It's hard to be Young

Lutea · 2018-10-17 08:52:24 AM

It's Hard to be Young
Ft. Isla, Mary, Fig, Lacota
RW Abbey: Open Grounds:

She is ready to put this place behind her, but it seemed that there were always chores to be done, so at least there aren't many moments left for her paws to grow anxious and idle. Isla the hare marches gleefully behind a put-upon looking, young, novice mouse; her shawl is tied at her neck so that she doesn't have to fuss with it, but she is still sorely overdressed for the dirty sort of work she is assisting with. Her arms are laden with thick, burlap sacks, and dirt is streaked down her dress and paws - but her grin is wide. The novice sighs and pauses, letting the wheelbarrow she pushes 'thunk' to a halt. "You are following me /very/ close." Mary chastises the hare with a grumble. "Oh, aye. Well yer walkin' quite slow, maybe if y'let me push th'wheelbarrer, it'd be a mite easiah on ye!" The mouse rolls her eyes. "/Fine/." She finally huffs, stepping aside and pushing her paws out to accept the trade-off. Chores are for those who aren't Redwall heroes! Or self proclaimed Redwall heroes. Fig did nothing heroic save not running away, which to the young rabbit, that is simply good enough. She saunters around with the rusty little blade in her belt, relishing the time period when weapons are allowed inside the Abbey. Or at least until someone can spot her with it. The moment Mary the mouse shows up with a hare in tow, Fig has had the wherewithal to tuck the blade away behind some crates of supplies near the bell tower. The rabbit doesn't approach, far more scared of getting pinned with chores than any of the vermin that had assaulted the Abbey not long ago. She peers, curiously, from the crates as she leans inconspicuously against them.

"Put your back into it, if you will. Really now, you made such a fuss at me - see? It's quite heavy." Mary continues to chastise the poor, young hare as the two waddle and labor their way across the grounds, moving to a patch of burnt out grass near the southern wall. "Hoi, ya slave drivah. I'll bet me scut an' left cheek ye'd be a Sarg in th'Patrol afore ye even set paw in th'Mountain, wot!" Even as the hare sweats, she seems overjoyed to be useful. Mary just looks happy she doesn't have to push the wheelbarrow anymore - the sack is much lighter. Unfortunately for Fig, though, they pass right by the crate, and the mouse spots her friend. "Fig!" There is a moment of 'you're still here!' joy that she cannot quite hide, so she has to compensate for the weakness by coughing to the side. "Ahem, er, well you aren't doing anybeast a lot of good lounging about like a busy mole on a bright day. I have a present for you, by the way." She sniffs, her nose high in the air, just to drive home the point that it certainly doesn't matter much to /her/, of course.

Fig's eyes narrow at the mouse and her attention slides to the hare. "M'doin' myself a great deal o'good, pahh." Her eyes return to the mouse and she sniffs diligently. "Gift, huh? IF it's haulin' wheelbarrows, you can /keep it/." The rabbit seems to hold no sympathy for Isla and doesn't say a word to the other long(er) ear.

"It is a good deal better than hauling wheelbarrows - and I have, er... What's her name here to help me with /that/." Mary huffs. She would cross her arms were they not full. "Oh! Boil me whiskers, I've forgotten me poor uncle's show in th'Great Hall!" The entertainer hare suddenly drops the wheelbarrow and tears off at a breakneck pace, leaving poor Mary to handle both the wheelbarrow /and/ the sack. "Just splendid." The mouse grumbles, throwing the sack onto the pile of dirt on the 'barrow and leaning into it. "Some help /would/ be lovely, lazy bones."

"You're th' one who has decided tah up and become a dodding ol' Sister, you have," Fig snorts. Her arms cross and she glances after the hare who has put a decent amount of space between them. "Hares," the rabbit grunts. "They think they're all so much better than us rabbits. Did you know that?" She snorts again and makes exactly zero effort to leave her lean on the crate and help Mary.

"Why? Because they seem to go on to become warriors and the like while you all run off to be farmers?" Mary sniffs, but immediately seems to realize that what she's said is hurtful. "I... Didn't mean it like that." She amends, drilling her knuckles between her eyes. "Sorry. I'm trying to be less... Mean." With a sigh, the novice relinquishes hope of help from the rabbit, and throws herself against the wheelbarrow. It's slow going, but it's going.

"Even warriors need to eat," Fig counters, her arms tightening in their cross and her brow furrowing as she looks away. She allows silence to linger before she heaves a sigh and pushes off the crate to help heave the wheelbarrow. "An' no way I'll be a farmer. I'm gonna be a traveler. Never stayin' in one place fer long. /That's/ the best life there is!" She grunts as she pushes.

Mary scooches over, allowing room for Fig at the wheelbarrow's other handle. It's piled high with fresh, musty soil mixed with rich, dark, mushroom fertilizer and compost - the second or third load of the day, judging by the height of the pile on the ground by the destroyed patch of grass on the Open Grounds. The soil mix is beautifully dark and smooth, and even in the wheelbarrow the occasional worm can be seen wriggling. Good sign. "You're... Not wrong." The mouse allows, sheepishly. "But don't you feel... Weird, not belonging anywhere? Not having roots to come back to?" With the two of them, it speeds up the journey substantially, and they near the mounting pile of soil.

Fig snorts, but is too engrossed in shoving the wheelbarrow forward to reply right away. "And do this every day?" the rabbit huffs as she stands back and wipes her tunic off once they've reached their destination. "I said I didn't want to be a farmer, din' I? An' what's this look like t' you?" Her now dirty paws motion at the soil and work in front of them. "Dun' belong nowhere an' y'dun got no chores to do, hah!"

"Well... It is hard to argue with your impervious logic." Mary chuckles, bracing against the handle and /pushing/ with all her mighty mouse might to tip the wheelbarrow over, and dump the load of fertile soil onto the pile. "Looks a lot like farming, I guess. If I wanted to be gutted by vermin, I'd have stayed at the hold." She admits, but clamps her muzzle shut immediately after. She's weird about her past. "Thanks again." She mumbles, leaning over to start pushing and shoving the stubborn clumps of dirt still in the barrow out onto the pile. The bag of seeds is safely wrestled away. "Won't you get /lonely/, though?" She just isn't ready to let it drop, apparently. Is she worried about losing her only friend?! No, no. She wouldn't give that nasty rabbit the pleasure. Mary is above such petty needs and worries. Obviously.

Fig doesn't help the dumping portion of the chore. She simply watches Mary do it with a backwards flick of her ears. She doesn't comment on Mary's gutting bit, likely because she has no idea what the mouse is on about. "Better lonely than turning into a dafty old Order Maid," she fires back. "I heard you wi' that hare. You already sound like yer ready to shout orders an' demand chores an' make e'ery beast around you miserable, like the rest of the dumb lot 'round here."

Mary rounds on Fig, her bottom lip jutting out defiantly. "Shows what /you/ know. I wouldn't even /have/ to shout at you, because you're already miserable! Why are you even here anymore, if you hate it so much, huh? Or do you just like having beasts what you can be mean and nasty to?" She huffs, spinning back around to her chore. "/That/ you can be mean and nasty to." She corrects under her breath, slamming the wheelbarrow back right-way up and stomping over to where a hoe lays on the ruined grass.

"Ehhhhch," the rabbit groan-snorts, tossing her head back and rolling her eyes. "Problem 'bout you is yer too damned sensitive." Fig looks back to the mouse, attempting her best bored-face as she watches the mouse stamp and fuss. "I could leave right now if I wanted, I could! But I like makin' you angry too much. That's what I'd miss. Mad Mary. S'what the dibbuns're gunna call you when yer just an' old Sister!" She finds this funny, guffawing and swiping her arm in the air for effect. "Watch out! Mean, mad Mary is comin'! Dun' say nothin' but sweet things to her or she'll throw a fit an' take 'way yer dinner!"

The mouse's jaw is clenched tight, her whiskers twitching angrily. Her face, beneath her fur, reddens substantially, and she wields the hoe like a great club: bringing it high over her head and then slamming it down into the soft, broken earth. "I -" She growls, punctuating her words with slams of the hoe into the ground. "-Am not - /sensitive/ - you - are just -" She huffs, clumsily dragging the soil beneath the decay overtop. "-/Mean/. That's why nobeast likes you. You act like you're better than everybeast but you /aren't/." She huffs, turning her back on the rabbit and starting a new track of dirt. "I'd rather be Mad Mary than... Than..." She really has to think on it - the alliteration was too easy, too convenient, and finally she settles on: "Fat Fig!" She turns to right and proper stick her tongue out at the rabbit before spinning back to her work. There aren't immediate apologies this time.

Fig's whiskers rise up and she frowns severely at the other. Her ears twitch with each hoe strike and she steps back. "That's stupid!" Fig retorts in a strained, angry voice. "/You're/ stupid 'cause I ain't even fat!" But she /does/ glance down at herself. "But /fine/! Stay in this stupid abbey and be a stupid Sister. I dun' care!" Fig spins around and starts marching towards the crates. "M'gonna go travel the whole bloody world and forget /you/ and this dumb ol' place!" She grabs her rusty blade as she passes by, sticking it back into her belt and stomping off.

"/FINE/!" Mary hollers after Fig, wiping at the bitter tears that she can't fight back. "Fine! Go be... Stupid and lonely and... And /mean/!" She growls, jerking her gaze back to the patch of damaged earth. Her hoe digs, over and over, into the dead grass and useless soil beneath it, and she snarls to herself. "...Stupid." She sniffs. "Nobeast is going to call me 'Mad Mary'." Huff. "F...Fat Fig." Dig. Dig. Dig. "...Stupid. Shouldn't have said..." She shakes her head.

That evening, in the Kitchens...

It's after dinner. Even the beasts on kitchen cleaning duty have finished. It's quiet and cold in the kitchen with the ovens off, making the small sounds of sobs easily heard if a beast lingers in the entrance long enough. They're hiccupy and tiny, coming from the larder. Fig, done up in warm clothing, is hastily shoving what she can find into a small haversack, tears dripping down her face as she cries and mumbles angrily to herself. "I'll go s-straight t' the south. Ain't cold there in winter." Wrapped cheese slices and a few apples are added into the bag. "O-Or th' mountains an' I'll live with the bats." Then, for whatever reason, all of this overwhelms her and she falls to her rump, crying hard enough that she can't form words at all.

The soft, sad scuffle of sandals against stone are barely a whisper beneath the more obvious sounds of the rabbit's weeping, but they're there. Mary is led by candlelight, still in her filthy novice robes and out far past her assigned bedtime. It isn't hard to locate Fig, or it shouldn't have been, but the whoosh of relief to have found her still within the Abbey walls is akin to breaching the lake's surface after far too much time spent submerged. "F-Fig?" There's a cold twist of anger and shame to find her in a state of packing, but Mary sheepishly sets the candle down on the floor and sits down a short distance away from the rabbit. "Fig... I don't think you're fat nor stupid." She whispers, her knees drawn up to her muzzle and her eyes fixed firmly on them.

Fig's ears turn backwards too late and she looks away with a wild expression of panick on her tear stained face. She's almsot nearly half up when she realizes it's Mary and she just hobble-falls back to the flagstone floor. "O-oh, s'you," she mumbles as she furiously attempts to scrub away and hide the evidence of her sobbing fit from her face. It just musses up her wet fur in ridiculous spikes. It takes Fig a moment to respond. "I dun think yer mad... well. Y'get mad easily, but I jus' like teasin' you." A hiccup bubbles. "But I won' 'nymore. M'gonna go."

"It's me." The mouse mutters, awkwardly, before she lapses into silence as the rabbit speaks. "You don't have to go." Mary scrambles to get the words out. "I didn't mean what I said - I... Well, you can be mean. Too mean, sometimes... But I don't want you to go." She scoots forward a few inches towards Fig. "I would be a right rotten Sister if I lost my temper at every little thing... If you leave, who will help me get better by getting on my nerves? I'll be a novice forever, and that'll be even worse than being a... A dusty, dumb, boring Sister." She tries to crack a smile, but it dies on her muzzle, stained by a tear. "P-/Please/ don't go, Fig. I..." She scrubs the back of her arm across her eyes, but anything more coherent or poetic is lost in a throaty gurgle.

Fig turns her eyes to the side, ears folding more severely downwards. Her nostrils flare as she involuntary sniffs. She looks slightly frustrated, bordering angry at being called mean again, but she manages to keep her mouth shut. Fig opens her mouth to say something but instead she makes a gurgle to mirror Mary's. Her mouth shuts back closed and she glares downwards in frustration. Finally just just grabs Mary and pulls her into a hug. "I'd ask y-you t'come with me. But I know y-y'wanna be a Sister. I think it's dumb but if it makes y'happy, tha's okay."

"I... I would have." Mary cries, muffled, into the rabbit's neck. She clutches, desperately, to Fig. "D-Don't go. P-p-please! I won't ever g-get mad at you again o-or call you names or ask-ask you to help with chores and... And I'll do /your/ chores!" Few of these, if any, are promises that she is liable, or even able, to keep. "I won't ever be mean to you again, I'm so s-sorry." Her pitiful pleads continue on, unintelligibly, into Fig's scruff.

Hey, at least Fig is a rabbit. She is wicked, wicked soft. Silky fur envelopes the mouse as she wraps into her friend. She huffs, taking in a deep, calming effect. "I won't leave /tonight/," Fig promises with a nudge against her friend. She peels away, looking embarrassed at the interaction. The rabbit clears her throat and grumbles. "I'll wait 'til morning."

Mary clutches her friend to her as long as she can, still sniffing and gurgling into soft fur; when she pulls back, the mouse looks crestfallen. "But... But where will you go?" She blubbers, her ears limp. "I..." Forsaking her vows would leave her a disgrace - but it wouldn't be the first time, would it? "...What if something happens to you?"

"I dunno," Fig mumbles, shrugging. "South? Who likes winter 'nyways." She scratches her chin and snuffles. She glances down at the haversack and picks out a wedge of cheese. "Then somethin' happens. M'more worried 'bout what'll happen to you /here/," she insists and breaks off some of the semi-hard stuff to hand Mary a chunk. "They're gonna suck what little fun you have in you right out. Did you even get t'eat dinner tonight, huh?"

"I was looking for you..." Mary admits, sliding away from the rabbit and hugging her own knees to her chest again, save for a paw that reaches out for the cheese. She stares at it, her throat too tight to eat. "What..." She sucks in a deep breath, pressing her forehead into her knees. "...What if I... /Did/ come with you?"

Fig's ears swivel and she almost starts to laugh. Instead she stuffs a piece of cheese into her mouth. "Dun be daft," Fig says through a mouthful. "You hate me. M'just th' only one who talks to ya." Munch munch. "An' dat's cause I 'ee how great 'ou are. Dey'll see it 'oo, Mury." The sack of crackers she stole are opened and she offers those out, too.

Mary still can't get the cheese down, let alone anything else. "I do /not/ hate you." The mouse grumbles, looking rather silly crumpled on the floor with the wedge of cheese in one dirty paw. "You're... You /know/. My best friend and I can't just... You could get /hurt/! You could be killed and I wouldn't be there to protect you! Or... Or to /know/. You could just leave and never come back and I would never hear from you again and I would be stuck here with...out you." She finishes, rather lamely, finally letting her paw come to a rest on atop her knee. "But... Thanks for saying that... That was really nice." It is well into the night: two young beasts sit in a state of clear emotional distress, on the floor of the kitchens. Fig has a sack of food half packed - it appears she is getting ready to leave the Abbey, Mary, in dirty novice robes, sits beside her. Holding cheese.

Fig snorts a laugh as she breaks off a bit of cheese, balances it on a cracker, and stuffs it into her mouth. "Uh huh," the rabbit says dismissively as she chews on it. "An' you could bally well starve here," Fig shoots back with a sniff. "Died o' too many chores an' not 'nough meals. I've heard tales o'it a'fore." She's making another cheese and cracker. "Dun' say m'nice. I like it better when ya think m'mean as lizard spit." The rabbit's ears bounce as she chuckles at this before stuffing the next cracker into her mouth. "'Oo smell like 'irt 'n worms... See? Mean."

Due to the extremely late hour, the Abbey at large, and the Kitchen, specifically, is otherwise dead silent. However, there is that one beast who might enter the Kitchen at any time: The Friar. And thus, it is just their luck that the door is suddenly pushed open, the sound of a beast bustling in while muttering to himself under his breath.

"Or I'll eat too much and be so big you won't recognize me if... If you ever come back." Her ears wilt again, bottom lip quivering. "You /are/ nice, Fig. Maybe I'm the only beast who knows it, and /that's/ why I'm going with you." The mouse decides, finally stuffing the cheese into her mouth and wiping her paws against her habit. "So that /you/ don't forget that you're nice." She stands, paws clenched at her sides. "I've run away before... Maybe I'm not meant to belong any place. And I /do/ smell like dirt and worms, thank you." The purple dye around her eyes has almost faded completely, but a paw strays there out of habit - and then freezes. SOMEBEAST IN THE KITCHEN! Panicked, Mary mimes furiously towards the closest cupboard, nudging and pushing Fig towards it. Is there room for both of them in there?! BARELY.

"'Idn't 'oo take 'mmsorta oath 'r' 'mmthing?" Munch munch munch as Fig attempts to finish her cheese and crackers without any water to wash it down. Her eyes bug slightly as she manages to swallow it down anyways. She coughs, once, and then lifts her ears as the mouse starts to panic. "Huh?" The rabbit is suddenly pushed back, her haversack causing her to flump back on her rump into the cupboard. "Hey!" she hisses at Mary. But she does quiet down.

There's a pause at the door. The squirrel peers into the room. He's almost certain he heard a scuffle. "Whoever's in here, come out and show yourselves..." He stands there, blocking the doorway back into Great Hall.

They can just hide in the cupboard forever, right? They can /try/! Mary is not apt to go running into the arms of trouble right off the bat, but they probably won't last more than a few minutes crushed in there. Still, she shuts the door behind them with a soft 'tunk' and sucks in her breath - because it is hard to breathe this squashed together. It doesn't seem that even /that/ is enough to stop the mouse from talking. "Yes... But...." She whispers as softly as she can. "What will they do, kill me?" She forgot her candle on the kitchen floor.

"Probably," Fig muses as she presses an ear against the door. She waits, frowning, before looking at the scared mousemaid behind her. "Yer such ah dibbun," the rabbit scolds. With a heaving sigh she pushes to the front, motions for Mary to stay quiet, and then shoulders her way out of the cupboard, closing it behind her. "A'righ', a'righ'. Ya caught me. Woz jus' grabbin' ah midnight snack. No need tah knot up yer whiskers, eh?"

Lacota quietly locks the door behind him, before he steps further into the room. The candle doesn't go unnonticed, however, before he can investigate that, he catches sight of the rabbit. "A midnight snack? You should have asked an adult, young lass." He gives her a second look. "Hold on... Are you new here? I don't think we've met..."

Mary silences a squeak of protest as Fig takes one for the team. The cupboard is more comfortable without the other beast in it, though still uncomfortably cramped, but the young mouse isn't about to allow the rabbit's sacrifice to go to waste. She sits, still and silent, with her paws over her muzzle in the cupboard, listening intently. This isn't a first for her, either - though the stakes, admittedly, are much lower this time.

Fig swivels her ears back and she takes in a deep breath. "New? Nah. Well. I never stick 'round long. But've been 'ere a'fore." She waves a paw. "'Nyways. Couldn't find no adult, sah," she explains and looks a little put out. Pre-teens. Psh. "An' I woz 'elpin' repair the grounds where they got busted from vermin, I woz. Knee deep in soil from dawn tah dusk. So didn't get no dinner an' I woz rather starved. Simply couldn't wait." The rabbit pauses. "Why'd yah lock th' door?"

Lacota hmmphs. "Starved, you say? Working dawn to dusk? If you say so." He moves to pick up Mary's forgotten candle. "I locked the door so no young scallywags could get away before I caught them. Dibbuns have sticky fingers, after all..."

Inside the cupboard, Mary's eyebrows are way high. 'Creepy'. She mouths, hugging her knees tighter inside the cramped space. She's growing restless, but isn't going anywhere anytime soon. She has the patience for this, at least - and she wouldn't squander the rabbit's brave deed.

Fig narrows her eyes thoughtfully. "S'smart. But m'no dibbun. Jus'... needed a bite." Fig scratches her cheek. "So... I'll jus' go out the 'hole exit, aye?" The rabbit backs up. "An' I'll come 'elp wi'dishes af'er breakfast t'make up fer th' cheese I ate." She gives the Friar a wink and a click of her tongue as she moves to scuttle out of the short stairs towards the cavern hole. Martinspeed, Mary.

Lacota hmms, nodding goodnight to the rabbit, as he unlocks the door again, and starts to leave. The squirrel pauses for several long moments, as if expecting another beast to pop out, but none does, and so he steps out into Great Hall. Off to bed for the night...

With Fig safely scuttled off to safety, now all there is for Mary to do... Is wait. The novice waits long past the footfalls have stopped - and it's good she does, because they start right up again. Sure that the Friar is gone for good, the mouse gathers up the haversack of Fig's foodstuff and books it out... The window. Just to be safe.

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#1 2018-10-17 08:52:24 AM

It's hard to be Young

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