René Vallières (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
remporter) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2017-09-05 02:38 pm
remporter) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-09-05 02:38 pm
Event/open; c'est quand on vit dans une poubelle
WHO: René Vallières
WHERE: 7thi
WHEN: Throughout the day
OPEN TO: All!
WARNINGS: None so far, will update
i. ꜰᴏᴏᴅ; near house 75
He wasn't expecting this when he first woke up. René wasn't expecting anything in this village to be easy, either, but he heads to the kitchen, groggy from not sleeping properly, in a daze that, in a perfect world, he could fix with copious amounts of coffee. This is not a perfect world, and René presses the heels of his palms into his eyes to wake himself up, and once he rounds to the kitchen for a glass of water what he sees has him up and awake instantly.
That is definitely the window open. That is definitely a fox looking pointedly at him on the kitchen table, and that is absolutely the fox with his bowl of peaches in his mouth. The entire bowl, the fox's mouth picking up the kitchenware, not the individual pieces of food. René says the only thing he really can.
"Good morning?" How did the window magically open?
His question seems to have angered the fox and--did he wink? No, that's absolutely impossible, but the fox definitely jumps from the table to the window and takes off. René stares, gobsmacked, before his reflexes finally kick in and he bolts out as well, stopping in the middle of the road when the animal's too far ahead to feasibly catch.
"What?"
ii. ᴄʜᴀsᴇ; near fountain
It happens again midday. Not with food, but with his backpack--just his backpack, nothing's in it, thank god--and the moment the fox darts between his legs with it, René is at least prepared this time. Sort of.
What follows is a myriad of cursewords leaving René's mouth, none of them in English and one in German thanks to Aurora's influence, and the young spy bolting as quickly as he can after it. There's more than just one, he realizes. He's curving towards the fountain, half expecting the fox to be leading him some where, when he calls out to someone in the corner of his eye that he's sure is another person and not another fox.
"Grab grab grab grab!"
iii. ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍ; steps of the inn
It's not night, not yet, but René has decided he's very much done with today. He's done with the village in general, especially the foxes, though his frustration has peaked and now plateaued into a simmering annoyance with absolutely everything, especially animals of the canine variety.
It used to be small, yippy dogs where his least favourite animal. Foxes are now squarely number one on the 'please exterminate' list. At least he got his backpack back.
Except, as René gets up from his rest on the steps of the inn, he feels something clamp around his leg. Not enough to bleed, but tight enough to get a grip on, and it's--
--oh, Christ. It's a fox. René shakes his leg. Nothing happens. He repeats it once, twice, three times. The fox is latched firmly onto his leg. Slowly, sighing, he tries to walk. He staggers, just a bit, trying to adjust to the animal weight, and resigns himself to dragging the thing up to the inn. Maybe a glass of water on it's head will scare it off... Or maybe that will cause the fox to bite his leg off.
Either way, he'll be rid of it.
WHERE: 7thi
WHEN: Throughout the day
OPEN TO: All!
WARNINGS: None so far, will update
i. ꜰᴏᴏᴅ; near house 75
He wasn't expecting this when he first woke up. René wasn't expecting anything in this village to be easy, either, but he heads to the kitchen, groggy from not sleeping properly, in a daze that, in a perfect world, he could fix with copious amounts of coffee. This is not a perfect world, and René presses the heels of his palms into his eyes to wake himself up, and once he rounds to the kitchen for a glass of water what he sees has him up and awake instantly.
That is definitely the window open. That is definitely a fox looking pointedly at him on the kitchen table, and that is absolutely the fox with his bowl of peaches in his mouth. The entire bowl, the fox's mouth picking up the kitchenware, not the individual pieces of food. René says the only thing he really can.
"Good morning?" How did the window magically open?
His question seems to have angered the fox and--did he wink? No, that's absolutely impossible, but the fox definitely jumps from the table to the window and takes off. René stares, gobsmacked, before his reflexes finally kick in and he bolts out as well, stopping in the middle of the road when the animal's too far ahead to feasibly catch.
"What?"
ii. ᴄʜᴀsᴇ; near fountain
It happens again midday. Not with food, but with his backpack--just his backpack, nothing's in it, thank god--and the moment the fox darts between his legs with it, René is at least prepared this time. Sort of.
What follows is a myriad of cursewords leaving René's mouth, none of them in English and one in German thanks to Aurora's influence, and the young spy bolting as quickly as he can after it. There's more than just one, he realizes. He's curving towards the fountain, half expecting the fox to be leading him some where, when he calls out to someone in the corner of his eye that he's sure is another person and not another fox.
"Grab grab grab grab!"
iii. ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍ; steps of the inn
It's not night, not yet, but René has decided he's very much done with today. He's done with the village in general, especially the foxes, though his frustration has peaked and now plateaued into a simmering annoyance with absolutely everything, especially animals of the canine variety.
It used to be small, yippy dogs where his least favourite animal. Foxes are now squarely number one on the 'please exterminate' list. At least he got his backpack back.
Except, as René gets up from his rest on the steps of the inn, he feels something clamp around his leg. Not enough to bleed, but tight enough to get a grip on, and it's--
--oh, Christ. It's a fox. René shakes his leg. Nothing happens. He repeats it once, twice, three times. The fox is latched firmly onto his leg. Slowly, sighing, he tries to walk. He staggers, just a bit, trying to adjust to the animal weight, and resigns himself to dragging the thing up to the inn. Maybe a glass of water on it's head will scare it off... Or maybe that will cause the fox to bite his leg off.
Either way, he'll be rid of it.