Post by Mrs. Potts on Aug 2, 2020 20:18:52 GMT
(Aftermath of Kneel in Pieces, set JUST OUTSIDE the town limits.)
Mrs. Potts was flustered.
She was used to abrupt summons. In her most recent years, she had learned to be ready for a bellow from the Master at any moment. If she could hop from one end of a castle to another without so much as chipping her paint and get the chores done with a spout instead of hands, she could jolly well get this task done. Even if the Enchanted Suns had called for aid in Nottingham, a town she’d never been to, and on such short notice.
It wasn’t the distance that had the round woman’s inner brew whistling nervously as Philippe’s wagon rattled through Sherwood. No, it was the smoke rising into the sky from a few miles ahead, peeking through the tree canopy every few feet. ”Go on, Philippe, hurry, luv,” urged the former teapot. The horse huffed anxiously but trotted with more purpose, his ears swiveled toward the far off town. In the wagon, the supplies and few helpers who had been on hand at the castle bounced when they picked up speed.
”Oh, I do hope...” but the faithful old woman didn’t finish the thought. She hoped no one had been injured, but the distress call had said to prepare for the worst. She hoped some of Nottingham was left standing, but really, so much black was blotting out the blue up ahead. And were the dastardly villains responsible still there? She’d been sent with a small escort, made up of the reinforcements who had been close enough to join her. But would they be enough? Well. If they were not, Beatrice Potts had a stovepot or two handy!
That wouldn’t be necessary, from the looks of it. Someone was coming down the path ahead, looking frazzled. Mrs. Potts snapped the reigns. ”Ooh, woah there, Philippe! Over ‘ere!”
She had no idea whether the conflict itself were over or not. A message had simply come out in the form of an orange horse, a stranger, leaving Colleen DunBark at the castle. The Zootopian had filled Queen Belle and Mrs. Potts in front there. Then she’d insisted on riding along. Dismounting from the wagon seat carefully, Mrs. Potts called back to the canine. ”It looks like we’ve got someone coming, luv. You rest there, we’ll handle this.”
The poor thing’s head was bandaged and she had a hot water bottle drooping between her ears, but she couldn’t be ordered away. Apparently there had been human refugees in Nottingham and the dog was anxious to know whether they’d escaped...or if the hours it took to reach the trouble were too late.
Mrs. Potts was flustered.
She was used to abrupt summons. In her most recent years, she had learned to be ready for a bellow from the Master at any moment. If she could hop from one end of a castle to another without so much as chipping her paint and get the chores done with a spout instead of hands, she could jolly well get this task done. Even if the Enchanted Suns had called for aid in Nottingham, a town she’d never been to, and on such short notice.
It wasn’t the distance that had the round woman’s inner brew whistling nervously as Philippe’s wagon rattled through Sherwood. No, it was the smoke rising into the sky from a few miles ahead, peeking through the tree canopy every few feet. ”Go on, Philippe, hurry, luv,” urged the former teapot. The horse huffed anxiously but trotted with more purpose, his ears swiveled toward the far off town. In the wagon, the supplies and few helpers who had been on hand at the castle bounced when they picked up speed.
”Oh, I do hope...” but the faithful old woman didn’t finish the thought. She hoped no one had been injured, but the distress call had said to prepare for the worst. She hoped some of Nottingham was left standing, but really, so much black was blotting out the blue up ahead. And were the dastardly villains responsible still there? She’d been sent with a small escort, made up of the reinforcements who had been close enough to join her. But would they be enough? Well. If they were not, Beatrice Potts had a stovepot or two handy!
That wouldn’t be necessary, from the looks of it. Someone was coming down the path ahead, looking frazzled. Mrs. Potts snapped the reigns. ”Ooh, woah there, Philippe! Over ‘ere!”
She had no idea whether the conflict itself were over or not. A message had simply come out in the form of an orange horse, a stranger, leaving Colleen DunBark at the castle. The Zootopian had filled Queen Belle and Mrs. Potts in front there. Then she’d insisted on riding along. Dismounting from the wagon seat carefully, Mrs. Potts called back to the canine. ”It looks like we’ve got someone coming, luv. You rest there, we’ll handle this.”
The poor thing’s head was bandaged and she had a hot water bottle drooping between her ears, but she couldn’t be ordered away. Apparently there had been human refugees in Nottingham and the dog was anxious to know whether they’d escaped...or if the hours it took to reach the trouble were too late.
