sweet child of mine

for a scoop of le troupe

POSTED: Sat May 16, 2020 12:43 am

The pup bounced along in front of him, his small hands wrapped about the pommel of Ombra’s saddle. Somehow they had survived the winter together, and little Orphan had blossomed into a young, feathery dog who was just as keen to see the world as the man who had rescued him. Mateo tried not to tell the story of his rescue often, though sometimes when he begged for too long the Minstrel found himself forced to recount the hoary tale - though it was always exaggerated and new details added.

”How much farther?” The boy whined, ”I’m hungry.”

”We’re almost there chico.” Mateo ruffled the boys hair before clucking his tongue at Ombra, urging her to take off at a trot. ”It’s been awhile, but so far we’ve been able to find our way-“

Orphan held up his fingers before his too-big nose, ”Nu-uh. We got lost. Thrice.” This was a word that Mateo had said once weeks before and that little Orphan had taken a liking to. Their winding trail had taken them through familiar wilderness, and each time Mateo saw something that triggered something deep down they altered their course accordingly.

Mateo grunted, ”Whatever you say.”

It was strange not having Ruckus around. He had acted as a buffer between them, eager to snap and correct when necessary. Mateo missed the way the mongrel had always known just what to say to cheer him up, or how often he got into fights at his own expense. Portland had changed them both, and the spring had seen their paths diverting away from one another.

It was not the first time someone had been forced to change.

Tiamat would have been shocked to see the bard with a child no his hip. It had changed him in some ways and left him unaltered in others. There were no lines around his eyes that were from sleepless nights trying to feed the infant, and new silver that gathered at his temples. It was to be his fifth winter, his fifth revolution about the earth… and he felt that perhaps now he had something he could leave behind.

He wondered if it was how Salvador had felt, watching his children grow up all around him.

”What’s that?” Orphan was writhing in front of him, demanding to be let off of the horse. ”Huh?”

And that’s when he saw it. A camp through the trees.

”Dios mio,” He blinked with surprise, allowing the cub to slip from the saddle to explore on his own. ”It looks like… No, it couldn’t be.”

But it was. The air crackled with sudden electricity and Mateo leapt from the horses back as she startled into motion at his exuberance.

”Muchachos!” He shouted, jumping with a loud whoop as Orphan trailed after him shyly, ”Daddys home!”

OOC: dis orphan
The Troupe
User avatar

POSTED: Tue May 26, 2020 8:58 pm

At the familiar shout, O’Brien shot to his feet, blades of dry grass falling from his dark hair as he woke from a doze. A bumblebee droned around his head as he pricked his ears to pinpoint the voice he thought, for a moment, he had just imagined. He jogged uncertainly in that direction, then sprinted when he recognized their minstrel.

How long had it been since he’d seen the poet? He was a welcome sight after the complicated events as of late, a reminder of simpler times and laughter. (He certainly couldn’t have pictured Mateo at that meeting.)

“Matty!” the thief barked, tail wagging as he closed the gap to embrace the hound with a hearty pat. “Ye auld bawbag, how are ye?”

He drew back to ruffle the man’s hair, then belatedly noticed the youngster standing uncertainly in Mateo’s shadow—a doggish boy with dark, feathery fur. O’Brien blinked and glanced at his friend for some cue, brows quirked, then stepped back and flashed the boy a gentle smile.

“Weel noo, who is this?” he asked, his voice lowered to a warm burr. “What’s yer name, lad?”

Why did Mateo have a kid with him?
I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory
I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory

User avatar
here come the ravens

POSTED: Sun Jun 07, 2020 5:32 am

"We’ve established what you are, now we’re just haggling over the price"

    [+WC] ---
Malik had been treading carefully of late. He spent most of his time doing chores - Cal's plans were grand and required a lot of manpower to put into motion. The weather allowed them time for this. With mild nights and balmy, honey-drenched days, the Troupe stayed well-fed and supplies were as plentiful as they had ever been.

But beneath this sunny exterior were lines of tension, running discordant, invisible but impossible to ignore.

So it was that on the day Mateo found them they were not all together, working with comradely chatter, but separate and left to their own thoughtful ends. O'Brien was the first to answer the shout. Out of them all, perhaps he had the quickest feet and the keenest ear.

Mal was slower, carefully setting aside the branch he had been chopping up into firewood and rolling his arms in their joints. After all this time, the Minstrel's voice seemed a surreal thing, a daydream. He couldn't believe it at first, and so responded without urgency.

But when he recognized the big horse and the faded purple clothing, Malik's solemn expression split into a soft-eyed and lopsided grin. "Matty?" He raised his voice and then instinctively flinched - he'd been keeping quiet for a reason, after all - but not even the maelstrom of recent events could dampen the arrival of such a dear friend.

Cupping his hands in the direction of his brother, the bard shouted: "Mateo's home!" It took him no time at all to join Obi by the traveler's side - and also to join him in bewilderment at the unexpected sight of a child.

Reaching out to pat the Salcedo's back in a comradely way, he beamed, "Let me take your horse - go on in, Cook has food on. You must be starving - both of you...?"

The Troupe
User avatar

POSTED: Sun Jun 07, 2020 8:29 pm

[--wc] yay matty's home!

There wasn't much talk since the incident and the disaster of a meeting. For a while it had been like too many passengers crammed into a dinghy; they felt the lurch and friction between each other in every interaction. Upon realizing that these issues were far out of his depth, Calrian promptly benched himself and began to focus on bucketing out any water that threatened to sink the boat. This mostly meant that he stayed out of everyone's way, especially Marlowe or Adina.

It was easy enough to do with the renovations. That day he busied himself with putting up boards over one of the room windows. He aimed for the nail just like Gaston showed him, and then two things happened at once. His brother called from outdoors, and Calrian struck his thumb. He dropped everything with a curse, and waving his hand around like this might help the pain, he hustled outside.

"What's that Mal?" He said, before he caught sight of the Minstrel.

Calrian danced in place, caught between the impulse to howl and bulldoze the Spaniard to the ground. The urge to hug won out. Short of the hand of god reaching down and smacking him, there was nothing that could stop his dash toward Mateo.

Squeezing through his brother and O'Brien, Calrian dove into a hug that turned part-wrestle. "Mateo, you beautiful, magnificent bastard!" He laughed, and for a moment, all he could do was whine and wag his tail so fast that his hips were taken with the movement. He had sorely missed the poet, whose humor and positivity could make bright even the darkest of nights.

"Where's Ruckus? What's that smell?" He shoved his nose in Mateo's ear, sniffing. "Where were you for so long?"

That's when he noticed the boy. His mouth dropped open. "Is that...is that...did you...?" Calrian's eyes grew wide and he looked at Mal, "Is that...our nephew?"
Character WikiThe TroupeLa Estrella Roja
The Troupe
User avatar

POSTED: Tue Jun 23, 2020 6:14 pm

They all started to wiggle their way out of the woodwork – each beaming face appearing through the trees as Mateo grinned eagerly at the Troupers. O’Brien had Mateo whooping loudly (much to the chagrin of Orphan) who was suddenly quite aware of the fact that he had no idea who any of these people were. ”It feels good to be back,” Mateo was chirping, beckoning the boy forward, ”This is Orphan.”

The usually loud boy was instead quiet, rocking on his heels as the Scotsman surveyed him. ”Uh, hi.”

”Ruckus and I rescued him awhile back. He’ll fit in with the lot of us – and he’s got a bright head on his flea-bitten shoulders.” Some of the sass came back into the boy, and he whuffed his discontent before flaring his nostrils to sniff at the many newcomers who had come to join them.

The Minstrel felt at peace – and as Malik and Calrian came to bid their hellos he embraced them eagerly.

"Ruckus is taking his sweet time in getting here. We stayed up in Portland for the winter and managed to get some goods - but mostly we found ladies." He wiggled his eyebrows, "A place to rest our weary heads, you know."

He patted the dark boys head and grinned, ”Call him what you like – he’s one of us now.”
The Troupe
User avatar

Sticks and Stones