Roly Poly Pumpkins

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she retorts with a little snort. It’s not just rhetorical! Wessex really wants to know what it looks like she’s doing, cause she’s kinda just playing it by ear. Tossing the smallish pumpkin she has in her had towards Rory, she then gestures towards the re-set bundles of sticks. “Go for it.” No further instructions. Nothing but a glimmer of amusement in her eyes as she squats down and waits for the leatherworker to play the games. He just has to figure out which ones he’s signed up for and what the rules are. Hint: there are no rules. Yet. Movement catches her eye and she turns a bit to see a small, red-headed girl beckoning to the two of them as she walks closer. Her smell tells Wessex that this teenager is an Outlander and she growls ever so softly. No. She doesn’t want to let this innocent little thing join the game, doesn’t want anything to do with their damned invasive species after they so rudely dishonored the Festival. But again, Rory is here. Resentment flares up ever so slightly towards the other Natural, though logic tells her that it’s not his fault he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time, wrongly keeping her from exacting vengeance (or just violence) on whichever Outlander crosses her path. Oh. An idea pops into her head. When Melita is close enough, Wessex puts on a smile and shrugs and one again gestures towards the stick bundles. “Sure. If you can knock ‘em all down in one go. Ehhh… well, let’s say two. These things have a mind of their own.” WESSEX She whispered back, I am the storm