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 Posted: Sun Jan 30, 2011 12:49 pm
Blimey, it was a might bit chilly today!
Oh, aye, it was still a good day an’ all, but really… it was nippy, and Quinn wasn’t such a fan of nippy. It smelled like colder weather was on the move, too, and for anyone else that would have been right terrible news - terrible traveling weather, what, not good for the walking and such. Probably for the best he’d chosen to wander alongside the river, otherwise he’d have gone a little mad by now without the sound of it babbling foolishly along. It was a gloomy sort, too, very gray and a touch too quiet, as if the wind was just holding its breath, getting ready to spit all sorts of nasty things down on the little spotted mouse as he made his way through the most important day of his life.
Exaggerating? Neh, not really. Today was a day of changes, great life changes, a total pick-up and toss-in-the-other-direction for the life of Quinn the mouse; who, as it happened, was rather liking the business of moving about on his own terms. No map, no star guiding, none of that! Let his paws decide what direction to take - Pa wasn’t gonna tell him otherwise anymore, not from where he slept. Pa had been one of those busybody types, who wanted Quinn to actually be someone important, to actually work like good mice did to support themselves and the family he was expected to have after he finally settled down with that pretty mousemaid down the lane. He had been trying so hard to pin Quinn down, staring over the poor young fellow’s shoulder, watching Quinn carve, always looking very put-off. “Oh, you can do better than that, lad!” he’d say, clucking his tongue. “Didn’ yer old Pa teach you better? No, no, not like that at all…”
Quinn shook his head, stuck a paw into his ear, and tried to shake out the less-than-desirable thoughts. Why’d his Pa have to keep haunting him like that? It wasn’t like he slacked or anything. He’d bally well done his darndest, so if the old greywhiskers wanted to get his tail in a knot because Quinn’s carvings weren’t spot-on, he could have at it. Erra, not that he’d be able to do that anymore…
Now, Quinn was bordering some sort of emotional frustration. His pa just had to catch cold, and just had to try keeping on without any help. Stubborn old mouse had worked himself to death, literally, and that was a mistake Quinn wasn’t likely to emulate. It had always been him and his Pa, just the two of them, getting along just fine (with the occasional scrap, yeah, but then they were both very opinionated mice), living in a tree burrow and trading off little carved trinkets for the things they needed. Mum… well, Mum was never really part of the equation, run off or something like that when Quinn was just an infant, and so Pa was actually very caring to have kept on with a messy, troublemaking child. And Quinn was grateful for that, truly, even if he had wanted to escape for that something bigger he knew he was destined for.
But he just had to go on and die like that!
Now Quinn was feeling a bit gray, all cloudy and gloomy on the inside, and decided - time to break. Perhaps he wasn’t taking the death of his Pa so very well, or perhaps his paws were just starting to ache a bit too badly… or it was the weather, that darn spiteful weather, that was making his nose run and his eyes water. Mmm. He found himself a little rock, pulled up his leggings, and gave nis nose a good rub with the back of a gloved paw. Blast it if he didn’t miss that old mouse, even if he should have known it was coming. He was a young mouse who had just lost the only family he’d ever have - why couldn’t he be taking it a little better?
He held back a sniffle, tossled a bit of dirt, and watched the river burbling along, wondering just what he was getting himself into.
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Posted: Sun Jan 30, 2011 3:21 pm
 Tristan was beginning to have some second thoughts about his plan.
Oh, he was still pleased enough with himself. His trip to Mossflower had been a great success, and loaded up his cart with quite enough vittles to keep himself well into the next season if he rationed them enough. But it was what happened after the supplies were gone that worried him. Would he be able to maintain his own business, really? Or had it been rash of him to leave the family mouse-hole so early in his career?
Well, too late to turn back now. Tristan Swiftpaw was a proud mouse, and one not prone to changing his mind, especially not when his dignity was at stake. No point in admitting defeat until he'd exhausted all his possibilities.
Still, he hadn't quite foreseen all of the difficulties that would arise in his newfound autonomy. Like the fact that his bachelor pad -- a nice, cozy little hole he'd made his home -- had flooded with the first rain and he'd been washed out rather uncomfortably when the river banks rose.
Well, how was he supposed to know not to dig a hole right there? That was women's work.
Luckily, he'd had the sense to keep his food and supplies cached in various other places (a sensible mouse never keeps all his possessions in one spot!) so the loss hadn't been too very terrible. And he could dig himself another, better home anyway.
But at this precise moment, Tristan was, technically, homeless. And that didn't sit well with the enterprising young mouse.
So he did the only thing he could think to do: he set out to find someone who would build him a right, proper house, and he'd figure out some or another manner of payment.
...Now, for the safety of his dignity, he'd rather not anyone in Fleuve know about this. It wouldn't do at all to have Mum fussing about with his muddy washed-out mousehole and asking probing questions about his success (or potential lack thereof). No...risky though it may be, he'd have to outsource this a bit. Visit the neighbors.
Thus armed with his genius plan, Tristan had set off for Woodhaven. They tended to be kind enough, and better, they tended to be keenly interested in certain services from across the river. Surely, Tristan could find someone there who would help him with his current predicament...and perhaps find some merchandise along the way.
So he hopped off the ferry and made his way down the shore line, figuring he might catch a glimpse of some or another item of shiny magnificence along the way. It was colder on the river bed than he should like, and he pulled his somewhat-tattered cloak about his shoulders as his pink eyes scanned the muddy bank.
But...well now, what was this?
A fellow mouse-lad, and himself hardly older than Tristan if he was a day...and looking so very dejected. The white mouse furrowed his brow and made his way toward him, curious. The other looked a bit rough around the edges, perhaps...but oh-so-melancholy, and suddenly Tristan was keenly curious as to what was going on...and if he might be able to make it benefit himself. "Well, 'allo there," he called, good-naturedly, giving the other mouse a charming smile.
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Posted: Sun Jan 30, 2011 4:05 pm
Quinn was feeling rather sorry for himself at that particular moment. Moping and grumbling, fussing with his gloves, not even paying half a mind to the world around himself, figuring no one else had any business along the river like he did. Why would they come his way, anways? This was his path. They could have their own.
So when he heard a voice - coulda been any voice, really - he was less than thrilled. Anyone who wandered by would surely notice him pawing away at his nose, and start thinking things; he wouldn’t have them thinking things about him, no way, and raising a bit of a glower towards the oncoming patch of white, he less-than-cordially grumbled, “Ey. Whadda ya want with me, now?”
This new fellow didn’t look too imposing, or anything like a bandit. He looked rather harmless, actually, and well-groomed - a Fleuve mouse, then, from across the river. Ah - not so perfectly groomed, now that Quinn looked a bit closer; a bit of a muddy Fleuve mouse, then, who had a touch of pompous to that friendly hullo. What could he want with a rangy little grey mouse like Quinn, anyways? Quinn wasn’t in the greeting mood, and so as he stood he clapped his gloves together and flicked his ears; he was being rude, and he was fully aware of that, already hearing the voice of his nagging father rambling on in the background. “Please and thank you, shake hands, maybe bow. But never snap at a stranger, for goodness’ sakes! That’s a good way to start a fight, boy!”
Quinn had started a great many fights in his time, but now just didn’t seem choice… so he dusted off his knees a bit, scratching the back of his head. “Aw, that didn’t come out right. Hullo, I suppose. Aren’t you on the wrong side of the river, eh?”
Better. A bit. Too apologetic! Quinn’s tailfurs bristled just a bit, frustrated that he couldn’t even figure out how to balance distance and cordiality… if such a balance was even possible. He was sounding more and more like a mopey child, and that didn’t really brighten his mood any.
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Posted: Sun Jan 30, 2011 7:18 pm
Tristan looked him over, appraisingly. He was rather good at sizing a fellow up on sight. It was a useful skill, in his line of business. If you were performing a trick, for example, you had to be sure of your audience or else it would never play right. And if you were trying to sell an item of, ah, dubious nature....well, it was best to know your buyer.
It was good that the little mouse had such an ability, anyway, as he was in poor condition to do much of anything if he were to incite the ire of someone. He was...well, not precisely the strongest mouse -- on either side of the river -- and a good look at the spotted grey creature before him convinced him that, should they come to blows, that he would have both a muddy house and a very sore jaw.
The spotted mouse did, however, look as though he might have a propensity toward manual labor. The mud on his gloves, the uneven hem on his trousers...well, perhaps he was nothing but an impoverished brigand, but Tristan thought he might just have some additional skills that warranted a second look.
"No apologies needed, really, I take no offense." He ran a pink paw back through his hair, combing through the tuft that grew between his large pale ears, and smiled sheepishly. "I am sorry to intrude, good sir," he said, and extended a paw -- his clean one, not the one that he'd run through his slightly-mud-crusted forelock -- for the other to shake. "Business brings me to your side of the river, and I could not help but notice you here...and notice that you seem to be in a bit of pain."
Now he was on dangerous turf, and he tread carefully. "And it's a shame...no, sir, a sin -- a sin to walk past a suffering creature without stopping to do what you can."
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Posted: Sun Jan 30, 2011 9:18 pm
‘Taking no offense.’ ‘Good sir.’ Just what was this hellion up to, anyways? Quinn wasn’t accustomed to being looked at so very mincingly, like he was some sort of useful thing and it made him very distrustful of this other-side-of-the-river mouse. Well, if he was wanting anything outta Quinn, then he was going the absolute wrong way of asking for it. Cryptic business… beady little pink stare…
Oh, but this was to get better! So this mousie thought he’d take the moral high ground and pity the poor little Quinn, who must’ve looked rougher than ever, who he’d just caught sniffling, who just had to have been a poor soul in need of a little intelligent company - well bless his soul, then, if Quinn wasn’t going to give him a proper thankee fer that! “Eya, who ever said I was in any sorta pain?” he spat, straightening his back and very definitely throwing green daggers through a very definitely embittered stare. “I’m not suffering at all, thankee, an’ there’s no need fer all that flourishing about like that! Don’t talk down ta me, sir, and don’t try playing mind games neither. I might not look so very clever, but I can see you want sommat of me.”
Couldn’t a fellow get any sort of rest without being hassled? He folded his arms, twitched his tail, bristled his whiskers. But Quinn would try to keep ahold of his temper this time, refusing to let it flare like it so dearly wanted to; couldn’t he just slug this fellow in the nose and be on his merry way? No, it wasn’t quite right, that pesky little conscience said. One didn’t go about slugging pompous folk in the nose, it was an improper sort of thing to do. Quinn wasn’t stupid - he was able to see a snake oil salesman a mile away - but he wasn’t about to get on a fight on the best day of his life. "Is it really so hard fer you to just use a few words, then? Ask, and I might could help, aright?"
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Posted: Wed Feb 02, 2011 5:01 pm
Tristan looked started. "...Sorry," he said, a bit sheepishly, now rubbing the back of his head. His ears drooped slightly, as did his whiskers, and he looked dejected, like the homeless mouse he was.
Even his cloak was tattered. Oh, who was he kidding. His 'cloak' was just a bit of torn fabric, hardly even stitched!
"Let me start again." He resisted, with difficulty, the urge to call him 'good sir'. "My name is Tristan Swiftpaw, and I've recently come into my own in a little business across the river, in Fleuve." His eyes lifted up to seek out those of his new spotted companion. "Only I've come on a bit of hardship, as my house has recently, er, flooded."
And now, what was he going to say? That he came here because he was too embarrassed to get help from his own people? That he suspected the raggedy little woodmouse knew his way around a hammer? Oh, my, Tristan, you certainly didn't think this through....
"...So I came across the river to see if I might hire a builder, and came across you in my path...and now here we are." His brow furrowed. "...you truly do look sad, though. Are you sure there's no way for me to help?"
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Posted: Sun Feb 06, 2011 12:13 am
Aaaaaah. Did that Fleuve mouse haveta go and look so dejected? It wasn’t Quinn’s fault he had touched on a nerve that brought out a rather nasty attitude - he’d sorta asked for it, really. But, oh, Quinn’s one weakness! The poor thing backed down so quickly, deflating right there on the spot and suddenly looking much, much smaller, shrunk down by a heaping of humble right on his shoulders. It was never any intention of Quinn’s to bend another’s back like that, and though he had been determined to hear the fellow out and see him on his way… well. Now he felt a bit obligated to actually pay attention.
And it did break his poor little heart to hear that this Swiftpaw mouse was just as homeless as he was - though not from his own choosing, mind. Loss was loss, no matter what dressings it wore, and even if this fellow liked to be proud and dignified, he probably had no grand scheme abound that called for lack of shelter.
Not that Quinn was an expert on those sorts of things, but he figured he might could scrap up an idea or two.
“Well now, I’m sorry ta hear you’re in a spotta trouble,” he mumbled, voice much softer and eyes trailing off to some distant over-Tristan’s-shoulder thing. “Sounds rough. Erra, mind, I’m not one fer building, but…”
But he’d help, without dragging his paws about like a sulky child. “You came an awful long way fer someone searching a bit of workin’ help, though. S’pose if you’ve taken all that time and such I could lend a paw or two. My Pa kept a bunch of tools lying around his old place…” He went quiet. “He died a short while ago, and I’ve been a bit snappish since. Don’t need any help or anything, just tryin’ta apologize fer hollering yer whiskers off. His place is just over that hill a bit.”
In the complete opposite direction of where Quinn wanted to be. Lucky for this soppy Fleuve mouse, Quinn had yet to make any real headway in his adventure. “Name’s Quinn Brindleband, mate, an’ I can be a real jerk sometimes. If ye ken handle me, well, I’m sure we ken scratch a nice home fer ye over the river.”
(Ugh, Quinn, what the hell sorta accent d'you got there? Jeebus.)
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Posted: Wed Feb 09, 2011 10:55 am
Tristan knew plenty well that while he was gifted with many talents, fighting was not among them -- and that, were an interaction ever to dissolve into fisticuffs, he'd find himself very quickly on the losing side. And his delicate dignity didn't bode well for such things.
So he was relieved to see the Woodhavener lightening up before it came to blows. He was fortunate to have family friends across the river, but now that he wasn't strictly in business with his father, he'd have to build all his own alliances.
But, perhaps he could start here.
"Your father?" He asked, ears drooping, if possible, even more. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry to have bothered you, then. Many condolences for your loss." He looked at the ground, a bit awkwardly, as the other mouse continued talking. It was hard to get a measure of this spotted fellow.
"It's a great pleasure to meet you, Quinn Brindleband." But, he seemed nice enough, and Tristan's spirits lifted a bit. "Oh, I strongly doubt that you're as difficult as you say." He smiled, and straightened his cape, turning toward the direction Quinn had indicated. "And I do appreciate the help. I'm a bit...well, I'll just say...I'm a bit afraid of asking for help at home. Only my father's rather well-known, and if word got out that his only son couldn't scratch together a house of his own...."
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