RP:Critical Bluff

From HollowWiki


Summary: Moire is found running from a pair of poachers. Tyulthk works his way around it without violence. Sabrina, not so much.


Sabrina was closing and locking the door to the Greenhouse. Dusting her hands against her black cotton pants she uses the back of her hand to push a sweat-stuck strand from her forehead thus smearing a streak of mud in its place. She began up the trail to the Villa just east, there she would be able to clean up a bit more before returning to this place sometime during the night when the nursery was cooler. For now she was just happy to have temporarily fix the irrigation issue that was brought to her attention the night before.

Tyulthk creaks slightly as he wanders, glowing red eyes following along the paths and coves of the town, his featureless form casting a dark silhouette against the pale moonlight trickling in, no leaves to provide the energy he needed so the spindling roots of his trunks stretched into the dirt with each step, only to ripped back when he moved once more, spotting the Orchard as he wandered, his course soon diverted, and within a few minutes he was standing in the field, letting himself burrow into the soil as he looks at the woman leaving the Greenhouse, his head cocked to the side, but the light from his eyes soon faded, looking like no more than a gaunt tree that had suddenly appeared in the field.

A scurrying scuttle can be heard from behind the orchard's wall. A shrill bark pierces the air. It is soon followed by a whine, a distressed noise of a canine or other animal. The shuffling resumes, thump-shush, thump-shush continuing all the way up to the garden screen of eucalyptus. The reedy stalks bend and bow, and a dappled grey shadow passes behind them. It is slow-moving, undulating and quaking like a shady repaste crafted of gelatin. The stench of the sea seeps in, brine and kelp all flavoring the air. Snuffling emanates from the blob-like entity, a gentle wuffing and whiffing that seems to redouble the speed of the prevailing sea breeze.

Sabrina stops midway up the trail, bending down to pick up a heavy bag. All words spoken in High Sylvan “Right where I left you.” She smiles, hoisting it upon her shoulder and turning to take a lasting glance down the neatly planted rows behind her. Her head cants to the side. “Not where I left you.” Letting the bag fall to the ground in a heap she starts toward the single misplaced tree, far taller than all the rest and falling sorely out of line with the various intentionally rooted species here. She walks around it, eyes cast upward where the moonlight hits the river gems just right and throwing off a brilliant reflection of minty blue. She runs her fingers along the coarse bark, but only briefly as she pulls away with some praise to Hind and all his wonders. Her attention is stolen to a smell, foul to herself but common among these parts- just magnified. The Sea. There is noise and movement of the wild venturing too deep to the serene place and she eyes her pack some distance away. Best not move to quickly towards it, else risk alerting or scaring whatever it was that was out there. That sinking sensation of not being alone crept upon her.

Tyulthk wasn't really expecting the touch against his back and recoils slightly, pulling himself away before the lights of his eyes brightened up once more, still firmly rooted in place as he moves a hand to his 'hip', watching the woman quietly as she turned, the creaking turning into a dull chuckle as he looks around, the Treant himself turned his head towards blob, waving his hand slightly as the vines built into his form ran down his arm and out towards the creature, "Shh." They slowly creep towards it, and unless it made a movement away from him, would drag it back towards him, the vines surprisingly warm, so when they wrap around something, it is similar to a warming embrace than a cold squeeze.

Moire is all too aware that the garden behind her has gone completely quiet. The doglike face of the selkie in seal form turns toward the greenery and glass glare. The snuffling grows louder as the seal maiden sniffs and snorts out the identities of the two behind the tubular screen. A noise further downhill garners her attention, allowing the treant's viney servants to wrap their way around her form. There is a sharp bark, a yelp of surprise (though devoid of pain), followed by an echoing and incessant whine. The plump little seadog has trouble squeezing thorough the barrier of eucalyptus, her body narrowing in ripples as she's dragged through. Once on the other side, absolutely humongous, fathomless, dark eyes fix upon Sabrina and the woody, Tyulthk, their surfaces dappled with pinpoints of light, as if they encompassed a clear, night sky.

Sabrina didn’t step away from the Treant. It had been some time since she had seen one, but had never been met with malicious conduct. She shushed, as she was told, in the idea that maybe it knew better what lurked in the darkness rather than she. The Elfesses face cracks into an instantaneous fangirl ‘awe’ as she succumbs to the large puppy eyes that should have been creepier than cute. She doesn’t waste her time talking, aside from not knowing if these two were capable it wasn’t her way anyways. She reaches out thin pale digits to Moire, if allowed the mere tips of her fingers would lay upon the squish of her forehead and emanate a sensation of welcome, an Ardent’s hello.

Tyulthk nods solemnly as he tugs on his trunks, grunting softly as it echoed deep in his chest, stumbling slightly as he pulled himself free, of course, dirt came with him, but he was careful to pat it back down neatly to suit the rows upon rows of trees, "Sorry. I forget how hard it is to move once I settle." He rocks the creature slightly from side to side, trying to comfort it so the sniffling would silence, looking curiously upon it, "Curious." He mutters, looking between the two.

Moire ceases whining, if only for a moment. The tinny, high-pitched strain of notes recommences as Sabrina beings to reach for her, though they are quickly muted. The elfess did not wish her any harm, it would seem. The seal's eyes close for the initial duration of the other female's touch, only soon to be replaced by a staggered, almost lazy blinking. The seal is a mottled grey and white, with smears of black down her back. Her mouth opens, and her whiskers fan out in a lackadaisical yawn. Again, the pinniped wuffs in a truncated bark to the gentle swaying the tree has caught her up in. The carefree respite of the phoicade lasts for a moment longer, just before she begins to wriggle. It seems the blubbery marine mammal wishes to be set loose. Curiously, there is more crunching coming up the cliffside. More noise, this time definitively bipedal, follows the ridge up to the orchard wall.

Sabrina looks up at Tyulthk. “You can talk?” It came out in common, all broken and smashed together but clear enough that the basics could be understood. She moves once more out of its path and focuses as it pats down the unearthed soil only to repack it as if it were never disturbed. She peers up at the cradled creature, her brows coming together that Tyulthk thought them curious and not himself… but then he had probably been around a lot longer than either. So, with a shrug she asks “Is it a pup?” Just as the wriggling begins the Elfess backs off in caution- not for herself, but for unintentional contact that could result in a negative turn of events. Sabrina did not miss the sound of a bipedial stride. A guard, maybe? One could never be too sure. She heads back up the walk toward the discarded bag and begins to dig around inside. Gloves, a mad dash for gloves. Still probably not the weirdest thing anyone had ever seen.

Tyulthk nods as he looks down at the creature, shrugging as he rubs it's head slightly, placing it down on the ground as the crunching approached, looking to Sabrina, "Talk, project. It is all the same." He nods, his hollow voice echoed about his woody form, seemingly no true source of the voice, his eyes just looking over the healer before they dimmed slightly, stretching out as he yawned, wriggling his trunk in the dirt as he joined the roots with the interconnected network of roots, huffing slightly at the incoming, "You must treat these plants well. They speak highly of you."

Sabrina looks over to Tyulthk while tugging the gloves in place. “I suppose.” She treated them better than most people, but well? She gave them what they needed; energy, reading, the occasional grooming, nothing more. “Master Ranok has allowed me to spend some time here, mostly I just talk to them.” She eyes the greenhouse where the sick and young were kept. “Some more than others.” Still, her common was wrecked but she pressed on, not fully knowing the scale of his projection. She stands perfectly straight, watching the blubbery ball head off in the direction of what Sabrina already considered a threat to her calm. People. In her line of work, it was an odd aversion. She almost seemed on guard, the closer the selkie came to those mariners, the tighter her fists would ball.

Tyulthk looks at the woman and nods, looking at the pair of sailors with a cock of his head, not really able to distinguish people by their uniforms, or even caring all that much, but they were not armoured and so he did not worry too much, and clearly the small creature was fond of them if she was moving towards them so quickly, he waved, "Hello!"

Moire appears to be following Sabrina? Either way, it seems that the phocidae is trying desperately to move away from the approaching seamen. The sailors bend at the waist, peering through the stalks of greenery that obscure the orchard from the seaside. One of them lofts a hand and waves back at Tyulthk before realizing that he is still wielding a bloodied club with that appendage. The old salt quickly hides the weapon-brandishing limb behind his back, and presents a nervous smile to the tree-folk. Still, the selkie is making a rampant (or as rapidly as she can) dash to get away from these newcomers. Sabrina doesn’t ‘Hello’ as a matter of fact she says nothing, simply watches them intently as they stop by the Treant. Her eyes shift, the friendly minty reflection turns dark, absorbing the light rather than turning it back. Her heart is racing as she puts herself between those men and the runner. “What do you want?” Her voice is authorative, phasing into articulate High Elven. She can smell the blood, it stained even the smell of the ocean as it passed by her in panic. Tyulthk had the advantage of size, but a Treant, in her experience, took so long to understand hostility when it was right in front of them. “You are not supposed to be here.” And it was true, so far as she knew she was the only one granted free reign over this orchard, especially in night hours. Ranok had a thing about trees and such, didn’t like just anyone trampling through his efforts. She looks down at the sailor’s feet where neat rows of herb and poisons were beginning to reach the surface. A half smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. Idiots.

Tyulthk just kinda stands there as he looks between them, unsure about the hostility between them, though he had no desire to interfere, looking down at the plants they were standing by and coughs slightly, "You may not want to be near those plants sirs. They are quite harmful to squishy beings if ingested." He nods, feeling like he did a good job as he snakes a vine back towards the seal-girl, cocking his head to the side, "Why are you fearful creature?"

Moire stops waddling toward the gate once the pair of sailors have been addressed by Sabrina. "Our pet got loose," the larger of the two sailors insists, "A little grey seadog." As he speaks, he bends again, shifting his weight from side to side in order to peek through the shoots and leaves of the plants dividing them from the rest of the orchard. Moire's head snaps toward Tyulthk, and fixes him with the light-speckled, inky wells that are her eyes. It seems that the seal can understand the treant, or at least the common tongue. The pinniped's jaw drops open, and a prolonged whine issues forth, followed by a short, sharp bark. She seems defiant, arguing the mariners' assertion to the Elfess, or perhaps warning Tyulthk of the danger the duo present.

Sabrina leaves Moire near the bag on the path, clearing several steps in silence as she approaches the club wielding male. “In my experience pets do not run from their masters. Nor do they retain the scent of the wilds from which they came.” She removes a glove, running thin fingers along the length of the club. She raises them, rubbing the sticky residue between. A thin brow arches. “You need to leave.” She was so small though, speaking to them both like she had the authority or the ability to do anything about it if they refused. But the sprouts at his feet already began to grow, twisting and writhing around his boots though not enough to anchor him there. She peers around his shoulder to the other hiding behind the veil. “Both of you.”

Tyulthk just seemed confused at the hostilities, watching as the plants worked against the men, letting the woman have her control, having no wish to cause or be involved in a conflict. He looks at the small girl and pulls her close, his chest opening to reveal a large warm cavity, gesturing for her to climb inside as he leans down, "I'm afraid there are no pets here my friend." He nods, "Just us plants."

Moire shuffles into the treant's chest. He really is warm and cozy on the inside! The sailors grumble, turning to cast queried looks at one another. They both glance at Sabrina again, and then pile their attention onto the large, talking tree! Resigned to the impossible task placed before them, they slowly turn and head back down the hill (perhaps never to be heard from again). There is a bump, and a light thump from inside Tyulthk. It seems the seal is attempting to get comfortable inside of him - at least, that's the most logical reason for the movement happening at the moment. A couple more taps and bumps reverberate from inside the treeman's chest following the departure of the pair of mariners.

Sabrina seems content with their departure but keeps focus on them until they are out of view. She is still fairly riled though and when she finally turns to the treeman her eyes are of full black sclera. The newly disturbed rows retain their growth as she once again tends to retrieving her bag along the path. She had no doubt the treant would care for the creature in her absence, whether it could sense what they were after or not. She doesn’t head toward the Villa though, with her bag slung across her shoulder she starts toward the path the mariners took, ensuring their hunt goes unrewarded for at least the remainder of this night. Poachers were one thing she could not leave to wander with all the sea life that called that cove home. The eucalyptus veil would grow thicker in her wake, cutting off the easy trek in case the two decided to double back.

Tyulthk looks down at the chest as it opens slightly, gesturing to the seal within the warm confines and letting her peak from the gap, "Well, that went well." He watches as the other woman moves after them, just seeming move confused as he looks down, running a vine under the seal's chin, "Hey cutie~"

Moire peers out from the treant's chest - though she is no longer a seal. The interim of the action has given the selkie just enough time to transform from her furred form into her flesh one. The face that issues forth from Tyulthk is no less "cute", and still contains the wide, obsidian eyes of the pinniped. A round, alabaster face accompanies the fathomless gaze. Wide, sculpted cheekbones and a curved jaw encompass a pair of pale pink, rosebud lips and a diminutive button nose. Atop her head, a fount of obsidiant hair rises in waves, hovering several inches from the root into the air before falling like a cloak over the seaborn's shoulders. A generous coating of onyx-hued lashes fan against the breeze as the seal maiden tilts her head, pressing one cheek to the viney affection of Tyulthk. "Thank you," she says in a disused voice mired in gruff tones and gravelly timbre. A breath is sucked in, heaved into her lungs quickly before the same scraping oration continues, "For helping me."