xp_logs | Asgard: Doug/Angie, Group log

Doug and Angie in an inn. A skald lets slip about Doug telling people that he and Angie are betrothed. Humor ensues.

The inn's common room was, as they all were, crowded, noisy and full of the smells of ale, smoke and food. After days of traveling in the snow, it was -heaven-. Dipping a corner of brown bread, thick and chewy, into her stew, Marie-Ange basked in the warmth from the fireplace and smiled affectionately at Doug, who was talking quietly and animatedly with the older man sitting right by the fire. Maybe she could talk him into an early night. Sharing a warm bed, even if nothing else happened, would be highly welcome.

Doug had gone over to talk to the skald immediately after he had finished a set of stories and songs, offering the news he had learned on his way to where the group currently was, as well as a few of his 'new' stories to expand the skald's repertoire.

"I am honored to meet you, young Aron Hugaldrsson," the skald said. "I have heard tales of you and your friends from other skalds. In particular, the way you held a much larger warrior at bay to protect the wench Rannveig's virtue is often told to me. I have heard that young Arnbjorn has begun courting her, though she still sighs when your name is mentioned." Doug smiled happily. He had worked hard to beat some romance into Ambi's head, he was glad it had paid off.

"And my mentor and friend Hugaldr? How fares he?" Doug asked curiously. "Well," the skald replied. "He begs each passing skald for news of you, and beams like a well-pleased father when he receives it." Doug blushed slightly, embarrassed.

Sensing his discomfort, the skald changed the subject. "And are those your companions?" he asked. At Doug's nod, the skald smiled. "I should very much like to meet the seeress who defied the All-Father himself, not to mention see what sort of lady inspired the performance I heard you gave for her." Doug took the old skald's hand and helped him to his feet, and both crossed to where Marie-Ange was sitting.

"Greetings, dreamwalker," the skald said. "I am honored to meet young Aron's betrothed, and see for myself the beauty that has inspired his songs."

Dropping her bread into her stew was probably not the most ladylike or graceful way to make an introduction. Neither was blinking incredulously at Doug and making loudish exclamations in French. "Betrothed? The -hell- we are?" Checking, just to make sure, she looked down at her hand. No, no ring. She definitely hadn't gotten engaged while she wasn't looking. "Is there some explanation for this?"

"Um." Doug blinked. "Oh, shit," he muttered in English. "Um, Angie, love?" he asked in French. "Can we please not make a scene?" He looked around furtively, noticing a few patrons staring curiously at the racket, wondering if it was the prelude to a brawl or something. "It was an expression. Norse doesn't exactly have a cultural equivalent for 'girlfriend'," he explained quickly.

Eyebrows raised, Marie-Ange still gave Doug a slight incredulous look. "It is a bit of a shock to find out that we are engaged to be married." Unfortunately, her serious, irritated look was marred by the slight upturning of her mouth, and the amused brightness of her eyes. Turning towards the skald, she bowed her head and greeted him in Norse. "My apologies. I have been terribly rude. I am Angela Duvalsdottir, though I must apologize for the stories that have been told. They were great exaggerations of what I actually told the All Father." The translation of her name always felt odd to say, never quite right on her tongue.

Doug, for his part, was more than a little flustered, hoping that he wasn't in it seriously deep with his girlfriend. He settled for wrapping an arm around her shoulder while she began the tale of just what had exactly happened in Odin's meadhall to the skald.

---
On the road, a group of goblin bandits get the drop on the group. Doug begins the bad D&D puns, and from there to the bad Wheel of Time jokes.

It was decidedly unsound tactics to attack a group of warriors on horses. Warriors had swords and large clubs and armor and it generally resulted in Kupt and his bandits getting their asses handed to them soundly, and it always meant that he had to go and find more goblins to replace the ones that were hacked into little tiny bits.

Which is why he was skulking in the treeline, brownish-green skin blending into the bushes, and watching the group of travelers on the road. They were -small-. Well, small compared to anyone else. The biggest of the bunch was still a half-grown man, it seemed, and none of them had proper armor except the 'big' one, and Kupt couldn't see any axes or clubs or spears.

He wouldn't send his goblins to attack warriors. That was stupid. He would send them to attack a family on that road. That was just good economic sense. Families had gold and children to hold for ransom and women had jewelry sometimes and they had food - and this one had horses, and horses always made for good stew.

A loud chirp signaled the rest of the pack to attack, knives and daggers at the ready, leaping in groups of two and three at the travelers.

Jamie happened to be looking around at the scenery when it suddenly sprouted goblins, and it didn't take a genius to figure out they weren't coming for tea. He yelled "AMBUSH!" then glanced down at Miles. "Stay with Misty, kiddo--she might get scared, and we don't want her running away." He handed the reins to the little boy, then slid off the horse, staff telescoping to its full length as he landed.

A few steps brought him outside Miles' dampening range, and he duped, ranging four between the goblins and his friends, while the fifth whirled its staff overhead; the double-throated battle howl would be better than a signal flare to Rahne and Hrimhari that something was wrong.

More than once in Asgard, Marie-Ange had wished for her cards. Not for the purpose of readings, but because tarot cards came with an entire suit of swords. Bad memories or not, swords had sharp edges and dealt with annoying goblins -far- faster than her quarterstaff. But since someone, and she was not going to name names but he had fire powers and a silver cloak, had turned hers into a decidedly non-sword-shaped bent metal thing, she hadn't much choice.

Oh, she could have pulled the dagger, but it was for -eating- with, not stabbing with, and cleaning it would have been a huge pain, and she'd probably have just wanted to get a new one, and you didn't go and throw out gifts from Sif. It was rude, and Sif was -scary- besides.

Before she could even consider the idea of pulling her staff, a grayish-green nasty looking goblin latched itself onto her horse's flank and pulled a long dagger. A hard swift kick to the goblin's shoulder sent the dagger flying, but it remained clinging to the saddle straps.

Shiro, who had been flying above the group to get a sense of the land, didn't see the ambush until it was too late. Swearing, he swooped down and grabbed the closest goblin: the one trying to attack Marie-Ange. In one clean motion, he picked it up, flew back into the sky, and dropped it. Once he heard the crunch of smushed goblin, he smiled viciously and tore down to get another one.

Doug had managed to get out his own sword as Jamie cried out his warning. Hopping off his horse, he handed the reins to Miles, who was sitting on Jamie's horse and looked around sharply, trying to spot any threats to the young boy and their horses. A pair of goblins picked just that moment to lope up, chattering back and forth in the high pitched yips of their tongue.

"Gort want horse with spots."
"Gort get horse with spots, Barg get brown horse."
"Deal."

As the pair moved closer, Doug grinned. Drawing himself up and projecting command through his own body language, he barked "STOP!" in the goblin tongue. Gort and Barg stopped, looking at the human confusedly. "How pink-face speak Goblin?" Gort asked Barg. "Dunno. Why we stop?" Barg replied.

Doug grinned even further. "Because you haven't rolled initiative yet!" The two goblins looked even more confused. "What this in-it-iative?" asked Gort.

Jamie's staff yipped twice as it crunched into the goblins' heads; they slumped to the ground. "Betting kind of a lot on my Dex modifier, aren't you, man? I could've been caught flat-footed here, y'know."

"Less talk more fight," Shiro barked as he plasma-blasted a goblin, causing it to howl in pain, its metal breastplate now fused to its chest. He took out another one by snapping its neck, and a third fell when another plasma burst slammed it against a tree. "This is too much fun."

Hrimhari transformed and shouted at them; one of the goblins saw him and yelled his name, and most of the rest made unhappy noises and (those who could) began a disorganized retreat.

Half a dozen of the wolves detached to harry them off into the woods. Hrimhari sniffed curiously at one of Shiro's scorched opponents, then stood for something that passed for a half bow and said aloud, "My apologies. We were hunting, and should not have left that side of your party so unguarded."

The horse at the end of the reins Miles was holding started dancing about, and even the normally ever placid Misty snorted loud a few times, shifting uneasily from side to side. With a quiet meep Miles carefully scrambled to the ground, handing the reins of Doug's horse to Marie-Ange before turning to look up at Misty, hands reaching up for her. The mare immediately thrust her nose down and against Miles' chest, whuffling noisily and seeking reassurance.

Rolling her eyes at Doug's persistence in cracking wise, Marie-Ange wrapped the reins of both horses around her forearm and dismounted. Horseback was not the place where she wanted to end up in some kind of fight, she was still awkward on foot, and the wolves made the horses jumpy at best.

A chattering behind her caused her to spin around, and she snorted, seeing yet another goblin, this one trying to slice through the straps of her saddlebags. "MINE!" she snapped, smacking the creature across the face with the back of her hand. The back of her -gauntleted- hand, covered in thick leather designed to keep the claws of a raven from digging into her flesh. The goblin screamed something incomprehensible, blood steaming from its broken nose, and dove off the horse, skittering into the underbrush.

Jamie looked around, staff ready, then relaxed when he saw all the goblins in mid-panicked-flight-into-the woods. He collapsed his staff, tucking it back into his sleeve, and raised an eyebrow at Doug.

"Okay, man, you do realize making D&D jokes in the middle of actually fighting for our lives is like, some whole new level of geekery, don't you?"

Doug grinned and shrugged. "It was either that or bad Wheel of Time jokes about Perrin Aybara, man. So pick your poison, as it were. Nice trick with the staff, by the way." Making sure everyone was safe, Doug put his arm around Marie-Ange's shoulders and grinned even wider at the disgusted look on Jamie's face.

"That's right. It's a _staff._ Not an axe." Jamie mock-glared. "And even the slightest hint of a comparison between Kitty and Faile gets you a boot in the butt, I mean it."

Doug contented himself with merely raising an eyebrow in response. There were plenty of jokes to be made, judging from Jamie's stories of work in one of the dwarven forges, as well as the bushy beard on his face, but Doug was feeling magnanimous and let the subject drop.

Jamie grinned. "On the other hand, I could just return it in kind. Jordan didn't write about all _that_ many female precognitives."

Hrimhari eyed this interchange and then turned a look on Rahne; she shrugged, flicked an ear back, and wagged her tail. Doug could probably have translated this.

"Are your friends making any sense to _you_, and is this normal?"

"Not much and yes, they're always like this."

Miles grinned cheerfully. "Miles thinks that is how they tell each other they are happy they are together."

Rahne and Hrimhari looked over when Miles responded to the exchange of gestures; Rahne chuckled. "I think yui're right, but they're off on books we havena read again."

"It is good to be with one's pack," Hrimhari agreed solemnly. "Even if it involves not making sense to others." He grinned at Miles then, but refrained from going over and spooking the horses further.

"Perrin Aybara," Jamie elaborated, a trifle sourly, "is a character in a book series Doug and I both read--he's a farm boy, and a blacksmith's apprentice, who becomes a warrior, grows a beard, and learns how to speak to wolves. Doug's been pointing out the similarities pretty much ever since I went out to cut firewood and brought back a wolf pack." He grinned "And if he's looking to develop white hair and a limp, all he has to do is ask."

Doug chuckled. "I could do worse than have Thom Merrilin's reputation as a bard," he said. "Or his way with the ladies..." He chuckled. "But if Angie is Min, wouldn't that make me Rand al'Thor?" His nose wrinkled. "I'd rather not be the central figure in an end-of-the-world myth who's going slightly insane, thanks."

"You don't get three wives, Doug." Marie-Ange muttered, hefting a piece of stale bread as if to throw it. She hadn't quite decided which boy - Doug or Jamie - deserved it more.

"You forgot the potential for leprosy," Jamie pointed out. "Can't forget the leprosy." He snickered. "I was kinda thinking the other precog, though."

Doug blinked, thinking for a moment. "GAH! Bite your tongue," he grumbled, realizing who Jamie meant. "I am _not_ dating Elaida do'Avriny a'Roihan, thankyouverymuch," he said crankily.

"Hey, if you were gonna try to imply I was dating Faile, I was gonna pull out the big guns."

Miles listened to the banter carefully and then sidled closer to Marie-Ange. He might have been seven only, but he wasn't dumb. He tugged on her sleeve and gave her a melting little boy look of adoration along with that 'you so want to pick me up now' lean on leg gambit. Which, of course, worked perfectly, and soon he was snuggled up, practically inside Marie-Ange's wool cloak.

Doug waved his hand and grumbled. "Fine, you aren't Perrin Aybara, and I'm not dating Elaida, and we're even, okay?" He shook himself. "We'll just stick to the D&D jokes about the fighter, cleric, bard, sorcerer, and lycanthrope." He grinned. "Anyways, suppose we should get back on the road." He took the reins of his horse and pulled himself up and into the saddle.