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03-26-2016, 01:26 PM
(This post was last modified: 03-27-2016, 08:07 AM by Albrecht.
Edit Reason: Fixed tense issue. Changed one sentence.
)
The sing-song clamor of infantile lilts in tone is unmistakable – and conveniently pinpointing exactly where the caroler is as he roams around the Basins inner caverns. Peppermint-Johnny is skipping along (at least, that’s how the old man pictures him moving since nothing else would seem appropriate) projecting his voice ahead of him like a foghorn of warning. Run, Albrecht! It calls, though he hardly needs to be hasty to avoid the Weavers cursory search. He’s really just skimming along the well-worn tracks and expecting his prey to present itself. Not likely, the old man snorts, safely tucked into a dark corner of the rock walls, but as he listens to the gradually softening noise a tinge of guilt pricks at his senses and sends his ears flicking back and forth uneasily.
The wrap of soft, undyed wool around his neck suddenly seems to weigh an inordinate amount. Normally cozy and warm, the scarf is now inexplicably uncomfortable, soothing pressure turned to choking collar. Had the crafter bewitched it? Or is the old coot just being overly sensitive? He believed in keeping promises once... but for now he'd rather accuse and blame than risk the pain of introspection. “Fucking bullshit.” He mutters, shaking his mane-less, bearded neck in aggravation. Why should an old man like him have to go bumbling through the woods searching for twigs and leaves? Isn’t that what apprentices are for? Phantoms aren’t assigned that duty! But despite his inward complaints the black moves forward and out of his hiding spot, dragging his hooves along the tiny, slush filled tracks of the Weaver. Even his hoofprints smell of peppermint.
OOC // @Johnny You can notice him following or have him catch up whenever. :)
The wrap of soft, undyed wool around his neck suddenly seems to weigh an inordinate amount. Normally cozy and warm, the scarf is now inexplicably uncomfortable, soothing pressure turned to choking collar. Had the crafter bewitched it? Or is the old coot just being overly sensitive? He believed in keeping promises once... but for now he'd rather accuse and blame than risk the pain of introspection. “Fucking bullshit.” He mutters, shaking his mane-less, bearded neck in aggravation. Why should an old man like him have to go bumbling through the woods searching for twigs and leaves? Isn’t that what apprentices are for? Phantoms aren’t assigned that duty! But despite his inward complaints the black moves forward and out of his hiding spot, dragging his hooves along the tiny, slush filled tracks of the Weaver. Even his hoofprints smell of peppermint.
OOC // @Johnny You can notice him following or have him catch up whenever. :)
![[Image: 56c616e54affc]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/56c616e54affc)
