Narnia #2: Botherbrume meets Mikkle
Oct. 25th, 2004 02:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
evilbeej#1 consists of some mild grousing and some mild angst on the part of a faun wearing a daisy chain. I know my readers. I shall spare you the daisy chain.
I play Botherbrume, the Marsh-Wiggle.
North Road
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The north side of Sted Cair is rather quiet. A few creatures stroll the road
here, windowshopping at the Tailor's shop to the east, or waiting to see the
Apothecary to the west. The road itself narrows at the north end, becoming more of a forest path as it meanders its way into the trees.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
Contents:
A dwarf female with angry black eyes
Mikkle adjusts her shoulder straps, frowning.
Mikkle exclaims, "Confounded thing. Can't make 'em in standard Dwarf sizes, oh no!"
The drawling voice of a Marsh-Wiggle comes from behind Mikkle, doleful and somewhat quiet. "Having a worse day than mine, then?"
Mikkle snorts. "A worse day than a Marsh-wiggle? Didn't think that was possible."
Mikkle asks, "Have the market cornered on misery, don't you?"
A shadow passes over you as a Bird flies overhead.
"Well now. I don't know about that. I haven't died yet, though it's bound to happen sooner rather than later, like as not today," dissembles the Wiggle, expression sour. He fishes in his cloak and comes up with a rather pretty, worn-looking pipe, and begins stuffing it. "It hasn't been terrible thus far, though it'll get worse, no fear. They do that, days."
Mikkle mumbles "Marsh-wiggles...always ... they're ... miserable ... everyone ... ... No ... the ... of ... might ... suffering ... ... no.", to herself.
OOC> Mikkle says, "Marsh-wiggles...always think they're more miserable than everyone else. No matter the rest of us might be suffering too, oh no."
Mikkle stomps back into the Tailor's Shop.
Mikkle stomps back /out/ of Mantlestitch's Tailor shop.
Mikkle exclaims, "Can't help me with this? She's a Tailor! What's the point of being a Tailor if you can't even shorten a strap!"
Mikkle grumbles.
The gangly thing's smoking by the time Mikkle comes outside; hasn't moved much at all from where he was standing last. Yes, the smoke floats down; there /must/ be mud in it. "Praps she's a Useless Things Tailor; I've heard rumours. /Would/ be the luck, wouldn't it."
Mikkle looks at the Marsh-wiggle as though he has lost his mind.
Mikkle asks, "You, eh, got a name, then?"
And the marsh-wiggle's looking back at Mikkle, watching carefully, sharp blue eyes twinkling beneath the brim of his wide, floppy hat. He was *teasing* her. "Botherbrume. Though you won't be using it much, like. I answer to 'hey, you' and 'hey, swampy', much as anything else. I don't expect you'll tell me your name," he finishes sadly. "Like as not I'm trying your patience."
Mikkle blinks in spite of herself..."Swampy?"
It's told in certain parts that the facial muscles of the marsh-wiggle are arranged so as to render the mouths of the creatures incapable of smiling. This may or may not be true, but either way, Botherbrume does not, in fact, smile. The particular quality to his eyes, however, does in fact hint at it -- at least until the exhaled smoke gets in the way. "A name that a particularly disagreeable Calormene guest of their Majesties gave me, as I ferried him across the river. I suppose I deserved it; I don't imagine the dank smell ever really goes away."
Mikkle says, "A Calormene. Well, that explains it, then. Humans ain't got the manners Aslan gave a squirrel."
Mikkle smacks her forehead.
Mikkle says, "And who am I to talk? Standing here. Still haven't told you my name."
Mikkle says, "I'm Mikkle of the Flintholt."
Botherbrume's eyebrows go up, which has the somewhat comedic effect of bringing the brim of his hat with them. And then the reason for the facepalm is explained, and his expression evens out again. "Ah, the Flintholt," he says, then puffs contemplatively on his pipe for a moment. "I don't believe I know where that is..."
Mikkle says, "Say, you wouldn't happen to be wanting to get rid of either of those candles, would you? I don't expect there's much call for them in the MArshes."
"Ohh, plenty of call for them," answers the tall Wiggle almost despondently. With his free hand, he starts to take them from where he's got them stowed. "Can't get the blighters lit for anything, though. Always the way. Thought it'd make reading in the dark easier, but you know -- you don't end up reading in the dark after all, because it's ruddy /light/ after you've lit a candle, isn't it." He offers both candles to the Dwarf, again with that curious look curling at the corners of his eyes.
(Insert MUCK coded inventory exchange here.)
Mikkle says, "Well, I thank you for that. I do apologize, I'm sure, but I must be getting back to the Flintholt now."
Mikkle nods to the Wiggle and departs.
I play Botherbrume, the Marsh-Wiggle.
North Road
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
The north side of Sted Cair is rather quiet. A few creatures stroll the road
here, windowshopping at the Tailor's shop to the east, or waiting to see the
Apothecary to the west. The road itself narrows at the north end, becoming more of a forest path as it meanders its way into the trees.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
Contents:
A dwarf female with angry black eyes
Mikkle adjusts her shoulder straps, frowning.
Mikkle exclaims, "Confounded thing. Can't make 'em in standard Dwarf sizes, oh no!"
The drawling voice of a Marsh-Wiggle comes from behind Mikkle, doleful and somewhat quiet. "Having a worse day than mine, then?"
Mikkle snorts. "A worse day than a Marsh-wiggle? Didn't think that was possible."
Mikkle asks, "Have the market cornered on misery, don't you?"
A shadow passes over you as a Bird flies overhead.
"Well now. I don't know about that. I haven't died yet, though it's bound to happen sooner rather than later, like as not today," dissembles the Wiggle, expression sour. He fishes in his cloak and comes up with a rather pretty, worn-looking pipe, and begins stuffing it. "It hasn't been terrible thus far, though it'll get worse, no fear. They do that, days."
Mikkle mumbles "Marsh-wiggles...always ... they're ... miserable ... everyone ... ... No ... the ... of ... might ... suffering ... ... no.", to herself.
OOC> Mikkle says, "Marsh-wiggles...always think they're more miserable than everyone else. No matter the rest of us might be suffering too, oh no."
Mikkle stomps back into the Tailor's Shop.
Mikkle stomps back /out/ of Mantlestitch's Tailor shop.
Mikkle exclaims, "Can't help me with this? She's a Tailor! What's the point of being a Tailor if you can't even shorten a strap!"
Mikkle grumbles.
The gangly thing's smoking by the time Mikkle comes outside; hasn't moved much at all from where he was standing last. Yes, the smoke floats down; there /must/ be mud in it. "Praps she's a Useless Things Tailor; I've heard rumours. /Would/ be the luck, wouldn't it."
Mikkle looks at the Marsh-wiggle as though he has lost his mind.
Mikkle asks, "You, eh, got a name, then?"
And the marsh-wiggle's looking back at Mikkle, watching carefully, sharp blue eyes twinkling beneath the brim of his wide, floppy hat. He was *teasing* her. "Botherbrume. Though you won't be using it much, like. I answer to 'hey, you' and 'hey, swampy', much as anything else. I don't expect you'll tell me your name," he finishes sadly. "Like as not I'm trying your patience."
Mikkle blinks in spite of herself..."Swampy?"
It's told in certain parts that the facial muscles of the marsh-wiggle are arranged so as to render the mouths of the creatures incapable of smiling. This may or may not be true, but either way, Botherbrume does not, in fact, smile. The particular quality to his eyes, however, does in fact hint at it -- at least until the exhaled smoke gets in the way. "A name that a particularly disagreeable Calormene guest of their Majesties gave me, as I ferried him across the river. I suppose I deserved it; I don't imagine the dank smell ever really goes away."
Mikkle says, "A Calormene. Well, that explains it, then. Humans ain't got the manners Aslan gave a squirrel."
Mikkle smacks her forehead.
Mikkle says, "And who am I to talk? Standing here. Still haven't told you my name."
Mikkle says, "I'm Mikkle of the Flintholt."
Botherbrume's eyebrows go up, which has the somewhat comedic effect of bringing the brim of his hat with them. And then the reason for the facepalm is explained, and his expression evens out again. "Ah, the Flintholt," he says, then puffs contemplatively on his pipe for a moment. "I don't believe I know where that is..."
Mikkle says, "Say, you wouldn't happen to be wanting to get rid of either of those candles, would you? I don't expect there's much call for them in the MArshes."
"Ohh, plenty of call for them," answers the tall Wiggle almost despondently. With his free hand, he starts to take them from where he's got them stowed. "Can't get the blighters lit for anything, though. Always the way. Thought it'd make reading in the dark easier, but you know -- you don't end up reading in the dark after all, because it's ruddy /light/ after you've lit a candle, isn't it." He offers both candles to the Dwarf, again with that curious look curling at the corners of his eyes.
(Insert MUCK coded inventory exchange here.)
Mikkle says, "Well, I thank you for that. I do apologize, I'm sure, but I must be getting back to the Flintholt now."
Mikkle nods to the Wiggle and departs.
