Post by Scamp on Aug 11, 2020 17:12:13 GMT
(Long overdue Festival thread. Closed to Scamp and Angel.)
"Woah..."
When Scamp had exited the Snuggly Duckling, he wasn't sure what to expect. In their handful of meetings since their reunion, Angel had told him about the plans for some kind of celebration happening. A party, related to her journey with the supply team. The decorations, she said, reminded her of Marceline dressed up in its best Fourth of July apparel. And that was just about all the information either house-dog had of the event.
In the days following, as banners and flags sprang up around them, plenty of disdainful rumblings from his fellow Wings were heard. But Scamp did his best to tune them out. Though the festivities seemed to be more of a distraction than a true celebration of either faction's skill, for the mongrel it meant so much more. It was a chance to spend time with Angel without risking his position. No curfews. No lies. A time for the pair to just... be together.
Truthfully, part of him was hoping for the evening to diffuse whatever tensions were still lingering. Days past their initial meeting, it seemed Angel was still coming to grips with his loyalty. The Suns seemed nice enough, but the more Scamp thought on the matter, the more the old feeling of being stifled by his environment crept back into his thoughts. Even with his status, so long as he was in the Wings, he got to make his own rules. That alone sounded better than army drills.
For the moment, thoughts of their argument were cast aside as he ambled along to their meeting spot. The fuzzy mutt's head turned from side to side, ears flopping about. He almost didn't know where to look -- every new sight and sound demanded his attention. Merchants pleaded with onlookers to buy their wares. Excited children ran from bagatelle and ball-toss stands, clutching prizes. Angel had picked a meeting spot near a small fountain, but through all the commotion, the thought was almost lost on him entirely.
Lost, that is, until a smell caught his attention. A wooden food cart was parked not too far from their rendezvous point, handing out roast chicken on a skewer to a mother and her son. His bushy eyebrows shot up high, stubby gray tail waving like a pennant in the breeze. He could recognize that smell anywhere. And with its proximity to their spot, surely he could entice her with a treat to start the night off right.
His sisters were above begging. The ladies had been taught to behave politely around the dinner table, but Scamp was his father's child, through and through. He gently scratched at the cart and sat back on his haunches. His best puppy-dog eyes were the first thing the merchant saw when she leaned over the side. She acknowledged him with hesitation, prompting the mongrel to turn up the charm.
He whimpered sweetly before getting up to turn in an excited circle... only to lose his footing and collapse, in classic fashion. A startled "Yipe!" escaped him; Scamp may have been grown, but "graceful" was still missing from his vocabulary. This stunning lack of coordination caused his target to laugh, and -- perhaps out of sympathy -- give him the skewer. With a shaggy smile, Scamp took it and trotted off to his meeting point, just as Angel was arriving in the distance.
His tail wagged. His heart soared. Any lingering doubt had evaporated from his mind. Tonight was going to be amazing.
"Woah..."
When Scamp had exited the Snuggly Duckling, he wasn't sure what to expect. In their handful of meetings since their reunion, Angel had told him about the plans for some kind of celebration happening. A party, related to her journey with the supply team. The decorations, she said, reminded her of Marceline dressed up in its best Fourth of July apparel. And that was just about all the information either house-dog had of the event.
In the days following, as banners and flags sprang up around them, plenty of disdainful rumblings from his fellow Wings were heard. But Scamp did his best to tune them out. Though the festivities seemed to be more of a distraction than a true celebration of either faction's skill, for the mongrel it meant so much more. It was a chance to spend time with Angel without risking his position. No curfews. No lies. A time for the pair to just... be together.
Truthfully, part of him was hoping for the evening to diffuse whatever tensions were still lingering. Days past their initial meeting, it seemed Angel was still coming to grips with his loyalty. The Suns seemed nice enough, but the more Scamp thought on the matter, the more the old feeling of being stifled by his environment crept back into his thoughts. Even with his status, so long as he was in the Wings, he got to make his own rules. That alone sounded better than army drills.
For the moment, thoughts of their argument were cast aside as he ambled along to their meeting spot. The fuzzy mutt's head turned from side to side, ears flopping about. He almost didn't know where to look -- every new sight and sound demanded his attention. Merchants pleaded with onlookers to buy their wares. Excited children ran from bagatelle and ball-toss stands, clutching prizes. Angel had picked a meeting spot near a small fountain, but through all the commotion, the thought was almost lost on him entirely.
Lost, that is, until a smell caught his attention. A wooden food cart was parked not too far from their rendezvous point, handing out roast chicken on a skewer to a mother and her son. His bushy eyebrows shot up high, stubby gray tail waving like a pennant in the breeze. He could recognize that smell anywhere. And with its proximity to their spot, surely he could entice her with a treat to start the night off right.
His sisters were above begging. The ladies had been taught to behave politely around the dinner table, but Scamp was his father's child, through and through. He gently scratched at the cart and sat back on his haunches. His best puppy-dog eyes were the first thing the merchant saw when she leaned over the side. She acknowledged him with hesitation, prompting the mongrel to turn up the charm.
He whimpered sweetly before getting up to turn in an excited circle... only to lose his footing and collapse, in classic fashion. A startled "Yipe!" escaped him; Scamp may have been grown, but "graceful" was still missing from his vocabulary. This stunning lack of coordination caused his target to laugh, and -- perhaps out of sympathy -- give him the skewer. With a shaggy smile, Scamp took it and trotted off to his meeting point, just as Angel was arriving in the distance.
His tail wagged. His heart soared. Any lingering doubt had evaporated from his mind. Tonight was going to be amazing.
