Muffins or Death ((Open!))

[.:Fawn:.]

Braythe the Savage was not in a good mood this morning.

It all started when the impressively large Badger Lord had fallen asleep in the forge room again, only this time he'd been sitting upright in a chair, instead of in the little (by badger standards) cot in the corner where he'd curl up in case he was too tired to head back to his real bed. Five hours later, the brownish, blackish badger awoke with a obnoxious pain in the left side of his neck, and worse, he'd drooled on the ancient documented accounts of Russano the Wise.

Oops.

Perhaps a bit of late night reading wasn't going to turn into one of his hobbies; the Salamandastron Archives would last a lot longer if it didn't.

Peeved, Braythe wiped his jaw on one of his thick wrists, pushing back out of the chair, standing up and stretching until an audible 'crack' was heard from almost every joint in his body.
Thump Thump Thump.
Came the knock at the door, and Braythe's response was little more than a cranky growl, the early-morning giving him a more gravelly voice than normal.
“What do you want?”

“I bring you breakfast, sah,” sang the sprightly voice of a new recruit on kitchen duty, “Hot scones with jam and honey and—“

The forge door opened before he could finish, and a huge dark paw reached out, yanking in the recruit and food-trolley all in a single sweeping motion, like a bear sweeping salmon right out of the river.
The recruit, flustered, saluted the Badger Lord properly, but was quick to become aware that Braythe wasn't paying him too much attention. Instead, he was looting through the food trolley, lifting up baskets of scones, moving aside jars of jams and honey, before he became aware that something was quite wrong.
“Muffins? Where are they?” He grumbled, which sounded more like a threat than anything else.
The recruit gave him a sheepish (and slightly apprehensive) smile, “right here sah, right behind the oat scones, yer Lordship!”

Braythe scooped up the basket, pulling a very large muffin out with one hairy paw;
“What's yer name again?” asked the ravenous badger.

“Darby, sirrah,” replied the recruit obediently, quite aware that Braythe was eying him not unlike how he'd been eying the food-trolley earlier.
The Badger Lord took a bite out of the muffin...

And that's when his already bad morning got a heck of a lot worse.

”What IS THIS?!”
He barked with disgust, spitting the offensive taste from his mouth and into a napkin. The recruit, shocked, stammered out a response, “w-w-whole w-wheat muffins, sir, the cook made them special for you sah, t-they're supposed to be health--”
The Badger Lord grabbed him by the front of his clean and pressed uniform.
“Healthy?” He seethed. “Who in the name of Hellgates told the cook to give me healthy muffins?” The recruit blinked, unable to answer Braythe's question.

This did not improve his mood.
“Where are the regular blueberry muffins?” hissed the badger, his nose (and all 34 teeth) inches from the hare's face.
“I-I-In the M-Me-Mess Hall?” suggested Darby.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say.

If his blueberry muffins were in the Mess Hall, then that meant that the Long Patrol were busy stuffing their famished faces full, while he was up in the forge room with whole wheat muffins.

Suddenly, Braythe was in the mood to fashion himself a pair of comfy bunny slippers...

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[Django]

Soladeo Gloria found herself in a right old fix, as her new commanding officer would say. Just two weeks ago, she had been wandering around, minding her own business, when she'd heard of a marvelous mountain stronghold filled with glorious weaponry forged by masters of the arts. Unable to resist, she had set off immediately, wondering how she was going to effectively break into a mountain stronghold and steal a pretty weapon. She had come up with quite a marvelous plan, but it had all gone to waste the moment she'd gotten within sight of the big mountain.

A big group of hares had been doing something on the shore in front of the place (Salad-something, it was called), and Sola had done her best to keep hidden. However, that had proven quite difficult on the open sands of the western coast. The commander (Major Something-or-other, it was a ridiculously long name) had spotted her and called her over. There had been no use hiding, so Sola had complied. The Major (or maybe he was a General?) had hardly let her get a word in edgewise as he jumped to the immediate conclusion that she was there to "enlist in the Long Patrol, wot, wot?"

The next thing Sola knew, she was stripped of her hook swords and prized bag, fitted into a rather ill-fitting uniform, and marched out under the morning sun. She had tried and failed numerous times to explain to the officers that she wasn't a hare. They had replied with cheeky winks that she wasn't a hare, but a new recruit. That wasn't what Sola meant by "not a hare." And now she was sitting in a giant cavern called the Mess Hall, surrounded by gluttonous hares stuffing all sorts of breakfast foods into their mouths.

Sola tucked in eagerly, weary from her morning's training. The veteran recruits laughed at her exhaustion, quipping anecdotes about their own years as a "green" or some other such demeaning term. Sola didn't bother to give them a second glance as she ate her fill, doing her best to avoid conversation. How none of these creatures hadn't noticed that she was a rabbit was beyond her. Maybe hares were really as scatterbrained as she'd heard.

"I say, is this spot taken?" a handsome young hare plopped down beside her, flashing her a gallant smile as he quickly demolished two blueberry muffins. Sola shook her head in response to her inquiry, finishing off an oat scone. The hare smirked. "Wot's the matter, me gel? Cat got ye tongue?"

"Sola," the rabbit said through his hearty laughter.

"Wot?"

"I am not 'gel'. I'm Soladeo Gloria. Sola for short."

"Well, 'tis a bally pleasure, wot? The name's Cordin Fuzthrite Liztine Harlington Dorchester," he held out a paw to shake, and Sola took it hesitantly. She regretted the motion as her arm was savagely yanked up and down. This Cordin bloke was way too happy to meet her.

"Yes, nice to meet you too, Cordin Fuzzy Lizard . . . whatever your name is," she replied, relocating her shoulder. Cordin laughed again, pounding her on the back.

"I say, you're a jolly nice one, Sola," he remarked. He opened his mouth to say more, but he was cut off by a loud, angry roar coming from somewhere above them. Sola glanced up warily.

"What in heaven's name was that?" she cried. Cordin waved a paw in dismissal.

"Oh, just our Badgerlord, Braythe the Savage," he replied. "Not the friendliest chap of them all, but a jolly good fighter. I reckon he hasn't gotten his breakfast, yet." His attention was drawn back to Sola, her long, drooping ears in particular. "I say, Sola, what's the bally matter? You've gone and drooped your ears down to the depths, wot? Cheer up, me gel!"

Sola gave him a look of reproach. Apparently, he thought she was a hare, as well. "I can't, Cordin," she said darkly. "They're naturally like that. Because I'm not a--"

"Good gracious, Sola!" the hare exclaimed. "Do you suffer from jolly depression? Oh, I guess depression's not all that jolly, wot? But is it a condition? I say, I've never heard of bally drooping ears on a hare! Is it contagious?"

"No," Sola snapped. "I was born this way, because I'm a--"

"Oh, so it's hereditary, is it, wot?" Cordin asked, gently pinching the end of one of her ears with his paw. "I say, you poor gel, doesn't it get tiring having them hang back there all the flippin' time?"

Sola gave up. This hare was impossible. And she thought she talked a lot!

[.:Fawn:.]

“W-Where are you going sah?”

“To get my blueberry muffins, where else?”

The snap in the Badger Lord's tone set a trickle of fear into the recruit's stomach, but, whiskers aquiver, Darby followed the Badger Lord with the food-trolley all the way to the stairs. Barely able to keep up with Braythe when he was...'on a mission', Darby was out of breath by the time he had hauled the food-trolley down to the second landing, a piteous wheeze escaping him.
“Could you bally well wait a tick for me, sah? I'm carryin' the bloomin' trolle—“
Once again, Darby was cut off, and this was because the Badger Lord had picked up the food trolley in one arm, and the recruit by the back of his shirt in the next. Slinging the young hare over his shoulder like a jacket, the Badger Lord hardly broke his stride as he entered the Mess Hall by rudely kicking one of the doors in, Darby flinching at the excessively loud noise.

“If you wanted me to get ye some more blueberry muffins, sah, I could've brought them—“

“Shut up Darby,” snapped the Badger Lord, setting the hare down into an empty seat at the nearest table. The Long Patrol, finally noticing their irate Badger Lord had entered the Mess Hall, hastily tried to stand to attention – most of them with food halfway to their mouths – but Braythe was having none of that.
“Sit down, sit down, sit down! What're yeh gettin' up for? Just sit down and eat!” He barked. Oh how he hated all that...routine... It was bad enough they had to do it at lunch and dinner, and stand to attention every time he walked into a room, but now they had to do all this nonsense at breakfast too?
Bahhhh.
Or the Corporal would say, balderdash.

Growling at a group of hares closest to him (Sola and Cordin included), he got them all to move down far enough that he could sit beside them, the Badger Lord clearly intent on having his muffins, even if he had to sit with the gluttonous Long Patrol to get them.
“EHH,” He shouted, after taking a seat, and all the hares looked at him with curious eyes.
“Pass the blueberry muffins ter me, now,” the Badger Lord's dark, fathomless eyes glittered in the light, that maddened glint able to change from gruff to dangerous in the blink of an eye.
“All of them.”

A private by the name of Daggert sputtered with a mouthful of blueberry muffin. “The chap's gone and commandeered all the muffins! How do'yah like that?” The hare's whiskers twitched indignantly. “The great big scoff-stealer, he isn't the only beast on the mountain who's partial to them!”

Braythe, who had excellent hearing, looked over the heads of the Long Patrol and straight at Daggert, eyes locking with the agitated private at the other end of the table. Braythe smiled in a way that made his teeth glint like the edge of a dagger.
“You like blueberry muffins too, don't you Daggert?”

Daggert blanched, not expecting the Badger Lord to actually hear him, let alone call him out on it.
“Er, yes sah, they're my favorit—“

Daggert yelped in surprise as a blueberry muffin smashed him in the face, thanks to an expert throw by the irate badger lord, crumbs and bits of blueberry flying every which way possible.
“Would you like another, Daggert?”
Crooned the badger lord, his voice like poisoned honey. Braythe tossed another muffin up into the air and caught it with the same paw, as though to show he was more than willing to give Daggert seconds.

The private smiled a blueberry muffin-filled smile, the breakfast food coating his teeth, whiskers and nose.
“No sah,” said Daggert, “I...I don't think I'm as fond of them as I once was. The ol' stomach can't handle 'em anymore. Haha.”

Braythe sat back down.

“Oh good.” He replied. ”More for me.”

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[Django]

Sola was just on the verge of explaining to Cordin that she was NOT A HARE but in fact A RABBIT, when the badger burst in. He roared for his blueberry muffins and shoved Sola into Cordin's lap as he made room for himself at the table. Piles of the berry-filled pastries were offered to the giant beast, and Sola gave no objection after seeing what he did to any beast who did.

The rabbit was actually quite frozen in terror as the badger ruler tucked into his favorite breakfast. She looked up at Cordin, who was grinning widely and blushing brighter than the sunset. He was stiff as a board, and Sola finally understood why. She was sitting in his flippin' lap! Clinging to his uniform, no less!

But she was way to frightened to make any sudden movements in the badger's presence. Was this Braid the Savage? Or, what was his name? Bray? Brain? He didn't look much like a brain, so that wasn't it. Oh, what had Cordin said?

"Er, uh, I-I say, S-Sola, d-do'ye mind, uh, m-maybe findin' an-n-nother j-jolly seat?" Cordin stammered sheepishly. Sola carefully slid out of his lap, squeezing her stocky little rump into the smallest space imaginable between Cordin and . . . Oh, sweet merciful heavens . . . The badger was right there!

Hooding back a whimper of terror, she kept her paws and other appendages safely away from the steadily decreasing pile of muffins disappearing into the Badgerlord's jaws. He had so many teeth! Sitting up stiffly, she leaned away from him, trying to avoid getting hit by his massive elbow. Oh, dear fates! Whatever gods existed, why was she in this terrible mess?!

[.:Fawn:.]

It was when the badger finally ran out of blueberry muffins that he noticed Sola's presence, though it was arguably hard to miss the rabbit cowering at his side, as though he might at one point scoff her up too.
Braythe gave this some thought, turning his dark eyes upon her.

He'd never eaten rabbit before.

As quick as the thought entered his mind, it left, and Braythe settled for picking a piece of blueberry out from between some of his sharp, wickedly teeth. The Badger Lord frowned, noticing something funny about this particular recruit – and no, it wasn't the look of terror either, he got that all the time.
“...You look funny.” Spoke the Badger Lord bluntly, staring down at Sola as though she were a puzzle that was going to magically solve itself if he glared at it hard enough. Reaching over, with no regard for personal space whatsoever, Braythe picked up one of her ears and knocking her hat off in the process. Marveling at the oddness of them, Braythe leaned in closer and gave her a sniff.

The possibility of him having her for dinner didn't seem quite so unlikely, at least to anyone who hadn't been a member of the Long Patrol for very long.
She's the weirdest lookin' hare I've ever seen.
Glancing around the table as though in an effort to spot any other odd features of the Long Patrol hares, Braythe noticed one of his officers had a wooden leg, the other an eye-patch, and several of them had faces only a mother could love.
Braythe shrugged his massive shoulders and let her ear go. Okay, so maybe she wasn't all that weird.
“What'd you say yer name was?” Asked the Badger Lord, ripping a scone in half with extreme ease.

((XD short, sorry about that))

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[Onyxwing]

Major Riseder Bastarnae McLearder was eating when the doors to the mess hall slammed open. The Badger Lord stormed in demanding blueberry muffins. As the badger strode through the mess hall it grew quiet and the hares moved away from the badger. Riseder stayed where he was, only one table away from the angry badger. As a muffin was thrown, it sprayed crumbs everywhere, including on Riseder's war hammer. The Major spun around and saw the badger who had thrown the muffin at the recruit.

A quick jerk and the war hammer was out of his belt in a second. Riseder spun it around and hooked the bowl of muffins with the spike on the end before the badger could eat anymore. He threw the bowl across the room and the bowl clattered on the fireplace hearthstones sending muffins crumbling all over.

"So, this is how a Badger Herrn conducts himself? You shvould be ashamed!" Riseder yelled across the room in his bellowing voice.

He slammed his war hammer's handle down on the table with a sharp crack in front of Braythe.

"You shvould at least give your Lange Patrouille some respect! These hares, and Der Kaninchen over there," He said pointing to Sola. "are villing to fight to the death for you!"

Riseder picked his war hammer up and crossed his arms, waiting for an apology from the massive badger.

[Django]

“...You look funny.” Spoke the Badger Lord bluntly, staring down at Sola as though she were a puzzle that was going to magically solve itself if he glared at it hard enough.

Sola's eyes were wider than saucers as the massive badger grabbed one of her ears and sniffed her head. What was he doing? Making sure she smelled good enough to eat? Oh, yes, that was it. Today was the day she was going to become rabbit stew. Oh, cruel fates, how they had betrayed her!

"F-funny, sir?" she repeated, surprised that her voice wasn't trembling as much as she was. "W-well, you look rather dashing, I must say." She really wished he would let go of her ear. She didn't even care that he'd knocked her hat off. His claws hurt! "I-I only look this way because I'm actually a--"

“What'd you say yer name was?” Asked the Badger Lord, ripping a scone in half with extreme ease.

Trying not to imagine her heart in his paws instead of the scone, Sola took a deep breath and massaged her liberated ear. "I-I didn't, sir," she replied. "B-but my name is Soladeo Gloria. Or, Sola, f-for short." She wondered if he would even notice her speech pattern was different than the hares'. Maybe then he'd realize she wasn't a hare at all and she could leave!

Then, suddenly, the muffin bowl was gone and a rather irate hare was giving the big badger a loud and foreign-sounding lecture. Oh, what was it now?!

"You shvould at least give your Lange Patrouille some respect! These hares, and Der Kaninchen over there," He said pointing to Sola. "are villing to fight to the death for you!"

Had . . . had this hare just singled her out? And what had he called her? The language sounded familiar. Was he from the Far East, too? Oh, what was that place called? Well, it dint matter, because she recognized the word now! He'd called her a rabbit! Oh, happy day! She perked up a little.

"Sir, I thank you with all my heart!" she cried, a little too loudly. "Yes, I am a rabbit." She turned to Cordin with a smug smile and remarked, "Did you hear that? I'm not a hare with a condition, Cordin Fuzzy-Lizard! I'm a rabbit!"

But Cordin wasn't paying attention. His focus was on the elder Major and the badger lord, who would no doubt have more than a few choice words to roar at having his muffins taken away.

[.:Fawn:.]

"So, this is how a Badger Herrn conducts himself? You shvould be ashamed!" Riseder yelled across the room in his bellowing voice.

He slammed his war hammer's handle down on the table with a sharp crack in front of Braythe.

"You shvould at least give your Lange Patrouille some respect! These hares, and Der Kaninchen over there," He said pointing to Sola. "are villing to fight to the death for you!"

A low, rumbling growl echoed across the Mess Hall like the distinct rumble of thunder from an approaching storm, the recruits half expecting a crack of lightning to strike between the Badger Lord and the Major as they glared at one another with hostile eyes.

Braythe's eyes flashed.
How dare this old fogey talk to him like that! Hackles raising, he glared at the major who spoke with the strange accent, the badger's face darkening as he glanced to the muffin basket Riseder had thrown aside like a ragdoll..

”What's a-matter, you leathery old feedbag, you upset because I took away your muffins?” Even though this was a fight over muffins, of all things, Braythe was still irked that the older hare had the nerve to call him out in front of the entire Long Patrol. Was he trying to embarrass him? Shock or humiliate him into a more civil, obedient kind of behavior?

The last creature that tried to 'shock' him into politeness, he'd eaten.

Stay calm. Deep breaths. This old codger is a Major of the Long Patrol, insulting him in front of your fighting force isn't the smartest idea you've had all day.
Braythe inhaled deeply, as though he was under the idea that the more air he sucked in, the more his anger would lessen. Grimacing darkly in a way that showed all of his teeth, the badger resisted the urge to chuck the major right after his bowl of muffins.

“EHH,” he barked to someone by the kitchen doors, and the hare saluted and straightened up, gazing at him wide-eyed.
Braythe glanced around the Mess Hall, a sour taste in his mouth. “.....how many of yeh still want yer blueberry muffins?” he growled, and he watched the Long Patrol give off mixed responses. Some of them avoided eye-contact, others, having seen what he'd done to Daggert, knew better than to raise their paws, and some of them had paws shooting up into the air in an instant. Braythe gave his eyes a roll, trying to find a quiet place in his head somewhere (too bad he didn't have one, the sound of Riseder's hammer smashing down into the table in front of him was making his blood pressure shoot through Salamandastron's roof)). Addressing the hare by the door again, Braythe growled resignedly. “Tell the cook to make enough blueberry muffins for all yeh... Better yet, tell the cook ter keep the kitchen open all day.”

The resounding cheer was deafening, the Long Patrol quite aware that this was Braythe's way of apologizing (he'd never actually say the words “I'm sorry”, but this was better than nothing), and Braythe was forced to yell above the celebrations.
“Any hare lookin' to stuff himself so he can't move will have me to deal with, yew lot got that?” He fixed them all with a steely-eyed glare, before a half-smile crept onto his savage features.
“Anybeast who says they're 'too full to march' will be forced to run around the mountain with my war hammer tied to their waist, and me chasin' em. Understood?”

“YES SAH!”

Came the thunderous response, and Braythe sat back down again, glancing to the little female rabbit at his side. What in the name of Hell's Teeth was a Der Kaninchen?

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(( I thought it would be extremely petty of him to start yelling at Riseder over some muffins, but this is far from over. He's going to have a few choice words to say to Riseder when he makes it back up to his Forge. No one yells at him in front of the Long Patrol! Rawr! ))

[Tracy]

The young runner arrived to mealtime late, as was usual for her. Arriving on time was for the weak, and missing any good food because of tardiness was for quitters. The haremaid was the rare morning-loving beast. By the time breakfast was served, she’d already done her stretching routine, gone out for an hour run on the shore, did her cool-down stretches, cleaned up and changed. Now she walked into the messhall, bright-eyed and chipper, a stark contrast to the many bleary-eyed, irate patrollers.

Ripley Contarelle quickly wedged herself a seat at one of the long messhall tables, having grabbed a plate with a honeyed scone and a cup of mint tea along the way. She ate leisurely, but as she finished off her scone she eyed a platter of stemmed strawberries in good season ripeness, plump and red. “Someone mind passin’ along that platter, please?” No response. “Someone? Sage, pass over the strawberries!” All of them either ignored her or waved her off, their way of punishing her for thinking she could arrive late to breakfast and get whatever she wanted.

Ripley stared at the hares around her for a minute, and then rolled her eyes. She pushed herself back, hopped lightly up on her bench seat, then climbed onto the middle of the table. Stooping, she walked lightly right through the throng, op top of the table, over to where the strawberries were. Many already-grumpy hares shouted at her, pulling back their plates quickly to save them. However, Ripley was very easy on her feet, balanced and light-footed; she didn’t disturb any plates or drinks. Getting to the strawberries, lifted the platter, then stepped on foot down on the bench, then back down to the floor gracefully, platter balanced in one paw. “Well, you sorry lot, they’re all mine now.”

However, she only took a handful for herself. Instead of replacing the strawberries though, she ambled to another long table and set the platter in a spot bereft of food. “Enjoy,” she said to them with a laugh. Her own tablemates didn’t deserve these strawberries. She turned and was making her way back when a loud ‘thud’ nearby made her jump. She turned her violet gaze to the source of the noise and found the Major yelling at – no surely he couldn’t be yelling at the Badger Lord. Was he possessed, sick in the head? She stared in horrified fascination as she awaited Braythe’s reaction, almost bristling with excitement. Whatever the badger doled out, the Major would deserve. Who did he think he was!

While she waited for the response, she was distracted by a tap on her shoulder, and was briefly held up in conversation with an older harewife, her mother. Looking annoyed, and frequently turning away to stay apprised of the situation, she mumbled her replies and finally, with a nod, got her mother to leave her be. When it seemed Braythe had remedied the situation – with a lot of self-restraint, she noted, impressed, but also a trifle disappointed – she ambled over.

“Good morning, m’Lord,” she said amiably, as if the whole debacle had not just occurred. However, she did turn halfway toward Riseder, and said in a low voice. “An’ t’you, Major. Did you ah- just wake up this fine morning an’ think to y’self, ‘This would be a mighty fine day to get thrown off a cliff?’ I mean, if it had to be some day, this morning is quite lovely, but really…” She held a cheeky grin, then returned her attention to the Badger Lord before her.

Ripley was famously unafraid of admonishment. She was the daughter of one of the highest-ranked officers in the patrol, and of course that seemed to come with some entitlement. Many officers had given up trying to go toe-to-toe with her verbally. Instead, she received scouting missions on a very regular basis that kept her away from Salamandastron for days and weeks at a time, which was fine by her.

In her paws was a large goblet, which she’d acquired while speaking with her mother. “Lord Braythe, thought you might like t’try some of this tea. It’s the first batch of some kind of spiced tea they call Autumn Tea and it has…” Ripley made a face. “I don’t rightly know what it has. My mum told me, but I was a little distracted.” That cheeky grin again. “She also told me to tell you this was from me, but she made it with the kitchenstaff this morning and there’s just not a soul in the hall that would think I would voluntarily serve anybeast their food. That aside,” she said, laughing, she held the goblet out to the badger.

[.:Fawn:.]

“Good morning, m’Lord,” she said amiably, as if the whole debacle had not just occurred.

“Lord Braythe, thought you might like t’try some of this tea. It’s the first batch of some kind of spiced tea they call Autumn Tea and it has…” Ripley made a face. “I don’t rightly know what it has. My mum told me, but I was a little distracted.” That cheeky grin again. “She also told me to tell you this was from me, but she made it with the kitchenstaff this morning and there’s just not a soul in the hall that would think I would voluntarily serve anybeast their food. That aside,” she said, laughing, she held the goblet out to the badger.

When the young runner had struck up a conversation with the Badger Lord, it was then that Braythe realized that a simple grunt for good morning wasn't going to cut it. With his pride a bit stung, the cranky ruler turned dark eyes upon Ripley, as though a single glance could swallow up her infectiously cheerful and cheeky mood in one foul swoop. When it didn't work, however, Braythe's attention dropped down to the goblet the haremaid was holding, a strong wiff of the 'Autumn Tea' or whatever it was called made his nose wrinkle.
"You show me a beast who's ever gotten stronger on a hot cup 'o' juice squeezed from some weird leaves, I'll eat my own battleaxe." He commented dryly, looking at the cup as though she'd handed him a bowl full of cactus needles. Not about to lose face in front of his Long Patrol a second time, the Badger Lord swiped the goblet from her paws and let a mouthful of the steaming liquid fall down the back of his throat. Braythe burped once, not caring who heard him, and wiped his mouth on the back of his paw while the incorrigable Ripley Kimmanae Contarelle stood nearby, perhaps waiting for a response to the hot drink.

Braythe chuckled darkly, nose wrinkling as he shoved the goblet to the rabbit-thief beside him, "Let's just say I won't be eating my battleaxe anytime soon."

"Here, you drink it," he added gruffly when Sola had stared at him with those wide, frightened eyes of hers. Ignoring her obvious fear of him, Braythe turned back to Ripley, washing down the taste of the Autumn Tea with a few hefty gulps of october ale, pausing as it occurred to him he should probably say something to Ripley's mother about the tea.
Setting his tankard down, the Badger Lord pulled the runner closer, voice low as he whispered in a deep gravelly tone, his breath blowing back her whiskers;
"Just tell yer ol' mum I drank all of it, agreed? The last thing I need is somebeast wailin' cuz I didn't like their tea." He spoke darkly, as though such a situation had happened to him before... "Oh, and if she ever decides to make any more," he added, leaning back, "just take it an' water the plants with it or something, or give it to whoever's patrolling. Just don't give it to me."

Yep, tea was definitely not a favorite of Salamandastron's resident Badger Lord.

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[Django]

"Here, you drink it," he added gruffly when Sola had stared at him with those wide, frightened eyes of hers.

"Um," Sola was uncertain of what to do just then. The female hare who'd walked up to the badger and started running her mouth as if he was just another recruit had worried the rabbit slightly. The girl had asked the Major if he had a death wish this morning, but it seemed more like the hare herself did.

Furthermore, some tea had just been shoved into her paws, and she was picking up a vibe that the big badger wasn't fond of it. Sniffing the brew cautiously, the rabbit took a small sip. The odd spices tingled in her mouth, causing one ear to shoot straight up in the air as she bunched her shoulders up, holding back a shudder. "By the fates," she exclaimed, shaking herself and studying the liquid within the goblet. "What is this stuff?"

"Autumn Tea, apparently," Cordin replied, leaning over and looking into the cup, as well. Sola dropped her ears back in annoyance. Holding the stem of the goblet between two fingers, she rocked it sharply to one side, hitting the rim of the cup against Cordin's nose. He reeled back, rubbing his snout. "Wot in th' name of--"

"I know what it is, Cordin," Sola snapped. "I heard her, too." Cordin gave a roguish grin.

"Then why'd ya bloomin' well ask?" he joked. Sola had half a mind to empty the contents of the goblet onto his head and whack him with the heavy cup besides. But she stayed her paw, trying to ease her frustration at these scatterbrained hares. She had had it just about up to here with them this morning, and it was barely eleven a.m.

What if she got an audience with this Badgerlord fellow? Maybe she could leave if he found out she wasn't a hare. It seemed pretty hare-exclusive in this Salad-something mountain, or whatever it was called. She set the goblet down and stood up, gathering her fallen hat from where the badger had knocked it off her head earlier. She should at least look her best when addressing a beast who could tear her in two.

"Excuse me, My Lord," she began, but he was still talking with the cheeky female hare. What was with her, anyway? All the other hares here (excepting of course, the higher ranking officers) seemed to harbor an intense, or at least noticeably mild fear of the badger. And yet this young hare spoke with him like he was her peer instead of her authority. Sola had never thought much of authority, either, but when the authority could eat her as an hors d'oeuvres, she pretty much did whatever he said.

"When you, uh, have a minute, sir," she tried again.

[Tracy]

Ripley watched Braythe accept the tea utterly without enthusiasm. She bit her knuckle at his reaction, shaking her head with silent laughter. “Sorry, m’Lord. If it wasn’t you, it was me, wot.” Her tone, while mirthful, was at least somewhat apologetic.

"Oh, and if she ever decides to make any more," he added, leaning back, "just take it an' water the plants with it or something, or give it to whoever's patrolling. Just don't give it to me."

“Y’know, when I was younger my mum finally stopped trying t’keep delicate little flowers about our family’s common room ‘cause they kept goin’ and dyin’ on her for no apparent reason,” she said, as if without purpose, but then added conspiratorially, “You’re not the first t’think o’ pitching her concoctions into the nearest bush.” At his request that she shouldn’t bring him any more tea, she nodded, feigning a serious demeanor. “It’s prob’ly for the best that I not bring you anythin’ anymore, eh? Make that an official order for me, eh? Sign it, I’ll frame it an’ pin it right up on my mum’s door.”

She ate the last of the strawberries she’d commandeered. “Well, I’ve a busy day ahead of me. Hope your day goes a bit better, sah.”

She winked as an adieu, and made to leave before hearing a voice next to her trying to get Braythe’s attention. She turned around and eyed the unfamiliar creature. One black-tipped ears tipped in suspicion. Ripley knew most everyone at Salamandastron, and more importantly, most everyone knew Ripley. So where had this stranger come from, and why was she dining in their hall among them as if she were a Long Patroller?

Lifting an eyebrow, she asked, not unkindly, “Who are you? I haven’t seen you around b’fore.” Her head tilted. “I’ve also never seen a rabbit enlist. They tend t’like their little hidey holes, not the life of a soldier.”

[.:Fawn:.]

“Y’know, when I was younger my mum finally stopped trying t’keep delicate little flowers about our family’s common room ‘cause they kept goin’ and dyin’ on her for no apparent reason,” she said, as if without purpose, but then added conspiratorially, “You’re not the first t’think o’ pitching her concoctions into the nearest bush.”

“It’s prob’ly for the best that I not bring you anythin’ anymore, eh? Make that an official order for me, eh? Sign it, I’ll frame it an’ pin it right up on my mum’s door.”

She ate the last of the strawberries she’d commandeered. “Well, I’ve a busy day ahead of me. Hope your day goes a bit better, sah.”

Braythe regarded the cheeky young haremaid with arched eyebrows, not entirely sure how to deal with her and her behavior; normally, Braythe would've simply gave out a grunt for answers, relaxing when she finally walked away, but Ripley wasn't like the other haremaids. She didn't give off this vibe of 'innocent and delicate little flower', she gave off a more 'one of the guys' kind of feeling, and Braythe felt himself taking an odd liking to her. She amused him, at least. ”Aye,” was the Badger Lord's only response to her words, those around him quick to learn that he wasn't much of a conversationalist, and even less of a gossip. He assumed Ripley would keep her word about the tea, and even if she didn't, Braythe wasn't too worried; the moutain-side outside his window might 'mysteriously' dry up should anyone send him any more of that distasteful concoction. A timid but respectful voice snapped him from his thoughts, Braythe turning in his chair to gaze at the Long Patroller at his side.

"Excuse me, My Lord," she began, but he was still talking with the cheeky female hare.

”What do you want?” He didn't mean to come off as unkind, the gruffness was just a part of his nature, the same way it's in the nature of a rock to be hard or heavy. A deep rumble joined the din made by the Long Patrol hares, the noise identifiable as Braythe's stomach growling, the sound quite loud to those unfortunate few close to him. Keeping one eye on the rabbit, Braythe reached out and grabbed whatever food was within reach – flans, oatmeal, loaves of bread, fruit, etc – to send it all to an untimely end, teeth grinding together methodically.

The beginnings of a conversation between Sola and Ripley caught his attention, however.

“Who are you? I haven’t seen you around b’fore.” Ripley had asked, “I’ve also never seen a rabbit enlist. They tend t’like their little hidey holes, not the life of a soldier.”

So this little flop-eared thing was a rabbit, huh? Braythe didn't seem too bothered by this; if a rabbit wanted to join the Long Patrol, then who was he to say now? After all, he was well aware of how much he lacked as a Badger Lord, and Braythe knew he had very little leeway in deciding who was and wasn't cut out for the job. Besides... She looked like the type of creature who'd drown the Mess Hall with her tears should he decide to kick her out.
Braythe shuddered.

Tears were worse than a thousand cups of Autumn Tea and Whole Wheat muffins combined. [/size]

[Django]

"What do you want?"

If this was a bad time, Sola wouldn't mind coming later. She twitched one of her long ears back as he continued to shovel food into his mouth. "I-I was wondering, sir," she began, gaining a little confidence back despite her situation. "Since I'm not a--"

“Who are you? I haven’t seen you around b’fore.” Her head tilted. “I’ve also never seen a rabbit enlist. They tend t’like their little hidey holes, not the life of a soldier.”

Sola's ears snapped back behind her head, the drooping ends coming together with a soft clapping sound. She turned her attention to the impertinent young hare, eyes ablaze with anger. "Hidey holes?!" she repeated in scorn. "I'll have you know, hare, that I do not possess a 'hidey hole', and before today I was traveling, not hiding. You have my gratitude, however small it may be, for recognizing that I am in fact, a rabbit. And for your information, I did not enlist." She snorted irritably. "I was drafted, against my will, by a scatterbrained admiral who couldn't see past his own nose that I am not a hare, but a rabbit. A Holland Lop, to be precise."

She jabbed her finger into the younger hare's chest, her temper rising. "And, furthermore, just because I don't look like a soldier, it does not mean I cannot handle myself in a fight!" she went on. "If I wanted to put up with all these nonsensical bucks and does, I would gladly enlist of my own accord. If nothing else, to prove my skills as a fighter to prejudiced, close-minded little rips like you!" Why did hares think they were the better of the two species? Just because they were bigger and faster, it didn't mean they were perfect! "Rabbits are fully capable of becoming soldiers, hare. We simply prefer to keep away from your conceited rules and regulations."

Though Sola was a full head shorter than the female hare, she made up for it in volume. The rabbit guessed the hare to be no older than 25 years or so, perhaps even younger, more like early twenties. Young ones these days . . . No respect. But there would be no denying that Sola would gladly hunt down her hook swords to teach this cheeky girl a lesson if it came to that. Her audience with the Badgerlord forgotten, the rabbit was practically steaming now, both paws clenched into tight fists.

[Tracy]

Truly, Ripley had not meant to offend the rabbit, and based on her timid approach to Braythe, she’d also expected the rabbit to either back down immediately or ignore her. But apparently Ripley had hit a sore spot, and so she watched the rabbit as she took her ire out on her. The haremaid actually looked somewhat pleased with the rabbit’s reaction, at least she showed some spunk; that honestly was an unusual trait in rabbits in general. Although, it was probably far easier to stand up to a young haremaid scout; Ripley had just listened to the rabbit stutter through an attempt to gain the badger’s attention.

The scout regarded the rabbit for a few moments after she was finished yelling, drawing the attention of many nearby dining hares. Ripley laughed then. “Maybe if you’d gotten as mad at the officer as you jus’ did with me, you’d be on your own merry way by now. Or do you just prefer goin’ after maids younger’n yourself? A proper hare officer and a badger are just too much, huh? ‘I-I was wondering… sir...’” she went on, mimicking Sola, but greatly exaggerating the rabbit’s fearful tone.

She shrugged. “I didn’t mean to offend, was jus’ givin’ you my observation. Sort o’ my job description y’might say.” She looked the rabbit up and down briefly. “So you’ve some mettle which I respect, but who robbed you of o’ your senses, huh? The Long Patrol’s been protectin’ Mossflower and the western shore for longer’n most care to remember, an’ it’s okay for you to stand in the middle of our hall an’ insult us?” Ripley paused, as if waiting for a response.

Eventually, she just shook her paw as if in dismissal of the situation, showing her disgust. “I don’t need t’waste any more o’ my time on you as I’m sure you’re jus’ about to speak with Lord Braythe about how you want to leave and continue your noble task of... travelling did’ja say? I expect by lunch you’ll be well on your way, then. Good day.”

[.:Fawn:.]

The Badger Lord watched all of this with suddenly bright eyes, a humored gleam reflected in those deep, dark orbs of his, Braythe finding the argument between the hare scout and the accidental rabbit recruit more than a little amusing. Listening to Sola's fiesty defense of her species, he couldn't help but admire the small creature's spunk -- even though she had stuttered quite a bit when trying to address him. Braythe suppressed a dark grin. Most creatures stuttered when they spoke to him, so that was nothing new -- what was new, however, was Braythe witnessing the sharp retorts of Miss Ripley Contarelle, the hare scout intending to meet Miss Sola word for word on their little verbal battlefield.
Half hoping they'd start exchanging blows, the sudden interjection of an indignant Brigadier came dangerously close to ruining Braythe's fun, the older hare, whiskers bristling as his monacle nearly fell from his cheek, berated the both of them sharply.
"Show some bloody decency! Take your fight outside the Mess Hall this instant, before I tan both yore hides 'n hang 'em from the bally mountain top!"
Braythe shot the Brigadier a glare, with led to a look of confusion crossing the older hare's face, Braythe waving a huge paw at the Brigadier dismissively. "Let 'em fight -- they've got the right ter do so." The Badger Lord turned around in his chair, his back pressing against the long, food-laden table, elbows resting against it as he held a tankard of ale in one massive paw and a scone in the other.
"Besides," Braythe continued, eyes glittering savagely, "when's the last time we've seen a fight between a rabbit and a hare?"

The Brigadier stammered with discombobulated rage, completely flustered. "NEVAH, SAH, That's WHEN." The Brigadier's monacle had fallen off and hung down against his chest, but he hardly noticed. "It is ill-fitting of both officers AND of thy Lordship to allow such bad conduct to happen! I say, sah, call off this fighting at once!"
In spite of the Brigadier's growled words, Braythe the Savage seemed to have gone temporarily deaf.

[/size]

[Django]

“Maybe if you’d gotten as mad at the officer as you jus’ did with me, you’d be on your own merry way by now. Or do you just prefer goin’ after maids younger’n yourself? A proper hare officer and a badger are just too much, huh? ‘I-I was wondering… sir...’”

Sola's cheeks went bright red. Her pupils shrunk to tiny dots in her eyes as her temper hit the roof. "I stood up to that officer, alright," she yelled, her face inches from the hare's. "But he was deaf as a brick when I explained to him that I wasn't a hare! And excuse me if I've never come across a badger as big and brawny as Muscles over there!" She jerked a thumb in the direction of Braythe, too caught up in the verbal warfare to care what he thought anymore. "I do have a high standard of self-preservation when facing something that had half a mind to eat me along with his blasted blueberry muffins!"

“I didn’t mean to offend, was jus’ givin’ you my observation. Sort o’ my job description y’might say.” She looked the rabbit up and down briefly. “So you’ve some mettle which I respect, but who robbed you of o’ your senses, huh? The Long Patrol’s been protectin’ Mossflower and the western shore for longer’n most care to remember, an’ it’s okay for you to stand in the middle of our hall an’ insult us?”

"Didn't mean to offend, my eye," Sola spat, stepping back and crossing her arms huffily. "And don't be asking me where my senses went when over half these hares didn't even notice I was a rabbit in the first place. Aren't you lot touchy about that sort of thing? Somebeast calls you a rabbit and it's the worst possible insult in the book, hmm? Yet some of you can't even tell the difference!"

“I don’t need t’waste any more o’ my time on you as I’m sure you’re jus’ about to speak with Lord Braythe about how you want to leave and continue your noble task of... travelling did’ja say? I expect by lunch you’ll be well on your way, then. Good day.”

"Oh, I sure hope to be, you little--" Sola was cut off by an outburst from one of the older officers. She turned at the sound of his voice and found Cordin standing behind her, smiling sheepishly.

"Uh, look, Sola," he began. "I dare say you won't be gettin' bloomin' well anywhere with Ripley. She's got quite the flippin' cheek, she has." Sola resisted the urge to swat him on the arm. The brigadier came up just then, trying to fix his monocle.

"Since the blinkin' Badgerlord won't flippin' stop you two, I'll bloomin' well take it upon meself t' do so!" he declared, placing himself between Ripley and Sola. The rabbit bared her teeth.

"If I had my blades, you old codger, I'd--" Sola was interrupted yet again. This time by Cordin.

"AHAHAHAhahaha, yore so funny, Sola!" he cut in with a nervous laugh. He looped his arm firmly around the rabbit's shoulders and neck, smiling uneasily at the officer. "Sorry, sah, rabbits can get pretty blinkin' cranky when brekkers gets interrupted, doncha know?"

"Unhand me, Fuzzy Lizard!" Sola protested. "I am not cranky! I am infuriated!" At least she was honest. But Cordin's grip was strong, and no matter how much she struggled, she couldn't break free.

[Tracy]

Ripley watched the rabbit continue to go off on her, and she seemed kind of amused by how easily she had enraged the rabbit. They tended to be quiet and docile, but if this one had been armed, Ripley would’ve probably been staring down the edge of a blade. That would’ve been interesting. The scout’s own rapier hung at her hip, but she had absolutely no intention of escalating this to a physical altercation. She might enjoy petty verbal arguments, but she would hardly sully her good name as a Long Patrol soldier by drawing steel over such a frivolous matter, even if Braythe would get a kick out of it.

Her gaze fell on the Brigadier, and she had to smirk a bit. “Oh, I was jus’ headed out now, Briga-my-dier,” she said lightly. It was when Cordin leapt up to help Sola that she looked annoyed. Throwing her paws up, she spoke, not just to the little assembled group, but to the area at large. “Y’know, she insulted YOUR regiment, too!”

Giving up, and because she did actually have a busy day ahead of her, she decided to take her leave. Leaning, she gave what appeared to be a sincere smile to Sola. “Well, good luck with your li’l chat with Lord Braythe t’day. Try not to soil y’self when he looks at you. That would just be uncomfortable for everyone.” She stepped around Cordin and Sola and made her way out of the mess hall.

[Onyxwing]

Riseder had since sat back down and was watching the new Badger Lord.

To hot of a temper, but then again, vhen have Badger Lords ever been calm? Riseder thought before he got and placed his plate for the cooks to clean up.

Riseder was listening the banter back and forth between the hares and the badger and lounged back in his chair next to the fire.