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.
"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."
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.
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
"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.
"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.)
"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?"
There is something to be said here such as, Isn't that what we're doing right now? Perhaps you would prefer we all become fortune tellers as well so that all things might be aniticipated. So on and so forth.
Instead, Marcoulf shoots Athessa a flat look (which may or may not be heeded, given the givens), and simply gives the roan mare her head so she might pull ahead.
It isn't heeded, because she's too busy tugging at this thread.
"How would we do that, huh? Build a fence around every rift to make sure the animals all get gobbled up by demons? Or do you think we employ goatherds specifically to corral the goats while someone else closes the rift and someone else fights the demons while yet another person protects nearby structures from collateral damage?" She nearly asks you got mud for brains? but lets it go unsaid.
"We're doing the best we can with what we've got."
With a silent prayer of thanks and a press of the knee, Marcoulf turns the roan mare to follow. With the simple allowance of a little extra rein, she can be induced into a cheerful hack: flashing out after Edgard's mount and then overtaking her as they bear down in the direction of the wayward goat. Evidently what the roan lacks in manners, she makes up for in speed.
Which is good, as the goat balks at the sight of two (soon to be three) larger animals plowing down in its direction. With a bleat of dismay, it turns tail and makes a break for it across the scrubby foothills and down over the crest of the hill upon which it was immediately perched.
Rather than barrel directly after Marcoulf and Edgard, Athessa lays the reigns over Georgie's neck to steer him wide, skirting the hill to better see what's beyond it rather than rushing headlong into what might be less than hospitable circumstance. Also, because goats are stupid and who knows which way one'll run when presented with two charging Orlesians?
She doesn't encounter any more goats, but she's in prime position to divert at least the one that was spotted back in the right direction.
Edgard curses under his breath as Marcoulf passes him, but stops objecting as they chase the goat down the hill. He scans the area, looking for more when he hears a loud scream underneath him and feels his mount shift hard to the right away from the noise. He tries to move his body with the horse to regain his balance but--
The ground pounds Edgard hard in the back. Multiple hooves hover over him, first horse and then goat. He is still flat on the ground, wind knocked out of him, as he hears another scream and the three beat rhythm of the mare running with the goat close at her heels.
The little roan mare leads at a clip, but the shrieking sound is enough to divert Marcoulf's attention briefly backward - to catch sight of the pileup and the tumble from the saddle, and little else.
"Less messy, he says," he says to only the mare, clucking his tongue at her as if she has an opinion and they are two gossipy women. What he does not do is draw her up. Edgard can evidently manage himself.
The leading goat had reached Athessa now, and as planned zig-zags at an angle away from her - bleating toward a stand of brush. The cacophony of noise bring up the heads of a dozen goats grazing just beyond it.
So the answer to the first question, the one of how many goats, is roughly a dozen. Glad we cleared that up.
Athessa whistles at the goats as she rides up to one side of the herd, driving them out of the brush and into the open. Probably a good thing that her steed is a lazy fucker of a gelding, since his easy pace is reflected in the unhurried shuffling of the herd. They know they're in the wrong place, and that a bigger creature is here to show them what's what.
Edgard curses, annoyed at his fall and more annoyed at his company abandoning him. He runs over to his mare, stopped now, but giving the problem goat a wide berth.
"I'm fine, thanks!" He hollers at Marcoulf and Athessa.
He pulls himself back onto his mount, wincing a little, and then runs the mare toward the goat. The goat screams again and the mare shies. He keeps his seat this time. Edgard goes again, the goat turns to kick, and the mare shies again. He calls to his company.
"This fucker's not cooperating, maybe bring the herd back this way?"
In reply, Marcoulf raises a single hand and continues on his way, the mare slowing her pace to something less likely to spook the herd and quick enough to head them off so that between him and Athessa they might bend the trajectory of the meandering animals back in the correct direction.
(If that happens to be back toward Edgard, it is luck and not consideration.)
Outside of easy earshot of the other Orlesian, he says to her, "I'm impressed he survived soldiering."
She shakes her head. "It's a wonder he survived the ride out here."
Then she whistles again, a gentle nudge to get the goats to pick up the pace when they start getting more interested in the grass beneath their feet. It's new grass! It's ten feet away from the grass they were just eating!
"Welcome back, Monsieur," Marcoulf calls though his sidelong look is directed at Athessa. With the urging of his heels, he reins the little roan mare out to track up alongside the herd in order to discourage them from straying too far while being shouted out.
"Calm down!" Athessa says, similarly easing the bay to keep control of the goats that are looking a bit too skittish for her liking right now. "Keep yelling like that and you're gonna spook 'em."
"That one," He says pointing out the Problem Goat. "needs to be yelled at. You two got all the mindless follower goats. I had to deal with Corypheus himself."
"Perhaps his poor temper is what led him to be excommunicated from the herd," is a general comment directed at absolutely no one in particular, and merely an observation on the nature of goats as the bulk of the animals trot their way with (relative - they are still goats, after all) geniality up the hill and out of this little grassy dell.
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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."
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"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?"
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"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
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.
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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.)
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Edgard leans back in his seat as they near a steep jutted cliffside. Not a goat in sight. (Yet.)
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Instead, Marcoulf shoots Athessa a flat look (which may or may not be heeded, given the givens), and simply gives the roan mare her head so she might pull ahead.
Good luck with that, kid.
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"How would we do that, huh? Build a fence around every rift to make sure the animals all get gobbled up by demons? Or do you think we employ goatherds specifically to corral the goats while someone else closes the rift and someone else fights the demons while yet another person protects nearby structures from collateral damage?" She nearly asks you got mud for brains? but lets it go unsaid.
"We're doing the best we can with what we've got."
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“I said maybe. All I’m saying is it would be nice to help a village without also fucking it up.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something. “There’s one!” He turn the mare around and gives her heavy leg.
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Which is good, as the goat balks at the sight of two (soon to be three) larger animals plowing down in its direction. With a bleat of dismay, it turns tail and makes a break for it across the scrubby foothills and down over the crest of the hill upon which it was immediately perched.
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She doesn't encounter any more goats, but she's in prime position to divert at least the one that was spotted back in the right direction.
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The ground pounds Edgard hard in the back. Multiple hooves hover over him, first horse and then goat. He is still flat on the ground, wind knocked out of him, as he hears another scream and the three beat rhythm of the mare running with the goat close at her heels.
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"Less messy, he says," he says to only the mare, clucking his tongue at her as if she has an opinion and they are two gossipy women. What he does not do is draw her up. Edgard can evidently manage himself.
The leading goat had reached Athessa now, and as planned zig-zags at an angle away from her - bleating toward a stand of brush. The cacophony of noise bring up the heads of a dozen goats grazing just beyond it.
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Athessa whistles at the goats as she rides up to one side of the herd, driving them out of the brush and into the open. Probably a good thing that her steed is a lazy fucker of a gelding, since his easy pace is reflected in the unhurried shuffling of the herd. They know they're in the wrong place, and that a bigger creature is here to show them what's what.
"Shift it, lads!"
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"I'm fine, thanks!" He hollers at Marcoulf and Athessa.
He pulls himself back onto his mount, wincing a little, and then runs the mare toward the goat. The goat screams again and the mare shies. He keeps his seat this time. Edgard goes again, the goat turns to kick, and the mare shies again. He calls to his company.
"This fucker's not cooperating, maybe bring the herd back this way?"
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(If that happens to be back toward Edgard, it is luck and not consideration.)
Outside of easy earshot of the other Orlesian, he says to her, "I'm impressed he survived soldiering."
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Then she whistles again, a gentle nudge to get the goats to pick up the pace when they start getting more interested in the grass beneath their feet. It's new grass! It's ten feet away from the grass they were just eating!
Marcoulf and Athessa are nothin but mean girls
The herd moves amoeba like forward and Edgard pulls up next to his companions.
“Bouge!” He yells. It’s probably directed at the goats.
united in dislike for 1 man
side eye increases
i don't get no respect
"That one," He says pointing out the Problem Goat. "needs to be yelled at. You two got all the mindless follower goats. I had to deal with Corypheus himself."
The evil goat eyes them warily.
"Look out for him." He warns.
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"Well, he seems to be behaving now," she ventures, actually talking about the goat, perhaps even moreso than Marcoulf. "See? No more shrill bleating!"
Just the normal, dull bleating of a dim-witted animal. Again, in reference to the goats.
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