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 Posted: Thu Apr 26, 2012 3:31 pm
This is a private RP between: Kennard and Bigsby
Where: A Carnival in Clubs
What's happening: Bigsby is engaged in an epic combat with his nemeses, the evil moles of the whack-a-mole game, when he meets Kennard...
As much as Bigsby loved his hats, his tophat did nothing to protect him from the beaming sunlight. The tiny blue thing really didn't extend past the top of his head, and offered no shade, just a slightly cooler place on the very crown of his head, as compared to the rest of his glossy hair, which was nearly molten to the touch from all the time absorbing sunlight. High noon of high summer beat down on the little boy, and the only thing that kept him from overheating and keeling over on the spot was the rapidly-melting and rapidly-diminishing ice cream he held in his hands. He went at it with a sort of voracious passion, inhaling incredible amounts of the stuff in between plodding steps.
Philip, his Papa, wondered where the boy put it all. He'd bought it for the boy at a stall to keep his son sane, and knew full well that Bigsby was one to finish large treats given to him. Still the Roserade couldn't help but marvel at where the boy put it as he watched on while he walked, prepared to re-adjust his course at any moment, whenever something caught Bigsby's eye. They were at the carnival, after all! All around them were colorful stalls that sold all manners of things, from snacks to treats to chances at games under their canopied shade, and in the distance, music from the rides hummed softly. Children allowed to run free at a carnival were apt to suddenly jerk to the left or right, towards whatever looked fun.
Bigsby, with a crunch, polished off the last piece of his ice cream cone, and wiped his face with the back of his hand, coming away with more than a little mess from his sloppy eating. Rather than just rubbing his hands on his clothing, which would have made Philip furious, he licked what was left of the ice cream up, a sort of afterthought as he looked for something new to occupy himself. His eyes floated left and right as he swung them about the long aisle of colorful tents, but without the ice cream, the beaming sun shot his concentration. Everywhere looked sort of boring until he pointed a squinting glare into the shadows of one of the stalls...
And saw his arch-nemesis: Whack-a-mole.
With a determined face set on his head, he looked up to Philip. ”Papa, can I have a ticket,” he asked, letting his eyes wander back to the hated, flashing lights of the game for a moment, ”Or maybe two?”
Philip, nearly laughing, counted out two of the stack of tickets he'd bought earlier, the sort that were used as chances for games at this carnival, and handed them over without a word. Bigsby, fresh tickets in hand, stormed towards the tent, into its welcoming shade, and stood before the machine, staring with animosity at each of the nine holes, and took the hanging mallet in hand. He fed a single ticket in, and an unearthly giggle emanated from within its bowels.
Bigsby brandished his club high, waiting for the game to begin.
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Posted: Mon May 07, 2012 11:21 pm
Kennard should have been wide-eyed. He should have been amazed. He should have been blown over by the bustle, the noise, the movement, the insanity of the carnival. But if he was, he certainly wasn’t letting on. His escort, a rather perky Rattata maid, looked more enamored than he was and kept point at things and demanding Kennard’s attention. The little Teddiursa would look, smile and then continue plodding along.
With his axe resting on his shoulder (it really wasn’t as heavy as it looked), he walked through the crowds with a continuous pleasant little smile. It never dropped, it never faltered; only widened whenever he was addressed.
Then he stopped, abruptly in the middle of the street, suddenly distracted by the purposeful march of someone who looked his age. Kennard changed course to follow, hazel eyes widening curiously as he stepped into the shade of the tent.
Right behind him was his escort and the castle maid took a quick look around and then bent to pat the Teddiursa’s shoulder fondly. “Honey, I’ll go get some tickets so you can play too.” He smiled. “Good thing I put sun screen on you this morning. Look at your little red cheeks.” He kissed one of those cheeks and then flounced away with a linger ‘be right baaaack.’ Kennard grinned and waved.
Moving forward alongside Bigsby, with not a single word to the other child, Kennard watched and watched for the game to start.
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Posted: Wed May 09, 2012 8:07 pm
Bigsby sensed, somewhere far away, another figure step beside him, no higher than the phanpy himself, but he paid it no mind, not allowing it to break his concentration on the verge of the great battle to come. This moment, this deadly calm, was the most quiet Bigsby had ever been in his entire life, in an instant that stretched on for the little boy as he stared with narrowed eyes and vehement hatred amongst the holes of the machine. Somewhere in the darkness, he could see the forms of them, his eternal nemeses. Another giggle bubbled out from the mechanical guts of the machine, and Bigsby tensed.
And sprang! All at once, the fury head of a mole had popped forth from the machine, and Bigsby struck at it with all his might. The little brown thing sank down below the blue-painted composite that made up the top of the machine, and above, a red light read that he'd scored a point. Another popped up, and then another, and Bigsby became a veritable tempest among the moles, striking at each as it jutted above the rim of its hole, point after point racking up on the scoreboard above. Bigsby didn't miss a single mole, fury and practice in equal parts showing as he expertly bopped each of the nine in quick succession. He struck with such fury that he actually jolted each time the mallet connected with the machine, and somewhere in the frenzy, Bigsby's tiny hat went tumbling to the ground.
Finally, after thirty long seconds, a third and final laugh, really quite infernal and scary for such a game, issued forth, and the flashing scoreboard read his final score to be forty-five. Tickets of a different color spat out of a second slot in the machine, reward tickets used for prize redemption, and Bigsby watched with satisfaction as they looped over and over again whilst they tumbled from the machine, panting. When no more came forth, Bigsby grabbed and tore the tickets off, bundling them up, his shoulder heaving. When he had everything in hand but his hat upon the ground, he turned to the form who'd stepped beside him at the start of the game.
”I hates them moles.” Bigsby grunted at the teddiursa, between deep breaths. ”You gonna play, then?”
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Posted: Mon Jul 02, 2012 6:48 pm
“I think you beat them enough for both of us.” Kennard replied, his expression thoughtful. He was really quite impressed with the vigor the other child brought to destroying the moles. The Teddiursa imagined all the terrible deeds the moles must have done to justify such anger. Perhaps, like all the bad people seemed to do in books, they had stolen the others greatest love? He hooked the hat carefully with the corner of his toy axe, lifting it up and offering it to the exhausted Bigsby. “I’ll play something else.” He glanced around, looking beyond the mole game to the other machines. Was his nemesis out there somewhere? Probably not. “But I have to wait…” Kennard looked back out towards the sunny day, where his chaperone was probably flirting with anyone in the vicinity. Manners… The word tugged at his brain, reminding him of the necessary protocol. “My name is Kennard.” He gave his wide not quite right smile.
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