Post by Tarzan on Aug 23, 2019 22:47:38 GMT
(January 25th, open to Enchanted Suns! Would be great if Jane could show up, but anyone wishing to interact with the ape-man!)
Bustling crowds, usually of jovial people doing their work, were a normal scene to come upon in Arendelle. People in colorful garb calling out happily to one another as they oiled sleds, shopped at the vendors, and tended to their pets were all common.
Slightly less common were the new groups of mismatched wildlife, different nationalities, and stern soldiers loading and unloading supplies from the docks of the fjord with serious faces. The Enchanted Suns were bringing the war to Arendelle, thanks to the generous hospitality of Queen Elsa.
But what was not normal at all, a sight entirely out of place, was the man in dreadlocks rolling barrels down the street with his feet.
It was much cooler in Arendelle, especially in January, than the African jungles. Tarzan was wearing a long, faded hyena skin, dyed loosely over one shoulder with the golden emblem of a rearing lion. It covered up approximately half of his body, which kept up appearances for the citizens of Elsa’s civilized kingdom and also kept the tough wild man warm enough without restricting his movement. The cloth’s ragged edges flapped as the primitive went from biped to quadruped, rolling two more barrels ahead with his knuckles while simultaneously riding a third on pedaling feet.
Hard not to be distracted in this new land. Tarzan had never been anywhere as civilized as Arendelle. Luckily Renard’s trading post and his parent’s treehouse had him prepared for the clean lines and workmanship of man, so he wasn’t totally overwhelmed by the site of buildings...but his gray green eyes devoured everything else, even the paved stones, with a curiosity as untamed as nature itself.
Tarzan had been waiting for an excuse to explore this part of the army’s territory. The Pride Lands, the Great Forest, they were both fine, but they only felt like shadows of home. They gave him the same feeling he’d used to get as a cub whenever he accidentally showed up for bed in a nest that didn’t belong to Kala’s. This was different. This was more like coming into the Professor’s camp for the first time...but so much bigger. It was small wonder why the muscled savage stopped watching where he was riding the barrels—he’d just spotted a real, live reindeer for the first time off in the west of the town.
Bustling crowds, usually of jovial people doing their work, were a normal scene to come upon in Arendelle. People in colorful garb calling out happily to one another as they oiled sleds, shopped at the vendors, and tended to their pets were all common.
Slightly less common were the new groups of mismatched wildlife, different nationalities, and stern soldiers loading and unloading supplies from the docks of the fjord with serious faces. The Enchanted Suns were bringing the war to Arendelle, thanks to the generous hospitality of Queen Elsa.
But what was not normal at all, a sight entirely out of place, was the man in dreadlocks rolling barrels down the street with his feet.
It was much cooler in Arendelle, especially in January, than the African jungles. Tarzan was wearing a long, faded hyena skin, dyed loosely over one shoulder with the golden emblem of a rearing lion. It covered up approximately half of his body, which kept up appearances for the citizens of Elsa’s civilized kingdom and also kept the tough wild man warm enough without restricting his movement. The cloth’s ragged edges flapped as the primitive went from biped to quadruped, rolling two more barrels ahead with his knuckles while simultaneously riding a third on pedaling feet.
Hard not to be distracted in this new land. Tarzan had never been anywhere as civilized as Arendelle. Luckily Renard’s trading post and his parent’s treehouse had him prepared for the clean lines and workmanship of man, so he wasn’t totally overwhelmed by the site of buildings...but his gray green eyes devoured everything else, even the paved stones, with a curiosity as untamed as nature itself.
Tarzan had been waiting for an excuse to explore this part of the army’s territory. The Pride Lands, the Great Forest, they were both fine, but they only felt like shadows of home. They gave him the same feeling he’d used to get as a cub whenever he accidentally showed up for bed in a nest that didn’t belong to Kala’s. This was different. This was more like coming into the Professor’s camp for the first time...but so much bigger. It was small wonder why the muscled savage stopped watching where he was riding the barrels—he’d just spotted a real, live reindeer for the first time off in the west of the town.
