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Varian, if nothing else, is stubborn.
And Corona is hotter than blue blazes.
Time and time again, he has had the minor misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s a frequent and recurring issue that he cannot seem to get a handle of. Though, contrary to his past of inconvenience, today seems to be turning out to be pretty tame. He’s in the middle of a lab study of great import during one of his few days off from work, (read; he’s just piddling around with nothing else worthy of his time to do).
He pulls a small thin strap of metal out of where it’s been submerged in a beaker, tapping it on the inner side to get rid of the excess liquid. He can’t be making a mess of his very neat, very carefully organized work space, afterall.
“No noticeable effect after 3 minutes. Interesting..” He mumbles as he blindly shuffles his hand around his desk in search of his notepad. After a few moments of fruitless grabbing, he tears his eyes away from the metal, taking note of the inconceivable number of scrap papers completely covering the desk, the particular sheet he needs seemingly having disappeared out of thin air. He curses in mild inconvenience under his breath before aiming to toss the metal into the trash can across his lab. He squints his eyes in something akin to offense as he watches the thing land a mere 2 feet away from the can itself before he turns to leave up the stairs.
He skirts across the tiled kitchen before stopping abruptly in front of the fridge, catching himself on the handle. He rummages through the wide selection of fresh vegetables, his eyes quickly falling onto the glass bottle of lemonade Rapunzel had regifted him the other day. She had practically shoved the thing into his arms on his way out of work, insisting it was a ‘gift for him with him specifically in mind.’
He had his suspicions on the supposedly genuine sentiment, but who is he to refuse free lemonade.
As he’s pouring the drink into a glass, he hears that sound of the front door opening and closing, followed by his father’s heavy boots thumping towards the kitchen.
“Oh, hey dad. ‘You already done with the crops for the day?” He asks curiously, leaning against the counter as he takes a sip of his lemonade.
“I am indeed. A few of the villagers with children getting to the age of learning about the importance of household chores had them help out with harvesting some crops yesterday evening, so there wasn’t as much left to finish today.” Quirin explains with a fond smile, his face turning more curious after a moment. “I’m surprised you’re out of the lab tonight.”
“Oh yeah, y’know, I can only exhaust so many trials in one day.” He grins cheekily. Quirin shakes his head in fond exasperation.
“Well, if you’re bored, our personal stable could use some tending to.”
“By tending, do you mean something fun like feeding ‘em?”
“Yes, amongst other things.”
And so the cycle continues.
Varian rolls his eyes in feigned annoyance before setting his glass down. He pushes himself away from the counter to leave the house, Quirin tussling his hair not going unnoticed as he walks by.
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“Maker, it reeks as all get out in here.” He chokes out, pulling his shirt over his nose in a futile attempt to keep the stench from assaulting his nostrils. The amount of waste a handful of animals can produce in the span of 24 hours is absurd. He glances to his right to see a very unimpressed looking donkey staring blankly at him, but if he didn’t know any better, he’d say the darn thing was being smug.
“I hate you.” He says pointedly, which receives 0 reaction, the bastard.
After several daunting minutes of grueling labour, he’s managed to clean out the stalls spotless. Well, as spotless as a 20 year old stable can get. He places his hands on his hips, admiring his handy work.
“Well, this is looking more like a livable space and less like an outhouse, hey bud?” He asks rhetorically as he scratches the behind of Ruddiger’s ear, who, as to be expected, had been a little less than helpful during the deep clean. He grins in content before sighing, turning on his heel to face the donkey once more.
“Alright Prometheus, let’s you and me go for a little stroll, yeah? Maybe, if you behave, I’ll sneak you an extra carrot on my way out. How’s that sound?” He hums a little tune as he opens the gate to Prometheus’s section of the stable, leaving it open for him to venture out. The donkey lazily wanders out into the field, each step taking much too long. Varian rolls his eyes before following in toe.
Despite the field being, well, large, Prometheus always seems to favor staying within 5 feet of the barn, and this time is no different. Not that Varian’s complaining necessarily, he’d rather not spend the better part of his Saturday trying to wrangle up a runaway donkey, he does that enough with Ruddiger. Though, that does leave him with one issue, trying to get the stubborn ass to move his legs at all.
“Okay, yeah, so, when I said stroll, I meant exactly that. Get a move on.” He tugs the donkey’s reins slightly, to no avail. Prometheus glares at him, unimpressed and unmoving.
Fun.
“Okay, fine, two can play at that game, I’ve got all day and the patience of a tree.” He lies through his teeth. He may not be the most skilled at the waiting game, but he’s never been one to leave a job half done. He is going to get this donkey some damn exercise even if it kills him.
He blows a stray strand of hair out of his eyes, crossing his arms as his gaze wanders the field pointlessly. As he’s getting his dose of vitamin d for the month, his mind suddenly flickers back to a crate of carrots he saw tucked away behind the stable.
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“How ‘bout we keep this between us.” He states as he unbuckles the belt around Prometheus’s torso attached to a makeshift baited stretch. He unhooks the carrot on the end of the wire before handing it to Prometheus and his back firmly. The donkey doesn’t seem to have many complaints about the trade, lazily making his way back into his portion of the stable. Varian closes and locks the gate behind him.
He really does not like this donkey.