Rory
Good thing about today: the weather was clear and chilly, a cold snap having happened overnight. Pale and thin sunlight streaked down from a mostly cloudless sky, and with temperatures just below freezing the usual muddy hell that passed for roads in and out of the Settlement—and in it, too—were frozen and uneven. Upside? No mud-caked boots! Downside? The frozen ridges were a health hazard. Rory had already stumbled a handful of times just because he hadn't been paying attention to where he was putting his feet.
He was on the way to see if he could pick up a couple of more orders with Deepfrost just around the corner; fur-lined boots, new, thicker gloves, patching your pouch, goat-hair socks, whatever have you. Rory didn't work with exotic fur—unless he got something off a trapper—but let him tell you: goat might be a bit coarse, but having your feet embraced by goat wool come the cold season? Absolutely delightful, and absolutely toasty for your toes.
Rory rounded a corner. Passed a small alley between two houses. Took two more steps. Heard the terrifying sound of a pack of vicious gourds, and began to turn to face them just in time as a butternut squash smashed into the back of his knee; he stumbled down on one knee, only to feel the next one strike the small of his back.
And so they came at him, relentless and tiny and compact, bruising him and momentarily stunning him into curling up on his side, with his arms around his head as their fleshy, seedy saliva drooled onto his clothes with each soft-lipped bite and pummeling.
Motherfucker, Rory thought to himself after a couple of seconds.
[ ForAmalia and anyone <3 Pls come rescue Rory and make him bake something with his evil assailants. ]
He was on the way to see if he could pick up a couple of more orders with Deepfrost just around the corner; fur-lined boots, new, thicker gloves, patching your pouch, goat-hair socks, whatever have you. Rory didn't work with exotic fur—unless he got something off a trapper—but let him tell you: goat might be a bit coarse, but having your feet embraced by goat wool come the cold season? Absolutely delightful, and absolutely toasty for your toes.
Rory rounded a corner. Passed a small alley between two houses. Took two more steps. Heard the terrifying sound of a pack of vicious gourds, and began to turn to face them just in time as a butternut squash smashed into the back of his knee; he stumbled down on one knee, only to feel the next one strike the small of his back.
And so they came at him, relentless and tiny and compact, bruising him and momentarily stunning him into curling up on his side, with his arms around his head as their fleshy, seedy saliva drooled onto his clothes with each soft-lipped bite and pummeling.
Motherfucker, Rory thought to himself after a couple of seconds.
[ For
