| 
  • If you are citizen of an European Union member nation, you may not use this service unless you are at least 16 years old.

  • You already know Dokkio is an AI-powered assistant to organize & manage your digital files & messages. Very soon, Dokkio will support Outlook as well as One Drive. Check it out today!

View
 

Srassha's Trouble pt 3 and 4

Page history last edited by rgs 14 years, 5 months ago

Part III

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* Castle District - Feren Road *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 The Noble District of Alexandria is a mixed bag as many of the nobles are nobility in name and title only and exert little influence over the politics of the city with the exception of a rare few. When Altima descended upon the city most nobles fled or were killed and during the Myrrish Occupation Era, only a few retained or regained any semblance of their title. Now with the new parliment in place, the remaining noble families wield most of their power where commerce is concerned and the ports of Alexandria have rewarded them well. Famous estates such as The Estates of House Telenil and House Alexandros can be seen here. Tall and graceful trees have been planted regularly along the well-kept sidewalks here, throwing shade on the lovingly tended lawns and pristine flowerbeds that bloom with exuberant color.

 The entire area screams wealth and sophistication, though the current economic boom has enriched more than a few tradesmen and guildmasters, allowing these commoners to move into certain vacant estates. Local rumor has it that this trend of the nouveau riche does not please the remnants of the old nobility. The bustle of air traffic has been kept to a minimum although it's hard to go anywhere in Alexandria and not see at least one or two Airships. Part of the Noble District is built into the Inner City Walls now with bridges and openings connecting the district with the upper class atmosphere of Theater Row.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 Darshan Mechagodzilla 0s 5h

 Sandy An elven female with black hair, blue eyes. 39s 44m

 Valeska A strawberry-haired aristocrat. Pith Helmet. Wrench. 3m 10m

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Lady Sandiel's Manor <LS> Theater Row <W> Mountain Road <E>

Feren Road <S>  

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

It's Tariday, Rhaltaas 06 03:14:09 1006. The full moon is up. The tide is low and ebbing.

The sky is grey-black, without moon or star. It's hard for human eyes to see anything in the deep shadows round about, without a light. The wind is chilly.

The entire area teems with Wealth and Sophistication. Ladies draw by in their carriages, men in their hats. Not a head goes by but it's teeming with shine, not a hand is kissed but it's manicured, and the warm sunshine's brought out all of the finest of Alexandrian nobility--those born to it, and for perhaps a larger portion, those bought into it.

Underneath the shade trees, someone's made a home. A temporary resting-point. A carriage bearing the crest of the Myrrish rests to the side of the tree, and well within its shade, and a number of the Mandaras' servants lie in the grass, tended to by a slender halfling, serving drinks. Darshan, among them, has taken to not the shade but the sun--and rests not too far away against the wheel of the carriage, for all the world like he's asleep, or would prefer to stay that way.

Valeska was on a walk. Really, a walk. Not with anything insane. Just a walk. In a dress. As she does. Except her parasol hovers behind her, so that she may hold her hands behind her. She's finally taking a break after a long while of incremental work, seeming quite content with things. It figures that she's completely unmoved by all that's going on here, and out in the war.

"You'd look /just lovely/ if you'd let--" the gruff voice of the halfling. He holds in a hairy hand a single file, and in the other, a nail-brush. He manages to hold these with care and practice, a smile between two cherry-cheeks.

"Mhrruum..."

"It was a yes? That was a yes, wasn't it?"

And the sith'makar moves to the side, while still in the sun. Muttering, grumbling--he yawns then, stretching wide arms and tail...and blinks, suddenly, quickly, at the arrival of Valeska.

Sandy stops.

 

 Really, she just -stops-. There's... things going on here. Things. And Sandy? Has stopped dead. Outside her house. There is a rising, RISING look of dawning horror on her face, of course. For some reason. ONE CAN ONLY GUESS WHY.

Valeska stretched a little, and sighed pleasantly, walking a bit along over towards Sandiel's house. What else would she do with this afternoon, right? She naturally catches sight of that particular metal lizard man, pausing in her stroll. "Oh, Mister Darshan. Good day." she smiles faintly.

Blink. Slow, and quiet, and Darshan looks up above, towards the large, spherical glass above him. It's focused the light in a pleasant way above him, raining down just on his belly--a focused Sun. And he doesn't look at all ready to move. The halfling looks hopeful, and the short, hirsute man begins to mince over that way, sneak-mince, holding in his hand the self-same bottle of nail lacquer.

"Morn...ing," after a while. Like he's just waking up.

There is horror here on Sandy's face. She looks at Darshan. Just looks at him. Somehow, this is all his fault. Shye points a finger directly at him. "You," she calls to him. "*You*!"

A look sideways. In one corner, weighing in at 42 lbs., the hirsute halfling wades forward, master of nail, buff, and brush. On the other, a pair of noblewomen...he rolls to his feet, Darshan does. He wears heavy livery, a heavy belt...and metal banding on his tail, decorative, takes the place of the plate mail. "One was taking a nap," he protests, and the words have the slur of sleep.

"It's still your fault," says Sandy, bluntly, to Darshan. Then she turns towards Valeska and just glares at her too. Because she's here. HERE. NEAR HER HOUSE. That means it's all her fault too.

Valeska turns to pause, staring at the sluggish Sith. Then here comes Valeska's most professionally respected colleague, Sandy! She smiles brightly. "Oh! My Lady Sandiel, so good to see you!" she says, even as Sandy views the pair with alarm. "Ooooh! Did Mister Darshan do something?" she asks, skipping up to Sandy. Up... very close...

Frown! goes the halfling. And his lower, wobbly-fat lips hangs out. His nose is too long and hangs like a hookbeak, his arms and legs are too hairy for the dainty outfit he brandishes. And he's thwarted. For the moment. His eyes narrow at the two women as though marking them for a future curse before he whorls around and stomps back.

And Darshan keeps his focus, very quietly, on the two noblewomen. His hands are behind his back, and...the rest of him is quiet, just quiet, by posture, stature. And Valeska's words--cause a slow...blink.

"...excuse. Me?"

Sandy holds out a hand to push Valeska back from her because she's invading her personal space, dammit! S he holds her back and then she turns back towards Darshan, nodding at him. "You were sunning yourself again, weren't you!" She points at him. "And then it HAPPENED." What exactly happened isn't clear just yet.

"I'm terribly confused, my La---" Valeska's pushed back. And she blinks! "Why did you push me, Lady Sandiel?" she asks, blinking quite noticibly. Almost loudly, if blinking had a sound! "Why would Mister Darshan's sunning be any of our business?"

Blink, a slow blink, and it takes a while before he focuses on Sandy's face. Focus he eventually does, like someone swimming up from the depths of a pleasant, Sun-filled tropic. And shakes himself, hard, as though finding himself in the midst of a cold, cold winter. "Nhhnuuung. What happened?" he asks. And yawns--starts to. Swallows it almost hurriedly, before focusing on them both. "...oh. You aren't drunk anymore." Pause. "We need to talk."

"Yes. I heard. More accurately, I saw. When I went down to my basement. Darshan, there is a hole. And a giant lizard. In. My. Basement." Sandy plants her hands on her hips and just *glares* murderously at him. "And it is your fault, clearly. If you hadn't bloody gotten busy SUNNING, she would not have gotten down there!"

"How could Mister Darshan's pet create a hole in your basement?" Valeska asks, incredulously. "Solid rock? Why, to be able to move such a mass, she would have to be able to exert great forces! And I don't remember her having the capability of using complex tools or rock moving equipment! No, something else must be the cause."

Blink. Stare. Slow, slow look against this bastion of raging fury, and nearby, this noblewoman of creative artificery. "Arianwen is hruuhhm...she is coming up to help," and Darshan takes a step past the two noblewomen and towards the Terrifying House of Lady Sandiel. He rubs at the side of his face, the back of his neck. Sunning. Pleasant. Happy. Just Moments Ago. But he appears to be waking up rapidly--and the way he sinks his own claws into the back of his own neck may just forcibly ensure it. "I don't know what she's doing, Sandy. She's Being Female." Completely not yet awake. And Valeska's explanations--the brain simply does not, cannot...process.

Sunshine. So sleepy.

Sandy notices that Darshan is feeling muzzyheaded, yes. So she takes a moment to study him. Her gaze goes down to his knee. And then? She kicks him in it. HARD. Boot to the knee 

 "You are going to get that creature out of my basement! Now! And not with the help of some *bloody elf!*" Nevermind that she is an elf.

"Oh, is she still in the basement? Well, we can surely extricate her somehow. I imagine if we fitted a small crane to a levitating platform, we could winch her out, and up the staircase... though I wouldn't know if that's within tolerances for payload. Hrm." Valeska pauses, considering. "We can do a field test. Lady Sandiel, how much do you weigh?" she inquires, blinking. "I don't know much about the mean elf mass."

He raises his hands, palms up, and steps back, again towards the house. Again, away from the two of them. Safety, that, or prevention. He's certainly in the way between here and there. "...one has tried. She is on her way, in--" he looks towards the road, and that--he seems to be waking up rapidly. "She will be here soon." Kick to the knee. He rubs at his neck and straightens--the eyes look slightly sharper. They pinpoint on the two woman. On Valeska. "...no." Wakeupwakeupwakeup!

SAndy pinches the bridge of her nose. She really does. "I can't believe you invited *that* fucking elf to help. What the fuck do you think you're doing? Meddling? Is that it?"S he grunts, then glares at Valeska for asking he weight.

"Naturally, I'm meddling. It appeared that intervention was necessary." Valeska says, quickly pausing to produce a notebook. She sketches something, and then turns the pad over to show Darshan's pet, hoisted by a large crane mounted on one of her platforms, and a dotted line path out of Sandy's house. "I believe however, that we'd have to move a lot of furniture to limit colateral damage due to the animal's struggles."

"She and--" the rest gets cut off by a bugle. A loud, boisterous noise, a triumphal, HERE I AM! noise from beneath Sandy's manse. It bugles and bugles, and there's a THUMP! sound from beneath, a great beast turning circles before settling down again. And Darshan goes utterly quiet, the ticking of the tail starting to writhe, lash. Irritation. Worry. He looks back at the two women. Silent a while. "If this mrm, doesn't work...I would like to try with the minimum of..." artificery. EXPLOSIONS! SCIENCE! "...fuss." Wakeupwakeupwakeup!

Sandy just... sighs. She really does just sigh. She shakes her head, grimacing and saying, "I am going to have a word with you, Darshan, about this. Never. Again. Perhaps I ought to *remove* the sunning rock you use in my yard." The one she put there for the express purpose of luring him in to throw custard at him. She then glares at Valesaka and points a finger at her. "I think that's unnecessary *just* yet."

"But how else will we get the creature out? Surely it won't just get up and peaceably leave." Valeska says, pondering a little. She gives a simple shrug a little. "Well, I imagine you both know best. But perhaps Mister Darshan, you could find a less public spot to bathe in the sun. Maybe we can find an alley or something, and bank the light in with an array of mirrors from a heliograph station?"

"She's being temperamental. One hopes to get her out with a hruuhm, minimal of fuss," he goes for sanity, that. Darshan folds his arms behind his back, or his hands together, and relaxes, (that is, "relaxes") on the heels of his feet. He watches the two women, Valeska especially, as one would watch an unpredictable bomb in one's front yard. And the bugle resounds again--angry, disappointed, sonorous, from below the manse. "I..." pause. "One wears clothing now, while doing so. I was assured this was the proper mrm..." he glances at Sandy, back to Valeska, "etiquette." He totally learned that word from the Mandaras.

"Tempermental," mutters Sandy, "I can bloody well teleport her out if I bloody well have to, but I am not looking forward to trying. She's fat. Darshan feeds her too fucking much and spoils her and calls her his Jungle Princess." She is upset about this whole affair. She adds, "I am going to make an ice generator. So I can throw ice at you."

A finger is pointed at the lizard.

"That would be a reasonable solution, I suppose." Valeska says, most properly. She nods and considers, peering to Darshan. "Spoiling I believe is a frowned upon practice. You should be more careful with her treatment, Mister Darshan." she scolds a little, nodding and folding her arms. "Jungle Princess? I don't get it. Jungles are locations and terrain, which tend not to have monarchies..." the engineer says, frowning a bit. Oh Valeska.

"It makes her happy," solemn, with a quick look towards Sandy, a pause, and a look back to Valeska. "She refused the steer one--" and the bugle resounds again. Resounds! and turns into a snuffling sort of wail and down and onwards into a narrowing spiral. And he's still there, between the two artificers. A lesser lizard would have fainted.

He has a tummyache.

Bugle!

Wince.

SAndy just turns towards Valeska and eyes her for a moment. She then says, "..we have a new project." There is a glint in her eye. Of Pure. Evil. She smiles at Darshan. Innocently. So innocently. "You'll be hearing from me."

"Do we?" Valeska asks, eyes widening a little. She seems all oh so interested now! "Oh, do tell me the details. I'm most interested." she nods, clasping her hands before her as her floating parasol adjusts to intercept that vile sun.

Wail!

Bugle!

Wince!

Wail again!

Darshan has a hand clapped to the side of his face. He's trying not to grimace. He fails. "I'm sure she'll be here soon," like a mantra to convince himself. "Sandy, one has tried. One has tried food, tried..." he straightens, scowling at her, and decides--not to tell her just how many days Srassha has been down there. Or when. Or how. And that's when he looks at them. He looks from one to the other, solemn.

And that's when a wise man takes a step back.

And that's when--a piece of Sandy's basement goes shuffling up towards the door, of its own free will. A mess of wires, copper--pieces of trash. Lots of trash that lies about in a basement. Walks up towards the doorway, on its very own.

"We *do*," says Sandy. She leans over and places a friendly hand on Valeska's shoulder, "It's very vital work. Extremely so. We're going to delve into untold mysteries." She then turns towards Darshan and says, "We've got a lot of work to do, Darshan. You're donating yourself to a wonderful cause!" Oh no. She's...sad about the basement. She stares at it with this equally sad look on her face.

Valeska cants her head back. "we do then! Oh excellent." she says, before noticing... things! Moving towards them. She puts away her sketchpad, looking so curiously at the piles of materials and junks skittering towards them. "Is that the project? seems terribly disorganized." she says, before realizing it's true nature. "Oh my. Is your pet developing an interest in artefactual engineering?"

The mish-mash wobbles at the top of the basement stairs, mocking them all. A piece of paper rolls out from the center of the wad-pile, and it's much like a tongue, a trash-tongue that gives them all the raspberry.

Darshan looks towards them both. And to Sandy, distinctly.

"You lead her astray, vile wench," solemn. An he has no idea what to answer Valeska, except a look of utter, solemn horror. Beyond, even, what Sandy'd ever been able to inspire.

 

Part IV

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* Castle District - Feren Road *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 The Noble District of Alexandria is a mixed bag as many of the nobles are nobility in name and title only and exert little influence over the politics of the city with the exception of a rare few. When Altima descended upon the city most nobles fled or were killed and during the Myrrish Occupation Era, only a few retained or regained any semblance of their title. Now with the new parliment in place, the remaining noble families wield most of their power where commerce is concerned and the ports of Alexandria have rewarded them well. Famous estates such as The Estates of House Telenil and House Alexandros can be seen here. Tall and graceful trees have been planted regularly along the well-kept sidewalks here, throwing shade on the lovingly tended lawns and pristine flowerbeds that bloom with exuberant color. 

 The entire area screams wealth and sophistication, though the current economic boom has enriched more than a few tradesmen and guildmasters, allowing these commoners to move into certain vacant estates. Local rumor has it that this trend of the nouveau riche does not please the remnants of the old nobility. The bustle of air traffic has been kept to a minimum although it's hard to go anywhere in Alexandria and not see at least one or two Airships. Part of the Noble District is built into the Inner City Walls now with bridges and openings connecting the district with the upper class atmosphere of Theater Row.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 Darshan A sith'makar in Myrrish livery 0s 2h

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Lady Sandiel's Manor <LS> Theater Row <W> Mountain Road <E>

Feren Road <S>  

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Sandy enters from the courtyard of Lady Sandiel's manor.

Sandy has arrived.

Arianwen has arrived.

<Meet> Arianwen joins Sandy.

Kitten graves. Machine hearts. All these things and worse have made their way once upon a time to Sandy's lawn. Crazy things, unusual things, things that belong in the mire of a witch's brew. Now--a tumbleweed of sorts bounces across the lawn. Odd, eclectic, it contains all elements for unusual house-magic: a rotted old rug, the occasional cord of Earlenmeyer Flask...

...and...

It's SHOVED! by a giant-sized reptile leg, shoved, like some soccer-ball just outside the mansion's basement door and onto the dirt. And then, a satisfied-sounding snort, and the retreating of feat.

Arianwen observes the to-do with arms folding across her chest. She is not at her ease here. The city is bad enough on its own, without being on Sandy's property. "I think your best hope of getting her out of there is to entice her to a better place to nest," she suggests to Darshan. "Somewhere warmer, safer, or full of more goodies."

"Nest?" Hollow. His voice is hollow. The words are barely out before Srassha soccer-kicks another made-tumbleweed out of Sandy's basement. It goes flying a few feet from the doorway, crunch-thuds! as it lands on the grass. Darshan stands near Arianwen, looking...as confused as a sith'makar could be. Numb, even, there in the half-bitter cold. They're in Sandy's lawn, and his swiftclaw is in Sandy's basement.

Apparently, she's nesting. 

CRASH!

Sylvanna has arrived.

"Did you not observe the curve of her leg? Those fat deposits weren't there a few weeks ago. She's eating for more than just herself, now, and storing as well, for the lean times. Which, unless there's a surplus of raw meat in that basement, includes now." Yeah, that's right, Arianwen just said Srassha is packing Thunder-Thighs. "That might be a solution -- make a trail of fresh meat for her to eat, from here to her new nest. If she's hungry enough, she'd go for it, and if where it leads her is better than the basement..." It'll be like the story with the children in the woods, only with more blood and fewer children.

"She isn't nesting," solemn. Darshan looks towards the basement, the words too-calm, too...someone waiting for the doctor to come in and say, "the little strip she peed on is not showing a +. Thank you, and have a nice day." Or he's waiting for someone to unhook the hallucinogens. 

Inside, down in the basement, Srassha roars, thuds! against something. The Princess probably heard the Thunder Thighs. The Princess does /not/ have Thunder Thighs. Sulk. Pout. Roar!

<Meet> You offer to meet Ceres.

And Sandy is here, at last. This particualr elf is scratching at one of her pointed ears, tools clanking on her belt as she comes to a halt near Darshan and Arianwen as they chat in front of her estate. A finger is lifted. It is pointed at the Sith-Makar. There is a staring elf, now, who is practically bristling with outrage. "You," she says, "had better come up with a plan to get your bloody lizard *out* of my estate, Darshan. I am tired. Tired of this. Do you hear me? I will not have her here any longer." She looks puffed up, actually.

Ceres has arrived.

<Meet> Ceres joins you.

A flamboyantly dressed grey elf comes along from the direction of the Theater Row. She is singing softly to herself, the earrings dangling as she walks, her multi-layered coloured skirts swishing this way and that. Sylvanna has a harp in her hands and dances her fingers across the strings now and again, as if she might be working on composing a song or such. The roar does draw her attention and the harp vanishes from her hands as if it never was as she takes each side of her skirts in hands and moves over with a bit of haste to see what is up, there must be a story or song here.

"Those handsome male swiftclaws in the Celestial Realm have knocked up Srassha, Sandy," Arianwen announces cheerfully. She sounds very happy for the Fiercest Jungle Princess; the anger washes past her pleasure at the announcement. "Already," she adds, "She may refuse to move, if she's that attached to the basement as her nesting ground. But we can try."

They are slim. They are /dainty/. Srassha pokes her head from the basement--it nearly fills the doorway to Sandy's mansion's basement. And so does the scowl, the snort! she directs Arianwen's way. It's utter PMS. It's utter...pre-pregnancy...whatevers, and it's on a swiftclaw. And her Thighs are Dainty. She snorts, and disappears back into Sandy's basement. And, more sounds of nest-making erupt below. 

Another Erlenmeyer flask gets tossed out onto the lawn. With alot of dust, and thuds! and rolls awkwardly until it lands somewhere near the road.

"She isn't pregnant," firmly. Darshan glances quickly at Sandy, and back again. He doesn't care what either of them says. "There's...there are no Celestial Swiftclaws, and my mount did not get knocked up." This. Is fact.

<Meet> You offer to meet Jenner.

Jenner has arrived.

<Meet> Jenner joins you.

When Arianwen says that, Sandy stops. She stares at her. She lifts a finger and points at Arianwen. Her mouth works to say something. But there are no *words* there. She's trying very hard to come up with a response to the potential horror that Arianwen has not-so-subtly hinted at and then she turns around to jab a finger in Darhan's direction and all but snarl, "OUT!"

"... so... you have no idea what caused her condition? Have you considered getting her some sort of delicacy, perhaps? A rare cut of meat?" Where one musically inclined elf is, more appear, at least in the case of Ceres, leaning against a nearby stationary resting spot. "The brandy from Lady Sandy's cabinet?

Sylvanna has reached the scene and is glancing around. She catches sight of the swiftclaw poking out and then moving back into the basement and the banter. She looks at each in play, eyes dancing about. She glances over at Ceres and then to the others. A hand through through her hair for a moment and then she smiles, definitely at least a story here.

Arianwen ignores Darshan's protestations -- he isn't the important one here! -- and wanders across the lawn to the basement's back door, and pokes her head in the door. Her stance is all admiring, and genuinely so. "Your belly's rounded room holds the full and glowing moon," she murmurs to the swiftclaw, fondly repeating a poem of her tribe in rough translation. "Your hips, so soft and wide, hold the universe inside." Could be, she'll get savaged to death, head ripped right off her shoulders, for her temerity to congratulate Srassha in person, but there's something about the elf, some comfort around the wild ones, some kinship, that seems ... not out of place. To the extent that the scene in the basement can be considered normal in ANY place.

"One has no idea what's--she can't be pregnant," Darshan repeats for the nth time. He looks stunned. Absolutely... and glances Arianwen's way. Jerks a look towards Ceres. And--something seems to tick through the sith'makar's eyes. A hint of sense. Except it fades away, retreats behind stubborn denial. "She can't be pregnant." They visited Am'shere a few months ago. But she absolutely can't be pregnant. Sandy's yelling roars in his other...ear.

Of course--the wild's singsong's met with a snuffle. A large, rounded head pokes out of the basement door again. And stares. "Rhuuuuuuh." Squinteye. Peer. A closer look shows her making use of her front claws. She 'holds' what must, used to have been, a table of some kind. Must make comfy seating.

Sinister forces are at work... And not just the goings-on of Sandy's laboratory. It might be the vile forces of the universe conspiring to focus the alignment of stars just above said mansion.... 

 

...or it could be the silent, seething laughter of a certain polymorphic mage named Jenner Talaskiir, practicing the winged form of a pseudodrake and doing everything he can not to die laughing right on his perch in one of the (purely decorative) trees across the way. 

 

....falling out of the branches in a hissing, quivering fit doesn't help, naturally.

"First of all," says Sandy, puffing up considerably more, "the next one of you to laugh is going to have several broken bones in their face." The leather gloves she's wearing creaks she clenches her right hand into a fist. Tightly. "Secondly. Get. Her. *Out*." The elf is so furious that she's practically developing a facial tic. And an ear twitch, for that matter. She steps forward and thumps her other fist against Darshan's breastplate. "Get. Her. Out. Or I will, Darshan!" Then she turns and marches right over to Jenner. She grabs him by the scruff of the shirt. Just. Like. That.

Sylvanna cocks her head to the side a bit and watches that all. She makes sure not to laugh, but then she is busy on trying to learn things, "So the large one in the basement is pregnant?" she asks, mostly to the air, but she might be close enough to be heard. "How far along, how many do they have when they...would she lay eggs, or is it live birth?" she watches the psuedodragon fall out of the tree and then get tail grabbed, "Is that the one responsible for her being in the basement?" she ask, full of curiousity, her voice does have a slight musical quality to it. She might be too curious for her own good though.

Ceres doesn't own the swiftclaw, so isn't about to go fetch her out. Instead, the silver-haired elf starts to sing a lulleby, instead of singing, the words unsteady on the notes as Sylvanna speaks up.

Darshan shakes his head, violently. Snorts. Sneezes. "Put him down, m'lady. He--it--doesn't have a thing to do with..." pause. The words fade. "How did she get pregnant?" he heads towards the basement, and the swiftclaw, whose raptorlike head is still poked from the basement. "How did she get pregnant??!" all...but...roared, in the direction of the others.

And Srassha--blinks up at Arianwen, the wild elf. Blinks, and starts to duck back inside the basement.

"Darshan," Arianwen calls over her shoulder, "Please send a runner to your Sun Temple and have them prepare a room with a roaring fire and lots of fresh meat." Looking back at Srassha -- "He's not really mad. Just excited. Males." She rolls her eyes eloquently.

Jenner-the-Pseudodrake releases an indignified squawrk, a good imitation of half-a-dozen birds wrapped into one. The black stinger quivers reflexively, safely grabbed just below the striking point; for the lizard's part, it is all purely instinctive-- the tiny creature quivers from wing to nose, a barrage of blending colours gone out of control! 

 

<< "..and to think," >> comes the telepathic flicker of mischief, << "At least halflings it is not, this time!" >>

"Out! Out! All of you! Out! She is not pregnant! There are no babies here! She is LYING." Sandy points a finger at Arianwen and looking incresingly flumoxxed by this. She looks about ready to start flailing violently herself. "OUT!" She's stomping her foot, perhaps actually on the verge of an outright temper tantrum. She does not like all these people lingering near her place of residence.

"Well, I am no expert on swiftclass, friend Darshan, but I believe when a girl swiftclaw finds a boy swiftclaw that she does not want to rend to bloody pieces and devour, they go out for a walk. There may be flowers. And music. Possibly also delicacies. And then after 9 months of very delicate temper, you get lots of baby Srassha's!" That cheerful comment is from Ceres. Unfortunately. Still not laughing though! "... is Lady Sandy to be the godmother?"

Indeed. Males. And the sith'makar looks as stunned as a male can be. Or as in denial as a male can be. "Runner," he repeats. "Lady Sandiel. Godmother." Pause. "Yes. Whatever. ...what do you mean a runner?" he's that far gone. He stares at Arianwen, in a 'please make the world make sense again' sort of way. And his poor tail's fallen flat onto the grass, as though saying, 'I give up!' 

And in the basement, more thudding. More moving about. ...definitely nest-making. Definitely...arrangement of comfortable dust and other things.

Sylvanna cocks her head to the side a little, "Not pregnant, well then, that is a different story, maybe she just found something she liked, I admit my knowledge of her type is sadly lacking but always could do with some education." she glances towards Sandy. She looks down and after all is still on the road watching a bit, "Are you ordering me out of the city, then, Lady Sandy is it?" she glances towards Ceres and then back to Sandy, "I did just get here and while I was taking a break before returning to the front, bound to be lots of stories and songs there, came to explore and was spending time in the Theater district, and already I must leave?" she raises a brow.

"Srassha," Arianwen points out softly, gently, walling out the chaos outside of the basement from her ears, as she takes another step inside, and then another, "It isn't safe here for your children. You are brave and wise and strong, but even you must sleep, and then the Greatmother of this stone house will be after them. Would it not be better to go to a place, blessed by the Sun Lord's warmth, fires day and night, where none would threaten them?"

%RCuriosity draws the attention of a grubby young woman passing nearby. A large grey wolf walks alongside her, strangely calm despite the surroundings of civilisation. The savage-looking girl growls quietly as she nears the site of the commotion, and crouches down next to the group to peer into the basement that is the focus of everyone's attention. The wolf seats itself next to her and its golden eyes stare into the same location.

<< "Oh really," >> the pseudodragon coos, clambering itself back up onto Sandy's hand, tilting its head sweetly. << "You are very much overreacting. It isn't as if one shall have dragons stalking around in one's basement!" >> The drake pauses, tilting its bronzed head thoughtfully. << "Or perhaps it shall. Maybe if you told them you would eat her eggs, move she would?">> 

 

Innocent. Halo. Innocent.

Srassha peers at Arianwen, and snorts! The mother-to-be isn't delicate. In fact, the snorting comes with a bit of snot, the gesture comes with a great, large, ole' fart that erupts into the caverns of Sandy's basement. She pokes her head out, and shuffles forward. The greater part of her is still in the basement...and at Arianwen's words...turns to look at the artificer.

Oh.

CHALLENGE.

In this case, it's all about territory.

And from her rider, "Well. Shhhhh..." pause. Silence, silence. "Srassha. Please listen to the--to the elf." 

POSTURE!

"...arrrrrgh!" Sandy is absolutely livid. She's got the pseudragon by the tail, though, and she grabs hold of it with the other hand before she says to him, "Jenner. If you do not change yourself back, I am going to turn you into a rabbit. And then feed you to Sraasha. Are we clear?" She smiles. Cooly. It is the sort of smile that indicates she'd be entirely willing to do exactly that. "Especially if you keep laughing." If there is sonething she does not like, it is a few laughs being had at her expse. 

 

 "..so much fucking brandy," she announces.

"... I do not think that that did what you intended it do, Arianwen...." Ceres, before perking up. "Brandy?"

Sylvanna raises her brow, "The little lizard is a person?" she asks and smiles a bit, ooh plot twists, always good for a story or song. She looks back and forth, the asking her to leave wasn't confirmed and so she takes that to mean that it was recinded. She raises a hand, "Could I get names, always best for retelling if you use the actual names of the people you are talking about, unless one would rather to remain annonymous, sometimes a story can work well if you get a little more general."

Arianwen moves between Srassha and Sandy swiftly, then feels the gaze of wolf and wolf's friend upon her, and glances back, over her shoulder, smiling at the newcomer. Then her eyes flick to Ceres and the rest. "Okay, way too many people here. Go away, go buy replacement brandy if you aren't Darshan or them." Chins at the wild-looking woman and wolf. "The expecting mother needs some space. By the time you get back, we should have things worked out."

Jenner sniffs archly, crossing tiny limbs as he tosses his head back. << "Really, Sandiel," >> he returns smoothly, << "Calm thy voice. One might think you were put off by this joyous occasion!" >> 

 

Tiny scales of bright bronze hiss with a sudden crescendo of tiny flames, a ripple of rainbows corruscating along the cat-sized form. Solidity melts as the fires pour from the artificer's hand, tail and wing and bronze and bone all burning away in arcane conflgration. The fire-gel spills to the earth, curving back before it coelleseces once again, rebuilding from a cloudy pudle into more human form, slender and solid. Bones crackle faintly as the mage takes on his own shape, pale but otherwise unharmed. 

 

"The little lizard is a person," Jenner answers Sulvanna, wincing as last parts and pieces find their way to the whole. "One stays in practice after all, and some things are just too interesting to miss." He brushes a hand up to his pipeless mouth, one eye kept sharply on Sandy.

 

"You are all too noisy!" says the unkempt stranger. She says no more and crouches low, unblinking eyes focused on the swiftclaw. The young druid studies the beast, watching its manner and gathering all she knows about this kind of creature. Meanwhile, her wolf lies down and lowers his head, submissive and avoiding looking like a rival predator.

"Alas, Lady Sandiel wishes less of a witness. That is, however, workable. I have... an idea!" And with that, Ceres turns and flees. Because of a number of reasons.

Ceres goes home.

Ceres has left.

Sandy, of course, throws her hands up and just *glowers* at Sraasha and snaps her teeth right back at her. She's not about to let herself get cowed by a bloody Swiftclaw, that's for sure. And then there is a dirty stranger hollering at them. She stops. She stares at her. She plants her hands on her hips and leans forward to inspect her more carefully. "...who the hell is that?" She asks. And then her eyes fall on the wolf that accompanies her and she says, "..you heard them. Everyone out. Leave the smelly people to their work. Also, NO ONE TOUCHES MY THRICE-DAMNED ALCOHOL." And she then turns to march away from the mess that is surely about to get worse.

Sylvanna blinks and looks at the other newcomer for a moment, her too noisy? She wasn't even yelling, or singing, let along playing an instrument. She purses her lips for a moment and then shrugs. She is still on the road, so the remark about out must not apply to her, "Alcohol? I have a flask, did someone need a drink?" she asks as she glances around for a moment and then focuses on Sandy.

 

Ylva stands up slowly. "This one is nesting. You must challenge her if you wish to claim the nest, and she will find another place." She leaves the onus on the others and goes to rest against her wolf. "I do not think a house in a city a good nesting place for any wild beast. It is too busy here."

Jenner crosses his arms, waiting until Sandy has moved a safe distance off. "I don't think that a wise choice," he remarks, smiling in bemusement. He fetches his pipe from its pouch, a flicker of quick fire snapped up to set it aflame. "Sandy's idea of 'challenging' probably revolves around violence and alcohol, in no uncertain terms...." His smile fades as he gazes after, stroking his chin. "She is unwell. So, that leaves it to us to move Srassha out of the basement, outside of asking a few crazy magi to do curiously magical things!"

Posture! POS--the elf has teeth. The elf has...

Fangs.

Srassha jerks to a halt, her head clanging against the basement door's roof, the expression as 'what the heck?' as a swiftclaw's reptilian features can get. And...seems torn on staying, or moving back towards the basement's interior, as various words ring out. 

Darshan rubs the back of his neck, and for once...almost smiles. Almost. "One...tell me she isn't..." pregnant. And he shuts up, because he has the feeling he may have reached some sort of tolerance limit. Still, it rings in his head--she /can't/ be. Right? Can she?

When Ylva speaks, and seeing Sraasha's reaction to her initial actions, she stops and turns to stare at her. She just stares at her for a long moment and then clears her throat. "You don't say," she begins. "That's right?" She glances over at Arianwen, pausing, and then turns back towards the lizard. "Thanks, whatever the hells your name is. You can have a drink on me later." She points a finger at Ylva, then just *glares* at the lizard. Just glares. Irritably. So irritably.

"She is pregnant. Isn't it obvious?" says the young druid. "You people keep animals and know so little about them. Shameful." She shifts a little and scratches at her companion's fur, watching. "We are Ylva and Ulfr," she says, introducing herself and her wolf.

Arianwen has disconnected.

The swiftclaw, the...Darshan looks over, straightens. And what's there is a crowd, and what's in the basement is a mess. He lets go a breath, heavy and measured, and moves towards his swift--who draws back. She's eyeing them, now. All of them. And shakes her head, rhrrrrr'ing! at Sandy. But her heart isn't in it. She takes a step forward, and halfway out of the basement.

And glares back.

And--the wild elf's earlier observations are right. Now visible, the swift's (the Am'shere equivalent of a hoss) legs are thick and Thunderous, round and Wide. Definitely pregnant. Definitely...moody.

Sylvanna cocks her head to the side and watches closely, "Ooh a wonderful song, the staredown Swiftclaw vs. Lady Elf." she says as she looks back and forth for a moment as she watches for the swiftclaw's reaction to the glare.

Jenner twirls his finger in the air, a puff of blue smoke following up along it. "Knowledge," the mage counters, "Is a work in progress. And..." He pauses, eyes clicking from one fanged, sharp-toothed terror to another with growing concern. "Why not the Lady Mandrissa's residence?" he asks, quicksilver. "Part of the forgeworks would be warm and comfortable enough, yes?" 

Ylva sniffs the air. "Hmph. Exchange one place of people for another? Is there no unclaimed patch of the wilds, or has this one been too far domesticated?" There is a measure of disdain in her voice.

Sandy eyes Ylva for a moment and then snorts at her, then she stomps her foot on the ground. "Mine," she announces, irritably. Still irritable, even now, and then a finger is pointed at Darshan, "Go with the gods-damned fat lizard. Get *out* of here." She pauses, then sniffs and turns her head away to eye Ylva again.

Moody. Moody and--at the glare, Srassha moves back. Her head flies up, and she takes off running, although it's more of a waddle. And--her rider stares after the round, retreating figure. The swift's legs eat up the ground. He lowers his hand to the side, clenches it--frustration, worry, anger...any of those, all mixed up.

"I'm going to name you the godmother," suddenly, bluntly, to the glaring elf. And to Sylvanna, a breath, "I'm reconsidering that drink."

"Then I'll handle our dearly departing." Jenner grins as he tips his head towards Sandy. "Ladies, sir Paladin..." Leaving the discussion to the rest, he steps forward, a murmur of word setting the rainbow flames igniting once again... A sharpness, a crackle, white heat and a pulse of breaking bones-- quick sounds as one form is exchanged for another, a wolf leaping up where the mage once stood. 

 

Sending back a lupine grin, Jenner-the-wolf takes off after Srassha, howls and yips and quick bites to herd and chase and lead the lizard about. "Rrrrthis way!" he snarls, all but cackling as he starts the timeless game of "Chase the Crazy Mage".

 

Ylva stares at Sandy, stares at Jenner, and then looks back to Ulfr. Sighing, she says to him, "Cityfolk are crazy." The wolf gets up and makes a soft woof, and she goes with him down the street in the opposite direction.

Sylvanna cocks her head to the side and pulls out her flask and tosses it towards Darshan expecting him to catch it, "keep it, can get plenty more." she glances around at the others and then smiles at Ylva, "I am sure they would say the same, each person is unique and strange in their own ways."

Jenner goes OOC.

Jenner has left.

"Godmother," Darshan mutters. He almost looks to smile. "I'm going to go chase her down. I...m'lady, my...I'm sorry," he adds, pauses. Looks her way. And, "There's no way she is...laying eggs." The denial's still there. It's a blank, featureless wall, ten feet high, three feet deep. And it dictates that this is, indeed, not happening. So his expression is somewhat numb as he starts after the retreating mount. But, one does note--he clutches the flask.

 

 

Comments (0)

You don't have permission to comment on this page.