Horse Haggle (Noreen + Jack)
Apr 16, 2012 14:27:46 GMT -5
Post by Aeron on Apr 16, 2012 14:27:46 GMT -5
Warm shafts of sunlight fell through the sparse cloud cover upon the carefully plowed fields, illuminating them in a soft, midday glow. These conditions often signaled the end of the winter season, and the beginning of the spring season. Unless the climate felt an insatiable urge to hoodwink its numerous subjects, one could safely count on warmer temperatures and more precipitation and moisture throughout the land. For the farmers and ranchers of Districts 10 and 11 especially, these conditions were necessary and essential to ensure a thriving, prosperous year. In District 10’s case, the aforementioned weather had settled within its boundaries for several days now, and its citizens were in modest celebration.
Fletcher Carnem’s family had survived yet another one of District 10’s harrowing winters, and like many other farming families, they were itching to resume their normal routines. Livestock was the primary trade of the District, and Fletcher’s family was well-versed in it, especially his father. The man of forty-two still had the physical vitality and mental vigor of a twenty-one year old, and as a result, his ranching and wrangling skills were still in their prime. Like any respectable rural father would, he had passed on some of these skills to Fletcher, his only son and first born. This made their combined efforts at satisfying the Capitol’s demand for meat quite impressive.
Fletcher himself, however, was currently lounging against the side of his humble wooden cabin, which contained the remainder of his family (mother, father, and two younger sisters). It had already taken a considerable amount of effort to pry away his nosy and bothersome sisters from him earlier that morning during breakfast, and the seventeen-year-old was already starting to feel the first symptoms of mental fatigue without even having begun his day’s work. His noticeably curly blonde hair had not even matted into clumps from excessive perspiration yet. A few small rocks and pebbles on the ground beneath him had been ejected from his grasp and over to a field nearby out of sheer boredom, but other than that, nothing remotely exciting had taken place thus far today.
The teenage farmboy had barely noticed the cabin door open, despite the fact that its hinges were notoriously creaky. Not even the finest oil could grease them into silence; they were too aged for even that treatment. After all, this cabin had been built by Fletcher’s great-grandfather. The person that came out of the cabin was Fletcher’s father, a burly man built similarly to his son. The latter had abandoned his spot on the side of the small house and met his father on the outskirts of the closest field, allowing a smile to escape from his lips in the process. Working with a parent was always rewarding.
“Fletcher, good to see you’re already out here,” he began jovially. “Listen, today isn’t gonna be a normal work day for us, alright? I have a friend – well, more of an acquaintance of mine – doesn’t matter what I call him – he’s got a horse for sale. If we had a horse in our family, it could open us up for a world of opportunity farming-wise. I heard about this prospect a while back, so I saved up some money. I’m sending you over there to haggle with him – the name’s Anderson, he’s just on the other side of this community. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find his place. There’s a nice big stable on the side of it. Can you do this for me?”
“Sure thing, Father. He couldn’t possibly refuse us, I mean – yeah, I’ll get right on it,” Fletcher responded dazedly, but obediently.
“Good man. Off you go,” said Fletcher’s father. And with that characteristic hand wave of dismissal, Fletcher found himself walking towards the dirt path that connected the settlements. The trek itself did not take very long, for this particular community was not very big. By the time the day rolled into the next hour, Fletcher had found the place his father had so vaguely described. He had heard of the Andersons’ ranch before, but had not formally visited it. But there was a first for everything.
The ranch itself was small, but effective nonetheless. As Fletcher mounted its front porch with the intention of knocking on the farmhouse’s front door, he was instead greeted by a man sitting on the front porch as he approached. The time was nigh for amateur merchanting.
“Mr. Anderson?” Fletcher began with a sincere plastered onto his face. “My name is Fletcher Carnem. My father sent me to talk to you about a potential horse purchase?”
