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04-09-2016, 09:16 AM
The Peppermint-Pony is as bright and overzealous as ever, flashing his white teeth in a welcoming grin, but today there’s something new about him too. Sprawled across his sugary back (and in exactly the style one would expect from an ally of Johnny) is some sort of patchwork creature, apparently made from all the leftover pieces of other animals. It’s got a little beak and little wings, but it’s also got little paws and a little fluff-tipped tail that doesn’t seem to belong to either birds or dogs and, as if the rest of the details aren’t incongruous enough, it’s edges and undersides are as pink as any blooming peony he’s ever seen. What a pair they are.
“A companion?” He questions, but as the rosy Feather-Fluff squeaks its own ‘hello,’ Johnny waves a dried out branch of something in the old man’s face, explaining that this is the material he needs gathered. Albrecht’s less than crystalline eyes have just enough time to focus on the stringy tufts of white at the branches ends before the Weaver bounds away, clearly intent on finding the things he needs before the morning ends. Morose as ever, the elder sighs his discontent and shuffles away to nose at sticks and branches made bare by the season, accidentally jabbing himself on more than one occasion but managing to bring a few mouthfuls of the plant back to Johnny’s pile, each one tossed down with more abandon than the last.
Finally the crafter plops himself down, unceremoniously dismounting his Dog-Bird in the process, and scrunches his eyes in concentration. Slowly, though possibly quicker than the last time Albrecht witnessed the Weaver’s magic, the plants white fibers straighten and detach from their twigs, twining and crisscrossing together until several evenly woven blankets assemble before them. The blankets lay in a neat pile, apparently finished, and the unhappy Dog-Bird stomps right up and into them like they’ve been made especially her. Maybe they were? Albrecht snorts approvingly as she burrows into the pile and shifts them around to cover her every feather and fluff. At least one of them has a little sense.
OOC // I didn't want to leave this unfinished. They're too much fun together. :P
“A companion?” He questions, but as the rosy Feather-Fluff squeaks its own ‘hello,’ Johnny waves a dried out branch of something in the old man’s face, explaining that this is the material he needs gathered. Albrecht’s less than crystalline eyes have just enough time to focus on the stringy tufts of white at the branches ends before the Weaver bounds away, clearly intent on finding the things he needs before the morning ends. Morose as ever, the elder sighs his discontent and shuffles away to nose at sticks and branches made bare by the season, accidentally jabbing himself on more than one occasion but managing to bring a few mouthfuls of the plant back to Johnny’s pile, each one tossed down with more abandon than the last.
Finally the crafter plops himself down, unceremoniously dismounting his Dog-Bird in the process, and scrunches his eyes in concentration. Slowly, though possibly quicker than the last time Albrecht witnessed the Weaver’s magic, the plants white fibers straighten and detach from their twigs, twining and crisscrossing together until several evenly woven blankets assemble before them. The blankets lay in a neat pile, apparently finished, and the unhappy Dog-Bird stomps right up and into them like they’ve been made especially her. Maybe they were? Albrecht snorts approvingly as she burrows into the pile and shifts them around to cover her every feather and fluff. At least one of them has a little sense.
OOC // I didn't want to leave this unfinished. They're too much fun together. :P
@Johnny
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