Difference between revisions of "Log:Boxes And Blades"

Revision as of 23:05, 7 November 2017

"... so. Tell me again what you learned from our trip. About how Trods work. About what is and isn't dangerous." Vorpal leads Haruki into the Market after briefing him on all the Market rules. He's extremely explicit that the rules are not suggestions, and under no circumstances should he violate any of them. 'I'll handle it' is Vorpal's law- Haruki is to hide behind him and stay silent if needed, and to talk to nobody else, touch nothing else.

Haruki's doing as he's told, sticking close to Vorpal, licking the juice of his blushberry off his fingers, and eyeing Vorpal in the hope that perhaps more will be forthcoming. He doesn't ask though, no. When Vorpal asks him a question, he looks a bit, confused. "Uh. Stick to the yellow brick road, don't venture into the field of poppies, don't be lured off the path. You'll reach the Emerald City eventually, bu tthe road doesn't go straight, or even the same each time. It twists and turns and is like a ball of messed up yarn." He nods at the instructions and pulls his mittens back on to keep his hands warm.

"Right, and as long as you stay focused and alert, you should be as safe as you can be. Still. Dangerous to travel without someone that can't protect you. You'll want someone like me or Teagan watching you- well. Maybe not Teagan, you'll want someone more suited to taking a beating or evading one entirely." He weaves their way through the Market, searching the stalls one at a time as they go. He's got a couple things in mind- time to see if he can find them. As they enter the market, the faint scent of roses wafts over them, and they are almost immediately hit with the barrage of hawkers trying to sell their wares. "Get yer lucky pennies! Lucky pennies here! Every currency available. Lucky pennies, on sale today!" This yelled by a scraggly, pencil thin hob with warts on his nose and a run down stall that suggests, if his pennies /are/ lucky, he hasn't made much use of them.

"Dreams and nightmares! You got 'em, we want 'em! All subconscious manifestations bought, sold and traded!"

"Roasted spittlegnat! Come and get some of this delicious, juicy roasted spittlegnat!"

And on and on it goes. Some of the less forthright sellers, those with proper doors and stalls with seriously high-end wares, don't bother to yell. They just eye the latest arrivals with a discerning eye, most turning away with a mixture of disappointment and disgust or, more worryingly perhaps, interest.

Haruki nods at everything that's said. There's a slight shaking of his head as Teagan's name is mentioned. Probably not his first go to for Hedge Trips it'd seem. "I know. Never, ever do this alone." He inhales the scent of roses, deeply. And... lucky pennies? He looks that way, curiously. He wants to ask. With all these sights and sounds and smells it's so easy to be distracted. He sticks with Vorpal though. He does his best to resist temptation. It's not like he has any sort of currency after all.

Vorpal notes how the pennies attract his attention, and he snorts. "Don't pay those any mind. They work, but it's a trade. Luck when you -think- it's important- bad luck when it IS important. Knowing the difference is key." The dream seller gets Vorpal's attention for a moment, but he glances at Haruki and murmurs, "Don't even think about it." He's ushered on.

Vorpal keeps an eye out for three things. Stores selling hedgespun clothing. Stores selling spun -weapons-. And stores selling -interesting- tokens. The ones stocked with powerful goods aren't where he needs to be.

Haruki gives Vorpal a look. "Not why I'm looking. I can do coins and make my own luck." He smiles though. He's in the market. It's oh so exciting! Is there a top-hat? He'd love another top hat. Or some awesome boots! Or... or any pets? All the shinies catch his attention but he continues to be good, sticking with Vorpal, just like his shadow. There are plenty of hedgespun dealers around. A particularly tall building, round like a tower and rotating a seemingly endless display of wonderous, colorful clothing worn by dangerously attractive looking hobs, and attention getting flashes of light and sound, has a loud banner that reads 'Hobarts Haberdashery'. An oversized set of double-doors leads the way in.

A bit further on, a wide ally which seeths smoke and warmth has an intricate metal-wrought sign that reads 'Weapons and Armory'. A couple of stout hobs show off some of the possible wares by bashing at each other with a sword and a mace, respectively.

As for the interesting tokens? There's plenty of those, interspersed throughout, curious little shops with delightful baubles and gew-gaws on display. A couple which almost overflow with the delightful, magical, wonderous bits of tat they offer. And far off in the corner, a simple young looking hob, female at a first glance, with a small tent and a very few items, but ones that do, in fact, look interesting.

One of the hobs, catching sight of Haruki's wonder and Vorpal's discerning attention, steps foward and holds up a kitten with one eye, wearing a monacle over the missing eye. "A pet for your pet, my friend?" He offers to Vorpal. "Nothing better to ease the worries of a servant than a furry creature. Nothing nicer to sooth your own spirits either, I'd say. And this dapper fellow, he's quite the interesting tom." He pokes the kitten, who suddenly changes color from marmalade stripes to blue polka dots, "A cat of a different color, you see. Nore rare than the horses so often talked about. And less maintenance as well."

Vorpal pauses in his path towards the little tent with the trinket seller, his sense of the dramatic insisting he should head that way, derailed by the hob with the kitten. He looks it over, faintly surprised, and particularly pleased when it changes colors. "It -is- rather a clever kitty, isn't it? And rather unlikely to eat the rabbits back home, I should think. What do you think?" Vorpal glances- or, turns his shadowed face towards- Haruki. "Think Dolly would let you have a kitten?"

Haruki oohs over the colour-changing kitty. Aww isn't it sweet? He doesn't reach out to touch it though, no, he remembers well everything Vorpal warned him of. He knows he's not meant to speak and he doesn't object to being called a servant. He looks at Vorpal and asks. "It it a trick? Is it a trap? Is it a kitten? Will it run back home to be sold again? What does it eat? Can it talk? What happened to its eye? Did it do the colour trick itself?" It's all spoken in a very soft whisper, he doesn't really want the hob to hear.

Vorpal glances between Haruki and the cat, explaining at normal tones. "It might be a trap, but it's not a trick. Everything sold by the Roses is guaranteed. To do otherwise would invite the wrath of their brethren and, I suppose, the Lady Day- may the sun favor her always. That said, the other questions are valid." He glances to the Hob. "What does this clever little hedgebeast eat? And does it talk? I imagine it does, but I'd like to know for sure before we negotiate. The little trick with the fur- that's something it does, yes?"

The hob gets a sparkle in his eye, "A trick and a trap, no indeed! I am a reputable dealer, is I." He manages to put on a highly affronted v eneer at the mere thought of him scamming the pair. "His eye was lost in some scrabble or another, before I myself saved him from a woeful fate." He pokes the kitten again and it once again changes color, this time to a weird puce and lemon zig-zag. "Wouldn't it be delightful? A colorful little kitty for you to play with?" He tries to push it on Haruki, to get him to give it a good cuddle. "He'll be a grand companion, I'm sure."

The hob adds, "It eats what any scatter-cat does, my friend. Mice and birds and whatever you feed it." He pokes it again and the cat just meows, "Oh, it does talk, my friend. It does talk indeed. Very erudite, this kitten. You'll always have someone to talk to with this beast." He pokes it again and, yup, once again it changes, chartreuse and periwinkle! "It's a color-changing cat, to be sure. A trick of his own, certainly."

"Please don't poke him," Haruki says, forgetting he's not meant to speak to the hobs. Awww poor kitten. He doesnt' touch the cat as much as he'd love to, he instead looks at Vorpal. "He's just a baby? How old?"

"Scattercat. Lovely name for a lovely little beast. Yes, do tell- how old is it? And what do you take in trade? I've more than a few things I can offer, not the least of which are a variety of hedgefruits, already preserved- if you've special requests for those, I'm not opposed to getting them for you, either, should you have the patience. Blushberries and catseye clover are convenient for me, but it all, of course, depends on what's useful to -you-, good friend." says Vorpal.

The hob gives Haruki an apologetic look, bowing obsequiously and holding the kitten out again. "Oh of course, of course. Hold him yourself if you like. See how soft his fur, how comforting his purr." He then turns to Vorpal, smiling a wide, snaggle-toothed smile, as if knowing he's scored a mark. "Oh well, my friend. Well, well well. What is a perfect, a /purr/fect companion worth, really? Hedgefruit I've no need of, I'm afraid." He considers Vorpal, then Haruki, a long, discerning consideration, "But a well-trained flea circus, perhaps? Or a loyal pet rock?" He steeples his fingers and smiles wide at Vorpal, as if he might have either of these on hand. "Something along those lines."

"Hello," Haruki says softly to the kitten. He won't reach out to take him though since Vorpal hasn't given the approaval. His expression is so soft, his words gentle. "Do you sell other cats? Other pets?" "Come now, don't be rude. And you're -supposed- to be speaking to me," reminds Vorpal, studying the Hob. "A pet for a pet, should do the trick, providing the pet provided is unique enough, I take it? I haven't brought any pets worth trading, but provided the little fellow doesn't find a home before I return, I'm sure I can find something worth your time. Sea monkees that climb trees, perhaps, or an invisible dog that's been lost -and- found? Something like that?"

The hob beams at Vorpal, nodding enthusiastically, "Indeed, indeed! You have exactly the right of it, my friend. Any such wonderous creature, a fair trade, that is, would be most appreciated." He looks to Haruki, assuring him, "I have many such creatures, don't you worry, pet. If this one is gone, one of his litter mates may be still here, or better yet, something even more wonderous for your delight and amusement." Another (subtle) poke, and the kitten changes color again, neon splatters like some ninties advert exploded on the hide of the small creature. He waves toward his stall with his free hand, a dark cavern of a tent full of cages and a musky smell of too many animals kept too closely confined.

Haruki's heart is breaking for the thought of all those poor animals, and in particular for the poor kitten who keeps getting poked and changing colours. "Chiapets?" he asks Vorpal. "Bonsai? Some people keep them as pets? I know where there's a dancing sunflower. Or so many abandoned tamagotchis."

Vorpal nods favorably at the Hob, departing with a calm, "Then until we meet again," as he ushers Haruki away. "You need to -listen.- And stop thinking like- like -normal.- Nobody here does. Think of a good -story.- Everything is stories here. -Everything.- You can't throw enough money at the market to get what you want. Not unless the money has a -story.- A thousand dollars is worth less than a quarter flipped to decide a life. Now, a chiapet that warned its owner of an intruder? THAT might be worthwhile, but also harder to find. No, we'll head back to the nearer parts of the Hedge and see what we can catch. A stronger tale will bind you more comfortably to your new friend- whoever it happens to be." Vorpal leads the way towards the tent and the few little items there, offering a deep nod of the head as he approaches. "Good day, fair merchant. Would you mind if we browse your wares?"

Haruki nods at Vorpal. "No. The dancing sunflower warns of intruders. It only dances when people are around. But I'd need a gewgaw to swap for it and I don't know its story. He doesn't actually talk, does he?" he asks of the cat. "And there's a whole tent full of other creatures. We can't buy them all? I have roaches that have houses and live in pumpkins and would rather be pets than be hurt. But I'd have to ask Robbie to teach them tricks. A roach circus would be so much better than a flea circus. You'd see them so much better."

The kitten-selling hob looks mildly disappointed at a mark slipped through his fingers, but he calls out, with a sort of confidence, "I'm here every day of the week, except every third Thursday! Bring me your sea monkeys and tamogochies, and we can talk!" And then he's on to the next customer.

The trinket tent, largely overshadowed by bigger and bolder merchants, still seems to have a sort of...aura about it. The wares seem of high quality, if sparsely laid out on the table. The hob woman a quiet, tiny thing that looks out at potential customers with over-wide eyes and a lack of a sales pitch. As Vorpal and Haruki approach, she offers a faint flicker of a smile and says softly, "Come closery, my friends," in a voice that intices you to lean in and listen closely. "What is it you seek?"

"We'll return!" calls Vorpal with a wave as they depart the kittenselling hob. Vorpal returns the little hob woman's smile with one of his own, stepping close enough to hear and ushering Haruki along as well. "We're looking for something... unique. Something with a sound or smell or such that's distinct, prominent- but only notable to us. Like a- broken drum that sounds fine to us and nobody else or something along those lines. There seems to be some mischief afoot outside the Hedge, and I'd rather like to know who's peeking past our Masks."

Haruki doesn't really want to give up the kitten. He doesn't want to walk away. He really, really wants it. And now. But he didn't come prepared at all with anything to trade. He didn't even expect to come to the market. He does stick with Vorpal. He wants the cat so bad, that one-eyed colour-changing, probably can't even talk creature. Sooo bad. But he's being good and behaving. "Stink bombs." He sounds amused at that. "Hedge Skunk."

The hob girl's face breaks into a wide smile that seems to brighten up the tent...In fact it /des/ get brighter, apparently from a set of apparently false teeth that are perfectly straight and blindingly white enough that they give off a proper glow, looking a bit weird and outsized for her tiny face. "Oh, that..." she considers, brushing a hand over each item in her tent before settling a hand on one item. "This is what you are looking for, I am sure of it. It's one of the pieces I knew would leave today."

What is it she's offering? A smallish box, about the size of a jewelry box, quite plain when you look at all the ornately crafted and dazzling offerings around the market and even sitting on the same table. This box is simple wood, dark brown with a fine grain, polished almost to a glass-like shine, with a simple silvery shell clasp holding it closed. "When one opens this box, the sound of the most enchanting siren in the 700 seas is heard, but only by those fae creatures that could see a siren for what she is in the first place."

And back behind them, the kitten dealer seems to have set aside the color-changing kitten, now hawking a 'future-telling parrot' that is currently offering tomorrow's daily news for Sheboygan Wisconsin.

Vorpal winces a bit at the brightness, but smiles pleasantly regardless, listening intently. He studies it as she explaines, offering a question as she finishes, ignoring the silly parrot. "Will it be heard by -any- creatures that could spot a siren for what she is? An ensorcelled mortal, say- or one with the Sight to see on his own?" It's clear from his tone- this sounds exactly like what he was hoping to find.

The hob girl nods emphatically, "Indeed, yes of course, sir. That's exactly it. Anyone who could see me for what I am, or you for what you are, would hear this sound. Really, the most /exqquisite/ singer."

Haruki's watching the hob with the parrot, curiously, although still stuck by Vorpal. He knows better than to wander. For once the magical items aren't holding that much interest for him. "What happens? Does it do the entrancing, luring people to their dooms?" he asks.

The hob shakes her head, assuring Haruki, "Oh no, the siren's lure has been thoroughly removed for the safety of the consumer," she says in a perfect customer service tone.

"Excellent," intones Vorpal, eyeing the box. "Any surprises? Anything upleasant, unfortunate, or unexpected? Or does it just sing the unheard song of the siren?"

The hob girl smiles that bright and shiny smile, shaking her head, "Only the voice of the siren, my friend. Though a siren's voice is, as any, a purely subjective thing indeed. But it is only that, a siren's voice in a box, which all fae will hear when it is opened." She eyes Vorpal, then Haruki, "The question is, what would the voice of the greatest of sirens be worth to the pair of you?"

Haruki's back to being quiet. He is actually addressing his questions to Vorpal, or trying to. So he doesn't really acknowledge the responses, just in case he ends up having bought something. "Where's the Siren? Will she want it back? Little Mermaid? I know a Siren with an entrancing voice. Several. Would they American Idol it to see who is best of all?"

The hob, regardless of who he might be talking to, answer's Haruki, "The siren is alive and well, as far as I am aware, though to be honest I cannot say for certain, as such was never a part of the promises made on the matter, and this /unique/ item is something which I gained...at great expense, I must admit, from another." She does seem interested in the fact that he knows other entrancing sirens. "Perhaps they would be interested in sharing their voices in a similar way? I am sure I could find more boxes..."

"Hm. I think, perhaps, it would be better to start with what sorts of things you -prefer.- I have many things, from memories to storied trinkets to a rather plethora of hedgefruit- as well as the services to hunt specific fruits should you have any in mind. I rather enjoy a good hunt- fancy that- but let's start with what sorts of things you like, and we can find a price- since we both know I'm leaving with that box."

The hob considers, eyeing Vorpal, then Haruki with a long hard stare. "Well, this item is the greatest talent of a /great/ talent. I think something of similar value would be appropriate, wouldn't you agree?" Haruki Shakes his head at what the Hob asks. He doesn't think they will be interested in such things. He doesn't speak now, since negotiating is starting.

"Ah, now- it is an -example- of a great talent by that greatest talent. By your own admission, you don't know whether the siren gave UP her voice or simply gave up this SONG- or whether it was given up at all or merely put in a box to be shared whenever appropriate. I could certainly provide you with an example of a fantastic talent at work- art for art, as it were- say I create and carve a unique pattern that will never be carved again- you can take the memory of the pattern itself to be sure of it. In fact, if you give me a moment, I'm willing to carve the pattern first- and let you decide if it's worth it once you see it?"

The hob considers, then smiles and leans in, raising a hand and attempting to run a finger over Vorpal's scars, if he allows such a thing. "What about /these/ patterns? Scars such as these, they are quite...potent." She hovers over one, in particular, presumably extra 'potent' in her mind, as she adds, almost as an afterthought, "She most certainly gave up her voice. But I would not ask you to give up your skills...Perhaps only the symbol of them?"

Haruki's paying attention, being very silent though, standing very near to Vorpal.

"Hrm. -Just- that one?" Vorpal asks, ensuring to get clarification. He muses, then seems to start to like the idea. "I suppose in the end, the absence of only a single scar will make it all the more interesting to leave the space blank. That scar, and -only- that scar, and we trade for the box? Is that our proposed deal?"

The hob considers, then suddenly opens her hand, splaying it out so her spidery fingers are spread as far as possible, "Every scar that my hand can touch," which is perhaps three or four designs, leaving perhaps a six or 7 inch empty space, were they gone, "These, never to be reproduced, and the stories that created them. Then you will have the voice of the siren."

"One last question. If I use different designs to fill the gap, is that an issue? I have a pattern that's been waiting to find a home, and I've never had a chance to place it. On what we've discussed thus far, though, we are- so far- agreed, though not concluded," Vorpal specifies.

Haruki asks Vorpal, in a whisper. "If she takes the stories too, will you forget? Is that scars and memories?"

The hob keeps the hand defining the scars being discussed for trade in place, but waves her other hand flippantly, "What you do with your skin once the scars have been removed is entirely your decision. Only those there now, and the stories they come with, are being discussed and included in this deal. Unless, of course, you wish something else on my table? In which case, we can discuss further options." She offers another blinding grin. She smiles at Haruki and shrugs a shoulder, as if it is of no consequence, "What are a few stories, when one clearly has such an abundance? Sometimes, to release such things is like a snake shedding its skin, in this case quite literally, yes? A chance to grow and be more free."

"Of course it is, now hush." Vorpal shooshes Haruki, looking back to the hob. "Very well. Let that be the trade- for the box we have been discussing, the scars your hand is -currently- over, and the stories that created them, never to be reproduced. No more, no less, no other."

Haruki nods and does as he's told, hushing. He's looking rather worried, but he knows there's no need. The hob beams at Vorpal and nods, "The deal is made, then." And the scars in question begin to glow as the hob moves to get a rather large, rather sharp looking knife. "Now then, just over here," she waves Vorpal to a chair with that bright smile. "It will just be a quick transfer, and then the box is yours, good sir." She glances over at Haruki and asks with a faint little smile, "Is there anything you see that you like, little one?"

There's already a cat that Haruki wants, and that's enough trouble and he hasn't looked at anything else, not at this stall, knowing the dangers. He's not meant to respond but he does offer a sweet smile to the hob. "I've..." he pulls his hands from his mittens and dips them into his pockets. It's a clean white napkin he pulls out. He starts folding and twisting it with adept fingers, and the form of a rose takes shape.

"There is nothing I am willing to allow him to offer for trade, good miss. He's here to learn, not to barter. Though I appreciate your consummate saleswomanship." Vorpal sweeps over to the chair and slings himself down, taking a moment to ensure his clothing is well out of the way of the knife in question. Upon spotting the blade, though, he pauses. "One moment. Before we begin. Our deal stands, and I'll be happy to let you use it to complete our current deal, but I rather like the cut of that knife. Add it to the exchange, and to round out our deal, I'll add in that pattern I offered earlier. No story, of course- but it'll be more exquisite... and it -is- just for a knife. I'll even perform the pattern first." "STOP that," snaps Vorpal as he sees the pattern start to form. "Unfold that this instant. I told you roses are reserved for the residents."

Haruki stops as he's yelled at, he freezes a moment, all rabbit in the headlights. And he untwists everything. He doesn't speak. He has a tendency to fidget when he's anxious, he has a tendency to fidget that specific way, and being directly asked that question... yeah, and thinking of the cats, and it's been so long.

The hob smiles at Haruki's little flower, and indulgently reaches under her table, producing a rose of her own, this one a pretty red. "A rose for a rose." It has no scent, and an abundance of thorns, but, she explains, "It will never fade." She looks back to Vorpal as he snaps at Haruki, giving a luttle cluck of her tongue in disappointment. But she eyes the knife, and considers Vorpal's secondary offer, countering, as she runs the tip of the knife gently over the largest of Vorpal's designs that are visible "This one. Never to be made again, and you will have the knife once the deal is complete. I shall make a book of the exploits you unburden yourself of, and bind it up in your scars, good sir."

"Make the large pattern the front cover and you have yourself a deal. The scars are yours, the box and blade are mine. You may use the blade to claim your price, good miss." Vorpal declares. Softer, he speaks to Haruki. "The Wild Roses don't permit bearing or wearing the form, shape, or color of rose here. It's theirs, and it marks their own. I'm not -entirely- certain they'd mind a faux rose folded from a handkerchief, but if I find out, it won't be from a punishment on your head."

The rules? What were the rules? No roses? Haruki's eyes go wide as he remembers. "No roses." He says softly. "I forgot. I love roses. I... I can't even give them? I can't take any. I'm sorry. No roses."

The hob's own flower disappears in a poof of smoke, and Haruki gets a little wink. And then the blade slices Vorpal's flesh, skinning him expertly as if dressing a hunted animal, the specific scars each taken with extreme precision. It's definitely not a pleasant experience, and there is a fair amount of blood that drips, but at least it is quick enough, and the flesh underneath seems to heal slightly, leaving angry red flesh of a freshly healing wound. Each scar is carefully placed in a drying board. And, once each has been removed, she turns the knife around, offering it to Vorpal hilt first. "The box and knife are yours."

->> +Fruit <<- Vorpal uses 1 of his pow Blushberries.

Haruki doesn't look, and goes a bit green around the edges, and he's most certainly not looking at all.His hands are trembling and he stuffs them back into his mittens, and all of him is scared now?

Vorpal doesn't- ENJOY- the experience, that's for sure, but the only outward sign of it is the downward turn of his grimace. He doesn't make a sound. He waits, patiently, until it's all said and done, then reaches into the paper pouch in his hoodie pocket to pluck and eat a blushberry, completely skipping the whole "deal with raw patches of flesh" period because he literally eats the damn things like candy. The flesh bubbles and mottles, slowly shifting from angry and raw to smooth and fresh. "Ah. That's much better." The flesh under his scars still shifts with shadows, and hides ghost-like from the light, but the scars ignore the changes, perfectly solid, pale flesh regardless. He claims the knife and spins it in hand, getting accustomed to it before smiling. "Wonderful. You've done me a service, and payment rendered. I won't promise A favor, but you have MY favor, miss. Might I have your name before I depart?" The knife vanishes into his clothing, and Vorpal plucks up the box. It's a large knife, and it really shouldn't be so easy, but Vorpal has clear practice.

The hob offers a name, "They call me Quiet Gertie. Be sure you ask for /quiet/ Gertie if you require another trade, sir. The other Gerties in this market are quite inhospitable, I can assure you." Ahh, the 'friendly' competition of the Gerties. Who can ever know what dramas such mistakes have fostered. "It is a deal well made, sir," She smiles and runs a finger over the scars, as the memories of how and why they were aquired begins to fade from Vorpal's mind like sand through an hourglass. "A deal well made indeed." And with that she begins to string the scars up on the drying rack, clearly preparing them for some processing before she begins whatever it is she plans to do with them next. Haruki's not looking at all. No. He's just head down, trembling, wishing he had a cute little kitty to pet and make him feel better. Something with a sweet rumbling purr and a reassuring presence.

"Come, friend," Vorpal says to Haruki, "Let's us leave Quiet Gertie to her work. She's earned much and likely has some footwork before it'll be ready for whatever she plans to do with it." He drops a hand to pat Haruki's shoulder. "Not every trade is so... visceral. But they all bear import. Remember that, should you ever wish to trade here. The best you can hope for is an -even- trade. If you ever think you came out on top- you didn't." pal and nods in answer. He's shaking and now there's that huge long walk past, and all of it without a kitten, and perhaps the market wasn't the best idea after all. He shivers and shudders to think of how easily Vorpal just sold off a piece of himself. Still, no talking, he doesn't want to make a bigger mistake.

As if to clearly illustrate Vorpal's point, when they open the box at some later point, they find that it does indeed hold the voice of a siren. Specifically, the wrenching, nails on chalkboard scream of a Siren as her tongue is being ripped out. The tongue in question, preserved in the box, incased in golden filigree and surrounded by what looks like salt.