Welcome to Gaia! ::

Beyond the gate, he could hear the roars of the crowd. They were dulled by the thoughts in his head so thoroughly they may as well have been a whisper. Buffel Obille walked slowly up to the gate, contemplating this test of skill. Confidence had gotten the better of him on this day, and it was clouding his judgement more than he noticed. These purebred woolbeasts weren’t nothin’ compared to what he’d been hog-tyin’ out beyond the city limits. The bucking of these pampered puffballs should do little more than give him a nice massage for the day, he reckoned. As he approached the entryway, a rodeo juggalo leaning against a post beckoned him over.

“Well ain’t you just the cutest, you here for the rodeo?” She inquired, kneeling to meet his eye. Buffel pantomimed a polite hat removal (he was still hoping to nab one someday.)

“Pardon me ma’am, I'm afraid I’ve got little time for pleasantries. The crowd is waitin’ on their next champion and I don’t aim to disappoint.” He sauntered on through the gate as she stood back up, chuckling to herself, “I’ll give ya points for confidence kid, but don’t get cocky now!”

The lights surrounding the ring momentarily filled in the whites of his eyes, but as he adjusted to it, Buffel noticed the packed crowd. He generally shied away from public spectacle, but for just this once, he took in this sight. The crowd’s yippin’ and hollerin’ and him at the center of it all. This would be a story to tell The Spirit next time he decided to come around. The Spirit of the West was a distant lusus, even more so than one might expect from a tricksy howlbeast like that, but he cared when it counted.

The rodeo clowns graciously offered their services helping the small troll onto the woolbeast that sat waiting for him, milling about in its cramped quarters. “Much obliged.” he offered back to them with another imaginary hat tip as they opened the gates. His grip was loose and his confidence brash, but not for long. Without hesitation, the woolbeast shot out like a rocket from the gate, kickin’ up a row left and right as Buffel struggled to keep hold. His head was shaken clear now, realizing he had overshot his predictions on the matter before. The beast was fixin’ to hurl him heels over horns and it would take all his might to prevent it from happening. Thrashed full force upwards, he felt himself hoisted up and upon landing he found the front of his serape snagged across the darn thing’s face!

The beast was fuming now, smacking into the sides of the ring. He took a chance, reaching up to remove his garb from it's face, but he'd picked the wrong point in its conniption to do so. With one furious bray it finally tossed the small troll hindside first into the hay. After righting himself and realizing he’d been knocked galley west into straw, he looked up at the scoreboard to see how he fared. Before he could find it amongst the haze of his still woozy head, he caught a glimpse amongst the legs of the crowd. A sliver of white slinked betwixt the rows until his vision focused more clearly on it. The Spirit had moved to the front, and gave him a small nod of approval before receding back into the sea of legs. Buffel got up and brushed the hay off of himself, thanking the rodeo clowns fo their assistance. The announcer was yelling something about how he did, bu he payed it no mind. That nod said more than any score could, and he accepted it without looking back.

All the work, love, anticipation, and excitement Ophila Mifeng had poured into this project were finally coming to a head. Today was the day: the Harvest Moon parade. She sat at the front of her float, legs dangling over the edge, shuffling the seed packets in her hands that she’d brought to toss to the crowd, her excitement giving way to anxiety. It had taken an hour to find her assigned spot in line, giving the yellowblood plenty of time to question and second guess her involvement in the whole event. Restless, she twisted on her perch to look at the fruits of her labor behind her.

“What if they don’t like it?” she asked her lusus, Buzzbud.

The bee studied the giant, yellow rose taking up the entirety of the float. Ophila had the worst time trying to think of what to make, what to do, what the other trolls would think of her. She’d had almost dropped out of the whole parade. Finally, Buzzbud asked her,”Why not just do a huge flower?” And so she had spent ages picking out just exactly the right flowers from her own personal garden. She’d taken even more time tirelessly arranging them.

“Like what?” he asked. Ophila flopped backwards to onto her back, reaching up to hold on to one of the honeybug’s legs, giving him a pleading look.

“Buzz…”

“Listen,” he floated down to nudge her shoulder with his head. “Why wouldn’t they like it? And even if they don’t, you can always bean them with a seed packet. Besides, it’s the most amazing float I’ve ever seen.”

The yellowblood sat back up, giggling at the idea of hitting someone with the seeds. “Thanks.”

She heard the band begin to pick up. “That’s our cue!” She stood up and waited for the floats in front of her to start moving. She was ready.