508-01-02 Rourke spills ink
|Rourke Spills Ink|
|RL Date||September 15, 2009|
|Players||Rourke Caprios, Philomena Caprios|
|Location||Audience Chamber -- Gateway Castle|
|Crossroads Time and Weather|
|IC Date||January 02, 508|
Mena comes down the stairs, into the audience chamber.
Rourke is on his knees, slipping under the table and cursing.
The tapestry flutters in that oh-so-familiar way to indicate someone is on the other side of it, just before Mena steps into the room. She clears the tapestry and dips into a curtsey, but does not linger there once she sees what is going on. "What are you doing?" she asks, stepping toward the table.
"I dropped my thrice-damned bottle of ink," complains Rourke in frustration. "And it went all over my clothes, and it's spilling all over the floor, and the-- dammnit, stop it!-- damned cat keeps lapping at it."
Mena steps quicken until she reaches the table, crouching down to look underneath it as well. When she sees the cat, she does make a grab for it. "You'll make yourself sick," she tells the animal, picking him up and keeping him away from the ink. "We'll get it cleaned up," she says in a calm and reassuring voice. "Why don't you go change, and when you're done, everything will be fine, yes?"
The cat weighs a ton. It's like hauling around a sack of lead balls that mrowrs discontententedly and aims ink-stained paws to try to scrabble at her hands.
And yes, the area of the floor and Rourke himself are quite well stained. It looks more like he flung ink all over himself.
The keeper sighs and looks up. "Fine, fine," he exhales, striving for control and pushing back, leaving inky smears about.
"Stop it," Mena says to Cami, not minding if the ink gets on her hand, but being more careful to keep it away from her gown. "This cat needs to be put on a diet," she decides, putting the cat back on the floor, but keeping him in place so there's no /more/ ink-spreading. "I'll see to the cleanup," she tells her husband, looking up at him as he pulls away from the mess. "The sooner you go wash up, the more of it that will come out."
"Damnit," swears Rourke again. "One of my favorite outfits." He stalks toward the stairs, leaving ink-blots in his wake.