Talk:Where Legal Eagles Dare: An Opco Boone Adventure: Difference between revisions

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→‎The Farm

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 {{Smallcaps|The oldest portal}} into, and out of, Lissingdown was the Moor’s Gate. It opened out onto a region beyond the city walls they called The Meadow and, beyond that, the dark forest of [[Bretton Woods|Bretton]].
-{{indent|The Meadow was a wide flat, low-lying mud plain. It turned briskly to swamp whenever it rained, which wasn’t often, but was often enough that generations had maintained narrow plank walkways to get about The Farm. The “boards” ran from the gate all the way to the woods, and down to The Farm between them, where they raised and cultivated clients. The itinerant labourers who maintained the Farm were thus known always as the “onboarders”.
+{{indent|The Meadow was a wide flat, low-lying mud plain. It turned briskly to swamp whenever it rained, which wasn’t often, but often enough that the itinerants who for generations  had maintained it had created narrow plank walkways around the miles of rows of cages that made up The Farm. These “boards” ran from the Gate all the way to the Woods, and along every row and aisle of The Farm where they raised and cultivated clients. Such a feature were they of the propagation and cultivation of client relationships that were the principle business of The Farm the itinerant travellers who walked them in the service of milk production were called the “on-boarders”.
-Just now, a cross-eyed, black-toothed, puck-faced peasant limped along the boards with a pail of slops. She tossed out chicken bones left and right and ladled mouldy porridge to grasping beasts who slobbered through the slats.
+Just now, a cross-eyed, black-toothed, puck-faced peasant limped along the boards with a pail of slops, tossing chicken bones left and right and ladling mouldy porridge to grasping beasts who slobbered through the slats.
-[[Ramsay Punchface]] looked up and gingerly approached the filthy contractor. She stopped and looked back at him for an uncomfortable period, as if undecided whether to be amused, irritated or malevolent. At length, she settled on amused. She said, “Whatta fucka ''you'' wanna? Wanna-you some chicky, ah?”
+A slight ginger lad stepped carefully along the board that ran from the Gate to the Farm until he caught the boarder’s attention and then stopped. The boarder stopped her round, too, eyeing him carefully. She held his stare for an a beat too long, weighing him up, as if undecided between amusement, irritation or malevolence. At length, she settled on amusement. She said, “Whatta fucka ''you'' wanna? Wanna-you some chicky, ah?”
-She fished a chicken bone from her bucket and tossed it at Ramsay’s feet. He couldn’t tell if she was being serious until she roared at the joke.
+She fished a chicken bone from her bucket and tossed it at the boys’s feet. He couldn’t tell if she was being serious until she roared at the joke.
 Just as he began stammered out an oily yuck to move the vibe along, she ''stopped''. “Well, amigo, whatta you gotta?”
-Ramsay held out his tote bag. “I caught these.”
+[[Ramsay Punchface]] held out his tote bag. “I just caught these.”
 The onboarder snatched the bag and up-ended it, dumping a handful of a small, rabbit-like animals into the dust. Their legs were loosely bound and they wriggled and whimpered. She grunted, and turned each over carefully with her boot. “Littl’uns, innit?”
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 “They’re segregated cells. J ... J ... Jersey. I think.”
-The onboarder grunted again. “A bit feeble.” He looked over his shoulder. “Hey, Quasi. Whatta do you makea these?”
+The onboarder grunted again. “Feeble.” She looked over her shoulder. “Hey, Quasi. Whatta do you makea these?”
-A old hunch-back, naked but for a sack tunic and a dirty loincloth, scurried out of the farm on all fours. Despite his apparent age he had bright eyes, though he gripped a monocle in one, and he moved with a nimble, nervous energy. He regarded the onboarder and squawked. “What is it? What is it? What is it? HEY?”
+A old hunch-back, naked but for a sacking tunic and a dirty loincloth, scurried out of the farm on all fours. Despite his apparent age, his eyes glittered, though he gripped a monocle in one. He moved nimbly with a nervous, muscular energy. He regarded the onboarder, and the boy,  and squawked. “What is it? What is it? What is it? HEY?”
-“Heh. Lil runty fellas. Any good?”
+“Heh. Lil runty fellas.” The boarder poked the animals with his foot. “Any good?”
-The old man grabbed the rabbity thing, sniffed it, drawing its aroma deeply, an action from which he derived no small pleasure, inspected the animal’s fur closely through the monocle, taking it in his fingers, picking out fleas, or dirt, or imperfections. “Meh.” He peered into its ears, yanked open its mouth, inspected its teeth. Finally, he pulled, a stout wooden device from his tunic and held it up against the animal. “Heh. It’ll do,” he said, “but it’s not exactly going to make the quarter. It’s a bit scrawny.” He scratched his chin. “Call it a three. Yes; a low priority three.” He tossed the first one in the smallest pen.
+“Any good? Any good? It’s all good. Any good is all good is every good boy deserves football —” The old man snatched up the rabbity thing, sniffed it, drawing its aroma deeply, an action from which he derived no small pleasure, inspected the animal’s fur closely through the monocle, taking it in his fingers, picking out fleas, or dirt, or imperfections. “Meh.”
+He peered into its ears, yanked open its mouth, inspected its teeth. Finally, he pulled, a stout wooden device from his tunic and held it up against the animal. “Heh. It’ll do,” he said, “but it’s not exactly going to make the quarter. It’s a bit scrawny.” He scratched his chin. “Call it a three. Yes; a low priority three.” He tossed the first one in the smallest pen.
 “A ''three''?” Ramsay quailed. "But Jersey [[Oik]]s are a key business priority!”
-“Maybe so, soldier, but that's not an Oik. That’s an [[Sociedade Gestora de Participações Sociais|esgiepieyes]] from Madeira. Superficially similar to [[Oik]]s, but their milk yield is poor and it’s a bit sour, but it will nourish you juniors all right.”
+“That they are, so they are, so I gather, soldier blue, but there are no oikeys here. That’s an SGPS, my young lad. Sociedade Gestora de Participações Sociais, to give him his full regalia, if you please, and he hails from —” he snatched up the beast again and began riffling through its fur “ — Porto? Lisbon, I wonder — oh! Madeira! Of ''course'' it is, my dear, Madeira, my dear. ''Similar'' to Oikey Oikses, they are, but — oh! — just not the same. It’s their milk, see? The yield is poor and it’s a bit thin, and sour, but it will nourish you juniors all right.”
-“But Hank w —”
-“Oh, Hank wants it to happen, does he? Sure he does. And he wants to take me for a dine and dance at Gwendolines, too. Be grateful I don’t cut it up for fodder.”
+Ramsay sighed and motioned at the other two espiecies. “What about the others, then?”
-Ramsay motioned at the other two espiecies. “What about the thers, then?”
+The old man examined the first one briefly. “This one — nah, Qatari: won’t net.” He tossed it away. His dog, a mongrel bull terrier, chased it under a fence. “Bosun! Bosun!” he screeched, at the dog.
-The old man examined the first one briefly. “This one — nah, Qatari: won’t net.” He tossed it away. His dog, a mongrel bull terrier names Bosun, chased it under a fence.
+He picked up the third, gingerly, turned it over in his hands and looked doubtfully in its ear.
-He picked up the third, looked in its ear, and suddenly, violently threw it down, kicked out at it and scurried into the dark recess from where he had originally come.
+Suddenly, violently, he threw it down, kicked out at it and scurried into the dark recess from where he had originally come. The boarder squawked in anguish and grabbed a spade and hid behind these nearest cage. Bosun leapt at it, but the man swiftly yanked on the dog’s chain to pull him out of reach.
-“JESUS! Take it away! Get rid of it! QUICKLY!”
+“Get away, Bosun! Get out of it! JESUS! What do you think you're playing at, bringing that nasty little blighter in here? Take it away! Get rid of it! QUICKLY!”
-“What’s wrong with it?”
+Ramsay flapped his arms. “What’s wrong with it?”
-“Just get rid of it before internal audit gets here!”
+“Just get rid of it before anyone sees you with it!”
 Ramsay gingerly picked up the frightened little thing. It was barely bigger than a hamster and hand beautiful, soft, golden fur that shone auburn in the sunlight. It seemed so harmless. So pure. It trembled in the palm of his hand. “It’s okay, it’s okay little one,” Ramsay soothed.