Arthur E. Hastings (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
smilefornow) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2024-03-22 01:00 pm
smilefornow) wrote in abraxaslogs2024-03-22 01:00 pm
Open Log
Who: Arthur + OPEN
When: Late March
Where: Solvunn Primary Settlement, Horizon
What: Arthur is having a bad time with the weather
Warnings: Language, will add more if needed
Primary Settlement
The one benefit to the weather is that there is plenty of downed wood to collect. Arthur always needs wood, particularly now that he's volunteered himself to help with Ed's inn. And of course there are plenty of broken fences and posts and front steps that need mending. Stigr Bjarni isn't the only carpenter in the settlement, but he has a Summoned working for him right now and so they often seem to be busy. It's strange, to think that people actively want things that Arthur helped to build and seek him out to repair their shutters or build them a new milking stool.
If only the weather weren't...this. He's seen The Wizard of Oz. He knows what tornadoes can do. And if ever there were a world where a twister could pick up a house and drop it on a witch, it's this one. While nothing has reached house throwing levels, Arthur doesn't trust the weather. It could get worse any moment.
He's on his way back home to Stigr's house. During something of a lull - or what passes for one - he'd been out at the edges of the settlement, repairing a chicken coop, and picking up good wood as he went. He's got a nice sack of it slung over his shoulder, and his wooden box of tools in one hand. At least until a particularly strong gust sweeps up and catches Arthur full force. There is not much weight to him, even now, and he's awkwardly burdened by sack and box. The wind catches him and he spins, arms pinwheeling to keep his balance. His tool box drops. The latch lets go. The sack slips off his shoulder. Branches and chunks of wood spill out as it goes. An attempt to catch at least one of them fails miserably and Arthur Hastings goes heels over head onto his arse.
"Fuckity duck!"
His glasses join the list of things now dropped and scattered and at the mercy of the elements.
"Fuckity duckity!"
Horizon
Good Dog, even the Horizon is under assault from the elements!
In Arthur's domain, Blandings Castle is covered in snow and lightning cuts across the sky above it. This is not what he expected when he slipped into that sleep that isn't sleep to escape the sound of the tornadoes. No, the terrible weather is waiting for him here, too. And nothing he does makes any difference. Try as he might, he can't think it away. That's simply not fair. He ought to be able to banish storms from his little patch of magic not-world if he wants.
The old English estate that he's created as his personal paradise is anything but. And there are no delightful Hollywood crews to descend in the cold and turn it all into a merry lark, like in the story when the boiler went out in winter. That had been a good one. But in reality, it's simply unpleasant and the empty castle has taken on an unwelcoming air.
Frowning, he heads round and down to the pig shed. The Empress, his enormous black Berkshire sow, is inside and grunting in displeasure at the weather.
"I know, old girl." Arthur opens the pen to coax her out. "Sound and fury, and all that. Come on, let's have a ramble. Maybe it's nicer somewhere else. I don't think folks mind ramblers, I've had a few come through...."
And anyone who wants to keep others out can build a wall. It's not as though he plans on entering anyone's buildings uninvited or snooping around. He just wants to try and find a nice place to spend some time. With his pig.
Still wearing his early 1900s tweed suit and cap, he sets off down the road that leads out of his domain and into the rest of the Horizon.
Somewhere has got to be free of terrible weather....they just have to find it.
When: Late March
Where: Solvunn Primary Settlement, Horizon
What: Arthur is having a bad time with the weather
Warnings: Language, will add more if needed
Primary Settlement
The one benefit to the weather is that there is plenty of downed wood to collect. Arthur always needs wood, particularly now that he's volunteered himself to help with Ed's inn. And of course there are plenty of broken fences and posts and front steps that need mending. Stigr Bjarni isn't the only carpenter in the settlement, but he has a Summoned working for him right now and so they often seem to be busy. It's strange, to think that people actively want things that Arthur helped to build and seek him out to repair their shutters or build them a new milking stool.
If only the weather weren't...this. He's seen The Wizard of Oz. He knows what tornadoes can do. And if ever there were a world where a twister could pick up a house and drop it on a witch, it's this one. While nothing has reached house throwing levels, Arthur doesn't trust the weather. It could get worse any moment.
He's on his way back home to Stigr's house. During something of a lull - or what passes for one - he'd been out at the edges of the settlement, repairing a chicken coop, and picking up good wood as he went. He's got a nice sack of it slung over his shoulder, and his wooden box of tools in one hand. At least until a particularly strong gust sweeps up and catches Arthur full force. There is not much weight to him, even now, and he's awkwardly burdened by sack and box. The wind catches him and he spins, arms pinwheeling to keep his balance. His tool box drops. The latch lets go. The sack slips off his shoulder. Branches and chunks of wood spill out as it goes. An attempt to catch at least one of them fails miserably and Arthur Hastings goes heels over head onto his arse.
"Fuckity duck!"
His glasses join the list of things now dropped and scattered and at the mercy of the elements.
"Fuckity duckity!"
Horizon
Good Dog, even the Horizon is under assault from the elements!
In Arthur's domain, Blandings Castle is covered in snow and lightning cuts across the sky above it. This is not what he expected when he slipped into that sleep that isn't sleep to escape the sound of the tornadoes. No, the terrible weather is waiting for him here, too. And nothing he does makes any difference. Try as he might, he can't think it away. That's simply not fair. He ought to be able to banish storms from his little patch of magic not-world if he wants.
The old English estate that he's created as his personal paradise is anything but. And there are no delightful Hollywood crews to descend in the cold and turn it all into a merry lark, like in the story when the boiler went out in winter. That had been a good one. But in reality, it's simply unpleasant and the empty castle has taken on an unwelcoming air.
Frowning, he heads round and down to the pig shed. The Empress, his enormous black Berkshire sow, is inside and grunting in displeasure at the weather.
"I know, old girl." Arthur opens the pen to coax her out. "Sound and fury, and all that. Come on, let's have a ramble. Maybe it's nicer somewhere else. I don't think folks mind ramblers, I've had a few come through...."
And anyone who wants to keep others out can build a wall. It's not as though he plans on entering anyone's buildings uninvited or snooping around. He just wants to try and find a nice place to spend some time. With his pig.
Still wearing his early 1900s tweed suit and cap, he sets off down the road that leads out of his domain and into the rest of the Horizon.
Somewhere has got to be free of terrible weather....they just have to find it.
horizon
Suppose a dragon of its age has been through far more dangerous storms. For now, the wind only howls, and the lightning stays in its clouds.
He has fought worse storms himself. And here he lounges in the shadow of the dragon's wing, his attention caught when he sees a pair of shapes heading their way. Certainly a man is one, but the beast by his side is unfamiliar. Dion rises, heading to meet them, raising a hand in greeting.
"You are welcome to pass through, yet be careful for your --" He hesitates here, unsure what to call this particular animal. It looks unfortunately as if someone's stuck a minotaur's snout onto a very round torso. "Your familiar. The flowers here have poisonous roots." In case it is interested in doing so, considering all the snuffling about. "What is it? I've never seen such a creature."
He fails to mention that Arthur needn't mind the dragon. Though he really needn't. She's barely moved, except to blink large glacial eyes down at the company.
no subject
There's a lot to take in. The dragon, for one. Of course Arthur has seen a dragon before, he visited the Nether. He just wasn't expecting to see one now. But of course there are dragons here. Anyone can make whatever they want, of course someone would make a dragon.
The poison greenery also gives him pause. Why make that?
Then there's this man's confusion over a pig.
Pigs, in Arthur's experience, are one of the first animals a human being is aware of. Cats, dogs, cows, pigs...barnyards, for some reason, are terribly popular first readers. It's never occurred to him that in other worlds, pigs might not even exist. But it's occurring to him now.
"Oh...the Empress is a pig. A Berkshire sow, to be specific. Er...oink oink? Pig?"
no subject
He does realize, with the answer, he does know the creature. Yet he has never seen it before.
Somehow, that feels worthy of embarrassment.
"Ah. Yes." He clears his throat. "The source of ham," he adds, stilted, in a manner he already feels will not land well. Not because he is thinking of eating her, but to confirm he is connecting the two pieces together. As he said, he has not seen one before.
Not that Dion has heard of a "Berkshire." A location, he estimates. "I do not think repeating the noise it is making offers any additional illumination, however."
no subject
"We don't say the 'H' word in front of her! She's a show pig, not a food pig! But...er...yes."
Pigs are, in fact, the source of ham. Just not this pig. He straightens up with a pat to her head.
"I only made the noise in case pigs are called doodlewobbles or something where you come from." Interdimensional conversation can be difficult for exactly that reason. He is trying to be as conscious of cultural differences as he can.
"Different worlds and all."
no subject
That part, at least, does not surprise him -- after all, both his familiar and the Great Dragon well understand language. They are blessed with consciousness by Great Greagor, after all. It is unlikely that all pigs are thus so blessed, but... this one, in particular, perhaps.
He moves his hand to underneath his chin. "Doodlewobbles...?"
There may be a hint of skepticism to his tone. "You said she is for show. What sorts of shows? Surely not for theatre."
no subject
"I'm an engineer, not an etymologist. Anything could be called anything on some other world." Or in different parts of the same world. English and German, for example - the two languages he knows - have some overlap but plenty of very different words for the same thing.
"But ah, yes, no, not theatre. Though I'm sure she would conquer the stage with ease if she was ever turned to acting. No, pig shows. Ah...every year, Shropshire holds a Fattest Pig Show. The fattest, most impressive porcine specimens are shown off and a judge picks the winner. The Empress has a winning steak of three years."
In the interest of not confusing matters even further, he simply doesn't bother to mention this is all fictional and from a series of books. Shropshire, after all, is a real place and fat pig competitions did happen. At least in his youth. The local news hour usually had a few minutes on that and the wooliest sheep and all of those village livestock competitions.
no subject
It does not bode will to imply one could possibly be dinner. To any such species.
Dion offers nothing in response to his particular thoughts on etymology. Simply from the sound of it, he does hope "doodlewobbles" is no term for anything, on any world.
He holds his tongue further, if only because he cannot imagine there being much point in having the largest pig unless one was intending to have the largest dinner. She is, after all, very sizable. She could put most dragonlets to shame. They would be mere pups next to her girth.
"I can see why she won," he finally says, after a moment of deliberation.
It's complimentary.
no subject
Arthur gestures around them vaguely. Obviously there are no fat pig competitions here.
And finally he has to ask. Or at least acknowledge it directly.
"I see you have a dragon?"
It's hard to miss, after all. Is it something from his home? Something created for this dream world? Arthur has questions, and he doesn't think it's rude to ask. Dion asked about Empress, after all.
we can wrap here or keep going! up to you!
He does not ask. He has already grasped, not merely by his words but by his method of speech, that Arthur is inclined towards colloquialisms from his native land. It is the nature of their circumstances. It is far more shocking that it doesn't happen more often.
At least Arthur knows what a dragon is in return. Those seem to be more universal.
"An old companion from home, you might say. My land was rife with them, and my people had very close relationships with them. They are sacred creatures, if you understand what I mean." The beast inclines its head, knowing well what he's said. "It seems the inclination of this place to recreate those parts of home that resonate the boldest."