Even a Blind Squirrel Finds a Nut Sometimes
Even a Blind Squirrel Finds a Nut Sometimes
~//~A Tale of Redwall~\\~
Players
- Mirabella
- Linnea
- Benar
RW Abbey: Great Hall
The Great Hall of Redwall Abbey. Countless paw falls have echoed from these stones, and untold numbers of feasts
and merry gatherings have been held here. A table, not nearly so grand or large as its predecessors, but quite
functional for mealtimes, rests near the center of the hall. Chairs exist here aplenty, and they are all of a matching set. High above, the stain glass windows give the Great Hall a beautiful appearance. The glasswork is exceptionally done, crafted by a skilled artist. The floor is clean and swept. A fire is kept burning in the fireplace at almost all times of the day and night, and there are several more comfortable chairs and cushions set up here, of varying sizes. One looks large enough to easily accommodate a badger.
The Tapestry hangs proud and tall, and while the rest of Redwall may still bear the scars of natural disaster, this most famous of Redwall's relics remains unharmed by beast, time, or the elements. The figure of Martin the Warrior seems to be watching over his own with an unchanging, kindly gaze.
Red, blue, orange, green...vibrant patterns of color are painted on the floorstones of Great Hall by the high afternoon sun that is streaming through the stained glass windows.
It's a beautiful morning at Redwall Abbey, and Mirabella is in the midst of carrying out her morning round of chores. The sun streams full through the painted windows of the hall, casting their decadent light upon the flagstones, myriad colors blending with their rosy hues. Through this the mousemaid walks, her step practically a dance of joy, little footpaws carrying her quickly from candle sconce to candle sconce, her skirt bouncing with every stride as a bright smile shimmers from her pretty face.
Were that she could, but Linnea cannot fully appreciate the mousemaid's utter enthusiasm; rather, she is startled by Mirabella's movement when managing down the stairs, stick gently tapping each step before she gingerly sets a footpaw to the floor. She stops at the last step to avoid entering the mouse's path. "I-is this where one meets to break fast?"
Catching sight of the blind squirrel so gingerly making her way down the stairs immediately brightens Mira's smile to near solar levels. She winds and wends her way between the tables and chairs towards the staircase, tucking her basket of candles deeper against her elbow, and waves to the squirrel despite herself. "Why, good morning, there!" she coos, with a face so radiant Linnea might sense some of its warmth. "It's ever so wonderful to meet you. My name is Mirabella, but my friends call me Mira." She leaves off 'and everyone is my friend,' but it's certainly implied by her tone.
Linnea nearly stumbles backward, lashes fluttering as a ray of sun breaks across their frost. "Good m-morning," she returns, settling her paws on her guide, fingers clenching as she forces a smile. Her inner tension seems to erupt through stomach grumbles. "Mirabella, it is n-/nice/ to meet you," she continues but her gaze falters, eyelids shutting over the dim rubies. She adjusts their position, fixing her stare downward. "I am called Linnea by all whom I've m-met." Aw, does that mean she has no friends? She bends a knee, politely curtsying.
"It's just marvelous to make your acquaintance, Miss Linnea," Mirabella chimes, nodding sincerely, one paw half-reaching to steady the squirrel as she seems to stumble from the force of Mira's cheer. "And those who you've met chose a positively beautiful name," the mousemaid adds, beaming. Delicate ears swivel forward slightly at the grumbling stomach. "Oh, seasons, you must be starving! Did no one feed you last night?" The horror! "We must get you some breakfast right away."
"Oh, it was my parents who chose the n-name," Linnea shyly begins, footpaws struggling to unroot themselves. She relies on her stick to pry her forward, ferrule crunching against the stone. "... the abbey is not as d-dark at night as where I lived before, but the- the stairs." She pauses, as if silence could better convey her thoughts concerning the stairs. "I stayed in the dormitories all evening and woke later than I intended. A bit of, um, just a bit of bread would be m-more than enough. Might there be any around?"
"'Just a bit of /bread?/'" Mirabella's voice smacks of scandal as she repeats the sentence, a shocked look splashed all over her pretty face. "Why, Miss Linnea! This is Redwall Abbey!" She latches onto the squirrelmaid's paw immediately, taking only the barest precautions regarding her unsteady, shy demeanor and very nearly drags her forwards, heading straight for the kitchens. "I will not rest until I personally see you stuffed with all the most frightfully delicious food you've seen in your entire life!" The 'seen' hits her a moment later, and she awkwardly trips back to rephrase. "Or... or smelt, anyway."
Linnea, unaware of Mirabella's verbal slippage, twists an ear at the word 'smelt'. "Do you mean 'spelt'?" she wonders, brow wrinkled as a raisin, time remaining still as she ponders what curious delights could possibly be crafted from mere spelt; and meanwhile, she is dragged along by the mouse, a passage in which she poses no impediment other than a clattering, flailing birch stick.
Grateful for the chance to redeem herself from the supposed faux pas, Mirabella sighs happily at the question. "Oh of course we have spelt rolls and pastries," she answers hurriedly, moving the subject and her feet right along. They round the corner into the kitchen, where a wave of aromas launches an olfactory bombardment. The mousemaid grins, positively brimming with excitement. "You just wait right here, and I'll make you up a nice big plate of goodies. Doesn't that sound nice?" Before Linnea can answer, Mira is already off, bustling around the room, gathering a tray, some plates, a bowl, an earthen mug, some rolls, nuts, berries, opening ovens, closing cabinets, and procuring pie.
Now would be a good time to follow through on any escape plans, though Linnea's knowledge of the abbey hinders swift getaway. She instead tunes to the mouse's activity, paw grasping the kitchen doorway for stability, face contorting as she encounters many queer sounds unknown to a simple country squirrel. The metal clanks of the ovens warrant a worried query, "I-is everything all right in there, Miss Mirabella?" She unlatches her grip and tests the ground inside the kitchen, gaining confidence with the steady clacks, dulcet aromas coaxing her further. "I can h-help you if you need another paw."
"Oh, pish," Mirabella replies to her offer to help, much too caught up in the business of making someone else happy to be bothered with something like being helped. "It's quite alright. No trouble at all, really," she assures the squirrelmaid, rifling through a drawer for silverware. A few select utensils get clattered onto the tray, and then she's pouring something into the cup. "We'll be right back in the Hall before you know it."
"I really shouldn't spend too much t-time," voices Linnea, though her nose leads her nearer yet to the mousemaid's bustle. "I really must speak with the abbot today. I've been here n-near a /week/ and I've yet to find the abbot." She drags a paw along the wall, anchoring herself to the room's perimeter so that she may withdraw her birch, taking care not to accidentally trip anyone in the more confined area. "How /big/ is this abbey that one may go so long as a /week/ without finding another? ...is that raspberry I smell?"
"Oh, I'm sure Father Abbot is around /some/where," Mirabella replies, gathering up the tray and heading back towards Great Hall, where she settles everything down on the table. "Come on," she encourages the squirrel, waving her over enthusiastically. "I've got you a nice little meal here. There's some spelt rolls, blueberry crumble, strawberry cordial, oatmeal with honey, and a nice fistful of almonds." Her basket is still somehow clinging to the crook of her arm. "The honey here is just terribly delicious," she adds, with a serious nod. "My friend Miss Krystal gathers it."
"Oh! I met Miss Krystal just a few days ago. I wandered into the orchards and heard the most peculiar noise," indulges Linnea, oblivious to the mouse's waving. Her stutter is oddly absent; Mirabella's radiance must have some mystical effect. "I'd always wondered what honey tastes like, but don't you think it's a bit... strange? To eat what belongs... to the bees? Do they not mind?" The squirrel is clearly suffering from existential crisis, though short-lived. She follows the mousemaid's voice back into the hall, stick again prodding the stones below, and stops when the dull thuds change to resounding clacks against wood. She reaches out, searching for the table's edge.
Mirabella boldly reaches out to place a dainty paw on Linnea's, guiding it to the tabletop. "There you are, Miss Linnea," she chirps, her voice shimmering in the light of the hall, resounding in the cavernous space. "The bees are very generous to us, and I cannot help but suspect it's due in large part to Miss Krystal's friendship. She's ever so kind to them, and always makes sure their hives are well cared for. It's just wonderful the way she manages everything. It's been seasons since we had this much honey." Her laugh tinkles as her nose wrinkles with delight, plopping herself down in the seat across from Linnea's. "I love honey, don't you?"
The door from outside opens and Abbot Benar walks inside, lifting his habit as he steps in out of the summer rain storm that is turning the once beautiful summers day into a rather dreary one. He pauses to shake water out of his habit and closes the doors as thunder rumbles distantly.
"I- I suppose we'll f-find out," utters Linnea, blinking away the brightness of Mirabella's twittering as she settles into a seat. She busies herself with balancing her birch, first attempting to set it against the table, then deciding it would be best set against the back of her seat, secured by the nook and her tail. Gossamer whiskers flit at the smells, and the squirrel's stomach lets out an anticipatory growl. "Miss Mirabella, what should I try first?"
"Why, /everything!/" The mousemaid giggles to herself, having made such a tremendous joke. "It's all so wonderful," Mira gushes, sticking her finger in the oatmeal and licking the honey off of it. "Why not the almonds?" Even blind squirrels find a nut sometimes, after all. "Good morning, Father Abbot!" Her cheery cry rings out across the space, her natural brightness overpowering the gloom of the sudden storm. "My, but the weather changes quickly. It's ever so fascinating the way the clouds move around and all that, don't you think, Miss Linnea?"
Benar looks around and waves a paw, "MIrabella, good day to you," he makes his way over slowly, sandals squelching as outside the sky flickers with light and rumbles with thunder again. "So nice to see you and everyone else too. I hope you are all well and dry?"
"Dry." Mirabella rolls the word over in her mouth. "Dry. Dry...." Her eyes spark suddenly, and she starts up. "My rosemary! It's already been watered, it'll be /swamped/ at this rate! I'm so sorry everyone, I need to go /now./" The mousemaid positively springs from her chair, taking off for the breezeway at a speedy clip, tripping over a chair and spilling candles on the floor. She pauses to gather up three or four and chuck them back into her basket, and then she's gone.
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