Zecora (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
zebrarhyme_everytime) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lostcarnival2017-01-10 07:36 pm
zebrarhyme_everytime) wrote in lostcarnival2017-01-10 07:36 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Zecora and everyone else
Where: The medical tent and in the carnival
When: Soon after the Agent battle
What: Zecora does her job. And is tired.
Warnings: None?
A.
[The medical tent is a dark and shadowy place in the aftermath of the Agent attacks, but those shadows are not unwelcoming. The very essence of the air seems permeated with Zecora's personality, warm and exotic and welcoming if you can get past how mysterious and occasionally creepy it is. In the depths of the tent, Zecora herself stalks from tables to seats to cauldrons bubbling in the back, seeming everywhere and nowhere at once, as if she's less a being and more a force of nature.]
[Given how the carnival is, this is probably a little alarming.]
[Those who are already here, she has instructed already -- whether they're awaiting minor treatments or major. But for those just arriving? Even in the middle of her exams, she lifts her voice to greet them, a faint rasp at the very depths of her rhymes.]
Please enter. Have a seat.
I'll be with you soon to treat
Whatever ailment is your trouble.
Call if I'm needed on the double.
B.
[Late at night, when the businesses of medicine in specific and the carnival in general are done, those keen of eye or sharp of ear -- or who just happen to be walking past the food stands -- will find a zebra half-sitting, half-lying on a bench, a partly-eaten funnelcake lying next to her muzzle. She'd tried to get some food, the first she'd had all day, once she'd single-hoofedly seen to every patient and ailment in the carnival's numbers... but exhaustion had won the day.]
[On the upside, she's looking properly solid now -- but beneath her fur, her fae marks glow a faint grey, apparently unable to stop even out of the presence of active magic.]
[Wait a moment and the observer gets to spot one hoof twitching violently, proof that her sleep isn't quite as restful as she needs it to be.]
Where: The medical tent and in the carnival
When: Soon after the Agent battle
What: Zecora does her job. And is tired.
Warnings: None?
A.
[The medical tent is a dark and shadowy place in the aftermath of the Agent attacks, but those shadows are not unwelcoming. The very essence of the air seems permeated with Zecora's personality, warm and exotic and welcoming if you can get past how mysterious and occasionally creepy it is. In the depths of the tent, Zecora herself stalks from tables to seats to cauldrons bubbling in the back, seeming everywhere and nowhere at once, as if she's less a being and more a force of nature.]
[Given how the carnival is, this is probably a little alarming.]
[Those who are already here, she has instructed already -- whether they're awaiting minor treatments or major. But for those just arriving? Even in the middle of her exams, she lifts her voice to greet them, a faint rasp at the very depths of her rhymes.]
Please enter. Have a seat.
I'll be with you soon to treat
Whatever ailment is your trouble.
Call if I'm needed on the double.
B.
[Late at night, when the businesses of medicine in specific and the carnival in general are done, those keen of eye or sharp of ear -- or who just happen to be walking past the food stands -- will find a zebra half-sitting, half-lying on a bench, a partly-eaten funnelcake lying next to her muzzle. She'd tried to get some food, the first she'd had all day, once she'd single-hoofedly seen to every patient and ailment in the carnival's numbers... but exhaustion had won the day.]
[On the upside, she's looking properly solid now -- but beneath her fur, her fae marks glow a faint grey, apparently unable to stop even out of the presence of active magic.]
[Wait a moment and the observer gets to spot one hoof twitching violently, proof that her sleep isn't quite as restful as she needs it to be.]
no subject
I will take that as a no... [ Which it was. He's pretty sure. Although, on that matter, it's hard not to feel a little irate all of the sudden. ] Must you speak in rhyme every time? Doesn't that make all of this difficult?
[ Is this a faerie thing? Talking zebra thing? Magical doctor thing? All three? ]
no subject
[Also, is this really the time to question her rhyming?]
It would be harder to not rhyme
Than you to do it all the time.
The zebra tongue does it as a matter of course
Not doing so is something I must force.
no subject
And now is the best time, since he is, unfortunately, being irate. Just a little. Sorry, Zecora. ]
God forbid there's ever a serious illness that's unrhymable, then...
no subject
Rhyming is about the flow --
Quite easy to do, you know.