Post by Miss Jack on Feb 6, 2008 22:36:54 GMT -5
ooc; This is the beginning part of this RP that started over e-mail a few days ago. The site wasn't quite up yet, and we were impatient.
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On the scale of all things good and bad, very few Dream creations made it to the good side. Nearly everything he could think of (and he had spent time naming them off in his head) could be bested by it's Nightmare counterpart. One of the only things he found he appreciated were the rolling, green fields. Nature was a foreign term to Nightmares. Everything was dark and black, and usually in the city besides. It was the way he preferred, leave no doubt, but there was something peaceful in the way the earth seemed to breathe in this part of the Isle of Morpheus.
He walked along the fields with deliberate lethargy. Admittedly, he stood out in his black, but who was to see? A bleating noise interrupted his mental reverie, followed by something soft bumping into his leg. He looked down, annoyed.
It was a sheep. A pink sheep. With the number seventeen on it's side.
He took two steps back. The mental capacity of Dreams was far beyond his understanding, and he would not use this random, flourescent farm animal as an excuse to start analyzing now.
It followed him.
He gave a pretty menacing (if he did say so himself) I-am-Nightmare-fear-me growl. It yawned open it's mouth and bleated, munching happily on his pants leg.
------------
Nellie rubbed bleary blue eyes with the back of her (surprisingly pale for working outside all day) hand
What happened?
One moment she was sitting on the swing, lazily pushing off from the lush grass, her fluffy pale blue skirts billowing on each return arc. From her vantage point atop the hill, while she reveled in the still spring air, she took inventory of her sheep.
One, two, three, four… five… s…ix… se…ve..nnnnnn
Jakers! This always happens. The biggest hazard in keeping counting sheep was falling asleep. She gathered up her straw hat and scooped up her crook (both of which were heavily adorned with flowers and ribbons), and sprinted down to the field. Mary mother of God, if she lost any of the beasties, her mother would kill her.
She took inventory (backward, of course, to avoid dozing), and paused. 19. 18. 17?
“Seventeen? Ooooh Seventeenie, dear? Christ.” Nellie rolled up her sleeves and kicked off her slippers for greater mobility. A leap over the short stone wall and a sprint up one of the signature rolling hills outside Peep Farms. A bleat!
Nellie Peep spun around to find the source (and hopefully number Seventeen) and held her hand to her brow to block the sun. There was no sheep in her line of vision, so she took a few cautious steps backward, in case she should be so hasty and miss said sheep. A few more steps back, and she crashed into some organic form.
With a squeak of shock, Nellie spun around, bringing her crook (daisies and all) down in a sharp arc, knocking whatever it was she ran into sharply in the shins. It was only after this that she took the time to examine what it was she attacked.
“Oh, goodness. You’re not a wolf.”
-----------------
'Ow--' he hissed as something thin and hard crashed into his shins. He wheeled around, fiery glare already in place, but the nasty insult he'd prepared in his mind stilled on his tongue at the sight of his attacker. There were more flowers, lace and ribbons on this one girl than he cared to see in a lifetime.
'No. But I pity any wolf who has had the misfortune of encountering you.' He sulked, rubbing at his lower legs. The sheep behind him gave a quiet noise, just in case it had been forgotten.
-----------------
The initial relief she felt at Alex’s apparent non-wolflyhood was soon forgotten. This guy wasn’t from ‘round here. As a daughter of the most prevalent farming family in Dreamland, Nellie knew all the local boys. She had them catalogued: cute, ugly; kissed, haven’t kissed; Dad approves, Dad disapproves. She didn’t have a ‘glaring and dressed in black’ category on her mental checklist. Had she been only a little more educated on what was going on in the country, she may have recognized him. But Nellie found daisychain-making, braiding flowers into her blonde hair, and playing Cat’s Cradle much more interesting than paying attention to whatever political sillyness Mr. Peep was talking about. However ignorant she may be, Nellie wasn’t dumb. She was at least 90% sure this guy was a Nightmare. (Yuck!)
“Whatchu doin’, lurkin’ around back here? Whatchu’ve got my sheep for?” She asked, her low-brow English accent quite almost as heavy as her accusatory tone. Nellie put her non-crook hands on her hip, trying her best to look stern in a frothy pastorale gown, an excess of wildflowers, and bare feet.
----------------
Her attempts to appear harsh were almost comical. In any case, her pathetic excuse for a glare made it hard to show her how to properly be angry, lest those flowers wilt right off her dress.
"First of all, I don't have your sheep," he said, correcting her grammar. He nudged the animal forward with his foot to prove his point. "And I was just... walking." It sounded feeble even to him. "Is this a no trespass area? I must have missed the sign."
-----------------
“Got. ‘Ave. They’re quite the same fing, boy,” she dismissed, putting her crook defensively between Alexander and herself, incase he should try anything… Nightmarey. Soon, her shepherdess sensibilities were evoked, and she dropped her crook to grab up the cotton-candy colored sheep and cradle him to her.
“Whatchu kick him for?” Nellie looked positively offended to the very fibers of her being. Sheep-Kicker! True, if it had been one of the Dream farmhand boys who did the same exact thing, she wouldn’t have batted a lash. But the Nightmare boy came sulking into her territory, kicking her sheep, correcting her grammar.
Nellie flourished a pout up at him from her sitting position in the grass. (Her dress was mysteriously grass stain-free for a shepherdess, but that was a whole other story.) “Well, technic’lly speakin’, boy, you’ve a right to go sulkin’ about, darkenin’ our picheresque countryside. So long as you stay outside that lil’ stone wall right there.“ A look of pride mixed with smugness came upon her round, angel-face. “Then it’s private property of Peep Farms. ‘S me father’s private property. Largest farm in Dreamland AND Chimera—best one too. Aren’t no sweeter Candy Apples nor better Caramels in the whole Isle, and tha’s the God-honest truth.”
The young Miss Peep stood and brushed off the dirt from her skirts, then put her hands on her hips, looking very haughty indeed. “Whass yer father do?”
----------------
"It's a him?" Alexander echoed in disbelief. It was neon pink. Poor guy.
He wanted to argue the point that he'd barely touched her precious sheep, but eyeing her cane, like a sentry guard posted in front of her, he decided against it. Never underestimate something with that many bows. When she asked about his father, he stared at her, a mixture of amused and pitying. It stung a little that she didn't already know who he was (come on), but not too bad. She was only a sheep-herder-girl. Or whatever you call them. He considered telling her, just to see the look on her face, but opted to skirt around the question for the time being.
"If you don't mind me asking, why is your sheep pink? And... has the number seventeen on it?"
-----------------------
“Of course he’s a him. Don’t go insultin’ his masculinity like that.” Nellie practiced standing on one foot as she spoke. “Ya really are ten pence short of a pound, aren’t ya? This here is a countin’ sheep. We’re the sole breeders of these little beasties, since me Grannie Bo was Dreamt up. “
She knelt and scratched the head of the pink sheep, who bleated happily at the attention and proceeded to eat the flowers Nellie had on the front of her bodice. She seemed to either not notice or not care, probably the latter. “This here little guy ‘s jussa baby. Wanna see the bigguns?”
Of course, she didn’t give him a chance to answer her question, but instead just put her fore- and middle-finger in her mouth and whistled impossibly loudly. The sound of sudden barking was followed by a mass of bleats. A border collie showed up at the short stone wall before anything of the sheep was seen. The dog stopped and stared at Nellie, who in turn gave him a very stern look. “Well. Whatcha lookin’ at, Ziggy? Hurry them woolies up!” Ziggy darted off and returned, nipping at the heels of a flock of sheep who looked as if they had stepped off the front of an Easter card.
Nellie looked prouder than ever, gazing down upon the mass of pastel, numbered livestock. “Millions of folks owe their good night’s sleep to the Peep Sheep. Ain’t they a sight?”
---------
On the scale of all things good and bad, very few Dream creations made it to the good side. Nearly everything he could think of (and he had spent time naming them off in his head) could be bested by it's Nightmare counterpart. One of the only things he found he appreciated were the rolling, green fields. Nature was a foreign term to Nightmares. Everything was dark and black, and usually in the city besides. It was the way he preferred, leave no doubt, but there was something peaceful in the way the earth seemed to breathe in this part of the Isle of Morpheus.
He walked along the fields with deliberate lethargy. Admittedly, he stood out in his black, but who was to see? A bleating noise interrupted his mental reverie, followed by something soft bumping into his leg. He looked down, annoyed.
It was a sheep. A pink sheep. With the number seventeen on it's side.
He took two steps back. The mental capacity of Dreams was far beyond his understanding, and he would not use this random, flourescent farm animal as an excuse to start analyzing now.
It followed him.
He gave a pretty menacing (if he did say so himself) I-am-Nightmare-fear-me growl. It yawned open it's mouth and bleated, munching happily on his pants leg.
------------
Nellie rubbed bleary blue eyes with the back of her (surprisingly pale for working outside all day) hand
What happened?
One moment she was sitting on the swing, lazily pushing off from the lush grass, her fluffy pale blue skirts billowing on each return arc. From her vantage point atop the hill, while she reveled in the still spring air, she took inventory of her sheep.
One, two, three, four… five… s…ix… se…ve..nnnnnn
Jakers! This always happens. The biggest hazard in keeping counting sheep was falling asleep. She gathered up her straw hat and scooped up her crook (both of which were heavily adorned with flowers and ribbons), and sprinted down to the field. Mary mother of God, if she lost any of the beasties, her mother would kill her.
She took inventory (backward, of course, to avoid dozing), and paused. 19. 18. 17?
“Seventeen? Ooooh Seventeenie, dear? Christ.” Nellie rolled up her sleeves and kicked off her slippers for greater mobility. A leap over the short stone wall and a sprint up one of the signature rolling hills outside Peep Farms. A bleat!
Nellie Peep spun around to find the source (and hopefully number Seventeen) and held her hand to her brow to block the sun. There was no sheep in her line of vision, so she took a few cautious steps backward, in case she should be so hasty and miss said sheep. A few more steps back, and she crashed into some organic form.
With a squeak of shock, Nellie spun around, bringing her crook (daisies and all) down in a sharp arc, knocking whatever it was she ran into sharply in the shins. It was only after this that she took the time to examine what it was she attacked.
“Oh, goodness. You’re not a wolf.”
-----------------
'Ow--' he hissed as something thin and hard crashed into his shins. He wheeled around, fiery glare already in place, but the nasty insult he'd prepared in his mind stilled on his tongue at the sight of his attacker. There were more flowers, lace and ribbons on this one girl than he cared to see in a lifetime.
'No. But I pity any wolf who has had the misfortune of encountering you.' He sulked, rubbing at his lower legs. The sheep behind him gave a quiet noise, just in case it had been forgotten.
-----------------
The initial relief she felt at Alex’s apparent non-wolflyhood was soon forgotten. This guy wasn’t from ‘round here. As a daughter of the most prevalent farming family in Dreamland, Nellie knew all the local boys. She had them catalogued: cute, ugly; kissed, haven’t kissed; Dad approves, Dad disapproves. She didn’t have a ‘glaring and dressed in black’ category on her mental checklist. Had she been only a little more educated on what was going on in the country, she may have recognized him. But Nellie found daisychain-making, braiding flowers into her blonde hair, and playing Cat’s Cradle much more interesting than paying attention to whatever political sillyness Mr. Peep was talking about. However ignorant she may be, Nellie wasn’t dumb. She was at least 90% sure this guy was a Nightmare. (Yuck!)
“Whatchu doin’, lurkin’ around back here? Whatchu’ve got my sheep for?” She asked, her low-brow English accent quite almost as heavy as her accusatory tone. Nellie put her non-crook hands on her hip, trying her best to look stern in a frothy pastorale gown, an excess of wildflowers, and bare feet.
----------------
Her attempts to appear harsh were almost comical. In any case, her pathetic excuse for a glare made it hard to show her how to properly be angry, lest those flowers wilt right off her dress.
"First of all, I don't have your sheep," he said, correcting her grammar. He nudged the animal forward with his foot to prove his point. "And I was just... walking." It sounded feeble even to him. "Is this a no trespass area? I must have missed the sign."
-----------------
“Got. ‘Ave. They’re quite the same fing, boy,” she dismissed, putting her crook defensively between Alexander and herself, incase he should try anything… Nightmarey. Soon, her shepherdess sensibilities were evoked, and she dropped her crook to grab up the cotton-candy colored sheep and cradle him to her.
“Whatchu kick him for?” Nellie looked positively offended to the very fibers of her being. Sheep-Kicker! True, if it had been one of the Dream farmhand boys who did the same exact thing, she wouldn’t have batted a lash. But the Nightmare boy came sulking into her territory, kicking her sheep, correcting her grammar.
Nellie flourished a pout up at him from her sitting position in the grass. (Her dress was mysteriously grass stain-free for a shepherdess, but that was a whole other story.) “Well, technic’lly speakin’, boy, you’ve a right to go sulkin’ about, darkenin’ our picheresque countryside. So long as you stay outside that lil’ stone wall right there.“ A look of pride mixed with smugness came upon her round, angel-face. “Then it’s private property of Peep Farms. ‘S me father’s private property. Largest farm in Dreamland AND Chimera—best one too. Aren’t no sweeter Candy Apples nor better Caramels in the whole Isle, and tha’s the God-honest truth.”
The young Miss Peep stood and brushed off the dirt from her skirts, then put her hands on her hips, looking very haughty indeed. “Whass yer father do?”
----------------
"It's a him?" Alexander echoed in disbelief. It was neon pink. Poor guy.
He wanted to argue the point that he'd barely touched her precious sheep, but eyeing her cane, like a sentry guard posted in front of her, he decided against it. Never underestimate something with that many bows. When she asked about his father, he stared at her, a mixture of amused and pitying. It stung a little that she didn't already know who he was (come on), but not too bad. She was only a sheep-herder-girl. Or whatever you call them. He considered telling her, just to see the look on her face, but opted to skirt around the question for the time being.
"If you don't mind me asking, why is your sheep pink? And... has the number seventeen on it?"
-----------------------
“Of course he’s a him. Don’t go insultin’ his masculinity like that.” Nellie practiced standing on one foot as she spoke. “Ya really are ten pence short of a pound, aren’t ya? This here is a countin’ sheep. We’re the sole breeders of these little beasties, since me Grannie Bo was Dreamt up. “
She knelt and scratched the head of the pink sheep, who bleated happily at the attention and proceeded to eat the flowers Nellie had on the front of her bodice. She seemed to either not notice or not care, probably the latter. “This here little guy ‘s jussa baby. Wanna see the bigguns?”
Of course, she didn’t give him a chance to answer her question, but instead just put her fore- and middle-finger in her mouth and whistled impossibly loudly. The sound of sudden barking was followed by a mass of bleats. A border collie showed up at the short stone wall before anything of the sheep was seen. The dog stopped and stared at Nellie, who in turn gave him a very stern look. “Well. Whatcha lookin’ at, Ziggy? Hurry them woolies up!” Ziggy darted off and returned, nipping at the heels of a flock of sheep who looked as if they had stepped off the front of an Easter card.
Nellie looked prouder than ever, gazing down upon the mass of pastel, numbered livestock. “Millions of folks owe their good night’s sleep to the Peep Sheep. Ain’t they a sight?”
