Knock-knock jokes

Yelrona is in a loose circle of parishioners sitting outside the Temple of Tarien, eating together in the open air and trading knock-knock jokes.

With the rain falling and the Sun slowly falling below the horizon, it's time to return home. It was an eventful day at the Fire Lodge and a lot of good was done. Even if some of it was amusing. Ashilde walks in no hurry down the street with her hammer slung over her shoulder and her fur lined hood drawn up over her mane of blonde hair. The few braids she wears spill out down her shoulders but are kept beneath the cloak to save her hair from getting too wet. She appears to be on her way towards the Temple of Angoron but is drawn briefly by the gathering outside the Temple of Tarien.

The armored lass drifts over to look over the people gathered and eavesdrops just long enough to see what is going on. "Evenin'."

Yelrona, whose turn it is, looks up at the new arrival and grins. "Knock-knock," she says to Ashilde, and the circle chuckles.

Ashilde lofts a brow in confusion and wrinkles her nose, "Knock-knock?" Tilting her head to the side. "Who's there?"

"Cash."

Ashilde says, "Cash who?"

"No thanks," Rona replies. "I'm allergic. Besides, I prefer peanuts." She slides over on the bench to make room for Ashilde and invites her to join them. "Your turn!" she announces cheerfully.

Ashilde rolls her green eyes in the most dramatic fashion possible. It actually hurts her head. "Knock knock?" Stepping over to find a place on the bench beside Yelrona and giving her hood a tug to ensure the light rain doesn't creep in.

"Who's there?" Yelrona and most of the other Tarienites respond, some in four-part harmony. It seems they do this a lot.

"Goliath." Ashilde rolls her tongue across her teeth and clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

Some of the folks in the circle nod in recognition... after a few years, it's rare for anyone to propose a knock-knock joke they haven't heard before, but as with most religious liturgy the point is not to be novel, but rather to participate in a shared tradition. "Goliath who?" they respond cheerfully.

Ashilde says, "Goliath down, thou looketh tired." The blonde offers somewhat dryly and looks between the bunch to guage if this one hurt them as much as the cashew one hurt her. Stretching forward her legs infront of her and crossing them at her ankles. "Luckbringers.." Snorting audibly."

The circle laughs appreciatively and the call-and-response continues around the circle. Rona pulls herself out of it a little to talk with the newcomer. "Very nice," she says. "I'm Yelrona, by the way, and welcome! This has been an end-of-Firetide tradition of Tarien's Temple for a long time, and it's wonderful to get new voices joining in. Thank you for joining us! Although," she adds curiously, looking at the Angorite symbol engraved on the woman's breastplate, "I'm assuming you aren't a Tarienite, yourself?"

"No. I'm an Angorite. Though my Patron has been known to walk beside Tarien in companionship - And I believe that Angoron would find himself more akin to Kor if it were not for Tarien." Smiling weakly and turning a touch to look towards Yelrona, "Ashilde Kormdottir. Well met." Motioning to Yelrona with her metal clad hand, "What about you, hm? You follow Tarien then?"

Yelrona grins. "More than mere companionship, if _some_ of the legends are to be trusted. But yes, on all fronts, and Angorites are certainly welcome here. Well met! And yes, I Got the Joke a couple of years ago, and recently was inducted as a Ruffian." She seems proud of that. "Though I was raised an Elunite, back in the Mythwood. You're from Stormgarde, yes?"

Chay has arrived.

The scaled reaches out and scritches the ears of a Hound as he heads down the steps from Gilead's temple. He wears a heavy, leather duster--its colors the colors of Am'shere's deep green. His rust-colored scales are anything but what one would think of a scout's to be--but there he is, emerging from the Hunter's Temple. Scars can be seen, emerging from the duster's neck, and doubtless continuing further down.

Ashilde laughs quietly at this and draws back her hood to reveal the mane of blonde hair and the braids that spill down with it. "Aye. Lovers. Perhaps. They are cut from the same cloth in some respects." A wink shot to Yelrona, "Aye. Stormgarde. Got here not too long ago too. It's a lot warmer here." She relaxes back and nods in Chay's direction as he approaches.

The circle has come around to one of the Tarienites, a young Sith-Makar woman dressed in orange. Looking impish, she calls out to Chay in Draconic: "Hunter! Knock-Knock!"

The sith-makar jerks. For a moment, one can see the whites of his eyes--unusual, in a species like that. Eeeee-haaah...

"P-peasse to you," he says after a time. Breathe. "Knock...knock?" he says, his voice uncertain.

Yelrona nods. "Well, it's warmer _everywhere_ than it is in Stormgarde, from what I hear. But welcome to Alexandria, then! What inspired the journey, if that's not too personal a question?"

The Tarienite Sith replies "Peace to your nest, and blessings on your eggs, and you're supposed to respond "who's there?" and then after I reply you repeat what I said followed by 'who?'"

"...ssa," Chay says, still sounding uncertain. He focuses on the other scaled, though. Among the Am'sheri, one respects a female's sharp teeth and wit. "Peasse to your nesst. Who iss there?" he asks. He stands a little straighter, a subtle straightening of the shoulders.

"Orange!"

"That's a long and complicated story." Ashilde laughs somewhat nervously, "My family wasn't keen on me taking the warrior's path after my mother passed. They'd rather me cook and clean. Taking the cloth put me beyond their control - and the distance was needed. That's the short version of it. What about you? Where are you from?" The Aesir looks between the two Sith curiously; her lips tightening to conceal a smile.

"Orange?" asks Chay, completely missing the pattern of the joke. Then, there's a pause long enough to be awkward, before: "Erm, who?" he asks. The tail moves side to side, in an s-pattern. "Thiss one iss ssorry...that iss, one apologisses. One iss unfamiliar with the...which casste are you? One iss Chay, of the hunter-casste, and honor to our Empress."

Yelrona smiles. "Actually, my story sounds rather a lot like yours. I'm from Yves Namvadin, a tiny elven settlement you've never heard of in the Mythwood. My mother was a Seer -- well, she was _the_ Seer -- and she expected me to replace her in the role."

The Sith girl gestures respectfully and makes room for her elder to sit next to her, which so happens to be next to Yelrona as well. "One was a Crafter," she explains, a little apologetically, "but is pursuing the path of Keeper within the House of Tarien. One is called Sachana." The call-and-response continues around the circle.

"It didn't quite work out that way," Rona continues. "There was a grove spirit, and an ill-specified blessing, and... well, as you say, a complicated story, but the long and short of it is I ended up here in Tarien's service. Peace to your nest," she adds to Chay as the Sith joins them, and moves so she can speak to both newcomers.

"Aye? Sounds like there's a common theme here - like people thinkin' they can choose paths for others. Doesn't really work out that way, does it?" Rising slowly from the bench and drawing her hood over her mane of her blonde hair, "It's good to meet you Yelrona. I'm stayin' over at the Temple over there if you ever feel like chatting more. I've got some duties to attend to before I sleep." Inclining her head to the Sith who she seems completely unaccustomed to. Not many in Stormgarde it seems.

Ashilde goes Temple of Angoron <TAN>.

Ashilde has left.

Chay after a hesitation, sits next to the other scaled. He pauses miday, though, mouthing 'keeper' before sitting down.

"One iss honored, keeper Sachana," he says, quietly. He glances over at the others, nonscaled. One could see the tenseness across his shoulders. It /eases/ somewhat, as the woman leaves, though in a way--well, one would need to be watching to see it. "Peasse to your nesst," he says hesitantly, to Yelrona.

"Of course," Rona stands to see Ashilde off, then turns her attention to the two Sith-Makar. "It is no doubt presumptuous of me to say so," she says, seeming entirely unapologetic about it, "but if Sachana continues on the path she is walking, she has every making of a Shaman... likely the first Luckbringer of the Sith-Makar, an auspicious beginning!" Sachana seems deeply embarrassed by this outburst on Rona's part. "I am Yelrona," she continues, extending a hand in greeting to the newcomer Sith as she sits back down. "You are welcome."

"The keeperss are an honored casste, sser!" Chay says hastily. He looks to the side, and then, "One apologisses."

The hands. He presses them together, fingers weaving through one another. Tightening. "It iss only the keeperss are as honored as the sshamans, if not more sso. Thiss one would be proud of one'ss kin for any path sshe took."

Swallows. "Peasse to you both."

Murder has arrived.

"Of course... I meant -- one meant no offense," Rona replies hastily, in turn. "And Sachana would be -- _will_ be, a source of pride and honor whatever path she chooses."

Open muzzle.

Insert foot.

Whelp. Chay's done that. He looks down towards the stones, and one could say he looks miserable, were one to look at the faint, telltale cues. Scaled aren't known for their expressions. But it's there--the flicker of tail, the tightening of the eyes. The swallow of the throat.

"One...one apologisses, sser. One iss...one iss under ssome sstress," he says after a moment.

Morgan has arrived.

GAME: Yelrona rolls diplomacy: (19)+5: 24

GAME: Yelrona rolls sense motive: (14)+17: 31

Yelrona is no expert on Sith facial expressions, but she is not ignorant either, and she is good at reading people more generally. She places her hand gently on the Hunter's. "No apology is required. If... if one may ask? Can your burden be made lighter with aid?"

A little figure in a blue dress patters up the street in the rain. She pauses and squints at the two recognizable shadows, and she softly walks up to them. "Hello Chay, hello Yelrona!", Murder says cheerfully.

Yelrona blinks in recognition as Murder uses the Sith's name, which he has not yet shared. "Oh! Is this the friend you men-- I mean," she corrects herself hastily, "the two of you know each other, then?"

"I--" Tension flows rapidly through Chay, shooting from shoulders to tail. "This one...thiss..."

"Ssa, Murder. It iss good to sshare words with you," he says, when he can get a breath. He glances uneasily towards the keeper-caste, particularly at one of them seeing him this way.

"It iss good to sshare words," he echoes. "Ssa, Murder and thiss one know one another."

Murder nods to Yelrona, and grins to Chay. "Yeah, we are acquainted. He's a good hunter. Knows his stuff." She cants her head slightly. "It's okay, Chay. She's a good woman. She knows about your situation regarding Banshee. I am sorry, but I spoke to her about it a little bit. I was having words with Banshee again."

Yelrona looks around. "Perhaps it would be better if we continued this discussion somewhere more private?"

"The muzzle works.

"One iss sorry to have caussed the difficulty," he says after a while, because what words are there? And then he looks towards the scaled keeper-caste nearby. It's when she thumps her tail, that he stands. Well. It is a matriarchal society. "Of coursse, sser. That may be advissable."

The Goblin's ears lift up a little at the tailthump, and she reaches a hand out, though she is careful not to touch him. "We can discuss something else for the time being, perhaps? Get a good night's sleep and then meet tomorrow, somewhere?"

Yelrona nods agreeably. "Of course."