milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

There is a boy in the library.

He has spied a volume he would like to peruse on one of the higher shelves, and is currently engaging himself in acquiring it.

It is not working very well.

(Mainly because he is very short, the volume is very high up, and he hasn't got the legs for high jumps.

Not yet.)

[OOC: And with midterms done comes an abundance of free time. Unless something drastic happens, this'll be Ratonhnhaké:ton's last EP before I start moving him through canon.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Can I assist you with that?" David is tall enough to reach the shelf.

Ratonhnhaké:ton stops, panting as he looks up at the tall man who has suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

He shakes his head, once. "I can reach it."

He summons the strength for the mightiest jump he can manage, and-

-it's still not mighty enough.

(For a four-year-old, he is surprisingly prideful.)

"I'm sure you can but I'm concerned the shelf is a little unstable. I would hate for it to fall in you. Please, let me help you?"

"Ugh."

Ratonhnhaké:ton sulks.

"Fine."

Perhaps that came off ruder than he intended.

David retrieve the volume and hands it to the youth. "It looks like a very interesting book?"

Ratonhnhaké:ton shrugs as he takes it in his hands. It is a large volume, and the binding looks primitive. "I guess so."

He hops up onto a chair and opens it. There are large pictures in it, along with some words, but it's not immediately clear what the book is about.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure. I hope you enjoy it." He moves over to another table, pulling up a book of his own and leaving the boy in peace."

Shephard's never been a particularly magic-oriented or even -interested man, and so knows very little about the wishes Brimstone gives in exchange for teeth. He does, however, know the joke about the man with the twelve-inch pianist, and so he has opted to write out his next wish in very clear and careful and easily pronounced detail. It's harder to specify exactly what he's looking for than he thought without opening opportunities for the wish magic to go wrong, so he's retreated to the library to work on it.

Which is why he's there when a small struggling kid catches his eye. He sets the paperwork aside and lifts a hand. "Hey there," he calls out quietly. "You doin' okay?"

"I'm fine."

Ratonhnhaké:ton grunts and jumps again. He doesn't even come close to the shelf.

"Fair 'nough," says Shephard, and goes back to staring at his page. After a little bit he adds, "You lemme know if you want a boost up or anything."

He grunts, jumping again and again and again.

And then he is silent, his head bowed.

Soon after that, Shepard will feel the tug of a small hand on his pants leg.

"I need help."

"Sure thing, kid," says Shephard, and puts his papers aside. "You want to git up on my shoulders, or you just need to step up on my knee or hands or what?"

Hey, the kid's trying to get a book. He's not trying to get an adult to get the book for him. There's a difference.

"Your shoulders, I guess," he says, shrugging. "Whatever works."

Shephard nods and gets down on one knee near the shelves, leaning forward until he can brace his knuckles against the ground. "Climb up there'n git your legs over my shoulders," he says. "I'll git hold of your feet and stand up straight once you're on proper. Just find what you're lookin' for quick so's we c'n git you over to a table with it, m'kay?"

He's had nieces and nephews. Piggyback happens.

Edited 2014-05-05 03:46 (UTC)

He nods. "Okay."

He scrambles on to Shephard's back, grunting as he paws his way up. If Shephard's hair is treated like just another handhold - so be it.

Finally, he plops himself down onto Shep's shoulders. "Okay," he says. "I'm ready."

"M'kay. Now hold on-"

Very slowly, and very carefully, Shephard straightens up. He may make a grab for the kid's legs as he comes up further, just to make sure there's no tipping over backwards, but once he's full upright he'll hold very, very still.

"What book're you after, anyways?"

"I don't know what it's called," he admits. "But it's big, and covered in leather."

He scans the shelves, then takes down a volume almost as big as he is, then pats Shep on the head twice. "I have it."

"You c'n read?" Shephard says as he starts steadily crouching back down. "Damn, you're faster'n me. I didn't learn t'read until I was five."

He shakes his head. "I only know a few letters. Miss Barlow isn't around very often anymore, but she helped me with them."

He plods over to the table and lays the book flat. It looks to be an old field guide, depicting various flora and fauna one might find in what will later be known as the Mohawk Valley. Shephard might find some of them recognizable - it's not inconceivable that some of these critters' ranges could extend into West Virginia.

Edited 2014-05-08 12:38 (UTC)

"Gotcha," says Shephard, and leans over to have a look at the book.

After a moment he indicates a picture of a good-sized grey bird. "Wild turkey," he says. "We got those where I come from. Used to hunt 'em when it wasn't time for deer or such."

Is that so, Shephard?

He'll take you at your word for it, anyway.

"I've never seen any of those. Mostly we see these," he says, indicating a good-sized buck. "And sometimes these, too," he says, indicating a cougar.

"They're good hunting," Shephard agrees, looking at the buck. "'specially when the leaves're turning colors and it's startin' to git cold out. The bucks git careless then."

Translation: whitetail rut, which is usually around the second full moon after the autumn equinox, at least where he comes from.

"Ain't seen painters in a few years, though," he continues, indicating the cat. "Damn shame. You hear one of those scream at night, you ain't never gonna forget that sound."

He looks left, then right, then, furtively:

"One almost made it into our village one night. The warriors killed it - but I could hear it. It was like it was right next to me."

Then he shrugs.

"But we had lots of meat for a few days after that. It wasn't so bad when it was dead. Still not as good as the meat from the deer."

He cranes his head.

"You call them...'pain-ters'?"

"Must've been one hell of a thing to wake up to," says Shephard. "Sounds like you were pretty tough about it. Good for you."

He nods. "Folks in my neck of the woods do. That cat's got a fair few names, though. Painter, cougar, cat-of-the-mount, mountain lion, things like that."

He shrugs. "I don't know our name for them. The warriors hunt them when they can."

He looks up at Shephard. "Are you a warrior?"

"Sure am," says Shephard. "Reckon I got started on it a little later than your people's warriors do. They made me one when I was eighteen."

[ooc: If you want to continue the threads you started before RL got in the way, I'd be up for it]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only