Dream 002
Warnings: None. Well crack.
Effects: Complete and utter bewilderment - even Arthur knows this is ridiculous
[For those familiar with the cottages of Espoir, it's clear that the dream is taking place outside one of them, outside cottage seven to be precise - the stable is a dead giveaway - and there's a large brown horse
, regal bearing even if it's a horse, standing and doing horse things. You know, chewing hay, swishing its tail, snorting from time to time. Your average horse business.
Anyway, another horse
, white this time, swishing its mane back and forth, prances up, whinnying to the brown horse before, all of a sudden, it starts to talk.
"Buongiorno, Tarrento," the white horse says, thick Italian accent (really, if you know Ezio, it sounds just like him), leaning as casually as a horse can lean against the fence.
"Good day Santo," the brown horse, Tarrento replies, sounding like a posher Arthur as he saunters over, "Don't fancy this weather much."
"At least the sweets have gone, my mane was matted, disgustoso." Santo snorts his displeasure and shakes his head.
"This whole stable, turned into god knows what although I have to say, I did rather enjoy those sugar cubes. Fine things. Although the boy, Merlin, didn't seem so enthused about me eating my way through the walls. Neither did Arthur."
"They need to relax, sì?"
"Tried telling your one that?"
Another horsey snort of two horses agreeing on the fact that their humans are,
quite obviously
, idiots.
"So anyway, have you seen that bel giovane cavalla down near the forest?" Santo asks, waggling his eyebrows back and forth and luckily for the white horse, something distracts Tarrento before he can launch into a spiel on how horses are meant to behave and how to talk to or about mares, regardless of how fine they are.
"Bollocks," Tarrento nudges Santo at the sound of Arthur's voice, "the humans are coming. Back to the routine."]
[Arthur wakes up, staring at the Dreamberry before getting out of bed to peer out the window at Tarrento who is alone and doing the usual horse things, muttering to himself.]
Must have been something I ate. Horses don't talk.
Effects: Complete and utter bewilderment - even Arthur knows this is ridiculous
[For those familiar with the cottages of Espoir, it's clear that the dream is taking place outside one of them, outside cottage seven to be precise - the stable is a dead giveaway - and there's a large brown horse
, regal bearing even if it's a horse, standing and doing horse things. You know, chewing hay, swishing its tail, snorting from time to time. Your average horse business.
Anyway, another horse
, white this time, swishing its mane back and forth, prances up, whinnying to the brown horse before, all of a sudden, it starts to talk.
"Buongiorno, Tarrento," the white horse says, thick Italian accent (really, if you know Ezio, it sounds just like him), leaning as casually as a horse can lean against the fence.
"Good day Santo," the brown horse, Tarrento replies, sounding like a posher Arthur as he saunters over, "Don't fancy this weather much."
"At least the sweets have gone, my mane was matted, disgustoso." Santo snorts his displeasure and shakes his head.
"This whole stable, turned into god knows what although I have to say, I did rather enjoy those sugar cubes. Fine things. Although the boy, Merlin, didn't seem so enthused about me eating my way through the walls. Neither did Arthur."
"They need to relax, sì?"
"Tried telling your one that?"
Another horsey snort of two horses agreeing on the fact that their humans are,
quite obviously
, idiots.
"So anyway, have you seen that bel giovane cavalla down near the forest?" Santo asks, waggling his eyebrows back and forth and luckily for the white horse, something distracts Tarrento before he can launch into a spiel on how horses are meant to behave and how to talk to or about mares, regardless of how fine they are.
"Bollocks," Tarrento nudges Santo at the sound of Arthur's voice, "the humans are coming. Back to the routine."]
[Arthur wakes up, staring at the Dreamberry before getting out of bed to peer out the window at Tarrento who is alone and doing the usual horse things, muttering to himself.]
Must have been something I ate. Horses don't talk.