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 Posted: Thu Jan 23, 2014 8:44 pm
Of snow oceans. Where: Somewhere in between Stillcrest and the Northern Bases. When: Eleven days after the winter solstice. At dawn (maybe?). Weather: Really cold man, colder than Castor's love. Who: Belkin the blueberry stunted (The Semblance of Unity) and Baron Flanagan (Circus King). △▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽
The sweet sound of a nearby shore, a group of women chattering unhurriedly, warm sand caressing his feet, salty air filling his heavy lungs. His forehead is all covered in sweat, it's scorching, after all-- but he doesn't mind. He doesn't mind at all. He looks at the ocean, entranced by its turquoise color, it's beautiful. Ah, what's that? In the horizon, a strange shadow begins to grow, and it comes closer, and closer, and closer, until he finally sees that the shadow is coming toward them all, it's going to engulf them. The beach freezes, everything becomes horrifyingly cold, and all of a sudden, he's underwater, unable to breathe.
"H-hm" The herculean woke up, startled. Ah, what was it? Where was he? Had he dozed off again?
He trembled quietly, taking a mouthful of gelid air. As he puffed up, he felt a little fella shivering violently in his right pocket-- ah, was Belkin kicking him? No, probably not... Probably yes. He lightly patted the little pouch thrice. Was he cold? Mad? Bored? Would it do any good asking? Would he be able to ask?
He lowered his head looking for his companion, and as he did so, he noticed: he hadn't opened his eyes. He grumbled quietly, bringing a glove up to his face and forcefully removing the snow from his eyelashes and eyebrows. Was he really that tired? How could he not notice? He looked around as he finally opened his eyes-- yet he found nothing else but more darkness. Wow, was it really that late already?
He yawned heavily, not even bothering to cover his mouth. Sunrise was probably coming already. A couple of slow minutes passed by, until the sleepy clouds in the giant's mind disappeared.
He first focused on the black cloak in front of him. He detected the slow and meaningless dancing of snowflakes. The snowfall was not as heavy now, from what he could (barely) see. The blizzard had finally ceased, apparently.
In his pocket, the little plague trembled again.
Baron then focused on his throbbing back, it was probably because of the uncomfortable position he'd been sitting in. What an annoying little cave they had found. He could barely stretch his arms without hitting the opposite wall.
Cuddling against the giant, a pup sighed, that was Lord.
Finally, the man noticed how cold and hungry he was. He shook, suffocated by all of his necessities hitting him at once.
It'd be better if they built a fire-- would they be able to, though?
"Bel-kin...?" He muttered slowly, feeling the bag in his pocket.
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Posted: Thu Jan 30, 2014 12:47 pm
******** hell, it was ]cold. If Belkin could spit, he would have bet the spittle would freeze mid-air and plummet sorrowfully to the ground as a solid mass. He turned over restlessly. The pouch, which still smelled vaguely of Castor's perfumes, was tucked inside the giant's own pocket. With two layers of protection, why was he still so cold? Yet, Belkin found that if he faced outwards, his back was pleasantly warmed but his face near froze off. Facing inward was better for warmth, but then all he could smell was dog and the heavy musk of Baron's barely washed body. Facing outwards was deemed better.
With another grumble, he turned outwards again. Castor's scent lingered sadly, like a wistful memory of summer: lilacs and roses. The fabric pressed against his face. Baron had told him (in very few words) that they would be holing up in a cave due to the sudden blizzard. It was simply another reason to curse this country. But ah, a rumble rocked his negative thoughts. The mountain awoke! At Baron's murmur of his name, Belkin struggled his head up - out of the pouch, out of the pocket.
"The mountain rumbled, and I, like a be-damned goat, cling tenuously to its craggy rocks. Has it stopped ******** snowing yet, Sir Lord Captain Duke Baron?" Belkin's voice was high and full of distaste. He stretched his small, blue-clad arms above his head, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to work out the kinks. "You know, a fire would be nice. I'd rather be in Obscuvos' sweaty arsehole than be cold another moment. Perhaps I could turn into something like your lady Plague, and you would have two frozen bits to show off." With that, he kicked his leg back, hoping to jog Baron into moving.
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Posted: Fri Feb 14, 2014 3:54 pm
(look at me replying half a month later
am I cool or what)
At the blueberry's words, the old man grumbled slowly, bringing his arms to his chest. Belkin's voice rampaged through Baron's mind like a tornado destroying all of a village. His thoughts trembled aggressively, same as his breath. Baron took a mouthful of air. Only then did he notice an awful migraine throbbing in the middle of his brain. It was as if a knife dug its way into his head all of a sudden.
For this same reason, the giant preferred to avoid addressing Belkin's question.
He hardly felt the blow at his side, yet the mere thought of the little monster kicking him as if he was nothing but a horse made him shiver in both disgust and anger. Under his beard, he drew a deep frown. He was no nobleman (what an irony his name was) or scholar, but he was definitely much better than a horse--- at least in being a human, that was. He stared at Belkin, almost in disbelief, what was with that personality? what kind of person was that Castor man, either way? Was it his fault this little plague was so damn disrespectful? If it was, then the b*****d was in for a punch in the throat.
He would, of course, build a fire, but he'd accomplish that heroic feat not for the blue bucket of curses, but for his own freezing old hands.
Two of his immense fingers moved towards the plague, pinching his coat carefully as to not to hurt him. Next, he lifted Belkin up in the air, breathing heavily on him.
"Behave."
With that, he placed the excito on top of Lord. The pup didn't care to move.
Flanagan crawled out of the cave, barely making it outside through the narrow entrance. He looked around with creased eyes. Even though it was still dark, the snow appeared to glow to his unaccustomed eyes. He looked around until he noticed, just a couple of feet to the left of where he had left it, his sled. Baron reached for it, pulling it towards the cave.
The man took out a handful of logs, thanked the Lord out loud for keeping it dry and placed it in the deepest part of the cave. Hopefully that'd help in keeping all three (four?) of them warm.
Half an hour must've passed before Baron could manage to get a successful fire. Lord awoke immediately when he did it, eager to cuddle near both his master and the bonfire.
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Posted: Thu Apr 03, 2014 11:27 am
Belkin near-blanched (if a plague could, in fact, blanch) as Baron's warm breath ghosted over him. Ghosted.... no, slammed into him, assaulting his delicate senses. Smelly. It shocked the rotund blueberry into silence, but a squeak popped out as he was unceremoniously dumped atop Lord. The mutt whined softly, it's muscles bunching underneath fur.
Dear gods above, He thought. Is this how I die? Food for a mongrel? He closed his eyes and sighed dramatically, waiting for his fate. Minutes later, no death in sight, his eyes popped open. "Baroooonnnn, mountain man... Where did you go?" A shiver wracked his small body. Had he been abandoned again? Castor had left him, after all. Not good enough. Belkin wasn't even fit to accompany a hulking, smelly, man of few words. A gust of wind blew into the cave and he shivered and wrapped his arm tightly around his knees. From far away, he resembled a larger version of what he had been before. That is to say: a large, miserable blueberry.
A stomping of boots made him lift his head as Baron came trundling back in, laden with bits of wood. Fire! Belkin's relief was so embarrassing that even his normally glib tongue lay silent in his mouth. He remained silent even as the giant tried and failed and tried again to build a blaze. The dog moved, attracted to the warmth, and Belkin, unprepared for the sudden shift, tumbled dramatically at Baron's feet. He quickly righted himself and sat, back towards Baron. A small hand reached behind to tug gently at Baron's pant leg.
"Sir Baron, as much as I enjoy this warmth." Here the plague chuckled softly. "We should leave soon. The snow has let up a bit. But.... thank you." With those last, faint words, he jumped up and did an unnecessarily rigorous bit of stretching. He turned back to Baron with a flourish, face stretched into an odd grin. "Pouch me, o giant man, before I reconsider the merits of your odor."
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