OPEN

[muckspout]

WHO: Edgard and YOU
WHAT: One Job, and some opens
WHEN: NOW
WHERE: various places
NOTES:Goat herding hijinks closed to whoever gets there first i guess (run!), everything else open! All in comments. Wildcards also welcome.

Comments

Grazing lands, East of Starkhaven, Closed to idk who but maybe you

[muckspout]

Edgard rubs his hand along the horse’s neck, grabs the reins and some mane, puts a foot in the stirrup and swings over, landing smoothly in the saddle. He cocks his head to the other rider.

“I see you also got stuck with goat herding duty.” Edgard lets out a long, annoyed sigh. “Did anyone consider trying not to lose the people’s goats to begin with? Did anyone consider, maybe a fence?”

[sulahnan]

"Yeah, well," Athessa says, hopping onto her own horse. It's something of an aerial maneuver, considering her height and the horse's, respectively. It just involves jumping into the stirrup rather than stepping. "Me n' Marcoulf handled goats before, over the winter. I guess we did well enough for repeat assignment."

[esquive]

Their third wheel is already mounted on the little freckled roan mare who has, for the length of this journey, been what one might generously call a spoiled brat. She's fidgeting now, refusing to stay still in one place or another despite whatever subtle corrections Marcoulf is making with his hands and seat, the tap of his heels.

From the shadow of his hat's broad brim, Marcoulf tips a flat look in Athessa's direction.

"It will be easier with the horses."

[muckspout]

Edgard is pleased to see Marcoulf struggling with his horse. His own horse waits patiently until Edgard urges it forward away from their encampment.

"This is the second time we've lost people their goats and no one thought to make a fence? Fait chier!"

Edgard spits on the ground.

"Do we know how many there are?"

[sulahnan]

She nods at Marcoulf's flat look with a much friendlier one, which quickly gives way to consternation in Edgard's direction.

"We didn't lose anything," she counters. "It's not like any of us let them out of a fence that doesn't exist."

Her horse is an unremarkable, loping bay. Probably won't do much galloping, but unlikely to spook, either. His name is Georgie. (While we're describing horses.)

well, i can't be the only one without a horse description

[muckspout]

"I just think the organization." Edgard uses a tone that implies air quotes. "Should be a bit more respectful of people's livelihoods. And also we wouldn't have to collect them then."

Edgard lifts in the saddle a little as his horse, a broad seal brown mare, picks up the pace. "T'as bien fait ça" he mutters to her absently.

[esquive]

"Don't you know? This is Riftwatch's business, Monsieur," he says from under the hat brim. "We are to patch up the world and clean up every problem convenient to it regardless of the hand we had in it."

If everyone were just reasonable about being grateful that their goats weren't roasted by demons falling out of a rift and willing to collect their own scattered livestock in the aftermath, they wouldn't be here.

(If there'd been a fence, he'd have put money on more dead goats.)

[sulahnan]

"Hang on—" Athessa leans forward in her saddle to look even more incredulously at Edgard. "Are you suggesting that a rift appearing over farmland is Riftwatch's fault?"

Courtyard OPEN

[muckspout]

Edgard used to be able to walk without being heard. Now here where everything’s stone, his entrance is always announced. Not like the forest or a field of grass. He’s headed to the other side of the courtyard when he sees a nearly perfect mud puddle.
Where did it come from? Had it rained? Edgard looks at it like some look at gold.

He takes a boot off, then a sock, and places a barefoot slowly in the mud, luxuriating in it, his toes wiggling. He is so blissed out that he doesn’t hear the stone-announced entrance of another.

[bignasty]

It is possible to traverse quietly over stone. Sylvester Dumas seems to have managed it, against all odds and to the dismay of many.

His shadow has almost fallen over Edgard before the scuff of a sole on stone gives him away. He’s circling ‘round from behind -- a scruffy, silver-haired behemoth in a blue arming jacket, well over six feet tall, with a rhinoceros’ gut and one hand rested across the pommel of a massive longsword at hip.

“Afternoon, serrah,” he greets, friendly enough at the start. The spark in his eye is a bit strange, doesn’t quite line up with the bare of his long teeth in a smile. The twist of his brows is more befuddled by the second. “What, ah -- what’s that you’re up to there?”

[muckspout]

Edgard is pulled out of his reverie by a question, one that he would normally not hesitate to answer truthfully, but this question is asked by an absolute behemoth of a man. Edgard is not used to looking up to people, but up he looks. He hesitates for far too long foot still in the mud puddle.

But when he responds it is with confidence: "Cleaning my foot." he says.

[bignasty]

“Ah yeah, drowning your little piggies on their way to market, makes sense.” Dumas furrows his brow, committed, earnest in his comprehension, and says again, more to himself: “Makes sense.”

Understanding between them so established, good manners dictate he should carry on his own way. Instead he stands there, looking down at Edgard looking up at him, with his hand at his sword and sweat prickling at his temples.

“Just the one?”

[muckspout]

Edgard continues to stand with his one foot in the mud. He is very unsure of this man's intentions and instincts tell him to not push it. Silence reigns. He then shrugs.

"Well, you have to start somewhere."

[bignasty]

The silence is tell enough.

“It’s alright, nothing to be nervous about, lad.”

Dumas takes a step closer, one of his own boots now crossing the threshold to sink into Edgard’s muddy territory. He’s spot check clean, but smells about the way you’d expect a man of his size in a heavy jacket to smell under the direct sun, sharp with sweat and a bit of horsey stink.

“It’s not like you’re standing out here in the courtyard with your sock off squishing your toes round in a filthy mudhole like some kind of pervert.” He scoffs. “Let’s see how clean you’ve got it, eh?”

[muckspout]

Edgard keeps his foot right where it is. All precaution vanishes at the word lad.

"If you really want to know, mud is very good for you. It can solve so many problems. It's relaxing, it's good for digestion, it can cool you down, it can help your skin, its even good for your eyes.
C'est vrai, the healers use it, I've heard. And when you find yourself in an awkward situation you can just-"

Edgard stomps the bare foot as hard as he can and mud splashes up toward the man. "--use mud."

[bignasty]

Dumas is not a dexterous man.

A shotgun blast of mud peppers up his front, thickest up to the knee, with a splash across his gambison and a few enterprising spatters even making up it up into the grizzle of his beard. He flinches, but he flinches in place, eyes shut, jaw ground and set.

When he opens his eyes again, they are as bright as the sun-touched glint of steel blade where his sword sits in its scabbard.

“What’s your name, twinkle toes?”

He’s dropped the serrah.

Dining hall OPEN

[muckspout]

Edgard has mostly avoided sitting at the tables. He takes his food and eats elsewhere most of the time. But, that means Edgard only gets the one helping which is an arrangement that no longer works for him. He plops down at the first bench he sees.

“I’m sitting here now. Are you going to eat all that?” he says and proceeds to shovel huge quantities of potatoes in his mouth.

[thereneverwas]

"So you are," Barrow observes, "--and yes." He hovers protectively over his plate, furrowing his brow in a warning scowl that also manages to be playful.

"New around here?"

[muckspout]

Edgard nods while chewing and attempts to swallow his enormous bite.

"Been here a couple weeks." He says spraying a bit of potato. "Came a couple days before the Abomination. Edgard." He transfers his silverware to his right hand and pats the man's shoulder roughly in greeting. It's intended as friendly.

[thereneverwas]

Barrow smiles, appreciating the friendliness above all else. Sloppiness he can handle.
"Barrow," he replies with a nod, "I'm here to be dumb muscle and help with the Forces training. Yourself?"

[muckspout]

"Also Forces." He says, managing to swallow. "I don't know that I'm muscle," He's not not muscle. "but my aim is excellent." His fork on its journey to his mouth overturns and potato lands on his shirt.

[thereneverwas]

"Ah! An archer?" Barrow takes a bite himself, and is proud that he briefly holds the distinction of having the better table manners of those present at the table.

[muckspout]

Edgard's mouth is too full to respond at first and he gestures toward Barrow that he's guessed correctly. He swallows again.

"Yes, an archer and I'm pretty good at throwing things too. Although," Edgard shoves another bite into his mouth and responds thickly, "people tend to appreciate that less."

[thereneverwas]

"I can imagine. Not that that can't have its uses." Barrow runs his hand down the stubble on his jaw.

"What brings you here, then?"

Tavern OPEN

[muckspout]

Inside the tavern, near the door, sits a child. He is dirty and too thin. He asks passersby for food and water and the passersby’s either don’t hear him or don’t care. The boy hums quietly until the effort leads him to cough and stares off into the distance. Edgard lets out a long breath.

No, he tells himself sternly. don’t do it. Not again. He glances at the child. The child’s eyes shift to him.

Edgard curses and stomps over to the child. He’s not going to talk to him. He’s not going to say anything. Edgard glances around and doesn’t see anyone he recognizes. He pulls half the coins from his pocket and shoves them at the boy. The boy, not expecting this amount, immediately drops all the coins to the ground. The sound of coin on stone rings through the air like bells. Edgard flushes with anger.

“Mind your fingers!” he snarls at the boy and flies to the back of the tavern in an effort to not be seen. He goes to the end of the bar farthest from the door.

“Give me whatever’s cheapest.” He snaps.