05-20-2016, 04:35 PM
WEIR
Weir doesn’t really mind or take note of how long it takes anyone to come and see the Dale. Even if spring is the very best time to come and have a look, or was that autumn? No, no, winter, it had to be winter. Winter was Weir’s favorite but of course he was very much biased in that opinion. Actually Weir has quite enough of his own worries on his own plate thank you very much. Of course he doesn’t mind company, or visits, or diplomatic chit chat but he has his own problems you see. The first and foremost problem is his ever growing family, primarily the fact that his own stomach had begun swelling at an alarming rate and he was felt awfully nauseated by the whole ordeal.
Funny as it might be the ballooned roan male made his slow way to the gathering of very few. Actually the gathering of two to be precise, both he knew but one he knew much better than the other. Alongside the fat Quarter Horse was a rather smug looking tortoise, smug only because he had told Weir time and time again the source of his lengthening illness. If you wanted to call it an illness, but boy oh boy it was much more than that and rather less severe. Weir had somehow found himself on the receiving end of a magical mix-up and wound up pregnant. While Weir looked confused and uncomfortable about the notion, Darwin appeared quite happy, in an ‘I told you so’ sort of way.
As they both neared it became clear who they were welcoming for words. The visitor was the steely Amazon Queen Lagertha, she looked much the same as ever and Weir gave her a small smile. The only other Dalean to show was his own King Ramiel, but it was no surprise to Weir that he was rather late to the party. “Sorry, terribly sorry. Let me not trouble you to wait on my account good lady, Ramiel,” He greets them both in turn with a small nod as he tries to settle in looking uncertain as to which stance would be the most comfortable one to take up. “Found myself in a pickle it seems, would I could know exactly how this might have occurred.” A sour frown found his face as he took to looking at the ground, brow furrowed as he muttered quietly to himself.
Darwin on the other hand seemed frightfully humored by the news, knowing full well one of Weir’s own tamperings with Magic had gone awry.
“Anywho, how fare the ladies of the Jungle? Well I hope?” With one leg he smacks at the earth, carving into the soft spring grass as he remained oddly quiet waiting for an answer or a change of subject. Anything really to cast the spotlight away from the punchline his round body was.
Funny as it might be the ballooned roan male made his slow way to the gathering of very few. Actually the gathering of two to be precise, both he knew but one he knew much better than the other. Alongside the fat Quarter Horse was a rather smug looking tortoise, smug only because he had told Weir time and time again the source of his lengthening illness. If you wanted to call it an illness, but boy oh boy it was much more than that and rather less severe. Weir had somehow found himself on the receiving end of a magical mix-up and wound up pregnant. While Weir looked confused and uncomfortable about the notion, Darwin appeared quite happy, in an ‘I told you so’ sort of way.
As they both neared it became clear who they were welcoming for words. The visitor was the steely Amazon Queen Lagertha, she looked much the same as ever and Weir gave her a small smile. The only other Dalean to show was his own King Ramiel, but it was no surprise to Weir that he was rather late to the party. “Sorry, terribly sorry. Let me not trouble you to wait on my account good lady, Ramiel,” He greets them both in turn with a small nod as he tries to settle in looking uncertain as to which stance would be the most comfortable one to take up. “Found myself in a pickle it seems, would I could know exactly how this might have occurred.” A sour frown found his face as he took to looking at the ground, brow furrowed as he muttered quietly to himself.
Darwin on the other hand seemed frightfully humored by the news, knowing full well one of Weir’s own tamperings with Magic had gone awry.
“Anywho, how fare the ladies of the Jungle? Well I hope?” With one leg he smacks at the earth, carving into the soft spring grass as he remained oddly quiet waiting for an answer or a change of subject. Anything really to cast the spotlight away from the punchline his round body was.
WINTER IS COMING