The Floof Test

From FiranMUX

There doesn't appear to be any bipedal types in the general vicinity, save for the two visiting children. Only the light breeze rustles through the branches of the many trees, creating a constant ambient noise that is broken only by the birdsong, the tromp of the pair's footsteps, and the occasional snap of a twig as something larger than a bird moves about in a tree. Something...pink? Indeed, now and again a glimpse of pink can be seen through the foliage -- perhaps a large tropical bird that's gotten lost on its way.

Alastor doesn't quite glimpse Sren, but he does spot something pink, and gives a loud shout. "There! Over there, hey, what was yer name again? I saw something pink!" He draws his wooden sword, though it's just used for brushing aside tree branches. *Firan*

"Phaisia!" Phaisia retorts impatiently. Already, her gaze is following Alastor's gesture, looking for this flash of pink.

The broken twig sounds freeze as Sren is spotted and the flame-haired boy freezes save for a twist of his body in order to see who has spotted him. Oh. It's only a pair of kids. With a rustle of leaves, the pink-clad boy clasps his legs around a handy limb and swings down so that he is inverted -- alarmingly close to the pair. Hands keep his tunic in a modest enough space and he replies, "'tisn't pink! 'tis light red." So there.

Alastor stops up short, a little surprised to see something swing down from a tree. He recovers quickly, though, and gives a loud, excited whoop of amusement. "It's pink! He's wearing pink! There's a boy wearing pink!" *Firan*

Well. That was unexpected. Phaisia yelps and takes a small hop backward when the boy swings near them as she tries to ascertain the situation. Alastor's shouting causes the girl to break into laughter, though. "Sure enough," she agrees, though she keeps a bit of distance between herself and the floofy boy.

Sren crunches his body up so that his hands can reach the limb and he 'skins the cat', bringing his legs through his arms so that he can somersault down to a soft and rather grand landing on the floor. Small tongue snakes out of Sren's mouth and he blows a disgruntled raspberry at the pair. "It's /not/ pink," He insists, "It's just a faded red. Besides," And now, he crosses his arms over his chest, all thoughts of hiding banished from his mind, "What's wrong with pink -------" As Alastor begins shouting, the freckled youngster hunches down against the tree, "SHHHHHHH!" He hisses, "----- --- want the whole city ta hear ya?" *Firan*

Alastor just grins, looking somewhat manic. He ignores the question, which was somewhat rhetorical anyway. "It is not red." He turns to Phaisia, who is now a fashion expert. "Does that look like red to you?" And before waiting for an answer, he goes right back to focusing in on poor Sren. He's noticed something new, and is downright gleeful. "Look, Phaisia, it has flowers!" he shouts, pointing to the clasps up at the shoulders. "I think he's a /girl/." *Firan*

Phaisia is conflicted for a moment, because she doesn't really /want/ Alastor to be right, but upon closer examination, she really has no choice but to agree. "Those're flowers," she confirms with a bit of a chortle. She gives the boy a chance to explain himself, in any case. "Why're you wearing pink?" she asks Sren. *Firan*

Sren stamps his bare foot into the soft, leaf-littered forest floor. Okay, so that didn't provide /quite/ the effect, the young Ticanee was looking for, but as it flutters the bottom of his tunic prettily, it gives him an idea and with a smirk curling at his young lips, he grabs the bottom edge of said tunic and flares it out. "So what if I was a girl? Maybe I am? Girls like pink, ----- they?" This last is directed at Phaisia, the only true girl among them, as if for substantiation to the lad's theory. The youth then dips a clumsy curtsey, as if to show off his girlishness. "See if I were a girl," And now he prances a little closer to Alastor, "You'd ----- me, wouldn't you? We'd get /married/." *Firan*

Alastor misses a word or two there, crucial ones, which rather unfortunately takes some of the sting out of the taunt. Still, he caught enough of it to shove at Sren, nothing seriously, just enough to assert his sense of personal space here. "That's stupid. You dress like a girl. So now you have to do something to prove you're not a floof, or me and Phaisia will go and tell /everybody/ that you are." Just like that, he includes Phaisia in his scheme, and now, turns to her for advice. "What should we do to make him prove he's not a little floof boy? Fight a bear?" *Firan*

Phaisia squints faintly at Sren. "You /aren't/ a girl, are you?" she asks, though there's a bit of uncertainty in the question. Well, Alastor seems pretty sure that he just dresses like one, in any case. "A bear?" she asks him, wrinkling her forehead. "That's stupid. Make him do something brave." *Firan*

Sren gets lost in all of that, and a blank look crosses his adorably freckled features. "Floof?" He manages to repeat, blinking as he does so. "Whazzat?" Bright, verdant optics flicker between the pair, and the tip of Sren's tongue flickers out, moistening his lips. "----- a bear?" It appears that it's quesiton time for the poor Ticanee child and he shakes his head, ginger hair splaying out to all sides in a bright halo. "You wouldn't make a girl fight a bear, wouldja? That's not very nice." He tsks, holding onto the one defense he has -- that he might be a girl. *Firan*

Alastor says, sidelong to Phaisia, "Well, fighting a bear /is/ brave. Okay, okay, okay." He turns a considering look back on Sren again, sizing him (or her) up and down. This is definitely the sort of look that kids get when they're wondering if they can take the other guy in a fight. "We won't make you fight a bear," he says, magnanimously. "So, are you a boy or a girl? Because if you're a girl, you're an ugly girl. And if you're a boy, you have to prove you're a not a floof -- that means, sissy. A girly-boy. A wuss." He could go on. "So which are you?" *Firan*

Phaisia's gaze shifts back and forth between Alastor and Sren, and she squints again at the figure in pink. It can be hard to tell at that age, and Sren's hair is a bit long... Phaisia keeps her mouth shut, waiting for the Ticanee to answer.

This time, emerald optics look rather sketchy as they run about, unsure of whether to look to girl or boy. "Well..." He begins, "Whattif I /am/ an ugly girl? Nuffin' wrong with bein' ugly...be there?" For this, he requires support from Phaisia, and a pleading glance is shot at her.

Phaisia shakes her head quickly. "Nah," she agrees, "you can't really help how you look." *Firan*

Alastor shrugs. "Then you're an ugly girl, and I guess that's okay. I'll have to call you Ugly Face, though." He's not very creative. It's the best he can come up with on short notice. "If you're a boy -- a pink-wearing floof-looking boy -- then you have to prove you're not a wuss by fighting..." Not a bear. Phaisia nixed the bear idea. "Okay, you'd have to fight me, for at least a few punches. That way I can tell if you hit like a floof, and if you cry like a little girl when you're punched." *Firan*

Sren relaxes visibly at Phaisia's pronouncement that he can't help how he looks. He's in like flynn! He can be a girl! Unfrotunately, at age 8, he is simply not cunning enough to keep the ruse up. The Ticanee lad narrows his eyes at Alastor, asking, "--- like a what?" Clearly didn't get that part of the sentance. At the last assertion, Sren snorts, "As if ---- ever be able ta catch me ta punch me in the first ------" Well, there goes that whole 'girl' ruse, right down the toilet... *Firan*

"You can't call her Uglyface," Phaisia is quick to defend, though the pink-clad figure's rather male show of temper causes her pause. "You aren't a girl, are you?" she asks Sren, still uncertain, as she glances back at Alastor.

Alastor says, "Like a floof. A floof!" He repeats the word louder, as that's what usually makes people understand better, volume. Now he's really suspicious. "I think you're a boy. A floofy, cowardly boy who won't fight. If you weren't a coward, and you weren't a floof, you'd fight me. Phaisia can referee." *Firan*

Sren beams at Phaisia's defense of his honor, such as it is. "Than--" He begins, only to be cut off by her accusaion of his male-ness. "Yeah, alright. So mebbe I'm not a girl. But I'm /not/ a coward. Jes' 'cause you couldn't catch me ta punch me doesn't ---- I'm a...a..." After all that volume, how can he have forgotten the word already? "Floof." The word is said with a sort of curious rolling of tongue, as if he's trying it o on for side. "Ya know," Sren begins, distracted, "It isn't so --- of a ----- Why's it gotta mean somethin' so yucky? I quite like it. Floof. Floofy. Floofidy. Floofishy. Floof." *Firan*

Alastor rolls his eyes, giving Phaisia one of those 'toldja so' looks. "You only like the word because you /are/ one. Now, okay. If you don't want to be a floof for the rest of your entire life, you have to fight me." He raises his fist, getting into a more aggressive fight mindset. "If you run, then that means you're a coward. And none of the kids in this city play with cowards. Right, Phaisia?" *Firan*

Phaisia purses her lips thoughtfully. Strange little boy. "You don't want to be a floof," she advises him. "It's a bad thing to be. Floofs get beat up and their stenis taken, and people make fun of them forever." Alastor's already picking a fight, though, and she isn't comfortable with that turn of events. "I think..." she begins, then stops. She straightens, standing slightly taller than the younger boys. "Wait! No, no fighting," she says bossily, holding her arms out to keep the two separate. *Firan*

Alastor's words bring Sren back to the here and now of 'you're going to get in a fight' rather than the there place of 'floofish'. The Ticanee boy clues into the other's little speech about halfway through, and even then he doesn't quite catch /all/ the words, so he's forced to stare rather vacantly at his new opponent. At least he catches enough of the words and of Alastor's new stance to realize that some badness is going to go down. He too drops back into a crouch only to have Phaisia stand behind them. A small smirk curls at Sren's lips and he sticks his tongue out at his would-be opponent.

Alastor is all ready for some prime ass-kicking here, as much as nine year olds can kick ass, anyway. But Phaisia has to go and ruin it. For a moment it looks like Alastor might just slug /her/, but instead, he lowers his fists and relaxes his stance. "What? We can fight," he says impatiently, and keeps his eye on Sren. It doesn't look like he's mad or anything. It does look like he's itching for a fight. "Who died and made you the Queen of Fighting?" *Firan*

Phaisia stands between the two and scowls at Alastor. "Why do boys have to be so stupid?" she asks him. "He didn't do anything to you in the first place." If they're both determined to fight, she's not going to stop them, though, so she glances at Sren. "Do you want to fight him?" she asks the smaller boy. *Firan*

Sren appears rather uncertain, watching primarily Alastor with the occasional glance spared for Phaisia. "Well, I dun wanna be a floof," He mentions rather pointlessly -- I mean, who does? "But I gues there hasta be some winnin's -- it fer me. Howsabout this. We 'ave a fight, an' you," He nods his head to Phaisia, "Referee. An' whoever looses is the floof." Wow. Now /those/ are high stakes. *Firan*

Alastor is quick to intervene here. He may be younger than Phaisia, but he's just as bossy. "No, because that's stupid," he says, bluntly. "Because sometimes two people who aren't floofs fight, like gladiators, or soldiers practicing, and stuff like that. And it doesn't make one of them a floof, just because they lose. I know /I'm/ not a floof." He points a thumb at his chest. "So I'm the expert on not being a floof. If I fight you, and even if you lose, you might not be a floof. Or even if you beat me, you still might be a floof. It's complicated." *Firan*

Phaisia smirks at Alastor. "So... why are you fighting him, exactly?" she wonders, maintaining her place between the two as they discuss the details of floofdom. *Firan*

"Duh!" Alastor says, louder now. "To tell if he's a floof or not! I can tell when he hits me, and when he gets hit."

Sren's blinks are full-facial expressions this time, his eyes squinching shut so far that whole constellations of freckles are lost amongst the wrinkles on the child's face. The poor little Ticanee is forced to shake his head, apparently lost in the Firan's descriptions. "Wait, wait. So we fight -- or really, --- jes' hit me an' see if I cry. An' even then I might still be a floof?" Clearly logic isn't Alastor's strongpoint. It isn't Sren's either -- unless it involves him not getting punched in the face. *Firan*

"Why can't you just... like... see which of you can run faster or climb trees better or.... throw things farther?" Phaisia, the token girl, wonders aloud. "Why do boys have to settle everything with beating each other up?"

Alastor says, cavalierly, "Oh, if you cry, you're pretty much definitely a floof. I mean, unless you got a bone broken. Or if you got hit in the nuts. See? It's complicated." He balls his fists back up again, and bounces up and down on the balls of his feet. "Phaisia can say if she thinks you're a floof too, though she's a girl, so her vote doesn't count as much. Now, are you ready?" *Firan*

"Of course I'm ready," He replies with a haughty little toss of his head, impatiently shoving coarse locks out of his eyes. Phaisia's ideas of contests have fallen by the wayside, as he leans forward onto the balls of his feet, clearly no stranger to the odd scrappy fight here and there. Again, the tip of Sren's tongue snakes out, moistening his lips in anticipation of the 'battle' to come.

Alastor nods once, and takes to the aggressive, moving in with fists raised. Did he mentioned he sucks at fighting? Of course not, but... yeah. Anyway! He's still very upbeat because he does like fighting. "Now be careful not to cry," he warns, and cocks his fist back for some bashing. *Firan*

Phaisia just shrugs and rolls her eyes at the boys as she scoots out of their way. "No kicking in the... privates," she designates delicately. "And no breaking bones. And once I say who wins, you have to stop." *Firan*

<kid fighting clipped, all 8 or 9 damage of it>

Alastor throws a few punches and, well, the other boy isn't crying for his momma. He's ready to keep swinging, but he's also satisfied. "Okay, you can stop if you want. You don't seem like a floof." *Firan*

At that, Phaisia is quick to step in. "Alright, stop now!" she commands.

Alastor misses, and that's totally Phaisia's fault as he has to maneuver around the intervening girl to try to throw one last punch in. "Hey, you're in the way. Are we stopping?" *Firan*

If Sren heard Phaisia, he doesn't give any indication, darting forward toward Alastor...'s fist. Right into it with his chest. Take that, Alastor's fist! Ha. Haha. A bit of a crunching sound can be heard, coupled with Sren's fist giving as good as his chest got. From then on, it's a flurry of flying limbs without any particular rhythm or rhyme. As both Alaster and Phaisia put an end to the fighting, the Ticanee boy steps back, breathing hard. He's looking a bit bedraggled, but whatever he's feeling, he looks tough as nails.

Alastor tries drawing back, anyway. He's ready to declare the fight over because, actually, his ribs are a little cracked, and that /does/ hurt. Of course, he can't show any of that here. He has to be tough. "So why are you wearing a pink tunic?" he asks, with the non-floofiness of Sren determined at least to his satisfaction. *Firan*

Sren wraps an arm around his ribs which are painfully sore, probably cracked as well. There's a bit of blood soaked through the pink -- perhaps it /will/ turn red soon enough. "I a'ready told you," The freckled lad repeats, "It's /red/. Jes'...faded, y'see. I ain't got...new clothes like you." Nose wrinkles with distaste, apparently at the thought of new clothes. *shudder* *Firan*

"Alright, you're not a floof," Phaisia agrees, glancing at Sren, then back at Alastor. "Are you both alright?" she asks. "You're bleeding quite a lot."