Fandom Island and Town

Rosie leaned on the fence, talking with Bold. His calm, stolid sense was needed this morning after a night of dark dreams. Shadows, hunting her; like a rabbit, she'd hidden, helpless and afraid.

Bold lifted his head, nostrils flaring. There is something in the air, Rosie. Something in the water and the grass. Cold and cruel. The man with the whip, the man with the spur.

There was nothing Rosie could say to that, so she said nothing, simply stroked his nose and watched the ever increasing number of birds circling the Gig. She was just glad it was winter; had it been summer, she doubted she'd be able to see the sky.

Even her flock of sparrows were silent and watchful.

Worrying about it would do nothing, so she grabbed a pitchfork and went to muck out the stalls. Her sparrows fluttered after her.

Up on the rooftop, click, click, click...

Rosie groaned as she stared up at the barn roof. There were horses on it. Tiny horses. Frolicking tiny horses. White ones.

Bold, ears laid back, was staring up at them, radiating displeasure.

You could come down, Rosie told them. There's oats down here, and hay and sugar. Yes, she was wheedling. She was not above bribery if it meant stopping the noise. Wee and happy they might be, but hooves on tin were never going to be considered melodious.

The reply came not in words, precisely, but in a burst of joyous happiness as they cavalled, leapt, and piaffed their way down the sloping roof, then wheeled to gallop back up it.

Rosie couldn't help smiling. Look at it this way, she said, leaning companionably on Bold's shoulder. At least it's not boring here.

Bold snorted and grudgingly allowed his ears to straighten. Boring, he replied, curving his neck to nose her face, is underrated.

Look, maybe she was a small red bear thing, but it didn't mean Rosie couldn't do her job.

Err, actually...

Perched on Bold's withers, one clever paw wrapped in his mane while she stretched her other arm up to fiddle with the strap of his halter, she was rapidly coming to the conclusion that maybe she couldn't do her job.

Really, it was just depressing.

The Gig was open, though how successfully remained to be seen.

[ooc: my availability is not very, and Rosie's mainly here to give someone a job, but I will be back in my morning should you have need of a small red bear thing or a horsie.]

There were more people on the island, the sparrows told Rosie. People's families had come to visit. Knowing that made her miss her own family, waking a dull ache in her heart.

So,oOnce she'd fed the horses and done all those chores that The Gig required, she retreated to the smithy, hammering and refolding the bat'leth. It didn't look, right then, all that much like a bat'leth. But it was in one piece again; shape would come later.

[ooc: Smithy doors are as open as the post. I have the plaaaaaague, so expect slow from me.]

The heat in the smithy was incredible, the forge blasting out temperatures Rosie had never dreamed it could reach, and sweat ran off her in rivers as she wielded the hammer.

The bat'leth was broken. First thing to do was make it one piece again. She would worry about finding its shape again after that happened.

The sliding doors were shut and latched - she didn't want anyone wandering in and possibly getting hurt - but given the noise of hammer ringing on metal was loud even with that, anyone looking for Rosie could probably find her.

[ooc: Info on The Gig is here.]

After a busy morning Rosie had taken a short break to eat. And feed the sparrows, who showed no sign of leaving. She'd spent her break alternately giggling like crazy or staring in fascinated horror. (They'd filled her in on some of the weekend's activities. She was even more grateful she'd stayed safely in The Gig for the duration.)

Now, she was grooming the horses. It was interesting, being responsible for them on a daily basis. The closest she'd come before Fandom was sitting with a foundering mare for several days, and this was much different.

The contented mutter of a happy horse was soothing, and Rosie was humming under her breath while she worked.

[ooc: Yup, open, of course. I sleep now, though, cause I just walked home through a storm after a twelve hour day, and that requires boozey hot chocolate and sleeeeep.]

After several days of hard work, The Gig was in order.

Apart from the grassy patch on the road side of the hedge, that is; it was still long and scraggly.

Bold had been kind enough to volunteer his services to rectify the problem, so, once the morning chores were done, Rosie brought him out front to graze. While Bold munched contentedly, Rosie stared with mingled curiosity and apprehension at the town around her.

She'd yet to set much of a foot outside of The Gig, which had become to her like a small version of her home town.

She would. Soon. Just not quite yet.

The sign was prominently displayed, as per usual.

[ooc: There's still a Wednesday available should anyone want it. My availability will be questionable tomorrow, so you might do best to email me.]

The only problem with having forged new bars for the gate was getting the gates up off their hinges and into the forge, so the bars could be added.

It wasn't that they were too heavy, though they were very heavy, Rosie just couldn't quite get the leverage to lift them off.

Exasperated, she dragged an empty barrel over, perched on top, and hauled straight up. The gate creaked and groaned and protested, but started to come free.

Her job wasn't made any easier by the crowd of sparrows, who'd decided that this was the best entertainment they'd had in months, and were chattering happily amongst themselves as they watched, occasionally calling out tidbits of entirely unhelpful advice.

[ooc: open, yup!]

Rosie was sitting in front of the barn, visible from Galactica Drive, checking tack. Saddles, bridles, and various bits of leather and metal were spread out around her.

There were pieces in need of repair, and she was going to need to forge a few new metal bits to replace ones that were missing. She strongly suspected the blue jay who lived in the barn roof was responsible for their absence.

He certainly knew about tack and how it went together.

His feathery self was perched in a low branch above her, lecturing her on what she was doing. As annoying as the chattering could be, she was glad of the guidance.

The sign out the front still read:

The Gig

Horses for hire.

Horse-leech (vet) in residence.

Blacksmithing by appointment

Underneath a --

Help Wanted

--had been added

[ooc: open, yup. Slow from me, yup. There are still days available on Monday and Wednesday if you have a character who wants to to work with horses & maybe learn to do a bit of smithing or animal-leeching. Gig info is here.]

Rosie was feeling very doubtful as she stood in the middle of the small stables. There were three horses peering at her, slightly worriedly, and one standing by her shoulder, and she wasn't sure, but she thought she might be in shock.

It was the only explanation for the fact that she felt like she was floating. Bold, the black horse at her shoulder, had been patiently explaining things to her for most of the day. Right now, she was stuck on the lights that came on when you touched part of the wall. And the lack of a pump or a well - water gushed out of a tap when you turned the handle.

Is she all right?
Give her time. This is all new to her.
Remember when you were a foal and you saw your first human.
Poor thing.

That snapped Rosie out of it, and she scowled, then nodded once firmly. She had responsibilities, the owner of this -- she struggled for a word -- establishment, whoever he might be, had entrusted it to her.

In a few hours, the horses were turned out, the stalls were clean, and there was a sign prominently displayed where it could be seen from the road.

The Gig

Horses for hire.

Horse-leech (vet) in residence.

Blacksmithing by appointment.

The word 'vet' had been added at Bold's insistence.

Satisfied, Rosie took a seat on an upturned barrel where she could watch the road and started carving a spindle end. The smooth slide of the knife through the wood was soothing and it meant she didn't have to think.

[Open, of course! You can see both Rosie and the sign from the road. The buildings have always been here, just no one noticed, and they're at the edge of the wooded area. If you want a job, Rosie might just give you one. Info about The Gig is here.]