Closed [The Lakeside Stables] The Downpour

[Brandi]

70th Fall 513 Mid-afternoon It started, as merely a patter in the early hours of the morning, the cool wet rain seeping into folds of fabric and wood. For a while, Brandi was standing at the southern docks, watching the sky darken and the rain clouds come rolling in at an alarming rate. His lip gave a twitch, followed by a distinct frown before he pulled himself away. It was the start of another period of work and his time away from the city and the ideals of a comfy bed. His brow knitted, the supplies needed for his time out of the city upon his back as he marched his way up to the stables - and hopefully to a space for him to set up his temporary home. “Petch the rain, petch it, petch it, petch it,” came the distinct under mumble as he trundled up the path. There was the rocking of straps, the strain of the weight as he continued on his way quicker and faster, until eventually it became a pelting run. By the time the lad got to the stables however, the heavens had truly opened and the downpour begun. He gave himself a shake, eying the stable master as he walked on through dripping to the bone. There was a few laughs followed by a few claps on the back as his sodden form was allowed to escape out back and to the horses. It was the scent of hay that hit him first, then the slightly more disgusting ones - or at least to those who were not use to it. Eyes turned to the hanging bridles and the saddles that needed attending, then to the stalls that needed mucking out. His brow creased, his shoulders slumped. Where in Rhysol's name where the groomers? Or better yet, what were they doing? He already had visions of the place falling into chaos. “Brandi m’ boy!” came the voice of the stable master from over the stalls, “Be a good lad and look at Nipper will yeh?” The boy paused and gave a glance back to the stable master and then to the stall where the old mountain pony head was poking out of. There was a pause as the lad regarded the miniature beast, and then looked to the man. “That’s all good ‘nd all, but why?” he questioned. “Old man keeps wheezing, been doing it for the last few days, since you went back to the city lad,” there was the firm pat on the back, before the older man noticed the furrowing of brows, “What yeh thinking?” “Thinking? Lots of things,” he pulled away and brushed the man off, “I’ll go ‘nd gander, then get back to you.” Setting himself up in front of the stall, he lowered his pack onto the hook on the outside of it and leaned over. Bushy brow raised, his eyes narrowing down upon his study – still soaked - the lad contemplated his work. “So… we meet again Mister Nipper,” The pony gave him a bemused expression, followed by heavy, wheezy sigh of disgust. And it was on that moment, that Brandi decided it was just going to be one of those days.

[Kit Rowan]

Kit was hesitant to take a job that would bring her to the Lakeshore, only because it meant she was cut out of so much of her time do it. How many other deliveries could she make in the meantime? It was a waste of time, really. She had learned the ways the streets and canals turned and the best places to jump and run . . . But this job was a special case. They didn't want speed, they wanted discretion, and Kit had been looking for a chance to test out her latest mien a little further.

Considering that no one in Ravok currently knew what Shy really sounded like, since she spent her tongue with the bird's tongue at the back of her throat, she thought it it fine to simply remove it and sound like herself. It was something of a relief to hear her truest voice coming out of her mouth again. The guise she choose today had shimmery black hair braided neatly behind her, clear freckled skin, green eyes, heart-shaped face . . . Her clothes she color-shifted from black to browns and greens, and changed the apparent cut just so. Still, she thought that maybe this new girl's clothes were too similar to Shy's. More differences might be necessary next time she wore a different face. Perhaps then it would be time to actually consider a dress, or a skirt. But not today.

Kit boarded the ferry in the afternoon, sat with her hands in her lap and fidgeted as her body begged her to move and the boat. She felt something touch her on the crown of her head, her knee, he back. Kit reached up, felt something wet and stared at the sky. It was grey and rolling, like a living thing. She frowned, shrugged and stared over the edge of the boat at the rolling water.

Slowly, dreadfully slowly, they crept toward the lakeshore, Ravok fading away into the horizon behind them as the sky made ominous noise. Kit turned a wary eye upward, remembering how rainy things could come to be in places that were not Ravok. She bit down on her lip, grabbed her trousers and squeezed. The falling water came down more regular, plopping on her leather jacket and rolling off more and more frequent. She saw the lakeshore dock appear, leaned anxiously forward and held a hand over her eyes, squinting, as though getting a better look would take her there more quickly.

At last they arrived and Kit leapt from the ferry before anyone else, the ferryman turned and said something cross but Kit was already gone, dashing over the docks as the drizzle became a deluge around them, and as she felt it splash over her hair and back the sound of it pelting the ground filled her ears as she dashed over the ground. Where to go? Deliver the message, go to the stables . . . And then?

One thing at a time.

She had not seen the stables when she was dragged to Ravok in chains, but today as she followed her directions and ran her way with her hands over her head she saw it. It was a messy place, leaning a bit to the side, old, broken and repurposed. Still it was a roof overhead! The ground growing muddier under her fit, Kit ran, ducked under the stables and shook her head, brushed her jacket and trousers. If she'd been keen, she might have spotted the black clouds and turned the job down. Kit sighed, ran a hand over her face; Trickster knew, she'd earned this trouble. Now it was hers to deal with.

[Brandi]

Brandi by this point was already fighting with the pony. Since the moment he slid into the stall, Nipper had managed to firmly grasp the end of his coat to being his ritual of trying to chew through it. He gave a grip onto the stall side wrenching himself free of the creature. There was a distinct curse under his breath, his brow creasing as he gave a demand to the tiny beast, “Get the petch off me Nipper!” The rain above turned heavier, the dull beat growing into a roar on the stable roof. The occasional drip plopping against the straw covered floor. Wriggling himself free the lad threw all other articles that were risk of dangling over to the other side of the stall gate. His tools however he kept inside with him, the brushes necessary to help with maintaining the tiny beast just out of reach of his ever hungry jaws. For which he was grateful – he was not sure how well animals would react to digesting soaps and strings, par the thought that their insides would indeed be very clean. First things first though, he needed to check the creature. Working his way round he set his fingers upon the matted skin, feeling the rough texture. He looked closer, looking around the eyes and jaw, and down the throat. Nipper gave a snort, the hoof pawing against the floor. He gave a pull at the mane, running fingers through the knotted hairs as he thought. The stable master had said the pony was wheezing – which it was indeed – but short of that he could not pick out anything immediately. He seemed grouchy if anything, ears falling flat the head drooping slightly as the lad continued to work round. He took a wide birth around the pony, leading himself around to the left. There was a low crunch as the pony went to his feed, the slow groan and mumble filling the stall whilst in the background the others worked. Rhysol knew what they were doing, but he was not about to interrupt or interfere. Not whilst there was a seemingly grumpy pony next to him. Getting too close at the wrong angle could result in a resounding kick – he still recalled the blood curdling wail from the last time a stable boy got hit by a hoof. But, it happened, there was no stopping that. Rubbing the firm neckline of the pony, the lad reached out to the creature with his free hand. Resting under the jaw, the creature pulled away surprised by the human. He took the opportunity to guide the head round and study him carefully before a distinctive noise snatched his attention away. A wolf whistle split the air, his head turning sharply away. He gave a peer over the stall door, eyes looking up and down the world beyond, to see the jeering point of a stable boy to the soaking wet form towards the entrance. There was a loud neigh from one of the horses, his glance snatching away slightly to the noise. With a wince he felt the tug of the pony upon his shirt once more, the low chewing noise as he pulled himself away once more. Yanking out from behind the stall he snapped it shut quickly behind him, and pushed back his soaked hair. “Oi, Brandi, the gal looks wetter then you do,” came a distinct sneer. “Yeah, yeah I know,” He slid the bolt across the front of the stall, securing it shut. He gave a sniff, rubbing his hands on his dampened shirt. Boots gave a squelch upon the earth as he went over to the girl, “Can I help you little lass? You looking for someone or something?” he gave a gesture with his hand, “Come on, come in proper. Don't mind the lads... But mind the drips! Now what can I do you for?” The sooner he dealt with the girl, the sooner he could back to work. Right?