RP:She Is a She And Not An It At All
Cliff Edge
The area opens wide here, with the side of the road running alongside sheer cliff, a straight drop which would surely kill anyone without the skill or wings to navigate it. Jagged rocks protrude from the cliff side, almost like daggers waiting to stab into a victim's soft flesh as they plunge to their death. As you look closer you can slightly make out old bones and bodies that have fallen in the past, due to slipping, or killed during duels, and just past that border of corpses is what appears to be a massive spire of ice, its point disappearing into the clouds. Strange as the structure seems, it becomes even more so the closer you look, for it appears to be systematically dotted with perfect half-circles, out of which frequently fly dragons, gryphons, and other winged beasts. Is there some sort of multi-species hive lurking within the icy confines? Brave the deadly cliffs if you wish to know more, or take the thin road here that leads east and west, towards the area of the tavern and the main area of town. Another path leads north to a steep hill, and a distant fort.
Daisy quite likes it when areas are wide open. Not that she has a problem with small spaces. She is quite small herself and easily fits into them for hiding or whatnot. Mostly she is pleased with this particular space because of that edge. What edge? That there cliff edge! Maybe she is getting a little used to heights, considering her dear Mamoru's love of flying, but she is still a bit wary! Nothing to worry about, kitten. Guardian couatls are here to save you. Fine, fine. She buries her nose deeper into that mink cloak of hers, deciding to keep from that edge all the same.
Zette is walking, or rather limping, along the road at a slow pace. Her wings and back, and most of her arms, to be honest, are hidden behind a thick blanket, which the girl wears as a cloak. She is about the size of a ten year old human, with darting eyes which suggest she is perhaps a bit younger and features that may indicate to an astute someone that the fae may be older than her size suggests. Her age, thus, is ambiguous, but her actions are not. Around her legs -- and around the rest of her body as well, for that matter, though it can't at the moment be seen -- bandages lie. At her ankles, shackles, no longer bound together, or to anything else, but firmly attached to her skin nonetheless. She stops at a point in the road where the cliff's edge is particularly close by and stands, staring at the spire in the distance, squinting slanted eyes. She pulls the blanket around her more fully and squats, by the roadside, which causes a whimper of pain from the girl as her right ankle gives way and she topples over, into the snow. The whimper itself seems more as music, as two notes, the cut-short beginning of a melody.
Daisy is usually quick to spot a damaged creature, no matter the size or race. But today her thoughts are of wizards and dangers and royal massacres until... "Hey!" There is a couatl nose, prodding her in the back, causing a few stumbling steps to be had towards the injured fae just over there. "Mamoru, what's the-- Oh." Toppling and small and probably very cold. Not everyone has maine coon fur like you, kitten. Go see what is the matter. She nods and tots over there. Is it dangerous? Is it scary? Doesn't matter. It is hurt. It? She. She is a she and not an it at all, no matter how old she is or pretends not to be. There's a soft purr in her throat -cause that soothes even the most savage of beasts- as she kneels down by the musical lump in the snow. She doesn't ask what happened. That isn't her business. But she'll help, if the she will let her.
Zette is not an it at all, she would agree, and neither pretends to be old or young. At the moment, she just is. She jumps at the purr, her heart leaps into her throat, terror etched in green eyes, which look to Daisy's face, then away, darting back and forth from feline to the snow by her own feet multiple times before resting. She doesn't dare make eye contact. She doesn't dare move, either -- and not just for the pain. She might allow help, provided that she is certain she will not be harmed, and after a moment the purr seems less threatening. The fear doesn't leave her face, though it softens considerably and her breathing slows. She pulls her more-hurt ankle under the blanket, hiding it. She knows too well how easy it would be for a pain-bringer to manipulate an already-injury into something worse. Not long after, her other leg joins, but not before one might notice that while this joint is less swollen, the whole leg is just as bandaged, and the skin underneath the metal seems raw and cracked, accompanied by frozen blood.
Daisy isn't one to just cause pain for funsies. Can she do it? Of course she can. She can suck the life right out of a man, if provoked. Good thing this ageless she isn't so provocative! Provoking. Pro... Well she could be a pro at something. We don't judge, now do we kitten? No way! Mamoru stays back a little, just in case the ladycreature is scared of couatls. Some people are, you know. Even little ones. Sure, he is the size of a rowboat, but that doesn't mean anything! Anyway, he lets his ward do her thing. "Do you want them off?" Her little kitten voice parts little kitten lips with a little kitten smile. No. She's not dangerous, dear fae. Go on. Let her help you.
Zette allows her eyes to wander to the snake-creature. This fae knows neither what a couatl is nor how big they usually get, but he seems pretty large to her. Warily, she furrows her brow. She longs to turn her head in the direction she came from, to see how feasible fleeing would be, but that would mean turning away from Daisy, which Zette does not dare do. She'd never outrun Daisy, anyway, she thinks, let alone this strange scaled-winged beast. Rather, she lowers her head a little, only to dart her eyes upwards again at the posed question. She is able to hold her plaintive gaze steady upon Daisy's face for three seconds before losing her nerve and focusing, instead, upon her knees. A hummed question follows in the form of a wordless song, which darts from her lips and calls forth an accompanying image: A smaller version of Daisy, and Zette, remarkably accurate in detail, if small, and this illusory-Daisy seems to be cutting through the metal at the representative-Zette's ankles with ease. Her line of sight rises once more, to search Daisy's face, in hopes of clarifying that the feline means what she says. A flicker of hope darts into her eyes as her song fades, taking with it her illusion.
Daisy blinks rapidly at the mini-her happening there in that imagery. Well that is new. And so very interesting! What a beautiful little creature she stumbled upon! And for once there was no actual stumbling! Great day! A giggle bubbles out of her. "Do you see the mini-me, Mamoru? I am even smaller." The couatl can't imagine his ward any tinier than she already is, but there it is happening right in front of him thanks to the magics of this she. "Yes." She points a clawed finger at the shackled ankles, shankles if you will. "May I?"
Zette cants her head, just a tad, to the left, at the giggle. The corner of her mouth upon the opposite side of the tilt twitches in response, the sound provoking something of safety in the little fae's mind. This tiny smile fades, just as quickly, however, and Zette's face smoothes into an emotionless mask as she considers the outstretched claw. From under the blanket appear her hands; the long fingers of her right caress a heavily bandaged left wrist. She remembers the removal of matching manacles from her wrists, a few days ago, and how skin had come off with the metal, she'd been wearing them for so long. Too long, really. Tentatively, the small thing nods her head, and it is a gesture not without bravery on her own part, which a tiny voice in the back of her head acknowledges and praises. She looks down to her lap, where her hands now rest. She takes a deep breath, steels herself, and extends one leg gingerly, then the other, in slow movements. No doubt the feline would notice the dressings upon her legs, places where gouges in her flesh have been seen to, already, in Kelay, by the healers there. Perhaps the kit would notice, as well, that in some unbandaged places -- right under her right knee, for instance, and in the upper thigh of that same leg, the fae has barbed wire embedded in her flesh. These scattered pieces, which adorn her body in fewer places than the wire used to, no longer hinder her movements as they were once intended to do, but look no less pleasant. The skin grows over these segments (though in some places, one or two barbs still protrude) as though the fae's skin has healed, time and again, over the wire, forming thick, uncomfortable scars. Her right ankle is bruised and swollen pretty badly, to the extent that the metal cuts into her flesh and under the metal on both sides there seem to be gouge marks where the girl has tried to claw her way out. Zette gazes nervously at Daisy, biting her lip, and her body begins a slight tremble.
Daisy takes only a brief moment to look over the tortured flesh before deciding what to do. Silently, her bag is set on the ground and opened for easier rummaging. Oi! Kitten! Don’t you think you should be asking some questions first? We have a rule about jackets and reading materials and you are so breaking it. Maybe she escaped prison! Maybe she is being punished for foul behavior! Maybe she is gonna turn on you with teeth like some sort of weeping angel assassin! The kitten wrinkles her nose as she produces twin pink seeds from her bag. Maybe… maybe you’re just gonna ignore me and help her anyway. Fine. She smiles at the seeds, holding them inches from her nose between two fingers. “Ssshhh…” Who are you hushing on? The girl or the seeds? Probably both. “Mamoru… keep her warm.” And the couatl moves closer, circling the pair there in the snow to block out the elements. The shackles are then searched for even the tiniest bit of room so the seeds can be tucked underneath.
Zette watches carefully; even the smallest motion is observed by the fae, though perhaps not -quite- analyzed. If Daisy asked, the fae would answer all questions, honestly, although it would take a while, as each answer would require another illusion, another song. At any rate, Zette holds as still as she is able, though the tremble in her torso now extends to her limbs -- is it fear, perhaps, the cause of this unrestrained movement? or cold? She looks around as the 'shh' escapes Daisy's lips, ignoring the seeds in a moment of panic. Has she done something wrong? Is she not being quiet enough? Is 'warm', and the order for the Couatl for keep the fae such perhaps some kind of slang for a punishment, or does it mean what it sounds like? Apologetically, Zette would lower her eyes again, stare at her lap, so as not to disrupt the feline with even her gaze. She calms, slightly, when the wind is blocked, when snow stops streaming in unwavering, chilly gusts. Yet, despite a once-again-slightly-calmer demeanor, and a newfound warmth (Oh, she thinks, that must be all the kit meant), she daren't cast a curious glance to her ankles, to watch small pink seeds disappear into flesh -- at least into one leg. At her left, the shackle is relatively loose, as the leg underneath has lost weight, lately, and the fae's running in terror served to break it free of the flesh to which the metal would otherwise cling. As for the right, some space might be found, in a pocket by the bone, but more likely the swelling thereupon would render fitting anything between pale flesh and dull metal very difficult indeed.
Daisy reaches over to cup Zette’s face in both furry paws. Her chin is lifted so green eyes meet troubled ones. That purring is still there. Calming. Soothing. How do you tell a petrified creature that this may hurt without freaking them out? Though the fae probably knows already. Shackles of metal aren’t metal by accident. Otherwise they’d be of fur or silk or something totally inappropriate for a family show. “You are safe.” The she’s cheeks are given gentle pets by soft thumbs before her face is released. Leaning down with her nose pointing towards shackled feet, the druid presses an ear to those legs just there so whispers can be breathed out to seeds that aren’t peach pits. Barely audible strings of words escape the kitten, bringing the seeds to life. There is a stir and a nearly slimy growth that seeps from the seeds as the roots inch their way between metal and flesh, burning to separate while a clear goo secreted soothes. Kinda like medieval icyhot. The planty substance moves quickly, encouraged by the druidish tongue. Behind the fae, Mamoru remains - For warmth and support and comfort and something to grab if the little creature needs it.
Zette flinches at the initial contact, blinking back tears soon after. It's the purring that quiets her chest and begins to slow the rapid beat-beat--beat-beat--beat-beat of her heart which fills the musical creature's body like drumbeats. Green pierces green and the fae matches the purr with a noise of her own, mimicking the sound with a drawn out note. It is not identical, for obvious reasons -- primarily that the fae does not know how to purr, only hum -- but her own noise manages to match Daisy's in pitch and volume, at least. Already, Zette expects what is coming to hurt. As a rule, she expects most things to hurt and the fact that soft words accompany soft thumbs in a soft petting way shocks the girl more than would a slap. Tears burn in slanted eyes again, to be blinked back, quickly, though saltwater spills regardless in controlled, silent sobs as her face is released, as the druid turns away to whisper secrets to the young flora spawning between a girl and her bonds. All the while, Zette maintains the hum, as though the noise is more important than taking a breath. No illusion accompanies, not this time. Rather, the fae rocks, an inch forward, an inch back, just her upper body, in time with her slowing heart. If she knew it was an option, she'd grab the couatl, who already kindly lends her his warmth, but it is rare that the fae would think that touching another is permissible, and so her hands, which still lie in her lap, join together. One forms a fist and embeds nails in the fleshy part of her hand. The other cups the first lightly and strokes a thumb over the cracked skin on her knuckles. If the fae is in pain -- or, at least, any more pain than usual -- she does not show it, except in these small motions, which may be interpreted in any number of ways.
Daisy doesn’t need to keep secrets any longer. The plants know what to do. So she occupies her time with looking back up at the fae with a smile that fades once she sees that pain. Tsk, tsk kitten! You should know how to multitask by now. There is a softly muttered apology as she carefully pries the other’s hands apart for holding. She squeezes, silently letting the songbird know it is okay to squeeze back. A metallic cry draws the feline’s eyes back down to the she’s feet. They are ready! And it is about time too! The goo has formed a hardened gel between the metal and flesh and the metal does not like this not one bit. Like it knows something wretched and horrible is about to happen. “Mamoru. Hug.” Kitten paws move back into the bag for more rummaging while she arms are filled with the end of a couatl tail. If snakes could smile, this one would offer it to the pained fae. Ah, here it is. A long, tubular, tye-dyed flower is pulled from the bag and held upside down. “Please be very, very still.” And she cautiously tugs the stem from the bulb, filling the area with a spicy aroma. More of a chai than a chili kind of spice. The flower is slowly lowered to the shackles and turned rightside up so a thick, brown, acidic paste can be squeezed onto the restraints. It eats away at the metal with a hiss, quickly devouring the offensive material away. That goo from before forms a protective barrier, keeping the paste from touching already sensitive skin. Mamoru’s tail? It is for comfort and (secretly) holding the fae down if she struggles. It would be no good to get the paste on anything other than the metal!
Zette allows the feline access to her hands, once she realizes that the motion is not for the purpose of causing pain, but rather comfort. An incredulous look flits across her features for a moment before they settle on a subtly confused expression. The metallic cry is registered and warrants another wince from the young fae, apparently, for that is her reaction. Her stomach churns at the noise and her hum breaks. It lingers around her for a moment, hanging thick in the air, before it realizes it is no longer needed, at which point the sound is no more. When the tail of the great snake curls around her, Zette tenses, every muscle in her body suddenly on the highest alert, waiting for the snake's - and the druid's - next move. She bites her lip and for a third time tears threaten to fall as the fae hyperventilates and, a bit paradoxically, perhaps, grabs hold of the tail. She hides her face in scales; she doesn't want to watch, not if something is about to happen for which she needs to be still. She keeps muscles taught, lest her body begin to shake upon relaxing them, thus causing her to disobey the kit helping her. The hiss is met with a mimicked sound, a musical version, like her previous purr-attempt, though this song is muffled by a hidden face, disrupted by quickened breath. In response to the sound, an illusion, an insight into the girl's mind unbidden by the sweet creature: a baby Couatl, not unlike Mamoru, with surprisingly accurate markings considering she had previously given only a glance in his direction, which flies up to whatever passes for a neck on a flying snake and nuzzles, affectionately, in what is clearly a "thank-you-please-don't-squeeze-me-to-death" gesture.
Mamoru blinks at the mini-him and immediately understands the kitten’s excitement earlier. He’ll have to apologize later for thinking she was silly and foolish, but for now, he has a job to do! He gives the fae a little squeeze and uses the very tip of his tail to boop her nose. It is a comforting squeeze, rather than one of death. Meanwhile, Daisy is watching the acidic paste, making sure it has burnt itself out before daring to touch the shackles. That metal crumbles away in a typical, dustish manner, leaving only the anklets of soothing gel. “Good. Thank you, Mamoru.” The couatl tail loosens, but remains huggable, while Daisy extends a single claw. Said claw is used to carefully slice the gel in a single swipe. First one and then the other. Oh look! You can see the seed and the little roots are embedded in the gel. Neat. Each anklet is carefully removed from the irritated flesh and tossed to the side. Don’t worry! She isn’t littering! Organic stuffs are biodegradable. A little sigh escapes the druid as she takes in all the various wounds once again. This may take a while. Might as well get comfortable. She looks up again and smiles. “I’m Daisy.”
Zette scrunches up her face and laughs for the first time in about a century when her nose is booped. She lifts her head in wonder from the snake's scales and gazes up at him. She has no idea what has just happened -- nor does she have any conception of what a boop is, or why it makes her feel all fuzzy inside - but her already striking features increase in beauty tenfold when she smiles, and her laugh sounds a lot like the tinkling of happy little bells. She enjoys the pressure of the squeeze, while it lasts, although less visibly than she had enjoyed the boop, and she continues to hug the tail even after it loosens. She is too distracted to notice much else, and she is trying to figure out how to get the flying-snake to tail-press her nose once more as the druid she has come to think of as the not-pain-bringer removes the gel and, of course, the gel-covered seed and its roots. As soon as it has been cast aside, her legs curl up towards her chest again in just as slow movements as they had extended. When Daisy mentions her name, Zette pauses a moment, looking back at the kit, less afraid, now, to meet her sight with the druid's features, though she is still unable to maintain eye contact for too long. After long thought, one arm releases itself from its comfortable hugged position and rises slowly to sweep thick, tangled, wavy hair to the side, freeing the faerie's pointed left ear. Etched in the skin along the baseline of the skull just behind this ear is something that looks like writing. Carved into the flesh, over and over, it might seem, if the doubled letters are any indicator, the scar, which is dark and deep in comparison to the surrounding skin of the area, reads: Z-e-t-t-e, though the first letter is the only letter clearly identifiable from any distance.
Daisy decides it is best not to expose the she to too much healing at once. It can become overwhelming and rest is definitely needed. It is a good thing they have a Mamoru to shelter them from the Frostymaw elements! His head is tucked inside the coil so he can be a part of the ongoings. He even spreads his wings over the top so there is some sort of overhead shelter too. <3 Such a sweet couatl. He especially likes that tinklebell laugh that bubbles out of the fae. More! He must have more happy exploding from their new friend! So while she hugs him, he boops her nose a second time while she is showing Daisy the namescar. Daisy waits for the booping to happen before sitting up on her knees for a closer look at the letters. “Z…” Good thing she can read, right? But she needs to get closer. Both paws press against Mamoru as she gets so close that whiskers brush fae skin. “Zette.” She sits back again, repeating the name. “It is pretty.”
Zette , having curled up by pushing bony knees under the couatl and towards her chest, looks up as the wings are spread above. She pushes as far forwards as she can and spreads her wings as well, although they smoosh a bit against the snake, and turn out more crumpled-paper than butterfly. It doesn't hurt her, however, so she attempts to flutter hers, tickling the scales behind her and any to her sides. The wings in question are translucent-green, as bright as the fae's eyes and are highlighted with predominantly pink and blue hummingbird tones (though different hues of green and some yellows and purples might shimmer through should any surrounding light hit -just- right. Eventually, her wings fold flat again, though not until the fae has had her fill of flapping them. Until recently, they were bound. Her muscles have not been worked there for a very long while, so the fae is unable to currently fly, though she can flutter, and flutter she does, often. And then, the boop. Again, the nose-push has her falling over, laughing. Or it would have done, had she not grasped on to the flying-snake's closest coil, wrapping arms around it like a teddy bear. She moves again, realizing Daisy still has not gotten her name from her scar, and then stays very still, resisting the urge to shy away from the stranger-face encroaching on her own. At the compliment, she blinks, and rests her head sideways on what she has deemed to be her -favorite- coil. She thinks that the kit means the scar itself, and so she hums a low song, deep notes pulsing and somehow managing to overlap high ones that shimmer in the air almost tangibly to create chords. A scene unfolds, on the nearest clear patch of snow, where the fae's tilted gaze falls: a dark room, a trapped fae half the size and one quarter the age she is now, whatever that is, the man who held her head steady, by her hair, the woman who sat patiently with a thin needle, wiping away blood with a dirty rag so she can see the word in angry red letters appear in snowy flesh.
Daisy’s ears droop a bit as she watches the scarring. It is beyond her why anyone would do something like that to another person. She is showing the kitten something personal and private and oh how trusting the fae is so early in their meeting! Well. She =did= just let you pour floweracid right there by her skin. That could have been anything, really. You’re lucky you’re cute, kitten. She reaches out a single digit, keeping the claw from scratching, and lightly pets the name there on her new friend’s neck. What can she really say? How sad it makes her. How unfortunate the other’s life has been? No. Those remarks are almost rude. “Pleased to meet you.” Mamoru lifts his chin to check the area. Since all is well, he goes back to guarding his ward and her new friend, enjoying the cuddles. <3
Zette raises her eyes to watch Daisy's finger as it progresses to her skin. She flinches at the touch, but when no pain comes, her whole body relaxes. In truth, the little fae hardly thinks of it as sharing, merely imparting information. The memory is painful to her -- as much can easily be seen in haunted green eyes that tear up at the kit's gentle touch, for reasons beyond Zette's ken. It is the first time anything in her life has been met with kindness, this meeting, and she doesn't know what the proper reaction is. She lifts her head slowly and stares at the flesh of the couatl before her, blinking rapidly and breathing in and out slowly. Daisy's reaction is not one of anger -- she can feel that much -- and nor is she happy at the fae's discomfort. She bites her lip and darts an apologetic glance sideways before dropping her eyes again. She can sense the sadness, and the confusion, if it is confusion. Another apologetic glance is swiftly transformed into another hum, another illusion: The little Daisy is back, and a little Zette, only this time the kitten doesn't help the fae, she strikes her. Zette closes green eyes and holds them shut for few seconds before opening them again. -I'm sorry- these eyes seem to say, when coupled with the illusory message. -I'm sorry for making you sad and you can hit me if you want-.
Daisy watches the little them illusion with a little smile. She does like the tinier her and the tinier she (who is now a Zette and not just a she!) bouncing around and-- oh dear god no! That smile quickly drops. Violence is happening! Nonono. She’d never. Oh… oh… What to do?! The kitten waves her paws through the illusion to make it go away and then throws herself at the fae, joining the cuddle Zette and Mamoru already have going on. Her tiny nose nuzzles under the other’s tiny chin. “No hitting.”
Zette freezes as the kit waves a paw through the illusion, contorting her face only briefly before forcing it into an impassive blank, where it would remain until -- oh! Terror in her eyes when she is -not- harmed, when this feline proves once again not to be a pain-bringer. Her eyes widen (-What is this?- -What is happening?- -I don't understand.-) as she is hugged, and nuzzled. Her grip tightens on the couatl, but she has no place to go, obviously, and so she endures the contact. She shivers, and then, goes limp. The gesture is done in confusion, mostly, but also in fear and in an emotion with with the fae is unfamiliar. She ducks her head, not away from Daisy, but rather towards the kit, until her own nose is close to an assumedly furry face. Thin hands, frail-looking, move to her face as soon as the soft cries begin. She doesn't have the words for -I don't understand-, or, rather, she doesn't have the image for it. "No hitting," she hears, and her cries increase, sobs wrenching her body, though neither chest nor throat make even the slightest peep.
Daisy just holds the fae. Why? Cause sometimes that is all someone needs to feel better. No words or pictures or alcoholic drink. Just a hug. And this moment is for being held. Held so by kittens and couatls that even the Frostmaw air can’t invade to ruin said moment. Damp hits her fur, making her look up. She steals a tear with a finger and then another with her lips, leaving a tiny kiss on Zette’s cheek in trade.
Zette wraps her own arms, thin, bony, bandaged, around Daisy and Daisy's companion couatl. At least, the faerie tries to embrace both at once, but finds that she isn't -quite- able, and so the little creature settles her hands around the feline, now, having released her own face. Being held, being supported in a non-threatening silence makes her chest fill a little more with this new kind of pain, this new-hurting-feeling for which she doesn't have a name. No lack for words keeps her silent, now, for she's never been allowed to articulate much of anything, and she's always made do with songs of her own, honest streams of pure emotion that color the atmosphere. She isn't sure what would come out, inside this hug, she doesn't have a thought other than that sound one makes after one has been sucker-punched, a sharp intake of -oh- filled with surprise and sadness and lack. It is a feeling that comes with a subtle understanding - not conscious, definitely not conscious, but rather in some hidden-away-intelligent part of her mind kept quiet for centuries - of everything she lacks, a deep knowledge of what she's been missing that crawls into her bones and heart and her chest, lopsided from being broken too many times, and there, in the paws of a feline and the coils of a winged serpent, she allows herself to feel, all the way down deep. As her salty streak is stolen by a caring kit, the little Zette -- for however old she might be, she feels -ever- so little -- throws herself into a certain caring feline's shoulder and offers to it a kiss of her own, a peck, like a bird, that plucks itself away, just as quickly and is replaced by a sad, sleepy head come to rest.