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Larue...
He was her target, her mark. Ever since he had landed that kick on her side and skulked out of her cave, the lemon drop had marked him. It was the first time she had even had a particular victim in mind for any of her pranks. Usually it was any unfortunate soul that happened to cross her tricks that day. But this… this was the first time an hint of malice had creeped into her antics.
So, stealthily, ever since the idea had come to her during the foal games at the Basin’s Festival, she had hatched the plan in it’s entirety in her mind. The plants she had stumbled on the beach—the ones that grew on the dunes—while watching Kisamoa; they were itchier than even the vines she had found in the Basin. Her small, pink mouth was testament to that for it had been painfully itchy for days after gathering leaves to bring back home.
And so she prowled around, searching for the sleeping place of the cantankerous old stallion—only to have failed multiple times on this front. So, instead, she had (with the reluctant help of Jellybean) strung them up in the branches with a precarious set of dry, old vines. Thus she had given up on her target and, instead, would use the itchy leaves on some unsuspecting bystander before they withered and shriveled into nothingness.
But, alas, either karma smiled on the filly or was amused by her, because it was none other than her mark that stood beneath her rickety, drying contraption, watching the Northern Lights with his snake companion and scarf. She had to tightly bite her lips to stop from squealing with glee as she edged forward in the snow. Her rose thorn hoof rose to strike at the dried vine tied to the low, dead branch—the thought that her prank may not work due to the season not even crossing her mind.
So, stealthily, ever since the idea had come to her during the foal games at the Basin’s Festival, she had hatched the plan in it’s entirety in her mind. The plants she had stumbled on the beach—the ones that grew on the dunes—while watching Kisamoa; they were itchier than even the vines she had found in the Basin. Her small, pink mouth was testament to that for it had been painfully itchy for days after gathering leaves to bring back home.
And so she prowled around, searching for the sleeping place of the cantankerous old stallion—only to have failed multiple times on this front. So, instead, she had (with the reluctant help of Jellybean) strung them up in the branches with a precarious set of dry, old vines. Thus she had given up on her target and, instead, would use the itchy leaves on some unsuspecting bystander before they withered and shriveled into nothingness.
But, alas, either karma smiled on the filly or was amused by her, because it was none other than her mark that stood beneath her rickety, drying contraption, watching the Northern Lights with his snake companion and scarf. She had to tightly bite her lips to stop from squealing with glee as she edged forward in the snow. Her rose thorn hoof rose to strike at the dried vine tied to the low, dead branch—the thought that her prank may not work due to the season not even crossing her mind.
...pucker up
@Albrecht I struggled with how to set this up, so feel free to have her prank work/not work/partly work. But, basically, all these itchy leaves are tied up in the tree and she can hit a 'tripwire' vine to make them fall on him!
Please tag in all posts.
