I have to worry about you baiting eggfuckers!" he added. "It's not easy to eat people like this, you know."
"If you had to pick," he asked, pointing with his turkey leg to two plump women in dresses too thin for the weather, "would you rather watch me fuck the tall one, or the brown one? Keeping in mind that I know for a fact that Gareth's had the brown one before, which implies both high stamina and high standards. I haven't seen the tall one before, that makes her a wildcard, but I like her moxie."
Gareth laughed again, not begrudging her the theft of sugar. "It's the shelves," he said knowingly. "In some of the sections, the third shelf up is just the right height that if you clear some books out, you can fit someone in it." He accompanied this explanation with more gestures than was necessary. "Or so I've heard." He paused. "No, that's not true. I was nineteen once. The librarian was a gnome back then, pretty sure she was deaf." His own tail was swaying behind him. The drumming had stopped, the music now a gentler tune as the piper and fiddler took turns. Someone had started tuning up a banjo, and there'd be at least one empty jug before too long.
"Bullshit," he said. "I've never met an elf around here that didn't know every other goddamn elf. I know, because they keep calling me Cuz." He took enough of a detour to grab himself a beer this time. "I ran into an old friend of his that hadn't seen him in a few years. I offered to check up on him, make sure he hadn't run off to Crithe or some other damn thing. I'll have to see if I can find him."
"How hard do you think it'll be to get a blanket toss started?"
He felt that her hand was still tiny, and found it funny the way she tried to hold on. He idly rubbed his thumb along the edge of her index finger.
"He was always a very sickly boy," he said loftily. "It's why he's so sheltered," he said to a sympathetic nod. He wrapped his arm around Ren's shoulders along with his cloak, feigning protectiveness. "I'd offer to come back and see you later, but I imagine you'll be tired of handling prodigious meats by then."
He swept Ren away in the wake of laughter, feeling quite pleased with himself. He bit at his turkey leg now that they were without a close audience to notice his teeth. "You do look young like this, don't you? How terrible. There's so many impressive chests here, I can usually find one or two to play with, but now they'll think I like to stick my dick in eggs." He sighed mournfully, and tore more turkey off the leg. "And I have to worry about you baiting eggfuckers!" he added. "It's not easy to eat people like this, you know."
"If you had to pick," he asked, pointing with his turkey leg to two plump women in dresses too thin for the weather, "would you rather watch me fuck the tall one, or the brown one? Keeping in mind that I know for a fact that Gareth's had the brown one before, which implies both high stamina and high standards. I haven't seen the tall one before, that makes her a wildcard, but I like her moxie."
Gareth laughed again, not begrudging her the theft of sugar. "It's the shelves," he said knowingly. "In some of the sections, the third shelf up is just the right height that if you clear some books out, you can fit someone in it." He accompanied this explanation with more gestures than was necessary. "Or so I've heard." He paused. "No, that's not true. I was nineteen once. The librarian was a gnome back then, pretty sure she was deaf." His own tail was swaying behind him. The drumming had stopped, the music now a gentler tune as the piper and fiddler took turns. Someone had started tuning up a banjo, and there'd be at least one empty jug before too long."Bullshit," he said. "I've never met an elf around here that didn't know every other goddamn elf. I know, because they keep calling me Cuz." He took enough of a detour to grab himself a beer this time. "I ran into an old friend of his that hadn't seen him in a few years. I offered to check up on him, make sure he hadn't run off to Crithe or some other damn thing. I'll have to see if I can find him."
"How hard do you think it'll be to get a blanket toss started?"
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - SolitareLee - 11-06-2019
"Twenny years?!" she exclaimed. That was as long as she'd been alive. She tried to imagine twenty more years like the last one, and shuddered. "That's horrible. I'm glad you let em out." Even if she didn't like em. Nothing and no one deserved that, stuck alone in a dungeon for twenty years. She would go insane, she was pretty sure. She wondered, for the first time, if maybe Grilka didn't love eir snakes for the exact same reasons Ren loved her rats. She blushed bright crimson at the continued dialogue with the, uh, meat lady, relieved when the King swept her along. She suspected that turning bright red at innuendo wasn't the most masculine, manly thing to do.
"Sorry," she said, and meant it. "Just pretend like I'm yer little brother or something," she suggested. "This is my first time at a party like this, and yer keepin' an eye on me. Chicks love men with family instincts," she told him sagely, although not from any kind of personal experience. You just heard things, on the streets. "That way y'can still get some action, an' if I bait any eggfuckers, well." She shrugged. "There are a lot o' rats in the woods, yer highness, I can proly take care of it myself, if y'want." It'd give her an excuse to wander off with a stranger, and from there... easy to escape. "I'll dump 'em in the woods if y'wanna eat 'em later for good measure."
Ren considered the two women, neither of which were necessarily her type. "Tall one," she decided. "I dunno if you've noticed," she lifted her hand up--far up--to indicate the difference between her height and his. It was impossible to indicate the difference between her and Gareth. "But I like a bit o' height. But right now, I like her best of all." She pointed towards the woman currently sitting on Gareth's shoulders, draped over him and stealing bits of his spun sugar. She was bitterly jealous, but that didn't stop the woman from being hot. "Lookit her arms," Ren marveled. "She's not as tall, but I bet she could bench press five of me."
"Oh clouds," Bridget said, scandalized. "Don't let the King hear you say that! If he doesn't already know, I'll wind up chasing him out every day!" She also wouldn't be able to stop him from folding her into a shelf--she had predilections and they both knew it--and she wasn't sure she'd be able to get out without breaking it. She had very muscular shoulders. And he'd leave her stuck in there, she knew he would. He knew her far too well. "It's true," she said with a sigh. "We're all related, and in like two ways each." It probably got extremely confusing for anyone who wasn't brought up elven. Gareth fit in so well, you'd swear he was born for it. His father was a human as far as she knew though, a wizard. She'd... well, she did listen to rumors, even though she'd come onto the scene a few years after the King had been crowned. "Tell you what, I'll stick with and/or on you tonight, and point him out if I see him." She patted Gareth's head, only somewhat condescendingly. "I've got a great view from up here, so it's only a matter of time. We gotta catch him tonight, cause he's a traveler at heart, and you know how they get sometimes." As a farm-elf raised woman, she had been raised with some opinions about travelers, but tried not to let the lingering effects show now that she knew better.
"With you and me on a corner each? Effortless. I don't even think we'd have to ask first, if we just start tossing someone, more will join in." She'd have to get off his back for it, but that was fine. Nothing beat a blanket toss. People liked being tossed, it was real simple, and this WAS basically a tossing festival if you thought about it.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - Tindome - 11-06-2019
"Absolutely not," he said resolutely. "Bad enough to be thought an eggfucker without them being my eggs." Avi tossed his now-stripped turkey leg at a nearby dog, long-haired and with mismatched ears. It immediately ran away with it. "It's much too obvious that you're attracted to me," he said without shame. He laced his fingers through hers again. "Why would I leave you to take care of it yourself? You're mine. I can still snap their necks, anyway, though I think that might ruin our disguises."
"You wouldn't have much luck if you didn't," the King pointed out, because everyone was taller than her anyway. "I like the little soft ones. They're malleable. You'd understand if you saw her with some rope around her."
He turned to see who she'd indicated. "Oh! Yes, she's one of mine. She's my librarian. I don't know that Gareth's had her, actually. I believe he's an honorary cousin, they might feel related. It's a shame, come to think of it. I'd love to see what he could do to her. She grew up on a farm." He had only the vaguest understanding of what this implied, but he'd heard it said before and it seemed to get the appropriate reaction.
"I don't know if you're her type, though," he said thoughtfully. "She needs a firm hand, that one. I'm not sure she's ever even been with a woman before. I should check. My good man, is this a fried cake?"
"With frosting!" the elf said.
"Fantastic, I'll take three."
Gareth snorted. "If he hasn't figured it out yet, he'll get to it eventually. He stuck you in a chair yet? Don't answer that, I don't need to know that. The chair thing's weird, though." He sipped at his beer. "Bet if you're the one to suggest it, he'll give you a raise."
"Aaah," he said. "Seeing-eye dog." He was fully prepared to get smacked upside the head for that. "I figured he just caught wanderlust, but a couple years seems like a long time to some people." He said it like he were one of the long-lived immortals, and not just in his early thirties. He'd spent too much time trying to explain the foibles of people centuries old.
"Patrick," he boomed, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Get a blanket!" The elf ran to retrieve one out of a nearby wagon. When he returned, he threw it out on the grass instead of handing it to Gareth. Gareth grabbed a corner just as the guy with the banjo started playing.
"You wouldn't have much luck if you didn't," the King pointed out, because everyone was taller than her anyway. "I like the little soft ones. They're malleable. You'd understand if you saw her with some rope around her."
He turned to see who she'd indicated. "Oh! Yes, she's one of mine. She's my librarian. I don't know that Gareth's had her, actually. I believe he's an honorary cousin, they might feel related. It's a shame, come to think of it. I'd love to see what he could do to her. She grew up on a farm." He had only the vaguest understanding of what this implied, but he'd heard it said before and it seemed to get the appropriate reaction.
"I don't know if you're her type, though," he said thoughtfully. "She needs a firm hand, that one. I'm not sure she's ever even been with a woman before. I should check. My good man, is this a fried cake?"
"With frosting!" the elf said.
"Fantastic, I'll take three."
Gareth snorted. "If he hasn't figured it out yet, he'll get to it eventually. He stuck you in a chair yet? Don't answer that, I don't need to know that. The chair thing's weird, though." He sipped at his beer. "Bet if you're the one to suggest it, he'll give you a raise.""Aaah," he said. "Seeing-eye dog." He was fully prepared to get smacked upside the head for that. "I figured he just caught wanderlust, but a couple years seems like a long time to some people." He said it like he were one of the long-lived immortals, and not just in his early thirties. He'd spent too much time trying to explain the foibles of people centuries old.
"Patrick," he boomed, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Get a blanket!" The elf ran to retrieve one out of a nearby wagon. When he returned, he threw it out on the grass instead of handing it to Gareth. Gareth grabbed a corner just as the guy with the banjo started playing.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - SolitareLee - 11-06-2019
Ren flushed at the accusation of attraction, but she flushed far more when he laced his fingers with hers again, a different kind of flush. She would have liked it even more if he hadn't been wearing gloves. She didn't get much, if any, skin-on-skin contact if it didn't involve Gareth's dick. They weren't the hand-holding type. It wouldn't have been work-appropriate even if they were, probably, and also she was criminal scum et cetera et cetera. All this talk of being his, in combination with hand-holding, was having funny effects on her. Her stomach flip-flopped, although she was willing to blame that on how fast she'd inhaled a turkey leg half the size of her head. She knew he didn't mean it that way. He meant it literally, as in she was his property as a member of the King's Guard. It wasn't as nice as it sounded.
"Well, then, we need to get me a drink," she suggested. "A strong one, so people will know I'm an adult." She paused, narrowing her eyes with consideration. That might just make him look like an even shittier person, come to think of it, but after a point that ship had sailed.
He had a point about heights. She'd be limited to dwarves and halflings and the like. And dwarves were, as far as she knew, all vegans, so that wouldn't last longer than the first date. She'd been hungry for too much of her life to ever give up meat.
"Of course she's one o' yours," Ren said dryly. "She's hot as hell, why wouldn't she be." She didn't even know why she was surprised at this point. The farm thing wasn't surprising, either. She had the arms for it. And the legs. Phew. It wasn't until Gareth turned a bit that Ren caught sight of the tail, which brought up new questions she didn't feel comfortable asking. "Anyway, I can be firm sometimes, but I might not need to if someone else was there." He would probably take that to imply him, although she was thinking of Gareth at the moment. She didn't know what would be better, bullying someone that strong, or having two people that strong bully her. Both were great, as she'd learned with Avi and Gareth.
"If callin' each other cousin meant anythin' familial to an elf, we'd run outta elves," Ren informed him with a snort. "It's more like... the kinda vibe y'give off. Elves live for a real long time, yeah? So everyone jus' winds up bein' aunt so-n-so or grandpa so-n-so. Cuz is practically default. I was niblin' for a while. Took me forever to figure out it was cause they had no idea if I was a boy or a girl. I thought they just meant I was small enough to eat, or maybe cause I was always chewin' on an apple core when they saw me." It wasn't as funny of a joke around the King who probably fully intended to eat her alive at some point.
Still. In the meantime, fried cake! She took one of the three being proffered and once again bit in without even beginning to let it cool. It was hot and disgustingly sweet and more sugar than she'd probably had in her life at that point. She could almost feel herself begin to vibrate.
"This might be th' best fuckin' day of my life, yer..." she trailed off abruptly, trying to figure out what in god's name to call him when they were under cover.
"He hasn't, and now I'm curious and kinda worried," Bree said. Transforming from big to small to big to small got her stuck in unfortunate places a few times too many. Unlike the King, she could pop back and forth pretty easily, but sometimes she ran out of juice and got stuck and couldn't get back outside to recharge. It was. Well. It'd had an impact. The King had found out in the most embarrassing way anyone could find out such a thing, and Gareth was right. It was only a matter of time. She made a decision then and there to mention the chair thing. She had no idea what it meant; it seemed kind of tame by the King's standards, frankly. But if it was going to happen eventually, she was for sure getting a raise out of it. The King had no grasp on what was an appropriate wage, and she adored that about him. He did, in fact, get smacked over the head for that one, at roughly fifty percent power. Only so hard because he had an incredibly thick skull. "I'm gonna grab your hair like reins if you keep that up," she warned him with a grin, giving it a little demonstrative tug. "See if I can steer you from up here."
When the blanket was brought, she shifted, putting her hands on his shoulders and doing a quick handstand before jumping off. It was all terribly unnecessary, but she did a lot to stay in shape now that she was a librarian and not a farmer, and she liked to be appreciated. She ran over to grab the opposite corner, and sure enough, people flooded to their location, grabbing sides of the blanket. Bridget hunted for a likely victim in the crowd before grabbing someone young looking who probably hadn't gotten to enjoy it before. Lifting them by the belt, she tossed them gently onto the center of the blanket.
"Alright!" she cheered, beginning to pull the blanket taunt. "Let's really get this party started, eh?"
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - Tindome - 11-06-2019
Avi squeezed her hand. "If you wanted me to get you drunk, you only had to say," he said. He popped the two fried cakes into his mouth one after the other, swallowing the first much too quickly for the amount of molten sugar it contained. He was able to take his time savoring the second as he pulled her along in the direction of hard liquor.
"I have excellent taste," he agreed. "I like for pretty things to be mine." He mulled over the cousin situation. "Maybe," he said dubiously. "I've seen them wrestle far too many times without him getting his dick out, so I'm not getting my hopes up." He was of the opinion that if someone were getting pinned to the ground, the one doing the pinning ought to be making the best of the opportunity. If you weren't interested, why pin them at all? Weird elven things.
"Avalanche," he suggested. "Hm, no. Gareth only calls me that when he's upset with me. Avi is fine, I suppose. Or darling! Sir. My lord. Master. No, that's weird again, isn't it?" He licked the fingers of his gloves.
Avi found an elf with a table covered in various jars of liquor. He was tall and thick all the way down, with a neatly trimmed and yet bushy beard. "Hello," Avi said. "My companion here has spent his whole life sequestered for his own safety, and now is determined to have an adventure. I've decided to give him moonshine to teach him an important lesson about being careful what you wish for."
"I have a cousin who did the same thing with one of his kids," he said, offering a jar.
"You look snuggly," Avi informed him as he took it.
"Thank you."
"Careful," he warned, "unless you wanna skip straight to the part of the afternoon where I kick your ass. Think your hair had grass stains for a month that last time."
After the first, elves were all but lining up for the opportunity to leap into the blanket, and between Gareth and Bree some of them were getting launched a considerable distance in the air. Sometimes he had to hold it a bit higher just to be sure the person falling wouldn't stretch the blanket straight into the ground and twist their ankle.
Not that anyone would mind, but he prided himself on his safety record.
He kept at it for as long as he could until his arms started to get tired. Eventually, though, he tagged someone else in, giving up his corner and finding where he'd left his beer in the grass. He took a swig as he watched another elf get launched, not quite as high as they'd been.
It was fun enough to watch, but he wouldn't have done it himself even if he thought he could. His luck, he'd fall out of the blanket and straight onto his goddamn head.
"I have excellent taste," he agreed. "I like for pretty things to be mine." He mulled over the cousin situation. "Maybe," he said dubiously. "I've seen them wrestle far too many times without him getting his dick out, so I'm not getting my hopes up." He was of the opinion that if someone were getting pinned to the ground, the one doing the pinning ought to be making the best of the opportunity. If you weren't interested, why pin them at all? Weird elven things.
"Avalanche," he suggested. "Hm, no. Gareth only calls me that when he's upset with me. Avi is fine, I suppose. Or darling! Sir. My lord. Master. No, that's weird again, isn't it?" He licked the fingers of his gloves.
Avi found an elf with a table covered in various jars of liquor. He was tall and thick all the way down, with a neatly trimmed and yet bushy beard. "Hello," Avi said. "My companion here has spent his whole life sequestered for his own safety, and now is determined to have an adventure. I've decided to give him moonshine to teach him an important lesson about being careful what you wish for."
"I have a cousin who did the same thing with one of his kids," he said, offering a jar.
"You look snuggly," Avi informed him as he took it.
"Thank you."
"Careful," he warned, "unless you wanna skip straight to the part of the afternoon where I kick your ass. Think your hair had grass stains for a month that last time."After the first, elves were all but lining up for the opportunity to leap into the blanket, and between Gareth and Bree some of them were getting launched a considerable distance in the air. Sometimes he had to hold it a bit higher just to be sure the person falling wouldn't stretch the blanket straight into the ground and twist their ankle.
Not that anyone would mind, but he prided himself on his safety record.
He kept at it for as long as he could until his arms started to get tired. Eventually, though, he tagged someone else in, giving up his corner and finding where he'd left his beer in the grass. He took a swig as he watched another elf get launched, not quite as high as they'd been.
It was fun enough to watch, but he wouldn't have done it himself even if he thought he could. His luck, he'd fall out of the blanket and straight onto his goddamn head.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - SolitareLee - 11-07-2019
She actually probably shouldn't get drunk drunk. She was small and had no supernatural predilections in that area that she'd ever noticed. But she really missed the taste of cider and was very enthusiastic to have some again. She'd just be careful how much she had, to make sure she was in a right state of mind to escape later. It was almost amusing to think of Avi as senselessly hoarding pretty people the same way he hoarded jewelry and gold. But after she thought about it, she realized it seemed like exactly what he was doing. He was a dragon through and through, he'd just expanded his repertoire to include people, most of whom he had sex with. This made sense, but the framing of her escaping as stealing herself from a dragon made the whole thing seem a lot more dangerous all of a sudden.
The return of the bright red blush came after the King suggested she call him Avi. She opened her mouth to try, squeaked a bit after the A, then shut her mouth. There was no way. She couldn't. That was Gareth's nickname for him; she didn't feel like she ought to be on Avi terms. "Sir works," she managed, voice strained enough to be far out of the range of a young man. She cleared her throat, still bright red. To make things worse, the King picked that moment to lick some oil or frosting or crumbs from the cake off of his gloves. She became very interested in the wheel of the cart they were passing. Sir had its own contexts, ones she'd rather not be thinking about. Sir could be a boss. Sir could be an older family member. But this was the King, so she was pretty sure it wasn't going to feel like either.
She was given a short-lived break when the King brought to her an alcohol stall to... get her moonshine instead of cider. She didn't particularly have any memories of elven moonshine. Not any clear ones, anyway. She'd gotten some last year, but no one would ever give her much, probably because she ninety pounds soaking wet even before her imprisonment and also every elf she traded with had known her when she was waist high. She eyed it dubiously, but curiously.
Maybe she could pretend to drink more of it than she did. She could act drunker. Would this increase the likelihood that the King would let his guard down long enough for her to escape, or would he baby her? It seemed like it could go either way. He'd probably get bored of her if she was too drunk, right? But he was too worried about pedophiles accosting her left and right to leave her passed out on a hay bale, at the same time.
"Yer..." She cleared her throat, a hint of the blush returning. "Sir," she corrected, managing barely to keep he voice from squeaking on it. "That's fer both of us, right? Cause I know everyone looks small t'ya and everyone seems to weigh nothin' at all, but..." she gestured down at herself. "I've never had moonshine before," she added, which was somewhat true. She had no real memories of having had moonshine before. She couldn't remember the taste, or, particularly, the effect.
"Oh, you're right, we can't have that," Bridget said, all mock-concern. "I'm not nearly drunk enough for you to have a chance yet." The blanket toss was, as always, great fun. Bridget wasn't nearly as tall as Gareth, but she had the muscle to launch people to unsafe heights. It got a little bit mismatched after Gareth stopped, however, so after three or four more elves, the end of her time at the blanket was signaled to everyone by a blonde wolf four and a half feet at the shoulder taking a running jump into the blanket. She was heavy, but no more than an adult man really, and so even an unassisted squadron of elves managed to get her some air.
After she'd had her fun, she rolled off haphazardly. The shift back and forth with alcohol in her system always left her feeling silly and dizzy. She picked a likely looking elf, tall and burly, probably a lumberjack or a woodsmith or something, and charged at him with a gleeful bark.
"Auntie!" he yelled, and she pounced at him, transforming back to human mid-leap. She still collided with enough force to send him stumbling backwards, but he caught her in his arms nonetheless. She'd learned that trick from the King. Her head spun, and she laughed, but she could tell there was a lot more room for alcohol.
"Carry me to the moonshine!" she announced, then remembered she was supposed to be with Gareth, keeping an eye out for Grandpa Buck. "Carry me to Gareth, and then make him carry me to moonshine."
"Can't imagine that'll be hard," the elf, who she now recognized as Papa Tucker, said with a snort. "Just ask him nice."
"It's more fun if you try to bully him into it," Bridget said with a pout. "He'll do anything if you just ask nice."
Tucker chuckled, before finding Gareth in the crowd. It wasn't difficult. "Excuse me, sir, lost dog?" Bree gave him a thwap to the side of the head that was considerably softer than the one she'd given Gareth.
"Time for barrel of moonshine number two," she informed Gareth.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - Tindome - 11-07-2019
"Hmm." Avi considered the color of her face. "Is that what you call Gareth?" he wondered. "Yes sir, no sir, please sir? But, no. He already told me you're a brat, so I suppose you mustn't. Unless he makes you." He hummed thoughtfully again.
They were really going to need to find someone giving out candies. Otherwise he'd just keep snatching up fried cakes and cookies, and eventually someone would notice.
What he actually wanted was to keep chatting up this elf with the beard. Now that would give him something fun to do with his mouth. But Ren quickly distracted him from those particular opportunities.
"Of course you haven't," he said. "You are but a sheltered waif." His mouth curled, but didn't show teeth. He guided her away from the table, letting her go so that he could open the jar. "Here," he said once they had what he considered an adequate amount of space around them. "Drink." His glasses covered the gleam in his eye, but not the twist to his lips. He hadn't particularly cared about the drinking, but then she'd expressed concern, and now it was very important that she take an inadvisably large swig of it and that he get to see the look on her face.
He wouldn't tell her to take a swig of it. But this was clearly a dare, what he was doing, and he was making no secret of the fact that he thought she was going to choke. Which made it very likely that she'd want to prove some kind of point about how she wouldn't choke, and so she'd drink too much, and maybe give herself a fit before getting upset that she'd done exactly what he'd thought she'd do.
Or maybe she wouldn't! Maybe she drank kerosene. It was still worth trying, if there was a chance it might be funny.
Caroline ran past, jumped to give Gareth a sudden kiss on the mouth, and then immediately bolted toward wherever she'd already been heading. Gareth blinked, and sipped at his beer before Tucker got his attention.
"She's not well-behaved," he sighed, "but at least she's house-trained." He picked her up without asking first, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. "Trying to get me drunk?" he wondered, walking toward the table where her poison of choice could be found. "You never could win fair. If I fall over because I can't walk straight, that doesn't count as losing, just so you know." He tossed his empty bottle into a basket already half-full of them.
Declan had meandered over to the smallest of the trebuchets, clearly eager to be the first to launch, before the others could overshadow him.
They were really going to need to find someone giving out candies. Otherwise he'd just keep snatching up fried cakes and cookies, and eventually someone would notice.
What he actually wanted was to keep chatting up this elf with the beard. Now that would give him something fun to do with his mouth. But Ren quickly distracted him from those particular opportunities.
"Of course you haven't," he said. "You are but a sheltered waif." His mouth curled, but didn't show teeth. He guided her away from the table, letting her go so that he could open the jar. "Here," he said once they had what he considered an adequate amount of space around them. "Drink." His glasses covered the gleam in his eye, but not the twist to his lips. He hadn't particularly cared about the drinking, but then she'd expressed concern, and now it was very important that she take an inadvisably large swig of it and that he get to see the look on her face.
He wouldn't tell her to take a swig of it. But this was clearly a dare, what he was doing, and he was making no secret of the fact that he thought she was going to choke. Which made it very likely that she'd want to prove some kind of point about how she wouldn't choke, and so she'd drink too much, and maybe give herself a fit before getting upset that she'd done exactly what he'd thought she'd do.
Or maybe she wouldn't! Maybe she drank kerosene. It was still worth trying, if there was a chance it might be funny.
Caroline ran past, jumped to give Gareth a sudden kiss on the mouth, and then immediately bolted toward wherever she'd already been heading. Gareth blinked, and sipped at his beer before Tucker got his attention."She's not well-behaved," he sighed, "but at least she's house-trained." He picked her up without asking first, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. "Trying to get me drunk?" he wondered, walking toward the table where her poison of choice could be found. "You never could win fair. If I fall over because I can't walk straight, that doesn't count as losing, just so you know." He tossed his empty bottle into a basket already half-full of them.
Declan had meandered over to the smallest of the trebuchets, clearly eager to be the first to launch, before the others could overshadow him.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - SolitareLee - 11-07-2019
That was just enough to bring out the hellion she'd been working so hard at suppressing since the King barged in her door. She looked indignant, almost offended, at the mere suggestion. "No! Are you kiddin' me? I call 'im 'boss' when I'm in a good mood. More accurate titles include 'shithead,' 'dick-for-brains,' 'motherfucker,' 'asshole,' 'sparkles,'" She was, at this point, counting them off on her fingers. "I stopped callin' 'is mom a whore once I found out she was a succubus--just rude, that--but," She was still listing increasingly colorful insults that she enjoyed calling Gareth as the King dragged her away from the moonshine-vending elf, which was just as well since he reminded her a little bit of Byron's foggy memories of Gareth chopping wood.
He handed her the whole entire jar, now open. She eyed it uncertainly, and took a sniff. She recoiled from it, horrified. "We're sure this ain't fuel, right?" She took another sniff, more cautiously, but the King was grinning a grin that told her on no uncertain terms that he was very amused by how naive and unworldly she was acting, and she got a stubborn set to her jaw.
Predictably, she took an unfeasibly large mouthful of the drink and got about halfway through swallowing before she started to choke. Her hand spasmed against the jar, the other one closing on the King's wrist, as if for stability. She was. Not. Going to spray the King with apple-scented gasoline. Wincing, her fingers digging into his sleeve, she tried again to swallow, and managed it this time.
Her eyes were watering. Some of it had started going up her nose. Her entire face burned, and her throat felt like she'd just swallowed liquid fire, even more than when she actually kind of did that a little bit with Gareth.
"You absolutely did that on purpose, an' I knew you were, an' I still fuckin' did it," she wheezed. She thudded her head against his chest to keep from falling over as she felt a surge of dizziness or endorphins or something. Her hand was still on his wrist, because she'd forgotten to take it off, but her grip was less desperate.
She was never this stupid with Gareth. That was a lie. She was exactly this stupid with Gareth, he just took advantage in entirely different ways. If he could see this, he'd fuss over her and wipe her watering eyes and scold the King.
"I'm the only person here who can kick you in the junk without breaking my foot," she warned him, but he threw her over his shoulder so the threat was somewhat empty. She mollified herself somewhat with the knowledge that she could technically do the same to him, he just didn't fit as well. "Trying to get myself drunk." She watched idly over his shoulder as they walked past a very tall man giving a very short man what was very clearly his first drink of moonshine. She figured they were both men, anyway. Some werewolves would tell you they could tell with just a whiff. Those werewolves were gender essentialists and Bridget Corey did not care for them. "And you've never been able to do anything straight for as long as I've known you, so let's not blame the alcohol, hmm?"
When they got to the table where they had her moonshine of choice, she wiggled around to sit on Gareth's shoulders again, holding out wide arms to Papa Clint. "Booze, please!"
Clint, a man with a very nice beard who knew her very well by now, pulled a two gallon jug with a little ring on the neck out from under the table.
"Have I told you yet today that I love you, Papa Clint?"
"We hadn't reached that level of drunk before now, no."
"I love you, you are the light of my life." She made more grabby hands at the alcohol until Gareth passed it up to her. She balanced the jug on top of his head; there was an audible POP as she pulled the cork out. "Give my man-servant whatever his heart desires, Clint! I'm paying."
"No one's paying, Auntie."
"That's what makes it so easy!" She took a long chug from the bottle. It didn't burn any less just because she was a werewolf, but you had to learn to tolerate these things if you wanted to get drunk. After she stopped, she immediately burped rather loudly despite trying to cover it. "Ugh. This is why I'm single." It was not even close to why she was single.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - Tindome - 11-07-2019
Avi was both horrified and fascinated. "You didn't," he interrupted, sounding for all the world like a scandalized dairy maid. "More than once?" He was as shocked as much by the fact that Grilka hadn't told him about it, when this was exactly the sort of thing that gossip should have carried. It was as if he'd only just discovered her penchant for shitting in Gareth's boots. "How long did he let you? Oh, this explains so much." He'd wondered how she'd managed to drive the man so absolutely mad.
He started to laugh as Ren drank too much, smothering it into giggles as he tilted his head lower to get a better look at her, all red-faced and teary-eyed. She was always doing that to herself, wasn't she?
He patted the back of her head against his chest, entirely delighted. "Of course you did," he said sympathetically. "You're mine. You want to please me." When he tousled her hair this time, it was with the threat that he might grab a fist full of it. "Particularly if you think it will hurt."
He took the jar from her hand, and took a sip. It wasn't that bad, he thought, but he didn't care for it as much as he did mead. He did not much account for the fact that its burn in his throat was literal fire.
"That'd be a waste of vital government resources," he informed her with a straight face.
"My geometry is excellent," he countered. "I could calculate a launch trajectory angle in my sleep. Straight as an arrow."
Gareth passed Bree the liquor as she clambered all over him, more like a goat than a wolf. Then he grabbed a jar that managed to look small in his hands, despite being of a more average size. "Think you could save me a small jar for the road? Real small." He indicated with his fingers. "I'm putting together a gift basket, I guess."
"Sure, I can do that," Clint said. "Just swing by before you head out."
"You're single because you're spoiled," Gareth said to Bree. "Find yourself a nice faun to chew on." What she needed was someone different enough from the King that there was no way to compare them, instead of trying for imitations and wondering why they fell short.
He turned in time for them to see Declan clear the area around his trebuchet, a pumpkin loaded into the sling. A countdown started in chorus, a drummer joining in, until Declan finally pulled his release pin.
The pumpkin shot straight into the ground right in front of it.
Gareth barked a laugh, loud and hard and nearly collapsing forward onto his own knees as he cackled and gasped for air.
He started to laugh as Ren drank too much, smothering it into giggles as he tilted his head lower to get a better look at her, all red-faced and teary-eyed. She was always doing that to herself, wasn't she?
He patted the back of her head against his chest, entirely delighted. "Of course you did," he said sympathetically. "You're mine. You want to please me." When he tousled her hair this time, it was with the threat that he might grab a fist full of it. "Particularly if you think it will hurt."
He took the jar from her hand, and took a sip. It wasn't that bad, he thought, but he didn't care for it as much as he did mead. He did not much account for the fact that its burn in his throat was literal fire.
"That'd be a waste of vital government resources," he informed her with a straight face."My geometry is excellent," he countered. "I could calculate a launch trajectory angle in my sleep. Straight as an arrow."
Gareth passed Bree the liquor as she clambered all over him, more like a goat than a wolf. Then he grabbed a jar that managed to look small in his hands, despite being of a more average size. "Think you could save me a small jar for the road? Real small." He indicated with his fingers. "I'm putting together a gift basket, I guess."
"Sure, I can do that," Clint said. "Just swing by before you head out."
"You're single because you're spoiled," Gareth said to Bree. "Find yourself a nice faun to chew on." What she needed was someone different enough from the King that there was no way to compare them, instead of trying for imitations and wondering why they fell short.
He turned in time for them to see Declan clear the area around his trebuchet, a pumpkin loaded into the sling. A countdown started in chorus, a drummer joining in, until Declan finally pulled his release pin.
The pumpkin shot straight into the ground right in front of it.
Gareth barked a laugh, loud and hard and nearly collapsing forward onto his own knees as he cackled and gasped for air.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - SolitareLee - 11-07-2019
"Not very long," she admitted. She had to get pretty pissed off before she started bringing people's mothers into things, and the situation with Gareth had her a bit once-bitten twice-shy about the whole thing. She didn't feel bad about almost anything she'd ever said to Gareth, but she felt bad about that. "I think I got in two or three before--well, remember how I told ya one time he hogtied me and I headbutted him in th' head and busted his nose and got a concussion? Yeah." It wasn't really a meetcute, what they had, just an increasingly violent escalation that had come to an abrupt end once they'd discovered a single point of agreement: his dick. His mother had remained a point of interest for her because she'd figured out quickly it was the best way to piss him off, but she hadn't been that mad at him in... Well, okay, actually, she'd been that mad at him this morning, but she'd held it in.
Her head spun, and the King wasn't helping at all. Her breath hitched a bit when his hand slid into her hair. It felt good, for reasons that were hard to describe. Contact, a bit like being petted, a bit like he might hurt her. She wasn't sure which of the three was helping the most.
She hated him, and she hated that he could make being his sound good when she knew it wasn't. She called back to mind the memory of a man devoured and the taste of blood on his tongue. She shuddered, but she also doubted he'd mind. If anything, he'd like that more. This was rapidly entering dangerous territory, both for her and for her plan to escape.
"It's cause I'm an idiot," she grumbled, not daring to contradict him when not being his and not wanting to please him were all causes of death.
...Damnit, he'd been right about the attraction thing. This pose looked a certain way. She straightened, his hand still on her head, and rubbed furiously at her face as if it would make the burning sensation fade faster. "I finally fuckin' understand why Buck would never gimme that stuff. I woulda combust," she grumbled. "Or just used it as fuel." Actually, that might well have been what happened last year. Actually, the thought of Buck made her perk up. "Do they got apples here?" she asked, suddenly as excited as if she'd never been embarrassed in her life. "Can we get apples? The really big elven kind!"
"Oh, yeah, I heard," Bridget said with a wicked grin. Her tail began to beat against his back. "Something about an untameable criminal brought to line by the sheer irresistible magnetism of your dick." Actually, it had mostly been about how tiny she was and how incredible the King found the physics of the situation. There had been iced cream for breakfast involved. He got very chatty after he'd come back in from a party, and she was often enough the only one awake pre-dawn who wasn't working. It was very easy to get talkative with a pair of very understanding dog eyes. "Nah. Still curved. Just cause we can't see where it comes down doesn't mean it doesn't come down." She paused in her chugging, considering. "Do they say straight as an arrow because you're supposed to shoot it straight? I always thought it was because the wood was straight." Every now and then again, despite a decade in the capitol, it became apparent that Bridget was actually from a farm and had learned everything she knew from a random assortment of books.
Bridget pouted at his words. "It's not my fault I went and got seduced by the King. I was an innocent country virgin who knew nothing of his big city ways," she said with a sniff. It was a more accurate description than most people who knew her now would realize. She sighed. She'd tried dating nice guys, but they all lacked something. Mostly, it was their ability and willingness to toss her around during sex.
Whatever she was going to say next was lost. Bridget heard the drum and perked up immediately, back rigid, ears erect and facing enthusiastically forward. Her tail began to wag so hard it created a noticeable breeze down Gareth's back.
"It's starting it's starting it's--"
There was a moment of silence from her as Gareth absolutely lost his shit, almost falling over from laughing to hard.
"Goddamnit Declan," she complained, loud enough to be heard clearly over the crowd.
At least this gave her time to drink. She upended her jug of moonshine, drinking for all she was worth. If she didn't finish it quickly, she'd probably spill it when someone actually managed to get a pumpkin airborne. This was the best part of the whole entire evening, and the pumpkins would only stand a chance if she was pretty drunk first.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - Tindome - 11-08-2019
Avi was briefly distracted as a trebuchet prepared to launch. It didn't make it very far, but then his attention was through the crowd, a booming laugh and Bridget's consternation. He fixed onto Gareth's amusement until it faded, resumed the conversation like nothing had happened.
It always took him so much work to trick him into laughing like that.
"I can't begin to imagine." Avi had never witnessed in person what might happen when someone said something ill-advised about Gareth's mother, because no one had ever dreamed of doing it. Not since he'd eaten Leopold. Anything he knew about the situation, he knew from servants who'd been in the castle longer than he. Gareth never talked about it; Avi would never ask. "He must like you very much, to have forgiven you for it."
He sipped at the moonshine, and fire licked at the backs of his teeth. "Of course there's apples," he said. "We could swim in fucking apples, if you wanted." He took her hand, and headed in the appropriate direction, pausing to watch another pumpkin go sailing properly this time.
"Don't I fucking wish," he muttered. Untameable criminal, maybe. Brought to heel? Absolutely not. Progress was ongoing and not at all fast. Half the time she couldn't even behave herself bent over a table. He'd never seen someone so difficult to coax into appreciating not having to worry about dinner or a roof over her head. She just seemed to use the extra brainpower for getting pissed. "That gossipy bitch," he added, because he was sure it was the King that had been talking.
"Don't be deliberately obtuse," Gareth said scornfully. "It's a straight shot from start to target. Straight line on the ground. The fact that it has to go up first is why a straight line takes so much math." He pointed at the various other pumpkin launchers. "Almost every one of those things is gonna shoot wide. If this were a seige they'd be hitting nothing but... children's hospitals. They'd never touch the armory."
He patted her leg. "Yeah, he does that." He'd done his best at the time not to leave them alone together, but there was only so much he could do. He was a King's Guard; the King was a fucking dragon.
Someone else had already decided to show off their superior trebuchet build. Gareth didn't consider it particularly impressive, but at least this one took off properly. "See?" he said, though Bree was already taking off. "Look at how far to the left that's going. Fucking shameful."
It always took him so much work to trick him into laughing like that.
"I can't begin to imagine." Avi had never witnessed in person what might happen when someone said something ill-advised about Gareth's mother, because no one had ever dreamed of doing it. Not since he'd eaten Leopold. Anything he knew about the situation, he knew from servants who'd been in the castle longer than he. Gareth never talked about it; Avi would never ask. "He must like you very much, to have forgiven you for it."
He sipped at the moonshine, and fire licked at the backs of his teeth. "Of course there's apples," he said. "We could swim in fucking apples, if you wanted." He took her hand, and headed in the appropriate direction, pausing to watch another pumpkin go sailing properly this time.
"Don't I fucking wish," he muttered. Untameable criminal, maybe. Brought to heel? Absolutely not. Progress was ongoing and not at all fast. Half the time she couldn't even behave herself bent over a table. He'd never seen someone so difficult to coax into appreciating not having to worry about dinner or a roof over her head. She just seemed to use the extra brainpower for getting pissed. "That gossipy bitch," he added, because he was sure it was the King that had been talking. "Don't be deliberately obtuse," Gareth said scornfully. "It's a straight shot from start to target. Straight line on the ground. The fact that it has to go up first is why a straight line takes so much math." He pointed at the various other pumpkin launchers. "Almost every one of those things is gonna shoot wide. If this were a seige they'd be hitting nothing but... children's hospitals. They'd never touch the armory."
He patted her leg. "Yeah, he does that." He'd done his best at the time not to leave them alone together, but there was only so much he could do. He was a King's Guard; the King was a fucking dragon.
Someone else had already decided to show off their superior trebuchet build. Gareth didn't consider it particularly impressive, but at least this one took off properly. "See?" he said, though Bree was already taking off. "Look at how far to the left that's going. Fucking shameful."
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - SolitareLee - 11-08-2019
Ren was distracted by Gareth's laughter to almost the same extent as the King. She had the good sense not to stare, but the sound of it made her heart clench so strongly she felt she might have to sit down. It felt like someone had taken a great wooden spoon and stirred up her insides. It felt like an old injury aching in winter cold. She thought she might cry.He never laughed like that when SHE was around. He never laughed at all when she was around.
This was terrible. She felt like she was sick. She WAS sick, and she needed to purge it out immediately. Thank god she was running tonight. She only hated that she'd seen this before she'd left. As if the house hadn't been bad enough. If she'd always thought of him as impossible and stodgy and annoying and only intermittently kind, she would have had no regrets at all.
Leave it to GARETH to make even this harder than it needed to be.
She tried to look normal when the King turned back to her, but he said the worst possible thing, and it was an inexplicable difficulty not to laugh or cry. It felt like there was something in her chest constricting her throat. Also she felt a little drunk already, which was definitely not helping.
"He doesn't like me," she informed the King matter-of-factly. "He just really likes fucking me." She was sure the King could relate. She was sure EVERYONE could relate. It was a very common opinion of her, second only to open hatred.
She was overjoyed to be walking further away from Gareth, despite what her whole body was yelling about running over there and hugging and other stupid fucking bullshit. She was clearly already drunk. She'd have to eat more to counterbalance it.
The King got distracted by a proper pumpkin chuck, but she'd been so focused that she hadn't even noticed the first one. No, she was distracted by something else entirely. She stared, then, unthinking, began to pull at the King's sleeve and point like a child seeing a toy store.
"Yer--Avi--sir--" She pulled his sleeve again, almost beginning to jump with excitement. "ARE THOSE APPLES COVERED IN CANDY."
There was, in fact, a whole stall of candy apples, in dozens of varieties, run by a familiar face she hadn't even noticed. She was fixated, astounded that such a thing could even exist. She remembered the King's love for candy, but begged anyway. "Please!! Pleasepleaseplease!" She wanted twelve. They were huge enough that it'd be a struggle to finish even one.
Bridget nodded. The King WAS gossipy. He was worse than a laundry maid, the way he carried on. Especially about Gareth, not that she'd ever point it out. She'd heard enough drunken complaints for even HER to understand they were complicated. She couldn't begin to understand why; the King was absurdly straightforward and sweet. This, she thought despite any evidence provided by the story of their first time together and how she'd come to work in the castle. She flushed a bit at the memory, as much for her own youthful stupidity as anything else.
"I always forget the King's Guard are technically soldiers and shit," she admitted after hearing Gareth's incomprehensible lesson. It still sounded like a curve to HER. The benefit of having come after the King had already settled in somewhat was that she'd missed all the chaos and had been living on the outskirts of the country her whole life before then. And the King's Guard weren't exactly written in the annals of history for her to read about at length. "I kinda think of you as engineers and secretaries," she informed him. She worked in the library. She only really saw a certain KIND of King's Guard.
But someone had loaded up their trebuchet and actually managed to fire. She dropped the jug and its remnants into Gareth's arms as she stood up on his shoulders and launched herself forward with so much force that it would have knocked someone else over. She transformed mid-leap and hit the ground sprinting with a howl.
She rocketed after the pumpkin at breakneck speeds, then launched herself into the air more like a cat than a dog, teeth snapping. She collided with the pumpkin--her first catch of the night!--and crunched into gleefully as they both collapsed into the snow.
Her tail wagged furiously as she tore into it with satisfying crunches, scattering the ground with pumpkin seeds.
Your chuck only counted as far as the smear. It was much further when she didn't catch it, and there was the werewolf penalty to boot. She wasn't actually sure anyone kept TRACK, and it seemed pointless when Gareth dominated every single year. She didn't care. She was ready to chase and that was everyone ELSE'S problems.
Someone else's pumpkin went soaring above her and she began to give chase with a long, delighted, baying howl.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - Tindome - 11-08-2019
"I know that isn't true," Avi said, "because he doesn't fuck people he doesn't like anymore."
He wasn't as certain of this as he sounded. But it was what he understood of the situation, and he liked to think he'd have noticed if it had changed. Gareth still had trouble saying no, but that wasn't the same thing.
"If I really thought he didn't like you, you'd be dead by now," he added helpfully. "I'm a good judge of these things." He wasn't.
He followed the line of her frantic gaze. She even used his diminutive, which was either a sign of her excitement or her inebriation. Unfortunate! He'd liked it when she stumbled over it, all flustered. "You've gotten so good at begging!" he admired. "Very well. Because you've been good, you may have one. If you continue to be good, you may have more."
Avi approached the table, and claimed a particularly excessive apple all covered in caramel and various bits of candies and cookies. He narrowed his eyes as he considered the logistics involved in eating it without opening his mouth too wide and showing too many teeth.
Gareth watched Bridget go with a chuckle. The drums had started back up, but he wasn't ready to start dancing again just yet. He sipped at the moonshine, but he didn't much care for it. Not his favorite way to drink.
He started making the rounds at tables instead, picking out things to take back with him later. Suzanne gave him a woven basket he thought might be big enough. He used it to carry little jars of apple butter, a bag of taffy. He offered to help with the snow when the time came to get a knit shawl that looked like it would fit her. Small apple tarts wouldn't keep as well, but they'd still be good tomorrow. Two bottles of cider, only one of them alcoholic. He circled back to leave Bridget's moonshine with Clint, and retrieved the small jar he'd asked for earlier.
Next year. He wasn't going to get his hopes up, but. Maybe. In the back of his mind he had an idea he wouldn't let coalesce, that progress would be made and privileges earned, and then maybe. Arm in arm, or hand in hand. Dancing. Introducing her to people.
He wouldn't jinx it by daydreaming in earnest. He'd spoil it if he even tried, pointing out the logical flaws. But snippets of ideas floated pleasantly through the back of his head, and he let them.
Other elves launched their pumpkins, but Gareth always tried to wait until last. It was probably vain to think of it as a grand finale, but he was allowed to be vain sometimes. He'd earned it.
He wasn't as certain of this as he sounded. But it was what he understood of the situation, and he liked to think he'd have noticed if it had changed. Gareth still had trouble saying no, but that wasn't the same thing.
"If I really thought he didn't like you, you'd be dead by now," he added helpfully. "I'm a good judge of these things." He wasn't.
He followed the line of her frantic gaze. She even used his diminutive, which was either a sign of her excitement or her inebriation. Unfortunate! He'd liked it when she stumbled over it, all flustered. "You've gotten so good at begging!" he admired. "Very well. Because you've been good, you may have one. If you continue to be good, you may have more."
Avi approached the table, and claimed a particularly excessive apple all covered in caramel and various bits of candies and cookies. He narrowed his eyes as he considered the logistics involved in eating it without opening his mouth too wide and showing too many teeth.
Gareth watched Bridget go with a chuckle. The drums had started back up, but he wasn't ready to start dancing again just yet. He sipped at the moonshine, but he didn't much care for it. Not his favorite way to drink. He started making the rounds at tables instead, picking out things to take back with him later. Suzanne gave him a woven basket he thought might be big enough. He used it to carry little jars of apple butter, a bag of taffy. He offered to help with the snow when the time came to get a knit shawl that looked like it would fit her. Small apple tarts wouldn't keep as well, but they'd still be good tomorrow. Two bottles of cider, only one of them alcoholic. He circled back to leave Bridget's moonshine with Clint, and retrieved the small jar he'd asked for earlier.
Next year. He wasn't going to get his hopes up, but. Maybe. In the back of his mind he had an idea he wouldn't let coalesce, that progress would be made and privileges earned, and then maybe. Arm in arm, or hand in hand. Dancing. Introducing her to people.
He wouldn't jinx it by daydreaming in earnest. He'd spoil it if he even tried, pointing out the logical flaws. But snippets of ideas floated pleasantly through the back of his head, and he let them.
Other elves launched their pumpkins, but Gareth always tried to wait until last. It was probably vain to think of it as a grand finale, but he was allowed to be vain sometimes. He'd earned it.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - SolitareLee - 11-08-2019
She desperately didn't want the King to say that. Because when he said things, even things she knew were bad and things she knew were false, she could feel herself teetering towards believing them. She couldn't think about Gareth liking her, because as she was right now, thinking about his laughter and his hair down and how warm he had been against her in the golden lake and his cabin in the woods... She wouldn't want to stop at 'like' the way the King probably meant it. Besides, the King had never seen them alone. He didn't really know. He'd seen Gareth fussing and worrying over her but never her taking out her endless frustrations on him until he almost screamed with fury. The King had never seen the way they fought. He'd never heard her call his mother a demon-whore and never heard him threaten to just step back and let them hang her or throw her corpse in a ditch. The King didn't know a thing about what Gareth really thought about Ren. Ren wasn't sure anyone did, possibly not even Gareth.
But if the King said it one more time, she might believe it, so she let the topic drop and distracted herself with candy apples. She was too excited about them to even protest his characterizing her as begging, although she did quietly file away that "excitedly asking please" apparently counted. She'd never been really clear what people wanted when they asked her to beg, just that they were cruel and she didn't want to.
She wished she could know that 'being good' would always mean trips to the fair and the mountains and food and sweets and all the things in life that had been denied to her. But she had just slipped out of a cell that she was only in because she'd tried to save lives when she should have been selfish. When she should have run. She knew exactly what being good would really get her, and she couldn't trust the King's moods.
Carefully, Ren studied the apples as if she was going to be tested before selecting a simple large green apple dipped in deep red, shiny candy. "I'll take this o--" She stopped abruptly when she looked up. He looked like... But... No, it couldn't be. Could it? Was she being racist? Was this an "all old elves looked the same" thing?
"...Buck?" she asked, the fact that she was supposed to be in disguise flying entirely out of her mind. "Grandpa Buck?"
"That's me!" said the older elf, long beard streaked with grey and resplendent in its messiness. "But I don't think I--Wait. Not lil Ren, surely?" He reached for her chin and titled it up to get a better look. "Oh! I'd recognize those peepers anywhere! Lookit you!"
Ren was stunned. Seeing a shard of her old life made everything come crashing together, realities whirlpooling and leaving her pulled out to sea. Meanwhile, Buck was happy to keep going.
"Oh, look, yer all grown up! And a boy, maybe? I owe Timmy a barrel of moonshine, damnit. And look at this!" He appraised the suspiciously dressed King from head to toe. "...Y'got a rich boyfriend!" he decided, cheerfully. "Aw, I always knew ya'd make it somehow! ...Admittedly, I thought it'd be more explosion-related, but, y'know."
Bree, for her part, was going absolutely feral in an extremely literal sense. It wasn't a full moon, but you'd never know that to watch her tear across the field at breakneck speeds, launching herself repeatedly into the air. Her howls mingled in with drums and fiddles as she streaked back and forth chasing pumpkins, catching a worrying number of them, until the trebuchets got good enough to start landing in and over the river. Once it became clear she'd catch no more pumpkins that night, she raced back to the fair. She didn't see Gareth, which was a good sign. She made her way over to his trebuchet and nosed the carefully selected pumpkin out of the sling before climbing in herself and curling up. She gave a little wiggle to get herself settled, and waited for Gareth to show up. She'd had a lot of moonshine, and one way or another, she was getting tossed through the air.
RE: Beg Off [Closed] - Tindome - 11-09-2019
Avi nibbled the outside of his candy apple, watching the exchange with interest. Ren had clearly broken her cover, which gave him an excuse to punish her later if he felt like it. Still, it wasn't a vital error as long as she could keep word from getting back to Gareth. Avi was much more interested in whatever information he could glean as the third wheel in this conversation.
He beamed behind his absurdly large apple when he was referred to as Ren's boyfriend. Romance! It was tempting, so tempting, to make some little barbed comments to dig in like claws. Something about explosions, or how he took such good care of her. If Ren got upset about it and couldn't control herself, however, this possible fount of information would be lost much too soon. He couldn't possibly risk that. He already knew more about Gareth's past than she did; now, maybe, he'd know more about hers. He liked the thought of acting as an intermediary this way, sharing each other's pasts like secrets, leaving them grateful and guilty. Maybe a little jealous of how well he knew them. He always delighted in other people's jealousy.
He settled for tousling her hair again, the way any affectionate boyfriend might.
Gareth finally headed for his trebuchet in a lazy stroll. He drummed along to the music on his hipbones, doing occasional footwork in the grass when passing someone he knew.
He wasn't surprised to find Bridget gumming up the works, but he was disappointed. Even though this was, really, what she always did. Her tail was thumping with anticipation as soon as he spotted her.
"One of these fucking days," he warned her, "I'm gonna launch you and you're gonna die." He dragged her out by the scruff of her neck, picked her up and threw her over both shoulders like a scarf. He held her paws in his hands.
"It'd serve you right if I punted you into an apple barrel," he warned her. "Dumbass coming through!" he called ahead, as if he needed to clear a path for her.
When he was close enough to the river, he pulled her off his shoulders, letting her hang upside-down by the paws. He started to swing her, building up momentum. Once the swinging was particularly impressive, he let her go at the top of the arc and sent her flying through the air over the river to fall in with a splash.
Everyone else got dunked much more modestly, but Bridget could handle it.
"And stay out!" he called after her, before returning to his seige engine.
He beamed behind his absurdly large apple when he was referred to as Ren's boyfriend. Romance! It was tempting, so tempting, to make some little barbed comments to dig in like claws. Something about explosions, or how he took such good care of her. If Ren got upset about it and couldn't control herself, however, this possible fount of information would be lost much too soon. He couldn't possibly risk that. He already knew more about Gareth's past than she did; now, maybe, he'd know more about hers. He liked the thought of acting as an intermediary this way, sharing each other's pasts like secrets, leaving them grateful and guilty. Maybe a little jealous of how well he knew them. He always delighted in other people's jealousy.
He settled for tousling her hair again, the way any affectionate boyfriend might.
Gareth finally headed for his trebuchet in a lazy stroll. He drummed along to the music on his hipbones, doing occasional footwork in the grass when passing someone he knew.He wasn't surprised to find Bridget gumming up the works, but he was disappointed. Even though this was, really, what she always did. Her tail was thumping with anticipation as soon as he spotted her.
"One of these fucking days," he warned her, "I'm gonna launch you and you're gonna die." He dragged her out by the scruff of her neck, picked her up and threw her over both shoulders like a scarf. He held her paws in his hands.
"It'd serve you right if I punted you into an apple barrel," he warned her. "Dumbass coming through!" he called ahead, as if he needed to clear a path for her.
When he was close enough to the river, he pulled her off his shoulders, letting her hang upside-down by the paws. He started to swing her, building up momentum. Once the swinging was particularly impressive, he let her go at the top of the arc and sent her flying through the air over the river to fall in with a splash.
Everyone else got dunked much more modestly, but Bridget could handle it.
"And stay out!" he called after her, before returning to his seige engine.