On the Rocks [tag Parker]

[conormccarthy]

Conor had decided, that he hated laces. He'd spent the morning cutting strips of leather barely wider than a nail. To cut a lace was the most tedious job in his profession. Using a wickedly sharp blade, or sometimes scissors if they cut well, one had to cut away a long piece of leather without wavering or falling short. Conor was a master leather-worker but the morning's work had given him a splitting headache.

Stuck in the room behind the smithy's, the heat of the furnace had been making him sweat and the clang of metal on metal drove pain into his skull like hot pokers. So Conor had requested some time to recuperate and thankfully, Arnold had allowed him.

He sat now against a tree on the edge of the forest overlooking the paddocks where most of the horses at the stables were grazing. The fresh air was cooling his skin, caressing the back of his neck and drying the sweat on his forearms, chest and back. He'd even opened his shirt at the front, the V necked collar exposing skin to the bottom of his breastbone. The sleeved of his cotton tunic were rolled up past his elbows, and Conor kicked off his boots to allow the uncomfortable heat to escape from them.

He hoped it was a combination of the close work cutting laces at the heat of the summer that made him feel so wretched, and that he didn't have an illness coming on. Conor hated being ill, and due to his hard-working nature, he often persevered though colds and sickness. Sighing, the young blond-haired man lay his head back against the truck of the tree that supported him, letting his blue eyes close as the feint sounds of the village and the comforting noises of the horses lulled him into a partial doze.

[london09]

The woods were still and hot summer heat clung to Parker with out an mercy. She didn’t have time to be concerned with the heat though, she was stalking down a lone deer in the woods. She moved with much grace, landing on her tip toes barely rustling a leaf or cracking a branch. The deer seemed oblivious to her presence as it lowly walked to a fresh batch of green grass, unscorched by the intense rays. With great ease she pulled out an arrow from her quiver, drew back, squinted one eye and lined her arm up directly, and with a small snap she let her arrow fly. It struck the deer in the neck. If she had aimed for its legs it would of ran off and died from injury later. By striking the neck she had nearly paralyzed the small beast. She rushed over, slinging her bow over her shoulder.

As she approached the deer, she slowed her pace so not to startle it.

“shhhhh, it’s alright.” She softly whispered. She slowly withdrew her sword and with out a moment of hesitation be headed the deer. She had to put it out of it’s misery and get to persevering the meat if she intended on surviving. It was a messy process and one that required a fast pace. She placed her fingers to her pale pink lips and whistled. There was a soft trotting sound and into the clearing emerged her buckskin horse, Zam. She gave him a soft pat on the neck and walked to back where on the saddle she left many empty bags. She began wrapping the meat and storing them into these bags. She would safe some for herself and other to trade. She felt guilty for not having enough space to take the whole deer, she didn’t want to be waste full. Hopefully some wolves would find the poor creature and finish what was left. She wrapped up the skin and tucked it behind the saddle.

She grabbed hold of the saddle and swung one leg over and bloped down with a soft thud. She made a soft clicking sound and Zam trotted off. It was a short ride back to Knighton. She slowed Zam’s pace as she rounded the beaten path. Among the tree’s she song a guy, probably around her age relaxing in the cool shade. She envied him for a moment before dismounting. She adjusted her blue tunic and brown leather pants. She took Zam’s reigns and walked with him the rest of the way.

“Scorcher of a day, isn’t it?” She said as she approached hoping not to startle him.

[conormccarthy]

The sound of hooves approaching caused Conor to open his eyes. He thought for a moment one of the horses in the paddocks had escaped, though a quick count saw them all present and accounted for. Conor doubted whoever was coming was an outlaw. He quite clearly had nothing of value on him, and the village was bustling with activity. Night was usually the favourite hunting times of the thief.

So Conor stayed sat until a rather handsome buckskin came into view. A nice study stallion, and a good colour too. Only after the young man had fully appreciated the horse did he look at the rider. A woman, riding astride none-the-less. Isabel was the only female he'd known to ride astride rather than side-saddle. perhaps the trend was catching on.

Much to Conor's surprise, the dark-haired woman drew her steed to a halt and dismounted before him. She even spoke to him. Conor blinked, quite bemused. It wasn't often that people stopped to talk to him, and as usual he was a little lost for words.

"Uhm. Yes." He agreed, wondering whether to stand. it seemed rude to sit while the lady was standing. Conor got to his feet, wishing he hadn't when his headache flared in protest. He performed a hesitant bow, introducing himself with a quiet voice. "Conor, ma'am."

[london09]

With his bow Parker took a step back. She had not been bowed to in two years and it was when she was living as a nobles women.

“Uhh.” She muttered caught off guard. She awkwardly curtsied. “Bella.” She only told her first names to those she trusted, those that would not identify her as Parker Boleyn the missing daughter of Sir Eric Von Boleyn and return her to a life of rules, rigidness and stiff dresses.

“No need for formalities,” She paused looking up at the comforting shade and then to her horse. “This is Zam” She said giving him a soft pat on the neck brushing his black mane. He was the only man in her life she seemed to trust these days.

“I’m sorry, did we disrupt your moment of peace? I was just passing through; I don’t really know where the trading post is around here.”

She needed to sell the meat soon before it spoiled, and she had to return to the small shack she called home where she had a smoke house she could store the meat in to keep fresh and safe.

Zam tugged on the reigns looking at the other horses. She knew he wanted to investigate. He was always quiet curious. She gave him a loving tap on the nose and sent him on his way. She smiled watching him trot off to stand at the fence post staring down the other horses.

[conormccarthy]

Conor rubbed his hand through his hair, the tussled locks falling wildly about his head. He was hoping the headache would fade soon, he really had no tolerance for discomfort. Scratching his forehead, Conor watched after the buckskin as he trotted off toward the fence. Instantly, a round dappled grey mare trotted over to the fence to greet him with a loud whinny. Millie was constantly flirting. Conor shook his head. "A nice fellow, good temperament." Conor's experiences with stallions were a varied ones. Some could be sweet and docile, where as others could be vicious and cruel. Bella seemed to be lucky.

"I was just... napping." He explained absently. "You didn't interrupt anything important." Conor leaned back against the tree, hoping he wouldn't appear too nonchalant and uninterested. "The best trading nearby would be Locksley. Not much in the way of trade here." Conor glanced up from his feet where he had steadfastly been looking and glanced down to the buckskin with his saddlebags. "What is it you have to trade?"

Conor was surprising himself. In this state, being worried about how to communicate seemed trivial compared to the swarm of being ants marching all over the inside of his head. He had managed to say something constructive as well as fairly polite. Arnold would be proud.

[london09]

"A nice fellow, good temperament."

She smiled glancing back towards her horse.

“He’s traveled with me for-“ She paused remembering the very night she ran away from home. She had tiptoed down the stone steps with her brothers sword tucked under her arm and a satchel full of his clothes. She knew none of her silk dresses would last well during her travels. She had taken her younger brothers clothes that fit her petite frame quiet well. Clinging to the shadows she ducked into the stables. There was an array of horses, a collection her family owned. There was one horse for her but it was such a young thing she hesitated on taking him, so instead she took her fathers horse. He was well tamed and would listen to her better. She felt safer in that choice. “-for about two and half years now.”

She turned her attention back to Connor listening as he spoke of the trading posts. She worried that Locksley would be too far of a ride, that the meat would spoil before then.

“I was just in the woods hunting and shot down a large deer. I have more meat then my stomach has room for. Would you like some? It would be of no charge, I feel rude wasting the poor creatures gifts.”

It had even been a waste to leave half of the deer like she had but she only had so much room to carry these things.

[/blockquote]

[conormccarthy]

At the mention of meat, Conor's stomach gave a grumble. How long had it been since he'd eaten venison? He swallowed, his mouth salivating in anticipation. Ordinarily he would decline an offer with stammers and excuses, though deer meat was too good to turn down. "Please, if you can truly spare some."

He'd noticed the skin rolled up at the back of her horse's saddle, and looked over at the buckskin as he spoke. "Though I will pay. Most villagers cannot, and they are in need of it more than me. Let me make something of that skin for you. A coat, some boots, gloves? Its not near enough for a saddle, but I can make a bridle from it." The young man was clearly enthusiastic about his trade, and his eyes were bright if he would ever meet her gaze with them.

Of course, he knew the act of shooting a deer in the forest was a crime punishable by death, but if the meat was given out broadly and discreetly, Conor could easily say he bought the skin from the market as he did the rest of his pelts. No authority would be any the wiser.