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.
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.
Edgard gives Marcoulf a sidelong glance as his heart races with anxiety. He face remains still and unreadable as he lightens his seat as they pick up speed. He decides to test the waters.
“Maybe one of those more reasonable goats got him to shut up by clocking him in the eye.”
He directs this at Athessa and it’s completely and totally about goats.
Edgard notes the glance between them, there doesn't seem to be much difference from before. Edgard relaxes a little and then attempts to change the subject,
"Do we know if this is going to one farm or multiple?"
One would be easier, so it probably isn't likely. He leads his mare a little to the outside to stop a goat who's trying to break from the group.
"I thought it was just the one," Athessa answers, though she isn't putting the idea of punching Edgard in the face fully out of her mind just yet. A few choice whistles keep her side of the herd in check.
"If it's more, their shepherds will need to be the ones to break them out accordingly in any case."
What do any of them know of brands or notched ears or whatever is done to little beasts to keep them straight from another as they wander around shared grazing?
With a press of heels, he urges the mare a further forward so that they might begin to bow the herd in the direction of the little roadway they'd left.
Edgard hangs back to keep the back of the herd in check while Marcoulf moves them forward towards the road.
"I think we might be the shepherds in this scenario, but I guess the town will figure it out." He calls back. "all good so long as we don't run into a creek or bear or something."
Edgard smiles to himself, rarely have his jobs gone without multiple disasters.
Athessa makes a thoroughly Marcoulf-like face, staring directly into some unseen camera ahead of her.
Is this what it used to be like to work with her? Perish the thought.
The herd bows, curving from the grass to the road and following along it with nary an incident. Once in a while a goat would start to separate from its brethren, only to be efficiently told via whistle or nudge or otherwise to get back where you came from or so help me.
And that's how it goes right up until the farm comes into view as they crest a rolling hill, topped with a sparse copse of trees. Idyllic, one might think. A lovely spot for a picnic if two Orlesians and an elf weren't driving goats right past it.
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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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“Maybe one of those more reasonable goats got him to shut up by clocking him in the eye.”
He directs this at Athessa and it’s completely and totally about goats.
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"Do we know if this is going to one farm or multiple?"
One would be easier, so it probably isn't likely. He leads his mare a little to the outside to stop a goat who's trying to break from the group.
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What do any of them know of brands or notched ears or whatever is done to little beasts to keep them straight from another as they wander around shared grazing?
With a press of heels, he urges the mare a further forward so that they might begin to bow the herd in the direction of the little roadway they'd left.
no subject
"I think we might be the shepherds in this scenario, but I guess the town will figure it out." He calls back. "all good so long as we don't run into a creek or bear or something."
Edgard smiles to himself, rarely have his jobs gone without multiple disasters.
no subject
Is this what it used to be like to work with her? Perish the thought.
The herd bows, curving from the grass to the road and following along it with nary an incident. Once in a while a goat would start to separate from its brethren, only to be efficiently told via whistle or nudge or otherwise to get back where you came from or so help me.
And that's how it goes right up until the farm comes into view as they crest a rolling hill, topped with a sparse copse of trees. Idyllic, one might think. A lovely spot for a picnic if two Orlesians and an elf weren't driving goats right past it.