Pens
Freshened breezes from the lake to the south mingle with the stronger scents of herdbeast, wherry, dust and dung, that fill this elliptical enclosure, a faint odor wafting over now and then from the tannery on the far eastern side of the pens. A sturdy fence winds out towards the central bowl, captures an outlet of clear blue lake, and grows into a stout wind-shelter replete with hay and feeding troughs as it meets the bowl wall. Not too far above, a claw-marked series of feeding ledges lie, decorated by a few discarded and bleached-out bones. A few clusters of green sprout, downtrodden, in the hard ground, tracked over by the stampeding of the herds.
It is a spring afternoon.
To the northwest, you see a Green dragon.
To the southwest, you see seven dragons.
Brown Skeseth is here.
You see Kippy and Duck here.
Rhaenyra is here.
Obvious exits:
Tannery Stables Barn Training Grounds Central Bowl Beach Smithy
Off of chores for the day, and with the whip of earlier safely stowed away, Jhairecki has returned to the pens to loiter. With a foot propped on the bottom rail, he rests his forearms on the top of it and eyes the llames in the corral. Hmmm. Ignore the scissors stuffed in his back pocket.
Rhaenyra is -not- done with chores— "Stupid Deni. Stupid freaking Deni and her stupid big fat mouth," comes a mutter from Rhaenyra; she's mounted, atop the ever-familiar Gloss, and is slowly herding the llamas in question up. Hey. Deja vu to both of their Searches, or what? "Get -in- there, Kippy," Rhae bitches at one familiar llama; "I know you think you're bad ass. We'll see how bad your ass is with my foot up it," is verbally threatened. Kippy vs Rhaenyra: Battle At The Pens.
"That one him?" calls over Jhairecki, glancing from the llama to the girl yelling at it. His brows arch, and he waves for her to come over his way, toward the fence. "Herd the thing over this way for a minute." Because she's not having enough trouble dealing with it already.
Rhaenyra sets her spurs to Gloss, lightly, and the mare whips into a storm of cutting action. Kippy vs Rhaenyra— maybe Kippy would have won. Kippy vs BigAssPaintMare… fail. Soon enough, Gloss has the llama herded up against the fence, and Rhae's trying her best not to get spit on, or bitten, or any of the half-dozen things the freaking llama's trying to accomplish currently. "Shardit, we should have gone for K'ano first… I don't think he'd be this crazy!"
"'N' you think we can cut off some guy's hair without getting him suspicious?" Jhairecki just eyes Rhaenyra, then hops over the fence to enter the pen himself, although he doesn't go but a couple of steps closer to the llama. "Ain't the things supposed to be used to getting herded around and sheared, anyway?" he wonders as he edges over. "Here, Kippy, c'mere boy, you damn stupid animal." All in the sweetest of voices, not something you'd expect from Jhairecki at all.
Rhaenyra's eyes try to mate with her hairline. Yeah, she wasn't expecting… sweetness… from Jhai. Her eyes cut over to him for a moment, and she reaches out with a long-reaching crop to tap Kippy on the shoulder; the light-brown llama tries to duck out from behind Gloss, teeth snapping, but the mare stands her ground. Ears flat against her head, her neck snakes out, and she tries to take a bite out of the llama in turn. "Gloss," Rhae chides, patting her on the neck and prodding at Kippy again. "Be nice." She doesn't bother to really -help- Jhai at this point: what Kippy decides to do… is what Kippy decides to do.
Jhairecki is a surprising man, what can he say. And now he apparently surprises Kippy, too, as while the llama and the runner snap at each other, he quickly whips out the scissors and snips off a big hunk of hair right from the llama's rump. With it in hand, he's back over that fence in record time, too, and already turning away to abandon Rhaenyra. "See you around."
Rhaenyra eyes Jhairecki for a moment or two, but then she rolls her eyes and clucks at Gloss, moving Kippy back into the herd. "Well. I guess that's another one down… five-zillion left to get," she murmurs to the mare, and off they go. To yet— yes, you guessed it!— more chores. (Thanks, Deni.)
