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 Posted: Sun Aug 19, 2012 9:37 am
It was a stately guest room in one of the mansions attached to the manor proper - or so it had been, once. In its current disarray, it was more properly described as a manger. They had moved the Guardians in - under the cover of darkness, with great secrecy and comedic misadventure - a day prior, to acclimatise them to their new lodgings. At first, they had, with great effort, filled sections of the room with hay to simulate their erstwhile stable pen, but, not entirely unpredictably, the fawns had emphatically demonstrated their preference for the silken sheets of the massive bed that dominated the space. At least the brothers had already earlier discovered toilet training came easily.
Locke sat, legs crossed, at the head of the bed where the fawns gambolled amongst more stolen apples. On the nightstand beside sat a cup of worms. Just as he'd estimated, his rook had fledged right on schedule (toilet training, thankfully, had also come easily), and Seidr had blossomed quickly into a handsome, intelligent beast - frighteningly so, according to Thornley, but that naturally only delighted Locke. Perhaps there were benefits to procuring your rook from a hedgewitch that he hadn't forseen that unbelievably grimy day.
The handsome, intelligent beast perched neatly upon his still hand, obediently repeating, in a reasonable facismile of its owner's voice, "Thornley is a puddinghead."
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Posted: Thu Sep 27, 2012 1:40 am
Thornley, a bundle of hay in his strong arms, managed to roll his eyes with a deep sigh. "Really, brother," he groaned with disapproval, "couldn't you teach it to say something less...pointless? What use would that be?"
Of course, the entire point of it was to annoy him, and he was reluctant to acknowledge that it was working very, very well.
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