blind eyes

Morgen

Just cause it was Longheat didn't mean the wrangler wanted to be anywhere near the water. Down by the boondocks the mosquitos were so aggressive y'might as well have started callin' em ascended for how much blood they'd take outta you. So it was that despite the heat Morgen was in long sleeves and jeans. He was sweating profusely mind you, but at least nothin' could get down to his skin to give him a bite. No bugs, anyways.

With a large black colt by his side, the wrangler stroked the unicorn's neck to try and keep it calm while they waited for the cargo ship to arrive that would take it to Torchline. The youngster was full of itself, prancing around the wrangler in circle after circle, sweatin' itself up into a froth. Rolling his eyes and trying to keep his cool, Morgen just kept murmuring soothing things to it, knowing it wouldn't do a lick of good.

All at once the colt lunged to the side and froze, ears pointed forward and neck curled and taught. Snorting loudly, it warily eyed part of the scrub brush that gave way to the marshy rim of the water. "Fuck's got you so antsy?"

Now it seems to me some fine things have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you can't get

JACK

Cargo ship. Sure, sure. Jack'll do a lot for the right price - and that includes, apparently, shipping a gods damned horse to Torchline. If it hadn't been comparatively close and if the buyer hadn't paid them a truly filthy amount for what's really a very small bit of work, he'd have refused. But given that all the necessary shit (wranglers included) is on board at no extra cost to him or his crew, whatever.

And the ship has a trick up its sleeve, besides.

We'll say it's evening - doesn't make a difference to the heat and the mosquitos, after all - and with the stars just beginning to peep overhead, the Ark starts her descent from the clouds. And if the colt is spooked by whatever's at the water's edge, well, wait 'til he gets a load of this. Coming to a gentle hover a short distance from where Morgen waits with his cargo, it doesn't take long before a hatch opens towards the back of the ship, and a sturdy ramp begins to lower down.

believer, believe it or not you'll know
when it ends and how it goes

Morgen

Morgen had seen a lot of things in his life, and really, a flyin' ship shouldn't have been enough to make his jaw drop, and yet here he was, lookin' like a fuckin' trout as the Ark dipped down from the skies. "Why in the fuck-" He began to whisper, before the colt spooked properly and tried to race the fuck back to the herd.

No noob when it came to this sort of fuckery, the wrangler dug the heels of his boots into the soft earth and leaned his weight back. Luckily he was wearin' gloves or else the rope would have burned through his fingers somethin' fuckin' awful. As it was he was able to hold onto it, haulin' back with all of his might to keep the colt from galloping off.

"Hey-" He yelled loudly toward the ship. "This is a unicorn, not a pegasus. Yer gonna have to land to load."

Now it seems to me some fine things have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you can't get

JACK

Listen, Morgen, Jack's more of a delivery guy than a messenger, but either way don't fuckin' shoot him, alright? In the captain's defence (and this is a rarity, for him to even have one), he doesn't know shit about horses, but even he raised his eyebrows at the prospect of loading the animal onto the Ark at the Boondocks. Because he might be no equestrian, but he's a seasoned fuckin' sailor, and he's not mooring his ship anywhere near the shallows to turn into another wreck.

And so down comes the ramp from the cargo hold of an Ark that's majestically hovering above ground, and down come a few people from it (Rich Guy Minions, Jack has been calling them) with all manner of bullshit to apparently take charge of the colt that's (rightfully) freaking the fuck out.

The good captain isn't far behind, a few of his own crew handy to make sure the ramp is tethered properly to the ground, and he wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his and as they start the approach towards wrangler and unicorn. "This is the only good place to land," he tells him, having caught thoughts if not words once they're close enough. "Unless you wanna trek towards the Oerwoud."

believer, believe it or not you'll know
when it ends and how it goes

Morgen

With the expression of a man who knows shit is about to go sideways but can't do a fuckin' thing about it, Morgen holds onto the colt best as he can as Jack's crew trample off a floating ramp. "Fuck that." The wrangler calls back conversationally. "Them rats are nasty this time of year." He adds, of the ROUS who tried at nearly any and every opportunity to fuck with his herd if ever they got too close.

Eyeing the ramp with a look of weary mistrust, Morgen sighs and sweeps the back of his arm across his eyes. "Fuck sake." He mumbles to himself, before clucking under his tongue to draw and get the colt to follow him forward.

'With all the money these folks have, I ain't sure why they can't just build a summer home in the hills. It'd be far easier than what we're doin' right now." Only able to cross about half the distance needed before the unicorn dug his hooves into the earth, Morgen paused for a moment before glancing over his shoulder toward Jack. "Y'got a handkerchief or something? If we cover its eyes with somethin' we might be able to git him to go easier."

Now it seems to me some fine things have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you can't get

JACK

"Nasty at any time of year, in my experience," Jack rumbles in response, though he's not about to tell the man he's wrong. "S'pose it could be worse. Could be them fuckin' gourds again." While the Minions set up whatever they're going to set up (and it looks like there's a couple of Abandoned between them, because there's some Creationing happening), Jack and his crew close the distance to reach Morgen. Granted, it's made a little more difficult by the unicorn deciding to nope out, but whatever.

Grunting and nodding at his crew at as Morgen makes his request, one of them wastes little time in producing a rag that looks like it's sweatstained and smells worse, but what the fuck do you expect on a ship? "Can't be more'n thirty feet from a bar, a brothel an' their other fuckin' luxuries," he figures, referring to the rich cunts and their stupid decisions. "Weirdest gig I ever got either way. Paid good, at least."

believer, believe it or not you'll know
when it ends and how it goes

Morgen

Morgen raises his eyebrows and tilts his head slightly in complete agreement. 'Gourds were shit, I'll give y'that. Damn tasty though.' Not necessarily an optimist by any means, the wrangler was more of a make-the-best-out-of-a-bad-sitationist. And if that meant eating gourd-flavoured everything for the better part of a year, so be it.

Wrinkling his nose a touch but not arguing, the wrangler reaches out for the rag. Giving it a few shakes and startling the colt even more, Morgen turns and makes shhhhing noises toward the unicorn as ties the rag over its eyes. More or less blinded now, though it remained completely alert, it was forced to lean both literally and metaphorically on the wrangler. 'Ain't you heard? There's a brothel here now.' Morgen says, but it's in a low and soothing voice as he begins to lead the colt toward the ramp.

'Bet they paid you more'n they did me.' The wrangler grunts before taking the first few steps up the ramp and trying to convince the colt to do the same.

Now it seems to me some fine things have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you can't get

JACK

"I'll take your word for it," Jack mutters, not trying to hide the curl of his lip at the idea of eating gourd-flavoured anything for even a meal, let alone a prolonged period of time. He's absolutely a pessimist masquerading as a realist, and with that in mind, it's not just gourds he has low expectations about. Indeed, as Morgen moves to blindfold the unicorn, Jack takes a step back that he doesn't try to hide, putting his crew in the line of any bucking or kicking or rearing.

"Shit the bed, there is?" Jack scoffs, tilting his head. "That snuck under the radar. You been? It any good?" All's fair in love and brothels, right? And unless Morgen's fuckin' his ponies, Jack reckons even good-boy-wranglers have got itches they need to scratch.

As for the colt, the Minions have prepared a couple of large boards intended to blinker the unicorn and to guide it centrally on the way up the ramp - a feat made entirely unnecessary by Morgen's expertise. And so, letting the wrangler lead the way and the Minions flank him, Jack and his crew follow behind. "Oh, almost definitely," he says of their pay. More than almost, given his telepathy, but no spoilers here.

believer, believe it or not you'll know
when it ends and how it goes

Morgen

"Nah, I helped set it up though. I think they're in the process of adding magical touches to it, or whatever." Morgen replies, eyes narrowed for a moment as he searched his memory to see if there was anything more to pluck out. "Sorta like the one in Torchline I guess." He adds with a shrug.

As it went, Jack was getting paid almost triple, which had just as much to do with Jack's reputation as it did with Morgen's poor negotiating skills. Once they were near to the top of the ramp, the wrangler glanced at whoever the fuck around him looked like they had some idea of what was going on. "Where now? Y'got a stall set up for him?" With hay and water, or else they weren't going anywhere.

Now it seems to me some fine things have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you can't get

JACK

"Life of a unicorn wrangler is an interestin' one," Jack remarks with a smirk, jamming his hands in his pockets as he follows this weird little troop up towards the Ark's cargo hold. "I s'pose I'll wait for the grand unveilin' before I go and check it out." But if there's magical touches, you know Jack will absolutely be visiting said brothel.

As it happens, the colt does have a stall set up. Jack knows this because he'd complained the entire time it was happening because it was taking up valuable space for his other cargo; only the reminder of the substantial payment had calmed that down. The Minions gesture for Morgen to follow them into the hold, which is blessedly shady and reasonably aired out thanks to travelling through the air for a while, and the unicorn's stall is a little ways back.

"Pass your inspection?" Jack wonders, lingering by the open doors ready to bid the wrangler farewell when he's ready.

believer, believe it or not you'll know
when it ends and how it goes

Morgen

"Gotta take the work where you can find it, in King's End." Morgen says with a dry smirk. Had he been inclined to help because the pretty-ascended had been there? Sure, but what of it? "It's just outside'a'the sanctuary thing." He adds helpfully, though unbeknownst to him Jack had likely plucked the location from his mind already.

Grumbling under his breath if only because nothing would really be good enough on a fucking ship, nevertheless Morgen thought'd get the unicorn there in one piece. Taking the colt in and taking the lead rope from its halter but leaving the halter on, he slowly begins to remove the blindfold. "I'll leave this on just in case, but make sure he doesn't get himself caught on nothin'." Morgen warns, before stepping back and giving the bundle of hay a good kick to get the colt's attention and direct it toward the food.

Shutting the gate behind him, the wrangler folds his arms over his chest and sighs heavily. "This is a bad fuckin' idea." He murmurs, shaking his head slightly. "But I guess that's your issue now."

So saying Morgen departs the way he'd come in, grumbling somewhat as he walked down the ramp because of the hell it wreaked on his knees.

~FIN

Now it seems to me some fine things have been laid upon your table
But you only want the ones that you can't get