(no subject)
It's a nice day out by the lake, unlike on Eiattu.
(Plourr loves her planet fiercely, but the rain season is not her favorite time of year.)
The sun is shining, the breeze is light and warm; light sparkles off the lake. Ianna, seven months wise as of 0537 this morning, is sitting on a blanket (several blankets; extra padding for when she inevitably falls on her face. Plourr likes to say she inherited Rial's sense of gravity), propped up by several pillows that look suspiciously like the ones that are usually on the couch by the fireplace inside the bar. She's wearing a very fine floppy hat over her bright red hair, the hat secured under her chin with elastic, and she's currently squinting at her mother, a handful of ripped-up grass clutched in one small fist.
To be fair, a lot of people would probably be squinting at Plourr right now. She's dressed for an audience, her only concession to the nice day the removal of her long-sleeved outer tunic, and she's doing push-ups in the grass. Swift, sharp push-ups with military precision, to be exact. Life's a little busy, these days. You exercise when you get a free minute, or you don't at all. Plourr has worked hard to get back to the shape she was in before a certain princess turned everything upside down and inside out; she isn't about to let that all that effort (or these biceps) go to waste.
"Naga hada hoo?" asks Ianna, opening her fist and letting grass rain down on her chubby legs.
"Yeah," Plourr grunts, barely out of breath as she levers herself up and down. "You said it, Monster."
(Plourr loves her planet fiercely, but the rain season is not her favorite time of year.)
The sun is shining, the breeze is light and warm; light sparkles off the lake. Ianna, seven months wise as of 0537 this morning, is sitting on a blanket (several blankets; extra padding for when she inevitably falls on her face. Plourr likes to say she inherited Rial's sense of gravity), propped up by several pillows that look suspiciously like the ones that are usually on the couch by the fireplace inside the bar. She's wearing a very fine floppy hat over her bright red hair, the hat secured under her chin with elastic, and she's currently squinting at her mother, a handful of ripped-up grass clutched in one small fist.
To be fair, a lot of people would probably be squinting at Plourr right now. She's dressed for an audience, her only concession to the nice day the removal of her long-sleeved outer tunic, and she's doing push-ups in the grass. Swift, sharp push-ups with military precision, to be exact. Life's a little busy, these days. You exercise when you get a free minute, or you don't at all. Plourr has worked hard to get back to the shape she was in before a certain princess turned everything upside down and inside out; she isn't about to let that all that effort (or these biceps) go to waste.
"Naga hada hoo?" asks Ianna, opening her fist and letting grass rain down on her chubby legs.
"Yeah," Plourr grunts, barely out of breath as she levers herself up and down. "You said it, Monster."