Logs

Megan is such a *nice* girl...

It is mid afternoon and already the streets between the stone houses and centre of Bree have begun to quieten down, with only a few going here and there on their buisness. Miss Megan Tasselberry has stepped away from one of the houses and back onto the road, a wide, michevious grin on her young face- as if she has just done something incredibly naughty and knows it will only be a matter of time before whatever it is eventuates.

Now she starts off down the road, basket on the crook of her arm- and this is covered by a teatowel, hiding whatever's inside. A tune is on her lips and this is slightly off key, though merry nonetheless, as she skips along to whatever unsuspecting household is next on her list.

Further along the road, a door bursts open and a gaggle of children emerges, the foremost (a boy of perhaps eight or so) holding a sewn leather ball. "-hey! My turn," another eager voice calls after him as the group spills into the street, and the high piping voice of a little girl sounds a plaintive "Waaait for me!" as her fat little legs carry yer after the rest.

Behind the group, and pausing to lean on his staff, is the old shepherd Hugh Bramblefleece. "Now now, lads and lasses, don't ye be goin' too far. Have pity on yer poor ole granda," he admonishes, then settles down on the door-stoop to watch the ball game from a safe distance. Megan he does not even notice - not so the little girl, who halts in the middle of the road, finger in her mouth, then skips away from her friends and towards the Bree girl instead. "What's /that/?" She points with a grubby finger at Megan's basket.

Megan, however, has noticed the children spilling from another house, and her steps slow, the whistling fading on her lips, her eyes just watching the children cautiously as if they were to attack her in a swarm.

As the young girl approaches, a friendly and warm smile dances over Megan's lips and her eyes slide to Hugh for just a moment- perhaps seeking out their guardian. Looking back to the girl, she shrugs her shoulders just lightly. 'Basket- with fruit, bread, eggs...' she snaps her mouth shut upon utterance of the last item; only now recognising Hugh as the man she splattered with eggs at the market, though her eyes don't drift involuntarily to him- that would only give herself away.

The majority of the children still pay Megan no heed, too engrossed in their ball game. One little boy tries to seize the ball from another with a flying tackle, and the pair end up sprawled across one of the low hedges that separates individual gardens from the road. "Hey! Watch yersel's there," Hugh calls out, voice surprisingly loud for an old man (and unsurprisingly a little grumpy). "That's other folk's property - yer Ma'll have my head if the neighbours start complainin'." And thus distracted, he /still/ doesn't notice - or recognize - Megan.

The little girl, meanwhile, pouts as Megan's mouth snaps shut. "That's boring!" she declares, her ginger pigtails bobbing as she nods. "I thought it might be cakes." Her voice lowers to a whisper as she confides, "I like cakes."

Megan is obviously distracted by the children playing ball- perhaps it is all the movement and noise that holds her attention better that a simple conversation about cakes with a young girl, and she seems hardly able to draw her eyes off of the playing children and back to the curious one at her feet.

Now she tilts her head just slightly, an impish grin spreading across her face. 'Well- there are sugar buns, fruit tarts... and,' she lowers her voice just slightly, eyes darting about quickly, 'You're not to tell anyone- but rotten eggs too..' and now she winks and grins, glancing up again- perhaps afraid that Hugh has heard her- perhaps fearing his temper.

Tempers might boil hot in the summer heat, but so may people. One particularily hot-headed is Anice Thistlefeather as she comes up the street, face redder than usual, continuously mopping her cheeks and forehead with a handkerchief, the usual basket dangling from her arm. Perhaps that is the reason that she does not appear to notice the small bullet-like child running backwards at her, and... wham! knocking her over, a strange strangled sound as she goes down. "Oi!"

Megan- who's eyes are continually darting around anyway, spots Alice as she's knocked to the ground and an amused smile spreads quickly across her face. She even edges closer but, rather than helping her up; stiffles a laugh and just watches- laughter rising as she tries to supress it.

Several things happen at once.

Hugh, his face like thunder, springs to his feet and starts to hobble towards the downed Anice, bawling towards the unfortunate child who had downed her, "What d'ye think ye're doing! Say yer sorry - at once!"

The little girl considers Megan's words as she trots after her. "Oh." Then, her piping voice sweet and innocent, "Why do you have rotten egg-"

But her question is never finished. For at that moment the third thing happens - the boy holding the ball turns to see Ms. Thistlefeather's predicament, a smirk crossing his young face - and his next kick is poorly aimed. The ball hurtling towards Megan ... and her basket.

Megan's eyes- well learned and knowledgable in such matters, turn to look again at the child. 'Because, there are more uses for rotten eggs than you can possibly know,' she replies simply, trailing off, bright eyes now taking to darting around quickly again.

It seems that perhaps she spots the ball just in time; or maybe it was a natural, insinctual reflex as she averts herself to the side and manages to keep a hold of the basket- the ball smacking into her body instead. Within an instant of the ball making contact, the bright cheery sheen over her eyes has disappeared and is replaced with that cold, icy stare which is snapped at the child who originally kicked the ball- a look that could curdle milk, no doubt.

"Not to worry, not to worry." gasps Mrs.Thistlefeather as she gets to her feet (or rather to her knees) again, trying to collect her bobbing vegetables as they roll over the street emerged from her basket. "'course..." she picks up a crushed potato, "... one could hope the younglings'd be a bit more careful. And show some manners." The last is said with a quick, stern glance at Megan.

"S- sorry," the little boy who'd run into Anice falters, gaze downcast. "I didn't mean it, honest!" He casts a despairing glance towards the approaching Hugh and then offers quickly, "I'll get yer vegetables, Ma'am," reaching down for a carrot. It's left to Hugh himself to attend to Anice; he extends one calloused hand to her, the other keeping tight hold of his staff. "Need a hand up? Hope these varmits didn't do much damage ..." as he speaks his eyes roam round the group, settling at last on Megan. A puzzled frown creases his bushy brows.

The boy who had thrown the ball at Megan meets her stare defiantly, his young chin lifted in superb mimicry. While the little girl at Megan's side giggles and bursts out suddenly, "Granda, did you /see/?"

Cold eyes now watch the goings on expectantly- the woman on the floor and the vegetables there also, though her icy stare moves up to the young boy who had thrown the ball once more, she tilts her head and then it seems she shakes herself out of some kind of dream- or replaces one mask with another, now looking down to Anice- her features softening notibly.

"Oh! I hope you're alright! It wasn't all that long ago that I was on the ground with my vegetables everywhere too!" she says, now helping to grab at some carrots at her feet- concerned eyes skimming over the other Breewoman and then up at Hugh- as if to make sure he's alright with helping her up.

"Thank you, thank you... I can manage." The middle-aged Breewoman pulls herself upright with some effort, face red as one of her tomatos, even laughing as she clutches the handle of her basket again with both hands -- now that nothing much seems to be missing or be ruined, she appears to be more inclined to take the entire affair at a lighter tone. "Didn't even see him come, there, you know."

The little girl with the ginger hair peers at Megan. "But you said there weren't vegetables in ... there," she points out, faltering as she realizes she's almost given away a Great Secret. Meanwhile the lad who'd kicked the ball Megan's way calls out cheerily, "Hey, chuck that ball back, will you?" No apology from him.

Hugh, who manages to stay fairly steady as Anice is brought back to her feet, nods at her words. "Aye, well, if the younguns /looked/ where they were goin'," he snorts. "Know the feelin', anyway, sometimes these eyes aren't as sharp as they used to be ..." he trails off again, for the 'not-so-sharp eyes' are fixed once more on Megan. "Don't I know yer from somewhere?" he wonders slowly, bushy brows still drawn down in puzzlement.

Distracted by the whole scene by the little ginger-haired girl, Megan's face turns cheery and impish again, eyes sliding quickly to the basket. 'There are vegetables in there...' she says simply, as if shrugging off that she'd ever meantioned anything about rotten eggs and such. Absently, she kicks the ball across to the boy- though her eyes don't soften for him as they do when she looks upon the girl at her side.

"You can't blame them, really- they are only children, after all," she points out, now flicking her own sharp eyes on Hugh, shrugging one shoulder in reply to his question- "Maybe you've seen me at the Inn, or at the Bakery, or here, or in the market, or in Combe... I'm around a lot- you could have seem me anywhere I'm sure," she smiles innocently-, moving slightly so her curls bob and dimples appear- giving her an almost sickly-sweet appearance.

Seemingly unaware of the new atmosphere, Anice nods cheerfully. "Just children, aye, ah, to be that young again..." With a slight groan she straightens out her leg. "Well, I better be on my way. My thanks again, Ms Tassleberry, Mr.Bramblefleece, see you soon, hopefully in better weather, eh?" So saying, she limps off along the street again.

The boy doesn't bother to thank Megan for returning the ball - instead he's off and running. Moments later, after little hands have returned the final few broken carrots and bruised potatoes to Anice's basket, his companions are chasing after him. Soon the ball game is resumed, with the leathern ball being alternately tossed from hand to hand and kicked by muddy feet further up the street.

Hugh distractedly offers a hand to the little girl, murmuring, "What's that, Betsy?", but doesn't wait for an answer, given Anice chooses that moment to leave. He calls a hasty, "Good day," after her, then returns to the puzzle that Megan presents. "Mebbe I met ye in Combe then," he begins to Megan then suddenly shakes his head, sending his white mane flying. "No, I have it. Twas in the Market, when those young hooligans were throwin' their eggs. Varmits even had the gall to deny it!" He sounds completely outraged. "If ye hadn't a' told me, I'd never a'known."

Megan glances up the road as Anice leaves, a troubled look clouding her features for the briefest of moments, before she turns her attention back to Hugh, tilting her head to the side just slightly.

"Ah yes, the market- I'm there often... Throwing eggs!? Did you know them? Did they have reason to throw eggs at you?!' Megan looks shocked an astonished- even managing to hide the look of delight that hides somewhere beneath her features. 'It's terrible what Bree's coming to- can't even take a walk through the market without getting eggs thown at you,' she pushes further, then shakes her head with a disappointed sigh. 'I'll tell you- it's happened to me, so you're not alone!'

Another glance is cast up the street, and is followed by another sigh. "Well, I have more things to deliver, so I must be off again I'm afraid.." and she begins to walk, pausing a moment. "I'm Megan, Megan Tasselberry.." and she turns and leaves- hoping to get far enough before he could possibly accuse her of anything, had he heard of her, or her brothers before.

"Terrible indeed," Hugh agrees with Megan, shaking his head once more. "Glad yer a sensible lass and don't approve of tricks like that'un. I tell ye, next time I catch 'em rascals at it, they'll feel the stroke of Hugh Bramblefleece's cane." The bushy brows draw down in a glare, but then his lined features soften as he ends, "Good day to ye, Miss Tassleberry." Seems he's fully convinced of what a /nice/ young lady she is.

The little girl tugs on Hugh's hand. "But granda ... er, nothing," she falters, biting her lip suddenly. "Goodbye, Megan" she calls out, raising her free hand in a cheery wave. As the street clears and the ball game pauses a moment, her young voice can be heard asking the old man, "Granda, can I go and play with Megan some time?" She's ever such a nice lady. Indeed.