Sagebrush Inn - 09 05 2004
In the Kitchen:
Asriel has arrived.
"Yarr!" greets Rogue, boisterously, as the winekeeper clambers up the stairs into the room. "Now--hush, lad," he says confidentially, in a quieter tone. "Somethin's apaw, if ya hadn' guessed a'ready, mate. 'S the 'tender's birthday, t'day is, an' we got a biig cake here. I'll put yah in charge 'f it, if I c'n trust ya, of course, lad." The cake sits on the counter, piled high with frosting and strawberries, fresh plucked from the garden outside.
"Well, hadn't I better bugger off and lock myself in my room all day?" He smirks towards Rogue, crossing his arms as he stands close to the stairs, "I wouldn't think that the tender would like me in charge of her cake, so if you excuse me I'll just do her the best kindness to her."
Stubb has arrived.
Stubb drags himself into the room from the garden, disheveled and weak from too many drunken nights spent lying on the little crop Rogue has growing outside. "Ugggh.." he moans, pulling himself to his feet. His swimming vision locks on the cake, taking no note of the others present, and he makes his laborious way towards it.
Asriel is turned to leave, so he doesn't see Stubb advance right away, but out of the corner of his eye as he turns back to wish Rogue well he spots the weasel and makes an attempt to tackle him before he reaches the cake. A few steps and then he's flying at Stubb in order to stop him.
Stubb falls to the floor in a tangle of limbs. One eye opens, drifts lazily around the room, then closes again. He pushes himself feebly up off the floor. "Oy..." he whispers, then turns to survey the fox. "Sorry there, mate. No' really m'self, sar."
"Uh..you alright...just um stay away from that cake alright?" The fox pulls himself away from the weasel, and stands himself up, a bit dizzy but like a record in his mind he keeps muttering, "Stay away from the cake...stay away from the cake!" Then he's perfectly himself again, and shakes his head clear, "Jeeze...sir you have some head there.." He rubs his own.
Rogue proffers a paw to steady the frenzied-looking winekeeper, to assist him on his feet. "No 'arm done, mate," he says to Stubb, with a trace of irritation. "Thanks t'Azzy here." He turns again to face Asriel, quietly positioning himself, meanwhile, between the weasel and the cake. "C'mon, lad. It'll be fun. Ya don' have t'stay fer long. Y'can holler 'Surprise!', get y'cake, an' pop back down ta yer cellar, five minutes flat. C'mon, mate." He shoots a sudden look at Stubb. "An', you c'n come too, if yeh can behave y'self, mate."
Pulling himself fully upright and leaning on the counter, Stubb nods softly, whispering with surprising reserve, "An' what d'we do? Jes' run inta th'room an' star' hollerin'?"
"Oh alright, if you think it's a good idea, but I still don't think Libbie will like my being there, " He continues rubbing his head, it still aching a bit from where he bumped it with the weasel, "I'll keep a eye on Stubb, and then I'll get a piece of cake a leave alright?"
"'Ere's what we do, mates," says Rogue, drawing in his companions and once again adopting that conspiratorial tone of voice. "Wesley'll holler at us from the common room there. Whenee does, we all rush in an' start screamin' an' hollerin', 'Surprise! 'Appy birthday, Libster!' an' all that. Pretty simple, it is, lads. Bu' remember. Whenee /shouts/; no sooner. No later, neither."
Meanwhile, in the Common Room:
The trapdoor behind the bar lifts with a creak, and the head of a groggy-looking Lady Liberty pokes up. "Mmph." The doe climbs out, shutting the trapdoor that leads to her room behind her, and eases herself onto her stool, mumbling. "Bar's open, lads," the girl announces to the empty common room, pouring herself a shot of something strong to help wake herself up.
With an aura of mystery clouding his handsome face, Wesley sweeps over the floor towards Libbie. "Mornin', Libs," he smiles brightly. "Enjoy your night?" He remains standing, as if anticipating something.
Libbie says, "'Twas uneventful," the rabbit churrs, swallowing the shot and making a face. "Mm. /Much/ better. How ye doin', lovah mine?" Her ankles curl around the legs of her stool, and she leans forward to smile sleepily at him."
Wesley smiles and puts his paw lightly on the bartender's cheek. "You best wake up, dear. Know what t'day is?" His eye twinkles.
".. eh? Remind me," Libs mumbles, nipping at his fingers playfully and then pouring herself a glass of cordial, which she sips for a moment. "Hey, boy-o, whadda ye want?"
Wesley starts to pull his paw away, then decides he likes the sensation of having his fingers nibbled. "Hehe, you really are still asleep, aren't you, sweetie?" He looks at the selection behind the counter. "Got anythin' for early in the day? Somethin' light?"
"Wine," Libbie suggests, peering up at Wesley. "Why don' ye siddown, laddie me love? Got somewhere te ge, soon?" She fishes around beneath the counter for a bottle of wine, humming.
Wesley looks faintly reluctant to sit, but he acquiesces, pulling one up under him so he doesn't have to reposition himself along the bar; "Wine will be fine, sweet pea." While Libbie searches, he toys idly with the counter, feeling the contours of a hole in the counter with one of his claws. "Libs... I got a surprise for you, dear." He smiles that mysterious smile again as he looks at the top of the bartender's head as she searches.
The doe's head pops back up, and she grins, clonking the bottle down. "I got this f'ye a while back," Libs tells the weasel, turning it so he can see the label. "S'an ol' brew. Never opened. I kept it safe from Asriel all this time," she concedes, laughing, and pops the cork, leaning over to inhale the aroma. ".. mm! Imma gonna have te try this, too!" the rabbit decides, pouring him a glass, then draining her own and refilling it with the wine. "Gotta toast, love?" She asks, raising her glass.
Cradling the glass lightly in his paw, Wesley looks into the wine, then perks up; "A toast, dear?" He turns to her, gazing deeply into her blue eyes. "I'm afraid it's a bit trite, my sweet, but..." - he raises the glass - "To us. To a long and prosperous love, which, while, forsooth, an odd one - not th'one my mum would've wished" he adds with a grin "-will 'old us and bind us all the days of our lives." He takes a long draft of the drink.
She clinks her glass lightly against his, beaming as, inevitably, heat rises visably in her cheeks. "To us," Libbie murmurs, canting her head back to take a swallow of the wine. Then, she sets the glass down, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand and leaning over to claim his lips in a thorough kiss. Upon breaking it, the doe gives WEsley a little wink, and whispers, "I love ye, boy-o."
Wesley blushes, "And I love you, sweet pea." He suddenly composes himself, sits up, "But, Libs, I'm not the only one 'ere as appreciates what you do fer us. D'ya remember what day it is yet, darlin'?"
The barbunny thinks for a moment, then laughs aloud. "Aye! I de!" She shakes her head in a bemused sort of way, flexing her hands and cracking her knuckles. "S'th'day m'poor ol' mum popped me outta 'er, so 'tis! What a' it, lovedove? 've had seven birthdays afore this'n."
Wesley winces at the remark about Libbie's mum. A bit crass. He beams, then, suddenly, "And every one makes you prettier, m'dear. But this one's special..."
Wesley shouts "Rogue!"
"Thank ye much, sweetheart," the doe croons, and giggles, kissing Wesley's cheek before he calls for the cook. She looks up, brows raising, towards the kitchen door. "'Tis a bit late f'brekkist in bed, Wesley... What's this 'bou--"
Asriel, Rogue, and Stubb rush into the room from the kitchen.
Rogue exclaims, "Surprise!"
In comes the wine-keeper, "Happy birthday!" With the others coming in behind him.
"'Appy birthday, barkeep!" shouts Stubb.
Libbie stops, ears standing up, at all the commotion. She beams, though she looks a little flustered... then laughs, and pounds her fist on the countertop. "Drinks on th'house all day, whadda ye say, lads?"
Rogue balances the cake carefully on one paw, lifted slightly above eye level. It is topped high with frosting and coated with freshly picked strawberries. The smell wafts through the room as the acrobatic chef brings it deftly to rest on the counter. "Ma'am," he bows to her, "Another season older, another season luvlier." He grins broadly at the prospect of free drinks. "I cud go fer a gud, stiff drink, mateys. Az's dying for a change a flavors, too, gettin' tired a the stuff down in 'is cellar, eh, lad?" He winks at the grizzled winekeeper.
Stubb still seems to be having trouble keeping his balance as he clumsily navigates his way towards a stool. "Nah drinks f'me, lass," he says, waving away Libbie with a paw. "S'm cake'll sit jes' righ' with me, an' tha's all I c'n take." He burps, pulling his weight onto a stool. "Any more drinkin', an' I may no' see t'morrow!"
Behind the others, Asriel is sorta waiting shifty foot for his chance to leave before he pisses off the lovely bar-keep, but he does manage to tap Stubb on the shoulder and whispers into his ear while giving the weasel something or another. Then he makes his way for the door, his escape, and hopefully in time to please her highness.
"Rogue, ye ol' riverdog, ye've outdone y'sself!" Libbie cackles, hoisting herself over the counter and straight at the chef, to wrap him in a tight hug. "Who's idea was this, huh? .. Asriel, ye rotten oaf, git back 'ere afore I git really miffed, aye? S'my birthday!" The doe is all smiles, grinning at the fox and Stubb, and then back at Wesley, who she throws her arm around and kisses again, right in front of everyone.
Stopping in his treks, the fox rubs at his neck, "Eh, nah, that's fine I've got something I've got to attend to anyway, good day, " With that he makes his exit, not even bothering for a bit of cake, "Best wishes Libbie."
Asriel steps into the entrance hall.
Asriel has left.
A glint of gold can be seen, sparkling in the weasel's paw as he cradles the little object handed him by the winekeeper. "Hmm..." whispers Stubb to himself, quietly. "Bounty!" The light strikes his gray eye straight on, highlighting it for a brief moment before flashing away.
Rogue pats Wesley on the back heartily. "Was all Wesley, this, m'lady. All 'is doin'. 'E's the one as deserves the kisses!" He chuckles loudly to himself. "Now, some a yer fines' beer, barkeep!"
Wesley pulls the knife from under the cake and carves out a large slice, topped with an enormous strawberry. He looks at Rogue questioningly.
A nod and a wink are all that the otter offer in reply, but it's enough for Wesley. "For you, sweet pea." He hands the piece to her, then says, more quietly, "For us."
"Beer, comin' up," Libbie chirps, reluctantly pulling from Wesley to go fill the order. She slides a glass full of beer down towards the otter, then drains her out glass of wine... and fills it again. "Yee-/haw/!"
Stubb snaps out of his reverie and hands the object in his hand to Libbie. "From, er, me, miss. 'S not much."
The doe takes the.. thing.. and peers at it. "Gee, thanks, sarge," she mumbles, quirking a brow. "Hey, Wesley, set a piece aside f'me f'later, aye, love?"
Wesley pushes the slice of cake forward on the countertop. "Libs. Take it." He picks the large strawberry, large enough, indeed, to dwarf his paw, off the top of the slice he's cut for her. "At least eat this. It will go bad if you wait, dear."
"A'ight," Libs agrees, nuzzling him and then plucking the strawberry from his hand. "Only 'cause 'tis absolutely the biggest, juiciest strawberry 've e'er seen in m'life." Grinning, she bites into it, juice dribbling down her chin.
Later that Evening...
It is later now. The room has cleared, the drunkards hauled out to the garden, Rogue returned to his kitchen, and all is desolate... apart from Libbie and Wesley. Wesley waits patiently, watching the bartender go about her accustomed business. Between his paws, he nurses the enormous cake he set aside for her. "Libbie," he calls softly. "Lib, 'ave some cake, dear. It's good."
She's lounging in a stool -- not the one behind the bar, but one outside it, next to the weasel. The doe idly polishes the last of a set of glasses, setting it aside before quirking a brow at him. "Eh? A'ight, a'ight, stop buggin'! Give it 'ere, lad," she mumbles, finding a fork.
Wesley smiles. "You'll love it. I know." He slides it over to her.
Libbie grins. "'Course I will. I love ev'rythin' Rogue makes, en' 'sides, how offen de I git /cake/?" The doe giggles, scooping up a glog of icing and smudging it on her nose, then cuts off a piece with the edge of her fork, depositing it between her lips. ".. /Mmm/! Yore roight! I /love/ it!"
Wesley watches, a grin blossoming on his face.
She takes another bite, barely needing to chew the sweet, moist cake, and then another. "Thissere cake really is somethin' great," she says, grinning as she wolfs it down. The doe is about halfway through when she stops, brows drawing together, and gives a little cough.
Wesley pats on the back, "What's the matter, dear?" That grin flashes across his face again. "Somethin' in the cake?"
The doe's ears flop back. She looks at him with watering eyes, coughing violently. Something, clearly, is caught in her throat. Libbie had no need to chew Rogue's soft cake, and so tried to swallow this last bite straight down. /Big/ mistake. Coughhackgag. "Wes-/ley/!" the doe rasps.
Surprise and fear suddenly cast Wesley's vaguely attractive features into relief. "Libbie!" he squeaks suddenly, jumping up from his chair and rushing to her aid. "Libbie, darlin'! 'Old tight!" Looking harrassed, his gaze quickly scans the room, looking for someone to help, but finds no one. /What do I do?/
She coughs violently, shutting her eyes and covering her mouth with one hand. The doe's shoulders hitch.. and then she relaxes, spitting the thing out onto her palm. Blue eyes narrow unhappily on Wesley's face, and then she peers down at the little surprise in her birthday cake, which she nearly swallowed.
Wesley wipes the beads of sweat from his fur, panting slightly as he returns to his stool, relieved that Libbie seems to have recovered from... his ring. "Don't /do/ that to me, Libs!" D'oh. Settling back again, he leans his head on a paw, gazing quietly at the bartender as she extricates his tiny gift. Perhaps they can salvage some romance out of this.
The doe blinks solemnly down at the ring. For a moment, she just sort of.. sits there, staring at it. Then, she wipes soggy crumbs from the metal and peers in, to examine it more closely. A smile dawns on her muzzle. "S'lovely, Wes," she murmurs, looking up at him. Despite being, well, you know.. /Libbie/.. she does appreciate something pretty once in a while. "Hehe! This is really great, love. A birthday presen' in me /cake/!" She starts to giggle.
"I'm glad you liked it. Can't get too fancy on my meager salary, y'know, but I've been savin' for just the right woman to come into my life. Libs," Wesley smiles, "You're the one I want to spend my life with, sweet pea. You're just the right woman fer this ol' weasel!" He leans forward for a kiss!
She loops her arm around Wesley's shoulders and kisses him. Like, she /really/ kisses him. And when, giddy and giggly, she draws away, the doe nuzzles the weasel's neck, lifting the hand with the ring in it. ".. I love ye, Wesley," Libbie whispers, though she looks at him hesitantly, a question in her eyes. "Ye know I do. What.. what's this all 'bout, now? Ye don' gotta buy me preddy things te prove it."
Rogue shouts "Ooooohhh! I wudn't walk a hun'red miles for a dandelion cordiiiiaaaall!"
Rogue shouts "An' I wudn't fer a salmmmooooonnn!" from Kitchen
Wesley begins to talk, but is interrupted by the sound of Rogue's coarse, tuneless singing, which suddenly barrels into the room from the kitchen. "Rogue!" Wesley calls, irritation painting his face.
Rogue ducks his head out, "Ayup, matey? Now what c'n I do fer th'lovely young couple this night? Speak up, lads an' lasses, soups on th'boil!"
"Shut up, Rogue," says Wesley good-humoredly. "We're tryin' to 'ave a nice, romantic evenin', and we don't want your singin' ruinin' the mood!"
The otter throws a big wink at Wesley. "Gotcha, cap'n! Shuttin' up, then." As he pulls his head back into the kitchen, he stops, then pauses again. "Sher ya don' wan' a bit a cap'n Rogue's fines' soup?"
Wesley smiles, "Absolutely certain."
"Rogue, ye ol' rascal, ye were in on this!" Libbie accuses the chef, laughing. "Gawd, ye two!" She plants a kiss on Wesley's cheek, beaming. "G'nigh', Rogue!"
Rogue steps out of the kitchen for a moment, offering Libbie the most innocent visage he can muster. "I was duped, missy Lib, err, Miss Libbie! 'T was all yer lad's doin', I c'n swear it!"
"Well, iffen ye had no part in it," Libbie muses aloud, winking towards the old chef, "may'aps I'll reconsider givin' ye free drinks all this week, eh?"
The frazzled old chef breaks down suddenly in a fit of mock tears. "Oh, miss! 'Ave mercy on a poor ol' otter! 'E forced me, 'e did! I didn' wan' ta let on that... well, the game's up, I guess, Wes." His ear perks up. "Whoop! My soup's boilin' away, an' 'ere I am, chattin' m'mout off! You two take care now!"
Rogue ducks back into the kitchen quickly.
The girl watches Rogue retreat with uplifted brows, then turns to WEsley with a smirk, fingers curling around the ring as she crosses her arms. "Let on that /what/, now..?"
"Like I said, Libbie, you're the woman I want ta spend my days with..." He reaches out to cup her paw with the ring in it.
"I know," the doe replies, smiling and giving him a little nuzzle. "But... well, now." Her ears twitch. "Ye wan' somethin' te drink? My throat's all dry, since ye nearly killed me en' such." Wesley is given a big grin.
You room-page, "I give you a friggin' priceless ring, and you give me a BIG GRIN?!?!?!"
"No, sit. Libbie..." And, like sunlight breaching a cover of endless cloud, unseen, unwonted, in a land bereaved of sun, Wesley breathes those words so long sought after. "Will you marry me?" One by one, the four words fall, like raindrops to earth, to nurture the parched ground... at once suspended and falling.
Her eyes lift, flitting so quickly from one of his to the other with a searching gaze that they barely seem to move at all. A quavering smile touches the doe's lips, before they're pressed tenderly against Wesley's, and her arms loop tightly around his shoulders. "'A course," Libs whispers after she breaks the kiss, laugh gives a soft, gravelly laugh. Her eyes find his, the blue clear and understanding. "'A course, love."
You room-page, "You had me at 'priceless ring'!"
