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Post by Blubber-Bun on Feb 15, 2018 14:14:52 GMT -6
Not Much of a HeroJemin & Charlene
 Year 1696
Literal Middle of Nowhere
Noon
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Post by Blubber-Bun on Feb 15, 2018 14:20:38 GMT -6
Jemin
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5 years ago… Save for a cicada’s gentle rattle and the distant bleat of a goat, the noon-scorched desert was quiet. Too quiet. Jemin had to remind himself not to glance over his shoulder, not to hurry his step. For once, the mule had nowhere he needed to be - or rather, nowhere he needed to get away from. He was a farmer now. Not a lowlife, not a screw up. A farmer. Nearing one’s thirties while attempting to reset is no easy feat; old habits die hard, and resolve was increasingly harder to find. ‘You’ve made some progress. Not a lot, but some.’ The words of his father, firm but pleased (his father, pleased?), echoed from earlier that day. They’d been plowing fields since the crack of dawn, and Jemin - unaccustomed to labor after years of skirting duties - had been in sore need of a break. ‘Take a bit of time for yourself.’Indeed, he had agreed to do exactly that. For once, he tried to enjoy the mere act of wandering. Picking up his hooves into an easy trot, he observed the powdery clouds and the shapes they formed, the interesting silhouettes of jagged rock formations. A red hawk roosted above the plateaus; a cautious rattlesnake emerged from the brush. He allowed his senses to dull. Perhaps he had lowered his guard too much. It was only when the bleating became significantly louder in volume and fervent in pitch - when a large chunk of rock crumbled off the plateau, landing a few steps before him - that he thought to glance up. And then he got decked by a falling goat. ---
WC 276 | P #1
Jemin - Serora - The Folk |
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Post by akitapup on Feb 21, 2018 19:46:21 GMT -6
It felt like slow motion watching Bluebell fall. Charlene knew nothing about this particular area, and she thought it smart to get to know the reason. It was, after all, a hot day, and this shady region seemed rather nice. She saw nothing wrong with the area, until she saw a noticeable crack near the ledge of the cliff. Bluebell, a black and white goat, sniffed out the grass around the area, her mouth grabbing onto the plant. Charlene frowned and walked forward, swishing her tail and grumbling under her breath. As she moved ahead to push her goat back into safety, she felt the ground crumble beneath her hooves as she put pressure forward. She jumped back, and froze. Bluebell bleated, and her little legs scrambled as she tried to return to Charlene, but gravity was a hell of a lot stronger than her conviction to find her owner. Charlene’s jaw dropped open, and her heart fell as Bluebell’s body went out of sight. “Oh Alya,” she mumbled, and she felt her lips tremble and eyes water. Shit! Peeking over the edge, Charlene felt a great weight in her gut and she held her breath. Yet the sight she saw was certainly an unexpected one. Bluebell was below, bleating, and walking around, nibbling on some horse’s tail. She breathed a sigh of relief, her tears of fear turning into tears of joy. She wiped them away against her leg, and called down to the mule, “You alright?”
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Post by Blubber-Bun on Feb 22, 2018 15:12:33 GMT -6
Jemin
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Clunk. Spitting a slew of startled curses, Jemin went stumbling forward, nearly buckling. The shaggy creature wasn’t heavy, per say, but the goat’s weight - flailing on his upper back, grasping at his withers with tapered horns and clipping his neck with cloven hooves - was enough to disbalance him.
Their struggle ended quickly. Upon tumbling to the ground, the goat bounced to it’s feet, looked around, bleated once in mild confusion, and then situated itself by grinding a lock of Jemin’s tail between firm teeth. It was unphased, completely content to make a chew toy of his hair. Ungrateful little shit.
Attempting, in vain, to wrestle his dark tail from the beast’s greedy grip (all while resisting the temptation to kick it), he failed to notice his company until she spoke.
You alright?
“Yeah...yeah, I’m fine.”
Squinting upwards, his gaze slivered to adjust, carving out more detail into the equine’s silhouette. A mare, spotted like marks on parchment, peered down from the plateau’s precarious edge. Her eyes were wet with distress - or relief?
A simple herder. A foolish herder.
He swallowed, indignation swelling, and prepared to give her a piece of his mind. “Your hairy beast here nearly - “
Wait. No, no he needed to think. This was a chance, not an outrage.
“ - nearly...nearly died. Nearly. But, ah, I was here. Lucky goat, this one - “ a wince, a sharper tug on his tail, “ - lucky that I was here.”
Perhaps gaining a clean record while maintaining reputability wouldn’t be so hard - not if opportunity kept falling from the sky.
---
P #2 | WC 268
Jemin - Serora - The Folk |
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Post by akitapup on Feb 27, 2018 15:29:24 GMT -6
She stayed silent listening to his words, her forehead wrinkling as she processed what he said. He saved her. Gone out of his way to protect a falling goat from the impact of meeting the ground. Pushing herself up to her feet, she gathered a deep breath to steady herself. Breathe. Everything is fine. Yes, everything was indeed fine. Bluebell’s little body was just fine, nothing broken or out of place, and she was just fine as well. She stumbled to her feet, clicking her teeth together and grabbing her goats’ attention, before shouting back at the stranger, “Give me a minute!” A minute wasn’t quite accurate; her goats were slow in attention span and speed, and gathering them down the path to the canyon valley wasn’t easy. When her Bluebell came into view, she rushed forward and kneeled to the goat’s level, careful to check if she had cuts, or bruises, or anything sticking out where it shouldn’t be. For the most part, she looked fine. In fact, Charlene noticed the mule had sustained most of the damage, his mane disheveled and his tail now having several stands of hair pulled out. Glancing back at the stallion, who looked quite pleased with himself, and she tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. She shuffled her hooves back and straightened her posture, dipping her head slightly. “I suppose I should thank you,” she said, her face flushing red from embarrassment. She knew how she looked, with her eyes stained wet from her tears. Some dumb herder, he must have though of her. It wasn't as if she planned to have a cliff break under her goat. “How’d you manage to here at just the right time?” Lucky him, unlucky her. She tilted her head, forcing a smile on her lips.
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Post by Blubber-Bun on Mar 1, 2018 16:29:12 GMT -6
Jemin
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The mare vanished beyond the cliff’s sharp. Jemin wasted no time to drop the veil of his facade. He rounded on the menace, ears pinned and jaw clenched.
“Listen here, you hairy devil,” he hissed through his teeth, a poor attempt at discretion. By trial and error (and several bleats of resistance), he pried the goat off his tail, stumbling back with haste. From above, now behind, the herder clicked and called, her voice accompanied by the scurry of several small hooves. By Alya’s wings… there was more of them?
She emerged around the corner of the canyon’s carved path, trailing her flock like ducklings. He could see her now, clearly. A hair shorter, she was younger than him by a few years, far neater and tidier in comparison. Brown eyes brightening on the goat, she rushed forward, straight past Jemin, to kneel by her animal, checking for injury. He thought it was hardly fair - the goat had assaulted him with an aerial attack, not vice versa - but he merely bit his lip and busied himself with his appearance. He adjusted the tattered edges of his tail, briefly grieving over his loss locks, and smoothed back the stray hairs of his fetlock.
He cleared his throat. When the mare returned her gaze, she would find Jemin comfortably leaned into the rock wall’s shade, patiently examining his hooves with a mild expression. Her words roused a snort from his nose, lifting his head to regard her, face-to-face, for the first time. She was flustered; red-cheeked and wide-eyed.
“The Gods must have willed it.” Just like his father would say - would want him to say.
Hah.
“...but probably not. I could smell goat a while away, really - just had to follow the stench of trouble.“ He cocked his head, long ears involuntarily bobbing with the movement. “And here I thought herders were taught to keep their beasts alive...”
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WC 320 | P #3
Jemin - Serora - The Folk |
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