the Vale tended to be a vast space frequented by relatively few people—that had been the primary reason getian had chosen to live out here rather than in the room that had been prepared for him, along with its fabricated facade of the outdoors (including actual trees for him to sleep in, like a proper bird!). he is fairly certain it was one of the reasons quincy had settled out here as well, though that simple fact had been turned on its head in these last few days. camping, hunting, fishing, sewing, climbing, swimming… getian did not really participate in many of these activities, but he did enjoy watching the other guests do so, to widely varying degrees of skill, success, and aplomb. his favorite moments of the past few days had been after the artificial sun had set, and the “campers” had roasted food and sweets around the campfire and sang songs. he’d never heard any of them, though he was fast to learning them, delighted in the aloof sort of way he tends to develop when observing others from afar (as had been his wont for hundreds of years).
the liveliness of everyone living out here in this false wilderness has brought to mind what getian had thought of the Timekeeper’s suitcase, the first time he had been introduced to the space. an arcane item, individuals could enter to find a vast plane within—a similar sort of false wilderness to this one, and one that hosted several buildings and complexes for the arcanists within to live, cook, learn, practice, and socialize. that last one had been an adjustment for him, at the time. it was not particularly common for his people to visit one another unannounced, even when there had been a decent number of Miemeng birds on his mountain. now, he is happy for it, though. it has prepared him for this.
early one morning, when leaving his cabin, quincy would find that the Miemeng bird himself had decided to pay an unannounced visit. the sound of feathers rustling comes from above him, where getian perches carefully above the eaves. or perhaps the man had been up early and had heard him settle there, eliciting him to come out in the first place… either way, he greets him with a genial, ) Good morning, Quincy. ( there’s a gentle smile on his face—one that seems to indicate that they both share a secret. ) Truly, I was not expecting us to gain so many neighbors so quickly.
[ There have been pros and cons to this camping excursion for Quincy. The supplies have been a boon for a man that vastly prefers to make his own clothing and do his own cooking, but he hadn’t been entirely thrilled with the new noise pollution. At the very least, the campsite isn’t right on top of where he’s been diligently working on his cabin. Though it isn’t completely finished, there’s enough done for him to take shelter and avoid the new campers.
He steps outside at the familiar sound of fluttering feathers. Unlike the rest of the guests stomping around the vale and making a mess, Getian is a welcome guest. A kindred spirit that had taken up a home in the forest because it had felt right… and because, like Quincy, the suites aren’t suitable for a Miemeng bird’s size. Not at the ranks they had been assigned, anyway. ]
Good morning. [ he sighs, casting a glance in the direction of those “new neighbors,” ] Me neither. I don’t expect they’ll stay long.
[ Then, he returns the smile with one of his own. A small thing, as gestures with Quincy often are, but genuine. Stepping into his front yard, he nods down toward something fabric folded in his arms. Quincy had brought it outside with him at the sound of feathers and Getian’s voice.
The bolts of fabric had been the greatest plus of the unwelcome new neighbors. ]
I made something for you. You don’t have to wear it… you can do whatever you want with it.
[ He shakes it out to reveal a carefully tailored cloak. Double layered and handsome, with the inside a green gingham and the outside a deep forest, soft fabric treated to repel rain. It includes a hood and simple collar with a green gemstone clasp, something he had rummaged through the “craft” supplies at the campsite to find. It had taken hours of patience to construct, giving it proper shape and handsome edges. Thankfully, patience is something Quincy has in spades.
He steps forward to offer the cloak to Getian. ]
… they’re letting so much go to waste over there. It should be put to use.
( that’s just the nature of most of these humans. far more so than the mortals that getian had been familiar with in his own era, they are addicted to the conveniences, comforts, and luxury of their own technological advancements. of course, he can’t say that he wouldn’t be convinced to stay within his own suite, were he a human being and not a Miemeng bird. for him, it’s less that the rooms were cramped (though this is partially the case) and more that the way they were furnished and equipped was simply not conducive to what a bird needed out of their domicile. he probably could sleep on one of those beds they prefer, but it would be very strange. and he’s still wrapping his head around all of the contraptions they keep inside those “bathrooms” of theirs…
ah, but so much of that is just a natural sort of culture shock. or… species shock? no, it’s best that he stays out here, wrapped in the comforts of relative peace and distance—even if those comforts are strongly impinged upon, what with this new camping initiative the House has forced on the rest of the guests.
getian’s head cants slightly to one side as quincy steps forward into the yard before turning to face him; his mismatched gaze falls on the bundle of cloth in his arms, lightly curious. he would not have guessed such a thing was intended to be a gift until the man says as much. there’s a subtle shift to the Miemeng bird’s expression—one in which his eyes widen ever-so-slightly and his jaw goes slack, though not fully to the point of his lips parting. he blinks, seemingly surprised by the gesture.
from his perch on the eaves of the cabin, getian rouses and leans forward. he doesn’t, of course, reach for the gift with his talons; it’d be far too easy to cut through the fabric unintentionally. instead, it’s as though an invisible force gently lifts the cloak out of quincy’s hands, raising it through the air so he can inspect it more closely. he’d seen mortals wear similar such cloaks in his own time, albeit in slightly different make and material. still, it looks soundly-made, soft, and warm. the hood is an additional benefit. like the rest of his things, the length of kudzu cloth that getian typically wore over his head and shoulders to keep unwanted attention from his face had been taken and not returned. he tends to wear whatever he can find as substitute, and everything he’s found to do so pales in comparison to this.
his mind goes blank for a long moment, unable to find the right words to express his gratitude. when he finally does speak, his tongue feels slightly thick as he does so, ) You… did not need to do this.
( and yet, he had. he carefully drapes the cloak over where he holds his wings in front of him; held between them, almost like how one might hold something between thick mittens, he lifts it so he can rub the fabric against his cheek. it is soft.
he blushes as he continues. ) It is beautiful. And I know I will be grateful for it, given how the temperature has been dropping of late. ( in a ripple of movement, getian manipulates the cloak once more, using the arcane skill of mild telekinesis to throw it around his shoulders and over his head. he likes how closely the deep green color matches his plumage.
he dips his head and shoulders in a gracious bow. ) Thank you, Quincy. This is— ( his tongue is moving thickly again; he seems to have trouble putting his own gratitude into words that feel accurate enough, “good” enough, ) very considerate.
( he decides he will have to make him something in return. usually, that would be difficult—getian’s preferred medium is bones, of which there was precious little in this place, given this false wilderness wasn’t exactly a full ecosystem. usually, anyway. there are more animals running through the Vale than just their new neighbors, all to encourage them to hunt and fish. getian resolves to spend as much time as he can, gathering bones from any that have fallen. surely some would be good enough material for carving… )
You are very skilled with a needle and thread, ( he observes. )
[ Quincy is silent while watching the cloak float away to Getian. When combing through the supplies offered at the campsite and finding the bolts of fabric left largely unused, after spotting that shade of green, he had immediately thought of the Miemeng bird and his brilliant plumage. More than any other guest who would likely toss away any handmade clothes made here in the vale once having access to all of the resort’s stores, Quincy had thought that Getian would be someone that would appreciate it. Especially since, unlike many other locations in the Golden Peacock, the vale simulates weather at all times. After that, throwing that bolt over his shoulder and taking it back to where he had been working on making some articles had been a matter of course.
Choosing what to make had been easy. As an avian yokai, Getian would have no need for something like boots or trousers. A cloak with a hood had felt suitable; looking at the bird wearing it now, Quincy feels quite satisfied with that decision. It can be worn open or closed, hood up or down, or bunched at the neck to offer some resistance to chill with a scarf-like cowl. ]
You’re welcome.
[ Thanks aren’t necessary, but he knows that an unexpected gift can be difficult to accept, so he Quincy nods his head at Getian’s gratitude. A gift in return is even less necessary, so Quincy doesn’t consider the possibility that Getian may be tossing the idea around in his mind. There had been a surplus of fabric that all these interlopers were letting go to waste. As a man that respects nature, leaving them all to sit there had rubbed him the wrong way.
He tilts his head, observing how the cloak falls around Getian’s feathers. The sizing had been a guess, though having coupled with Getian before had given him a better idea of how to cut the fabric than if he was judging off of looks alone. A fact that he keeps to himself, because it might be a bit awkward for Getian to learn that Quincy distinctly remembers the press and mold of his body from when they mated. ]
We make our own clothing in my tribe, so I learned how to sew from a young age. It wasn’t like it is here, where anything can be purchased in a store. Supplies are valuable to us.
[ That said, he doesn’t have a habit of making clothing every day. A few articles will do, as well as a sturdy pair of boots. He has never gone out of his way to make an entire wardrobe before. After this, he won’t make anything else unless necessary. Excepting Topper appearing and needing several stylish little outfits.
There is a pause before Quincy adds: ]
Green is handsome on you.
[ Getian is a charming yokai with pretty plumage and a lovely countenance. The sight of him wearing something that Quincy had made with his own hands makes the guardian a bit restless, heart itching with fledging emotion. He is attracted to the Meiming bird, but unwilling to put any kind of pressure on him—so that’s all Quincy says, offering a compliment while gazing at him respectfully. ]
( on this, they have shared understanding. in getian’s era, keeping oneself clothed was similarly a personal or community endeavor—they similarly didn’t have any store to visit, and it wasn’t like they could leave their mountain to commission anything from a journeyman tailor, either. keeping their bodies clothed was, like art, poetry, or music, something they had picked up from humans out of affectionate fascination. getian’s own clothing had either been made himself or by one of his fellow Miemeng birds, or it had been left at the foot of his tree by visitors or pilgrims as a gift left to the gods they believed dwelt there. getian thinks of himself as a good enough craftsman. that having been said, he always preferred working in carving—either in wood or preferably in bone. he crafted his own wand, his own flute… and that young Foundation agent that had questioned him after his capture had said that his craftsmanship was perhaps the best he’d ever seen.
still, his expertise was narrow and deep rather than broad and shallow. he could make his own clothing, certainly, but it would not be nearly so fine or ornamented. there’s something he enjoys about that, though; it’s the same sensibility he has which makes all of the manufactured clothing that “modern” humans wear seem soulless and without character. there is something charming in the uniqueness of imperfection. there is an implication of love in dedicating one’s time and attention to making something for someone else.
…is that what this is? “love” might be a rather intense word for it, but there’s certainly a level of consideration and care that goes into a gift like this, especially hand-made. even if explanations were given as to quincy not having wanted to see the materials go to waste , and he figured that getian would be more appreciative of something hand-made to weather the simulated rain and cold… he had still decided to make it for him and not, say, something for himself. )
It was the same for my people. Though mortals sometimes brought gifts to our mountain in tribute, everything else we had to make for ourselves. We did learn those techniques by watching and studying the creations of men, however.
( getian has always been rather upfront about the fact that his people had mostly just mimicked the arts and innovations of others. they did not really create for themselves—or, at least, that’s how he saw it.
his lips curve in a gentle smile at the compliment; he is still not so adept at accepting them, but he has improved, it seems. in a rustle of feathers and several heavy beats of his wings, getian leaves his perch on the eaves of the cabin and instead alights carefully down on the ground near quincy. standing up perfectly tall is not particularly comfortable him; with his knees and shoulders bent as they are as he settles there, wings only half-folded at his sides, he’s probably similar to quincy’s own height or perhaps a little shorter. )
I have noticed the Vale is more alive with game now than it is usually. ( he tilts his head. ) I do not typically hunt meat. But this could be a unique opportunity. I was thinking of searching for any bones left behind that may be suitable enough to carve. …Would you be interested in going with me?
( if he ends up finding something exceptional enough, he plans on surprising quincy with something at a later date.
otherwise… getian is rather desperate to find a bone suitable enough to carve into a wand. the one he has carved from a branch of the tallest tree in the Vale is functional, but it does not give him the fine control that he is used to with his own wand. )
[ Getian floats down from the eaves to meet him and Quincy steps forward, familiarly fixing the broach claps of the cloak around the bird’s neck. It had been fastened fine; that gentle touch is simply an excuse for contact, fiddling with something that did not need fiddling. Knuckles gently rub against Getian’s chin and jaw as Quincy smooths the hood, making sure that it’s warmly gathered. ]
I can use the meat. I’ll dry it into jerky for the winter.
[ Though he’s yet to spend a winter here, in his time, his understanding of the resort is that they tend to mimic seasonal changes in the vale. It would be a surprise if they did not end up seeing snow. ]
I can save you any bones left over.
[ He has uses for bone as well too, but less here in the resort. Maybe a bone broth, but currently, he doesn’t have much in the way of cooking materials. All things to think of later, so it’s no problem to share now. Maybe he can even skin whatever animals they hunt and make Getian a pair of earmuffs or a hat.
Normally he would be sewing outfits and making treats for his little friend, but since the stoat isn’t here… Getian is getting extra spoiled. If Topper knew, he would undoubtedly be jealous.
He retrieves some traps from storage, packing them in a bag before nodding toward Getian and heading into the thicket. Quincy has always been skilled with laying traps and hunting, having lived off the land for his entire life in harmony with the forest. As they walk and scout out areas for Quincy to leave traps, he asks, ]
What do you carve from bones?
[ Asked both out of interest and judging the size of the prey they’ll need to hunt for Getian’s projects. He’s heard rumors of a pesky breed running around during the mornings, though the name has been unfamiliar, so he isn’t sure how large they might be. ]
( getian’s smile deepens, glad for the opportunity to spend this time casually with quincy. he seems for just a moment ready to move again, but he decides otherwise, the coiled tension of potential energy freezing and then slowly dispelling as the man stepped forward to adjust the cloak around his neck and shoulders. a simple, yet affectionate act; one that might as well be preening. it didn’t particularly matter if it was necessary or not. its importance is in the thought, the consideration, the momentary intimacy. the bird’s eyelids hang heavy over his eyes as he watches quincy, the short path that the man’s knuckles had traced along the line of his jaw ruddying with a flush of heat which slowly diffuses, spreading across his complexion and drenching down his neck.
and then he chooses to move; feathers and muscles move in smooth tandem as he stands up straighter, wings flaring out on either side. when he takes to the air, he does so in just a way so that the very tips of his flight feathers and tailfeathers brush past quincy—the bird’s own version of a passing, meaningful touch.
he circles slowly and lazily overhead as quincy gathers his traps, following at the given pace (though sometimes having to circle around through the trees and double back around to remain close by, given the difference in a walking pace versus a flying one). he thinks about how he hasn’t really thought much of preparing for the winter. he would have done so at home, but… being dislodged from the routine mundanity of his long life had similarly thrown him off of such instincts and rhythms. hm… he will have to make sure he has enough grain, berries, and other foodstuffs saved—though if quincy ends up making jerky, he would like to try some of it as well. )
Please do so. Whichever I do not or cannot use, I will return to you.
( he knows humans have their own uses for bones, such as in stock—though some humans also craft them into jewelry and other decorations. )
I would most like to carve a wand to serve as a replacement for the one that was taken from me. And perhaps a flute as well.
( a poor replacement, given that it would have none of the emotional attachment getian had had to that particular wand. but control and mastery over his arcane skills will be far easier with a wand made of bone rather than the temporary one made of wood that he currently uses.
as for the flute, he would love to be able to play one that isn’t quite so phallic. not that he thinks he will abandon the instrument the House gave him. its sound is rather lovely… )
Though I will likely carve other things, depending on where my whims take me. Do you have any requests?
[ Though he does not keep his eyes on the bird, Quincy is keenly aware of Getian’s location as he dips in and out between trees. The flutter and brush of those feathers still tickles his skin, a sweet haunting of sensation and reminder of his own selfish desire to comb his hands through that downy softness. Or, better, use the Miemeng bird as a pillow.
He keeps his attention on the ground. This trail is well used, but bushes along its edge are disturbed in a way that speaks to creatures passing through. Broken leaves, scattered dirt. The biggest sign: a small patch of white fur caught on a branch. Low to the ground, so not a large breed. He nods to himself, begging to assemble and lay traps where they’ll be hidden in the grass.
He listens to Getian as he works. A wand and a flute. Both items that work work best with a larger bone, like a femur. Something that can be whittled down and manipulated easily. He nods, looking back up to Getian after laying a few traps out, ]
I would like to see where your whims take you, too.
[ Before he can say everything else, some thicker and more remote bushes rustle in the distance. Apparently their presence—or perhaps just Getian’s, given that he looks more like a traditional predator—has frightened the creatures hiding nearby.
Quincy looks over a second before a flurry of fuzzy creatures burst out of the brush and flee. They’re nothing he’s ever seen before, and so assumes they are that invasive breed that the staff had been talking about, called snoggleboffs. Furry, with awkward long limbs but fat round bodies, and they aren’t quiet as they snort and scree while flailing around. They also aren’t very smart; in their attempts to flee, they corner themselves, confused about why they can’t walk through a tree or large rock.
A few of the creatures look large enough for Getian’s needs. Quincy looks back at the bird, eyebrow hiked inquisitively. ]
Do you hunt?
[ And does he have any kind of prey drive? Getian is always so soothing and relaxed that it’s a bit difficult to picture, but he is a bird, and birds of prey love scooping up little creatures like this. Far be it from Quincy to deny Getian some enrichment. ]
( it would be a rather novel subversion for quincy to be able to use someone as a pillow, for once…
whenever quincy stops to inspect something or set a trap, getian alights to a nearby tree, perching in a branch that’s close enough to remain in relatively comfortable conversational distance. his keen eyes watch the man as he works, following the deft movements of his hands. humans have always astounded him. they lacked fur or feathers to keep them warm, tough skin or scales to protect them from damage, particularly strong senses, or natural weapons like claws and fangs, and yet they used ingenuity to master the world around them. even more incredibly than that, they used free time and comfort gained through such cleverness to create art and music to bring beauty forth into the world, to build structures far beyond the needs of mere survival to act as the spine of their very civilization. watching quincy isn’t quite the same as watching the villages and towns spring up and grow across the Great Plains, but… there’s a similar quality to it, at least in miniature. he, too, uses what this tiny scrap of false wilderness gives him to carve out and construct a home for himself, just as those groups of humans had.
as a miemeng bird, who only ever roosted in trees on tall mountains and mimicked the art and music of others, he can find even the simplest tool or trap incredible.
he is sure there are plenty he would be able to craft himself, to repay in small issuances the kindness that quincy has already paid him up unto this point. )
We shall see.
( it’s shortly after he says this that the group of snoggleboffs startle from the undergrowth and begin to, well… bumble around. these, in contrast, are not very clever creatures, it seems. they are somewhat similar to critters he’s seen, though any Carbuncle worth their dust would probably be offended at the comparison. getian almost feels pity for them.
he looks quincy’s way at the question. ) I can… It is not my preference, though I have in the past, when other foods were difficult to find.
( fortunately, miemeng birds don’t tend to get hungry very often, and they eat relatively little. he tends to get by on grains and berries, though… meat properly prepared wouldn’t go unappreciated.
he sighs, looking back to the creatures as they continue to struggle to get away. getian stirs on his branch, ruffling his feathers. ) I suppose they made them like this so they would be easy to hunt… What pathetic creatures they are.
( despite what he says and the genuinely sympathetic tone of voice he uses, the huge bird leaves his perch and, in a streak of cloth and feathers, descends upon one of the larger snoggleboff specimens. he sweeps it up in his powerful talons, far less conscientious of his claws than he’d been when carrying quincy in the past; just as soon as the creature can let out a startled squeak, the sound is sharply curtailed into conspicuous silence as he kills the creature as quickly and conscientiously as he can, returning to his branch with the body limp in one claw. )
[ Pathetic creatures. Quincy looks between the majestic miemeng bird and the snoggleboffs before deciding that comparing the two is unfair. There aren't many creatures that can compare to the avian beauty that is Getian, much less some little gremlin creatures with subpar intelligence. Whether or not they've been created to be easy to hunt, he can't say, given that he's never seen them before... but it's not a poor guess. Either that, or they've always been domestic and suddenly released into the wilderness for entertainment. Either way, it's unfortunate for them.
As for the rest, Quincy makes a mental note. Getian doesn't hunt for sport and meat, while he can consume it, isn't a constant in his diet. Details the forest guardian tucks away for later, joining the bits and pieces that he's learned about the bird before. Though they may be pathetic, those little snoggleboffs have useful parts that both he and Getian want. Quincy steps back to watch the deft manner in which Getian swoops and catches one of the larger snoggleboffs in his talons. The thing doesn't stand a change, its life swiftly ended with a crunch. ]
There isn't much meat on them, but I should be able to do something with it.
[ Small treats. Maybe some strips of jerky depending on the taste. At worst, bait for larger game. Which is fine—its fur and bones are the more important elements, and Quincy loathes to waste any part of what he's caught. Nothing will go unused. Which is why he doesn't waste time in joining Getian in the hunt, throwing out a new to quickly capture two more of the ones that haven't figured out how to go around a rock. They squeak unhappily, but Quincy makes quick work of snapping their little necks to kill without pain. Then, he reaches into his bag to remove a smaller sack to carry what they've caught.
He offers it up, open-mouthed, to Getian after putting the two smaller ones he's caught inside. ]
( getian only says as much because he has never seen a natural creature so lacking in their own grace and instinctual understanding. perhaps he is wrong—he is naive and ill-informed on many things, given that his knowledge and experience is a very narrow, very deep cut. ultimately, it doesn’t really matter where they originate from or for what exact purpose. whether or not they have been released in the Vale to be hunted, hunted they will be.
he chuckles to himself at quincy’s comment. )
That is more likely to be a problem for yourself than for me.
( the idiom “eating like a bird” might come to mind if one spent enough time around getian to get a sense of the Miemeng bird’s appetite. he neither eats very much nor very often. if he were really exhausting himself, doing something like flying long distances, he might succumb to a more ravenous appetite, but as it is, one of these lean creatures could likely keep him well-fed for a decent amount of time.
he doubts just one would be a satisfactory meal for quincy. he is a large man, after all.
getian takes wing again to carefully deposit the snoggleboff he’d caught into the open and waiting sack, temporarily perching on another branch so he can respond without having to call out over the sound of beating wings. )
I would very much like that. ( he tilts his head, curious. ) What is it that you most often cook?
It depends on the season. What ingredients are available and what I catch... but I like to make stew or soup.
[ Which he realizes may not be the most convenient of foods for Getian to eat. Quincy opens his mouth, about to say that he could feed Getian himself if he'd like to try it, but the words ultimately don't come out. Feeding someone is an intimate gesture and he isn't sure how Getian would feel about his offering to, so he decides to leave that aside for now. ]
Otherwise, dried meats. They make good snacks, are easy to travel with, and last longer. I have a little friend back home that particularly enjoys these.
[ Topper would be delighted to eat the snoggleboffs. As a small stoat, Topper doesn't need much to feel satisfied either. Quincy pauses a moment—he does quite miss that little friend of his, but he would not wish for Topper to show up here of all places—before tying the bag and tossing it over his shoulder. There's no need for excessive hunting with this many seems enough for some dried meat and bones. ]
Let's head back. I'll skin and strip these, and then we can check the bones to see if they're useful for you.
( he can’t say it’s a common thing for Miemeng birds to eat, no, but it’s not that he can’t. if quincy had gone so far as to make that offer, he might realize that, surprisingly enough, they hadn’t shared enough meals together for the man to realize that his kind had adapted to their shortcoming in that regard. he may not have hands to pick up a bowl or a spoon with, but his people had developed an arcane skill which allowed them to manipulate small objects telepathically. it’s not only convenient, but it became necessary when the Miemeng birds began to more and more imitate the culture and innovations they had seen below in the world of men. musical instruments, visual art, calligraphy… they would have struggled to reproduce these only using their wings and claws. )
I see…
( getian can understand missing those from home, but also not really wishing to see them here as well. he had made many friends that he had gotten to see regularly enough within the Timekeeper’s suitcase… but he thinks it best that those young arcanists remain there, to continue to strive to save the world from Manus Vindictae’s machinations. )
Well, ( he lifts off from the branch he’d perched upon, following quincy as he had before, ) Whatever it is that you make, I would like to try it. Truthfully, I do not eat much, and typically get by on what fruit, berries, and grains I can find in the Vale and in the gardens. But I am interested to try more of the food that humans make. …Such a thing seems to mean more to your kind than it did to my own.
( it wasn’t that it didn’t matter at all. there had still been occasions of care or affection wrapped around presenting another with food, such as bringing food to the sick or gifting a particularly rare treat to a loved one. but Miemeng birds had not gone so far as to cook elaborate preparations for their food; it had typically been plain or raw. it’s a mighty adjustment to make, considering how complicated some human food is, but… he is still interested to try and learn more. )
[ Quincy watches as Getian swiftly takes off from his perch above. It’s funny—he’s long lived in the wood territory surrounded by wildlife, but he never grows tired of watching Getian flit through the air. His feathers glint in the light, catching color in a way that gives Quincy pause every time. He is beautiful, a picture so lovely that it’s difficult to not stare.
Watching him now comes with a thread of something else. Satisfaction, but stronger. Quincy’s gaze lingers on the cloak snug around Getian’s body, the cloak he had spent hours lining and hemming. Getian isn’t his… nor is the bird a creature one could ever possess. But while wearing a cloak tended to by his own hand, it’s as if Quincy’s painted him in his colors. It feels—good.
He is quiet until they make their way to the lake. Quincy settles down with a knife, deftly skinning the snoggleboff corpses, first carefully removing their fur to use later and then stripping them of their meat. Quincy lays out bone after bone as they work; not all of them look as though they are usable for a flute, but he wants Getian to freely choose and keep whichever ones that catch his eye. A flute may not be the only thing he is interested in carving. Among them there are a few long bones, originating from that particularly large snoggleboff. ]
They’re fatty.
[ Quincy sounds a little surprised while trimming the meat. They’re so small, after all. Were they fed in captivity to get so round and chunky? Either way, fat means more flavor. ]
( it’s a quiet yet comfortable trek together to the lake. this sort of casual, easy companionship… it’s not something getian has felt in centuries. it’s one thing to get along well enough to spend time with someone, but it’s another to feel comfortable in the lapses and silences of the quieter, more mundane parts of life. he had shared such an experience with different members of his own kin, a very long time ago, but memories of those times have long since faded into the warm glow of distant nostalgia. humans, seemingly by a default nature of theirs, tend to be louder, more energetic, and more communal than the Miemeng birds had been. quincy feels different. he similarly enjoys the solitude that can be found in the bastion of nature. they are kindred souls in that, and in many other things.
getian settles on a small formation of rocks, folding his wings and wordlessly watching quincy as he works. he has always been fascinated by humans’ ingenuity. a knife may seem a simple tool, but, considering they do not have sharp fangs or keen talons, it’s a necessary one for them to do things that many beasts of the wild could do unaided. he might even be more skillful with it than getian might have been, if he tried flensing the fur and skin away from the creatures himself with his claws. they are not so deft and dexterous as human hands are; he likely would have torn it to pieces on accident. when hard at work crafting something, he tended to rely on his telekinesis more than his actual limbs.
he supposes it makes sense that the little creature was fattier rather than lean and gamey. it did seem as though they were risen as livestock somewhere, before being released here. )
They should make for an unctuous stew, then.
( as he replies, he is already looking at the bones. most are too small to be used as instruments or wands, to be certain, but it’s not as though they aren’t useful. )
Mm. They are beautiful, aren’t they? All bones are, I believe. Strong, yet elegant. Theirs is an important role and function—they provide us support and structure, both physically and spiritually.
( he wonders what he could make for quincy that might begin to repay him for the gift he currently wears. the bones may be small, but there are many things they could be used for. a sewing needle, perhaps, or something else useful, like… buttons, or chopsticks? hm, there aren’t very many large enough that could be used for chopsticks… a pendant or carving, then? )
Their markings are less pronounced for animals, but our fates make themselves known in them, for all living creatures.
As material, they're much better than most of what I've seen around this resort. Plastic, mainly. So much waste.
[ But everything about the resort is wasteful. That's the point. Indulgence in drink, luxury, material goods. They throw clothing away once it's boring to wear regardless of the shape it's in. Meals go unfinished. Drinks tossed after a few sips. He spends his time in the vale for numerous reasons. Yes, it feels like the wood territory back home and quiet, but it's a place where he can use the resources and reuse them. Even here, Quincy respects nature and the natural order.
His gaze falls over the bones after he cleans his hands. Curious, he glances between Getain and the selection, wondering which ones he'll choose and what he may be planning to make. The fact that it might be something for him doesn't cross his mind; he had given that cloak to Getian without any expectation of reciprocity. ]
That must be because of how they were bred. For a single moment.
[ This moment. To be hunted for pleasure by guests that fancy themselves hunters for a weekend. They had been so easy to catch that even the lazy and unskilled guests that have permanently made the resort their home could do so. Offered up on a platter, so the entitled and spoiled need not struggle. What Getian had said earlier was true. They are pathetic creatures.
Quincy won't waste their meat or their fur. Between the both of them, these bones won't go to waste either. ]
( the concept of “plastic” would’ve been alien to him if he hadn’t have spent some time in different, more “modern” eras before being brought to the Golden Peacock. getian tends to find most human inventions interesting, simply because he finds the way their minds think and innovate to be interesting, but that particular technological advancement was… less so. quincy is right that it makes a lot of waste. getian has a habit of collecting random bits of shiny material he finds in the Wilderness at home—precious stones, metal, jewels, and other things felt like treasure to him, but that which he’d discovered was plastic just ended up feeling like trash.
getian himself spends the majority of his time in the Vale because it feels necessary. he had seen the room he’d been provided only once, but he’d only needed that one look to know it wasn’t properly outfitted for a bird like himself. now even that entire room goes to waste, but it wouldn’t have been comfortable for him to try to make it work. he is painfully aware that the Vale, albeit as close as one can get to the “outdoors” in the resort as possible, is a constructed fake. false wind, false streams, earnest trees sprouting from false soil growing beneath a false sun. sometimes he feels as though he’s on display, like a specimen in some zoo, though he would be forced to admit it was still the best option for him—the one that makes him happiest. he can sense that those things don’t originate from a true “nature,” but at least they still exist here. it’s not all dim lights, loud noises, and chaos. )
Yes, that is likely. Their fate was dictated by their creation, their rearing, their purpose.
( they live to die. if there are any markings to be found on these bones, they would speak of captivity. he has to wonder if all livestock would look similar to him, or if these are particularly sad examples.
when it comes to the bones themselves, getian picks many. those that are long and straight are especially valuable, but smaller, rounder bones, teeth, ribs… they are all beautiful, and all shapes can be useful, depending on what he decides to use them for.
there are some, though, that he leaves aside for quincy. if he wanted to make a good stew, he would need them for the stock, yes? he has seen humans do such a thing with the game that they have killed. )
It is an arcane skill shared by all of my kind. ( though, considering he is the last, he supposes that makes it more unique. ) Our help has often been sought as diviners of fate. But to know one’s fate can be a heavy burden, and few possess the strength and tenacity to change it themselves.
[ Quincy nods in understanding. Though he possesses no such skills of his own, to know one’s fate is a burden that not all can carry. For humans most of all. Sensitive, proud, hopeful, stubborn, a thousand other shades—not all are the same, and not all can accept what they can and cannot change. Had Quincy known how his life would turn out after accepting the Grand Sorcerer’s contract, would he have had the strength to keep going back then? Knowing that the tribe that he had given himself away to protect would later ostracize and mark him as a dangerous existence? Impossible to say.
He collects the bones that are not as aesthetically pleasing. Looks don’t matter when they’re going to be boiled down into stew. Though they are pathetic creatures, he quietly thanks them, assuring their departing souls that nothing will go to waste. Respect has always been paramount to Quincy. ]
These will do nicely. [ it isn’t quite time to prepare stew, so he puts them aside, looking pleased with their haul for the day. ] How long will it take you to carve your flute? I would like to hear you play.
( humans are very easily tempted by that which can be incredibly dangerous to them. the thing about fate is that it is very rarely kind. sometimes, it tends that way, but in general, sorrow will find all eventually. the world is an ever-changing place, and mortals ephemeral sparks which are born, live, and die in it in what feels like the span of a breath. the others of his clan were always more empathetic to their plight. seeing the tragic ends and outcomes they believed they could change—that they should change. getian does not fault them for their decision. it is a noble one, he believes, even if it had ultimately cost them their lives. where his bitterness had grown over the centuries was how the humans responded to it (or, perhaps it would be better to say, how they failed to). when he himself had descended from his mountain and stayed in Pei City to help with their troubles, he had been cast as the villain of the plot simply because he was a strange creature they did not understand. he could have fallen into anger over such mistreatment, but… it had mostly just injured his heart. no one ever wants to have their kindness taken for granted; they would even less want for it to be spurned outright.
ultimately, things had turned out for the best, and getian had befriended enough humans and arcanists to realize the foolishness of painting them with such a broad brush. it’s probably very much for the best that he had ended up with such a conclusion. he might have been tempted to be more of a harbinger of ill tidings that humans had often thought his kind to be. )
Hmm… I am not certain. ( his head tilts to the side as he continues to study the bones, though his mismatched gaze eventually returns to quincy’s as he answers the question. ) I do not have the same tools I used in my own world. If I can either find or make some that are similar to use… a few days. A week, perhaps.
( he smiles at the idea of quincy wanting to hear him play, flattered. )
I have a different flute. If you wished to hear me play, all you need do is ask.
( and perhaps… promise not to laugh, when he sees that it’s shaped like a human dick. or perhaps not be so aroused…? (or… no, maybe that would be okay, hm.) )
Though this one will likely be much smaller, so its voice will be higher. Suitable for different music.
I have some tools at the cabin. You can look through them and see if any can be used. I trust you to treat them well.
[ How long it takes doesn't really matter. Quincy is a patient man and rarely minds waiting. Such is the way when you've lived a long life, existing outside the stream of teeming human activity and in the solace of a rarely changing forest.
But mention of a different flute has his eyebrows lifting in surprise. If Getian's had one, he's surprised he hasn't seen the bird using it before, even just in passing. He nods, intrigued by this turn of events. So he doesn't need to wait to listen to Getian play at all. It's a pleasant surprise, though he would very much still like to listen to him play with the bone flute carved with his own talons. ]
I'd like to, if you don't mind. I didn't realize you already had one.
[ Of course, Quincy is completely oblivious to why Getian may not be whipping out his dick flute... ]
( there are certain, more specialized tools he had used for finer details and more specific stages of the crafting process, but it’s likely there are some that could be useful to get him started. if there are any others he feels he might need, he can either try to make them himself or perhaps go into the resort itself to see if he can find a store that sells them. that, or something close enough to them, or perhaps a place that might take commissions for certain things… he doesn’t know. he doesn’t really have much experience shopping, so that might be just as stressful as it was novel. )
I used the same set of tools for many centuries, so your trust should be well-founded.
( he actually does play the flue relatively often, but he tends to play at odd hours—very late at night, very early in the morning, randomly in the middle of the day… and he also tends to find more isolated places in the Vale. this isn’t just out of sheepishness, though that might be part of it, given how erotic the design of the flute seems to be. even before, when living in the Timekeeper’s suitcase, he had been given feedback for playing music too loudly during nighttime hours, too close to those wishing to sleep. so he had tried to find quiet places to play where he could not disturb others. at this point, it’s more habit than anything else. that, and the fact that he’s never really needed an audience—for hundreds of years, music had been an enjoyment just for himself. the thought of others wanting to listen is almost strange after all that time.
but if quincy wished to listen, he would be willing to play. )
Mm. I typically do not keep it with me. ( for reasons quincy will understand very soon. ) Give me one moment.
( with a rustle of feathers and the heavy beating of wings, the Miemeng bird lifts off and flies towards what he would consider his “main” tree—a very tall, stately tree located close to the center of the Vale, not too far from where quincy had constructed his cabin. he has a small collection of items he keeps in a hollow several dozen feet up in the tree, far away where they might be stumbled upon.
a few minutes later, he returns, settling on the same perch he had been in previously. he eyes quincy closely; for the moment, the flute is tucked into the sash around his waist, and he has his wings folded in a way that it was hidden. )
I will play, so long as you promise not to laugh.
( he does say this with some humor in his words, but he does have that slight sheepishness as well as he pulls the flute from where it was tucked into his belt, levitating it with his telekinesis towards his face. the flute is, honestly, a remarkable construction considering it has uncanny likeness to a realistic human penis while also being a well-constructed and beautiful-sounding instrument. as it is, as it settles with the mouthpiece beneath his lips (which is, of course, stylized as the slit on the “cockhead” of the flute), he pauses for a moment, studying quincy as if daring him to crack a smile or chuckle.
or perhaps just curious to his response. who can say?
but after that, he begins to play. the flute is well-sized, so its voice is a middling alto with the ability to go somewhat lower and higher. because of this, the song he plays is a slower, more sonorous ballad—a steady stream of sound that wraps around them for a few minutes before it drifts off into silence. his feathers fluff up a bit, perhaps a little embarrassed, and he lowers the flute, commenting, ) There are other instruments I have been working on collecting, should you be interested in hearing them as well.
[ Quincy waits patiently while Getian flies off, taking care of some of the meat and carcasses while tidying up their spot beside the river. When he returns, Quincy has made himself comfortable in a spot closer to his perch, a jacket spread across his lap like a blanket and looking serene in the quiet of the forest around them.
Laugh? What a strange comment. Regardless, Quincy nods, assuming that Getian is shy to play around others. He won’t judge, certainly not, even if his playing isn’t very good. But the real meaning soon becomes clear: Quincy’s lips part when that flute comes into view, dropped in an almost perfect ‘o’ before he remembers himself and snaps his jaw off the floor.
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Quincy can’t be blamed for staring. The flute is so intricately made that one could easily mistake it for a floating penis. Especially when levitated by telekineses toward Getian’s mouth. It’s such a surprising and lurid image that, for a moment, Quincy is dumbfounded.
Rather than smile or chuckle, his expression remains relaxed… but that doesn’t mean he’s calm. Far from it. He is grateful that he had moved into a different position and drawn his coat over his lap for the sake of comfort, because his cock is hard. It’s too easy to imagine that being his penis, particularly when Getian rests his pretty lips against the tip and begins to play.
Who did this. Who gave him this erotic flute!
Quincy’s expression remains set, as if he’s only enjoying the music and not imagining Getian sucking his dick. He is skillful and the music sweet to the ear, gently drifting on the vale’s breeze. It would be relaxing if not for how his cock’s stiffened; Quincy shifts slightly to hide the shape, unwilling to disturb Getian with these lustful thoughts. Though, when the bird mention his collection, he can’t help but to wonder if those instruments are … similarly lewd … is it just a personal preference for him? ]
I would. You’re very skilled. [ finally, Quincy smiles, a gentle curve of lips. ] Your music is beautiful. I like it very much.
[ Had Getian ever indicated precisely where he roosted? Perhaps not. But Kiritsubo had memorized his scent that one Gala night, and it had been little trouble at all for the nose of a tanuki to sniff out where that scent was strongest in the Vale.
Hung upon one of the branches is a slim slip of parchment onto which a purple hydrangea has been painted in faint watercolors. Atop it, a poem written in a slim, elegant hand.
Throughout endless nights The boundless days of our sins Continue ever onward And yet beside me The gentle flutter of wings
( no, though that's not out of the ordinary. though quincy had insisted on helping construct a nest for him (which he still finds very forward??), getian has a handful of different roosts he prefers in the Vale, depending on the time of day, the weather, or the whims of his own mood.
it probably is the tree hosting that nest that is strongest in his scent, just by the nature of the nest being there. it's not immediately that getian finds the note left behind for him, but a few days later, he sends a reply: )
Miss Kiritsubo, I realized I was remiss in asking where I might be able to find you should the need arise I have received your gift If I wished to leave you something in return, where should I do so?
( lacking any mundane or arcane ways to track someone down, he has to ask. )
I had hoped to hear word from you, Getian... Though some say we should avoid such mortal attachments to the material... I was getting just a little bit worried that my gift had been lost to the wind~
[ The Vale had... something to pass for wind, though it was likely something more akin to ventilation. ]
When I sought you out, I discovered that our trees are not so very far apart. From that perch I left my gift, facing outward towards the stream... you will see a tall conifer with a broken tip slightly southeast.
Anything you leave on the middling branch by the hole in the trunk, I will find.
[ And there is such a tree. And in the trunk near the middle branch, not evidence of a bird-person roosting, not feathers or claw marks in the bark... But there is a hole approximately one foot in diameter that leads into the half-hollow trunk, the bottom of which is stuffed with leaves, scraps of fabric, and hints of pale white hair. ]
I apologize for any tardiness in my reply. I tend to move around throughout the Vale, so I am unsure how long your gift had been waiting there
( there is a pause after her other messages. one could perhaps see within their mind's eye the Miemeng bird triangulating just which tree and which hollow she is indicating through her directions.
he finds it, inspects it... and he is certainly curious as to how she stays in this tree. he knows her to be a shape-shifter, however. it must be another of her forms. )
Yes, I have found it I will leave you something in return in the next few days, if you might keep an eye out
( and, as he promised, a few pieces of paper can be found fastened to that tree branch with a length of twine a few days later.
the first is a smaller piece of paper; upon it are the symbols of a poem in response, carefully scratched onto its surface with a quill pen. the ink is red-purple; something that getian himself has made from berries and other materials found in the Vale.
A long winter's dearth Sows silence, stillness Broken by tentative, fledgling warmth And the sound of wings Heralding the songs of spring
in addition to this note is a slightly larger piece of paper. thicker, heavier, it sports a single symbol written onto it in midnight ink. yes, getian had probably had to leave the Vale to find such paper and ink, but the calligraphy is the ancient Chinese character for Truth.)
No need to apologize. It was I who gambled upon where your scent was thickest.
I will await your answer with anticipation.
[And after that message... there is nothing else. why send texts, when there are far more meaningful or interesting ways to communicate?
One night, clawing its way easily up the bark of the tree, a pale tanuki's nose perks up at the scent of berries. Interest piqued, it continues up the trunk until it pulls itself up onto the branch with the entrance to the hollow, nuzzling up against the paper a moment to check-- Mmm, yes. Berries and miemeng bird. Sharp teeth nip the twine, pulling the gift from the branch... and then it vanishes into the cozy hollow of the tree with its spoils, where it can curl up and appreciate them properly. ]
[ The next time Getian returns to that nest, whenever it may be... There is another parchment, painted this time not with a reference to a mostly-forgotten language of flowers, but with a more seasonal bloom: nanten berries, round and red. In the same ink, the same hand as before...
A warmth birthed in snow Longs for spring ever hopeful Should the sound of wings grow faint Replaced by another Would that spring still gladly come? ]
( these berries he actually recognizes, though the cultural context that they understand them by might be slightly different.
still, a ward against misfortune is something to be appreciated, if not only in its intent.
his reply arrives a day or two later, similarly written in homemade reddish ink by a feather quill. when writing such correspondence, this appears to be his preference.
From the earliest era Spring has both sang and slept Content in its tides A cycle unending What, then, is another?)
[ A rhythm begins to form. Every few days, the same ink, the same "hands"...
No matter the form Of parishioners wishes The plum blossoms on the branch What fool then am I, To think it might not be so
Strangly?, there the "f" in "Of" looks almost like an "r", just enough so that someone could misread it and then be confused over whether the writer had poor writing skills or they themselves were struggling. Or, you know, the equivalent of that for kanji characters. ]
( it is especially strange, given that getian's arcane skill allows him to understand any spoken language (even though the Golden Peacock itself manages a similar effect). this is only for spoken language, though; he had had to teach himself written language and calligraphy on his own.
even when one misspeaks, his arcane skill usually allows him to get a sense of their meaning. so this small mistake, intentional or not, is interesting to him because it gives him a somewhat novel experience: puzzling over what might have been one's intent with words.
there is something in her poem that has him falling into reminisce. he would tell anyone who asked that he left his mountain because he must, as he had needed to heed the call of the former bone collector. that is only half the truth. getian has two treasures that the House has taken from him: his bone wand, crafted from one of the wing-bones of that fallen kinsman, and a jade talisman. the jade talisman was left in the hollow of his tree by a young scholar; the second of two, father and son, that he had come to pray to the gods before his tree. he had read their fate as they prayed, and he knew that they had succumbed to the same dreadful end. the path of those both revolutionary and idealistic is a fraught one, indeed.
but what if he had stirred from his roost and reached out to help them? could he have saved one, or both, of their lives? he kept that talisman, mended by his own hand, to remind himself of the weight both his actions and inaction bore.
his next message:
Two generations of scholars Climb a mountain to entreat the gods By either distance or intent They descend unheard, unheeded For fate's arrow to find their backs.
he seems to have penned this one more carefully than the others, feeling it necessary when presenting to her what was more a piece of himself than a piece of exploratory art. )
[ Some poems are beautiful simply because they capture a moment in time, a perfect encapsulation of a season. Some are beautiful because of the feeling, a poignant window into emotions like love and loss. But some...
Some are beautiful because they offer a window into knowing.
A penitents prayer Without the ear of a god A leaf lost upon the wind Do the gods not hear? Or are words the ones that fail?
She wonders if there is an answer. If a poem can even truly tell the tale she is growing interested to hear. ]
( it is an answer he has pondered often. the fading influence of the Gods of Shètí in his own era had led to much strife and doubt. the events of that one fateful Dùshuò Festival in Pei City will always stand out strongly in his memories, just as he are sure they had left noticeable markings upon his bones.
The bridge lies broken Nonetheless, wishes are made Written onto scraps of wood As lanterns float down the river
Who can fault the meek and humble Whose voices fall short of Heaven? Perhaps they simply need someone brave enough to risk a leap.
though, if he leads kiritsubo to think such a person would be himself... that would be a mistaken on his part.
young jiu niangzi... it had been some irony that the very source of Pei City's troubles would also lift the pall that had fallen over it. she had wanted to be the xiangrui her mother had been; it was this same desire which had led to both. she had leapt the ravine to deliver the wishes of all the townspeople -- even those that she herself had cursed -- to the Gods, and those wishes had supposedly been answered. it fills his heart with bittersweet nostalgia to recall those friends that he had made. he wonders if he will ever see them again. )
[ Someone could easily read the poem that way. They need someone brave like me. Perhaps even Kiritsubo would have been tempted to interpret it that way, if she had not「seen」Getian for herself already.
Instead...
A chick with eyes closed Bound to comforts of the nest What sort of valiant leap Inspires such a thing To find courage and take flight?
Eventually, the tale will likely require a true conversation, and not the veil of poetry... But it is the poem on the branch nonetheless, for that choice is not one that belongs to anyone but the teller. ]
( yes, it's true. he would like to share these stories in full with her one day; that of how his kin had slowly departed their mountain to enter the world of men, of the scholar and his son, and of the odd sequence of events that had led to him departing after remaining alone for so long.
all of these, yes, and that of rain that fell upward from the ground and into the sky -- that which caused the world to fall into a chaos of inexplicable absurdity until the entire era itself was washed away. he'd found it curious, that she had found the mark of the "Storm" on him. apparently, it affected him more deeply than he believed.
but for those on the Timekeeper's team, it had affected all of them. he was not the only refugee of a long-forgotten era.
Eventually, the bough must break Beneath the weight of inevitable duty More a solemn finality than a burden The nest fell And winds of change carried the chick beyond where eyes could see.)
[ There is a moment, nestled in the trunk of the tree, in a nest of old leaves and fur and pine needles neatly arranged to her comfort in a way no one who knew Kiritsubo would ever imagine for her bed...
She considers responding the next day with another poem. She enjoys poetry, after all, and it has been some time since she felt she had met a potential equal in the art. But... the bough must break. And the story was neatly wrapped up there.
So the next message, when it comes, is the more simpler, but still prettily written,
Do tell the windblown chick to come back and tell stories of his journeys. They sound quite interesting ♡ ]
This wind-tousled chick finds that he has nothing but time, these days.
Be it by written missive or a message through our devices, simply let me know when would be convenient for you, Miss Kiritsubo. I would be happy to host you in the Vale. We could enjoy an evening of fruit, music, and stories.)
[ Ah, time, indeed. To have such a wealth of it would be a burden for some, but... to the long-lived, it was simply another day, month, year, decade...
And for the next few days, she plans to spend most of her time in the trappings of the hot springs inn the resort has seen fit to grace them with, quite nostalgic... but after,
I would enjoy that greatly, Getian. Look for me in four days time, and you will catch me in your sights ♡]
( he has a wealth of time, but he is aware he is no longer in possession of an endless profusion of it. having departed from his mountain, he is… technically mortal, though he has no idea how long this life of his might last. a concerning thought, but one he has decided not to let trouble him more than the occasional passing thought.
getian will also spend some time at the ryokan, even if it holds no particular nostalgic or sentimental value for him. its interior is actually even more challenging for him to navigate than the rest of the resort, but the outdoor hot springs at least have some nice trees to roost in as he enjoys the steam rising from the water. it’s a shame that entirely submerging his feathers would probably not go very well for him.
he does, however, tend to leave and return to the Vale to sleep, finding the accommodations of the Golden Peacock not particularly comfortable for a bird like himself. when kiritsubo visits, four days later, she will approach the Miemeng bird’s tree to the sweet melody of flute music, wandering wistfully through the tall trees. )
[ Many people considered Kiritsubo to be a secretive woman. In some ways, that was a correct observation, and in others... it was not. She did not care to tell people most things about herself, and she did not care to keep most things about herself private. For those who she felt just a little more like her "old self" around...
The woman Getian knew as Kiritsubo does not call out to him from the trunk of the tree, nor fly in from the tree she had specified as her own "roost". Instead... a small animal seems to be making its way up the trunk of the Miemeng bird's tree, a pale, fluffy figure using claws to expertly dig in to the slim cracks between bark and haul itself up in a methodical trundle upwards. And when it reaches the nest branch...
It hauls itself up atop it, so that it might come to sit nearby and watch, pitch black eyes glistening like onyx as it seems to listen enraptured, fluffy tail occasionally curling in what could pass as an accompanying rhythm to the poignant melody. ]
( getian continues to play, self-assured that when kiritsubo stopped by, she would let him know. she was not the type to stand about, passive and demure, awaiting notice and guidance. he is focused enough on the song the plays that he doesn’t hear or otherwise take note of the small, fuzzy creature scaling his tree until she has fully pulled herself up onto the branch he’s perching on. at that point, he does take note, his gaze tugged toward his new guest as he plays a few more bars of melody before allowing it to drift away. getian half-lifts a wing, allowing the bone flute to, as if on its own accord, tuck itself into the sash he wears around his waist.
he has seen foxes and raccoon dogs before, but a Japanese tanuki is different. this is the first time he has seen such a creature. he needn’t even check her bones with his arcane skill—he feels entirely assured of his assumption just by the way she holds herself. )
Miss Kiritsubo. It is an honor to host you here, in my home. ( he lifts his wings in front of him, bent at the “wrists,” and dips his head and shoulders in a gracious bow.
when he straightens up out of it, he continues with a small, gentle smile. ) And in such a charming form, no less. May I offer you some fruit, which I gathered in the Vale and Gardens myself today?
[ The eyes of the white tanuki, not albino, simply white, rest gently captivated on the miemeng bird, drifting closed for the last few bars of melody with ears cocked taut and forward, listening to and admiring the sound of the flute. It is not quite the same as the sort they had grown up hearing, not like the metal ones they had encountered in the West once they boarded the shops and crossed the sea...
After a few beats of silence, the soft sound of a flute sheathed in sash, the ruffle of feathers, the sound of her name... Kiritsubo opens her eyes with a "smile", baring white teeth and black gums. ]
Master Getian, you play most beautifully. You gave me such a lovely distraction on my climb, such a reward upon the branch...
[ Rather than the lyrical, sultry tone of the form he had made her acquaintance in, the voice is crackling with a slight wrongness, a beast's vocal chords being shifted just enough to respond to the demand to produce human sounds with a canidae throat and a canidae tongue. ]
And a compliment, too... I would love fruit, thank you.
[ And perhaps she would choose hands to take them, to eat them, for a tanuki's snout and paws might make a bit too much mess on a tree branch instead of their more natural dining rooms of forest floors and dirt dens... But for now she is a tanuki, using pale white paws to patter briefly at the bark in front of her to humbly request her snack. ]
( he seems a little surprised, as well as a little delighted, at her ability to speak. this is not something he’s never experienced before. most arcanists are human, yes, but there are occasionally animals who are gifted with arcanum at birth. some, but not all, of them can learn human speech. this, however, feels less a quirk of arcanum and more another quality and aspect of her own mastery over her own physical form. he wonders what it must be like, to change or augment one’s physicality with the ease by which one would try on different clothing; there are arcanists with skills such as this, but it has never been a part of getian’s own repertoire. )
You are too kind.
( he feels as though it is the least he can do, given the climb that she had had to undertake. )
Next time I would be more than happy to give you a lift, if you wished.
( perhaps it was a silly thing to offer, since he’s sure she would be able to craft a form to fly up here herself if she wished. but she might enjoy being carried…? who’s to say.
getian nods, and with a ruffle of feathers and a seemingly-unrelated flicker of movement, a small cloth bundle descends from a higher branch seemingly of its own accord. the Miemeng bird manipulates it cautiously with his telekinetic arcane skill, settling it down on the widest part of the branch between them and allowing the bundle to fall open, revealing a wide variety of fruit to choose from. apples, pears, several types of berries, and some getian might not have been able to name but thought looked delicious besides. )
It is fortunate that there are such a wide variety of fruits, nuts, and grains to be found in the Vale and the other gardens. Otherwise, I may have had to go into the rest of the resort more often for food.
( which would have ended up very strangely, indeed. he does not have much experience shopping in convenience stores or ordering in restaurants. )
[ It is a bit difficult to tell expression on an animal’s face, but this one at least seems used to adapting to more humanoid standards of emoting. The “smile”, for example, would be aggressive amongst fellow beasts but was a toothy, black-gum substitute for a soft curve of lips. ]
A lift, how fun~
[ Just because they could climb on four or two legs, or simply shapeshift into a form with wings… They were still curious as to whether he would do that with his talons or his telekineses. The same ability that brings them their meal, which in fact… turns out to be one they do not need hands as hastily for after all. Fruit and berries were a natural part of a tanuki’s diet, and this one…
Mindfully reaches out to grab a pear with its teeth, pulling it back off the pile to set between front paws. Claws grip the fruit to keep it in place… and those same teeth chew a bit off, the juice leaking slightly into white fur. But despite the shamelessly wild method of dining, bestial by necessity… this was still a civilized meal, that was somehow still the air projected, the question that followed being perfectly in line with what one would ask in a dinner party. ]
Do you avoid the other wings of the resort for practicality, dislike, or both?
( getian, also adrift in the uncharted sea which existed between beast and man, understands the translated gesture well enough. this is a process he understands well from his own people, having had their own quirks, culture, and methods of communication before their affinity for humans and their own had slowly merged the two into one.
he has to imagine kiritsubo has experienced something similar, navigating the human world from the origin point of her true nature. he has to ask her more about that, some time.
it would truthfully be a tall order for him to lift her so many feet up into the tree with his telekinesis, even in the smaller form she uses now. it’s not a particularly strong skill, perhaps because his people did not possess it innately. instead, they had purposefully developed it for themselves, desiring a way that would allow them to interface with humans, their world, and their creations despite the limitations of their physical bodies. it allows him to hold a paintbrush, play instruments, pour tea, and follow through with the tradition of shaking one’s hand using the intermediary of his bone wand… but anything beyond that would be a struggle.
leaving the branch to gently pick her up in his claws, however, would be very little effort at all.
as kiritsubo claims a pear, getian instead floats a small cluster of berries towards himself. he brings the “wrists” of his wings together in front of him, resting the fruit just atop them. carefully, he lifts them to his lips so he can eat the berries one at a time. when it comes to getian, the phrase, “eating like a bird,” applies rather literally and figuratively for him, given his limited appetite. still, he is very happy that kiritsubo seems to be enjoying one of the pears that he procured; after all, that is why he had gathered such a variety.
it’s a good question. he hums, thoughtful, lowering his wings with some of the berries still sitting atop them. )
It is for many reasons… ( he admits after a long moment. )
I dislike the feeling of being within closed confines for too long. Even here… I know this is only the contrived facsimile of nature, but it is enough to abate this apprehension. There are a great many people in that close space, and regardless of whether I walk or fly, I always draw attention. There are some that follow after me, no matter where I go. And the lights, the noise… this overflowing font of decadence… ( he seems to wilt at the thought of it, ) even with all the time I’ve spent here, it is still overwhelming.
( frightening, even. )
I do not make this decision to live in seclusion again. I meet with others when convenient for us both, and I heed the beck and call of the masters of this place, when they have some new trial or game to impose. But most of the time I have to myself… I spend here, where it feels most aptly designed for a bird such as myself.
( he pauses, taking the time to eat another of the berries before asking his own question. ) Did you ever have such difficulties…? Adapting to the human world.
[ As Getian mulls over the answer, as he delicately serves himself a "handful" of berries, Kiritsubo is making work of the pear, sharp teeth cutting easily through the juicy flesh of the fruit and able to neatly tear it out in chunks that can be gnawed back and swallowed. A bit messy, no helping that, but... It was the Vale. There were plenty of places to wash her paws off afterwards if she so desired.
While she eats, though, she is listening. What Getian describes... it is something she knows of, something she has heard accounts of and observed... but when it came to her own experiences... ]
It would be a disservice to you for me to claim near the amount of difficulties you encounter.
[ For a moment, she stops eating, and her abyssal black gaze wanders over the branches and down below, where in the distance guests of the Golden Peacock wander the set paths through the false forest garden. ]
I observed humans from places hidden... from ferns and tree and burrow and around wood piles... long before I ever tried walking amongst them.
[ How old had she been, then, when the simpler mind of a beast had grown into that of a spirit she was meant to be? Twenty? Sixty? No, perhaps over a hundred... ? ]
I learned how to mimic their voices, first... their sounds, their words... and then their forms... and I am, shall we say, particularly gifted, even for a tanuki.
[ Shapeshifting had come easily to her once she began it, and once she mastered it... She put kitsune to shame. ]
I suppose in my youth there was an occasional mistake... a tail gone rogue, a face not quite right, a stumble with some custom I was not yet aware of... But I have walked among them now for so long that I barely recall it now... and back then, we spirits were treated with a good deal more fear and reverence than we are now. I could get by.
[ The half-bestial sound produced by a racoon dog with modified vocal chords were, apparently... capable of some degree of sounding wistful. ]
These days... the spirit world has been kept staid for so long, as if our glory days are behind us and those ruling cling to power and structure no longer fitting with circumstance... The humans, with their little flame lives... they have been more interesting to me, of late.
[ Wiping her muzzle, she eases into a sit, staring off at the distant figures... and then back to Getian. ]
They can be overwhelming, perhaps... But I sometimes feel as if I have seen so much that I require their chaos and noise just to notice.
[ She didn't usually admit to such things. But she was no liar. ]
( even if the small, white-furred tanuki tearing into the flesh of the pear with her teeth and claws is a little messier than getian picking at his bunch of berries one at a time, he doesn’t bat an eye. the Miemeng bird doesn’t personally invest in a strict sense of propriety as many humans might. he is, after all, still an arcane creature—neither of them grew up within human civilization, only adapting themselves to live within it later in their lives. and, from what she describes to him, she has been doing this much longer than he has… which isn’t very hard to do, considering he’d only left his mountain within the last year or two.
the path that she describes is a fascinating one. his own people have always existed adjacent to humanity, occasionally influenced by the tremors that went through their world (such as when his people traveled from the borderlands to settle on their mountain in the Central Plains, fleeing from war and destruction), though for the most part they had remained a world apart. by the same token, however, it seems that their hearts were destined to yearn to join that world which would inevitably see them perish. getian yanping, first of his kin to be born on the Central Plains, had also been the last to leave. in that, he had been a straggler among his kind; contrary to this, it seems like kiritsubo was more of a trailblazer among her own. did all tanuki possess such abilities, or was she unique and exemplary in her skill? he has heard of fox spirits and the like taking the form of human beings, but the story she tells him does not fit to any of these stories or myths he can recall from his own era. )
Changing one’s form is an arcane skill that many arcanists learn, to varying skill… Your own ability surpasses any that I have seen, because it could even trick my own arcane skill, which usually allows me to discern illusions or transfigurations.
( “the spirit world”… it’s so interesting to think of these two things as separate. humans and arcanists have always lived together, even among arcane creatures such as himself. that the Miemeng birds had decided to live apart from humanity had been a privilege of their own powers and abilities. most other arcanists do not have that choice. they must live in a world that is predominantly ruled by humans; often, depending on the place and the era, they had faced great discrimination and hardship.
he is quiet for a long moment, processing, before he nods. )
I wonder if the other Miemeng birds who went before me felt similarly to you. Our temple, our mountain… they were safe, but they were also static. What I felt as peaceful might have been unbearably stagnant to others…
( he trails off, a faint melancholy entering his tone. he hesitates. he can sense such earnestness from kiritsubo that it encourages him to do the same, even though he is wary, given that the truth he could share might not be the most flattering. )
…For a very long time, a part of me resented them. ( he lowers his wings, gaze sweeping out over the landscape of the Vale around them. ) As wonderful as their inventions are, as beautiful as their art, as entrancing as their music… these humans were still the same creatures who found ways to extort my people for their compassion, leaving their memory behind to be consumed by the sands of time or, worse, condemning them as yao, even as they gave up their immortal lives in the simple desire to become a part of their world or even a brief time. I… could not understand why they did not see as I did. Surely they, too, could read the tragedy in the bones we brought back…?
( he shakes his head, finally looking back to kiritsubo. ) I didn’t understand until I was among them myself. Impetuous, impatient, avaricious, self-absorbed… yes, I have met many humans that can be described this way. But they are also brave, self-sacrificing, and so, so kind.
In the end, it felt fitting that I ended up too bound to their world to return to mine. It was like… being given a chance, to move on and grow from my own past foolishness.
Well, I am an exceptionally gifted individual. Or so it was once said.
[ Kiritsubo provides that context as she polishes off the pear with a last bite, pink tongue lapping over black gums and white maw to clean herself from the juice. The clarification that what she did was not illusion or magical transformation but more based in spiritual biology, perhaps the reason she was able to fool his own skills... There was no need for such specifics here. A woman had to retain some certain mysteries.
And help herself to a little more fruit. A damp paw reaches back into the pile to sort through and find something, rolling out a bundle of berries, colorful juice be damned. And she listens, because though their worlds are different in some ways, though the non-human races were somewhat different... The situation was much the same. How strange was that, that even across actually different worlds there would be so many coincidental threads. So many anchors. ]
They are easy to look down upon. To even hate.
[ Or to resent. Many spirits Kiritsubo knew had tales with humans tainted with such emotion. Miwa had been a child imprisoned in a tiny shrine hut to be "sealed" away for his powers, Murakumo had been hunted, the Kaze siblings abused by callous owners, Konnosuke betrayed by a human lover... There were plenty of reasons from spirits, just as there were plenty from the more short-lived mortals. Though Kiritsubo herself had always possessed the sight that made judging one side over the other a near impossibility, she could understand the motivations in others. ]
But you are right. Though they are fearful and greedy and hateful, they are also fierce and giving and loving. Because they live so little time, they compact all the emotions and desires of a spirit's life into a scant few decades... and so sometimes, it seems as if they are capable of feeling and doing somehow "more"...
[ And was that not fascinating, in it's way? She agrees with him, looking back up at him with her dark, dark eyes, cool and unblinking like a beast in a way that anyone would dismiss if they did not know she was there, that she could speak. ]
It is the dynamism that is capable of shaking us from our respective slumbers.
[ Breaking the skin of the berry with her claw, she lifts it to her muzzle to lick. ]
Now that you are awake... The question simply becomes "what will you do"?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action | for quincy | camping tdm
the Vale tended to be a vast space frequented by relatively few people—that had been the primary reason getian had chosen to live out here rather than in the room that had been prepared for him, along with its fabricated facade of the outdoors (including actual trees for him to sleep in, like a proper bird!). he is fairly certain it was one of the reasons quincy had settled out here as well, though that simple fact had been turned on its head in these last few days. camping, hunting, fishing, sewing, climbing, swimming… getian did not really participate in many of these activities, but he did enjoy watching the other guests do so, to widely varying degrees of skill, success, and aplomb. his favorite moments of the past few days had been after the artificial sun had set, and the “campers” had roasted food and sweets around the campfire and sang songs. he’d never heard any of them, though he was fast to learning them, delighted in the aloof sort of way he tends to develop when observing others from afar (as had been his wont for hundreds of years).
the liveliness of everyone living out here in this false wilderness has brought to mind what getian had thought of the Timekeeper’s suitcase, the first time he had been introduced to the space. an arcane item, individuals could enter to find a vast plane within—a similar sort of false wilderness to this one, and one that hosted several buildings and complexes for the arcanists within to live, cook, learn, practice, and socialize. that last one had been an adjustment for him, at the time. it was not particularly common for his people to visit one another unannounced, even when there had been a decent number of Miemeng birds on his mountain. now, he is happy for it, though. it has prepared him for this.
early one morning, when leaving his cabin, quincy would find that the Miemeng bird himself had decided to pay an unannounced visit. the sound of feathers rustling comes from above him, where getian perches carefully above the eaves. or perhaps the man had been up early and had heard him settle there, eliciting him to come out in the first place… either way, he greets him with a genial, ) Good morning, Quincy. ( there’s a gentle smile on his face—one that seems to indicate that they both share a secret. ) Truly, I was not expecting us to gain so many neighbors so quickly.
( there goes the neighborhood, as they say… )
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He steps outside at the familiar sound of fluttering feathers. Unlike the rest of the guests stomping around the vale and making a mess, Getian is a welcome guest. A kindred spirit that had taken up a home in the forest because it had felt right… and because, like Quincy, the suites aren’t suitable for a Miemeng bird’s size. Not at the ranks they had been assigned, anyway. ]
Good morning. [ he sighs, casting a glance in the direction of those “new neighbors,” ] Me neither. I don’t expect they’ll stay long.
[ Then, he returns the smile with one of his own. A small thing, as gestures with Quincy often are, but genuine. Stepping into his front yard, he nods down toward something fabric folded in his arms. Quincy had brought it outside with him at the sound of feathers and Getian’s voice.
The bolts of fabric had been the greatest plus of the unwelcome new neighbors. ]
I made something for you. You don’t have to wear it… you can do whatever you want with it.
[ He shakes it out to reveal a carefully tailored cloak. Double layered and handsome, with the inside a green gingham and the outside a deep forest, soft fabric treated to repel rain. It includes a hood and simple collar with a green gemstone clasp, something he had rummaged through the “craft” supplies at the campsite to find. It had taken hours of patience to construct, giving it proper shape and handsome edges. Thankfully, patience is something Quincy has in spades.
He steps forward to offer the cloak to Getian. ]
… they’re letting so much go to waste over there. It should be put to use.
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( that’s just the nature of most of these humans. far more so than the mortals that getian had been familiar with in his own era, they are addicted to the conveniences, comforts, and luxury of their own technological advancements. of course, he can’t say that he wouldn’t be convinced to stay within his own suite, were he a human being and not a Miemeng bird. for him, it’s less that the rooms were cramped (though this is partially the case) and more that the way they were furnished and equipped was simply not conducive to what a bird needed out of their domicile. he probably could sleep on one of those beds they prefer, but it would be very strange. and he’s still wrapping his head around all of the contraptions they keep inside those “bathrooms” of theirs…
ah, but so much of that is just a natural sort of culture shock. or… species shock? no, it’s best that he stays out here, wrapped in the comforts of relative peace and distance—even if those comforts are strongly impinged upon, what with this new camping initiative the House has forced on the rest of the guests.
getian’s head cants slightly to one side as quincy steps forward into the yard before turning to face him; his mismatched gaze falls on the bundle of cloth in his arms, lightly curious. he would not have guessed such a thing was intended to be a gift until the man says as much. there’s a subtle shift to the Miemeng bird’s expression—one in which his eyes widen ever-so-slightly and his jaw goes slack, though not fully to the point of his lips parting. he blinks, seemingly surprised by the gesture.
from his perch on the eaves of the cabin, getian rouses and leans forward. he doesn’t, of course, reach for the gift with his talons; it’d be far too easy to cut through the fabric unintentionally. instead, it’s as though an invisible force gently lifts the cloak out of quincy’s hands, raising it through the air so he can inspect it more closely. he’d seen mortals wear similar such cloaks in his own time, albeit in slightly different make and material. still, it looks soundly-made, soft, and warm. the hood is an additional benefit. like the rest of his things, the length of kudzu cloth that getian typically wore over his head and shoulders to keep unwanted attention from his face had been taken and not returned. he tends to wear whatever he can find as substitute, and everything he’s found to do so pales in comparison to this.
his mind goes blank for a long moment, unable to find the right words to express his gratitude. when he finally does speak, his tongue feels slightly thick as he does so, ) You… did not need to do this.
( and yet, he had. he carefully drapes the cloak over where he holds his wings in front of him; held between them, almost like how one might hold something between thick mittens, he lifts it so he can rub the fabric against his cheek. it is soft.
he blushes as he continues. ) It is beautiful. And I know I will be grateful for it, given how the temperature has been dropping of late. ( in a ripple of movement, getian manipulates the cloak once more, using the arcane skill of mild telekinesis to throw it around his shoulders and over his head. he likes how closely the deep green color matches his plumage.
he dips his head and shoulders in a gracious bow. ) Thank you, Quincy. This is— ( his tongue is moving thickly again; he seems to have trouble putting his own gratitude into words that feel accurate enough, “good” enough, ) very considerate.
( he decides he will have to make him something in return. usually, that would be difficult—getian’s preferred medium is bones, of which there was precious little in this place, given this false wilderness wasn’t exactly a full ecosystem. usually, anyway. there are more animals running through the Vale than just their new neighbors, all to encourage them to hunt and fish. getian resolves to spend as much time as he can, gathering bones from any that have fallen. surely some would be good enough material for carving… )
You are very skilled with a needle and thread, ( he observes. )
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Choosing what to make had been easy. As an avian yokai, Getian would have no need for something like boots or trousers. A cloak with a hood had felt suitable; looking at the bird wearing it now, Quincy feels quite satisfied with that decision. It can be worn open or closed, hood up or down, or bunched at the neck to offer some resistance to chill with a scarf-like cowl. ]
You’re welcome.
[ Thanks aren’t necessary, but he knows that an unexpected gift can be difficult to accept, so he Quincy nods his head at Getian’s gratitude. A gift in return is even less necessary, so Quincy doesn’t consider the possibility that Getian may be tossing the idea around in his mind. There had been a surplus of fabric that all these interlopers were letting go to waste. As a man that respects nature, leaving them all to sit there had rubbed him the wrong way.
He tilts his head, observing how the cloak falls around Getian’s feathers. The sizing had been a guess, though having coupled with Getian before had given him a better idea of how to cut the fabric than if he was judging off of looks alone. A fact that he keeps to himself, because it might be a bit awkward for Getian to learn that Quincy distinctly remembers the press and mold of his body from when they mated. ]
We make our own clothing in my tribe, so I learned how to sew from a young age. It wasn’t like it is here, where anything can be purchased in a store. Supplies are valuable to us.
[ That said, he doesn’t have a habit of making clothing every day. A few articles will do, as well as a sturdy pair of boots. He has never gone out of his way to make an entire wardrobe before. After this, he won’t make anything else unless necessary. Excepting Topper appearing and needing several stylish little outfits.
There is a pause before Quincy adds: ]
Green is handsome on you.
[ Getian is a charming yokai with pretty plumage and a lovely countenance. The sight of him wearing something that Quincy had made with his own hands makes the guardian a bit restless, heart itching with fledging emotion. He is attracted to the Meiming bird, but unwilling to put any kind of pressure on him—so that’s all Quincy says, offering a compliment while gazing at him respectfully. ]
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still, his expertise was narrow and deep rather than broad and shallow. he could make his own clothing, certainly, but it would not be nearly so fine or ornamented. there’s something he enjoys about that, though; it’s the same sensibility he has which makes all of the manufactured clothing that “modern” humans wear seem soulless and without character. there is something charming in the uniqueness of imperfection. there is an implication of love in dedicating one’s time and attention to making something for someone else.
…is that what this is? “love” might be a rather intense word for it, but there’s certainly a level of consideration and care that goes into a gift like this, especially hand-made. even if explanations were given as to quincy not having wanted to see the materials go to waste , and he figured that getian would be more appreciative of something hand-made to weather the simulated rain and cold… he had still decided to make it for him and not, say, something for himself. )
It was the same for my people. Though mortals sometimes brought gifts to our mountain in tribute, everything else we had to make for ourselves. We did learn those techniques by watching and studying the creations of men, however.
( getian has always been rather upfront about the fact that his people had mostly just mimicked the arts and innovations of others. they did not really create for themselves—or, at least, that’s how he saw it.
his lips curve in a gentle smile at the compliment; he is still not so adept at accepting them, but he has improved, it seems. in a rustle of feathers and several heavy beats of his wings, getian leaves his perch on the eaves of the cabin and instead alights carefully down on the ground near quincy. standing up perfectly tall is not particularly comfortable him; with his knees and shoulders bent as they are as he settles there, wings only half-folded at his sides, he’s probably similar to quincy’s own height or perhaps a little shorter. )
I have noticed the Vale is more alive with game now than it is usually. ( he tilts his head. ) I do not typically hunt meat. But this could be a unique opportunity. I was thinking of searching for any bones left behind that may be suitable enough to carve. …Would you be interested in going with me?
( if he ends up finding something exceptional enough, he plans on surprising quincy with something at a later date.
otherwise… getian is rather desperate to find a bone suitable enough to carve into a wand. the one he has carved from a branch of the tallest tree in the Vale is functional, but it does not give him the fine control that he is used to with his own wand. )
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[ Getian floats down from the eaves to meet him and Quincy steps forward, familiarly fixing the broach claps of the cloak around the bird’s neck. It had been fastened fine; that gentle touch is simply an excuse for contact, fiddling with something that did not need fiddling. Knuckles gently rub against Getian’s chin and jaw as Quincy smooths the hood, making sure that it’s warmly gathered. ]
I can use the meat. I’ll dry it into jerky for the winter.
[ Though he’s yet to spend a winter here, in his time, his understanding of the resort is that they tend to mimic seasonal changes in the vale. It would be a surprise if they did not end up seeing snow. ]
I can save you any bones left over.
[ He has uses for bone as well too, but less here in the resort. Maybe a bone broth, but currently, he doesn’t have much in the way of cooking materials. All things to think of later, so it’s no problem to share now. Maybe he can even skin whatever animals they hunt and make Getian a pair of earmuffs or a hat.
Normally he would be sewing outfits and making treats for his little friend, but since the stoat isn’t here… Getian is getting extra spoiled. If Topper knew, he would undoubtedly be jealous.
He retrieves some traps from storage, packing them in a bag before nodding toward Getian and heading into the thicket. Quincy has always been skilled with laying traps and hunting, having lived off the land for his entire life in harmony with the forest. As they walk and scout out areas for Quincy to leave traps, he asks, ]
What do you carve from bones?
[ Asked both out of interest and judging the size of the prey they’ll need to hunt for Getian’s projects. He’s heard rumors of a pesky breed running around during the mornings, though the name has been unfamiliar, so he isn’t sure how large they might be. ]
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and then he chooses to move; feathers and muscles move in smooth tandem as he stands up straighter, wings flaring out on either side. when he takes to the air, he does so in just a way so that the very tips of his flight feathers and tailfeathers brush past quincy—the bird’s own version of a passing, meaningful touch.
he circles slowly and lazily overhead as quincy gathers his traps, following at the given pace (though sometimes having to circle around through the trees and double back around to remain close by, given the difference in a walking pace versus a flying one). he thinks about how he hasn’t really thought much of preparing for the winter. he would have done so at home, but… being dislodged from the routine mundanity of his long life had similarly thrown him off of such instincts and rhythms. hm… he will have to make sure he has enough grain, berries, and other foodstuffs saved—though if quincy ends up making jerky, he would like to try some of it as well. )
Please do so. Whichever I do not or cannot use, I will return to you.
( he knows humans have their own uses for bones, such as in stock—though some humans also craft them into jewelry and other decorations. )
I would most like to carve a wand to serve as a replacement for the one that was taken from me. And perhaps a flute as well.
( a poor replacement, given that it would have none of the emotional attachment getian had had to that particular wand. but control and mastery over his arcane skills will be far easier with a wand made of bone rather than the temporary one made of wood that he currently uses.
as for the flute, he would love to be able to play one that isn’t quite so phallic. not that he thinks he will abandon the instrument the House gave him. its sound is rather lovely… )
Though I will likely carve other things, depending on where my whims take me. Do you have any requests?
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He keeps his attention on the ground. This trail is well used, but bushes along its edge are disturbed in a way that speaks to creatures passing through. Broken leaves, scattered dirt. The biggest sign: a small patch of white fur caught on a branch. Low to the ground, so not a large breed. He nods to himself, begging to assemble and lay traps where they’ll be hidden in the grass.
He listens to Getian as he works. A wand and a flute. Both items that work work best with a larger bone, like a femur. Something that can be whittled down and manipulated easily. He nods, looking back up to Getian after laying a few traps out, ]
I would like to see where your whims take you, too.
[ Before he can say everything else, some thicker and more remote bushes rustle in the distance. Apparently their presence—or perhaps just Getian’s, given that he looks more like a traditional predator—has frightened the creatures hiding nearby.
Quincy looks over a second before a flurry of fuzzy creatures burst out of the brush and flee. They’re nothing he’s ever seen before, and so assumes they are that invasive breed that the staff had been talking about, called snoggleboffs. Furry, with awkward long limbs but fat round bodies, and they aren’t quiet as they snort and scree while flailing around. They also aren’t very smart; in their attempts to flee, they corner themselves, confused about why they can’t walk through a tree or large rock.
A few of the creatures look large enough for Getian’s needs. Quincy looks back at the bird, eyebrow hiked inquisitively. ]
Do you hunt?
[ And does he have any kind of prey drive? Getian is always so soothing and relaxed that it’s a bit difficult to picture, but he is a bird, and birds of prey love scooping up little creatures like this. Far be it from Quincy to deny Getian some enrichment. ]
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whenever quincy stops to inspect something or set a trap, getian alights to a nearby tree, perching in a branch that’s close enough to remain in relatively comfortable conversational distance. his keen eyes watch the man as he works, following the deft movements of his hands. humans have always astounded him. they lacked fur or feathers to keep them warm, tough skin or scales to protect them from damage, particularly strong senses, or natural weapons like claws and fangs, and yet they used ingenuity to master the world around them. even more incredibly than that, they used free time and comfort gained through such cleverness to create art and music to bring beauty forth into the world, to build structures far beyond the needs of mere survival to act as the spine of their very civilization. watching quincy isn’t quite the same as watching the villages and towns spring up and grow across the Great Plains, but… there’s a similar quality to it, at least in miniature. he, too, uses what this tiny scrap of false wilderness gives him to carve out and construct a home for himself, just as those groups of humans had.
as a miemeng bird, who only ever roosted in trees on tall mountains and mimicked the art and music of others, he can find even the simplest tool or trap incredible.
he is sure there are plenty he would be able to craft himself, to repay in small issuances the kindness that quincy has already paid him up unto this point. )
We shall see.
( it’s shortly after he says this that the group of snoggleboffs startle from the undergrowth and begin to, well… bumble around. these, in contrast, are not very clever creatures, it seems. they are somewhat similar to critters he’s seen, though any Carbuncle worth their dust would probably be offended at the comparison. getian almost feels pity for them.
he looks quincy’s way at the question. ) I can… It is not my preference, though I have in the past, when other foods were difficult to find.
( fortunately, miemeng birds don’t tend to get hungry very often, and they eat relatively little. he tends to get by on grains and berries, though… meat properly prepared wouldn’t go unappreciated.
he sighs, looking back to the creatures as they continue to struggle to get away. getian stirs on his branch, ruffling his feathers. ) I suppose they made them like this so they would be easy to hunt… What pathetic creatures they are.
( despite what he says and the genuinely sympathetic tone of voice he uses, the huge bird leaves his perch and, in a streak of cloth and feathers, descends upon one of the larger snoggleboff specimens. he sweeps it up in his powerful talons, far less conscientious of his claws than he’d been when carrying quincy in the past; just as soon as the creature can let out a startled squeak, the sound is sharply curtailed into conspicuous silence as he kills the creature as quickly and conscientiously as he can, returning to his branch with the body limp in one claw. )
Nevertheless… They should be useful.
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As for the rest, Quincy makes a mental note. Getian doesn't hunt for sport and meat, while he can consume it, isn't a constant in his diet. Details the forest guardian tucks away for later, joining the bits and pieces that he's learned about the bird before. Though they may be pathetic, those little snoggleboffs have useful parts that both he and Getian want. Quincy steps back to watch the deft manner in which Getian swoops and catches one of the larger snoggleboffs in his talons. The thing doesn't stand a change, its life swiftly ended with a crunch. ]
There isn't much meat on them, but I should be able to do something with it.
[ Small treats. Maybe some strips of jerky depending on the taste. At worst, bait for larger game. Which is fine—its fur and bones are the more important elements, and Quincy loathes to waste any part of what he's caught. Nothing will go unused. Which is why he doesn't waste time in joining Getian in the hunt, throwing out a new to quickly capture two more of the ones that haven't figured out how to go around a rock. They squeak unhappily, but Quincy makes quick work of snapping their little necks to kill without pain. Then, he reaches into his bag to remove a smaller sack to carry what they've caught.
He offers it up, open-mouthed, to Getian after putting the two smaller ones he's caught inside. ]
Would you like to try my cooking?
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he chuckles to himself at quincy’s comment. )
That is more likely to be a problem for yourself than for me.
( the idiom “eating like a bird” might come to mind if one spent enough time around getian to get a sense of the Miemeng bird’s appetite. he neither eats very much nor very often. if he were really exhausting himself, doing something like flying long distances, he might succumb to a more ravenous appetite, but as it is, one of these lean creatures could likely keep him well-fed for a decent amount of time.
he doubts just one would be a satisfactory meal for quincy. he is a large man, after all.
getian takes wing again to carefully deposit the snoggleboff he’d caught into the open and waiting sack, temporarily perching on another branch so he can respond without having to call out over the sound of beating wings. )
I would very much like that. ( he tilts his head, curious. ) What is it that you most often cook?
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[ Which he realizes may not be the most convenient of foods for Getian to eat. Quincy opens his mouth, about to say that he could feed Getian himself if he'd like to try it, but the words ultimately don't come out. Feeding someone is an intimate gesture and he isn't sure how Getian would feel about his offering to, so he decides to leave that aside for now. ]
Otherwise, dried meats. They make good snacks, are easy to travel with, and last longer. I have a little friend back home that particularly enjoys these.
[ Topper would be delighted to eat the snoggleboffs. As a small stoat, Topper doesn't need much to feel satisfied either. Quincy pauses a moment—he does quite miss that little friend of his, but he would not wish for Topper to show up here of all places—before tying the bag and tossing it over his shoulder. There's no need for excessive hunting with this many seems enough for some dried meat and bones. ]
Let's head back. I'll skin and strip these, and then we can check the bones to see if they're useful for you.
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I see…
( getian can understand missing those from home, but also not really wishing to see them here as well. he had made many friends that he had gotten to see regularly enough within the Timekeeper’s suitcase… but he thinks it best that those young arcanists remain there, to continue to strive to save the world from Manus Vindictae’s machinations. )
Well, ( he lifts off from the branch he’d perched upon, following quincy as he had before, ) Whatever it is that you make, I would like to try it. Truthfully, I do not eat much, and typically get by on what fruit, berries, and grains I can find in the Vale and in the gardens. But I am interested to try more of the food that humans make. …Such a thing seems to mean more to your kind than it did to my own.
( it wasn’t that it didn’t matter at all. there had still been occasions of care or affection wrapped around presenting another with food, such as bringing food to the sick or gifting a particularly rare treat to a loved one. but Miemeng birds had not gone so far as to cook elaborate preparations for their food; it had typically been plain or raw. it’s a mighty adjustment to make, considering how complicated some human food is, but… he is still interested to try and learn more. )
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[ Quincy watches as Getian swiftly takes off from his perch above. It’s funny—he’s long lived in the wood territory surrounded by wildlife, but he never grows tired of watching Getian flit through the air. His feathers glint in the light, catching color in a way that gives Quincy pause every time. He is beautiful, a picture so lovely that it’s difficult to not stare.
Watching him now comes with a thread of something else. Satisfaction, but stronger. Quincy’s gaze lingers on the cloak snug around Getian’s body, the cloak he had spent hours lining and hemming. Getian isn’t his… nor is the bird a creature one could ever possess. But while wearing a cloak tended to by his own hand, it’s as if Quincy’s painted him in his colors. It feels—good.
He is quiet until they make their way to the lake. Quincy settles down with a knife, deftly skinning the snoggleboff corpses, first carefully removing their fur to use later and then stripping them of their meat. Quincy lays out bone after bone as they work; not all of them look as though they are usable for a flute, but he wants Getian to freely choose and keep whichever ones that catch his eye. A flute may not be the only thing he is interested in carving. Among them there are a few long bones, originating from that particularly large snoggleboff. ]
They’re fatty.
[ Quincy sounds a little surprised while trimming the meat. They’re so small, after all. Were they fed in captivity to get so round and chunky? Either way, fat means more flavor. ]
Do you like any of these bones?
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( it’s a quiet yet comfortable trek together to the lake. this sort of casual, easy companionship… it’s not something getian has felt in centuries. it’s one thing to get along well enough to spend time with someone, but it’s another to feel comfortable in the lapses and silences of the quieter, more mundane parts of life. he had shared such an experience with different members of his own kin, a very long time ago, but memories of those times have long since faded into the warm glow of distant nostalgia. humans, seemingly by a default nature of theirs, tend to be louder, more energetic, and more communal than the Miemeng birds had been. quincy feels different. he similarly enjoys the solitude that can be found in the bastion of nature. they are kindred souls in that, and in many other things.
getian settles on a small formation of rocks, folding his wings and wordlessly watching quincy as he works. he has always been fascinated by humans’ ingenuity. a knife may seem a simple tool, but, considering they do not have sharp fangs or keen talons, it’s a necessary one for them to do things that many beasts of the wild could do unaided. he might even be more skillful with it than getian might have been, if he tried flensing the fur and skin away from the creatures himself with his claws. they are not so deft and dexterous as human hands are; he likely would have torn it to pieces on accident. when hard at work crafting something, he tended to rely on his telekinesis more than his actual limbs.
he supposes it makes sense that the little creature was fattier rather than lean and gamey. it did seem as though they were risen as livestock somewhere, before being released here. )
They should make for an unctuous stew, then.
( as he replies, he is already looking at the bones. most are too small to be used as instruments or wands, to be certain, but it’s not as though they aren’t useful. )
Mm. They are beautiful, aren’t they? All bones are, I believe. Strong, yet elegant. Theirs is an important role and function—they provide us support and structure, both physically and spiritually.
( he wonders what he could make for quincy that might begin to repay him for the gift he currently wears. the bones may be small, but there are many things they could be used for. a sewing needle, perhaps, or something else useful, like… buttons, or chopsticks? hm, there aren’t very many large enough that could be used for chopsticks… a pendant or carving, then? )
Their markings are less pronounced for animals, but our fates make themselves known in them, for all living creatures.
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[ But everything about the resort is wasteful. That's the point. Indulgence in drink, luxury, material goods. They throw clothing away once it's boring to wear regardless of the shape it's in. Meals go unfinished. Drinks tossed after a few sips. He spends his time in the vale for numerous reasons. Yes, it feels like the wood territory back home and quiet, but it's a place where he can use the resources and reuse them. Even here, Quincy respects nature and the natural order.
His gaze falls over the bones after he cleans his hands. Curious, he glances between Getain and the selection, wondering which ones he'll choose and what he may be planning to make. The fact that it might be something for him doesn't cross his mind; he had given that cloak to Getian without any expectation of reciprocity. ]
That must be because of how they were bred. For a single moment.
[ This moment. To be hunted for pleasure by guests that fancy themselves hunters for a weekend. They had been so easy to catch that even the lazy and unskilled guests that have permanently made the resort their home could do so. Offered up on a platter, so the entitled and spoiled need not struggle. What Getian had said earlier was true. They are pathetic creatures.
Quincy won't waste their meat or their fur. Between the both of them, these bones won't go to waste either. ]
Bone reading? You are quite the bird, Getian.
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getian himself spends the majority of his time in the Vale because it feels necessary. he had seen the room he’d been provided only once, but he’d only needed that one look to know it wasn’t properly outfitted for a bird like himself. now even that entire room goes to waste, but it wouldn’t have been comfortable for him to try to make it work. he is painfully aware that the Vale, albeit as close as one can get to the “outdoors” in the resort as possible, is a constructed fake. false wind, false streams, earnest trees sprouting from false soil growing beneath a false sun. sometimes he feels as though he’s on display, like a specimen in some zoo, though he would be forced to admit it was still the best option for him—the one that makes him happiest. he can sense that those things don’t originate from a true “nature,” but at least they still exist here. it’s not all dim lights, loud noises, and chaos. )
Yes, that is likely. Their fate was dictated by their creation, their rearing, their purpose.
( they live to die. if there are any markings to be found on these bones, they would speak of captivity. he has to wonder if all livestock would look similar to him, or if these are particularly sad examples.
when it comes to the bones themselves, getian picks many. those that are long and straight are especially valuable, but smaller, rounder bones, teeth, ribs… they are all beautiful, and all shapes can be useful, depending on what he decides to use them for.
there are some, though, that he leaves aside for quincy. if he wanted to make a good stew, he would need them for the stock, yes? he has seen humans do such a thing with the game that they have killed. )
It is an arcane skill shared by all of my kind. ( though, considering he is the last, he supposes that makes it more unique. ) Our help has often been sought as diviners of fate. But to know one’s fate can be a heavy burden, and few possess the strength and tenacity to change it themselves.
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He collects the bones that are not as aesthetically pleasing. Looks don’t matter when they’re going to be boiled down into stew. Though they are pathetic creatures, he quietly thanks them, assuring their departing souls that nothing will go to waste. Respect has always been paramount to Quincy. ]
These will do nicely. [ it isn’t quite time to prepare stew, so he puts them aside, looking pleased with their haul for the day. ] How long will it take you to carve your flute? I would like to hear you play.
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ultimately, things had turned out for the best, and getian had befriended enough humans and arcanists to realize the foolishness of painting them with such a broad brush. it’s probably very much for the best that he had ended up with such a conclusion. he might have been tempted to be more of a harbinger of ill tidings that humans had often thought his kind to be. )
Hmm… I am not certain. ( his head tilts to the side as he continues to study the bones, though his mismatched gaze eventually returns to quincy’s as he answers the question. ) I do not have the same tools I used in my own world. If I can either find or make some that are similar to use… a few days. A week, perhaps.
( he smiles at the idea of quincy wanting to hear him play, flattered. )
I have a different flute. If you wished to hear me play, all you need do is ask.
( and perhaps… promise not to laugh, when he sees that it’s shaped like a human dick. or perhaps not be so aroused…? (or… no, maybe that would be okay, hm.) )
Though this one will likely be much smaller, so its voice will be higher. Suitable for different music.
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[ How long it takes doesn't really matter. Quincy is a patient man and rarely minds waiting. Such is the way when you've lived a long life, existing outside the stream of teeming human activity and in the solace of a rarely changing forest.
But mention of a different flute has his eyebrows lifting in surprise. If Getian's had one, he's surprised he hasn't seen the bird using it before, even just in passing. He nods, intrigued by this turn of events. So he doesn't need to wait to listen to Getian play at all. It's a pleasant surprise, though he would very much still like to listen to him play with the bone flute carved with his own talons. ]
I'd like to, if you don't mind. I didn't realize you already had one.
[ Of course, Quincy is completely oblivious to why Getian may not be whipping out his dick flute... ]
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( there are certain, more specialized tools he had used for finer details and more specific stages of the crafting process, but it’s likely there are some that could be useful to get him started. if there are any others he feels he might need, he can either try to make them himself or perhaps go into the resort itself to see if he can find a store that sells them. that, or something close enough to them, or perhaps a place that might take commissions for certain things… he doesn’t know. he doesn’t really have much experience shopping, so that might be just as stressful as it was novel. )
I used the same set of tools for many centuries, so your trust should be well-founded.
( he actually does play the flue relatively often, but he tends to play at odd hours—very late at night, very early in the morning, randomly in the middle of the day… and he also tends to find more isolated places in the Vale. this isn’t just out of sheepishness, though that might be part of it, given how erotic the design of the flute seems to be. even before, when living in the Timekeeper’s suitcase, he had been given feedback for playing music too loudly during nighttime hours, too close to those wishing to sleep. so he had tried to find quiet places to play where he could not disturb others. at this point, it’s more habit than anything else. that, and the fact that he’s never really needed an audience—for hundreds of years, music had been an enjoyment just for himself. the thought of others wanting to listen is almost strange after all that time.
but if quincy wished to listen, he would be willing to play. )
Mm. I typically do not keep it with me. ( for reasons quincy will understand very soon. ) Give me one moment.
( with a rustle of feathers and the heavy beating of wings, the Miemeng bird lifts off and flies towards what he would consider his “main” tree—a very tall, stately tree located close to the center of the Vale, not too far from where quincy had constructed his cabin. he has a small collection of items he keeps in a hollow several dozen feet up in the tree, far away where they might be stumbled upon.
a few minutes later, he returns, settling on the same perch he had been in previously. he eyes quincy closely; for the moment, the flute is tucked into the sash around his waist, and he has his wings folded in a way that it was hidden. )
I will play, so long as you promise not to laugh.
( he does say this with some humor in his words, but he does have that slight sheepishness as well as he pulls the flute from where it was tucked into his belt, levitating it with his telekinesis towards his face. the flute is, honestly, a remarkable construction considering it has uncanny likeness to a realistic human penis while also being a well-constructed and beautiful-sounding instrument. as it is, as it settles with the mouthpiece beneath his lips (which is, of course, stylized as the slit on the “cockhead” of the flute), he pauses for a moment, studying quincy as if daring him to crack a smile or chuckle.
or perhaps just curious to his response. who can say?
but after that, he begins to play. the flute is well-sized, so its voice is a middling alto with the ability to go somewhat lower and higher. because of this, the song he plays is a slower, more sonorous ballad—a steady stream of sound that wraps around them for a few minutes before it drifts off into silence. his feathers fluff up a bit, perhaps a little embarrassed, and he lowers the flute, commenting, ) There are other instruments I have been working on collecting, should you be interested in hearing them as well.
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Laugh? What a strange comment. Regardless, Quincy nods, assuming that Getian is shy to play around others. He won’t judge, certainly not, even if his playing isn’t very good. But the real meaning soon becomes clear: Quincy’s lips part when that flute comes into view, dropped in an almost perfect ‘o’ before he remembers himself and snaps his jaw off the floor.
????
????????
??????????????????????????
Quincy can’t be blamed for staring. The flute is so intricately made that one could easily mistake it for a floating penis. Especially when levitated by telekineses toward Getian’s mouth. It’s such a surprising and lurid image that, for a moment, Quincy is dumbfounded.
Rather than smile or chuckle, his expression remains relaxed… but that doesn’t mean he’s calm. Far from it. He is grateful that he had moved into a different position and drawn his coat over his lap for the sake of comfort, because his cock is hard. It’s too easy to imagine that being his penis, particularly when Getian rests his pretty lips against the tip and begins to play.
Who did this. Who gave him this erotic flute!
Quincy’s expression remains set, as if he’s only enjoying the music and not imagining Getian sucking his dick. He is skillful and the music sweet to the ear, gently drifting on the vale’s breeze. It would be relaxing if not for how his cock’s stiffened; Quincy shifts slightly to hide the shape, unwilling to disturb Getian with these lustful thoughts. Though, when the bird mention his collection, he can’t help but to wonder if those instruments are … similarly lewd … is it just a personal preference for him? ]
I would. You’re very skilled. [ finally, Quincy smiles, a gentle curve of lips. ] Your music is beautiful. I like it very much.
[ He won’t comment on the blowjob imagery. ]
special delivery
Hung upon one of the branches is a slim slip of parchment onto which a purple hydrangea has been painted in faint watercolors. Atop it, a poem written in a slim, elegant hand.
Throughout endless nights
The boundless days of our sins
Continue ever onward
And yet beside me
The gentle flutter of wings
A poem signed "Kiritsubo". ]
text | @getian
it probably is the tree hosting that nest that is strongest in his scent, just by the nature of the nest being there. it's not immediately that getian finds the note left behind for him, but a few days later, he sends a reply: )
Miss Kiritsubo, I realized I was remiss in asking where I might be able to find you should the need arise
I have received your gift
If I wished to leave you something in return, where should I do so?
( lacking any mundane or arcane ways to track someone down, he has to ask. )
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[ The Vale had... something to pass for wind, though it was likely something more akin to ventilation. ]
When I sought you out, I discovered that our trees are not so very far apart. From that perch I left my gift, facing outward towards the stream... you will see a tall conifer with a broken tip slightly southeast.
Anything you leave on the middling branch by the hole in the trunk, I will find.
[ And there is such a tree. And in the trunk near the middle branch, not evidence of a bird-person roosting, not feathers or claw marks in the bark... But there is a hole approximately one foot in diameter that leads into the half-hollow trunk, the bottom of which is stuffed with leaves, scraps of fabric, and hints of pale white hair. ]
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( there is a pause after her other messages. one could perhaps see within their mind's eye the Miemeng bird triangulating just which tree and which hollow she is indicating through her directions.
he finds it, inspects it... and he is certainly curious as to how she stays in this tree. he knows her to be a shape-shifter, however. it must be another of her forms. )
Yes, I have found it
I will leave you something in return in the next few days, if you might keep an eye out
( and, as he promised, a few pieces of paper can be found fastened to that tree branch with a length of twine a few days later.
the first is a smaller piece of paper; upon it are the symbols of a poem in response, carefully scratched onto its surface with a quill pen. the ink is red-purple; something that getian himself has made from berries and other materials found in the Vale.
A long winter's dearth
Sows silence, stillness
Broken by tentative, fledgling warmth
And the sound of wings
Heralding the songs of spring
in addition to this note is a slightly larger piece of paper. thicker, heavier, it sports a single symbol written onto it in midnight ink. yes, getian had probably had to leave the Vale to find such paper and ink, but the calligraphy is the ancient Chinese character for Truth. )
1/2
I will await your answer with anticipation.
[And after that message... there is nothing else. why send texts, when there are far more meaningful or interesting ways to communicate?
One night, clawing its way easily up the bark of the tree, a pale tanuki's nose perks up at the scent of berries. Interest piqued, it continues up the trunk until it pulls itself up onto the branch with the entrance to the hollow, nuzzling up against the paper a moment to check-- Mmm, yes. Berries and miemeng bird. Sharp teeth nip the twine, pulling the gift from the branch... and then it vanishes into the cozy hollow of the tree with its spoils, where it can curl up and appreciate them properly. ]
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A warmth birthed in snow
Longs for spring ever hopeful
Should the sound of wings grow faint
Replaced by another
Would that spring still gladly come? ]
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still, a ward against misfortune is something to be appreciated, if not only in its intent.
his reply arrives a day or two later, similarly written in homemade reddish ink by a feather quill. when writing such correspondence, this appears to be his preference.
From the earliest era
Spring has both sang and slept
Content in its tides
A cycle unending
What, then, is another? )
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No matter the form
Of parishioners wishes
The plum blossoms on the branch
What fool then am I,
To think it might not be so
Strangly?, there the "f" in "Of" looks almost like an "r", just enough so that someone could misread it and then be confused over whether the writer had poor writing skills or they themselves were struggling.
Or, you know, the equivalent of that for kanji characters.]no subject
even when one misspeaks, his arcane skill usually allows him to get a sense of their meaning. so this small mistake, intentional or not, is interesting to him because it gives him a somewhat novel experience: puzzling over what might have been one's intent with words.
there is something in her poem that has him falling into reminisce. he would tell anyone who asked that he left his mountain because he must, as he had needed to heed the call of the former bone collector. that is only half the truth. getian has two treasures that the House has taken from him: his bone wand, crafted from one of the wing-bones of that fallen kinsman, and a jade talisman. the jade talisman was left in the hollow of his tree by a young scholar; the second of two, father and son, that he had come to pray to the gods before his tree. he had read their fate as they prayed, and he knew that they had succumbed to the same dreadful end. the path of those both revolutionary and idealistic is a fraught one, indeed.
but what if he had stirred from his roost and reached out to help them? could he have saved one, or both, of their lives? he kept that talisman, mended by his own hand, to remind himself of the weight both his actions and inaction bore.
his next message:
Two generations of scholars
Climb a mountain to entreat the gods
By either distance or intent
They descend unheard, unheeded
For fate's arrow to find their backs.
he seems to have penned this one more carefully than the others, feeling it necessary when presenting to her what was more a piece of himself than a piece of exploratory art. )
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Some are beautiful because they offer a window into knowing.
A penitents prayer
Without the ear of a god
A leaf lost upon the wind
Do the gods not hear?
Or are words the ones that fail?
She wonders if there is an answer. If a poem can even truly tell the tale she is growing interested to hear. ]
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The bridge lies broken
Nonetheless, wishes are made
Written onto scraps of wood
As lanterns float down the river
Who can fault the meek and humble
Whose voices fall short of Heaven?
Perhaps they simply need someone brave enough to risk a leap.
though, if he leads kiritsubo to think such a person would be himself... that would be a mistaken on his part.
young jiu niangzi... it had been some irony that the very source of Pei City's troubles would also lift the pall that had fallen over it. she had wanted to be the xiangrui her mother had been; it was this same desire which had led to both. she had leapt the ravine to deliver the wishes of all the townspeople -- even those that she herself had cursed -- to the Gods, and those wishes had supposedly been answered. it fills his heart with bittersweet nostalgia to recall those friends that he had made. he wonders if he will ever see them again. )
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Instead...
A chick with eyes closed
Bound to comforts of the nest
What sort of valiant leap
Inspires such a thing
To find courage and take flight?
Eventually, the tale will likely require a true conversation, and not the veil of poetry... But it is the poem on the branch nonetheless, for that choice is not one that belongs to anyone but the teller. ]
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all of these, yes, and that of rain that fell upward from the ground and into the sky -- that which caused the world to fall into a chaos of inexplicable absurdity until the entire era itself was washed away. he'd found it curious, that she had found the mark of the "Storm" on him. apparently, it affected him more deeply than he believed.
but for those on the Timekeeper's team, it had affected all of them. he was not the only refugee of a long-forgotten era.
Eventually, the bough must break
Beneath the weight of inevitable duty
More a solemn finality than a burden
The nest fell
And winds of change carried the chick beyond where eyes could see. )
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She considers responding the next day with another poem. She enjoys poetry, after all, and it has been some time since she felt she had met a potential equal in the art. But... the bough must break. And the story was neatly wrapped up there.
So the next message, when it comes, is the more simpler, but still prettily written,
Do tell the windblown chick to come back and tell stories of his journeys. They sound quite interesting ♡ ]
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This wind-tousled chick finds that he has nothing but time, these days.
Be it by written missive or a message through our devices, simply let me know when would be convenient for you, Miss Kiritsubo. I would be happy to host you in the Vale. We could enjoy an evening of fruit, music, and stories. )
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And for the next few days, she plans to spend most of her time in the trappings of the hot springs inn the resort has seen fit to grace them with, quite nostalgic... but after,
I would enjoy that greatly, Getian.
Look for me in four days time, and you will catch me in your sights ♡]
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getian will also spend some time at the ryokan, even if it holds no particular nostalgic or sentimental value for him. its interior is actually even more challenging for him to navigate than the rest of the resort, but the outdoor hot springs at least have some nice trees to roost in as he enjoys the steam rising from the water. it’s a shame that entirely submerging his feathers would probably not go very well for him.
he does, however, tend to leave and return to the Vale to sleep, finding the accommodations of the Golden Peacock not particularly comfortable for a bird like himself. when kiritsubo visits, four days later, she will approach the Miemeng bird’s tree to the sweet melody of flute music, wandering wistfully through the tall trees. )
--> actione
The woman Getian knew as Kiritsubo does not call out to him from the trunk of the tree, nor fly in from the tree she had specified as her own "roost". Instead... a small animal seems to be making its way up the trunk of the Miemeng bird's tree, a pale, fluffy figure using claws to expertly dig in to the slim cracks between bark and haul itself up in a methodical trundle upwards. And when it reaches the nest branch...
It hauls itself up atop it, so that it might come to sit nearby and watch, pitch black eyes glistening like onyx as it seems to listen enraptured, fluffy tail occasionally curling in what could pass as an accompanying rhythm to the poignant melody. ]
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he has seen foxes and raccoon dogs before, but a Japanese tanuki is different. this is the first time he has seen such a creature. he needn’t even check her bones with his arcane skill—he feels entirely assured of his assumption just by the way she holds herself. )
Miss Kiritsubo. It is an honor to host you here, in my home. ( he lifts his wings in front of him, bent at the “wrists,” and dips his head and shoulders in a gracious bow.
when he straightens up out of it, he continues with a small, gentle smile. ) And in such a charming form, no less. May I offer you some fruit, which I gathered in the Vale and Gardens myself today?
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After a few beats of silence, the soft sound of a flute sheathed in sash, the ruffle of feathers, the sound of her name... Kiritsubo opens her eyes with a "smile", baring white teeth and black gums. ]
Master Getian, you play most beautifully. You gave me such a lovely distraction on my climb, such a reward upon the branch...
[ Rather than the lyrical, sultry tone of the form he had made her acquaintance in, the voice is crackling with a slight wrongness, a beast's vocal chords being shifted just enough to respond to the demand to produce human sounds with a canidae throat and a canidae tongue. ]
And a compliment, too... I would love fruit, thank you.
[ And perhaps she would choose hands to take them, to eat them, for a tanuki's snout and paws might make a bit too much mess on a tree branch instead of their more natural dining rooms of forest floors and dirt dens... But for now she is a tanuki, using pale white paws to patter briefly at the bark in front of her to humbly request her snack. ]
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You are too kind.
( he feels as though it is the least he can do, given the climb that she had had to undertake. )
Next time I would be more than happy to give you a lift, if you wished.
( perhaps it was a silly thing to offer, since he’s sure she would be able to craft a form to fly up here herself if she wished. but she might enjoy being carried…? who’s to say.
getian nods, and with a ruffle of feathers and a seemingly-unrelated flicker of movement, a small cloth bundle descends from a higher branch seemingly of its own accord. the Miemeng bird manipulates it cautiously with his telekinetic arcane skill, settling it down on the widest part of the branch between them and allowing the bundle to fall open, revealing a wide variety of fruit to choose from. apples, pears, several types of berries, and some getian might not have been able to name but thought looked delicious besides. )
It is fortunate that there are such a wide variety of fruits, nuts, and grains to be found in the Vale and the other gardens. Otherwise, I may have had to go into the rest of the resort more often for food.
( which would have ended up very strangely, indeed. he does not have much experience shopping in convenience stores or ordering in restaurants. )
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A lift, how fun~
[ Just because they could climb on four or two legs, or simply shapeshift into a form with wings… They were still curious as to whether he would do that with his talons or his telekineses. The same ability that brings them their meal, which in fact… turns out to be one they do not need hands as hastily for after all. Fruit and berries were a natural part of a tanuki’s diet, and this one…
Mindfully reaches out to grab a pear with its teeth, pulling it back off the pile to set between front paws. Claws grip the fruit to keep it in place… and those same teeth chew a bit off, the juice leaking slightly into white fur. But despite the shamelessly wild method of dining, bestial by necessity… this was still a civilized meal, that was somehow still the air projected, the question that followed being perfectly in line with what one would ask in a dinner party. ]
Do you avoid the other wings of the resort for practicality, dislike, or both?
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he has to imagine kiritsubo has experienced something similar, navigating the human world from the origin point of her true nature. he has to ask her more about that, some time.
it would truthfully be a tall order for him to lift her so many feet up into the tree with his telekinesis, even in the smaller form she uses now. it’s not a particularly strong skill, perhaps because his people did not possess it innately. instead, they had purposefully developed it for themselves, desiring a way that would allow them to interface with humans, their world, and their creations despite the limitations of their physical bodies. it allows him to hold a paintbrush, play instruments, pour tea, and follow through with the tradition of shaking one’s hand using the intermediary of his bone wand… but anything beyond that would be a struggle.
leaving the branch to gently pick her up in his claws, however, would be very little effort at all.
as kiritsubo claims a pear, getian instead floats a small cluster of berries towards himself. he brings the “wrists” of his wings together in front of him, resting the fruit just atop them. carefully, he lifts them to his lips so he can eat the berries one at a time. when it comes to getian, the phrase, “eating like a bird,” applies rather literally and figuratively for him, given his limited appetite. still, he is very happy that kiritsubo seems to be enjoying one of the pears that he procured; after all, that is why he had gathered such a variety.
it’s a good question. he hums, thoughtful, lowering his wings with some of the berries still sitting atop them. )
It is for many reasons… ( he admits after a long moment. )
I dislike the feeling of being within closed confines for too long. Even here… I know this is only the contrived facsimile of nature, but it is enough to abate this apprehension. There are a great many people in that close space, and regardless of whether I walk or fly, I always draw attention. There are some that follow after me, no matter where I go. And the lights, the noise… this overflowing font of decadence… ( he seems to wilt at the thought of it, ) even with all the time I’ve spent here, it is still overwhelming.
( frightening, even. )
I do not make this decision to live in seclusion again. I meet with others when convenient for us both, and I heed the beck and call of the masters of this place, when they have some new trial or game to impose. But most of the time I have to myself… I spend here, where it feels most aptly designed for a bird such as myself.
( he pauses, taking the time to eat another of the berries before asking his own question. ) Did you ever have such difficulties…? Adapting to the human world.
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While she eats, though, she is listening. What Getian describes... it is something she knows of, something she has heard accounts of and observed... but when it came to her own experiences... ]
It would be a disservice to you for me to claim near the amount of difficulties you encounter.
[ For a moment, she stops eating, and her abyssal black gaze wanders over the branches and down below, where in the distance guests of the Golden Peacock wander the set paths through the false forest garden. ]
I observed humans from places hidden... from ferns and tree and burrow and around wood piles... long before I ever tried walking amongst them.
[ How old had she been, then, when the simpler mind of a beast had grown into that of a spirit she was meant to be? Twenty? Sixty? No, perhaps over a hundred... ? ]
I learned how to mimic their voices, first... their sounds, their words... and then their forms... and I am, shall we say, particularly gifted, even for a tanuki.
[ Shapeshifting had come easily to her once she began it, and once she mastered it... She put kitsune to shame. ]
I suppose in my youth there was an occasional mistake... a tail gone rogue, a face not quite right, a stumble with some custom I was not yet aware of... But I have walked among them now for so long that I barely recall it now... and back then, we spirits were treated with a good deal more fear and reverence than we are now. I could get by.
[ The half-bestial sound produced by a racoon dog with modified vocal chords were, apparently... capable of some degree of sounding wistful. ]
These days... the spirit world has been kept staid for so long, as if our glory days are behind us and those ruling cling to power and structure no longer fitting with circumstance... The humans, with their little flame lives... they have been more interesting to me, of late.
[ Wiping her muzzle, she eases into a sit, staring off at the distant figures... and then back to Getian. ]
They can be overwhelming, perhaps... But I sometimes feel as if I have seen so much that I require their chaos and noise just to notice.
[ She didn't usually admit to such things. But she was no liar. ]
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the path that she describes is a fascinating one. his own people have always existed adjacent to humanity, occasionally influenced by the tremors that went through their world (such as when his people traveled from the borderlands to settle on their mountain in the Central Plains, fleeing from war and destruction), though for the most part they had remained a world apart. by the same token, however, it seems that their hearts were destined to yearn to join that world which would inevitably see them perish. getian yanping, first of his kin to be born on the Central Plains, had also been the last to leave. in that, he had been a straggler among his kind; contrary to this, it seems like kiritsubo was more of a trailblazer among her own. did all tanuki possess such abilities, or was she unique and exemplary in her skill? he has heard of fox spirits and the like taking the form of human beings, but the story she tells him does not fit to any of these stories or myths he can recall from his own era. )
Changing one’s form is an arcane skill that many arcanists learn, to varying skill… Your own ability surpasses any that I have seen, because it could even trick my own arcane skill, which usually allows me to discern illusions or transfigurations.
( “the spirit world”… it’s so interesting to think of these two things as separate. humans and arcanists have always lived together, even among arcane creatures such as himself. that the Miemeng birds had decided to live apart from humanity had been a privilege of their own powers and abilities. most other arcanists do not have that choice. they must live in a world that is predominantly ruled by humans; often, depending on the place and the era, they had faced great discrimination and hardship.
he is quiet for a long moment, processing, before he nods. )
I wonder if the other Miemeng birds who went before me felt similarly to you. Our temple, our mountain… they were safe, but they were also static. What I felt as peaceful might have been unbearably stagnant to others…
( he trails off, a faint melancholy entering his tone. he hesitates. he can sense such earnestness from kiritsubo that it encourages him to do the same, even though he is wary, given that the truth he could share might not be the most flattering. )
…For a very long time, a part of me resented them. ( he lowers his wings, gaze sweeping out over the landscape of the Vale around them. ) As wonderful as their inventions are, as beautiful as their art, as entrancing as their music… these humans were still the same creatures who found ways to extort my people for their compassion, leaving their memory behind to be consumed by the sands of time or, worse, condemning them as yao, even as they gave up their immortal lives in the simple desire to become a part of their world or even a brief time. I… could not understand why they did not see as I did. Surely they, too, could read the tragedy in the bones we brought back…?
( he shakes his head, finally looking back to kiritsubo. ) I didn’t understand until I was among them myself. Impetuous, impatient, avaricious, self-absorbed… yes, I have met many humans that can be described this way. But they are also brave, self-sacrificing, and so, so kind.
In the end, it felt fitting that I ended up too bound to their world to return to mine. It was like… being given a chance, to move on and grow from my own past foolishness.
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[ Kiritsubo provides that context as she polishes off the pear with a last bite, pink tongue lapping over black gums and white maw to clean herself from the juice. The clarification that what she did was not illusion or magical transformation but more based in spiritual biology, perhaps the reason she was able to fool his own skills... There was no need for such specifics here. A woman had to retain some certain mysteries.
And help herself to a little more fruit. A damp paw reaches back into the pile to sort through and find something, rolling out a bundle of berries, colorful juice be damned. And she listens, because though their worlds are different in some ways, though the non-human races were somewhat different... The situation was much the same. How strange was that, that even across actually different worlds there would be so many coincidental threads. So many anchors. ]
They are easy to look down upon. To even hate.
[ Or to resent. Many spirits Kiritsubo knew had tales with humans tainted with such emotion. Miwa had been a child imprisoned in a tiny shrine hut to be "sealed" away for his powers, Murakumo had been hunted, the Kaze siblings abused by callous owners, Konnosuke betrayed by a human lover... There were plenty of reasons from spirits, just as there were plenty from the more short-lived mortals. Though Kiritsubo herself had always possessed the sight that made judging one side over the other a near impossibility, she could understand the motivations in others. ]
But you are right. Though they are fearful and greedy and hateful, they are also fierce and giving and loving. Because they live so little time, they compact all the emotions and desires of a spirit's life into a scant few decades... and so sometimes, it seems as if they are capable of feeling and doing somehow "more"...
[ And was that not fascinating, in it's way? She agrees with him, looking back up at him with her dark, dark eyes, cool and unblinking like a beast in a way that anyone would dismiss if they did not know she was there, that she could speak. ]
It is the dynamism that is capable of shaking us from our respective slumbers.
[ Breaking the skin of the berry with her claw, she lifts it to her muzzle to lick. ]
Now that you are awake... The question simply becomes "what will you do"?