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Post by Miosh on Nov 28, 2022 5:10:29 GMT -5
A long long time ago, when the trees were tall and the people were kind... but not too kind, and not all the time. And some of them were not kind at all, just a bunch of bloody wreckers, drat it! And the trees, well, to be honest, were taller for some than for others. Not that it was a problem, just some people were unnecessarily big...khm...where was I? Ah yes. Once upon a time, there was a village lost among the emerald meadows of Moonglade. From one side of it, there was a forest and from the other, there were bare hills. People tried to steer clear of them since there were some nasty rumors about the bandits lurking around. Yet, as time passed, the village grew and started to resemble a little town. It flourished thanks to the trading routes that went through the settlement. And the rumors - well, they remained just that: some old-wife-tales to warn kids not to stray away. All the houses were made of sturdy stone, there was even a wall made of sun-dried mud bricks with huge oak gates equipped with metal hardware. They had a big heavy drawbar to prevent the intruders from coming.
Yet, most of the time the gates remained open, and the guards watching them spent their days in the tavern at the biggest square of the village. The guards that didn't leave their posts were mostly the ones who were unlucky with the draw or who were punished for some petty wrongdoing. They either napped peacefully or played chuck-a-luck with the carved dice. That day wasn't an exception. No one paid any attention to the hay wagon entering the village. A little vagabond pixie, farebeating her way in the stock of hay couldn't be happier for their lack of vigilance. In that village, she hoped to find some rest, perhaps, some food, and surely some good stories to add to her collection. The wagon stopped - one of the guards recognized an old pal in the wagoneer. The pixie slid off the cart and into the shadow of the wall. She masked the wings with a cloak she had with her, and her glow diminished. Now she was just a shortcake and could be easily confused with a kid. And if her skin was slightly green and her eyes seemed to lack the whites, then what of that! The village had seen stranger. Cheche, for that was her, headed towards the tavern. She needed some rest after the bumpy road she endured.
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Post by Veliky on Feb 2, 2023 2:47:05 GMT -5
Moonglade. Why is it always Moonglade?
Veliky takes a long sip from her glass of tylkyl brandy - the sickly-yellow water of elven life. The bittersweet burn brings back memories. She doesn't usually drink, but something tells her she's going to need it tonight.
Moonglade... It was Moonglade where she had her fateful meeting with that tantalizing witch. It was Moonglade where she first met that cultist and the snowy-haired vixen in the feathery storm. Strange - same circumstance, different day. It was Moonglade where she met the preacher's friend, and things got... time travel-y.
And it was Moonglade where she met Her.
The bartender's stood nearby, on the other side of the counter from where she's sat on a stool that's two times her height and probably three times her weight. He's an elf; if you couldn't tell by his pointy ears, his knife-sharp features and his cashmere hair, you could still tell by that distance in his eyes - a distance that takes centuries to travel, and that you can't refund no matter who you talk to. With a mug in hand, he's scrubbing ruthlessly at a stain that just won't go away.
Veliky can relate.
"Hey." Maybe it's the booze, maybe it's the smell of debauchery in the air or maybe it's the nostalgic swill that's stirring in her soul, but she lets her roast-dark voice wash over the bartop and into the elf's jagged ears. "You ever let a secret slip?"
No answer. He's too focused on the task at hand, in his hands. But she can tell by the way he furrows his brow that the answer lies somewhere north of 'no' and south of 'what's it to you?'
"Thought so."
She lets out a chuckle - the first in months, if memory's serving right. And it usually is. The alcohol makes her breath feel hot against her lips. She likes it - heavy.
"I guess we all have, at some point. We all have secrets, whether it's ours or someone else's. When we're carrying so much, it's only natural to drop a thing or two."
Still nothing. He just keeps going at that stain, but it's stayin'. Veliky wouldn't expect any different.
Swivelling in her seat, Veliky turns her body to face the taproom, resting her back on the bar. She can't think of many tavern's that'd be this packed at one in the afternoon. Then again, she can't think of many taverns she's gone to at all. She can't tell if it's ironic or just plain telling.
"The secret I let slip was mine and mine alone. Can't tell if that makes it better or worse. Maybe it doesn't matter. But it mattered to me."
The elf finally looks up. Typical; nothing to say, but perked ears when gossip starts spilling. Veliky can't help but smirk.
"Wouldn't have even been that bad, but... I kept good company. Olive complexion, button eyes, a gleaming smile: everything you could ask for in an extraplanar wanderer. Needless to say, I took the bait. More surprisingly, she took mine."
The elf starts shifting his gaze, looking around in spicy discomfort. No surprise there; Veliky's story is probably hitting a little close to home.
"Hmph. Yeah, we were close like moss on a rock. Together, we could've taken on the world. And sometimes, I can't help but think that we might've done exactly that... if I'd just kept my mouth shut."
"Um..." The elf makes an awkward sound, like he's stuttering in front of a crush. But it isn't love they share, but regret for less-than-proud pasts.
"But it all went to hell. It was clear we didn't have a choice. We split up, and never looked back. And now here I am, sitting alone in the land that I met her and drinking my problems away in some dingy tavern while she's probably off on some great, big adventu-"
"Are you... talking to me?"
...
He wasn't listening. Fuck.
Um.
Play it cool.
"Maybe I am. Or maybe I'm just airing out my dirty laundry, and I don't care who listens. All the same, isn't it?"
The elf looks more confused than a tumbleweed in a river. His perfect, sylvan features are creased with lines of bemusement. He definitely wasn't listening. Dammit.
"I, um, I guess. But my tavern isn't that dingy, is it?"
'How do I end this conversation as quickly as possible.'
She lets out a sigh like a babysitter on her third hour. "Look, I've got places to be and a lot to drink. How about you go chat with some of your other customers."
"...Um... Yeah. I'll- I'll do that."
...
He's gone. Veliky doesn't usually thank any god, but she feels as if someone deserves thanks in this case and it definitely isn't her. Wow. This is why she doesn't drink often.
Trying desperately to remove her mind from that conversation, Veliky turns her attention to the more subtle details of the taproom. It's pretty busy for a day like this, at a time this early. Goes to show that there isn't much to do in this town but drink and sleep. After that ordeal, Veliky could go for the latter. But she wasn't lying; she does have places to be. But maybe she'll ditch the 'lots to drink' part. Why do people drink for fun, exactly?
Oh well. Maybe she'll wipe his memory later. She can't think of many times that she's wanted to use that ability more than she does right now, but she'll have to wait for an opportunity... which probably means ordering another drink.
Sigh...
It's around that time that a bell rings at the front of the tavern, signalling that someone's opened to front door, and drawing Veliky's eyes - anything for a distraction.
Seems like someone's coming in.
Bringing Minions Bishop-12 (Warlord) Knight-04 (Warlord) Rook-13 (Warlord) {Captain's Badge} Tropos-01 (Warlord)
Bringing Pets BF-02 (The Goodest Boy) {Sleigh Bells} Silent Night-01 (Snow Owl) Vampire-04 (Vampire Bat)
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Post by Miosh on Feb 12, 2023 4:36:36 GMT -5
The tavern was a snug two-story cottage. Bricks and timber. Its sparkling clean windows were glistening in a cheerful welcome. The boulders of the pavement felt warm under her bare feet, the whole village looked golden brown basking in the evening sun. However, it wasn't long until the air started getting cooler. It was a pleasant change, for her whole body felt a bit sore after such a long trip on a bumpy road. She trod towards the building and stopped in front of a massive wooden door. A passing glance was enough to tell that the door and the tavern itself were old, but quite well looked after. The surface of the door and even a heavy brass door knocker were polished with tender loving care. She huffed and puffed, readying herself for the challenge, but contrary to her expectations, the door opened easily. Cheche only smiled at the thought of how something that huge and heavy yielded to someone as tiny as her.
The bell rang. A pleasant silver chime filled the air, its sound clear in the hubbub of the room. "Ah, how familiar...Always well-heated, not-so-well-lit, loud and bustling and ever indiscriminately welcoming..." - she thought with a tired smile. Some heads turned in her direction. But that was only a passing curiosity. Soon they lost all interest in the small caped figure at the doorstep. Cheche's scanned the room looking for a bar. She quickly spotted the bartender - a tall good-looking elf with an expressionless face. He was entirely focused on cleaning something he held in his hands. That probably meant that the seats at the counter were not occupied. Lucky her. If anything, Cheche actually preferred those. All bartenders she'd met were usually not too curious and very well-informed. And just when she was about to move her feet, one of her hands ready to take the hood off... The tides of the crowd changed. She saw the counter and its only guest, sitting half turn on a high chair. Her icy blue eyes pierced her, reaching down to the deepest darkest corners of her soul. Cheche froze. "Impossible... No, wait, that can't be... "She felt how her heart jolted and then started racing. Chills ran down her spine and her eyes got wide with shock.
The one sitting there was no one other than Veliky. The one, whom she adored, the one, who was her first friend, the one, who toyed with her feelings and then simply left her behind without any explanation. "H-have our eyes met just now?" - she felt cold, then hot, then cold again, and as if someone moved a secret switch, her mind went totally blank.
....
............
Without realizing what she was doing, she turned on her heels and left exactly the way she entered. The doorbell chimed once more. In a state of utter shock, she kept walking until she bumped into the water well. She squatted in its shade, right near the bucket of water and only then she breathed in again.
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Post by Veliky on Feb 13, 2023 18:08:02 GMT -5
It's her. Olive complexion, button eyes. But no gleaming smile. Just a cherub's face, painted in bewilderment, enshadowed by a little cloak and caressed by strands of chestnut-coloured hair.
Is she even real, or some apparition that her mind has conjured unto the planks of the centre of the taproom floor? What would be the odds? That they'd meet in the same region where they met before; that they'd meet just as Veliky was recounting their fallout to someone who wasn't even listening; that they'd meet again, at all? It seems implausible. And if she even wagers to believe it's true, is it a miracle or a curse?
Veliky's frozen, like a statue reclining on the barstool, against the lanternlit counter, just staring at the image that came from memory. Her eyes are wide-open, and her mouth hanging similarly. By the time her muscles obey her again, Cheche is already turning away, her cloak swishing from the swiftness.
Is she real? Veliky isn't sure. But still, the sight begets her to hop from her seat and land on the lightest of thuds. "Cheche, wait!" she calls, a moment too late. Never has the cheerful sound of an entrance bell sounded so dreadful to her - a little ring-a-ling, and then the door closes shut. And she's left there, arm extended forth as if to grasp the transient fairytale from afar.
It takes her a moment to realize just how many people are staring at her. She's usually more perceptive, but her eyes lingered for so long on the exit through which Cheche had left. Their faces are a gallery of emotions: some confused, some amused, some sorrowful, some just knowing. They all avert when she flashes her signature glare. But, herself, is left with the strangest mix of thoughts...
No, they hadn't parted well, that's for certain. But then, why does Veliky care at all? She'd only met Cheche once, and...
Right. She was an ally, then. A valuable one: clever, resourceful, brave and more well-connected than one might expect. Assuredly, this is why Veliky cares[1]. But even so, what can she do? Is there even a shred of a chance that their alliance could be salvaged? Cheche did leave the moment they even met eyes...
"Ye should follow 'er." A gentle, but growling voice draws her attention to a wisened dwarf, sat on a barrel-seat at a table beside her. She shows him that same intolerant leer, but his eyes don't recoil. They just twinkle with understanding. "I've seen a lot of people walk away. Some of them, because they wanted to be finished. Some of them, because they never wanted at all. But her?" He gestures softly, to the entranceway. "She walked because she wanted to be followed. Y'understand, lassie?"
She isn't sure how to respond. The old dwarf can't possibly understand their situation, and probably still wouldn't if she explained it to him. He doesn't know her, he doesn't know Cheche. And just what sort of relationship does he think they have?
...But she can't refute what he said. Whether he fully understands or not, if he claims to know what the pixie wants, then... well, he'd probably know better than Veliky.
"Right." is all she says in response, but it's enough to spread a smile across the dwarf's craggy face. With her eyes set on the doorway, she adjusts her coat, looks on... and then steps forward. She can still feel the alcohol on her own breath. She doesn't normally pray to the gods, but she'll need tact for this, and it certainly won't be hers.
The door opens at her command[2], and she steps onto the cobbled streets beneath the afternoon sky. The bleak, Winter light feels like a fell omen, even to her. She looks around with no veiled urgency, from the wooden palisade at the left to the looming residences at the right. The streets are nearly empty, with nearly everyone tucked away in the tavern. She shouldn't be-...
There she is. Dead in front, no less, sitting in the shadow of the plaza's well. She looks... what's the word in Common? It's 'navl' in Halfling. Veliky doesn't need to know; it's a universal emotion. And so is pity.
Veliky feels like she's at the physician's, ready for a needle. Deep breathes... deep breathes. But she's the one to wait for. She's usually the impatient one, but now? No such luxury. How to even start? What do people do in situations like this? Veliky has little experience reconciling, seeing as she's never really had...
No. No more hesitation; that's the first rule of talking - at least, in the fields she specializes in. Just talk.
She steps forward, treading through the mud. It isn't a long walk; in fact, it feels all too short. In little time, she's within speaking distance, and she still struggles to conjure apt words until all that she musters is-
"Hey." It's hard to imagine a more plain, casual, unceremonious, sacrilegious greeting. But in such circumstances, it sends ripples through Veliky's mind. It's the first word she's spoken to Cheche in months, and she already despises herself for it. But she can't take it back. She can only continue. "Are you... okay?"
1. Smooth Talking 2. Minor Trickery
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Post by Miosh on Mar 1, 2023 3:32:58 GMT -5
It's not a secret: the world is smoke and mirrors. It's a blindfolded juggler balancing over an abyss. For many, seeing is believing. For some, that is no longer needed. She didn't expect to see Veliky there. She actually didn't believe her eyes, doubting her sanity till the last moment. But she knew she wasn't mistaken. No matter how well the room was lit, how many people were there, even with her eyes closed or her senses distorted, she'd still be able to tell. It was her. So, with the first sounds of the voice she hadn't heard for so long, she felt her heart squeezing. At that moment, Cheche felt complicated: part of her desperately wanted the ground to swallow her. Yet, part of her longed to hear more. Mallacht* , did she owe her an explanation. She felt miserable. Just when she thought she was ready to let the whole thing go...
Ah. Veliky said something. Cheche flinched at the sound, without really listening. She noticed that her hands were shaking. "No, no. She'll see. Act natural, natural!". In an attempt to hide them, she dived into the pocket of the sack and found two hefty gloves, covered with an elaborate floral pattern. They were a Yule's gift from a friend. But since they were too big for her to wear, she used them as a cushion. Now it's almost impossible to say, what made her do that, but in her panic state, she somehow put them on. She thought she'd simply hide behind them, then sit very still, just like in childhood when playing hide-and-seek. She'd count to ten, no, to a hundred! And, eventually, Veliky would get bored and leave. Probably.
The gloves enveloped her little hands. How odd, they were big no more! Actually, they fit perfectly. Her eyes widened in surprise. Did she remember wrong? She lifted her palms to take a closer look, but all of a sudden, something else drew her attention. Following her movement the blades of grass sprouted through the dusty ground she was sitting on. They started glowing fast, fresh as if spring was already here. Cheche blinked. Then blinked again, pinching herself to check if she had finally lost it.
- Ouch! - she said, rubbing her cheek and staring at the hands in pure bewilderment. Then she glanced at Veliky's feet still unable to lift her eyes anywhere higher, and an idea came to her: she couldn't run away, but she could hide. It seemed the gloves were magic. And magic was her element. Much more so than dealing with her conflicting feelings.
She concentrated and swiftly drew an imaginary line encircling her. Truth be told, Cheche was still unsure if her plan would work. However, only seconds later she was surrounded by tall luscious grass, planted so densely that it hid the crouching pixie just fine.
- Quitsies...- she whispered, looking at her gloves with a new interest.
Notes: The escape route is sponsored by "Floral Gloves". "Floral Gloves": make your social life a garden. Suitable for any age, in case of adverse reactions please consult your GP.
*Celtic for "damn" t/n
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Post by Veliky on Apr 10, 2023 3:42:13 GMT -5
...No answer. Not a whisper, not a peep; just a little recoil to show that Cheche heard her, and that the lack of response was a choice. Did she say something wrong, already? Was there something she should've said, that she didn't?
'Kien, I'm bad at this...' she thinks to herself with a sigh, as brittle leaves fall beside her. Diplomacy is no equivalent; when she's negotiating, she's just presenting something and explaining why someone should want it, or not want it. It doesn't help her here. Here, she has to empathize and show that she's sorry, that she cares -- things she isn't even sure of, herself. She's been told in the past, that you can't get the truth wrong. But what's the truth here? And is it something that she'd even want to share? She doesn't know.
Cheche's scared. This much, she can tell; the pixie's hands are shaking. Does Cheche think that Veliky's going to hurt her? The thought twinges Veliky's chest, even though she doesn't know why. It feels truly terrible, like she swallowed a stone. How can she possibly get through to her?
As is habit for any negotiator, Veliky passively watches Cheche's body language. She sees fear, she sees anxiety, she sees... Cheche putting on a pair of gloves. Is the nervous Cheche trying to hide her tremors? Veliky looks closely, but her eyes widen as she watches Cheche trace her finger along the ground and create trails of growing grass! Before long, Veliky has to step back as a circle of grass grows around Cheche, reaching nearly as high as Veliky's own head! She waits in anticipation for something more, but...
A cold sweat runs down Veliky's face as she realizes that that was the extent of the trick. She stands now, before a patch of tall grass. And somewhere within is Cheche, hiding from her...
She looks down; partly in shame, partly in sorrow, and partly in wondering if there's even a point. If Cheche doesn't even want to be seen, then what's Veliky doing? A cold breeze sends goosebumps along Veliky's skin; for just a moment, it brushes the grass aside and she can see the pixie crouching with her knees to her chest...
This was a stupid idea.
The scent of burning charcoal stings the nostrils, wafting from the chimney of the community's only blacksmith. In this lazy little village, even the peak of the afternoon normally has the streets empty and silent. The loudest sounds are normally the crack of gravel beneath one's steps, and the most movement that one sees is normally a raccoon meandering from alley to alley. And here is normally especially so, as these are the outskirts of the village: a little gravel trail that switches along the side of a downward slop. Above is the blacksmith, and below is the residence of a hunter, both covered in thatch. This is undoubtedly the quietest place in the village -- at least, it is normally. But today it is the most bustling, as it's been congregated upon by a collection of machines -- machines that walk and speak and leer with crimson eyes, and which Cheche would know well if she saw them: Blixtbots™. When Veliky arrived, she wasn't allowed to bring them into the village with her, and so here they simply stand on watch. They've a camp of sorts, for themselves, though it largely just consists of a large and red-clothed wagon and several crates marked with the insignia of Blixt™ Co. Mostly leafless trees create a low canopy above it, fracturing the dull-blue sky.
Two of the constructs stand side-by-side, their lateral lenses lending them the appearance of identical twins. One[1] holds a crossbow at rest, whilst the other[2] holds a shield in a lackadaisical defense. And behind them, the other constructs file about on their usual, sibilant marches, orderly even at rest. Together, they are a combined force that could likely take the entire village if they only wanted -- or if their mistress wanted, rather, as they have nothing in the way of personal desires. And of course, they are by far the most raucous spectacle to be heard here; occasionally one of their mechanical 'voices' will beep about nonsensically. And this is, for the most part, the only thing of note here. But it wouldn't remain that way.
Though their hisses and clanks fill the air, there's something else that's detectable just at the edge of auditory perception: hooves against dirt, and many of them. It'd be a strange time for visitors, encroaching on mid-afternoon. And yet, as the crossbow-carrying construct turns its pivot-head to the bottom end of the trail, something glints on its crimson lens: the light of a torch. And then another, and then another.
"..."
How long has passed? A minute, perhaps? Veliky hasn't been counting. She couldn't count if she wanted to; too much of her mental breadth is dedicated to understanding the sight before her: the tuft of grass that contains a little, crouching, whispering mystery that Veliky yearns to solve. And even that, she's losing the will for; wide-awake though she may be, this is tiring Veliky's mind.
...
'She doesn't want to be seen...' These words, Veliky's thought to herself many a time in the past so-many seconds. She repeats them in the vain hope that they'll reveal something to her if she simply lets them. She's done nothing but attempt to understand their meaning. And, with the little hope she's held, it seems she's finally come to a subtle realization. 'That's okay. If hiding helps her, then she can stay in there as long as she wants. I'll just talk from here.'
...Perhaps she'd already known that, and simply couldn't gather the courage to accept it. But her options are exhausted, and so is she, yet can't back down -- not yet. She lets in a long, congested sniff, and finally speaks.
"Look, Cheche-..." Those beginning words may've come too aggressively. She adjusts, making her tone as gentle as her coffee-scented voice can permit. "I know, last time, things didn't go well. We parted on bad terms, and I... I don't blame you for it. I lied to you, and I...
How can she say this? The words she wants to say are ones that she's recited hundreds of times since they last saw. And yet now, when they're face-to-face -- or as close to such as Cheche is willing to be -- Veliky finds herself struggling to form the words.
"I had to. Or, at least... I thought I had to. You were so scared of the bots, and I thought that you wouldn't even give me the time of day if I told you that they were mine. Hell, maybe you wouldn't have... Maybe we wouldn't have gone to your pumpkin-house and talked about your home. Maybe we wouldn't have eaten weird mushrooms, and shrunk down to mouse-size. Maybe I wouldn't have promised to help you."
Veliky realizes that she's smiling, just in time for it to turn to a somber frown.
"Maybe we wouldn't have had to run away. Maybe we wouldn't have been attacked, and... maybe you wouldn't have gotten hurt." Truth can be a terrifying thing. It's said that it'll set you free, but Veliky has only ever found the opposite. The truth -- her truth -- is something she's had to hide in order to accomplish anything in life. But at what cost? She looks down, to the gravel and fallen leaves at her feet. "I should've told you. Maybe then, I could've explained what was really happening, and things wouldn't have ended so badly. I'm sorry."
After a pause, she brings one knee down to crack a fallen leaf, crouching before the patch of grass. She can just hear Cheche's breath through the blades.
"So please, can you come out? I'll explain everything... I'll even give you another drink?"
She's said all that she was able to say. Now she can only wait. But already, she has little hope.
1. Bishop-12 {Warlord} 2. Knight-04 {Warlord}
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Post by Miosh on Apr 16, 2023 3:36:24 GMT -5
“You go hide! And then I seek! Where d'you go? Where d'you hide? You're not in the places I tried!”. She is a child again. Hiding in the tallest nettle bush. They surely won’t look for her there. Clever her for remembering the words to humor the plant and tone the stinging down. It doesn’t hurt at all. She chuckles, covering her mouth with the palm of her hand. She is trying her best neither to be seen nor heard.
Now she is older. Yet, she’s playing hide and seek again. Sometimes it feels like she’ll keep playing this game as long as she’s breathing. Currently, Cheche is crouching on the ground, poking the dust with a stick. She’s pouting. She’s clearly upset. ‘You did lie. You hurt the forest. But you also helped me and fed me. Anyways, that’s not why I feel so vexed’ - she thought. ‘You just took off and left me without saying a word. Abandoned!’ - she sniffles, suddenly finding herself on the verge of tears. And that’s how those words remain unsaid. Cheche is listening to the low husky voice coming from the other side of the grass wall. Her lip is trembling, so she bites it. Part of her wants to storm out. She’d probably stomp and frown. She’d probably shout, and turn her words into stinging nettle, much like the one she used to make the pact with when she was just a kid.
And part of her wants to keep listening. She wants to hear more, and she desperately wants an excuse to forgive. The corners of her mouth slightly curve up after she’s heard about turning into mice-size and “running from the bots”. She suddenly finds out that she’s smiling.’Ah, that.. that was fun. Actually, that was so fun, that I somehow want more. More of going on adventures together, and sharing food together. Telling each other stories about the past... more of being friends?’. She remembers those rare cases when it seemed that Veliky actually opened up a bit. It felt so precious, much like rare sunshine on a gloomy November day. Subconsciously, Cheche moves forward through the grass. She only stops when her nose starts poking out. She peeks through the wavering blades of grass and it strikes her how weary Veliky looks. Shу has stopped talking for a moment, looking down. It seems that the words don’t come easy. Suddenly, all of it seems so stupid. Does it have to be like this? Can they make up somehow? Cheche breathes in, ready to step out and speak up, but freezes up: a breath of wind carries a new, alien smell. It smells of horses, dust and sweat, of many unwashed bodies. It stinks of iron and burning wood. The smell of trouble. She hears the soft, yet persistent sound of hooves and the clang of harness….Cheche is instantly alert. She suddenly springs up from her hiding place. She turns her head in every direction in an attempt to detect the source of those sounds. Then she looks at Veliky and quickly pulls her back into the grass. She puts a finger to her own mouth to show that they should be quiet. They’ll wipe the slate clean. As for the talking, neither of them was good at it anyway.
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Post by Veliky on Apr 19, 2023 4:37:30 GMT -5
At last, that mousy little voice squeaks from between the blades of grass. Months, it's been, since she last heard Cheche's voice. And while she could summon it to her ears at any time, playing it again and again like a song, to really hear it spoken again is... What's a word? Surreal? Satisfying? The voice of a person she never expected to see again; it shouldn't feel so strange, not with how many Veliky has known and passed her by after a few jobs and an exchange of solars. But it does.
Of course, it's only a sniffle -- one of the most humble, basic of anatomical functionalities. But it's her. Veliky just wishes she'd say something...
"...!" Her eyes widen a bit as she sees some of the blades, one by one, begin to part. It's like seeing a panther, or some other monster, slowly emerging from the underbrush. It'd almost be intimidating. But no; barely poking out from the foliage, just stretching her little nose past the threshold, isn't the face of a monster at all, but the olive skin of Cheche.
It's something. It's progress. And progress is good enough that, just this once as she sees the pixie's bittersweet eyes glimmering in the dark behind the blades of grass, she allows a little smile to cross her face. This is good, after all. Veliky doesn't know where this will lead, but it's a bridge that she doesn't want to see burned forever, an alliance that she hopes she could mend. She wants to say that she doesn't know why, and she's damned good at convincing herself[1]. But; in truth; it's the same reason that, as she crouches in front of the towering foliage, she extends a hand forward. It's an offer of a handshake that they never really had, as well as an offer to pull Cheche from this little den she's made. And to Veliky's relief, Cheche does reach out and clasp Veliky's hand; but to Veliky's shock, Cheche isn't the one that gets pulled anywhere.
Suddenly, Veliky's surrounded by greenery as she's pulled forcibly into the grass! She remembers this feeling; Cheche can be a little pushy (or maybe pully is more accurate?). But never without cause! All of a sudden, they're tucked in the foliage and huddled so close that their noses are practically touching, and Veliky has no idea why.
"Cheche, what're you-" Her tone does come off somewhat offended, but she's really just confused. Still, it's then that the pixie puts a finger to her own olive-toned lips, shushing Veliky in an instant. And Veliky knows better than to press; she's no stranger to this sort of conspiratorial demeanour. Nobody shushes like that without a good reason. She just wonders what that reason could be...
There. As she stays silent and listens, Veliky can now make out the rapid thumps of what must be at least four galloping horses. They sound tight-knit, too. That isn't good; a disorganized wheeling could be a group of fleeing riders, but an organized group can only be one with intent and a goal in sight. The thumping grows louder and louder. Barely flitting through the grass, the light of several torches glints on Veliky's calculating irises. Four men, all mounted. Armed, but unarmored. Not talking; plan already established, now in motion. Travelling northward, toward the pens; cattle-robbers. Torches in the middle of the afternoon? Not for light. For distraction.
Just after the group has passed their grassy hovel, one of the bandits looks to the left and hurls his torch onto a resident's porch! By the time they've galloped thirty more yards away, the flames have already begun to spread, and one of the other bandits has also thrown their torch at another wooden residence. Not aided by oil, the fires won't burn very quickly, but extinguishing them would be a time-consuming endeavour -- exactly what the bandits want. It's a rudimentary plan, but a decent one.
"They're going for the livestock." Veliky whispers. "Come on, we need to get you out of here."
With that, Veliky stands, rustling the grass as she steps out from their hiding place. As efficiently as a machine, she also reaches to her belt and grabs a strange little device[2] that's shaped like the skull of one of those constructs. She raises it in front of her mouth, and speaks into it with an authoritative tone.
"All units, raise Civilian Cheche to Conscript status. Protect her: Priority Silver." Without waiting for a response and without missing a beat, she places the device back on her belt and raises her other fist in front of her. "Command." she utters, awakening sigils on the back of her glove that glow on the rime of her eyes as she scans all possible routes of attack. The pictograph that the sigils encircle is one of three curved, radiating lines. "I need a Vixen, now."
As if this were all a song to which she already knows every beat, she extends her arm forward, to a seemingly nondescript spot on the road. But as she unballs her fist, a pulse of energy is released! Right above that spot, mind-bending polygons manifest and move in perfect, geometric motions! A pane of rectangular mana slowly glides along, manifesting[3] the shape of a mechanical steed in its wake. When the spell is complete and the bizarre shapes disappear, what's left behind is a steed[4] of tin and steel, not unlike the constructs from before in make (if not shape). Its eyes are that same crimson glass, and its joints carry that same hiss as they move. But adorning its head are a pair of shimmering antlers, clearly of a different metal than the rest of its body; the coldly efficient design promises to deal some severe damage to anything in the mechanical reindeer's path.
Still pacing and fiddling with the sigils on her glove, Veliky is the image of a general in command. Her demeanour has changed entirely; it's all business, now.
"Get on, and get out of here. I'll deal with these crooks." she says, gesturing at the metal mount. For someone as little as Cheche, climbing onto such a mighty steed should be impossible. But, as if this were considered in its design, footholds jut from the reindeer's foreleg, allowing one of Cheche (or Veliky's) stature to literally ascend its leg and climb onto its iron saddle.
1. Smooth Talking 2. Talking Heads 3. Summon Mount 4. Vixen-01 (Reindeer)
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