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I'M COVERED IN BEEEEES
May. 9th, 2017 10:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
warriorbornWHO: Benedict Sorellin-Lancaster
WHERE: The beehives/surrounding area
WHEN: Backdated to May 5
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: beeeeeeeeees 🐝
STATUS: ongoing
For the gift-giving day — Christmas, as some had called it — Benedict had been given multiple sets of beekeeping equipment. A bonnet, gloves, a full suit to protect himself. He'd been quite touched by the thoughtfulness of it; clearly even people he did not speak to very much knew enough about him to know how protective he felt of their makeshift apiaries, one order of business he knew how to take care of without any instruction at all.
Every now and then he'd idly wish for a smoker, but he'd managed to make do just fine by wrapping grass and leaves and herbs in a tight bundle and charring the end and waving that over the bees as he checked their hives, and while it wasn't as effective as a purpose-built smoker, it worked well enough that he had managed to make do. Bees do not think or see the way humans do, but he likes to think that they've spent enough time together, the hives and he, that they've grown used to each other, and Benedict has taken to tending to them without bothering to do much in the way of covering himself. He's been stung enough times in his life that it hardly registers anymore, and his body doesn't react with the same angry swelling as it had when he was a novitiate monk at the Temple.
As is his routine, he heads out to the apiaries mid-morning after the clean-up from breakfast was completed to check on how the bees are faring. Much to his pleasure, he can hear the bees buzzing even before he rounds the corner. What he doesn't expect, though, is to see the bees swarming. The air is thick with them, fat little yellow and black bodies bobbing everywhere, and he can already see them converging on a nearby branch, most likely clustering around their new queen to keep her safe and warm while they look for a new home.
Whooping with surprised joy, Benedict turns on his heel and runs full-tilt back towards the Inn, careening through the door and taking the stairs up to the room he shares with Kate two at a time, shouting nonsensically about his bees, returning in short order with his beekeeping suit and a skep he'd been building throughout the winter.
The suit gets dumped unceremoniously on the ground when Benedict makes it back out to the bees, abandoned in favor of just getting on with things, and he immediately shifts from the flat-out run to a much more sedate amble so he doesn't agitate the bees. They aren't aggressive at the moment, busy doing important bee business, so he doesn't expect to be stung much, but it doesn't hurt to be cautious.
Carefully laying down the tea towel he'd tucked into the skep when he finished it some weeks ago, Benedict positions it beneath the swarm and then holds the skep directly below the branch before tapping it sharply a few times, knocking the bees into the woven grass receptacle.
"There you go, my lovelies," he coos at them, seemingly oblivious to the bees buzzing about his head, using his bare hands to carefully brush any stragglers into the skep. "You don't have to go far for your new home."
WHERE: The beehives/surrounding area
WHEN: Backdated to May 5
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: beeeeeeeeees 🐝
STATUS: ongoing
For the gift-giving day — Christmas, as some had called it — Benedict had been given multiple sets of beekeeping equipment. A bonnet, gloves, a full suit to protect himself. He'd been quite touched by the thoughtfulness of it; clearly even people he did not speak to very much knew enough about him to know how protective he felt of their makeshift apiaries, one order of business he knew how to take care of without any instruction at all.
Every now and then he'd idly wish for a smoker, but he'd managed to make do just fine by wrapping grass and leaves and herbs in a tight bundle and charring the end and waving that over the bees as he checked their hives, and while it wasn't as effective as a purpose-built smoker, it worked well enough that he had managed to make do. Bees do not think or see the way humans do, but he likes to think that they've spent enough time together, the hives and he, that they've grown used to each other, and Benedict has taken to tending to them without bothering to do much in the way of covering himself. He's been stung enough times in his life that it hardly registers anymore, and his body doesn't react with the same angry swelling as it had when he was a novitiate monk at the Temple.
As is his routine, he heads out to the apiaries mid-morning after the clean-up from breakfast was completed to check on how the bees are faring. Much to his pleasure, he can hear the bees buzzing even before he rounds the corner. What he doesn't expect, though, is to see the bees swarming. The air is thick with them, fat little yellow and black bodies bobbing everywhere, and he can already see them converging on a nearby branch, most likely clustering around their new queen to keep her safe and warm while they look for a new home.
Whooping with surprised joy, Benedict turns on his heel and runs full-tilt back towards the Inn, careening through the door and taking the stairs up to the room he shares with Kate two at a time, shouting nonsensically about his bees, returning in short order with his beekeeping suit and a skep he'd been building throughout the winter.
The suit gets dumped unceremoniously on the ground when Benedict makes it back out to the bees, abandoned in favor of just getting on with things, and he immediately shifts from the flat-out run to a much more sedate amble so he doesn't agitate the bees. They aren't aggressive at the moment, busy doing important bee business, so he doesn't expect to be stung much, but it doesn't hurt to be cautious.
Carefully laying down the tea towel he'd tucked into the skep when he finished it some weeks ago, Benedict positions it beneath the swarm and then holds the skep directly below the branch before tapping it sharply a few times, knocking the bees into the woven grass receptacle.
"There you go, my lovelies," he coos at them, seemingly oblivious to the bees buzzing about his head, using his bare hands to carefully brush any stragglers into the skep. "You don't have to go far for your new home."
