King Charlie O gathers the group ahead of time, meeting them at the mouth of the Mischance Mine to discuss the quest.
The instructions are simple: locate a permanent, non-migratory (or at least reliably migratory) non-Wild Roses goblin market.
The group is instructed to break their trail at the Wild Roses first, spending long enough there for traces of their presence to fade on their backtrail, then set off from there.
As not all members of the troupe are members of the Freehold, a simple alliance pledge is made, ensuring that neither freeholders nor non- will act against one another for the duration of the search and the return home to Tamarack Falls.
Avoiding the whole matter of the life-stealing anti-glow worms, Reginald H.S. Danger left the meeting with the Winter King in the company of his insubstantial and invisible fiancee and her substantial and rather grumpy hedgebeast. The mrbl gets strapped into the Dragonfly -- a cross between a biplane and a metallic Dragonfly, big enough to hold 2, though technically it's holding 3 but also technically one of them doesn't weigh anything so -- and the damn thing grumbled the whole way there that it just isn't natural to be sitting inside your companion.
Etsy can be heard, if not seen, though for those who have heard her speak, it isn't that her voice is different, it's that the way she talks is different, at least right now: "Honestly, mrbl, you act like you aren't kept in salmon and abalone by the man. You've never eaten so well as we have at Lazy Otter... " and then the voices trail away as the Dragonfly carries that trio to meet at Wild Roses.
There's a few ways to get to Market. One is to head through the caves of infinite darkness, filled with lifedrinking creatures that sip the soul and chill the bones. Another is to navigate Labyrinth Maze, the redundant title Cordy's thought up for the chain of alleys and marketways and gardens and hedges between Riverside and the Deep Hedge.
Another is to have a stall in the Market and just wait for the adventurers to meet oneself there. Which is what Cordy does. When the trio of otter, floof, and MISTER DANGER arrive, she's in the middle of muttering under her breath, fingering a series of charms in various hues on a delicate chain round her wrist, each depicting another classical element. A flame, a star, a new moon, an icicle, an anvil, raindrop, lightningboltsanddunemountainIT DOESN'T SEEM TO END. There's all sorts, and it takes her quite a while to make good with all of them, all the while mumbling like a crazy lady, forgelit eyes spilling light onto the charms in her gloved hands while her eyes twitch and turn above her head, tracking sounds and furthering the little bunny's paranoias.
The dragonfly contraption sets down on a safe patch of ground within the market, allowing Reggie to unstrap himself from the craft, hoist himself out of the pilot's seat, and then slide down the wing to the ground with a small hop once he's reached terra firma. He moves his goggles up to his forehead and adjusts his flight cap for a moment or two until his forelock is curled out just so. There. Perfect. He tosses his scarf back over his shoulder, then leans against the craft with one hand on his hip and one boot toe poking at the ground. "Right, Dangerbug. You can drop the payload now." With that, the belly of the craft opens and unceremoniously deposits Marc on the ground from a height of a few feet. "Ah, adventure."
Who let the feral Ogress know this was happening? Well, something Uschi just... Shows up. Unannounced. Unwilling to communicate much. Unlikely to go away even if asked directly. Sure sure, she makes that damned pledge - but besides that, the Farwalker seems content to just... Walk on. In silence. Observing the surroundings and Remaining Sharp. Is she successful? Uschi -feels- successful; her barefoot stomping across both Trod and Market surefooted and confident. She might look like she rolled out of a pile of mildewing quilts and furs in some hovel earlier - because she did - but damned if she doesn't move through the Hedge like... Well, like she knows what she's doing, for better or for worse.
Uschi's even remembered to tie little once-white grimy strands of ribbon around something tucked away in her belt. They won't be staying on long, though, once they make it back on the Trod towards... Wherever they're going. Before then, Uschi has one job do: stare incredulously a the dragonfly contraption, and be... Patient. Like a boulder on the edge of a cliff.
vervanE is here, too. He got here...somehow. Does it matter? Whatever the case, he stands near the peripheral of the area they were no doubt meant to meet in, staring off into Somewhere and Sometime Else, far away from here. He eventually turns his head, shadowy hair whipping into his face as his hazel eyes take in the scene, a warm, orange glow shimmering somewhere deep down in the pits of his irises.
The rabbit jumps- LITERALLY jumps, through the air- backwards a good two paces when Reggie tells the dragonfly to drop a bomb, in so many words. It takes a few very long seconds before she relaxes at seeing that the payload is... some smudgy Autumn fellow. Uschi gets a nervous, timid glance and a hesitant wave from gloved fingers, and vervanE... well, he looks frightening. Despite being O So Wyrd herself, Cordy is quite susceptible to being freaked out by all these scary folks, and creeps a little nearer towards The Devils She Knows- I.E. Etsy and The Brit Bomber.
"Is- this everyone?"
The insubstantial Marc sort of drifts out with absolutely zero orientation, hiding his eyes from the light and having, therefore, to pull his head out of the ground immediately thereafter; his rather unimpressed-with-life-but-especially-with-Marc ladybug friend zizzes out of the bomb bay in a huff. "And how exactly am I supposed to HELP YOU with your DUMB THINGS and how are you supposed to KEEP ME FROM GETTING SQUISHED if you're being a ghost?" she tiny-voice yells at him. "And how in the hell did you manage to get ANOTHER jacket like that? I was POSITIVE they got rid of-- ohhhh no, you dug it out of the trash, didn't you."
"Come on, Scully, it's my favorite Jacket," Marc says reasonably, straightening up and dusting nonexistent dust off himself. "Thanks, Mr. Danger, Miss Etsy, M. Mrbl. We appreciate the lift." And then he extends his smudgy hand -- he's so very NOT Wyrd, compared to literally everyone else here. "I'm Marc Wright, pleased to meet you. This is Scully, she's smarter than I am and will literally never let me forget it." He grins at Cordy.
"The smartest thing, I think," says Etsy's voice, which comes out of nowhere for the time being, being as she is both invisible and insubstantial, her voice crisp with a British accent that does not match the accent anyone else has ever heard from her, "would be to find someone who is a traveling merchant and convince them to give up the name of someone at another market. Not just that, but -- if I can get from them a message that they might like carried to someone at that other market, well. Then I can Officially Courier That Message and I will be able to lead us there. I mean, unless someone has a smarter idea, I can definitely do that. It does make me a little bit single-minded... "
"Yes, I do think this is everyone. Don't worry, Cordy, you're not Jerry, so Reggie shan't bomb you."
The mrbl grunts as Scully voices her opinion on things. "It is difficult," he sighs in some sort of long-suffering agreement with Scully's general 'what the hell, Marc,' "when they require us to be their common sense." Which the mrbl is. Literally. Etsy's common sense.
The ladybug is ever so loud, and Marc is... well, he's not so terrifying, so that's nice, and Etsy's voice coming from noplace when she thought she'd been sidling closer to Reggie and Mrbl on their own- a mite silly, in retrospect, but such is the life of a rabbit- startles her all over again, leaving her ears rigid then wilting in discomfort. "Okay. Ah... Well, I am a merchant, and I travel, but I came a long ways to get here. I am not much more familiar with the surrounding markets than you are- there is not much talk of other markets. They prefer not to talk up the competition." Her accent is very Japanese, and a little halting- though that seems more the result of nerves than lack of practice. "Why do we not just seek out a trod leading us to "the market nearest besides this one?" If we have a good navigator, we shall arrive all the same. If we are fortunate."
Hey. Doesn't Uschi know that guy? The Ogress moves - lumbering over towards vervanE, her Very Dead Left Arm swinging by her side as she gives the Darkling a once over. "Taurus." She grunts, her first words to anyone in ... a while. The Moon's shadowy Mantle masks a great deal of her expression, but she does turn and look over to Reggie and the others.
There is a pause of silence. Is she considering Cordy's words?
Eventually Uschi turns, looks back at vervanE, looks back to the others, and then grunts semi-dismissively. Wait. That's it? That's it. Uschi being Uschi -- because let's face it, the Ogress is not... The most generous with her thoughts. Could be she has too few.
"Because one must have a clear picture in one's mind of one's destination in the Hedge. Looking for something so vague as 'the nearest Market' is asking for failure. We will not be able to find it by those means. If we had already seen the Market in some way, and could hold a clear picture of it in our minds, then that would be a possible way to navigate," explains Etsy's voice, all clear and precise. "It's part of why so few of us make it back, really. Imagine trying to hold in your mind a picture of New York a hundred years ago as your way to get back to New York now."
"I'm in favor of chatting folks up. Naked bribery. That sort of thing. Mind you, Etsy's plan is a fine one. Of course, I'd say so. I don't see why we can't all try chatting folks up while she's about her idea. And certainly, the marketeers here probably know where other markets are. Not that they'd be keen to give that information up, what with their stranglehold on the local business and all." Reggie remains leaning against his aircraft, arms folded up as he lets the others sort the matter out. "But I'm not much for thinking things through, myself. More of a 'straight at 'em' sort. Which is of limited use in this particular situation."
The scary Darkling known as vervanE hasn't said a word. Not to Uschi, either, though he nods at her. The orange light has faded from his eyes, leaving them a perfectly ordinary hazel, and he stands with arms lightly folded, staring at the ground, offering nothing. Why has the taciturn Winter decided to come along? What could he possibly offer on such an excursion? Yet, he must have his own reasons.
"I-" Cordy's voice has very little oomph to it. It's very easy to lose her suggestions in the more potent presence of the other personalities around. "-I do not think it a good idea to be too vocal about this with the locals. They -like- being the only market anyone knows about. It is -good- for them. That could cost the local freehold their favor or tolerance, or worse. Upstart markets they learn about- I have heard bad things about what happens."
Cordy wilts a bit under invisi-Etsy's correction, shifting to tuck one arm over the other, hugging herself a bit. "Well... well, I still think it is unwise to ask -here.- If perhaps we could purchase a memory from a vendor that happens to include a nearby market, that could do- but we would need to ask for it without exposing that it is specifically a vision of the market we wish."
Taking his hand back and running it through his hair, AS ONE DOES, Marc pretends he never did any of that. He just looks around at the others, considering. "Are there," he starts slowly, "any Marketeers here who are considering packing up and moving? Leaving the Wild Roses?" he asks Cordy directly. "Any rumors of someone being dissatisfied, or whose wares duplicate those of someone who gives better deals?"
Uschi is apparently not one to voice her plans -anywhere-, which is... The way things are. Instead of focusing in on the group as they have their discussion, the Ogress turns and starts to observe the local Hedge - her iridescent eyes flashing, nose sniffing, ears twitching now and then a way which humanoid ears really probably shouldn't. Feral. She's all feral.
Which is probably why Uschi is not the world's best stratigist. Let the big talkers with their fancy words call the shots. The Ogress is here to... What? Protect, and do what Farwalkers do best: walk far.
Cordy shakes her head, explaining, "I have not. If there are dissatisfied merchants, I have heard nothing."
Walk far, and carry a big... Sense of constant vigilance? Uschi sniffs in the air, then makes a slow croaking noise - turning to look at the group, and size them all up in turn. Huh. Nervous, chatty, shiny, nervous... Her eyes squint, then she starts to move - lumbering over to Reggie -- who is the tallest, thus the most senior.
Uschi grunts. Then she speaks, very quietly, like shale crunching underfoot: "Three stunted roses grow, but instead of petals they got ears. Youse'all speak too loud."
"It would be prudent," opines the mermaid in a whisper, "to speak a language that only we can speak, for this day, and when we speak to each other, use this language. There can be no penalty for breaking it save being oathbroken. I am fond of Lowland Scots, myself."
"I like Klingon," Marc whispers, leaning in. Scully sighs MIGHTILY and flutters over to buzz at Cordy, whispering to her, "Can I ride around on your hair? Because Marc is being a jerk."
Cordy goes rigid and still as Scully flits over towards her, completing the statue act when she asks to ride on her hair. She shakes her head in sharp, rapid jerks, muttering, "No. Nonono, I am sorry, but I- no. You may not. Forgive me." She shrinks a bit as she declines, curling in on herself a little. When she hears Uschi's cryptic little tidbit, she frowns, pondering the words before her eyes pop wide, ears drooping rapidly. "I still have -work- to do here!" Her voice has lowered to a bare, anxious whisper, chewing at her lower lip as the light in her eyes flares with her discomfort.
A language that no one outside Adventure Time! has spoken in its entirety for over two centuries comes tripping out in Esther's voice, and nothing else from the mermaid at the moment. Since she and Marc exist on the same plane at the moment, he can briefly feel her hand resting on his arm, as if to say 'hold that thought.'
Tiny hedgebug sighs. "Fine," she says, muttering things about people with ladybug phobias, because of course she does. She flitters over to the mrbl and whispers hedgebeast secret things, which end in a tiny lab-coated wire-rimmed-bespectacled ladybug riding atop the head of the long-suffering other hedgebeast.
Reggie seems content once everyone decides what they're doing. He climbs back up the wing of his craft and slides down into the cockpit. Walking is for scrubs. The craft walks about on its six legs, orienting itself in line with the direction of the trod. He lowers his goggles, adjusts his cap and scarf, yawns expansively, and sinks a little lower in his seat. Maybe he can catch a few winks while the Dangerbug toddles along. Etsy's words cause one eye to open as he considers her words. He makes a face, shakes his head, and worms back down again. "Lead on, Macduff."
Uschi merely grunts, giving a weird look to the group as they discuss languages - it's like the Ogress already has zero understanding of what any of them are saying! How strange. Then again... How much time does she spent in the Hedge? The wilderness? She smells... Well that's not the issue here. The issue here is which way they should be going.
The Ogress turns away from Reggie, observes the surrounding landscape of the Hedge. As Cordy whispers anxiously, Uschi licks her lips slowly and starts to chuckle -- a low, harsh whispery sound, like pebbles warning of an avalanche. "Well then pet, youse better start thinking of paying tribute to your Lady, to show how much youse love working, eh?" Cue further filthy chuckles.
They fade out, though, as the Ogress's iridescent eyes scan the land around them. One moment, two moments - then she grunts, and starts to move: lumbering with the utmost confidence, motioning with her one working hand to the path ahead of them and to the right. Wait. She thinks she's in charge now? Or maybe she's just striking out on her own merry way. The Ogress... Is not very apt at 'social'. She does, however, jerk her horns in the direction of the group - non verbal cue to follow.
Marc nods to Etsy, then bites his lip and looks to Cordy. His fox ears twitch, and he leans to whisper something to Etsy.
Cordy does not handle being called pet particularly well, nor does she do all that great with the harsh whisper or the rest of the unsettling communique. The flames that had been coiled around her feet and ankles curl up as she curls in, racing up her back and ears as if to make her look bigger. That said, when Uschii starts down a path, she follows- anything to get further away from the spying eyes of the guards.
She looks miserable.
Marc, in his inimitable fashion (because who would want to, really) just schleps after Uschi, reaching into his pocket for a packet of trail mix and starting to munch on it.
The trod is broad! There are tracks on it. As the group continues along, various side paths lead off in different directions through the tangling labyrinth of undergrowth and high, gnarled trunks.
The nice thing about a fae mount is they can handle the locomotion for you. The steering and such. Just tell them to follow someone, and they will. So Reggie enjoys a leisurely jaunt down the trod, at least so far along as when the paths begin to divide and split away this way and that. Essentially once Uschi comes to a halt? So too the Dangerbug. Reggie stirs in his seat, searches his coat pocket for a cigar, and gets one lit up to help clear his head. There's some squinting through the windshield at the path ahead. "Well. We should split up, I wager. Or pick a direction and stick to it. None of you are virgins, I say? This is the part in the movie where the virgin dies, typically." Two more puffs, and he's sinking back into his seat again. "Don't suppose any of the tracks seem to be carrying heavy loads, eh? Or have wheels or the like? Might indicate a merchant, you know. Or a lazy otter in a walking dragonfly."
Uschi lumber long, walking barefoot with that loping gait of hers, crooked and asymetrical as her Very Dead Left Arm sways limply by her side, the occasional flake of something papery and translucent sloughing off and crumbling to dust in the air. Eventually, the Ogress sniffs in twice and those iridescent eyes - which have been watching the veritable chaos of the Hedge around the Trods they traverse - turn, and she stares at Cordy.
-STARES- at her. A few moments of silent trundling-on pass, then the Ogress grunts. "Oy. Perk up, pet. E'eryone's aloud to be free. Youse ain't gonna lose ya... Ya... 'Job' or whatever. S'just gotta... Be more... -More-, and less..." Uschi might not have the word for 'anxiety', because the concept may be Entirely Alien to her. So the Ogress just wiggles her fingers in the tiny woman's direction.
Uschi stops short, snorts twice, and looks off into the distance. Turning a corner, there is something up ahead, behind a gnarled branch that archs back to expose... A big rock down yonder trod. It looks like, well, it looks like a giant skull from this angle - a giant skull with beaver teeth. The Ogress lifts her ruddy right hand, and points at it ominously.
Only then does she look around - more vigilance - and grunt to the group. "...Scope it. This I saw before when I was crossing through the gate of horn -- and we see now. Look to the eye, on... Onna left. Left eye, is the right eye. Glitters with wonder, it---"
Uschi stops. And turns. And looks at Marc. She says nothing.
"All right," Etsy answers in her normal voice, and then she flutters back toward the Danger Bug and clambers into it, for all that her non-existent weight at the moment doesn't weigh it down at all. The mrbl is left to climb in on its own, with Scully on its head. "Not with you, Marc," the mermaid answers, "I am a spoken-for mermaid. Rings may not mean anything to some people, but they do to this mermaid." She settles with her mirrors and blinks at Uschi, nodding once. "We go the way you saw."
Reggie points at Etsy and remarks, "With her? Certainly. But something tells me that's not what you meant." Reggie taps some ask over the side of his craft and takes another puff or two for good measure. He seems content with the course chosen and once more relaxes back into his seat to let the craft do the walking for him.
Pet hits Cordy like a whip, and flaming or not, she flinches. Forgelight eyes turn towards Uschii as she speaks, paying attention for all she seems to want to curl into a ball and vanish. "... I... mn... do not do More well. And Less is harder. I... appreciate? The words, but... I do not know that I can do as they suggest."
Marc's casual suggestion turns the bunny's face into a furnace. Almost literally. It was already sporting some fire, but now her cheeks glow cherry-red, like forgeheated steel. She Does Not Look at Marc. Looks anyplace else. Everyplace else. Like the left eye of the skullthing. Glitters with wonder, does it? She moves nearer if she can't get a look from where she is. Anything for a little distance from Marc the Deflowerer.
Marc just spreads his hands and gives Uschi a somewhat belligerent but mostly self-mocking 'WHAT' look, then laughs ruefully, good-naturedly, at Etsy and Reggie as he jams his trailmix and his hands in his pockets. He doesn't even look at Cordy. "Congratulations to the both of you," he says, and there's no lie about it, no subterfuge. "I'll just rely on my wits and the kindness of near-strangers to avoid an ignoble death, then. I don't think you get to fake it twice."
Scully, in the bug, asks Etsy and Reggie in an earnest whisper, "Will you please try to help him not die on this mission, though? The King sent him but he really doesn't know what he's doing. I'm pretty sure the virgin thing is a myth, by the way."
The rock, upon approach, is quite large. Easily twenty feet tall, it seems to be the Hedge's version of Vermont's famous green serpentine, crawling with vines...and covered, absolutely covered, in streaky trails of chalky excrement.
From this angle, the lip of the eye socket blocks clear visibility, but there are a number of sticks and branches indicative of a bird's nest in the left eye.
"Virginity is a social construct anyway," sighs Etsy, adding, "and mostly meaningless to mermaids, but I will try to help him not to die. There's really only one person on the entire planet who I probably wouldn't help if he were dying, Them and Their accomplices aside, and he's not here." Say say oh Playmate, do let your spite flow free... She considers the rock, shrugs, and comments to Reggie in that language they share. And then she disappears, all the better to climb up the rock ever-so-lightly. Ever so invisibly. Leaving no footprints.
Uschi's nocturnal eyes narrow, and she gives Marc a very -thorough- look, full of stony suspicion. She doesn't even look away as Cordy speaks to her, but the Ogress does give her a little grunt of acknowledgement. "...Every one, is capable of more..." Squint. She's gonna keep an eye on Marc, but for the moment the Ogress turns and looks down at Cordy, sniffing in deeply through her nose. "...The secret is... To do more."
Then her ruddy right hand raises, points two fingers towards Cordy's eyes, then a thumb towards herself, then gestures to her own hunched back. Does that mean watch?
Uschi on the move - one step, two step, three step, leap. Twenty feet of shit-stained rockface? No problem. The feral Ogress is bounding up, to the left eye of that skull shaped rock, so she can... Undoubtedly walk around in more shit and investigate. Takes her no time at all. Pft. Bloody Ogress'. Think they're so tough.
Cordy peers up at the hole in the eye and closes her own, tilting her head before moving back towards the other to speak quietly. "There is a bird in the eye. If we want to get closer, we may want to be very sneaky. Maybe someone who is already very sneaky could take a look while the rest of us remain back-"
SPROING goes the Ogress.
"... here."
It's at this point that Reggie sits himself up in his seat properly and begins checking his sidearm to ensure it's loaded, and the safety's off. Apparently he's not terribly accustomed to carrying one with himself. "Better jump again, I'm not sure if anybody saw you." Reggie, far from being critical of the Ogress, is grinning quite widely with delight. There's the telltale *ting* from his glinting hedgespun tooth that accompanies that grin, too.
Uschi is the first to see the occupant of that eye socket, followed soon thereafter by the invisible Etsy.
It is a bird. A rather large one, with particularly hideous plumage. It looks rather as though someone took your Great Aunt Trudy's ancient, moth-gnawed feather boa, dyed it mottled shades of green for some military event, rolled it around in the dirt a while, and then used it on a scrawny taxidermied spoonbill.
It is also snoring.
At least, it WAS snoring, until the arrival of the great big clompy ogre.
"Hzzhwha? Ark! What d'you think you're about, eh?" Bleary, squinty eyes surrounded by tatty fluff peer up at Uschi.
Marc looks blankly at Uschi, unsure of what she's eyeing him suspiciously over now; he hasn't even noticed the blush on Cordy because he wasn't looking at her-- and-- that's a giant shit-covered rock with a bird in it. The Wizened man surveys the rock and sighs, then takes a deep breath and calls up, "Hello there! Do you like peanuts? Or..." He fishes in his pocket and comes up with another packet of trail mix, looking at the list of ingredients. "Raisins, M&Ms, sunflower seeds, almonds, cashews, brazil nuts, pumpkin seeds, or walnuts?"
Cordy murmurs quietly at Marc, easily lost in the shuffle. "How would it know, we are in the Hedge? Those are not things that are had here. May as well ask a human if they enjoy the taste of Wineberry Blush." Her flames flicker and twitch, driven by anxiety, waiting for things to Go Wrong. Because they surely will. Sooner or later. She occupies herself keeping an ear on their surroundings. Just in case.
And hey, then there's Etsy right there, sitting companionably next to the nasty-ass bird. "Oh, hi!" the mermaid trills, turning her delicate face toward said bird, and opening up the old doctor's bag she's carrying. She's still faintly-ghosty, Separated, but she starts rummaging around in her bag thoughtfully for a moment before turning her attention fully to the bird. "Well, we thought, you know, seeing as you were up here on this rock, you probably had the very best way of looking at the trod and probably know better than anybody, you know, which way people go through, and which is the proper path to go to if we wanted to find our way somewhere in particular. And you look super trustworthy, and I have a surplus of delicious and shiny things in my bag with which to make a proper trade! So of course the only thing that we could be about was coming up here to talk to the very foremost expert on local traffic, that is to say, you, and get a little interview from that expert. You can call me Etsy -- this is my friend Uschi, and those are my other friends down there. We totally need your expert opinion. Tell me: do you prefer ham or do you prefer beef? That's not the question I need answered, of course, but I can't get you the right snack as a token of goodwill if I don't know!"
It's like being in the tractor beam of the Death Star, if the tractor beam were made of Siren Song, Spring Mantle, and big, sweet eyes.
Uschi -did- request that Cordy watch her back - and like a real good person, she /did/, - it's just... Uschi didn't really stop to /listen/ now, did she? Foolish Ogress. She doesn't even catch Reggie's call to her -- but it could be because the Moon is now faced looking right into the shit-stained den of the Moth-Gnawed Boa Bird.
She grunts. It is a very gentle sound, for a very gruff Ogress -- and she spreads her one working arm out, palm exposed, which crouching there with her weight on her left leg, horns bobbing back three times, while making, this... /Noise/. It's... Well it's not really a language, but it's a /vibe/, yeah? An apologetic vibe -- a vibe of 'this is your den, Moth-Gnawed Boa Bird, and I acknowledge your sovereignty over this shit covered nest of thorns and broken dreams'.
Then the Ogress hops back a pace or two, and turns away - because Big Words are being said by Etsy, and Uschi don't need to add none of her own. Looking out from the rock, she turns an lifts her ruddy right hand to wave down at the fae below -- her fingers forming a 'OK!' sign, as she winks and grins at Reggie, Cordy and Marc. Apparently she thinks things are going great here at Shit-Skull Outcrop.
The scrawny, dirty bird stretches its head up on a swaying neck, bald patches showing wrinkled skin in filthy blotches. "Eh?" Its head cocks and it leans in, as if hard of hearing. Uschi's apologetic posturing seems to soothe its immediate upset, feathers fluffing in tatty content, but when Etsy appears out of nowhere, it squawks and jerks again, head wobbling.
Those squinty little eyes blink at the water lily, its beak opens...and it just stares. And stares. So many words.
It eventually croaks a hopeful, "I like nuts. And bugs. The juicy kind, that squirt down your throat when you crush 'em with your beak?" Not that it looks like this bird has been eating much, lately. "You carry me t' the top of the bug tree and I'll give you three answers." It squints. "But only three!"
Meanwhile, Cordy startles as Light and Darkness both yell at her in unison when Etsy materializes and appears. This jumpscare, thankfully, is ameliorated by her superbun hearing picking up Etsy's supersmooth delivery, her sirensong settling Cordy's nerves a bit. She waves back as Uschii gives the all clear, her flames wavering in slow, simultaneous flickers, and frowns faintly as the bird mentions the "bug tree."
Bug tree? What's a bug tree? Cordy asks the light and shadows if there's anything that seems bug tree-ish nearby. Maybe, maybe not...
Clapping her webbed hands cheerfully, Etsy queries, "Where is the bug tree, that we might carry you to it? My best-beloved, you see, there below, his plane is suitable for carrying such a majestic friend as yourself. And, should you like nuts, I can fetch some from the cupboard at home in just a tic." Because of course the refrigerator at Lazy Otter Downs always has the light on and has a mirror inside it, and of course the cupboards the same, with doors that lock from the outside to prevent intruders but allow Etsy to snatch whatever she needs from whatever closet or cupboard at whatever time of day.
Can you imagine being Thurgood and having to clean all of those mirrors all the time? Poor man. Whatever Reggie pays him, he probably deserves a raise. There just isn't enough money in the world.
"Well, I don't know, maybe human world food is as exotic here as do-not-eat-the-fairy-cakes is out there," Marc says to Cordy with a shrug, then looks up-- and hey! Uschi's giving a OK! And-- "See?" he says triumphantly. "The bird does like nuts. Hey Etsy! I have wait a minute no maybe that's not a great idea, it might not be that kind of nuts he-- hey Etsy! Catch! Brand new trailmix! Full of nuts!"
Aaaand... he throws... and maybe for once in his life he won't fail...
It's funny - Uschi looks... Uschi looks pretty happy, really. Normally the Ogress has that stoney-faced disposition of dull, dim discontent -- a looming presence of unsettling menace, one could say -- but at this very moment she is turning to look around at the whole splendour of the Moth-Gnawed Boa Bird's den, and she looks... Well, yeah. Happy. Impressed, even. Approving.
Uschi approves of where M.G.B.B. lives. She really does.
But in observing the surroundings of the Wyrd Bird's den (Hollow?), the Ogress... Well... She's kind of paying attention to her surroundings -- that's almost a /constant/ -- but... This place has almost everything. Check out all the neat shit!
Down below Marc is yapping like an excited kit, and Uschi just... Ignores that and his amazing - AMAZING - throwing arm. That is irreverent. Uschi does turn to look at Cordy and Reggie though - eyeing the dragonfly contraption warily, before she looks back at the Bunnygirl. There is a pause. Uschi licks her lips. Then she points out at the trees, make a 'creepy crawly' motion with her hands, chomp her teeth three times, then does that two-fingers pointing at eyes gesture twice. Whatever -that- means.
Cordy does, indeed, sense a great number of bugs nearby. Point in fact, the entire area is infested with them, but no tree more so than a particularly spindly one nearby.
The bird bobs its head at Etsy, then cranes its neck out over the edge of its nest to look at Reggie and the others down below, et voila! Fiat nux! The exceptionally well-aimed throw on Marc's part visibly delights the bird, who pecks and tugs and works the container open before gobbling down beakfuls of trail mix with little throaty mmph gmhgnng noises until it is all gone, bag shaken side to side and rattled to empty out each and every morsel.
The reason the bird is doing poorly becomes immediately obvious once it hobbles up to its feet. It only has one wing, really. The other seems to have been burnt, and never healed correctly, covered in puckered, ugly scars.
"It's that one, the tall one!" the bird croaks eagerly. And yes, it is indicating the same tree as Cordy's elemental spideysenses are tingling over.
"Reginald, my darling love!" calls Etsy down from where she's perched so primly -- only Etsy could make a shit-stained nest look like the top of a lily-bedecked float at the Rose Bowl parade -- "Please do bring Danger Bug up here. If you fly our new friend up to where the bugs are, we will be granted three answers in return, so graciously!"
Cordy blinks up at all the signaling and chomping. Her ears twitch once, twice, and she murmurs to Marc, "I do not think she realizes we can hear the bird." There's a faint tone of amusement, but she waves and nods to indicate understanding, then points off towards the same tree the bird is indicating. Bug tree!
"Does it want to go to the top, or does it want the bugs brought down here? I think I could get a lot of them right to the base of the tree."
Reggie holsters his piece and straps himself back in to his seat. The goggles are adjusted, a few switched are toggled, a few toggles are switched, and the wings of the mechanical dragonfly begin to flap rapidly. The craft first seems to become weightless, then its legs retract and it begins to rise upwards towards the nest overhead, turning to offer its tail for boarding to his new passenger. "Welcome aboard the Amazing Dangerbug, my fine feathered friend. I'm your captain, Reginald H. S. Danger. We're providing nonstop service up to the bugs with a cruising altitude of about up there and an estimated arrival time of a minute or two, give or take. If you'll be sure your chairs and tray tables are in their full upright and locked position, we will skip the preflight safety demonstration and get right to the bug eating."
Uschi might not realise that - although, she can hear Cordy and Marc - so... Really, Uschi: get yer act together. Sniffing in the sweet scent of the admirable den, she turns as the M.G.B.B. starts hobbling towards the lip of the rockface -- and that expression, which was for a few moments oddly approving and dare-say almost girlish happiness, it closes down.
Back is the dim, dull, distant stone face. Uschi bows her horns a bit in the birds direction, and inches out of the way -- all the better for it to scuttle along to Reggie's Dangerbug.
There are no more words, or gestures to the group, or anything really. Uschi is going to crouch down, observe, and wait for the Bird to return to its nest post-bugbinge, to be questioned.
Scully hunkers down on Mrbl's head and is very, very, very quiet. Because Moth-Eaten Boa Bird likes bugs. And not in the friendly way.
The bird flaps awkwardly in its eagerness to leave the nest, filthy feathers releasing an aroma .. well, some things are best left unsaid. Or unsmelled. Then again, the group is traveling with Uschi.
Once the Dangerbug is close enough, the bird jumps in, landing in a gangly heap rather reminiscent of a feather duster, tail floofing straight up, underbelly's paler plumage streaked with filth and its own excrement. It quivers with mingled hope and hunger, beak gaping, and stares up at the treetop in expectant silence.
When you're a mermaid, you're used to the smell of rotting fish, wharves, sailors... really, there's very little that causes Etsy to be flappable, even the flapping of the bird's burned wing. She hums to herself, a cheerful little theme song. Look, the bird even gets triumphant flying music to accompany it to the bugs!
The mrbl creeps up to lay itself around Reggie's shoulders like a dashing mantle, which allows Scully a better place to hide. It mutters, "Don't think this means I like you, Other Otter," to Reggie, adding, "You're still just another bad choice. I'm just protecting Scully." Probably not the best thing to say to someone who is piloting the plane you're riding on, but mrbl may be counting on the fact that it's really not sporting to push it out of the plane. Or maybe that Etsy would never forgive Reggie if he pushed her hedgebeast out of a plane. Or maybe... who knows.
"Thank you so very much," whispers Scully fervently, but very, very, oh so very quietly, please don't hear me oh god oh god.
"On the contrary, Mrbl, you're fortunate Etsy is fond of you, or I'd have a new stoal in my closet," Reggie answers the other otter cheerfully, showing it every one of his pointy teeth. "See. Now that I have you away from her where she can't hear you, let's make it abundantly plain that I am not going anywhere, and if you keep on as you are I'll arrange an unfortunate accident with the groundskeeper and his riding lawnmower. Oh, I'm so sorry, Etsy. I realize he's irreplacable, but here's a giant fuckoff diamond ring and a necklace of pearls the size of champagne grapes. I'm sure you'll get over it somehow." Reggie then stuffs the creature down into his flight jacket and brings the craft level to the tree and the bugs that are swarming about. "Right you are, little fellow. Eat up, and we'll see about getting you a proper bath, wot?"
For once in its existence, the mrbl has absolutely nothing to say. It is, perhaps, shocked into silence.
The bird, singularly focused on filling its own stomach, ignores the mrbl vs. Reggie showdown, and once the tree is within reach, it awkwardly flap-hops its way into the branches, using wings, beak and claws to tear into the bark in a gluttonous display of bug-hunting glee.
After some time, scrawny crop distended and bulging in a way which makes it look a bit as though it's suffering from a rare avian goiter, it clamber-flap-slip-tumbles its way back onto the Dangerbug to trip-step-floof onto the deck, feathers roused in contentment. It looks to Reggie, then hops up to crane its neck over the edge of the dragonfly toward the rest down below, though Etsy and Uschi in particular. Etsy was oh so persuasive, and Uschi totally spoke its language!
From over by her perch, Uschi watches Reggie ferry/fly The Bird over to the big tree -- observing with careful, steady persistence. Is the Ogress patient? Not by traditional standards - try and imagine her standing in a queue, not going to happen - but there is a heavy confidence about her, just makes her seem very... Composed.
This may be a ruse, though. What Ogress has -true- composure?
The majestic avian tribute to Moon's principles is admired from afar -- but the Ogress... She does not call out, to pose the first question the one-winged bird. Does she care about their mission?! Maybe. But Uschi... Uschi seems to just want to watch the bird fill its crop, and be satisfied with it's meal afterwards. Why mess with a perfect moment?
When the Danger Bug comes back within range of Etsy? The mrbl bolts out from being near to Reggie in a way that would probably break the sound barrier if it could. It wraps itself around Etsy and clings to her -- sort of -- it clings... through... her... because she's currently unsubstantial. And it shivers. The mermaid stares at her otter, and then slowly blinks at Reggie. And at the otter. And at Reggie.
If 'Danger' weren't already his last name, it might be his middle name, with the look that slides across Etsy's face briefly. But! Being the consummate professional flowering, she tucks all her questions about 'why is my bb otter running away from you, Reginald H. S. Danger' away for a later time.
"Friend Bird," she addresses the issue at hand. "We are closest to Wild Roses, where we are. But I have an insatiable curiosity about the next market over, and I am sure that you have heard the very best gossip about it. So: what's the best, tastiest gossip about the next market over? Something as good as a very juicy bug." Look, Etsy's a carnivore, and shrimp are basically bugs. She ain't gonna judge.
The bugs of the sea totally qualify. They even have extra legs!
The bird, content with its buggy buffet, flop-flap tumbles back down to its nest and settles in with a rousing floof of reeking, filthy feathers. "Aaaaar." Not a pirate, or at least, not deliberately. Beak problems. It cocks its head with appropriately avian suddenness, then clacks its beak. "The White Hand or the Keyfork Marshes? I heard the Marshket lost a lot of vendors. Eaten by the wurm, I heard. Good bugs in that marsh..." It seems wistful.
Once all and sundry are landed, Reggie rises up out of the cockpit and moves his goggles once more to his forehead. Etsy's warning look is met with an expression of utter innocence from the otterish pilot. What? Me? "I guess he's afraid of heights, my darling. Apparently there's only room for one otter aviator." He lights up a new cigar, because why not, and once more resumes his lean against the side of his aircraft. He pauses to scribble a note in his pilot's notebook, tucking it back into his jacket once it's taken down. Probably to do with the mentioned markets.
Two! Two markets, ah ah ah! "They both sound kind of like poor life choices," muses Marc, remaining insubstantial as Scully continues to hide in terrified otter-fur and glare at Marc from a distance. Then Marc pauses and starts laughing. "Oh my god, Marshket, that's amazing."
The mermaid gives Reggie a Look once more. Oh, yes, there will be further conversation about this later. It's not that she doesn't believe him, it's -- okay, she might not believe him. But there are conversations elsewhere to be had. "Hmm. Do you know anyone who is still alive at either one of those markets? Friend, rival, foe, someone who knows where there's a supply of very good bugs?" Etsy's sea-chang eyes glitter. "It's a great name," she agrees with Marc.
The bird bobs its head, beak gaping in a neck-wobbling yawn. "Hightree. Barnabus Hightree. Won't set foot on soil or stone. Can't. Always sells best bugs."
"Will you give me a message to give to Barnabas Hightree?" Etsy asks, adding, "If you will do this," she explains, "we can bring you with us, so that you may obtain the best bugs, or we can leave you to yourself here, if you would prefer, but keep an eye to bringing you some of the best bugs we obtain on our journey. I think you might want to come with us, yes? My friend speaks your language." Why it's important for the bird to give Etsy a message to give him if the bird is going with might not make a lot of sense, but it certainly seems to be very important to the super-persuasive Fairest.
Cordy listens intently, noting first the names of the markets, then the name of the contact within, and peers over at Etsy and waves her hand to try to get her attention. "Etsy? Do you maybe want to ask for our new friend's name before we go? We have plenty of information from it to go on, I think?"
"Third question," the bird points out. "Only owe three." But does it want to give a message to Barnabas? Its head droops, then sways back and forth, looking from Etsy to Uschi, then down to Cordy, and up to Reggie, indecisive. It mutters to itself, fidgets, shifts about in its nest, then rummages through the filthsome, reeking sticks until it can pull out .. a No. 2 pencil? Yep. With a flower-shaped eraser, oddly clean. "Tell him he can have this, if he will bring me back the bugbox."
"I understand -- I was going to say, if you wanted to come with us, that would be an additional service. Additional opportunity for bugs. But if you would prefer to stay here, that is up to you." Her sea-change eyes turn toward Uschi, then, because Etsy is quite good at figuring out people, or at least sensing that perhaps the one-armed Ogre might feel a bit of kinship with the one-winged bird. Look, when one of your motleymates is literally made of ice, you get pretty good at reading the unreadable.
In any case, she takes the pencil, becoming solid in order to do so, and she tucks it into the old-fashioned doctor's bag she's been carrying. "I will take this message to him," the Sacred Courier says, with a certain amount of reverence in those words. "Thank you, friend. If you care to share your name, it would make it easier for me to tell him where to bring the bugbox."
It doesn't matter too much to Etsy. She's got a message. She can find her way to this Barnabas now, and with it, hopefully the Marshket.
The bird is quite readable, and pleased with itself. It only hesitates a moment before stating, "Feck."
"Well, then you must come with us, sooner or later, I should not like for us to be feckless in our pursuits." Etsy smiles, then, without showing her teeth -- those piranha teeth aren't going to be making any friends, for sure, if she does, so she doesn't do it!
She fidgets a bit, looking up at the sky, and clutches the old-school doctor bag to her chest. "We should go fill back up on our hedgefruit, and loop back to throw people off of our trails." This opined by the little mermaid, she adds, "And next time, I have a better idea for keeping people off of our tails than meeting near the fucking Wild Roses." What it is, she doesn't share right now. It probably involves mirrors, knowing Etsy. Mirrors or Danger Bug. Or Both. But no matter what that idea is, right now? Etsy looks both rapturously happy, and a little edgy. Probably best to get the Sacred Courier out of the Hedge for a minute or five. A nice long nap underwater will probably set her right again.
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