Just some CRO rp stuff
Since no one reads this I'm just gonna get some spare roleplay off my chest. GMing sometimes leaves gaps in what you'd like to do verses the fact that you are not an octopus.
--L
Oona watched as Morgrim, Garumor, and their inebriated friend toddle back to the fire. The fire for Whistler's death. She watches, tears flowing un-noticed down her face. When they are far enough away she begins to bar the doors. Her hooves click in the quiet tavern as she goes about her nightly tasks. She blows out the candles and gathers the empty mugs and plates from the tables. At the great fireplace she pauses, arms full of dishes to be done and stares at the last candle and what it lights. A little satyr doll and a book. She stands and stares at that little doll and weeps, arms full and heart breaking. A daughter lost, a son missing, a friend gone, a town without love. This was no way for a satyr to live. Satyrs are made for joy. She looks at the dirty dishes in her arms as if they are live snakes. She lets them drop, watching them shatter and scatter in a million directions. Cookie hearing the noise stumbles from his sleeping mats. "Oona?" he asks blearily, his eyes barely focusing.
"You said if we went on vacation to the Highlands the drinks would be on you, didn't you Cookie?" Oona asks, her voice remote and without inflection.
"Uh vacation?" he shakes his head to clear it "Yeah Oona I said that"
"Good" she says and crisply steps through the mess. "I've got to get out of here."
Cookie watches as she walks slowly to her cabin. He shakes his head again and staggers back to his mattress. He'd ask her about it in the morning, no use talking to any woman or satyr at this time of night with this much drink in his system.
*********************
The day dawns, sun shining and reflecting off a tiny white house. There is a sign on the door proclaiming that it is Oona's house and that you would do best to knock before entering. The door is locked tight for the first time. There are some noises from a larger building to your left. Barrels being rolled, meat frying, bread baking. The sounds of waking up in a tavern. If you were to slip unnoticed to the window you'd see a satyr in a floppy tan chefs hat and a stocky highlander moving quickly about the room. He stops breifly at the stove to flip the meat and then is off again helping the satyr lift a barrel or box some dry goods. If you were to listen you'd hear them talking about leaving.
"Do you think we'd need more than three?"
"If you want them to let us through the border, we should"
"How long are we going to be gone . . . I am an emmisary after all and should be uh . . . emmesarying"
"If by emmesarying you mean cheating money off of the locals in cards you can do that anywhere. We should be gone a month. Or so. . ."
"Or so, Oona?"
"Yes 'or so' Cookie. Flip that bacon before it burns."
As he moves off to do so, sounds start on the other side of the tavern. Knocking. Both of them stop and stare in the general direction of the large barred double doors. Oona starts to go towards it, and Cookie grabs her arm. She looks back at him obviously torn. He shakes his head and she nods steeling herself. They keep knocking. A forlorn voice wails "We love you, Oona" Softer voices confer and then boots trundle off the wooden porch and out into the township. As the sounds recede, Oona lets out a big puff of air and they begin to move again.
*******************
--L
Oona watched as Morgrim, Garumor, and their inebriated friend toddle back to the fire. The fire for Whistler's death. She watches, tears flowing un-noticed down her face. When they are far enough away she begins to bar the doors. Her hooves click in the quiet tavern as she goes about her nightly tasks. She blows out the candles and gathers the empty mugs and plates from the tables. At the great fireplace she pauses, arms full of dishes to be done and stares at the last candle and what it lights. A little satyr doll and a book. She stands and stares at that little doll and weeps, arms full and heart breaking. A daughter lost, a son missing, a friend gone, a town without love. This was no way for a satyr to live. Satyrs are made for joy. She looks at the dirty dishes in her arms as if they are live snakes. She lets them drop, watching them shatter and scatter in a million directions. Cookie hearing the noise stumbles from his sleeping mats. "Oona?" he asks blearily, his eyes barely focusing.
"You said if we went on vacation to the Highlands the drinks would be on you, didn't you Cookie?" Oona asks, her voice remote and without inflection.
"Uh vacation?" he shakes his head to clear it "Yeah Oona I said that"
"Good" she says and crisply steps through the mess. "I've got to get out of here."
Cookie watches as she walks slowly to her cabin. He shakes his head again and staggers back to his mattress. He'd ask her about it in the morning, no use talking to any woman or satyr at this time of night with this much drink in his system.
*********************
The day dawns, sun shining and reflecting off a tiny white house. There is a sign on the door proclaiming that it is Oona's house and that you would do best to knock before entering. The door is locked tight for the first time. There are some noises from a larger building to your left. Barrels being rolled, meat frying, bread baking. The sounds of waking up in a tavern. If you were to slip unnoticed to the window you'd see a satyr in a floppy tan chefs hat and a stocky highlander moving quickly about the room. He stops breifly at the stove to flip the meat and then is off again helping the satyr lift a barrel or box some dry goods. If you were to listen you'd hear them talking about leaving.
"Do you think we'd need more than three?"
"If you want them to let us through the border, we should"
"How long are we going to be gone . . . I am an emmisary after all and should be uh . . . emmesarying"
"If by emmesarying you mean cheating money off of the locals in cards you can do that anywhere. We should be gone a month. Or so. . ."
"Or so, Oona?"
"Yes 'or so' Cookie. Flip that bacon before it burns."
As he moves off to do so, sounds start on the other side of the tavern. Knocking. Both of them stop and stare in the general direction of the large barred double doors. Oona starts to go towards it, and Cookie grabs her arm. She looks back at him obviously torn. He shakes his head and she nods steeling herself. They keep knocking. A forlorn voice wails "We love you, Oona" Softer voices confer and then boots trundle off the wooden porch and out into the township. As the sounds recede, Oona lets out a big puff of air and they begin to move again.
*******************