Portal Breach: The Collision of Worlds :: v.4.0


    Baa Baa Black Sheep

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    Mortis
    Petabyte

    Petabyte

    Posts : 925
    Join date : 2014-03-22
    Location : Deadworld
    Level : 60

    Character Sheet
    Defense Bar:
    65/65  (65/65)
    Health Bar:
    650/650  (650/650)
    Stamina Bar:
    120/120  (120/120)

    Baa Baa Black Sheep

    Post by Mortis on Thu May 25, 2017 4:03 am

    Time: Afternoon
    Date: May 18, 0008

    It was inevitable, as the days grew warmer and longer, Mortis had come to expect more than just the coming of blooms in his vegetable garden and the anticipated planting season. His eyes were one the ground as it thawed and grew lush and fertile with the late-spring rains as much as they were on a particularly fluffy member of his household of animals both living and undead. He watched as she wandered around the meadow, happily grazing. Though as the days grew longer and the sun began to glow more warmly than it did during the winter, he noticed little changes in the ewe’s behavior.

    Can you put more ice in the water, Ma?

    The shade feels just as hot as it does in the sun.

    I want to sit with you in the hammock, Ma. You feel so cool.

    But I don’t want to leave the house Ma, it’s too hot out there! I want to sit on the couch where it's cool.

    Such was the subject of most of the ewe’s complaints, though the days hardly grew any warmer than the mid twenties -Centigrade of course, not that Fahrenheit nonsense-  according to the thermometer outside. But, the way way Woolie had herself sprawled over the air conditioning vent in the corner of the kitchen while she watched him cut and prepare the leave from the potted sage for drying, suggested that it was closer to a scorching fifty-eight.

    ”Methinksss it isss time we had you sssheared.” He hissed as he grouped the leaves together on the counter.

    The ewe looked up from where she was happily laying like a fuzzy log, and licked her shiny black nose. Shearing? What was that? She had not heard of her Ma talk to her of shearing before. Or at least she had not thought she did until now. But, she had been convinced easily enough that it was a good thing, as she listened to the towering sheep-skull headed undead explain the process. It was nothing more than a full-body haircut!

    Getting an electrical set of shears was naturally the undead’s go-to plan for getting rid of that heavy winter wool. There had to be at least a few pounds of it covering her from neck to tail. The machine worked faster than the regular scissor-like tool, and cut the wool more evenly. The only matter the undead worried about was whether or not Woolie would grow anxious from the droning, high pitched whine it made while operating. She had seen and experienced many things while being on his farm, but a pair of electrical shears was still a new experience. He did not doubt that a possible route would be to settle her while he was trimming away the heavy insulating wool.

    He deemed it best to shear her in the morning, when it was still cool and relatively quiet. During this morning a blanket of pale mist had settled itself beautifully over the fields, and the ewe enjoyed the cool moisture that met her face as she had followed him out to the barn.

    Angemort insisted on witnessing the event, as she too was curious about what was about to befall her grazing partner. Her skeletal snout sniffed and prodded curiously at the implements her master had on hand, from the shears, to the wide slab of wood, to the shiny black garbage bag sitting next to it. It looked complicated to the undead mare who was resigned to stand away and watch from the barn’s doorway when Mortis came to be ready to work.

    But the shearing itself was relatively quick, once Mortis had her in a comfortable position and settled her enough that she did not jolt when he turned on the mechanical shears. The thick insulation that kept her warm during the winter fell away from her body like a thick blanket, which was rolled up and placed in the plastic bag upon finishing skirting out the usable parts of the fleece from the compost.

    He had rewarded her for her good behavior, a handful of crisp cut carrots and clover flowers he had plucked the day before. It was a small reward, but the sheep ate it up just as greedily.

    The ewe happily raced out to the meadow to bounce in the damp grass, reveling in the way the cool air passed over her skin. She looked nearly as tiny as she was when she was a lamb with all the fluff cut off of her- an observation Angemort was quick to inspect as she followed her out to their grazing area and began curiously sniffing from head to tail.

    Mortis could hear them from where he was shaking the pitch black wool down into the bag before he returned into the house:

    Woolie! You shrank!

    I did?

    You look so small, friend. Do you not notice it? Master made you tiny, like a barn cat.

    I feel... lighter, cooler, but not smaller, Angie.  The grass does not look any taller to me, or you. Are you sure I shrank?

    Mortis left it to the both of them to figure out whether the ewe actually shrank or not, further out he could sense Samhain patrolling near the fence as she caught the presence of something lurking about near the tree-line. It was small enough, a wandering fox who decided to take advantage of the early morning mists as she went out to find her breakfast. If the vixen decided to be so foolish as to try her chances with the sheep, he was confident either Samhain or Angemort would make short work of it.

    He nearly looked forward to the possibility of such a blunder, if only to try his hand at curing her fiery red pelt afterwards. Maybe if fortune permitted, he could even add that slender, graceful skull to his steadily growing collection that sat on top of the bookshelf in the living room. There was a space next to a rather elegantly shaped skull of a black bear sow that would suit it perfectly.

    Though the undead was one to let nature run its course, it was admittedly incredibly tempting to just snag those vulpine thoughts in his claws and give them a swift tug towards the fence.

    Alas, his thoughts- and violent hopes, were dashed as the vixen turned her bushy tail and loped back into the woods. Another day, Miss Vulpes vulpes, maybe another day.

    Inside the house, Mortis had a number of tools at the ready- carding brushes and a simple spinner he had cobbled together from a long wooden dowel and the remains of a pull-toy from one of the houses, ended with small curved metal hooks. These sat on the small end table next to the armchair in front of the fireplace, complete with a small portable radio in their company.

    Mortis pressed one of the matte silver buttons upon the top of it, and static briefly erupted from the single speaker, then melted into a garbled chorus of talking and music as he pushed the dial from station to station. The bag full of freshly sheared black wool was set at the foot of the chair as he came to pause at a particular station. The music that crackled from the speaker was faint and crinkled. Most likely they were just at the very edge of the station’s broadcasting range, the undead reasoned.

    But, the beat was quick and springy, and the tune itself -what he could discern through the static- was pleasing enough to his senses. He turned the volume up slightly as he claimed his seat in the chair. The cards were taken up in his talons, and he set himself to straighten out the wool to the beat. By the time it was straightened, the music had changed five times over, mostly under the undead’s skeletal nose. Straightening out the fibers was an oddly satisfying task, and his focused had become so that he barely noticed a single fluctuation in the notes or lyrics as the DJ had swapped out the tracks.

    Spinning came and went just as carding had, as Mortis carefully pulled and spun the wool into yarn upon the lead string. The strand’s thickness was methodically measured as he twisted the fiber from a thin, long wisp of carded wool into an ever growing string of yarn upon the ever spinning dowel that hung just above the carpet. By the end of the process he had set aside possibly four skeins of spun yarn to be washed.

    Granted, the book had suggested that most tended to wash the wool before spinning, but doing so removed a lot of the oils that made the wool weatherproof to begin with. Woolie’s type of wool, while very thick and a lovely black, was not the type that was suitable for wearing against the skin. It was too coarse, and would make one break into an itching frenzy without having something on beneath it. But it was suitable for outer wear, so long as it was not completely stripped of lanolin. Mortis let the radio keep playing on as he brought the nearly finished skeins of black wool to the sink, setting them on the counter before ducking down to retrieve a bottle of soap from the sink cabinet. From there it had been gently washed and set to dry on the windowsill as the sun drew itself higher into the sky.

    By the next day the skeins were completely dried, and thus the undead could achieve the final intent of his hard work. The skeins were wrapped in soft buckskin -there was plenty around as he culled the local deer population during the slower days- and tied off with twine.

    But, there would be no summoning of the great black bird he tended to use for delivering his gifts. Recently he had detected a familiar presence, his brother’s presence, not too far away. His family had decided to stay in the cottage this summer. There was no reason to have Omber make the flight, when he could happily make a brief visit to drop off a gift for the resident taxi-yellow femme.

    Part of him was disappointed that the bees had not yet been established long enough to make enough honey to harvest, and most of the vegetables were still in the process of flowering or growing. It would have been nice to add something sweet to his gift that the household could enjoy. Alas, four skeins of black wool would have to do, he decided.

    Making sure that the skeins were tied off with a neat bow, he tucked the gift beneath a skeletal arm and stepped out to get Angemort ready for the ride over. If they were not home, he could simply stick it in the mail box he supposed. If they were home, perhaps he could take the opportunity to catch up in person, if they would have him.

    Though, the undead tended to expect the former option far sooner than the latter.






    Livewire receives four skeins of black wool.

      Current date/time is Sun Sep 24, 2017 4:27 am