ooc- My intentions for this character are to 'discovery-write' him. In other words, I will incorporate whatever your characters say or imply. His future is determined by the way he is treated by other characters (so feel free to have fun with that).
Devro dropped his hammer with a noisy clang! and shoved his little paw into his mouth, blinking back tears. His inexperienced paws were already bruised and beaten, and one of his claws was bent at an unpleasant angle from a previous injury, but Devro had an iron will that surpassed the pain of his mistakes.
He tasted blood on his paw and moaned softly to himself. He would have to go to the infirmary again. That meant another scolding about a mere youngster handling dangerous tools.
The tang of blood pushed dark memories to the surface, but he forced those down, too. That's not me. That was never me, he thought.
"Are you ar'ight, master Devro?" The cellarhog called around the corner. "I don't want the missus coming down on me about letting you use my tools, ya hear?"
Devro took his paw out of his mouth and dried it on his tunic, leaving a tiny red smear. "Yessir. I'm fine." That meant no infirmary. Besides, the other youngsters were always telling him to 'vermin-up'. He could stand to be a little tougher.
"Ar'ight then." The kind -though quite brusque- cellarhog went back to his work.
Devro had to use the cellar for his tinkering. No other beast in Redwall trusted him with tools, and there was nowhere else where he could hide from his peers. Thus, he spent a lot of time underground.
Stoats weren't a favorite at Redwall. A wimpy stoat was even worse: his height made him intimidating, but his thin frame and weak constitution made him as easy mark for bullies.
Devro stood up and looked at his unfinished work. It was a bulky and lopsided attempt at a clock, but it was his best work so far. With real tools he could have done far better.
I should make some real tools, he thought. I saw a book on it somewhere.
Devro sighed and stood up. His industrial spirit was worn out for the day. He pulled a shred of canvas over his unfinished clock and returned the hammer.
ooc- Feel free to run into him anywhere in the castle. I think this starts as a low-key high-school drama with childish dares, pretty girls, and small-time bullies. We could even time-lapse forward after a few scene, if you like.
Bomboar was an otter, and close companion to Devro. He was strong for his age, and worked out regularly. At least when he was around, bullies didn't go for the stoat, however wimpy he was. It was an unusual friendship, a weakling stoat with a burly otter. It didn't seem they had much in common, but this otter was determined to make sure Devro could stand up for himself and not depend on him all the time.
Devro was destined to run into Bomboar after the debacle with the clock. He gave a roaring laugh. "Harharrr, so ya hurt yourself again? Ye should take me up on me offer ta toughen ya up a bit. Keep the bullies away from ya." He lifted the stoat up with one paw. "How's about it?" He let Devro down after playfully tossing him up a little.
He grinned. "Thin' about it, willya?" He tousled the fur on Devro's head and accompanied him where he was going.
ooc: I really wanted this fun character to be his closest friend. I couldn't resist it!
ooc - Not a problem at all: My hope for this thread is that people will be fluid with Devro, almost making him a joint character. You could even make up things about Devro and his past, and I'd still be pleased as punch.
Devro straightened the fur on his head in mild annoyance. "Yeah, yeah, I'll think about it."
He was nearly the same height as Bomboar, but he was also whip as a willow. Part of him was embarrassed by how amicable Bomboar was to… well, everything. And that Bomboar could toss him around...
But that was Devro's problem. He knew he had to lighten up emotionally and put on a few pounds. And the truth was that Devro was glad to have Bomboar around.
ooc - Tinarandel wants to post too, so let's save the next reply for him.
In a side hall in the Abbey over the Cellar, a small squirrel child stood tall on the tiles, waving his paws around in fluid and wild (yet precise and coordinated) motions of fantastical nature; the world seemed to bend, twist, and return to place at his will, the reaction being amused innocent cute giggles from the master of the creative enchantments.
Tremendous ripples vibrated on the walls and ceiling, sending giant waves of unimaginable wonder around the area. Gradually guiding fingers to the floor, on command it split perfectly in half, uncovering the underground beneath; it afterwards mended itself properly as the child snapped his index fingers and thumbs. He erected and propelled his arms forward, fingers bent and wrists turned in opposite directions clockwise or counterclockwise, pulling aside the divider before him, but not by force. As it contracted and expanded, a portal his size opened leading to the Abbey Gardens. The sheer image caused the tyke to laugh proudly. Paws curled into gentle fists and said magical gateway was gone in a millisecond.
All within his imagination, obviously.
For young Alan, neither parents nor adult superiors inhibited his boundless creative insight. In fact, he owned no such things whatsoever. He only remembered being taken in by the kind, generous, and loving creatures of Redwall at 4 years old, during the harshest winter ever known. Standing in the snowbank at the Front Gate, chilled to the bone in only a small belted tunic, wicker closed-toed shoes, and a purple leather hood, with holes cut for ears to stick out. Redwall took compassion on him, putting his physical well-being as top priority, immediately lighting a fire and preparing to nurse him back to health. Presently, now 8 years of age, and wearing a light green Abbey habit, little and less still was thought or known about the background of this boy. Nevertheless, Alan considered Redwall Abbey to be his invaluable irreplaceable home.
No questions asked, no inquires posed, no books turned to. Just silence, shadows of memories long since lost in time long since forgotten.
Alan knew the stoat in the Abbey, the one by the name of Devro, and even tried to befriend him at past points in time. But the vermin never displayed interest or care – instead, always busy with his clocks and caring for nothing else. Every effort left Alan slightly discouraged, and his inquisitive and childlike imaginings were all that comforted him. Where this fascination with incredible world-turning power came from, that itself a mystery never solved. But a child had every right and inborn privilege to hope, dream, and believe, right? Hope never faltered; perhaps today things could change. Optimism, love, selfless care, and patience were always rewarded. The otter friend Bomboar in particular treated Alan like a beloved and doted-on son.
Calming his mind, Alan made sure to restore the Abbey to its proper form. Another proud innocent laugh issued forth, and the boy lay down at ease beneath a windowsill, basking in the sunlight. A long time later, the sounds of pawsteps came into the hallway. He recognized them and promptly stood up.
“Hello, Mr. Devro and Mr. Bomboar! Good morning! It’s me, Alan!”
(ooc: may I join? looks like you're missing a kind, pretty, skinny, brown female, squirrel!)
ooc: As far as I'm concerned, the more the merrier! I think the others will agree.
ic: "Alan!" said Bomboar, picking him up and tossing him in the air. "Upsy-daisy." He caught Alan and placed him on his shoulder. "Glad to see ya, sport. Been meltin' Redwall Abbey again? Ya got the makin's of a wonnerful storyteller."
Just then, a rock flew through the air, aimed at Devro. Bomboar caught it and said, "Now what's got inta ya head to do that? Devro ain't done nothin' ta deserve that!"
The little mouse said, "He's a vermin, and I don't want him here."
"Now, calm your head and thin' a bit. My pappy once said varmint is what varmint does, an' you's the only one actin' like a varmint. Now, I gotta give ya a choice. Ya c'n either shake paws with Devro and make nice-nice, or I c'n whistle up Ma Mellus, and she's gonna chuck ya inna tub an' scrub the hide offa yer. Now what's it gonna be?"
The mouse sulkily shook paws with Devro and walked away.
"Sad, ain't it?" said Bomboar.
Arries crept up behind him.
"It is very sad!" She frowned, "I can understand why a big, mean grown-up stoat would subject to stone-throwing, but not little Devro!"
She smiled, throwng a candied chestnut at everyone.
"Here, I got this from the kitchens!"
Devro's response to being called 'little Devro' was cut short by a flying chestnut.
"Did you snitch this?" he asked Arries. Being a vermin, his Redwall upbringing had been unusually strict. Although pinching candied chestnuts or pies from under the friar's nose was pretty typical of young Redwallers, he'd never struck up the nerve to do it himself. Even looking at the chestnut made him feel a little guilty.
Arries looked up at the ceiling, avoiding his gaze.
"Um, maybe," She answered, "But don't tell the Friar, or he'll skin me!"
Arries smiled and ruffled Alan's fur.
"Hey, when you break the Abbey, don't forget to put it back together, squirt!" She teased.
At the teenage squirrelmaid named Arries ruffling his fur affectionately, Alan giggled and blushed a slight red.
“Why would I want to ‘break the Abbey’? I can bend it, tangle, wring, pull apart and put back together; but never break it! That’s just unnatural! And, besides, I’ll always restore it to normal once I’m finished, anyway!” Alan stuffed the chestnut in his mouth. Swallowing, the squirrel child hugged Bomboar round his neck, then turned to Dervo.
“Hey, little Dervo!” He laughed at the comical nickname. “Whatcha up to? Did you see my tricks with the Abbey? I’ve been getting better, you ought to watch when you get the time!”
Then again, Al thought. It’s not like he ever has the time. Stoat or not, he’s one of us. Why doesn’t he ever act that way?
“Bernko throwing rocks again? He’s gonna break something sooner or later, like little Dervo’s nose! Can’t we all please learn to trust him like family? But, heck, I’m talking too much!” He threw his paws up in the arms in a humorous and dismissive fashion, and great excitement entered his voice. “Whatcha y’all say we go get some food?”
Propelling paws forward again, he spun them around in circles, pretending to open a mystical gateway to the Kitchens of Redwall Abbey. Without taking his gaze away, he addressed Arries in front of him.
“So, Arries, what’s up? Been flirting with the other teenage squirrels a lot lately? You seem to be doing it more often than usual, or maybe that’s just me thinking too hard.”
Arries laughed, "No no, nothing like that, I have just been practicing with my bow, I've heard that there is some trouble coming!" She looked at Devro, "So how are your projects? Build anything spectacular lately?"
Arries started to walk towards the direction of the kitchen.
"I think I'll get a snack the old-fashioned way," She said,"Race you all!"
“Whatcha up to? Did you see my tricks with the Abbey? I’ve been getting better, you ought to watch when you get the time!”
Then again, Al thought. It’s not like he ever has the time. Stoat or not, he’s one of us. Why doesn’t he ever act that way? - Alan
"Yeah," Devro replied awkwardly. "Yeah, I saw."
"So how are your projects? Build anything spectacular lately?" - Arries
"Spectacular?" Devor thought about his clunky too-fast clock. "Nothing spectacular. Maybe someday."
"Race you all!" - Arries
"Mmmmm, candied chestnut," said Bomboar, munching on it. "Much obliged."
He didn't have to be asked twice to be involved in a race to the kitchen. "I's powerful hungry. I's a comin'. Hold on tight," he said to the squirrel on his shoulder. Of course, speed wasn't his thing, and he lumbered ahead as fast as he could. He would be able to keep in sight of the others.
Arries smiled looking over her shoulder at everyone. Out of the group, she was the fastest, but Bomboar was the strongest. She dodged and swerved, running down the long corridors of the abbey.
The race was short, but caused a small ruckus in the halls as the four young ones dashed about, dodging older gentlebeasts. In the end, in was good fun and no harm was done.
Arries won quite handily. As the four creatures arrived panting at the kitchens, the Friar was already standing in the doorway, looking somewhat indignant.
Friar Birtwistle's long ear's twitched and his mustache bristled below his pink nose. He wore a thick air of suspicious zeal and he held a thick ladle in one paw. "You young bucks lookin' fer a spot trouble? Eh? Not a one of you, or any otha' beast for that matter, will be enterin' mah kichten until further notice!"
Devro raised his paw a little, almost like he was asking for permission to talk. "Why not, Friar?"
The Friar puffed out his chest in further indignance. "Why? A dozen of mah Mossflower-famous blackberry pies are coolin' in the winda'sills. I count six candied chestnuts missing just this afternoon, and you want ta know why I won't letcha inta mah kitchen? You try feeding an Abbey full o' hungry beasts while dibbuns are snatching food from your kitchen, then try-"
This rant went on for a little while before somebeast in the kitchen called to him for some help.
The Friar's tone changed instantly to one of sweet affection. "Yes dear, I'll be there in a moment."
He turned to the young ones again with narrowed eyes. "Keep the paws off mah pies." Then he shut the door in their faces.
Devro made a face. "He's just mad because he forgot it's the Abbot's birthday tonight."
ooc- Forgive my hare speech: It's been a long, long, long….. long time.
Before little Alan could make any sort of response to anybeast in the group, he found himself wrapped tightly around Bomboar’s neck, holding on for dear life as they near-sprinted to the Kitchens. During Friar Britwhistle’s angry ravings, the child squirrel was forced to stick his fingers in his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
Slam! went the door in their faces! Alan finally let his uproarious childish laughter come forth unafraid. Thank Martin that Britwhistle couldn’t hear through the door! He adjusted himself on Bomboar’s shoulder to properly look at Arries.
“You know he’ll eventually find out that it’s you, right, Arries? And when he does, you’re gonna get quite a smacking! I don’t want to be there to see it happening!”
Suddenly, Alan gasped, as if in immediate realization. “It’s the Abbot’s birthday today? Abbot Caleb? Aw, crud, I forgot!” He playfully facepalmed himself, but then giggled again and clapped his paws excitedly together.
“When can we eat? Is there still food around that Britwhistle won’t mind us taking? The sooner we’ve got a meal, the sooner I can work on putting together my best magic and magic-themed stories for Caleb! Hurry, hurry, hurry! We’ve not a single moment to lose!
By the way, what’s everyone been up to today?”
Artes held up her paws.
"I haven't taken anything in 3 weeks, except for the nuts! I also don't have anything else to eat, sorry."
She looked thoughtful for a moment.
" Knew it was his birthday, but I couldn't think of anything to give him."
"So that's what's got the Friar's apron tied in a knot," said Bomboar. "We can figger something up on what to do fer the Abbot's birthday if we puts our head together." He thought for a moment. "Let's go to the pond. I have an ideer that will be somethin' good. And we can have fun splashin' around to boot."
Devro shrugged at Arries' comment. "If the Abbeybeasts each gave Abbot Caleb a gift, he wouldn't have room for them all. I think you're fine, Arries."
Then something resonated in Bomboar's words. "Yeah, I guess… we could all work together to make him something nice. A gift from all of us."
Arries brightened right up.
"Yes, a joint gift! What an amazing idea! Now the Abbot won't be burdened by too many gifts!"
She ruffled Alan's fur and followed Bomboar out towards the Abbey pond.