02.05.09 - Elbow Deep

Location: Redwall Kitchen

Characters Involved: Layne, Sivaine, Darcy, Harper, Kesnya

"...they expect an edible meal. Not, you know, deliberately toxic?" What's this? Layne is doing the unthinkable-- she's -teaching-, for the love of Pete! Hide the wumm'nfolk and chil'uns. To be more specific, she's making sure Novice Wembley will never subject the abbey to a repeat of the stew atrocity of the other night. The little bankvole novice, never very forthright even in the best of times, looks a little wilted from the discussion. It probably hasn't even occurred to him that Layne doesn't even -technically- hold any rank at the abbey. One of his footpaws traces a guilty circle on the flagstones, his eyes downcast. "O'f'r... I'm up -here- Wembley." She tries to get him to raise his head a little.

Sivaine doesn't seem to have gotten the evacuation notice in time, or she's willing to risk the fallout of unsafe academic practices for a hot drink. She slips in from the cold in shirtsleeves, sweat, and a distinctly annoyed grimace, but pauses to lean against the doorframe for a moment to rest her eyes, ears back and one paw against her abdomen. Her eyes lift slowly to Novice Wembley, and there's a flicker of recognition. Nosetwitch.

The novice's eyes catch Sivaine's for just that fraction of a second, and that's enough to make the floor interesting again. Layne turns to see what he was looking at, and gives Siv a curt nod before squaring off against Wembley again. "Starches are one thing," she murmurs, suddenly self-conscious of the unexpected audience, "but we don't serve ballast here. Talk to me later-- might be able to work the idea into something edible, right?" Wembley trembles a nod, his ears flopping a bit. Then he begins backing towards the Cavern Hole, watching Siv with caution-- she's a fierce warrior sabre-toothed anger machine with talons of unearthy fire! Plus, you know, she's a girl and all. And then he's gone. Layne shakes her head and blows a sigh through her bangs. "Siv-aine." No, she's not using the Beverly accent; she's just enunciating.

Sivaine nods, almost imperceptibly, and exhales. Come on, up. After a moment and encouragement from a little gust of chill wind she pushes herself upright, still holding her stomach, and pulls the door shut behind her. Wembley's behavior is strange, and she just looks at him, eyes narrowed slightly. They shut. Her brow furrows faintly. "Layne. Was I glaring?" She sounds a bit faint.

The other mouse dramatically backflings her arm across her brow and leans away. "Stop it! The evil eye! I-- I cannot bear the fierce gaze!" Bonelessly, she flops forward again and the arm drops, swinging limply from shoulder. "Pro'ly," she continues, voice completely normal again. "I figured it was part of your training, y'know? Zade 101? How to stab friends and alienate people?" She smirks a little, and begins groping under the table for a bowl. Leaning over is too much work.

Sivaine snorts, flashing a glimmer of an amused smirk. "Alienation costs extra. Long as I didn't scare off your willing pupil before you'd finished with him." The mouse closes her eyes again, puffing at a stray tendril of hair. Unlike Layne's homeostatic bangs, it only flutters into a new, more disheveled position. "I came looking for ginger tea. And your delightful company, though I'm short on wit at the moment."

Layne's hair comes at a price, and she'll pay that over the summer. It's like wearing a fur helmet. -.-; "He's scar'd of -everything- Siv. You're female. That alone will cost him a night's sleep, I'd wager." She has her fingers on the bowl, but it slips lose, rolling on its bottom with a hollow wobble. Humbug. She crouches to retrieve it, and it finds a place on the table. "Right. Tea..." Rubbing her paws on her hips to clean them, Layne goes for the cupboards. Whatever her other shortcomings in the kitchen, she's an organized mouse, and the dried ginger is neatly sorted with several other bottles of related 'warm' spice. "Take a few minutes to boil the water. I'll try and be a delight in the meantime."

"So the stew is self-defense?" Sivaine asks, watching Layne go about her work with a muzzy sort of expression. "I can't imagine I seem particularly female right now. Or maybe too much," she mutters, starting forward belatedly to help - or at least fetch her own mug. Her knowledge of the kitchen is microscopically detailed where tea-making is concerned, but merely microscopic outside that. "You seem well as ever. With a distinct lack of pink and ruffles, I'll note."

Layne beetles her brows at the thought. Uf. She's put up with a lot, but pink is where she draws the line. "So far the cake-planning has taken up their free time. Keep an eye on y'r sister-- if you see any suspicious sketches of cake-like objects, notify us." The kettle gurgles as Layne pours meltwater into it from todays bucket of snow. The well is somewhat crunchier than usual in this weather. "The stew is him having ideas without planning them through." Filled, and hung on a hook over the fire, the kettle swings gently and throws back a reddish halo from the polished copper. It looks like a small lantern bobbing in the night. "You look as well as the next corpse washed up on the beach after nine days in the sea. Why do you put yourself through this?"

"The only sketches I've seen have been wedding gowns, unless she's planning something of near-mythic proportions with marzipan." Again, Sivaine closes her eyes, and tugs a three-legged stool over to her spot near the tea cupboard with a grunt. She sinks down on it and leans over her knees, both arms wrapped around her midsection. "'d rath'r look like a corpse than be one," she muffles as her ponytail works itself halfway loose, looking like an ashy brown cloud draped over her shoulder. "Someone in the family needs to fight."

"Ok, so, that's no reason to put y'rself through nine laps around hades with a side of inquisition every day." Layne doles out a little of the dried ginger, the smell distant and smoky. "I've seen other people learn to fight without -that- kind of self-torture." Up on her toes, putting the bottle away, she faces away. The kettle over the fire mumbles restlessly.

"Have you?" Sivaine asks rhetorically while she studies the striations in the flagstones. Her expression tightens for a moment, then relaxes, and she dips her paw into her pocket, retrieving her ring. "Zade's definitely nothing to do with this, anyway. It'll pass." She raises her head, whiskers twitching at the scent, and surveys her friend carefully. "I told you we found a house?"

"You did. About nine-fifths of a second ago." Layne's math. Her gaze sweeps over the other mouse, and she shrugs, thrusting her paws into her pockets just in time to have to take them out again as the kettle screams for attention. Siv is changing the subject. Layne knows Siv is changing the subject. There's a kettle sputtering and starting to /ping/ from overboiling. Siv gets away with it. "Right. A house. Got walls? A floor? Roof doesn't leak?" Suddenly hazy behind the steam as she pours a mug, Layne's voice is mildly curious.

Sivaine goes through her mental checklist. "Walls, floor, roof needs work. Not too far from here - ngh," she winces, and doesn't reply for a time. "Hour or so's walk north." She watches the mug with grey-faced anticipation, ears pressed back. "Near a pond running down to the River Moss, even, though I don't know where he'll get the anvil from." She quirks a funny little smile. "Visiting distance."

"Could always use a certain mouse's -hard head- for an anvil," shoots Layne, about to return the smirk and suddenly thinking the better of it. "I'm n't up for parole. Not visit'ng anyone." Clamshell snapping shut, there. Nobody's seen Layne outside the abbey walls since she arrived. She frowns and plops the ginger into the mug, something she should have done before adding the water, since a fat round droplet bounces out onto the table. It beads there like a small mirror.

"I suppose every childhood ought to contain a few good horrors. ..although 'Uncle Zade' should suffice and then some." It'd be a drawl if Siv was having a better time of things. She straightens with a smooth rolling motion of her back and rolls her head from one side to the other, hearing her vertebrae mutter. "No? You and Lucas could make a day of it. There's a spare room, unless old books give you nightmares."

Her eyes narrowed to flinty chips, Layne pushes the mug towards Sivaine at the end of three fingers. "Your. Tea." Layne's not quite as adept at changing the subject, and generally relies on props. Be thankful she didn't break out the lemon zester or something.

"Right." Should she be suspicious of that mug? Has something dreadful suffused through the pottery and globbed at the bottom, gooey and baleful? Sivaine reaches for the mug anyway. "No visits. We'll visit you," she backpedals, and sips - carefully at first, then with more determination. "..sorry to bring it up?"

Layne's head bobs once, her hair swaying, then falling back. "That'd be nice," she agrees, thawing by inches until the only sign of an awkward topic is the whip-lashing of her tail. She never could discipline her tail. Her eyes soften from flint to obsidian. Hey, that's two standards softer on the Mohs scale! "So, uh, when did you plan to move, anyhow?"

Sivaine rests her feet on the bottom rung of the stool, which hitches her knees up like some long-limbed perching bird. "Not for a while. It needs work. Furniture. A hammock. Heh. Hmm." She dips her muzzle into the mug and drinks deep, lashes fluttering shut. "And it depends on how things go. My aunt's busy enough; I'd rather be around healers late spring."

A gust of breath as Layne exhales, calming, and by the time she's poured herself a mug of steaming water, she's fine. She swallows a mouthful of it, visibly gulping the scalding liquid. Yes, hot water, nothing added. Layne's... weird, sometimes. Like during any months that have vowels in their name. The full import of Siv's comment escapes her, at least for now. Sivaine does not glow, unless you choose to spell that word with an extra 'er' on the end. "Oh? Moving on to the advanced warrior classes then, are we?" Layne is picturing contusions and fractures.

"Moving to archery, I think. Less chance of getting whacked somewhere I shouldn't," Sivaine hums into her tea, then squints at a floating bit of ginger. "Oh," she says flatly, a sort of verbal headsmack. "I didn't tell you." The tall mouse quirks a brow, considering Layne over the rim of her mug with slightly narrowed eyes. "Would you two like to be godparents?"

Blink. Blink blink. Layne's a little slow today, and her first thought is that Siv plans to adopt Tam... that doesn't make sense, since Harper already did... Thiiiiiink Layne... Her jaw drops a little, and there's a moment where she's very shocked and small and utterly without guile. "You're not. Y'r kidding-- you and Nathan aren't even married yet!" Could it be that Layne, streetwise and brash, hasn't given a thought to the birds and the bees? Well, we should hope she's thought of the bees or she's in the wrong line of work.

Sivaine's ears lay back and she gives Layne a very old look. It's practically fossilized, and it dares, just /dares/ Layne to make a comment about family values, or things nice girls don't do, but it's likely she's heard them all. Repeatedly. From herself. "I'm rather aware of that fact," she replies dryly, draining the last of her mug with a demure expression. "I don't care. /I'm not my mother./" The lady doth protest too much.

Layne's already got both paws out, palms defensive and placating. "I'm just /saying/ is all. -I'm- not y'r mother, either." Does Layne look like the sort who'd preach morality? Ethics, maybe, but that's a largely unrelated topic. She picks up her mug and all but hides behind it, her eyes seeing things in the steam. "So. Uh. Spring, huh?"

"I know what you're saying." It comes fast and defensive, almost growly, and Sivaine glowers. But, you know, radiantly and full of joy, like an expecting mother should be. And if you believe that, there's a bridge in Southsward for sale. She subsides near immediately, with an abashed little "Sorry. Spring, if nothing goes wrong. And that was a serious question, by the way."

Kesnya calls out over her shoulder, "No, thanks, I'm going to get a late dinner and-- Oh," she stops the sentence as she sees how occupied the kitchen is. "Pardon my shouting, ha! I'm just in here to grab a bite to eat, I'll be out of your way in just a moment."

Layne purses her mouth. "Yeah, you're picking up Zade's charming manners, too. I didn't mean -anything-. I'm not a child-- I know--" She breaks off as the stranger enters. Her eyes flick to try and meet Siv's, to send the wordless signal. /Tell me about it later./ She nods cautiously. "There's some barley soup over the fire," she calls to the hare. "Help y'rself." Layne stands, and taking her mug in paw, heads scullery-ward. Siv gets a final look and a muffled, "I'm flatter'd. I'll tell Lucas-- thanks."

As Kesnya enters from one direction, Darcy comes in through the breezeway. She has a Harper in tow. "So as it turns out my dad had given me the /alcoholic/ one. And I was maybe half the size I am now. Needless to say - disaster." She looks /extremely/ worn out as she glances around the kitchen, tossing a smile at SivLayne and then Kesnya. She gestures Harper toward a vacant stool at a counter. "Sit, I'll dredge us up something."

Kesnya smiles at Layne, giving a quick bend of her knees in one half of a curtsy. That having been done, she bee-lines for the soup, locating a bowl and a ladle. She does take the time, however, to greet Darcy and Harper. "Good evening," she offers, friendly enough as she ladles soup into a bowl, careful not to spill any of the hot liquid.

Harper looks half-dead! It's kind of unfortunate. But he sits as ordered, one paw reaching up to scruff at the back of his neck. He glances around the room - spies Sivaine and Kesnya. They are both given a nod, and the less familiar Kesnya what smile he can manage. "'Llo," he greets.

Sivaine looks properly mortified by that criticism, and opens her mouth to try for some defense, but then they're being besieged on all sides by long-eared invaders. Siv nods to the other mouse in silent acknowledgment and scans over the entering trio from her perch - a stool by the tea cupboard. She nods carefully, mouth quirking back in a cautious proto-smile for Darcy. "Kesnya. Evening."

Darcy is running on not much sleep - does it show? She's in a slightly energetic state for this reason. Two inches from collapse, maybe. "What, three different kinds," she mutters at a cook, shaking her head. "You can't expect me to make /decisions/. Just." A thoughtful glance goes at Harper. "One of each, please-and-thanks." A moment later she returns to the buck with a plate - three pasties on it, each with a different kind of filling. One may or may not be meant as dinner food. ".. I have no idea what they are, but they smell nice, right?" she aims at him, holding out the plate for him to take his pick.

Harper eyes the pasties like they may contain some breed of poison. He reaches out, gently plucking out the middle one. He brings it to his muzzle, sniffing carefully. He... shrugs, nods. Takes an unappetizing bite!

Kesnya hisses in through her teeth as a bit of soup splashes up on her paw, but other than that the pouring goes uneventfully. She places the ladle aside and the bowl on the counter while she locates a spoon to eat it with. "Sivaine, good evening to you, too." She retrieves a spoon from one of the many drawers, returning to her bowl and apparently deciding not to leave, as she sort of stands by, spooning some soup up and blowing on it to cool it.

"I haven't seen you since the Patrol left, I think." Sivaine looks to the door, the soup, her empty mug. A decision is reached and she slides off the stool, steadying herself against it a moment. Her gaze goes to Darcy and Harper.

Well he's eating. This is good. Darcy picks one for herself also and sets the plate down, leaning her back into the counter and glancing around. Sivaine gets a sort of exhausted salute. With the pasty. She just holds it in one hand afterward, kind of sagging a little.

Harper does not relish the eating, but he's doing it. He looks around the room, and then his eyes close. "... So how is everyone?" Sociable, mm-hm! That's Harper to the tippy toes.

"..tea?" Sivaine suggests, brow creasing with some concern. The mouse has been out exercising to judge by her less-than-pristine state and the tired way she reaches for a bowl. "Well enough." She hesitates on any elaboration.

"Oh, I've been around," is Kesnya's response. She decides she wants to gather up her bowl and set it nearby Sivaine, but it looks like she's standing up by the time she makes it over there. "I'm doin' well, Brother. Uh," it looks like she's about to continue that with an unsure remark towards the Brother, but Sivaine cuts her off with the tea offer.

"Tea would be nice," Harper murmurs. Looks a little askance at Kesnya.

Darcy glances at Harper, but doesn't comment. She expects him to basically tell her whenever he wants to go crawl back into his hole. "I'll take some," she mutters, examining the pasty she holds. A bit of the flaky crust is tugged off and crumbled between two fingers.

"Mm." Sivaine sets her bowl down to rummage in the cupboard, selecting various spices and blends of herbs. Ginger for herself, sprinkled in with a blend of chamomile, and.. mint for the rest of them, she decides on a whim, setting out three more mugs in a neat row. She leaves a space of silence for Kesnya to fill.

"You two don't look so well, though," Kesnya continues from her beginning before. "Specially you, Brother. You're not ill, are ya?"

"We've been uh. Fasting," is Darcy's mumbled explanation. "Vigilizing. Self-induced insomnia. So nice little snow flurry we had this afternoon, yeah?" Her eyes shut. She looks ready to drop.

Harper shakes her head. "I'm not-" His eyes shift to Darcy. He nods, allowing as this is so. He elaborates for Kes' sake. "I've had some bad news, but I'd rather not speak of it." His voice is quiet.

There's a little collection of crumbs on the counter now. Darcy is picking her pasty apart and not actually eating any of it. "Whenever you're ready, Harp," she says to him, softly.

Sivaine moves about in the background. Over to the hearth she goes, wrapping a rag 'round the handle of the cast-iron kettle and hefting it with ease back to the table. Steam rises in plumes as she pours, eyes lowered to her work. "Have /you/ eaten, Darcy?"

"No, she hasn't," Harper says with half-hearted reproach in his voice.

One long ear twitches. Darcy shrugs.

Kesnya nods slowly, though fretting a little. "I see. Alright." She worries at the front of her shirt briefly as she spoons some soup into her mouth, gulping it down. "If you haven't, you should probably eat some soup. It's really good, and warm if you've been outside...?" She's trying to be helpful.

Darcy squints a little at Kesnya. "Thanks. Thanks. I'll remember the.. soup."

Sivaine sets two mugs down for the fatigued pair, advising, "Physician, heal thyself," over the sharp, tingly scent of mint. "I'll fetch you bowls. Then sleep. You don't look like you've closed your eyes in days."

That subdued look flicks to Sivaine. "/I/ am not my priority," she mutters. "I'll sleep later."

Harper's eyes shift to Darcy. Ten minutes, eh? Ah well, if he's being honest with himself, he's starving. The pasty only managed to awaken the beast. He nods his thanks to Siv, sipping the tea. "Thank you," he murmurs. Just all around to everyone, really.

And finally Darcy's gaze settles on Harper. "Whenever you want to go," she reiterates, and drops onto a stool next to him. The pasty is set down, and her hands press at the edge of the counter. Keeping herself upright.

Kesnya smiles in thanks to Sivaine, although the concern is still placed on the duo. "...Let me get you two some soup," she concludes, heading over to grab two more bowls.

"Please eat something," the buck mutters to Darcy.

Darcy shuts her eyes. "I'll eat when you sleep." So there. She smirks a little.

"Don't make me take over. It'll be unpleasant for all of us," Sivaine warns, and she means it. "Both of you eat, and both of you sleep, and- thank you, Kesnya." She nods to the doe, and retrieves Darcy's pasty.

"Please?" Harper's /face/. Look at his face. It says please.

Kesnya fills up two bowls, grabbing two spoons and placing them in, holding them up and bringing them over to the two unhealthy-looking hares. She sets them down carefully, like if she puts them down too hard it might scare them away.

"Bad idea," Darcy mutters, eyes still shut. "Why'd you let me talk you into this." They open. She cringes. Her voice is gruff and low. ".. oh bloody fine, you look pathetic. And then we can go?" Sivaine and Kesnya's efforts get not much response.

Harper picks up the bowl of soup, ladling spoonfuls into his mouth. He nods his quiet thanks to Kesnya, even manages a small smile. None of this is her fault! "Thank you - Kesnya, right?"

As for Darcy, he just looks at her. Shrugs. Nods. "... You don't have to, you know. I'll be all right. I'm, you know. I'm all right." Lame shrug.

"Harp. I'm elbow-deep already, right?" Darcy shrugs. "May as well stick it out."

Kesnya nods to Harper, with a smile and a small bow. "Yes, Kesnya. Do either of you need anything else?" Her voice might come off as overly helpful, but they look kind of awful, so.

Sivaine withdraws, with no further comment, and goes to fill a bowl for herself with the barley soup. Her ears are angled back a fraction.

Harper's eyes close. He looks rather pale, all of a sudden. His jaw works, silently. He... shakes his head. "No. No, m'good."

Darcy shakes her head. "No. Thanks. No. You both can .. really. Nnh. We're fine." Muttery.

Kesnya nods slowly. "Alright, just let me know if you change your mind," she insists. You can only worry a certain amount before you have to let it go, and that's what Kesnya does, returning to her own soup which, by now, is at her preferred temperature for soup, so that worked out, too.

"I don't know half of what's going on," Sivaine remarks, cradling her soup bowl between her hands. "I'll stay out of things as long as both of you are upright and functional. Just don't.. mmh." She rummages for a spoon and sinks it into the broth.

Darcy just eyes the bowl in front of her with a complete and total lack of appetite.

Harper stands, rather suddenly. He jostles his soup, some spilling out onto his paw. It's, well. Kind of hot. "... I'm. I'm gonna go. Darce? You stay here - enjoy your soup. I'll. I'll - come around later." He sets his bowl down, appetite suddenly gone.

Darcy blinks and lifts her head. "I'm not even /eating/ soup much less /enjoying/ it.." she mutters, standing, pushing the bowl away as she does so. Her brow furrows with anxiety. "Harp?"

Kesnya's eyes follow Harper as he stands, then dart to Sivaine, then Darcy, unsure what level of involvement is appropriate here. She's stopped eating for the moment, though.

The tea, and then a tray; Sivaine selects these things and arranges them, glancing at the two every now and then. But whatever's going on between them is staying there, and unless there's some life-or-death situation it doesn't seem right to intrude.

"... NO," Harper grits out between clenched teeth. "NO, Darcy. Stay. I'm goin' for a walk." And he turns without looking at Siv or Kesnya. No goodbyes.

Darcy's ears pin down. She has a general 'wtf' expression on her face, eyeing Harper, one hand against the counter. She rubs at her face, draws a breath, and heads after him.

Kesnya's head pauses over a spoonful of soup at the scene unfolding beside her. She glances at Siv once more, unsurely.

Harper glances back just to make sure that - ARGH! Harper makes a sound of frustration. "DARCY, I want to be alone, okay? Okay?" His paw is on the door, lightly pushing.

Sivaine's eyes shift to Kesnya. She shakes her head, and moves to find the tray of pasties earlier raided.

Kesnya stifles a nervous cough, occupying herself with her soup. Good... Good soup.

Darcy stops a few paces back from him, with a slight jerk. She lifts her muzzle to fix him with a hard look. "No. .. not when you're suddenly ..." She gestures. How do you even describe what just happened? ".. no. I mean, you can want it all you want but I'm coming."

Harper's eyes shift briefly to Sivaine, briefly beseeching. But then his eyes shift away and he just. Grimaces. "Darcy? I don't want you right now." Ohhhhh. Snap.

Kesnya's brows raise high, despite her best efforts to ignore the spat going on over there. Ahem, hem. Good... Soup...

There's no immediate reaction, but her expression hardens to a glare. Darcy draws a slight breath. "Yeah? Really? Well get the hell over it." She fairly hisses this at him.

Does she want to step into this? Should she? Sivaine's jaw sets, ears laid back and shoulders hunched. She opts for a swig of her tea, which is cooling, and she clears her throat.

Harper's ears fracture back. His expression is pained, and his eyes slide away. Oh man you're such a great guy, Harp. His eyes close. He flinches, ever so slightly. "... /You/ get the hell over it." It's like the words are being ripped out of him. Without another word he pushes the door open, exiting.

Darcy shuts her eyes. She stands there, hands coming up against her face, taking a few shallow breaths. She sways a little on her feet.

The insides of Kesnya's ears turn just a little red at this latest bit from Harper, and she tries as hard as she can to keep her focus on the soup, maybe Sivaine sometimes, but mostly the soup and the consumption thereof.

".. Darcy?" Sivaine ventures cautiously after a while.

Darcy shakes her head. She blinks slowly, muzzle lowered, staring at nothing off to the side for a little while. Then she steps forward, hand against the door, shoving it open and going outside also.

Kesnya's unfamiliarity with Darcy and Harper makes her rather uncomfortable in this situation. She's drained her bowl of soup in the near-exclusive attention she'd been paying it before, and stands to refill it. Anything to keep from breaking the silence or being inappropriate.

Sivaine's eyes narrow and her mouth twists to the side in a frustrated, unhappy shape. A low, unintelligible sound escapes her, a word only half-born. "What the hell," she exhales, and glances to Kesnya. Awkward bystanders, party of two? Your table is ready.

Kesnya seems to exhale a breath that'd been held for the last several moments. "Oh my /dear/ goodness, I don't know what all that was about, but am I glad it's over!"