Cue Yakety Sax
From Emir: It was a rather hectic day, but...at least my gift was given to my nemesis without *serious* incident. I feel a new man. ... The blonde hair doesn't hurt, either.
From Donk: *rabid wailing and frothing, as he screams something about "dog booties"*
"Destroyer, don't be a wimp!"
Whiiiiiine!
"Destroyer! How do you expect to strike fear into the hearts of the Donk's enemies if you don't invest in the proper equipment! Now stand still, so the Donk can put on your adorable booties!"
WHIIIIIINE!
This chill, winter day is perfect for a run. Which is exactly what Donk seems to be doing. His mount, Destroyer of Worlds, is taking off at a limping lope down the road, ears back and tail tucked, whining loudly. Every step, he pauses to shake vigorously at a bright yellow-and-orange dog booty that's been fitted to one of his backlegs. Despite his slow gait, it puts him just ahead of an armor-clad gnome who's huffing and puffing along behind him, with two more of those booties under one arm, and waving the third one threateningly at the retreating wolf.
There, for apparently no reason, is a large basket on the side of the road. It contains many things -- many delicious things, as far as Destroyer can smell -- but it's all obscured in some sort of tissue paper. But on the paper is a note affixed with lovely curling ribbon: For Lady Sandiel of the Sword
Sandy is marching down the street. Snow crunches under foot. It's nearly as frigid as her mood looks.
Destroyer's quick retreat slows when he catches the scent of the delicious goodies in that basket, nose turned up as he makes a beeline towards the treats. He stops, nose bumping against the strange package, just as Donk tackles him from behind, clinging to one of the oversized wolf's back legs.
"Hah! Gotcha! Now hold still, you lazy mutt..." the gnome growls, trying in vain to lift Destroyer's back leg, while the wolf tries to get his nose past the tissue paper covering the stuff inside the basket.
The basket fails to fight back, merely tipping a little under the wolf's insistent nosing. A small bird, however, darts out from nearby bushes and flutters at Destroyer's face. "No! Bad! Shoo!" she hisses.
Sandy stops at the sight of Donk. And Destroyer. She stares for a moment and then puts a hand over her face.
"Great," she mutters under her breath.
"The sildanyari and the...the bucket? Oh, no, oh my...well, THAT doesn't make any sense. Well, she DOES use buckets...but it's usually after too much to drink..." Abrahil bumbles down the uneven road, though it might be better said he floats above it. His feet bounce on the air like walking on a bouncy castle, and up! and down! his belly goes--as does he. He scribbles as he goes on a little pad of paper, sketching ideas and taking notes. "Oh, it will be the most wonderf-u-u-uuuul..." gulp, "Plaaaaaaay..." gulp. He just saw Sandy. And then there's...he gives a tiny, almost frantic wave to Donk. "OH MY! WHY, WHAT A SPLENDID DAY WE ARE HAVING." He grasps the paper-pad and tries stuffing it in his pocket. The Alexandrian Theatrical Guild was NOT just putting together another Sandy Play!
"GOODNESS, I DO HOPE HE ENJOYS THE NEW FOOTGEAR. QUITE FASHIONABLE, IF I DO SAY SO MYSELF." Gulp. Sweat. Beam. IGNORE SANDY. WAS NOT COMPOSING A PLAY.
Destroyer ducks his head away from the basket when the little bird starts divebombing him, and jumps backwards. Teeth bared, he snaps at the little thrush as it zips through the air, growling. LEAVE ME ALONE I'M HUNGRY
Donk is dragged along ungracefully by the dancing wolf leg, the back of one he's attached to. His lance, hanging off his belt, digs point-first into the ground. The Donk has managed to get one booty on Destroyer's back leg, and is now trying to fit on the other, when Abrahil babbles nervously at him. The cavalier looks up at the other gnome and blinks. "Huh?"
And then there's Abrahil. Sandy's day is rapidly going from 'bad' to worse. Rather, she turns and she eyes Abrahil. "Yes. What a lovely day," she remarks with acid dripping from each word. Then back t oDonk. She stares at him. And the wolf.
The basket, addressed to Lady Sandiel of the Sword, continues to sit sadly, unnoticed by its recipient. The bird, however, darts back and forth out of the wolf's waiting maw. It's a somewhat familiar little bird, having been recently on the shoulder of the most pathetic Veyshanti bard. "No! No eating! For Sandyelf only! Bad doggy bad!" the bird trills.
Abrahil wrings his hands and looks from one to the next. "Oh! Let me be of assistance, dear boy!" he says, though he eyes The Turn Rabid Anytime Now Sandy the entire time he talks. And he wrings his hands. And then he hurries over to--"Oh, dear. What should I do? Oh! Why, I've never wrestled a wolf before...such Adventure! And why! Talking birds! Such a WONDERFUL idea! A must to any ADVENTURE!! I must say!"
"It adds that...such color! to the Adventure," Abrahil decides.
"..." Sandy stops dead. She eyes the basket .She really does. Then she finally begins to maker her way towards it. "Did I hear that right?" she says, after a moment. "*REALLY*?" She seems to hve her doubts, of course, but then she goes to grab the basket. "Just what's all this about?" She demands, distrustingly.
The note! It is still addressed to her and it looks like she can open it up. The bird brightens and darts her way. "Is gift! Open open!"
The bushes, meanwhile, rustle slightly.
"A secret admirer! Oh, it must be--!" And Abrahil looks like he's taking notes. For another play.
"... huh?" Donk continues to stare at Abrahil in bafflement, blinking at the gnome from underneath his cock-eyed, bright-orance ankheg shell helmet.
Destroyer snaps only more vigorously at the darting bird, clearly starting to get annoyed. Until he decides "eff this" and lunges for the basket, picks it up by its handle, and takes off down the road.
"WAAAUGH!" Donk yells, booties tumbling out of his grasp as he grasps tightly to his wolf's leg, being tossed and flung around as the limping wolf lopes away with his rider in tow, zipping right past Sandy and Abrahil...
"Oh, such a gentleman! Such suspense! Such romance...oh...oh my! Oh...well, you're married now, aren't you?" Abrahil muses, and pauses. "Do you think.../she/ sent it? Oh! Oh, oh! I KNOW! Some poor lad...or lass! Is beside him...er, herself! Quite beside themselves, now that you're taken! And they're pining! Why, they'll simply DIE!" pause, pause, then murmur: "Oh, YES! That's PERFECT!" He's quite forgotten about Donk and Destroyer, until the two go zipping past. "Oh! Oh dear--Donk! Did you still want my help!" he calls out.
And before Sandy can get it, the basket is snatched. Just like that. "Hey! That's supposed to be for me!" And with that, she is actually chasing after Destroyer.
"Such a person must be faint of heart...swooning, I imagine, should you come near..." Abrahil is warming up to the subject. "Prone to ILLOGICAL fits of rage! Why! I see it now..." And there are stars in his eyes, and sparkles in the air.
THE PERFECT PLAY!
"Oh, Lady Sandiel, you are such an inspiration! Such an inspiration to us all! Isn't that right? Why, I was saying just the other day..." and here he fades to mumbling thoughtfully, his thumb pressed against his lip and his other hand fiddling a wand he's plucked from somewhere among those wizard's robes...
And during the entire process of talking, why--a bit of faerie-magic floats out of the tip of the thing, and goes soaring off after Destroyer...and quite deposits a bit of grease on the road ahead.
"Such an inspiration! Such ADVENTURE!"
Pewwww! Off shoots the thrush after them, fluttering her wings to gain height and then dipping down again. Then fluttering! Then dipping. "BAD DOG BAD BAD BAD DOG BAD" she wails.
"Augh," says Sandy, chasing after DEstroyer as fast sa she can manage. That's not terribly fast, truth be told. She's not much of a runner. She skids to a halt and says, "OH FUCK THIS," and begins to intone magical words!
GAME: Sandy casts Telekinesis.
"NO! NO HELP IS REQUIRED!" Donk wails as he and his mount careen down the road. "THE DONK IS UNDEFEATABLE! INDEFATIGABLE! INDEFENSIBLE! INDETERMINENT! INDELIBLE!"
Destroyer lopes along, head up and trying not to stumble over the basket. When suddenly...the ground isn't fun to run on anymore! With a yelp, Destroyer leans back, feet trying to find traction again as he SKIDS AND SPINS along the patch of grease...before hitting the far edge going sideways, the sudden traction sending him, his rider, and his basket FLYING through the air, and the contents spill everywhere across the road.
Myrana is on the walk in front of a place when Donk and the wolf go shooting past. She blinks, and then turns to watch them go, bewildered. YOINK. The basket is pulled free from destroyer by powerful magic (though it destroys the handle). The basket begins to float over to a smug looking elf who marches forward now, reaching for it to pluck it out of the air as it comes to her. Juast as it reaches her, she hits the grease on the ground, slides forward and then winds up on her, staring up at the sky. The basket then lands on her ghead.
"Fuck," she says.
THUD THUD THUD THUD. Sandy winds up with a string of expensive sausages around her neck while apples go rolling everywhere. A small roasted game hen, thankfully in its own separate container, bonks off her noggin and onto the ground. And the thrush just looks down in dismay. "Ohhhh...dear," she bemoans.
The bushes shake more violently as Emir jerks up from his hiding place. "Oh bother," he echoes fretfully.
"Why! It's your secret admirer!" *mental scribble mental scribble mental scribble* Abrahil's bow-like mouth forms a perfect little 'O' and the elderly gentleman looks QUITE delighted. "Oh my...and oh! goodness. Why, he has those traits you so admire..." he sighs.
Destroyer is splayed out on his stomach, eyes crossed from the sudden tumble he took, one spread-eagled on the ground. Tiny, armored legs kick violently from underneath the wolf, and violent, muffled yelling comes from underneath him.
A gift basket? For her? Sandy looks truly puzzled about this from her position on the ground with a basket on her head. She lifts it off herself and then proceeds to begin gathering the apples and more. She places them back int othe basket with the help of magic.
"Well," she says, "Why do I have a gift basket?" The bird, the talking bird, is eyed. EYED.
The bird sighs, and ducks down to pluck the note off the ground and flap as hard as her little wings can, so as to bring it up to Sandy's eye-level. "Hrmf," she says around the paper.
"Except not quite so round," Abrahil murmurs, as he looks Emir over. It is true, his bottom is not quite so bowling-ball shaped as Saevs, nor does he have quite so many chins...but not everyone can be perfect, it is true... And then he clasps his hands together, and...blink. Blink. "Oh...oh my. Oh goodness..." and here he straightens! "Good sir! Alexandria is in need of heroes, once again! The good master Donk has, has...er. I do believe he needs our assistance in getting up," he says more demurely to Emir and Myrana.
Myrana opens her mouth... then shuts it again, blowing through her nose. There are just some situations you don't walk into. Turning around, she starts to head back into the Hatter's-- only to freeze on the stoop. "((shit!))" she breathes, turning around and stumping down a step. CAUGHT! "Aha-- yes. Mister Donk, are you alright?"
A hand wriggles out from under Destroyer, thrusting majestically into the air from underneath the huge, semi-bootied wolf. The muffled yelling turns from violent to insistent, and perhaps a little offended.
"Shhhh--!!" Abrahil hurries over to The Donk Emergant, his little legs carrying him as quick as he can go--which is not very fast at all, though he makes a brave show of it. And he arrives nearby gasping and panting and QUITE out of breath, "HAaa..." wheeeze, "Huuu..." whee-- "Oh. Ohhh! Oh, my! Why, Master Donk! You MUST pretend to be injured! Do you see that la--that gentleman over there! That delicate, precious flower! Why," Abrahil straightens as much as he can and (sort of pulls his belly up) "Why! This was to be HIS evening! HIS declaration of love to this Lady Sandiel...and oh! Oh! It is a DISASTER! Why...you MUST pretend to be injured, perhaps just a bruise or two...and let him help you to your feet...why, not everyone is as lucky in love as the Donk is. ...Oh, DO have pity on him..." Abrahil clasps his hands together, and though WHISPERED, of COURSE the entire conversation was hearable. Nevertheless, he looks quite fretful, quite worried. "Oh, Emir! We need your MANLY STRENGTH!"
That finger pauses... before it's replaced by another finger, which is directed at Abrahil.
"Tut tut!" whispers Abrahil. "Oh dear boy...he stands in your shadow! We all do...but just a bruise? Oh! His life is in your hands!"
Fret. Fret fret. Emir, who is freshly shaven and smelling lovely; who is sharply dressed and well-groomed... He scampers out at Abrahil's bidding to wrap his arms around Destroyer's body. "Come now, pooch," he grunts, trying unsuccessfully to heft the wolf off of his rider.
"Try pulling from that end," suggests Myrana.
"...this is not happening," is what Sandy says there as things float back into place. "This is just not happening," she adds. "It's really not. This is all a dream. I'm going to go home." She begins to get to her feet more formally. The basket is held in one hand.
The bird flaps more insistently and at least drops the note into the basket before Sandy can get too far. This little thrush is friggin exhausted. Whew.
Meanwhile, Emir is trying to pull from the other end now, and getting nowhere fast.
Sandy pages: What does the note say? :)
Donk starts to go on, quite excitedly and effusely. Judging from the vehemence of the muffled sounds, that is. Destroyer, on the other hand, feeling tugging at his hindquarters, finally comes to his senses and helpfully rises up to all four paws.
"--SLAUGHTERED MILES OF FIRE ELEMENTALS NARY A SCRATCH NOR A BURN, WITH JUST A SINGLE SQUIRT GUN! IT IS A TRAVESTY, NAY AN /INSULT/, TO THE GREAT ANNALS OF HISTORY TO EVEN INSINUATE THAT THE GREAT AND POWERFUL DONK YAUTI MIGHT NEED ASSISTANCE OF ANY KIND!"
Myrana says, "Oh my goodness!"
You paged Sandy with 'Dear Lady Sandiel, Harpy of the Sword --
It came to my attention that in my darkest hour, you attended to me and lifted my spirits. You saw the broken shell of a man that I had become and you took it upon yourself, in the way that only your monstrous heart could fathom, to bring me back to the realm of the living. For that, I thank you, and I hope you enjoy these meager offerings, for they are only small tokens compared to the gratitude I feel, in my own way. Speak not to anyone else of these words, but I for one am grateful for your surly beatings upon my person. I have found the light of the world again, and I shall never again give in to the blackness of my heart.
Forever and dashingly yours,
Your Nemesis <3
(And on the other side is a bad drawing of a shapely elf-like creature with a >8( face kicking a prone man with a :) face)'
Abrahil stumbles backwards, and then--and then! He pushes his rose-tinted lenses forward and frowns a bit worriedly. "Oh...oh dear! Do have a heart, m'boy!" he whispers to Donk. "This is LOVE! Oh, the most sacred thing in the universe...a man pining for a woman...by honor, just out of his reach...oh!" and then he looks over at Emir and wriggles his fingers...A bit of spark! A bit of HAIR CONDITIONER! It waves, it sparkles, it flutters just-so around Emir's shoulders in long, flaxen lengths! And perhaps he becomes a teeny bit more womanly. Since Sandy seems to like that sort of thing. Hopefully, Sandy will notice. He looks earnestly her way, sweat pouring horribly down his brow, sticking in his triple-chin...
Heaven help them if Donk does...
"The only thing I love is eating orphans for dinner," says Sandy to Abrahil in a remarkably calm tone. She picks the note up and reads it. She just stares at it. She stares at it for a long time and then, worldlessly, puts it back in the basket.
"Today never happened, "she repeats as she stares at Donk and Abrahil. "Never."
Emir blinks as he finds that his usually short, curly black hair has become long blonde locks. He blinks quite a bit. And picks up a little to look at it in bewilderment. "I...I'm blonde," he blinks, as the sparkly hair flutters in the wind. This is enough of a distraction that he doesn't even notice Sandy's on her way out!
Abrahil elbows him helpfully.
Myrana sort of fishes around in her satchel. "Could've..." she mumbles to herself. "Could've sworn I had... a mint. In here. Somewheeeere-- oh! Aha!" She holds the rescued sweet up triumphantly, whirling round with a flare of skirts to waave it at Sandy from the Hattery stoop. "Hey Sandy! Want some mint to help soothe that burning in your lrr-heart?"
The thrush, for her part, flutters back to his shoulder, only to hover in midair and gape her tiny bird beak. "...what the fuck?" is her...succinct summation. Emir blinks at the elbowing, and looks up. "Errruh. What? What?? No! I could never court that creature! What??"
<OOC> Donk says, "1: Abrahil, 2: Myrana, 3: Emir"
GAME: Donk rolls 1d3: (3): 3
Destroyer finally stumbles to the side, letting Donk up completely before falling to one side, raising his back leg up to start chewing at the magical booty.
Donk takes to his feet, and immediately unholsters his lance, and starts swinging it around wildly and dangerously. "Impotent, impertinent, impossible, incredulous swine! The Donk will cleave your heads from your ankles! Your effluvia will become external! You'll be crying for your mothers! Your enemies' mothers! The Donk's mother! EVERYONE'S MOTHER! HAVE AT!!" Good thing his helmet has fallen down over his eyes. Unfortunately, his swinging lance also catches Emir right in the shins.
"Oh! Oh dear...oh! Love in the air, it's true. Emir, I do believe..." and Abrahil's hands flutter and then he reaches up and grasps Myrana's hand. "I do believe he's quite upset...Oh! Oh! Do you have any of your fabulous brandy on hand?" he asks, voice quavering. "He's quite upset!" he repeats, in a high-pitched whisper!
The yelp that comes from Emir is most ladylike as he hops and flails and falls flat on his butt. "Oh, Anvi! SAVE ME!" he wails, and the thrush just stares at him. "...You on you own, bardybutt," she blinks.
Donk's screaming has turned into incoherent yelling. His tiny feet raise high, stomping down with each swing of his lance, like they were stomping buildings into the ground, amidst the running and panicking populous. That lancetip is swinging dangerously close to Abrahil's face...
Myrana's eyes brighten and she nods, taking out a silver flask and offering it politely down to Abrahil. "This is very good street theatre," she says, sotto voce.
Emir is just weeping. /Weeping./