The trouble with being fabulous is that being a glowy pretty rainbow thing isn't always -useful-. Sometimes, being a strong hitty fighty thing is where it's at, and sometimes, drunken bookstore owners who run the local Smart People Club need to be dragged out of their papery havens and brought into the dangerous, thorny, muddy, icky Hedge to potentially get their brains rotted out by another fungus.
November has led the small troupe unerringly through the Hedge, her raw power influencing it in tricky, icy, colourful ways which Alexander's, being similarly strong, no doubt counteracts. It is likely late morning, nearing noon, by human standards at this point, though in the Hedge...who really knows?
Slowing down as she passes a particularly bloody red thicket of roses, the rainbow finally comes to a halt, and indicates an equally red set of thorny canes a short distance ahead. "It went through there. I counted at least ten of the creatures, some hound sized, one more like a horse, though they did appear more a blend of dog and snake. The hobgoblin I spoke with simply wants them gone; we are welcome to anything they have collected."
Clio' had agreed mildly grudhingly to come along since she'd intended to patrol anyway. The petite, winter-plump, bluebird had given Yrrh a welcoming little rub of his beak complete with little zappy-tingles before trudging after the Rainbow. For this particalr jaunt she's in her tight banded mail and twirling a long length of copper tubing in her hand like a baton. Despite her brilliantly loud nature Clio falls silent once they're in the hedge. Terribly alert and keeping her attention on their surroundings with the help of a halo of St. Elmo's fireflies buzzing about the little Summer's head.
She is only just a teensy bit drunk.
"Still dunno why the fuck you're trusting a goddamned Hob." She sniffs and her beaky lips pull down sending a small flicker of electrcity along her lip ring. She looks towards the, arguably, two unknown's and her head tilts. "You two want me to fuckin head in first?" The tiny bluebird's blue glow brightens just a tad at the thought.
Alexander trudges along with all the grace of a bulldozer as he follows November's lead, his crimson gaze drawn to this and that, easily distracted by the many wonders of the Hedge, they never cease afterall. Not a care in the world, more the fool he is. At times snorting in annoyance as his Mantle shifts and changes around the Dawn fairy queen, invading his metaphysical personal space, thankyouverymuch.
"So what are you getting out of it?" he asks, voice deep as the mountain which his mythological forebearers surely called home. He sniffs the air in the general direction indicated. "Have you ever eaten snake? Poor meat, like gum." a large meaty hand scratching at his scalp. "If you want to, I figure we just go in and shoo them off."
"Mmm hmm," comes an absent sound from Kip. See, he's preoccupied with studying the foliage, to the point where he even digs a small notebook from the messenger bag he has slung across his chest to loop over one shoulder, letting the bag portion rest against his hip. He starts to make a note of some sort before looking up from the note pad. "Ten... and you... you didn't say anything about /ten/ let alone more than ten." Leave it to November to leave out information that might send Kip running before they even get started. At least he's holding up the rear, a bit back from the others so there's no potential of him having to go first. He's good for many things. Being first into the thorns is probably not one of those things, even though he's shown time and again that he is actually capable of holding his own in a fight if he absolutely has to. He just, ya know, doesn't like to. Fights are too likely to involve him hurting himself more than anything or anyone else. Since he has no Mantle of his own, it's pretty easy to overlook his presence, especially when he's being still like he is.
"I get their goodwill and a promise of safe passage, Clio dear," November answers, "and the freehold gains another potential set of eyes and ears willing to give us warning should the Fae come knocking." A transparent hand gestures lightly toward the shadows of the rose bushes, and the bones beneath them. "The hobs get fewer predators around to eat their children."
The faerie Ancient blows Calliope a kiss and ignores the white crow's gagging sounds where he perches overhead, Yrrh, too, safely out of range. "Be careful. The hobs couldn't, or wouldn't, tell me overmuch beyond that these creatures are devilish quick and difficult to hit. I'll leave details of investigation to the experts." She smiles prettily toward Alexander and Calliope. Oh so prettily.
Calliope sneers, "For all the good that's fuckin' worth." It's hard to say what she's refering to, exactly. Clio's opinions on Hobs are not hard to deduce given the disgusted look on her face. It doesn't last long though because despite her distast November is certainly no Hob and the lumnous little Hoplite chirps lightly at Novie's blown kiss. She's far too easily swayed though Yrrh's given a little wink. "Yeah, fuckin' yeah. Least it sounds like a fuckin good time." She stops twirling the copper tubing and holds it out from her body. Still, the little Soldier is awaiting th words from her companions, unwilling to take off on her own.
Alexander rolls his wide shoulders into a shrug and promptly then starts walking with long strides in the indicated direction. "Come on them! I'll have one for lunch!" he calls out merily, a wide tusked grin on his face. "I wonder if they taste more like snake or dog." a pause "Dog is bette." he has spoken.
Clio can crawl right on in, no trouble, but Alexander is going to be getting scratches on that bare hide of his if he tries to crawl in and follow. Those roses have a taste for blood, and rustle ominously any time they get it, thorny canes curving and curling and attempting to impale their targets.
Clio nods and turns to forge ahead. The little glowing harpy's talons crackle as electrcity juts from both sides of the copper tubing in the shape of a trident. The already bruised and battered shifting mantle backed by the thunderous sounds of a sea warring against cliffs seems to increase and a feedback bolt of lightening feeds back over the already electric punk making her grimace. But there's a potential battle ahead and despite the moment of pain she seems to be getting maybe just a little to eager to get into this fight. It helps that she can squirm thruogh the thorns and is well armored.
Alexander stares the bushes down for awhile, the nerve to stand in his way baffling. A snort later he steps back getting some distance, running and leaping forward over and into the hungry thorns! Not quite as impressive as he might have wanted however, the giant crashes in a grand display but with some distance behind him.
Calliope, squirming through the thorns as she is, catches sight of a number of skeletal remains, for one thing, some of which aren't quite so skeletal and smell simply atrocious, but for another, she sees tracks, subtle and light. Given her exceptional observational skills, she can discern that whatever made them only has two claws on each foot, and is very light-footed or very light-weight, because the tracks are nearly invisible in the shadows of the roses. The rich scent of the flowers mingles with the coppery tang of blood and sickly sweetness of rotting flesh.
The bluebird has a pair of giant Alexander-legs appear in front of her, however, shortly after she has begun to make her way into the bushes, but thankfully, he doesn't land on top of -her-.
He does, however, land on top of something slippery, slimy, and squelchy which pops like a particularly enormous slug underfoot, and ominous rustling comes from farther in the bushes.
Kip, having been taking notes of some sort on who knows what but hey he's a Custodian so note-taking is the primary goal of any adventure he embarks upon, gives a sidelong glance toward where Alexander started walking. "I am not eating hobs. Oh! Maybe I should have brought the bobs and talked them into staying here," he jokes to himself as he stands up from where he had crouched. He stays back from the area where they had gone, sort of watching their six, not being part of the actual thorny stuff. "How's it going in there?" he calls out, his voice a bit louder than usual, but still whispery thin.
Clio's nose wrinkles but she's been on enough battlefields to accept that sometimes bodies aren't 'so fresh'. The smell of the flowers though mingled with the scent makes it worse. Still she looks over the tracks and ducks her head a little. She's not exactly quiet and her mantle - away from the rainbow - is hot, humid and racous. The little blue lights on Clio's head brighten and dart around to aid Clio in her inviestation and a little cluck of her tongue. The little beasts instincts kick in as she starts to weave through the rose-bushes, "Tracks." It's short, it's sweet and it's lacking in profanity. Clio is headed deeper by the sounds of her voice.
"Fucking shit." Alexander does provide profanity, all he wore afterall was a pair of loose linen trousers. He stops for a moment to check on his foot and whatever he had stepped in with a grimace. Snorting as he tries to wipe it off against the ground for awhile before he looks after Clio. "Where are the little fuckers." and he too steps deeper, in the vague direction of her voice, with none of the stealth.
As Calliope moves forward, she can see what Alexander can't: what he just crushed was a heap of -eggs-. Slimy, ooey, gooey eggs, and now little baby slimy scaly four-legged whippy-tailed puppy-hatchlings are smooshed in the dirt, oozing and far too young to be out of their eggs.
As for where the 'fuckers' are, the two Summers, not to mention Kip and November, have that answered for them moments after the question is asked. Squeals and snarls and hisses come from the rustly rose bushes, and they're definitely coming this way. From his vantage point, Alexander can see that the bushes thin out a bit farther back, opening into a hollow of some sort. Calliope, on the other hand, can see the trail the critters ordinarily take THROUGH the bushes to get there.
Calliope chuckles, it sounds likt a trilling chirp from within the thorns. "Makin a fuckin' omlette, big guy?" The little blue beast queries in the seconds before the parents object to their clutch being destroyed. "Gonna cork their bottleneck. You ready?" She communicates with the others without hesitation as she readies herself. The Summer pulls herself together and gets ready to try and stop the critters from their usual path, by force of course.
"Uh, guys?" Kip calls out hesitantly from his spot just outside the bushes and thorns. "Something's... uh, I think something's coming?" He doesn't sound very sure of himself and he steps to the side a bit as if to remain out of the way as best he can in case anything comes this way toward him. He rummages in the messenger bag for the little knife he brought with him, because he knows better than to come into the Hedge unarmed even if he's not the one who is supposed to be doing the fighting. At least he finally put the notepad and pen away. Once the knife is out and tucked into his waistband to free his hands, he pulls a hair tie off his wrist to pull his hair back so it's not in the way, hurrying to do that so he can take the knife up again, watching November for a moment to make sure she's ready, too.
It's a little silly, thankfully no one can see her as she shifts her stance, knee bent and out, trident held in front of her, end weaving lightly as Clio braces herself. Making herself a glowing blue target for the rabidly angry.. snoggos that are coming for her. Her brow draws down and despite the danger she's grinning like a fool.
They would be cute if they weren't so fangy and vicious and angry, yes. Two of them attack the bluebird, despite her zappy electrical armour, but while an attack gets through, the 'snoggo' which made it is felled by the electricity, twitching on the ground and barely able to pull itself up to its claws.
More of the creatures try to attack the bird and the giant, and one of them, particularly furious, slashes the stony mountain man and roars a vicious snarl, drawing whatever he has for blood. It tries to skitter off toward the eggs, distracted momentarily by nosing a dead little baby.
Alexander lets out an angry roar as a big chunk of flesh is taken out of his leg, he snarls staring daggers down at the creature hiding in the bushes. "FUCK YOU, YOU LITTLE SHIT!" he roars and sends one massive foot in, a mighty punt to break bone and skin sending it flying far far away. He snorts like an angry bull, his marble skin shifting from something smooth and almost pretty to the rough texture of a cliff, hardening.
The creatures try again, more and more of them darting out between the thorny canes of the roses to attack the interlopers who have so rudely intruded upon their nice comfy corpse-nest. A yelp and a hiss follow the attack on Calliope, her zzt zappy armour hurting the creature as much as it hurts her, and Alexander... yeah. Just no. A tooth snaps off entirely, and the creature whines a sound of pain as it darts back.
The tiniest Legionaire exhales, "Yeah. Fuck you!.." Echos an angry little chirp after the Large Summer's bellow. But she's startin' to feel it which is exactly in a place that no bluebird should be. So the little blue centurion sends off a few brilliant sparks as her form bursts into a ball of brilliant lightning sending random arcs off through the rosebushes.
Hearing the pain and anger in the bluebird's voice, November does what she can to heal the plump birdy. The creatures around them, wisely avoiding trying to bite living electricity, all attempt to strike Alexander instead, and a few manage to scratch his stony skin with their claws, but none break through.
Still outside everything, Kip keeps watch on anything /else/ trying to get involved. The others seem to have the whole fight locked down for the moment, so despite the fact that he /does/ actually want to protect them, he leaves it to them so he's not in the way. But he's still armed and poised to jump in if anything gets in the way or anything else tries to join in. The knife is held tight in his hand, the grip just the way he learned to hold it when a certain harpy long ago tried to teach him how to hold his own in an actual fight, but he doesn't jump in. "Behind you!" he calls out to... which of them? He doesn't specify.
It is an almost comical sight to see Alexander brought low by the many biting things, the Ogre continues to curse and kick at them to keep them at bay. To little use, finally he snorts and roars out in rage as he suddently .. grows, where there once stood a man there is now a giant, towering tall and looking down way way below him where the creatures bite at him.
Three more of the beasts attempt to take bites out of Alexander, darting forward to nip or slash with their claws, but do little more than bruise his shins in the process.
Clio, or rather, tha ball of blue lightning that seems to be dancing about the Giants feet makes some sort of weird sound and the scent of ozone and thunderstorm wafts about the little blue ball of angry that heals the more effective warrior.
November focuses on healing the injured mountain of a man, convincing his body to work faster and giving it the power it needs to do so, while the small creatures around him snarl and hiss and snap at .. well, his ankles, really, given his new size. A few manage to make contact, but none break through his stony skin.
Alexander is rejuvinated, which only has him become louder. His voice a roar that shakes the very bones of those that hear it now, not even reaching down to grab anything he stomps and kicks. Laughing like a merry big giant angry blood-soaked feet child. "That will teach you, you little fuckers!"
Three more of the beasts continue their futile efforts at claw-scrabbling attacks, and from the lashing of their serpentine tails, they're starting to get frustrated.
Bluebird is well, she's flailing, really. A little angry blue ball of lightning. She seems to say something but really it just sounds like some weird warped electrical screech. Really she means, "You're the Man, Man." But unless one speaks lightning it does not come across. Never the less as she flails she wishes the Giant all the luck while she does.
November draws upon her affinity for Springitude and sweeps a rush of healing wind through the giant, curing at least his minor ailments, while the creatures continue their futile attacks.
In the distance, approaching fast, a larger beast roars its fury. Even so, it barely approaches Alexander's knees in height.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Alexander's merry time is slowly fading as he continues. The first few bodies crushed beneath his feet is fun, but eventually it almost starts to become work. Taking the wonder out of things. But the loud roars ignites his interest and he looks up with a wide tusked grin at the approaching challenger, tiny as it is. "There you are! You're my lunch!"
The creatures continue their attacks, and seem heartened by the approach of their larger comrade, hissing their pleasure, tails lashing and ears pricking higher. The larger beast roars, and charges at the giant, shouldering its way into his leg in JUST the right spot to send Alexander tumbling down onto the ground, rose petals floofing into the air in an incongruously sweet, fluttering, artistic display which belongs in an episode of Sailor Moon.
Calliope's blinding light prompts an irritable look from November, and a quick glance Kip's way to be sure that the Custodian is still in one piece, but she sends another healing rush of Springitude through Alexander, fixing the little scratches in his stony skin. Must keep him looking fabulous. The creatures? Less pleased. More yowling and hissing and snarling, more attempts to hit, more failures to hurt the man.
It is an embarresing display as roses fly and Alexander is down on the ground. "What the fuck was that?!" he roars, slighted that the creature would send him off his feet. A deep snarl as he shifts, hoisting one leg up bigger than most men and sends a kick that would make Bruce Lee blush, the sound that follows is nasty, organic, bones breaking, ligaments and skin tearing as the thing's head is forced off with brute dull force, blood spraying and painting the giant's legs and groin red.
The instant the largest of the beasts is felled, the remaining seven drop to the earth, stunned, and twitch there in lingering stupefaction, not even seeming to see the world around them.
Clio keeps the light up as long as she can. A huffing, puffing little bright ball of raaage, oh so much tiny birdy rage. The little support ball of lightning practically vibrating in one spot because she's only so many little archs of plasma in a ball. She can still perceive the other enemies in the radius of her nimbus and holds the distracting beacon until they are dead as well.. At least until then. Then she collapses in a ball of exsausted Calliope.
Alexander hiffs and huffs, slowly getting up even as he begins to shrink, down to a mere mountain of a man, rather than a man who is a mountain. He looks at the colpased bird briefly, before he starts to smash a few heads in on the remaining creatures lazily. His eyes kept on the decapitated carcass of the big one, which will be taken back for lunch.
Long familiar with the bluebird's battle strategies, November waits until the sounds of combat cease, and the birdy's light winks out, before wading into the roses to retrieve her little friend. Notably, despite her delicate attire, not a single rose cane attempts to scratch her, the plants actively bending to get out of her way, and stay there. Regal and poised and Fae-like or not, she still has to struggle to drag Clio's unconscious self out of the bushes, hauling her by the arms back out onto the trod. "That," she announces, "is precisely why I had hoped you were available, though I hadn't anticipated quite such a...ah, display. You never cease to impress, Alexander."
There is the wet sound of another skull crushed against the ground as Alexander slams the limp body down a few times. The Ogre shrugs, covered in blood and other bodily fluids as he is, staining his white marble skin. "No trouble!" he calls out with a wide friendly tusked smile. "Just wish it had been bigger!"
"Shit," Kip mutters under his breath, ducking out of the way. "I have no idea what that was, but I'm glad you took it down," he says as he moves in to help out.
"Oh, Custodian..." the faerie rainbow sing-songs, pointing toward the now trampled path way into the thicket of half flattened roses, petals and crushed flowers everywhere. "Please do be a dear and retrieve whatever items seem useful from their hoard. It is only right and proper that you, the researcher, be the one to log them." November's mellifluous tone and warm, encouraging colours can only mean the very best of things for Kip.
For Alexander, she agrees, "We'll have to find you something larger next time. Perhaps the local Summers can go on a hunt."
"Are there many?" Alexander asks "I have not met them." he looks to the blue bird on the ground. "Well, more." he heaves the still bleeding carcass over his shoulder, grabbing ahold of it with one strong hand to carry it. "There is a hoard?"
Kip tucks his knife into his waistband again and rummages in his bag once more to get out the notepad and pen so he can take notes. Ya know, like a good Custodian does. "I can carry her back," he mentions to November. Because he's not /useless/! And he is, after all, rather strong. "A hoard, huh?" he asks, sounding possibly a bit wary about the whole thing. He's at least careful where he steps.
"Aside from the Monarch Meredith, you've Sophia, Damion, Duncan...Edmond and Louisa I haven't seen in quite some time, and I believe there is a Thea, new in town," sayeth the Waykeeper, who has good reason to keep tabs of any new Changelings in the area. "The hobs did say that we could keep anything we found in the creatures' hoard, yes."
November nods to Kip, accepting the man's offer to carry Calliope with a swift smile -- really, why wouldn't she? -- and a grateful, "That would be lovely. The wings do make hauling people about piggyback style a nuisance." She lifts the six delicate, shimmery, transparent wings in question, motes of glittering ice and light drifting in their wake.
"Well." Alexander eyes Kip for a few moments, as if sizing the man up. "Let us know if you find anything good, eh. - I will find somewhere to cook this thing." he pats the still warm flesh of the decapitated thing.
As Kip crouches down, he makes a face, but uses his free hand to poke around, pulling out a few items to set aside so he can note them and then pack them up into his bag. He does pause at a bag he finds which has some books, but he doesn't do more than glance through them before packing them back up. The dagger is also placed in the bag after a moment inspection and once it's all together, he stands up again and moves to take Clio and throw her into a fireman carry. "Lead the way out," he says.
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