Log:Stumbling into Company

Stumbling into Company
Participants Etsy, Cassian	3 August, 2017 Etsy stumbles into Cassian's Hollow and is offered Hospitality; they talk Market, memories, meat, and secrets.
Location
Cassian favored a home deep in the Hedge--Deeper than many were willing to go. But, that was kind of the point. A small stone cottage sits in a glade of pale, silvery moonlight. It was a Hollow awash with purple and silver beneath an all-too-large moon and a curtain of twinkling stars in a black sky. Around the cottage, gardens spread about the land in neat rows and blocks. Fruits of all sort were grown about, hanging or rising from the fertile ground as the cases may be. But that wasn't where Cassian was. Beneath a small knoll, a black, stillwater waterway spreads away from the lands. The waters extend into the hedge, outward and onward beyond Cassian's borders. Near the banks, where his feet rest amidst the shallows, lilies grow in a myriad of whites and purples. Cassian's back is in the grass and his eyes study the stars. Beside him, a quiver of arrows and a bow rest in the grass. Sometimes a Courier has to go places in the Hedge mostly on her own. (It drives her motleymates and her boyfriend utterly spare that she does this, but she was doing it before she met most of them, so, that's life, innit?) Sometimes a Sacred Courier finds herself chased by something or thinking she's chased by something and looks for a hollow, and finds one, rather by accident. Whether she was being chased by something or not is a matter of debate and sort of besides the point, because as soon as she stumbles into the hollow? It can't find her, if it ever existed. Her hair's a wild mess, dark curls scattered with white lilies, and her Spring Mantle flares all around her, a mad profusion of vines and tiny white flowers, periwinkle blooms and the scent of fresh, clean sea air and a morning full of possibility. She stumbles, her feet light on the ground, leaving little or no footprints, and stops still, because the night is a different color in here. Etsy freezes, her luminous sea-change eyes wide, her face pale. "... is not a threats!" she calls. Untamed, yes. Delicate, sweet-voiced, and ever-so-innocuous? Oh, absolutely. At the sound of a strange voice, Cassian rises, hopping to his bare, wet feet quickly. The quiver and bow are grabbed instinctively, before the pale-skinned Darkling with Woodblood features begins sprinting towards the voice. It took a moment, but he soon crested one of the rolling hills to level his violet eyes on the thing. It didn't take long for him to recognize the Spring mantle. He conaiders her a moment before actually actively smelling the air around them. He couldn't smell a lie from her. "Salutations, stranger. Welcome to Moonglade," he offers. He crouches slightly and lets a hand brush over the grass near his feet. How it loved the Spring ones. She doesn't move, especially because, well, he's armed. And she can see that he's armed. Esther holds entirely still, like a tiny mermaid statue dressed in a flop of thrifted clothing, except for her winning (albeit close-lipped) smile. "Helloandgoodevening!" Her Courier's sash isn't sparkling at the moment, so she's not on a delivery, but there are tiny wings flaring at her wrists and ankles, translucent and sparkly, so she was recently. "I am an Esther Swift, Etsy, Sacred Courier of Spring and Fate's Harvest! Am not a threatening!" And she isn't. She, and the blue lump of fur draped around her neck and pretending it's a stole, do not smell of lies, at least not currently. The darkling considers her a moment, but doesn't seem overly concerned about using the bow for anything other than a stablizer for his crouched stance. "When troubles come, they come not single squires, but in batallions," he says quietly. His lily-colored eyes regard her thoughtfully a moment. "The grasses like you. Or your mantle--It's hard to tell. But, in either case, you're here and they're happier. And usually they're the better judge of character," he adds. Looking down at the grass, Esther smiles somewhat lopsidedly. "Sometimes troubles have a coming one by ones," she sighs, suddenly heavily. If he's ever heard of her at all, he may have heard of Esther Swift the escape artist -- she's a bit famous in Changeling circles for that -- but he may also have heard of Etsy, the accidental oracle. Her feet in their tatty silk slippers barely touch the grass, but she smiles down at it all the same. "An Etsy is also a plants, so is a sense making," she agrees. "Who is a you? Is not familiars." "I am called Cassian," he zays, plainly, towards the Etsy. He was almost thrown off by her manner of speech, but he was able to navigate it. "I am the "I am called Cassian," he zays, plainly, towards the Etsy. He was almost thrown off by her manner of speech, but he was able to navigate it. "I keep this Glade," he adds. In a moment, he pushes back to his feet. "You seem troubled. Are you well? I have food, if it suits you," he says. She had come and declared herself well enough. It was only right he offered her hospitality. "We don't see any visitors around here," he says. Welcome to talking to Etsy. She doesn't so much talk as fling herself bodily at the English language and fight it into submission sentence by sentence. "Was having a heading back toward the gate, and could not be a certains that was not having a chased by something. Went looking for a place to hides and came here. Just having a confusions, because is close to a homes but did not know a yous. Thought I had a knows of the almost everyone." Not a lie; the only thing he can smell from the Flowering is the scent of lilies and her Mantle's sharp sea-air cleanliness. "I am liking a meats, if you are having a meats?" Etsy hazards, and she unfreezes, skittering a little bit closer. "Is good to have a meeting of you, Cassian." One of her webbed hands comes up and pets the fur stole that is actually a blue-furred otter pretending to be a fur stole. "Aye," Cassian says, nodding once. "I'm new to this area. I don't spend much time out and about. When I'm not at the Market, I tend to be hunting," he explains. He begins to takes steps back down the knoll, towards the cottage. "Meat we have. Some fruits as well," he offers. There weren't a lot of vegetables to be eaten, but, meats aplenty. "You serve the Freehold as Courier? That must be useful," he muses a moment. "I am not at a Markets so much, did not see you a theres. Maybe come to Wayhouse sometimes, meet a persons." Etsy absently sways back and forth on her feet, and her hands work the air next to her, webbed fingers flaring and closing. The mermaid's head shakes a little bit. "No a fruits, only a meats, pleaseandthankyou," she affirms, skittering a little bit closer, but keeping a bit of distance yet. "No, not for a Freeholds, am a Sacred Courier, Freehold or no Freeholds, am just a Couriers." "I've never met a Courier, Sacred or otherwise," he says thoughtfully. He takes the time to try and think on that as he follows the gentle trail back to the cottage. The cottage is made of stone and rests alongside a massive willow tree. A sharp eye might notice the two are interconnected at the second story. "Make yourself comfortable. You're a Guest," he says. A thick hide of leather and fur hang in the stone archway, acting as a manner of door. There was very, very little wood enslaved to serve Cassian's home. Inside, a few minutes are taken to prepare some meats and array them in a small bit of fabric as a kind of basket. He's returning shortly thereafter. "And now you are having a meets," Etsy clarifies, her hand going from floating at her side to petting the otter around her neck again. The otter is bored of being a stole, apparently, and so slides down from around her neck to its feet; it circles around her ankles like a cat. "This is a mrbls, is my companions," she introduces, and if the thing can speak, it doesn't. It just follows her, something between a cat and a dog. She breezes past the leather hide, examining the interior. It's difficult to tell where she's looking, because her eyes have no pupil or iris, only a lovely color-change sclera, sea-colored. "Is a niceness of home," she opines, and it's not a lie. "Free from the sun, and still welcome to the fruits and grasses," Cassian says. There was another doorway beyond the small nooked entrance. A vast kitchen spread out in the room beyond. Multiple ovens, grills and racks for cooling. "These meats are going to the market tomorrow. As a guest, you can have at them first. They'll make you feel better, as well," he offers. Meats made with Faerie Healing. "It is a goodness." This is Etsy's proclaimation about a house that's free from the sun but still open to plant life. She bends down and pets the grass, as if saying hello, and then follows it by petting the otter. Perhaps she needs to be certain the otter won't get jealous. It huffs a bit at her and finds a place in a corner to curl up and watch her. Finally, it does speak up. "Oh sure, just eat some strange meat from some dude you just met, Esther, that's terribly smart." The voice is high and feminine and sarcastic as fuck. "Mrbl, do not be doing a rudeness," Etsy answers, her mouth pressing into a thin line. "Pleaseandthankyou," she returns to Cassian, and with great effort only takes one piece. It disappears in a single bite into a maw full of piranha teeth. Ain't that something. "It is expected of me to honor Hospitality," Cassian says, eyeing the 'Otter' a moment. It spoke better English? "I would have had an easier time shooting her in the gardens. In point of fact," he explains, "But, that woild require ill intent. I've no reason to harm anyone." After the food is taken, Cassian takes the time to relax. Leaning up against some grey stones, Cassian eyes the tiny teeth--His own were less ... aquatic. More mammalian-carnivore. "In any case. I need the word of mouth," he adds, then, after the fact. "If everybody did what they were expected to do or the right thing to do, none of you would exist," opines the otter, who, indeed, seems to speak pretty near perfect English. It curls its head up on its paws and watches the scene closely. "You would have. How am I supposed to know your motivations? None of you make any sense to me. Least of all her." Esther looks pretty near mortified, though at the least her embarrassment is soothed a bit by the healing of the meat. It's hard to be terribly embarrassed when you're distracted by how all your dings and bruises are all healed up. Etsy's teeth aren't tiny -- they're a savage mouthful. Probably why she doesn't smile with teeth, and hasn't this whole time. "A word of mouths. It is a funniness. Mostly words are of mouths. Yes, will tell is a goodness. Am feeling not even much tireds." "That is a fair point, though, we could as easily argue that the difference is exactly that: we honor our words. Especially when it comes to goods and services, I'm bound by Oaths of Honesty. I can't lie about what I sell," he offers. He even gives a bit of a nod at the words towards the Otter. Then, his eyes are back to Etsy. "I'm glad. That's the idea," he says. He motions back outside. "The only reason I spend so much time here in the gardens. I sell what I make, amongst other services. Not all of us get to be Sacred Couriers, after all," he offers, smiling somewhat uncharacteristically for a Darkling. "But you're not selling it now." The otter opens its little sharp-toothed maw to go on, and Etsy turns around and hisses at the animal, wordlessly. Ain't that a warning. The otter's ears flatten back, and it curls up into a little knot. Etsy turns around rather primly, as if none of that ever happened whatsoever. She tilts her head to the side, listening as he speaks, and then laughs at the end. Some people say their laughter is musical -- the siren actually laughs in arpeggios. "Is a truth. If so many Sacred Couriers, then imagines -- only messages all the time, everyone having a delivery of messages to each other to have a keeping everyone busy, but no foods, everyone having a dangers..." "Lets hope that's useful enough sentiment to make a little extra by way of trinkets," he says. He didn't laugh much, but, he seemed drawn into her laugh. It even took a moment for him to shake away his cluttered mind. "In either case, the die is cast. Her continued living and breathing is proof enough of that. And since we discussed nothing of trade, we are left with a Darkling offering kind hospitality and the honoring of his words to a Fairest that crossed his paths. Nothing more," he says, nodding once, again. Then, returning his thoughts to Etsy. "Do you work by contract? Some of my wares require delivery from time to time and contracting out might serve me better," he says. He muses on it for a moment before offering, "Or is the order something else?" If the otter has an opinion to offer back to Cassian? Boy, he doesn't. The mermaid is tiny, but the feral expression she just turned on her companion is not one that most folks would want turned on them. Flowers are pretty but sometimes poison. "Would have a paying for, to put in a packs," agrees Etsy, querying, "How much is a charge? Sometimes a Courier is by herselfs, and then, can be a hurts. And Spring heals is not for self always, and fruit keeps only so wells." She's back to slowly rocking back and forth and idly weaving her hands in the air at her side. Treading water? Treading water. To the last question, she bobs her head firmly. "Yes, do a works by contracts, to do deliveries for payings. I do a deliveries for a Billy Ray, is how I am knowings him. Have you had a meets of the Billy Rays?" "I have met none, save Rozalia. She stays here, sometimes," he says. Of course, that didn't mean much. Sometimes Hobs stayed here, too. "Fruit is easy enough to gather. The cooking takes time, but, the prices differ depending on what's used. And what's wanted. I'm a sucker for secrets, myself, but I'm willing to work for other things. Memories are a welcome currency. Though, I've found that good memories are worth more than a bit of fruit. Bad memories come and go cheaply," he says, rolling his shoulders. "Special Books I like, as well, and shiny things. It's a Buyer's market, after all," he explains. "Rozalia as in the Watchers Rozalia? I am knowing of her names from the Freeholds, but am not having a meetings of her yet." The Fairest sways idly back and forth in a tide that no one but her can feel. "Is a girlfriends?" That question is about as innocent as can be, and genuinely so. "What do you do with a secrets?" she asks, when he confesses himself a sucker for them. Her blue eyebrows arch up curiously. "Am never understanding that. Bad memories have a makings as much as good memories." "They sell just as well, too. But, people tend to give them up far easier," the Darkling responded. "There's more than a few of us that would sell away some of the memories of what we've been through. Just as surprising, there's plenty of buyers who'd take those memories off my hands. It's too easy. I've a few memories I'd love to offload, to be free of their weight. But, as they say, you don't gamble with house money," he explains. He falls quiet for a moment at that. "Selling memories is easy enough, but selling secrets is like Art. Sure, you want an Original Pissarro, you're going to pay for it. But the average kid knows nothing about that. He wants the Pretty photograph of a Caberet dancer. Some secrets are cute and harmless. But some secrets are worth so much more," he explains. "If you knew her, you would know Rozalia isn't the sort for labels or titles. Whatever we are, or aren't, you're bound to see her if you stay around here." "I am guessing. But bad memories of mine, even the sadness worst of all time, wishing could die at that moment, are memories that are the making of Etsy. Would not be an Etsy without those memories." A vague shadow floats across her expression. "Maybe too many Autumns have known, too many Winters also, to give away the sad and the fear. A sadness and a fears are ... guardians." Well, that's one way to put it. She ahs softly after the latter bit. "Is for a sellings," she asserts after he finishes speaking. "I thought was for a collectings or somethings." She continues to rock back and forth, absently. It's possible she isn't even thinking about it, like breathing. "Oh, did not say had a knowings. Knowing of yes, knowing, no." "Sadly, everything has a price," he says, smirking. "I have a few select secrets I keep, but, it doesn't do me any good to hold on to most. I don't steal unless I'm contracted to, so, knowing someone's ex-wife's A-T-M pin is useless to me. It's worth more to other individuals. Sometimes I get lucky and buy secrets of things that matter. If I sold the secret to this Hollow's location, for example, I would have plenty of buyers. And just as many trying to run me out of my new home," he says, trying to be somewhat thorough in his explanation. "Oh, a secrets is of different values. Am understanding why a secrets is for sellings. Known many Marketeers, do lots of deliveries for a Marketeers. But tones of voice, was wondering if secrets were for you, or for selling. Seemed like a personals rather than a sellings," Etsy shrugs, and she wanders over toward the otter, crouching down to pet the blue-furred creature. It turns its head away from her at first, but she scratches behind its feathery eyebrows -- they look more than a bit like moth antennae -- and it melts like a puppy having its ears scratched. "Will find a nice books or a shinies. Is a fruits useful, or nots? If fruits, what kind?" "Well, like me, some folks don't like vegetables or fruits. Some prefer to stjck only to meats and what-have-you. For whatever reason may strike them. As I mentioned, there's always another buyer," he adds. "You're welcome to stop by the stall at some point. Meantime, I should probably get sneaking off," he offers quietly. "I am eats only a meats, but hedgefruits is a differents." It would be. "Yes, should be goings. A robot boyfriend will be expecting," Etsy offers. "Hospitalities has been givens by you, and received by me. Pleaseandthankyou."