RP: Ina's Leftovers
Summary: A Foxkin, A treant, and an Undead Aberration meet in a copse.
The Sage Forest Bell
The dense canopy of the forest cover parts here, allowing the sunlight to stream down and bring a subtle warmth to your face. Rising up from amidst the spinney of thistle ahead, a tower of whitened Sagewood ash catches your attention. Intricate notches are cut into the once living pillars that form the base, creating rungs to reach the platform high atop. Hanging mystically just beyond reach is a bell of gleaming silver, long dormant as its purpose has become shrouded in time.
Lefty meets the eyes in curiosity and begins flashing Morse code at the treant, attempting communication. It had always been his go-to, but accidental singeing usually ruins the attempt. Perhaps this time will be different. Lefty lands on a branch and warps his prehensile wings around the wood to anchor himself. Flash, blink, spark? The local flora and fauna are no longer at risk, and Tyulthk has shown himself durable, so is not at threat from Lefty.
Arlyeon finds herself introduced to the scene via the branch she was balancing upon suddenly snapping beneath her weight- sending both herself and the squirrel she'd been holding onto tumbling to the ground in a confusion of branches & leaves. Whilst both predator and prey are left dazed by this particular turn of events, the squirrel's a touch quicker to recover, and promptly darts off into the underbrush, leaving the foxkin to futilely grasp at its departing form alongside an overly dramatic, but still pained, “Noooooo. Foiiiiiiiled.” Vulpine ears fold back slightly, before becoming even further pronounced when the mischief-maker realizes she's no longer alone. Treant and Terrible-Eye alike are stared at for a few long moments, before she simply extends both her arms to either side and flops back to the ground, “Alas. Look not at this poor starving creature of tha' forest.” Who is totally wearing leathers that look more befitting a sneak thief. “Auugh.” Such a drama queen.
Tyulthk was rather enjoying the gentle pulsing and flashing as the eye and tree looked at one another, of course, the Treant had little idea of what he was saying, something about a goat and someone's mother, before he jolts at the cracked branch, he shoots a vine from his arm to the tree she fell from, creating a slide of sorts to ease her down to the ground before retracting if back, looking at the eyeball and holding up a finger, as if he was asking a bird to land on it, "You need to be more careful." He gestures to the branch with his free hand, "Maybe a branch that thick on an oak would support you, but not a pine."
Lefty flits over to land, then attaches himself once again, this time upside-down. He blinks at the foxkin, then swivels to watch the squirrel scamper away. He knows what fear looks like, but running is out of the question. Nothing can hurt him now. He returns his gaze to the foxkin and watches her, dilating and relaxing his iris. Letting off sparks against the bark, since it seems to do no damage. Safe outlet for pent-up energy. He blinks a few times at Arlyeon, asking a vague question, but not really expecting an answer.
Arlyeon flops about for a few moments longer, before she finally drags herself up into a cross-legged sitting position, and begins to brush out her hair. Dusting it at this point was futile, but she could at least remove what bits of foliage got caught up in it- bits of green clashing ridiculously with the cherry red of the dye's she currently preferred. “I will let ja' sage wisdom take root in tha' fertile grounds of my mind. Totally.” It's during this time that she peers up at the eye, and squints at it hard. Hadn't she seen that thing in passing, once. There was a cow involved, probably. Still, it was a weird critter. “Hey, blinky. Close your eyes slowly three times, iffun ya understand what'm sayin', yeah? Cause I sure as hell can't get ya for the life of me if you're tryna communicate.” Her head cants off to one side, with a sort of vacant look, “I mean, unless ja sizin' me up fer dinner. I get them looks now and then, and it doesn't seem a far cry, 'n all.”
Tyulthk glances to the eyeball and places it down on his shoulder, the sparking discharge earthing itself through him as he nods, "Your mind is a fertile plain but there seems to be no seeds sown." He nods quietly and chuckles, gesturing to the pulsing eyeball he kept on his finger, "I do not think this thing eats, though it is rather interesting." He nods and then kneels down to extend his hand to her, "I am Tyulthk, it is a pleasure to meet you." He coils his hands together and drags out vines between them creating a small hammock as he nudges the eyeball into it
Lefty rolls and spirals around the branches to where the tree wishes him to be. No harm being agreeable. He glows and dims three times for the foxkin, then after five seconds does so again. They'd agreed upon a communication, and Lefty has no reason to lie. He is a bit peckish. He sparks and smokes a bit, and licks some soot from his lens. An eye needs sight, and soot shrouds it.
Arlyeon accepts the offered hand, more gingerly than her insofar rough-and-tumble antics might otherwise indicate. “Considering ya haven't threatened me yet- it's a bigger pleasure for me 'n you might think. 'm Trish.” Liar. “ I'm sorta a ... traveller. New here- looking ta see if I can catch up to my sister...or if I got ahead of 'er. And well, if my cousin's around, the cocky git.” Using Tyulthk's hand as a counterbalance to her body, she gradually shifts herself up into a standing position. The lethargic pace is in part due to the foxkin's famished nature, but also due to her own innate tendency to passively 'borrow' bits of luck from those she's in skin-to-skin contact with. And yet, despite the fact that Tyulthk is giving off every indication of plausibly being an easy mark to get a bit of good Karma to start her day, the fox still finds herself relinquishing his hands after a few moments. He -does- need to make that hammock for the eyeball and all. Yeah, totally. “Wait. Didja jus' call me dumb? I'll have you know I'm right clever when I need ta be. I can tinker with stuff inna way not many can. S'not a thing just anyone can do.” She hrmphs, folds her arms, and then finds herself scrutinizing the eyeball again, “...Okay, so you can understand me, and you have a tongue. Which..Wait. Are you someone's...familiar? Like...um. Y'know, how some mages have cats- or other things. Imps. Backwards talking brooms. All that neat junk they get besides the pointy hats and robes.”
Tyulthk looks at the eyeball, as much as he wanted to despise the creature he had come to roost, he couldn't help but chuckle, the deep echo rumbling through the treant's whole body as it faded and brightened, "Curious creature indeed, though it is prone to... shock?" He shrugs, rocking the hammock in his hands from side to side slowly to comfort the creature in his grasp, "I did not call you dumb child, merely, learning." He looks at her and nods, "Would you like some tea?" He creaks slightly as his chest splits slightly, a teapot on a vine emerging
Lefty rocks back and forth, blinking a reply at Trish. Two and a half glows. The eye focuses his energy, and lessens the sparks. Instead, he grows warmer. At the appearance of the teapot, he leans over the edge of his perch and watches it with avid curiosity. As the treant rocks his hands, the eye swings back and forth, watching everything. He yawns widely, displaying his tongue and row after row of tiny razor teeth. The gods must have had a mean streak when they created Lefty, or else his mistress did. For a creature this small, natural appendages and necromantic additions are indistinguishable from each other.
Arlyeon mumbles something inaudible about 'schoolin' yer face' before the mention of tea perks her right up, her thoroughly fluffy and dust-ridden tail swishing behind her. Whatever faux-reticence she might have been displaying due to the prior bit of communication- it's not enough to stop her from leaning forward to outright stare at the teapot, “Please, oh please, oh pleeeease, tell me ja gotta buncha tea cups in dere, too. S'all gonna be a fancy tea party here.” Hands clap together enthusiastically- and then she takes a good look at Lefty. “Hrm. Dibs on being first. Not sure iffun he'd be able to properly hold a cup- which'd mean like...pourin' it down his throat or...seeing how she manages.” Other than potentially just eating the kettle piece by piece. “..And Uh, I'll take that as maybe familiar. At least mage-y bits involved. Arright. So, do you -still- have a mage you're takin' orders from? Cause uh, if you're not.... I'm hirin'. And I pay well.” Stage whisper time, “I could pay you in pigeons. Or squirrels. Whichever.”
Tyulthk just looks between them both as he pours the tea into a vine growing from his chest, the thick green blooming into a bright white flower and coiling a small handle, inside the dark tea sat between the petals, extending the vine out to the fox before tipping the teapot ever so slowly towards the eyeball, a large drop forming on the end of the spout for the eyeball to take at its leisure, "You can do whatever you want to my face, I don't actually need it." He nods slowly, looking between the two, "You just have meat to offer huh?"
Lefty sips the drop carefully, blinking and glowing at Trish. No telling what meaning is conveyed, but at the mention of pigeons and squirrels, the eye begins to tear up. No, never mind, that's drool. Lefty flits down to perch next to the kitsune, three glows. It'd been a long while since he'd had fresh meat. Sure, he can sip from the blood fountain, but sometimes he wants solid food.
Arlyeon sulks for a brief moment following Tyul's words- though whether it's due to him hearing her, or the fruitlessness of any 'learn you good' type antics is difficult to discern. What -is- easy to tell, is the sheer vigour in which she accepts the offered tea, lighting up with a gleeful bit of enthusiasm, “Thank ya, kind sir. Your hospitality is most appreciated. And stuff. That's what dignified people say, right? Anyways- so, yoooou're a tree spirit-y thing from what I can tell, so, uh, this your forest? Am I trespassin'? Cause I mean, sorry 'n all, if I am, but- well, I needs to get that meat, so I can offer it- but well.” The foxkin's grin broadens substantially, and pointed vulpine teeth are bared, “Y'know- sometimes a bit a' fresh meat hits the spot.” The eye fiend, and its newfound proximity, is given a knowing nod, “Blinky here gets the deal. Gotta get dat grub while the gettin's good, guy.” Having said this, she casually moves to pat Lefty- in part as a symbol of acknowledgement, and acceptance of it as part of her entourage...but also because she was curious if the little thing would have luck to borrow. I mean, these things matter, in a pinch. “...Oh, 'n have you seen an ogre millin' around town? I heard there was one- n' an never hurts ta have a bit a muscle when ja y'know. Doin' things.” Real smooth there.
Arlyeon smoothly slips Lefty a crumpet.
Tyulthk looks at her and laughs again, the hollow echoing rumble shaking his whole body as he looks at her, "No, no, while the Dryads are the spirits of the trees in a way I am the father of Dryads." He gestures to his form, certainly more primitive than the Dryads and their ilk would be, where they were connected by spirit, Tyu was bound to his vessel physically, "You are not trespassing, for I do not own the forests, I am merely the caretaker of these lands and I keep them alive." He waves his hand, the white trail of light flowing behind as the spores float into the air, "A healer."
Lefty noms the crumpet, licking up the crumbs. He does nothing to resist the pat the luck-sucker, whatever luck he had gathered certainly hasn't helped him thus far. Not that he knows what the contact means. Maybe he can't gather luck. Maybe his mistress' curse is attached to her magic. The same magic that animated him. He has no interest in plants, dryad or treant. He sparks a bit, like a mangy dog loses fleas. It's not intentional.
Arlyeon darts her hand back when Lefty sparks, shaking her fingers off and then bringing them to her lips to suck on the tips when she's not drinking her tea. There was something there, she felt it- but there was also something off about it. Still, it was perhaps an available resource in a pinch. That bit of experimentation aside, she redirects her attention back to the elder treant, “Nifty. You sure got around in your youth, s'all 'm saying, Ty.” The analogy seems to have been lost on the fox-girl, “But uh- glad you're not gonna try 'n punt me from the forest- that'd have made for a really awkward game of run-away.” She can't help but pause and lean forward again, the treant given a good long look, “Healer, though? Like healin' the lands type thing- or like, mend broken bones bits? Because, I live a rough 'n tumble life, didn'tcha know. I can never seem to find a high enough thing to fall off- so, well, knowin' a right proper heal-y bones person is always a good thing. Though, I guess healing land bits are still good.”
Tyulthk grabs his arm and snaps it, letting the branch hang limply as he hissed in pain, the thick vines wrapping around the wood and straightening it back into place, the vines themselves glowing slightly before they moved back under the burnt exterior, the wood beneath the vines like it had never been broken in the first place, "Lands, plants, people, it is all the same, though you must not expect miracles." He looks down at Lefty, "Maybe I could restore this thing to its body."
Lefty glows and sparks at Tyulthk, then flitters into the air to inspect the clearing some more. There is no body to return him to. His mistress was pureed, and his own body, well, this is it. He'd been in this form of undeath much longer than he'd been alive, and knew no other way. He examines Tyulthk's fracture and the healing. Seeing is one thing, knowing quite another. He considers the questions to ask, but discards them all as they cannot be conveyed with the rudimentary communication laid out.
Arlyeon doesn't really get the finer points of Leftys communication, but she does have a bit of experience with robe-wearing lunatics, “Not if it's actually just an eye. Could be just be a fiend, or bit of magical stitchwork. Not really much ta mend in that case. Though, hey- knock yourself out tryn' if the lil fella's up for your uh- ministrations, yeah.” Finishing off the tea within her flower-y glass, she then extends it over towards Tyulthk, “Refill. Pleeeease? I'd uh, say sorry for my newfound employee torchin' ya, but, uh- I don't quite have the finer points of how he works down yet.” But she really wants to know how to get Lefty to set people on fire, believe-you-me. Might be why she looks that weird combination of pleased and sheepish.
Tyulthk me refills her 'cup' as he leans back, "I did not notice." He snaps off a piece of charcoal and tosses it aside, never really noticing it now it was missing, "You can't burn that which has already been scorched.”
Lefty sips from Trish's cup. If she gonna employ him, she gotta share. He flits around and taps the bell way up top. A soft peal fills the area. He enjoys the sound so much he does it a few more times. It's not loud, but it might be annoying after a while.
Arlyeon flops back to the ground, the flower cup and what's left in it clutched to her chest. "Clearly, you haven't put enough oil on said scorched item. Heeee." That said, she seems a bit more relaxed than she had been prior, her attention drifting off as her newfound compatriot busies itself with ringing the bell.