In which Cuthbert says hay to an old friend.
"No, no, we'll have just the one ladder. That way, should any enemies attempt pursuit, we can cut them off at the lift."
"Are you planning on making enemies, Bert?" Alain quirked an eyebrow down at his friend, who was sprawled on his stomach, propping himself up with his elbows and considering the large bedsheet stretched out in front of them. In one hand, Cuthbert held a black magic marker (he had yet to discover what was so sinister about it) which he was using to sketch out a blueprint for what he had been referring to rather grandiloquently as "New New Canaan".
"Listen to you," Bert scoffed, adding in a rope bridge between their huts with a few careful strokes. "Roland would disown you for such naivete." He clucked his tongue and inched forward on his belly to get a better angle on the drawing. It was a beautiful day out, if a little windy, but they had fixed that problem by tamping down their canvas with four rocks at the corners. It had been Alain's suggestion to go up to the roof of the Compound, where they would have a nice flat surface on which they could work without getting in people's way. It had been a very good idea, as it turned out, and they'd brought a lunch of cold boar popkins (in Bert's opinion, dreadfully masculine fare) and iced tea for later in the afternoon. "But I promise I won't tell him," Cuthbert added with an impish look at his friend.
"How gracious of you. Granting me a boon when you had no choice in the matter as it is," Alain said reasonably. Bert opened his mouth for a reply but stopped as he heard the loud whinny of a horse. He smiled wistfully and sighed, adding in a series of curlicues to represent leaf cover. "That could almost be Glue Boy."
Both of them stopped, however, when they heard a loud shout of protest from someone below. Alain stood up and walked to the edge of roof, looking down over the garden. A punkish-looking sorrel animal stood whickering and stamping among the lettuce. "Bert. That is Glue Boy."
The blueprint was abandoned and Cuthbert nearly knocked a couple of people over on his dash down the stairs and out the door, heading for the garden. Sure enough, it was Glue Boy, laden with full tack, Bert's bedroll and both saddlebags. True to his nature, he was already misbehaving himself, treating the community garden like his own personal store. Cuthbert thought he could detect a feeling of satisfaction coming from the horse, as if he thought himself unimaginably clever for managing to appear within the fence.
"Glue Boy!" Cuthbert shouted, hysterical with joy, checking over his shoulder to see if Alain had followed him yet. "GLUE BOY!" As Bert jogged up to the fence, he noticed someone else had found his horse before he had, and they didn't look quite as excited as he was. "Bad horse," he added as an afterthought.
[Wonderful time to meet him. Feel free to ream out both the horse and his boy for irresponsible teleportation. New and old equally wanted. ST is always cool and there's no limit on tag-ins, even if late. Really! :)]
"Are you planning on making enemies, Bert?" Alain quirked an eyebrow down at his friend, who was sprawled on his stomach, propping himself up with his elbows and considering the large bedsheet stretched out in front of them. In one hand, Cuthbert held a black magic marker (he had yet to discover what was so sinister about it) which he was using to sketch out a blueprint for what he had been referring to rather grandiloquently as "New New Canaan".
"Listen to you," Bert scoffed, adding in a rope bridge between their huts with a few careful strokes. "Roland would disown you for such naivete." He clucked his tongue and inched forward on his belly to get a better angle on the drawing. It was a beautiful day out, if a little windy, but they had fixed that problem by tamping down their canvas with four rocks at the corners. It had been Alain's suggestion to go up to the roof of the Compound, where they would have a nice flat surface on which they could work without getting in people's way. It had been a very good idea, as it turned out, and they'd brought a lunch of cold boar popkins (in Bert's opinion, dreadfully masculine fare) and iced tea for later in the afternoon. "But I promise I won't tell him," Cuthbert added with an impish look at his friend.
"How gracious of you. Granting me a boon when you had no choice in the matter as it is," Alain said reasonably. Bert opened his mouth for a reply but stopped as he heard the loud whinny of a horse. He smiled wistfully and sighed, adding in a series of curlicues to represent leaf cover. "That could almost be Glue Boy."
Both of them stopped, however, when they heard a loud shout of protest from someone below. Alain stood up and walked to the edge of roof, looking down over the garden. A punkish-looking sorrel animal stood whickering and stamping among the lettuce. "Bert. That is Glue Boy."
The blueprint was abandoned and Cuthbert nearly knocked a couple of people over on his dash down the stairs and out the door, heading for the garden. Sure enough, it was Glue Boy, laden with full tack, Bert's bedroll and both saddlebags. True to his nature, he was already misbehaving himself, treating the community garden like his own personal store. Cuthbert thought he could detect a feeling of satisfaction coming from the horse, as if he thought himself unimaginably clever for managing to appear within the fence.
"Glue Boy!" Cuthbert shouted, hysterical with joy, checking over his shoulder to see if Alain had followed him yet. "GLUE BOY!" As Bert jogged up to the fence, he noticed someone else had found his horse before he had, and they didn't look quite as excited as he was. "Bad horse," he added as an afterthought.
[Wonderful time to meet him. Feel free to ream out both the horse and his boy for irresponsible teleportation. New and old equally wanted. ST is always cool and there's no limit on tag-ins, even if late. Really! :)]