Log:Lolly joins the freehold!
|Lolly joins the freehold!|
6 March, 2019
Lolly reluctantly joins Fate's Harvest, and almost barfs all over Zillah's feet.
OT01 The Greengarden
Winter. Interminable. COLD. When will Spring come? Not soon enough, if the quiet yearning on Lolly's greenish face is more than an odd and fern-based fetish. Still human enough to pass, the young woman is, nonetheless, showing the signs of her careful Arcadian pruning, beauty and allure subtle yet, but unmistakably Fair. She hasn't earned the superlative -est. Not yet.
Green-rooted white hair is drawn up in two high messy buns to at least -attempt- stopping it from trying to curl up like the petals of the ruddy flowers sprouting from her flipping scalp, strands of long bangs hanging down from each temple before her ears. The mixed-blood Asian woman leans in toward a fern, surreptitiously brushing her cheek against a frond to breathe in the scent of healthy life. Shhh. This is totally normal.
Especially not with that Crown currently on her head.
Zillah may be under the safety of a roof, but the shadowsnake still has her parasol open over her head. The boots-leggings-sweater combination is fairly normal, at least. Hardly one to judge when it comes to normalcy, especially not with the cooing that she's doing to the plant in her off hand.
Soooo... yeeaaah. Lolly outright flinches the instant Zillah gets close enough for her to notice the very particular eau de divinity, jerking up and staring at the shadowsnake with wide green eyes -- much to the bemusement of a human employee walking past on her way toward the cash registers.
Flicky-up go those eyes, lingering on the crown, then hastily skitteryflicky back down to the ferns she had been all but cuddling. After all, convallaria does quite like partial shade. Maybe they bring back comfortable memories.
The lily glances at Zillah again, a quick dart of a look, conflicted. Her posture is subtly angled toward the Queen, even as she nibbles on her lower lip and mutters softly under her breath in Japanese, arguing with herself (or an invisible friend?) over something.
To mortal eyes, the woman is rather pretty. Curves, good hair, and those eyes as blue as the depths of the ocean. Zillah's worth staring at, that's for certain, even if there's something a bit off about her. Maybe she tips a little too far on the crazy/hot scale? But maybe she'd be worth it. It's no surprise that someone would stare at her.
Of course, they can't see all the extra. That glimmer of darkly iridescent scales, the way shadows move around her like adoring and serpentine pets. Those solid black eyes, as empty as the space between the stars. Lips curve, when she feels herself being looked at, and she lifts her head to see the root of it. An amused lift of brow, a tilt of her head. 'I'm waiting', that expression says, even if Lolly is trying to only get quick glances of the shadowsoul.
It sure keeps Lolly happy.
After another ten seconds or so of anxious internal debate, the mixed-blood lily huffs a frustrated breath, jerks the fern out of its tray and hugs the pot to her chest, as if to protect herself on her way over toward the creepy shadows, delicate greenery and tiny Spring blossoms rising up where she steps, all herbs and flowers used in healing. She hesitates at the boundary of the deeper darkness, uncomfortable, then takes a deep breath and blurts a stammered, "Ah--h-hi. Can we, um. Talk? Somewhere? You're Zillah, aren't you?"
Forked tongue flickering out, she wets black lips before she speaks. "Of course we can, dear." Echoes of hissing in her voice, but that accent is all Brooklyn. "And I either am, or someone stole her headwear. Where would you like to go, lovely?"
"Um. I-I'm not sure. The back, maybe?" She gestures vaguely toward the rear wall of the public section. "N-not as many people." Point in fact, NO people, at least right now. That section has a lot of mulch and outdoor tools folks in Vermont won't need for at least another month or two, once all the snow is gone.
"The back is fine," she says with a nod of her head, glancing that-a-way to doublecheck the scarceness of mere mortals in that area. And, likely in a move to keep Lolly from feeling like she's being actively herded to the slaughter, she leads the way to the back area. Mmm. Smells...earthy.
Lolly follows after Zillah when the Moon leads the way, and, after a slow, deep breath, she whooshes out an awkward sigh and admits, "I-I've been thinking about pledging. I just..." Can't find the words, apparently. Rolling her lips between her teeth in thought, her scent, this close, is an intoxicating thing, lily of the valley's sweet-sharp fragrance given a faerie upgrade.
Coat-fluffed arms tighten around the fern's biodegradable pot as she holds it close, eyes dropping to the fronds. "I've never -been- in one before, and this one has, like, sixty bajillion people who make me feel like I'm living in one of my nightmares, but I want to -help-, and Czcibor, he said there was a, um, the Greenies? That they owned this place? That they helped people with healing and stuff, and I-I want to help. I, um, I DO help, just..." Again, the rapid flow of lightly-accented words comes to a sudden halt, brain hitting a wall.
She waits, letting the flower get it all out before she says anything. "We sorely need members of the Greenies," she offers. "There are far too few willing healers in our number. Did Czcibor happen to give you a copy of our laws, when he told you of the Freehold?"
"I-I, um," the lily begins, fumbling through the words under that unblinking stare. "I think it might have been Kelsey, but, um, I've seen them at the Wayhouse before. Just don't ask me to recite them, 'cause I know I can't."
As summaries go, it doesn't sound like a very encouraging reason to join the freehold.
There's a bright, winning smile, there. So pretty. So Fairest. So very, very Wyrd.
"Be careful, you're squishing your new friend, there." A pause. "If you like to Oath, we can do so now. The Greenies are few, but I'll let them know you're joining their number."
The poor, abused-yet-abundant fern is hugged closer again, fingers tightening on the pot. "'Like' has nothing to do with it," she retorts, showing a hint of backbone, but only a hint. "I practically peed myself when you walked in, and knowing my luck, the next person in charge'll be even scarier than you are, but...oh, fudge. Just do it." She squinches an eye shut, making a face, as though swearing herself into the freehold were comparable to getting vaccinated. Who WANTS to be poked with needles?
The shadowsnake takes in a breath, and then lets it out. Drawing things out, just a little. Because she does like being poked with needles, and more importantly, poking with needles. "Repeat after me, then." She recites the Pledge from memory, slowly enough so that Lolly doesn't miss a single word, or the weight of it as the Wyrd draws into them.
"I'm not going to barf, I'm not going to barf, oh god, not going to barf..." she mumbles into the fern, barely-audible, anxiety and tension keeping her neck and shoulders tight with suppressed fear.
On the bright side, she -doesn't- vomit.
That tone...that smile. Why is it so ominous? Not that Lolly has the chance to ask, before Zee's showing herself on out.