Bread and Circuses
In which a one-handed Molly helps out a Weir by tossing bread and singing. Yes, singing. In public.
Molly gestures with her cup, "Just wondering. You seemed a mite tired there."
Faelin leans back to look around the room. "I don't know. The room has changed somewhat, don't you think?"
Molly arches an eyebrow and peers around the room. "Did a band of fighting midgets wander in when I wasn't looking again? I hate when I miss things like that."
Faelin snorts, "Bah. Nevermind then." She doesn't seem inclined to elaborate. However? She shifts her weight uneasily regardless. Maybe the room hasn't changed, but she doesn't seem relaxed any more by any means.
Molly leans in a bit closer, "Something...don't know I should ask it, but, does something smell wrong or sommat?"
Faelin's pale eyes focus back on Molly, "Yes." She says simply. "Tension. A taint of boredom. Wait. That's me." She chuckles.
Molly waves her hand dismissively, "Bah, you." She doesn't seem offended or put-off by the comment, and is smirking. "Be amusing or drink more, that'll take care o' your problem there."
"You should be amusing me," Faelin whines.
Molly laughs at this. "Didn't realize that was the agreement. Thought you were s'posed to be amusing me." She leans back a bit into a relaxed, waiting pose, "An what would it take to keep one such's yourself amused, then? I'm a tad limited in my mobility here, mind."
Faelin grins at Molly, teeth ever so slightly bared in the amusement, "Oh, no. That's always the arrangement, I fear." She stands up. "Well, let's see. Shall I juggle for you?" How this translates to Molly amusing her is...not likely clear.
Molly gives her a silly lopsided smile. "If'n I weren't sore, I'd be asking you to teach me. If you'd like, I could toss things at you for juggling." She looks around for likely juggling implements. "Hmmm. We got tankards and bread here. Don't suppose you brought ball with you, eh?" She looks around, "Might could beg a knife or two from one o' the boys ifn you're feeling dangerous."
"Oh, no no. No ball tossing," Faelin demures. She reaches into her jacket for a moment, "But, bread will do for the time. But you must sing to keep the rythem, yes?"
Molly asks in a warning tone of voice, "Are you absolutely sure about that? I never been praised on my singin' voice, you know. An what's one sing for a juggling rhythm, anyways?" She peers at what Faelin is reaching for, but can't see clearly.
Faelin doesn't seem to have anything she's reaching for. Perhaps she was straightening her shirt or checking for something that wasn't there. She reaches for the remaining bread now, "Yes. I do think I demand it, darling Molly. After all, it should be amusing, at least, eh?"
Molly nods good-naturedly and gives her a swooshing little gesture like a fancy salute, "I'm willing to give it a go. Just sing the first jaunty thing that pops into my head, then?"
Faelin tosses the first bit in the air in a precise curve. She catches it with her other hand and tosses it in return. "Sure. Jaunty works."
Molly rises and starts to sing a bouncy little morbid song about drunken sailors and rusty razors. Her voice won't win any prizes, but she can carry a tune in a bucket, if you don't mind a little sloshing over.
The Kitezh men at a near by table seem very impressed. They wave their mugs in the air in time and crow out encouragements.
Faelin beams at Molly and nods, "Start throwing dear." She says in a stage whisper.
Molly chirps, "Aye!" She grabs a few pieces of bread and, one-handed, tosses one out to Faelin, aiming carefully into the center of her arc. She might not be able to juggle herself, but she understands the concept well. She continues singing.
Molly has run once through the chorus and tosses out to the warriors behind her, "Simple refrain, guys, join in when it comes round, eh?"
Faelin catches and incorporates, speed and grace translating into smooth juggling. She gives Molly a mischievous look and promptly begins to waggle. Yes, she's egging the Kitezh on. "Come on, lads! Obey the gorgeous sailor-lady, now."
Glanworth pushes through the curtains, wandering into the mead hall.
Molly starts singing even louder, bouncing and swinging merrily along to the song. She hefts another piece of bread and waves it at Faelin in readiness. She and the Kitezh sing, "Way-hey up she rises" with repetition.
Glanworth calls out, "Early in the morning!"
The men seem all too eager to agree. Hoots and hollars make the air even more rambunctious than before. Mead falls like rain as tankards get used for punctuation points.
Faelin twists, catching the bread and flinging it up high before curving it around in the juggling.
Molly nearly drops the rest of the bread she's holding at Glanworth's joining. She fumbles at the song, blushing, but the momentum has been taken up, and the men continue without her, even though they don't actually know the words.
Faelin has her eyes on the bread she's juggling, focusing on the concentration needed to catch each bit. She frowns slightly, though, noticing the lack of the Molly's voice. "Now, now. You must sing."
Molly gives a quick, embarrassed smile to Glanworth before she catches back up with the song at the chorus and keeps it going strong. Luckily, a good sailor can keep this up forever, though the lyrics tend to get bluer and bluer as they progress. She hefts another piece of bread in one hand, casting Faelin a doubtful look. Another?, she seems to ask.
Glanworth gives Molly a lumpy bit of a grin, and finds himself a mug of ale in the ruckus.
"Why not!" Faelin calls out and rolls shoulders back as she does another quick hip drop. Up goes one section of bread, up goes another....
Molly tosses yet another piece of bread into the pattern. She's looking quite impressed, but it's doubtful that Faelin notices. The song continues on, something about tieing them up and keeping in bondage.
Glanworth finds a spot on a bench less likely to be occupied by a flying mug, drinks, and watches the show.
Molly may be impressed too soon. She tosses the next piece to Faelin, true. But the dark haired woman throws her current pieces in the air with gleeful abandon, like bright confetti, while she spins in a circle, coat flaring around her. As she comes full around she holds out her hand, palm up. The piece thrown by Molly falls to rest, neat as you please.
Molly giggles uncontrollably and claps, which was a mistake, A grimace and a grinding of teeth later she shouts out a "Huzzah!", joined by the stamping and yelling of the no-longer-singing warriors. She tosses a bright smile to Glanworth, "Charles! How do YOU know that song?" she asks.
Glanworth grins. "Wotcha, Molly. Done more'n enough drinking in my life to have heard most every song there is."
Faelin turns to look at Glanworth, "Chuck!" She cries out as if in joyous reunion. She looks over her shoulder at Molly to give a sharp grin. Then back to Glanworth "I should have /guessed!/" She straightens, adjusts her coat. "How are you doing? Well. I hardly need to ask that. You look positively smashing. Molly was just talking about you. Come come. Sit with the girl. Hurry up."
Glanworth lifts his eyebrows over the edge of his tankard. "'oo the hell's Chuck?"
Molly gives Glanworth one of those, well-it-seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time grins. "Faelin here decided that your name was a mite foppish and decided Chuck was more manly. It was that or Brock, so I thought you wouldn't mind goin' with Chuck."
Glanworth says, "Foppish, eh?"
To Glanworth, Molly leans in close, still giggling a bit, "Honestly? I've no idea, but she's a right cheerful little thing. Met her today. Easily bored, though."
Glanworth grins at Molly. "Ain't she though."
Faelin sits on the table a bit down, "Oh dear. Dare I ask what scurolous lie she's telling? I promise, the bit about the dog is an utter lie. And the baker boy was /asking/ for it." She crosses her legs neatly and leans back. "She was right though. Brock sounded too much like a chicken call."
Glanworth says, "Most of my mates call me Chaz, if my given name's too dainty on yer ears, miss."
Molly confides, entirely facetiously "I were tellin' him what a right evil woman you are, for makin' me sing out in public."
"You loved it," Faelin tosses her head, "I'll make you dance next time. You'll like that too." She smiles at Glanworth. "We'll see if I can get you to dance with her as well. Chaz. Chuck. Hrm."
Glanworth says, "Two left feet, miss, sorry to say."
Molly offers her, "Next time, once my arm's better, I'll come out and spin fire for ye both, how's that?"
"Fire?" Faelin tilts her head.
Glanworth swallows some beer. "Fire?"
Molly nods, excitedly, "Aye! You take two chains, stick a wick on one end of each, soak em up with pitch, and set 'em afire. Then you swing 'em 'round you in patterns an' dance. Ms. Sadie's been teaching me." She grins beamingly, "It's a right good time, it is. Haven't lit meself up yet once!"
"That does indeed sound like a sight," Faelin agrees. "Especially at night. I assume that's when you'd do it?"
Glanworth says, "Sounds like it'd go over a treat, place like this."
Molly nods, "Aye, night's the best time for it. The sound of the fire roaring alone works up an excitement, too." She smiles at Glanworth, "And aye, Ms. Sadie's done it out here a few times. The boys love it."
Glanworth returns the smile, and waves over another mug.
Faelin's foot taps the air. "Sounds like a plan, then."
Molly gestures with her cup, "Just wondering. You seemed a mite tired there."
Faelin leans back to look around the room. "I don't know. The room has changed somewhat, don't you think?"
Molly arches an eyebrow and peers around the room. "Did a band of fighting midgets wander in when I wasn't looking again? I hate when I miss things like that."
Faelin snorts, "Bah. Nevermind then." She doesn't seem inclined to elaborate. However? She shifts her weight uneasily regardless. Maybe the room hasn't changed, but she doesn't seem relaxed any more by any means.
Molly leans in a bit closer, "Something...don't know I should ask it, but, does something smell wrong or sommat?"
Faelin's pale eyes focus back on Molly, "Yes." She says simply. "Tension. A taint of boredom. Wait. That's me." She chuckles.
Molly waves her hand dismissively, "Bah, you." She doesn't seem offended or put-off by the comment, and is smirking. "Be amusing or drink more, that'll take care o' your problem there."
"You should be amusing me," Faelin whines.
Molly laughs at this. "Didn't realize that was the agreement. Thought you were s'posed to be amusing me." She leans back a bit into a relaxed, waiting pose, "An what would it take to keep one such's yourself amused, then? I'm a tad limited in my mobility here, mind."
Faelin grins at Molly, teeth ever so slightly bared in the amusement, "Oh, no. That's always the arrangement, I fear." She stands up. "Well, let's see. Shall I juggle for you?" How this translates to Molly amusing her is...not likely clear.
Molly gives her a silly lopsided smile. "If'n I weren't sore, I'd be asking you to teach me. If you'd like, I could toss things at you for juggling." She looks around for likely juggling implements. "Hmmm. We got tankards and bread here. Don't suppose you brought ball with you, eh?" She looks around, "Might could beg a knife or two from one o' the boys ifn you're feeling dangerous."
"Oh, no no. No ball tossing," Faelin demures. She reaches into her jacket for a moment, "But, bread will do for the time. But you must sing to keep the rythem, yes?"
Molly asks in a warning tone of voice, "Are you absolutely sure about that? I never been praised on my singin' voice, you know. An what's one sing for a juggling rhythm, anyways?" She peers at what Faelin is reaching for, but can't see clearly.
Faelin doesn't seem to have anything she's reaching for. Perhaps she was straightening her shirt or checking for something that wasn't there. She reaches for the remaining bread now, "Yes. I do think I demand it, darling Molly. After all, it should be amusing, at least, eh?"
Molly nods good-naturedly and gives her a swooshing little gesture like a fancy salute, "I'm willing to give it a go. Just sing the first jaunty thing that pops into my head, then?"
Faelin tosses the first bit in the air in a precise curve. She catches it with her other hand and tosses it in return. "Sure. Jaunty works."
Molly rises and starts to sing a bouncy little morbid song about drunken sailors and rusty razors. Her voice won't win any prizes, but she can carry a tune in a bucket, if you don't mind a little sloshing over.
The Kitezh men at a near by table seem very impressed. They wave their mugs in the air in time and crow out encouragements.
Faelin beams at Molly and nods, "Start throwing dear." She says in a stage whisper.
Molly chirps, "Aye!" She grabs a few pieces of bread and, one-handed, tosses one out to Faelin, aiming carefully into the center of her arc. She might not be able to juggle herself, but she understands the concept well. She continues singing.
Molly has run once through the chorus and tosses out to the warriors behind her, "Simple refrain, guys, join in when it comes round, eh?"
Faelin catches and incorporates, speed and grace translating into smooth juggling. She gives Molly a mischievous look and promptly begins to waggle. Yes, she's egging the Kitezh on. "Come on, lads! Obey the gorgeous sailor-lady, now."
Glanworth pushes through the curtains, wandering into the mead hall.
Molly starts singing even louder, bouncing and swinging merrily along to the song. She hefts another piece of bread and waves it at Faelin in readiness. She and the Kitezh sing, "Way-hey up she rises" with repetition.
Glanworth calls out, "Early in the morning!"
The men seem all too eager to agree. Hoots and hollars make the air even more rambunctious than before. Mead falls like rain as tankards get used for punctuation points.
Faelin twists, catching the bread and flinging it up high before curving it around in the juggling.
Molly nearly drops the rest of the bread she's holding at Glanworth's joining. She fumbles at the song, blushing, but the momentum has been taken up, and the men continue without her, even though they don't actually know the words.
Faelin has her eyes on the bread she's juggling, focusing on the concentration needed to catch each bit. She frowns slightly, though, noticing the lack of the Molly's voice. "Now, now. You must sing."
Molly gives a quick, embarrassed smile to Glanworth before she catches back up with the song at the chorus and keeps it going strong. Luckily, a good sailor can keep this up forever, though the lyrics tend to get bluer and bluer as they progress. She hefts another piece of bread in one hand, casting Faelin a doubtful look. Another?, she seems to ask.
Glanworth gives Molly a lumpy bit of a grin, and finds himself a mug of ale in the ruckus.
"Why not!" Faelin calls out and rolls shoulders back as she does another quick hip drop. Up goes one section of bread, up goes another....
Molly tosses yet another piece of bread into the pattern. She's looking quite impressed, but it's doubtful that Faelin notices. The song continues on, something about tieing them up and keeping in bondage.
Glanworth finds a spot on a bench less likely to be occupied by a flying mug, drinks, and watches the show.
Molly may be impressed too soon. She tosses the next piece to Faelin, true. But the dark haired woman throws her current pieces in the air with gleeful abandon, like bright confetti, while she spins in a circle, coat flaring around her. As she comes full around she holds out her hand, palm up. The piece thrown by Molly falls to rest, neat as you please.
Molly giggles uncontrollably and claps, which was a mistake, A grimace and a grinding of teeth later she shouts out a "Huzzah!", joined by the stamping and yelling of the no-longer-singing warriors. She tosses a bright smile to Glanworth, "Charles! How do YOU know that song?" she asks.
Glanworth grins. "Wotcha, Molly. Done more'n enough drinking in my life to have heard most every song there is."
Faelin turns to look at Glanworth, "Chuck!" She cries out as if in joyous reunion. She looks over her shoulder at Molly to give a sharp grin. Then back to Glanworth "I should have /guessed!/" She straightens, adjusts her coat. "How are you doing? Well. I hardly need to ask that. You look positively smashing. Molly was just talking about you. Come come. Sit with the girl. Hurry up."
Glanworth lifts his eyebrows over the edge of his tankard. "'oo the hell's Chuck?"
Molly gives Glanworth one of those, well-it-seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time grins. "Faelin here decided that your name was a mite foppish and decided Chuck was more manly. It was that or Brock, so I thought you wouldn't mind goin' with Chuck."
Glanworth says, "Foppish, eh?"
To Glanworth, Molly leans in close, still giggling a bit, "Honestly? I've no idea, but she's a right cheerful little thing. Met her today. Easily bored, though."
Glanworth grins at Molly. "Ain't she though."
Faelin sits on the table a bit down, "Oh dear. Dare I ask what scurolous lie she's telling? I promise, the bit about the dog is an utter lie. And the baker boy was /asking/ for it." She crosses her legs neatly and leans back. "She was right though. Brock sounded too much like a chicken call."
Glanworth says, "Most of my mates call me Chaz, if my given name's too dainty on yer ears, miss."
Molly confides, entirely facetiously "I were tellin' him what a right evil woman you are, for makin' me sing out in public."
"You loved it," Faelin tosses her head, "I'll make you dance next time. You'll like that too." She smiles at Glanworth. "We'll see if I can get you to dance with her as well. Chaz. Chuck. Hrm."
Glanworth says, "Two left feet, miss, sorry to say."
Molly offers her, "Next time, once my arm's better, I'll come out and spin fire for ye both, how's that?"
"Fire?" Faelin tilts her head.
Glanworth swallows some beer. "Fire?"
Molly nods, excitedly, "Aye! You take two chains, stick a wick on one end of each, soak em up with pitch, and set 'em afire. Then you swing 'em 'round you in patterns an' dance. Ms. Sadie's been teaching me." She grins beamingly, "It's a right good time, it is. Haven't lit meself up yet once!"
"That does indeed sound like a sight," Faelin agrees. "Especially at night. I assume that's when you'd do it?"
Glanworth says, "Sounds like it'd go over a treat, place like this."
Molly nods, "Aye, night's the best time for it. The sound of the fire roaring alone works up an excitement, too." She smiles at Glanworth, "And aye, Ms. Sadie's done it out here a few times. The boys love it."
Glanworth returns the smile, and waves over another mug.
Faelin's foot taps the air. "Sounds like a plan, then."