An Expected Journey
An Expected Journey
~~//~~ A Tale of Redwall ~~//~~
Players:
- Samara
- Magramba
- Castus
RW Abbey: Kitchen
This is a long, narrow room with five large fireplaces set into one wall, and two equally large wood burning iron stoves set against the opposite wall. Several small, rectangular tables rest in here, but there are no chairs available. The rest of the wallspace is taken up by an entire array of shelves, cupboards, and counters which hold the day-to-day cooking supplies and utensils. The kitchen is clean and well maintained, and more recent efforts have been made toward organization of the cooking ware.
On the wall just right of the door leading into Great Hall is a neatly penned chart, which lists the names of beasts assigned to cooking duty as well as the dates and times they are scheduled. A small note above the chart urges residents to volunteer for at least a slot or two a week.
The curtains around the windows have been drawn against the night. The room is dark and the ovens are cold.
The kitchen is not as silent as it should be for this late at night: clanking, shuffling, and shifting sounds echo in lonely hallways. The source of the disturbance is a very petite squirrel, arms full of vittles, stumbling back and forth from table to larder to pantry and back by the lazy light of a single lantern. Sam is clutching a piece of parchment and a pencil in her mouth, looking it over and scribbling things after every trip back and forth.
The top of a head and a pair of eyes peers around the doorway, the eyes shifting suspiciously around the room. "Sister Agatha...?" Seeing no one but Samara, Magramba proceeds cautiously into the room, checking the corners to make sure the ferocious dormouse isn't lying in wait for him. "Samara? What're you doing here?" Besides taking all the food, of course.
"Wh- " The squirrel maid starts, dropping a small section of cheese. "Oh, hello, Magramba. No, She isn't around." Sam assures him, quickly refocusing her attention to her task. Now she is counting, sorting, arranging...the general busy work of somebeast who is very ready to put the Abbey behind them. "I recieved permissions, don't worry." She waves the parchment in his direction, apparently a list of supplies she would be requiring, without looking up from her counting, lest she lose focus. "My book is finished so I have no more reason to stay here - er, what is it that you're doing down here? Pilfering pies? Burglarizing berries? Abducting apples?"
"They give permission for that?" It actually has the tone of an honest question. Apparently Magramba has been stocking up without asking for seasons now. At her question, his eyes wander to a pie on the sill, looking longingly in its direction for a few long moments before blinking and turning his attention back to Samara. "Something like that," he admits, with a shrug. "The attics get... stuffy, at night, and I uh. Well. You don't really get these sorts of options on the road and all..." The warrior shoves his paws into his trouser pockets, his simple shirt the social compromise of the night. "So where you off to next?"
"Of course they do - how else would they get rid of all the travellers that come in if they cannot restock in order to leave? I suppose the alternative would be stealing, and I doubt the Abbeybeasts want that." Always the know-it-all. She shrugs, following his gaze to the pie. "But I'll be gone come morning, so if you take it there will be no witnesses to turn you in." At least she's helpful. She bends to pick the hunk of cheese that she dropped earlier, rubbing a speck of dirt off it before placing it with the other supplies. "Southsward. My father is there right now - I'll be able to deliver the manuscript to him myself for once."
"Is it really stealing if everything is free?" Magramba gives her a grin, trying hard to convince himself that he hasn't been depriving some poor dormouse of her necessary food. "I really shouldn't," he continues, with a nod at the pie by the window. "Abbey living makes you soft." The phrase seems to set him thinking, biting at his cheek as he watches her. "I'm coming with you," he announces.
"Fair point." She allows with a small smile. "It does indeed - such easy living is unnatural if you ask - wait...what? Why?" She freezes, turning to him in surprise. She already invited one other beast on this journey, and even that she did with hesitation, but the possibility that her self-inflicted solitude be infringed upon by, not one, but /two/ beasts sets her mind whirring. Sure, the rumors of vermin in the surrounding areas is one that had put her on edge, and it was the sole reason she invited Castus - it couldn't hurt to have a body guard; she is transporting something of moderate value, after all. But having it sprung on her like that is not something that the socially - disinclined maid is used to. "You know I'm studying plants right? That's why I travel? And you would want to go with me? Aren't you some hotshot warrior?"
"No, I've closed my ears for all your charming little rants," Magramba replies, with a dead-pan expression that has just a hint of the sardonic sneaking in around the corners of his eyes and in the slight bite of his tone. "It's got nothing to do with you. I'm bored here, and Southsward is nice this time of year. I only stopped to check on things after my snakebite." Anyone who can get into that much trouble so casually is certainly someone to invite on a trip. Any other motivations are left unsaid.
Samara opens and closes her mouth several times, no doubt incapable of choosing which of her rants to throw at him, before she crosses her arms with a huff. Despite her misgivings, there is a certain safety in numbers, and that would make him an asset on this trip. Plus, from what she has heard, he is not an incapable fighter - a skill that she would benefit from on the road. "...Fine, but - wait, you got bit by a snake? How in the hell did that happen? And why are you alive?"
"I sort of... attacked it," Magramba admits, scratching at his chin. "It's really not important. It bit my ear so I'm good." A gifted storyteller, he is. "I suppose I should start packing if you're packing."
"Well...there you go, then." She replies, bemused. She clears her throat, nodding. "Ah - yes - ahem. I will be leaving at sunrise, with or without you." She eyes her list once more, clicking her tongue in time as she double-checks each item. Apparently all is in order, as she begins strategically packing the food into sacks. "Just...you know, carry all your own things and food and whatnot. I'm not used to having company."
"Neither am I," comes the honest reply. A very honest fellow, this Magramba. The squirrel heads towards the door, no doubt on his way to get his haversack and other assorted kit. "I won't give you the typical 'don't slow me down' speech if you spare me the same."
"Fair enough." She nods, tying off the sacks, and allowing a slight grin. She likes 'em gruff. Samara scoops her bags off food up, one in each paw, and throws them over her shoulders before following the other squirrel's example and making her way to the door.
The following morning…
The soft blue of the dying night greets the lone squirrelmaid as she slips out of the Great Hall, her giant pack restored to its rightful place of burden. She approaches the main gate, raising an apologetic paw to the heavy-eyed guards. "Leavin' at this hour, miss?" One of them calls down, his voice breaking the quiet of dawn. "Just about, sir. Sorry to disturb your watch." Her own voice sounds loud in her head, despite her attempts to soften its call. She glances across the lonely entry way, not yet spying the two she is waiting on. The orange sliver of morning has appeared on the horizon, and the blues and grays of the night's shadows begin to sharpen as the light touches them. The botanist nods to the guards, and the gate slowly begins to open.
And there is Castus, standing in the archway of the gate, looking over the claws on his fingers. There's a large pack on his back and he's laden with the essentials of a traveler, bow and arrows slung around him and other 'just in case' items stowed safely away. He glances up at Samara and pushes off the wall, smirking. "Oh," he says, as if surprised. "So you'll be joining me on the road south, then? What a happy coincidence we'd both be getting up to travel on the exact same morning."
Magramba emerges from the Champion's cottage, a small haversack hung loosely on his back in stark contrast to the other two. He thumps his sword into its sheath as he steps through the door, already looking grimy despite only putting his gear on an hour ago. "'Bout time you lot showed up," he grumps, adjusting the sling of his arrow quiver as he walks towards the opening gate.
Samara smiles despite herself. "I'm surprised, myself. Maybe I should leave some other time so I don't have to run into you as much." The familiar sound of grumping catches her off guard and she turns, pleasantly surprised that her company is actually of a timely sort (a rare quality in travelling companions these days...not that Sam would have much experience with that). With a grin, she adjusts a strap of her pack and gives a last minute wiggle to make sure that everything is tied down tight enough, and then nods with air of finality towards the road. "Shall we, then?
Castus nods to the gate. "Wasting time here," he says. "Come on Mag, at least *try* not to act like a grouch. Ooh! Maybe I could start singing! Would that help?" Clearly it wouldn't, but Castus has one of those 'I know I'm not helping' grins on his face.
"Snake might change his skin, but the scales stay the same," Magramba replies, citing the old adage as support for his continued grumpiness. "Let's get on the road already. If I have to listen to you two flirt it might as well be walking." Still got that classic tact of his.
It's a strange dynamic, as Sam is used to being the grumpy one in any given situation, but now this older squirrel comes along to take her place. Despite a mild identity crisis and the looming death of her precious solitude, Sam offers a lazy rebuttal to Mag's accusation. "Funny." She smirks "I was just about to tell you two the same thing." And with that she is on the road, with at least half of an idea on where she is going.
Castus sighs and puts a paw on his forehead. "Alas, Sam, good Magramba has always been immune to my charms. I tried following him around, emulating him, being his favorite little punching bag, everything, but it didn't work! Should I tell you about the time when he got overpowered by an angry mouse in the kitchen, though, because *that* was hilarious..." And on he chatters as they step out of the gate.
There was more, but radio wasn’t on after our room change…. Whoops.
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