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Description
"Bweh." Simon sipped his earl grey, inhaling the sweet fumes and drinking down the honey-infused tea, letting it run smoothly down his throat and warm up his stomach. Like he had a furnace being ignited somewhere in his stomach. The sweetness of the tea was delightful, rolling very gently but warmly onto his tongue while assaulting his sense with two very pleasant sensation. One being the very obvious sweetness of honey in tea. Bitter, but almost candy sweet considering how much honey he had used. Meanwhile, the aromatic steam flowing from his mug could only be described as rapturous.

It was just a shame he was half-asleep and shivering in the cold. He could barely enjoy any of delight the tea could potentially bring due to each of it's stimulants being heavily muted. Too asleep to really appreciate the sweetness. Too cold to be significantly warmed. Too grumpy to even be asked.

There he stood. Well, not really stood. More like 'slouched lazily'. Propped up against the side of the Broken Barrel's tool shed, most of his burden placed upon the wooden walls. Any movements he made appeared to be the work of an invisible puppeteer, manipulating strings attacked to his limbs. But not at the ends. More at the wrists. For his hands and head hung low, barely attached to his body.

What time was it? Oh. Right. He still hadn't fixed the clock. But from the position of the sun in the sky, which could be glimpsed through the dense winter clouds, Simon could deduce that is was too fucking early. Hell. He wasn't an astronomer. Or cosmologist. Or whatever. God. It was early.

He took another sip, not sure if he wanted to stop and savor the flavor or get it into his system to clear things up. Eventually his inner workman won out and he tossed it back, sighing deeply.

It was cold. Damp. A cold rain had passed through the night before and things were primed to freeze in a day or two. He recalled checking in with an eccentric weather mage a few miles from town. Lived in a big stone tower. Some kind of observatory. Simon's inner science student was intrigued by the structure itself, but previous obligations were what brought him there. The mage was an eccentric fellow. Sort of shut in. But he had dedicated his own studies to meteorological observations and predictions. Like all those in the surrounding area, Simon wanted to see the forecast.

Of course the man told him to prep for snow. So he spread the word through town and returned to the inn. Where Leona suggested they stockpile firewood for the coming cold.

So here he was. Up early. About to set out again on another wood adventure. Cup of tea in one hand. Dusty wood axe in another.

Weather mages. What did they do exactly? What separated them from meteorologists? Did they control weather? Simon had seen mages conjure fire and lightning, manipulate water and frost, even construct hard surfaces out of nothing. So...did a weather mage shoot lightning too? Or summon rain? Or did he read the magical aura in the atmosphere or...what? What did he actually do?

"Snake-oil bastard." His inner grump was showing. He quietly sipped the his drink once more.

"Mornin' Simon." A voice rung out. Simon recognized it as Claire's, who at the same time skipped up beside him and pressed herself against the wall of the shed. He stuck her hands in the pocket of her hoodie and leaned into the wall, rocking back and forth impatiently. Then she sighed and her breath became visible in the air. This caught her attention, again, as it had did a few times before. Even though Simon had taken her through the scientific workings, she found it neat. Watching it materialized into a cloud for a few fleeting moments was really something.

So, she leaned against she shed, head facing out, quietly exhaling air in a number of different ways, watching her breath appear and disappear in a cycle never breaking her intense curiosity and wonder.

After a few puffs, some concentrated, some a little warmer, and a few very natural, Claire cocked her head. "How long do you think she'll be?" she said, turning to Simon only to find him leaning against the wall, eyes closed and head down, quietly nodding off. "Simon?" She strolled over to him, giving him a pat on the arm.

"Wuh?" Simon opened his eyes wide for a moment before they closed themselves halfway. "Oh, uh, 'unno Claire." He suppressed a yawn. "Prolly any minute now." He took a sip, and Claire went back to propping herself up against the shed, launching herself from the wall lightly before letting herself fall back again in another cycle. "You seem awfully-" Another yawn. "-excited."

"I've never been where you guys for for wood." She looked out in the wilderness, which was blanketed in fog. "I want to see the big trees you talk about."

"Well, they ain't too much bigger than these." Simon ran a finger up and down a nearby oak. "They just have plent 'a fallen branches that are easier to harvest."

"Well, I still want to seem them."

"Fair enough..." Simon sipped his tea and Claire continued to bounce off the wall in waiting. The sun hid itself behind the blanket of clouds that seemed to envelop the sky. At the moment it was like a clean piece of paper. Featureless but textured lightly with grooves and variations in coloration, but still a uniform color.

Finally, Leona emerged from the Broken Barrel with a yawn and a coiled-up rope. "Good morning." She said, fully awake.

"Good morning, Miss Leona." Claire smiled.

Simon probably had something to say in return. Maybe he had already said it. He didn't really know. He just blinked again and felt his lids get heavier.

"You with us, Simon?" Leona asked with a smile.

"I'm somewhere, I'm sure." He hoisted the axe over his shoulder and stepped forward. "Was up late tinkerin' with the clock..."

Any joke Leona might have made at that time she avoided, simply walking up next to the pint-sized boy and leaning in to pat him on the shoulder and then raising herself up to her amazonian height, standing just under the raised roof of the shed.

"How much we plannin' to bring in today." He asked, taking another long sip.

"As much as we can carry. Which should be enough, considering." Simon's own strength allowed him to haul a week's worth of sticks and twigs in for burning. When combined with Leona's own might, they could easily brave this storm with plenty of wood to spare.

Claire trotted forward and smiled, looking outward at the endless horizon, a sparkle in her gaze.

Leona followed, hoisting her own equipment up with her and easily catching up to Claire.

Finally, Simon, downing what he had left, tossed the mug into his pack and lazily pulled it onto his back, looking at the two for a moment before sighing and following suit.

"Alright. Let's do this."

It's a little weird that this story is just a beginning with no real definite end or anything. It just kind of is. A few details about stuff, a few character interactions, and some practice with details. Nothing else, really.

Also, Leona's sweater is really shiny. I don't gettit. But whatever.

Just a picture of Leona, Claire, and Simon, with prominent boobage there in the middle. Enjoy or whatever, you pricks.

Description
"Bweh." Simon sipped his earl grey, inhaling the sweet fumes and drinking down the honey-infused tea, letting it run smoothly down his throat and warm up his stomach. Like he had a furnace being ignited somewhere in his stomach. The sweetness of the tea was delightful, rolling very gently but warmly onto his tongue while assaulting his sense with two very pleasant sensation. One being the very obvious sweetness of honey in tea. Bitter, but almost candy sweet considering how much honey he had used. Meanwhile, the aromatic steam flowing from his mug could only be described as rapturous.

It was just a shame he was half-asleep and shivering in the cold. He could barely enjoy any of delight the tea could potentially bring due to each of it's stimulants being heavily muted. Too asleep to really appreciate the sweetness. Too cold to be significantly warmed. Too grumpy to even be asked.

There he stood. Well, not really stood. More like 'slouched lazily'. Propped up against the side of the Broken Barrel's tool shed, most of his burden placed upon the wooden walls. Any movements he made appeared to be the work of an invisible puppeteer, manipulating strings attacked to his limbs. But not at the ends. More at the wrists. For his hands and head hung low, barely attached to his body.

What time was it? Oh. Right. He still hadn't fixed the clock. But from the position of the sun in the sky, which could be glimpsed through the dense winter clouds, Simon could deduce that is was too fucking early. Hell. He wasn't an astronomer. Or cosmologist. Or whatever. God. It was early.

He took another sip, not sure if he wanted to stop and savor the flavor or get it into his system to clear things up. Eventually his inner workman won out and he tossed it back, sighing deeply.

It was cold. Damp. A cold rain had passed through the night before and things were primed to freeze in a day or two. He recalled checking in with an eccentric weather mage a few miles from town. Lived in a big stone tower. Some kind of observatory. Simon's inner science student was intrigued by the structure itself, but previous obligations were what brought him there. The mage was an eccentric fellow. Sort of shut in. But he had dedicated his own studies to meteorological observations and predictions. Like all those in the surrounding area, Simon wanted to see the forecast.

Of course the man told him to prep for snow. So he spread the word through town and returned to the inn. Where Leona suggested they stockpile firewood for the coming cold.

So here he was. Up early. About to set out again on another wood adventure. Cup of tea in one hand. Dusty wood axe in another.

Weather mages. What did they do exactly? What separated them from meteorologists? Did they control weather? Simon had seen mages conjure fire and lightning, manipulate water and frost, even construct hard surfaces out of nothing. So...did a weather mage shoot lightning too? Or summon rain? Or did he read the magical aura in the atmosphere or...what? What did he actually do?

"Snake-oil bastard." His inner grump was showing. He quietly sipped the his drink once more.

"Mornin' Simon." A voice rung out. Simon recognized it as Claire's, who at the same time skipped up beside him and pressed herself against the wall of the shed. He stuck her hands in the pocket of her hoodie and leaned into the wall, rocking back and forth impatiently. Then she sighed and her breath became visible in the air. This caught her attention, again, as it had did a few times before. Even though Simon had taken her through the scientific workings, she found it neat. Watching it materialized into a cloud for a few fleeting moments was really something.

So, she leaned against she shed, head facing out, quietly exhaling air in a number of different ways, watching her breath appear and disappear in a cycle never breaking her intense curiosity and wonder.

After a few puffs, some concentrated, some a little warmer, and a few very natural, Claire cocked her head. "How long do you think she'll be?" she said, turning to Simon only to find him leaning against the wall, eyes closed and head down, quietly nodding off. "Simon?" She strolled over to him, giving him a pat on the arm.

"Wuh?" Simon opened his eyes wide for a moment before they closed themselves halfway. "Oh, uh, 'unno Claire." He suppressed a yawn. "Prolly any minute now." He took a sip, and Claire went back to propping herself up against the shed, launching herself from the wall lightly before letting herself fall back again in another cycle. "You seem awfully-" Another yawn. "-excited."

"I've never been where you guys for for wood." She looked out in the wilderness, which was blanketed in fog. "I want to see the big trees you talk about."

"Well, they ain't too much bigger than these." Simon ran a finger up and down a nearby oak. "They just have plent 'a fallen branches that are easier to harvest."

"Well, I still want to seem them."

"Fair enough..." Simon sipped his tea and Claire continued to bounce off the wall in waiting. The sun hid itself behind the blanket of clouds that seemed to envelop the sky. At the moment it was like a clean piece of paper. Featureless but textured lightly with grooves and variations in coloration, but still a uniform color.

Finally, Leona emerged from the Broken Barrel with a yawn and a coiled-up rope. "Good morning." She said, fully awake.

"Good morning, Miss Leona." Claire smiled.

Simon probably had something to say in return. Maybe he had already said it. He didn't really know. He just blinked again and felt his lids get heavier.

"You with us, Simon?" Leona asked with a smile.

"I'm somewhere, I'm sure." He hoisted the axe over his shoulder and stepped forward. "Was up late tinkerin' with the clock..."

Any joke Leona might have made at that time she avoided, simply walking up next to the pint-sized boy and leaning in to pat him on the shoulder and then raising herself up to her amazonian height, standing just under the raised roof of the shed.

"How much we plannin' to bring in today." He asked, taking another long sip.

"As much as we can carry. Which should be enough, considering." Simon's own strength allowed him to haul a week's worth of sticks and twigs in for burning. When combined with Leona's own might, they could easily brave this storm with plenty of wood to spare.

Claire trotted forward and smiled, looking outward at the endless horizon, a sparkle in her gaze.

Leona followed, hoisting her own equipment up with her and easily catching up to Claire.

Finally, Simon, downing what he had left, tossed the mug into his pack and lazily pulled it onto his back, looking at the two for a moment before sighing and following suit.

"Alright. Let's do this."

It's a little weird that this story is just a beginning with no real definite end or anything. It just kind of is. A few details about stuff, a few character interactions, and some practice with details. Nothing else, really.

Also, Leona's sweater is really shiny. I don't gettit. But whatever.

Just a picture of Leona, Claire, and Simon, with prominent boobage there in the middle. Enjoy or whatever, you pricks.