02.11.09 - Mud and Puddles

Location: Redwall Entry and Open Ground

Characters Involved: Darcy, Harper

Oh, freezing rain is a good word for what they've just stepped out into. Darcy flicks her hood up. "Was this my idea?"

Harper grins, ducking his head. He has no such benefit of a hood. He puts his arms over his head, laughing. "Yes!"

Darcy tilts her head up, flashing a quick grin. ".. race?"

Harper gives Darcy a look like she's crazy. "/Race/?" He snorts.

Darcy just grins that much wider. "Come /on/ Harp," she coaxes, hand on his arm, tugging as she takes a step out into the rain. "Bell tower or something?"

".. Oh fine," Harper laughs. And then he tugs back on Darcy's arm... and gets a headstart! His cackles can be heard clearly.

"Hey! Cheat!" Darcy calls after him, and lunges into a sprint after him over the soggy ground.

Harper snickers, big feet bringing up biiig splashes! "All's fair!" he shouts back.

Darcy is splattered with .. mud. Great. And then she /skids/ and nearly, nearly, not quite falls into it. "All's fair in /what/, Harper!" the doe calls toward the buck, getting her balance again and running after, though he's definitely on his way to winning their bell tower race. "Nnhh."

Harper isn't a /totally/ poor sport. He fakes a stumble at the end, allowing Darcy a chance to catch up while he endeavors not to fall flat on his face in the mud for his chivalry.

Darcy skids near the entrance to the tower, reaching out one hand to snatch at Harper's arm, the other for some sort of .. handhold. Thing. It presses to the wall of the tower and she wobbles, glaring down into the muddy puddle she's now standing in. "... uhhg." Grinning.

Harper is just straight out cackling. "This was a /bad/ idea."

Darcy's fingers flex on his arm as she eyes him, then the mud, then Harper again. ".. what are you talking about, it was a /brilliant/ idea." She lets him go, leans over.

Her fingers sink down into the mud, curl, and she lifts a handful.

"Darcy I swear on my mother's eventual /grave/ that if you throw that mud at me-"

Splat!

And, of course, it's in the face.

Of course it's his face! Darcy doesn't so much throw is as just. Shove it.

"... you'll what?" she snickers.

Harper doesn't explain, he demonstrates. He picks her up around the waist and throws her over a shoulder. Looks around thoughtfully, eyes squinted as the mud drips from his eyebrows to his cheeks, some into the eyes themselves.

Darcy would be better off if she wasn't so damn /easy/ to lift. But oh no, she is. Lifted, hefted, thrown over his shoulder with a cackling noise that's supposed to be indignant but just sort of fails. "/Harper/!"

Ah, there's a good, Darcy-sized puddle. He knows it's /deep/, too. There's always some standing water in it. Add to that the sleet... He heads over that way.

Darcy twists, looks over her shoulder. Her eyes widen. "Harp! Ack, no, NO HARP! /BAD/!!" Her muddy hands snatch at him, tugging, to no avail at all.

Compared to Darcy, Harper might as /well/ be as big as Zade. He stops at the puddle, lifts her free from his shoulder, and drops her with a splash into the puddle. It should be about up to her chest or so. Mm-hm.

That is a rather impressively sized puddle. Darcy splashes into it, landing on her scut with a little 'eek!' as the muddy water surrounds her, slops up onto her shoulders and head. "... /you/," she splutters, expression more stunned than amused, but certainly not angry. "You. ... /arse/." Oh god the mud. It's seeping!

Is it like sand, only squishy between her toes instead of grating? He hopes so! Harper is wiping at his face with the bottom of his habit, making just the awfulest face ever.

It's .. /everywhere/. Between her toes, in her mouth, plastering down her short hair as Darcy's ears pin back. She pushes her hands into the puddle - ick! - and gets upright, wobbling on the slippery surface, making a face and stepping out of it. This doe is not ruddy anymore, she is decidedly brown. "... nnnh," she mutters, and .. pushes him.

Harper has gotten a /look/ at her, so when she pushes him... he's cackling. Cackling like /mad/. And so he is an easy target and he goes over into the mud like a felled tree. He's still cackling, though.

"It's in your /ears/," he wheezes out as he gasps for breath between cackles.

Darcy snorts! Indignation is all across her face. "I /know/," she mutters, and a moment later the laughter proves infectious. She takes a step, slips, and ends up on her knees. Her hands scoop into the mud and she brings up a double handful, mashing this down onto his chest. Like one kid building a sand castle on top of another.

... mud castle. Whatever.

Harper doesn't even seem to mind at this point. The image of Darcy all muddy is a tension-breaker. "Ha! Haha."

Tension? What tension? Darcy's teeth show white against the dribbling brown of her swamp-monster guise. "... I hate you," she says, and slaps a handful down the neck of his habit. Haha!