timeline: post meeting caedes, pre meeting rougarou here

Sloan by no means was considered a girly-girl. Well, okay, maybe a little bit, but not like so much that one could call her prissy. She wasn't that bad! Really, it was the fact that enjoyed the finer things in life. One of those finer things was wine. Ah, sweet, delicious wine that made her lips pucker and belly warm. Back home in Saffron, such wine was always readily available for whenever she wanted or needed it. Before she left, frankly and unfortunately, she had needed it more than she wanted to admit. When your family sucked as much as hers did, you found way to cope. Sloan coped with wine. The travels from Saffron to Boreas had forced her to quit colt turkey. There was no room on her shoddy little raft to hold any wine so she went through the achy headache of withdrawals for a few days before feeling better. Now that she was gaining her footing upon new lands, she found herself craving a nice, mulled wine to help keep her warm at night. Being alone for so long having been taught little to no real life skills, she felt a tad useless. What good was she anyway if she couldn't make anything at all? Convinced that if she could make some wine for herself, she could at least start fermenting some more and trading it for other goods. Heading west from the Moontouched Cliffs, Sloan had smelled the sickly sweet and decaying scents of varying fruits. Whatever these fruits were would be perfect for her next venture! Following her nose to an orchard, she was disappointed only for a moment to find out that what separated her from her conquest was the scent of a pack. Were there really that many wolves here?! Not stupid enough to trespass during the day, Sloan spent the rest of the afternoon finding a basket of sorts (she really has no clue what its made of) to use for her fruit. As soon as night fell, that ominously large moon glaring at her from above, she slips across the border with wet, muddy paws to hide her scent. Plucking up fruit only from the ground, she quickly fills her basket and heads further west before she gets caught. Keeping a basket bouncing pace far enough until she feels safe and unfollowed, her eyes gleam with curiosity as she soon approaches the mouth of a glittering cave. A small sound of awe leaves her lips as she travels inward, realizing now that the glow of the cavern is from the mushrooms that line the walls. What a perfect place to make her first creation and give it a whirl! Discovering a small cavernous room off the main path, Sloan sets her fruit-filled basket down and sets about making a fire. She believes her basket is made of some type of stone or metal so it will at least be fire-proof enough to place over the flames. Flames flicker to life, adding a tinge of orange-red to the blue-green of the walls, Sloan sits back and pulls the basket toward her. Staying warm by the dancing fire, she gets to work mashing and pressing the variety of fruit she's collected. The apples feel mushier than she's expecting and the pears are harder than she likes, but its doable if she puts some muscle into it. After a few minutes, she tires from hunching over and stands up so she can lean more directly over the cauldron-like basket. Slowly, her concoction is coming to fruition and she's eager to get it finished and on the flames to cook and begin fermenting.

wc: 610 / 1500

Hiding booze from children is a tale as old as time, and Henbane really wasn't about to let any of the kids get too close to her stash. Right, the kids... she aught to move this stash now, huh? All the more reason to drink. The heavy feeling in her chest, trying not to hang around her neck. Bringing the better bottles with her, dumping the stuff that wasn't worth saving. Especially the stash that was still curing, something that... had probably not gone quite right. But that's okay, not every batch is going to be a good batch. Listen, she's no cook, she's no chef, and she's no connoisseur. Really, this is a little closer to every time a farmer has called a vet out to see why his pigs are acting weird-- only to find out that the pigs are drunk because the bottom of the slop bucked accidentally fermented.

So Hen's last batch of hooch hadn't been so good, and this time? Maybe this time would be at least a bit better. She could hope, right? Gathering fruits as they fell this time of year was a good enough bet. Especially when there was an orchard to steal from, not so far away. The edges of the borders were grey enough, and she could lie her way out of most things. Back against the wall, or whatever. Henbane looks raggedy enough, some wounds still healing, road-weary once again.

A handful of plums, overripe but not yet swept away by the ground dwelling prey animals. A big, juicy peach, that had been far too heavy for chip, dale, and whatever friends they brought on to bring back home. It's sweet, and taken really all of Henbane's self control to not dig her teeth in and devour the thing right now. No, it would be far better in the wine than it would now, in her belly. Nose low to the ground, there are a few more branches of berries as well. Blackberries, raspberries, though Hen has been left decidedly wanting in the blueberry department. Good things come to those who wait, right?

Good things come to those who wander. Henbane's return to her hiding place was full of surprises, the least of which was a flickering fire down one of the side caverns. Gaze curious, picking up a light jog as she ventures closer. Head tilting from one side to the other, nose twitching. Henbane can smell someone down here. Nails clicking against the floor, she's not trying to hide.

Hen's gaze on the woman is curious, warm, as she chances her way closer. "Somethin' about great minds thinkin' alike?" Her tone is warm, a brow lifting as she tips her makeshift bundle to show the woman her own harvest. "Pool our fruit, share your fire and I'll share my bottle?" It's a gentle suggestion, Henbane's gaze glimmering in the firelight. She's got an older bottle buried within the cave, and it seemed like an equitable arrangement. Hopefully.

"Speech"

WC: 500
total: 1110/1500

Sloan is no stranger to company and it's company she misses. Accustomed to the warmth embrace of family, friends, and alike, she reminisces on them now. Gathered around wooden tables, low burning hearths, laughter abound and enough food to feed an army. Bowls slurped down eagerly as mouths belch and bellies extend. A great time to be alive and with those she loved most. Why was it now, of all times, that she did miss them? It wasn't as if they had treated her like the great wolf she was inside so why would she care about them? Channeling that inner frustration that had slowly been building up inside, she soon forgets about the comradery she yearned for. Paws stamping down harshly on the fruits until their pits jabbed at her toes and their juices splattered across her chest. She would soon tire though, far faster than she was expecting, and her momentum would slow. Those pent up feelings inside dissipating to much of nothing and she's glad for the physical weariness. If her body was too tired to move then her mind would be too tired to think. That was logical, right? Just as she leans back to sit down and take her paws out of the smooshed fruit jumble that badly needed to be strained, she hears the click of someone approaching. Sloan doesn't know what the word shyness or caution means. Instead, her paws stay in the large container, one of them wrapped tightly around a peach stone as she readies herself in case the stranger intends to harm her. Fur near bristling, she can feel her heart beating in her chest until the stranger appears from the shadows as a tusked girl far taller than herself, but younger and a tad haphazard looking. Her head cants to the side, inquisitive to the girl's offer as a smile slides across her ivory and charcoal lips. "Anyone ever tell you you were a mind reader?" Sloan speaks in sultry tones fit for a sex phone operator as she bats her lashes at the girl. Slowly sliding her paws out of the container, releasing her makeshift weapon in the process, she scoots over to allow the larger girl some room beside her and the fire that illuminates them both. "Sloan. I hope your hooch is better than the wine I'm attempting," there's a light, delicate laugh that leaves her lips, olive green eyes watching the girl carefully.

wc: 408
total: 1518 / 1500