Common
Force-claiming is allowed here once a week per character, as is blocking force-claims by the Peak/Lagoon (as a whole) once a week. Rollover is on Sundays.
Posted on November 19, 2020 at 02:36:48 AM by Macaroni
For a long time the dappled pony stood unmoving on the shore, even after strength returned to his shaking limbs. Dark eyes still traveling up and down the debris-strewn beach, it occurred to Macaroni that he was waiting for guidance that might never come. He had half-hoped for his negligent caretaker to come strolling up with halter in hand - to slip it over his head and tug gently on the lead to indicate his desire for the buckskin to follow. And while he might have put up a show of reluctance after the indignities he’d suffered, in the end Mac would have followed gladly. Though still in the dawn of his years, every moment that he’d lived had been spent in service to humankind. He had never had to make a decision for himself before. Never had to worry about his own safety, or forage for his own food.
How could he care for himself? Even the prospect of doing so was terrifying - so terrifying that he sought comfort in his memories. Grown humans always seemed to know their destination and how to reach it, directing him through the nearly-identical streets of their city in a way that only confounded Macaroni more. His children, on the other hand, were chaotic creatures who seemed just as absent of purpose as he himself was. An entire afternoon could be spent trailing around the grounds in erratic paths that made little sense when one paused to reflect on them. But hadn’t little Benjamin had fondly coined these aimless wanderings “adventures”? And had he not often - and inexplicably - carried a stout branch with him, swinging it through the air and making curious sounds?
Macaroni found a suitable-looking stick lying in the sand not far away, and closed his teeth around one end, hoisting it into the air. He was not nearly as adept at the noises as Ben - nor capable of as much enthusiastic brandishing of his improvised weapon - but he had an honest go at it anyway. If nothing else, the reminder of those whose company he’d most treasured served to comfort the small stallion, and lend confidence to the first steps he took in this new world.
Moments later, the call of one of his own kind confirmed the direction that he’d chosen. Increasing his pace to a steady trot, the buckskin pony soon came upon a large piebald stallion whose attention was primarily devoted to a crumpled figure at his feet. Recognizing the mare who’d kept him company from the next stall, Macaroni halted, torn between shock and a sudden strange, protective anger. “Oy you! Brute!” He called, bristling and not the least bit intimidated by the other’s advantage in size. “Ye better tell me this is the condition she was in when ya found her. Or so help me, I’ll - I’ll bite you in the rump!”
Still clasping the stick firmly in his jaws, the words were muffled nearly to the point of being indistinguishable. But Mac started forward again regardless, as unaware of his near-incomprehensible speech as he was of the puzzled glance that would undoubtedly be cast his way.
MACARONI
plucky survivor of the shipwreck
plucky survivor of the shipwreck
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