tony stark. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
propulsion) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2020-08-04 09:35 pm
propulsion) wrote in faderift2020-08-04 09:35 pm
The journey is two days on horseback, normally, from Ansburg to Bierstagg. That is how many days it took the initial would-be team of explorers to decide to turn back, having slowed down immensely with the onset of illness of one of their fellows, and the wild and tangled nature of the path. Following their advice, horses and wagon have been left to the care of the nearest homestead, taking with them only what provisions they were willing to carry to make the journey onward.
Food. Water. Paper. Ink.
There is, first, a morning of easy travel on a well-trod road through grasslands, which eventually become crowded with tree life, initially cultivated by locals, before giving in to wilderness proper. It seems almost to happen suddenly. One moment, you are walking through the over-warm midday on packed dirt, with only the occasional shadow of a tree, and then you find yourself stepping over roots that disrupt the normal path, climbing over logs, and pushing through bramble. The sky becomes glimpses through a denser canopy than before, and sunlight comes down in shafts of rainbow-hued illumination. Dragonflies hum through the air in hovering zigzags, and birds fill branches with choruses of chirping. 'Overgrown', while certainly true, does not quite capture the feeling that the environment is altered from what it should be.
By the time they are well into their first afternoon, certain aberrations have been identified. The first were the flowering trees, in which multiple colours and shapes and diverse patterns of leaves grow from the same plant. The slightest jostle sees sudden clouds of pollen, and even through the masks recommended by Joselyn, their perfumes are powerful, and strange. Occasionally, in amongst expected floral smells, there is a scent that is more sugary, and then another with a distinct metallic tinge, and another that is borderline putrescent in the blood and guts sense, although who knows, maybe something died nearby.
Then there's the stream, which can be navigated by moving on slick rocks that crest above the flow, or across where a nearby slanting log is felled, or by just wading in. The log is encrusted in colourful fungi of multitudes of shades, which simply snaps dry if pressure is applied. As crossing commences, there is movement in the water in the form of a school of long, dense eels, shining black, sharp toothed. As one slithers nearby, you can't help but feel there is something odd about them.
As you press on in the last dwindling hours of the evening, there is a shuffle of movement up ahead, and four rabbits suddenly bound from the brambles, and stop maybe forty feet ahead, only barely visible. They rise on their hidelegs to peer at the group of you, as if assessing threat. And then, the sound of snapping branches, and a bigger blur of movement crashes into that same space, something animal, four-legged, large. There's a crack of flesh and bone breaking and in the same motion, whatever appeared is gone as fast as it appeared. Ahead, you catch a glimpse of two rabbits darting out of sight.
And then it will be time to camp.
Food. Water. Paper. Ink.
There is, first, a morning of easy travel on a well-trod road through grasslands, which eventually become crowded with tree life, initially cultivated by locals, before giving in to wilderness proper. It seems almost to happen suddenly. One moment, you are walking through the over-warm midday on packed dirt, with only the occasional shadow of a tree, and then you find yourself stepping over roots that disrupt the normal path, climbing over logs, and pushing through bramble. The sky becomes glimpses through a denser canopy than before, and sunlight comes down in shafts of rainbow-hued illumination. Dragonflies hum through the air in hovering zigzags, and birds fill branches with choruses of chirping. 'Overgrown', while certainly true, does not quite capture the feeling that the environment is altered from what it should be.
By the time they are well into their first afternoon, certain aberrations have been identified. The first were the flowering trees, in which multiple colours and shapes and diverse patterns of leaves grow from the same plant. The slightest jostle sees sudden clouds of pollen, and even through the masks recommended by Joselyn, their perfumes are powerful, and strange. Occasionally, in amongst expected floral smells, there is a scent that is more sugary, and then another with a distinct metallic tinge, and another that is borderline putrescent in the blood and guts sense, although who knows, maybe something died nearby.
Then there's the stream, which can be navigated by moving on slick rocks that crest above the flow, or across where a nearby slanting log is felled, or by just wading in. The log is encrusted in colourful fungi of multitudes of shades, which simply snaps dry if pressure is applied. As crossing commences, there is movement in the water in the form of a school of long, dense eels, shining black, sharp toothed. As one slithers nearby, you can't help but feel there is something odd about them.
As you press on in the last dwindling hours of the evening, there is a shuffle of movement up ahead, and four rabbits suddenly bound from the brambles, and stop maybe forty feet ahead, only barely visible. They rise on their hidelegs to peer at the group of you, as if assessing threat. And then, the sound of snapping branches, and a bigger blur of movement crashes into that same space, something animal, four-legged, large. There's a crack of flesh and bone breaking and in the same motion, whatever appeared is gone as fast as it appeared. Ahead, you catch a glimpse of two rabbits darting out of sight.
And then it will be time to camp.
Vanadi has never much cared for nature; there's a joke somewhere in there, back in his own world. The elf who preferred cities over nature, ha-ha. So his curiosity and wariness of this strange wilderness is tempered by a healthy disgust: no interest in touching the strange fungi, thank you, and anything with more than four legs is given a wide berth.
But he does tramp gamely onward regardless, their darkly-clad, generally taciturn Scouting division traveling companion. He prefers to duck wayward nature over slashing at it — there's a sense he can't shake of not wanting to touch, not wanting to interact, and of fearing whatever may come of trying. That is, until he makes it to the stream.
The eels have snared his attention. He crouches on a half-submerged rock a few steps out from the bank, arms leaned on his knees and eyes on the water. Eyes on the animals in the water, specifically. He's seen eels before, but there's something about these ...
To anyone passing by, he voices a distracted and idle thought, "I don't suppose you brought a fishing rod?"
But he does tramp gamely onward regardless, their darkly-clad, generally taciturn Scouting division traveling companion. He prefers to duck wayward nature over slashing at it — there's a sense he can't shake of not wanting to touch, not wanting to interact, and of fearing whatever may come of trying. That is, until he makes it to the stream.
The eels have snared his attention. He crouches on a half-submerged rock a few steps out from the bank, arms leaned on his knees and eyes on the water. Eyes on the animals in the water, specifically. He's seen eels before, but there's something about these ...
To anyone passing by, he voices a distracted and idle thought, "I don't suppose you brought a fishing rod?"
Standing very upright some ten or fifteen paces back on the shore, Richard Dickerson pauses partway through turning to a fresh page in his journal. He is in a mask, his eye sharp over the wrap of it, fingers poised around the chalk he’d been sketching with while he watches the nearest eel twist past with the current.
“They might be drawn to meat.”
He puts the prickle at the back of his neck on do not disturb and sets chalk to paper to start a new drawing.
“Or blood.”
“They might be drawn to meat.”
He puts the prickle at the back of his neck on do not disturb and sets chalk to paper to start a new drawing.
“Or blood.”
From a third point, closer to Richard than to Vanadi, comes the cheerful remark of, "Really now, Mr. Dickerson. That seems a rather grim assessment."
Wysteria is not focused on the contents of the water at all. Rather, all her attention is focused on the fungi encrusted log crossing over it. She has a little working knife to hand and is presently scraping pieces of the brittle stuff off into a jar which had come out of the little traveling case she's been hauling around. It's no doubt meant to join a similar jar that she'd earlier filled with poisonous berries the moment they'd found a growth of them matching the description provided by the earlier band of would-be investigators.
"Though blood or no blood - I still wouldn't eat them, Mr. de Vadarta."
Wysteria is not focused on the contents of the water at all. Rather, all her attention is focused on the fungi encrusted log crossing over it. She has a little working knife to hand and is presently scraping pieces of the brittle stuff off into a jar which had come out of the little traveling case she's been hauling around. It's no doubt meant to join a similar jar that she'd earlier filled with poisonous berries the moment they'd found a growth of them matching the description provided by the earlier band of would-be investigators.
"Though blood or no blood - I still wouldn't eat them, Mr. de Vadarta."
The thought of offering up blood to these strange fish has Vanadi's lip curling in distaste, and Wysteria's input doesn't make the mental images much better.
"Rest assured," he mutters, "I'm not hungry."
But he still doesn't want to just give up on this curiosity. Figuring it a small sacrifice, he dips a hand into a pack at his side and comes out with a small handful of dried fruits, packed back in safety.
"I haven't any meat and I'm not willing to part with blood, but maybe they'll consider a fruit diet," he says, leaning to experimentally toss a few small pieces to the water.
"Rest assured," he mutters, "I'm not hungry."
But he still doesn't want to just give up on this curiosity. Figuring it a small sacrifice, he dips a hand into a pack at his side and comes out with a small handful of dried fruits, packed back in safety.
"I haven't any meat and I'm not willing to part with blood, but maybe they'll consider a fruit diet," he says, leaning to experimentally toss a few small pieces to the water.
“I’ve never known an eel to feed on vegetation,” Richard counters, unruffled in his assessment of Wysteria’s assessment, “or prunes.” His familiarity with slithering teeth tubes is matter-of-fact. But he does look up when the fruit plops in, too curious to risk missing a snap of the jaws or a clear flip of the tail.
He knows that Wysteria is scraping fungi into a jar with a knife in his periphery. If he doesn’t turn his head to see, it’s kind of like it isn’t happening, which means he doesn’t have to worry about it.
He knows that Wysteria is scraping fungi into a jar with a knife in his periphery. If he doesn’t turn his head to see, it’s kind of like it isn’t happening, which means he doesn’t have to worry about it.
There is, in fact, some reaction. The water ripples as the small pieces scatter into the water, and there is the roll of a slippery eel body cresting the surface. From where Richard is standing, he'll see the ink-black body twist to break the water, catching the light, showing up oily rainbow colours where the light catches on its scales.
Up close, Vanadi sees the creature twist beneath the water, sees the crease of its wide mouth, sees where its little fishy eye would be. Maybe not being very familiar with this creature, he wouldn't know what an eel eye should look like, what colour, what shape, save that it should not look like that.
That is to say, white sclera, tiny red capillaries, a perfect circle of blue-green iris, a tidy black pupil at the centre that dilates under the shine of the light above.
Small, this eye, set into the eel's structure, but very human. Or elven.
"Hey Alice, how's Wonderland?"
That's the sound of Tony headed back up the river towards the group. He'd moved off to get some 'readings', which seemed euphemistic for taking a wizz in the forest, especially seeing as he's not holding anything on which readings would be taken. He is eyeing Wysteria's handling of the fungi with probably a fraction of the worry that Richard dialed down, more so than the elf crouched on his rock.
Up close, Vanadi sees the creature twist beneath the water, sees the crease of its wide mouth, sees where its little fishy eye would be. Maybe not being very familiar with this creature, he wouldn't know what an eel eye should look like, what colour, what shape, save that it should not look like that.
That is to say, white sclera, tiny red capillaries, a perfect circle of blue-green iris, a tidy black pupil at the centre that dilates under the shine of the light above.
Small, this eye, set into the eel's structure, but very human. Or elven.
"Hey Alice, how's Wonderland?"
That's the sound of Tony headed back up the river towards the group. He'd moved off to get some 'readings', which seemed euphemistic for taking a wizz in the forest, especially seeing as he's not holding anything on which readings would be taken. He is eyeing Wysteria's handling of the fungi with probably a fraction of the worry that Richard dialed down, more so than the elf crouched on his rock.
"We're discussing the diet of eels. Mr. Dickerson evidently has some experience with them."
With a last crumbling scrape of brittle fungi, Wysteria caps the jar. The knife is dunked into the stream, wiped dry on her skirt, and promptly tucked back into her boot. It's fine. She's wearing gloves.
With a last crumbling scrape of brittle fungi, Wysteria caps the jar. The knife is dunked into the stream, wiped dry on her skirt, and promptly tucked back into her boot. It's fine. She's wearing gloves.
He'd not been expecting much. Everything in here seems to be under the influence of that strange and dreamy rainbow shimmer, so the oilslick look of its scales is quite in keeping — but that eye. It defies his expectations in the very worst way. It leaves him unsettled, doubts and nameless anxieties renewed.
Vanadi pulls quickly to his feet, a reaction more suited to an unexpected snap from the water. He keeps his eyes on the resubmerged shape; he doesn't need to see it again to be able to picture perfectly that blue-green iris. He'd have called it lovely in the right face.
An eel's face is not the right face.
"On second thought," he says, picking his way carefully back to the bank, "Leave them in there. They're doing quite fine where they are." It seems to be aimed at Wysteria in particular, timed with a glance shot over; not everything needs to be collected, some things can be left to be horrifying in peace.
Vanadi pulls quickly to his feet, a reaction more suited to an unexpected snap from the water. He keeps his eyes on the resubmerged shape; he doesn't need to see it again to be able to picture perfectly that blue-green iris. He'd have called it lovely in the right face.
An eel's face is not the right face.
"On second thought," he says, picking his way carefully back to the bank, "Leave them in there. They're doing quite fine where they are." It seems to be aimed at Wysteria in particular, timed with a glance shot over; not everything needs to be collected, some things can be left to be horrifying in peace.
“Eels are a food staple in coastal settlements.”
Knowing how they’re fished for is natural. Dick “a normal amount of defensive about eels” Dickerson shoots an unappreciative look at Wysteria and her mushrooms, exposing him like this in front of a popular kid. Beyond her, black scales slip up through the surface among pellets of dried fruit.
Whatever finicky business he’s up to with his journal and his chalk stops for him to clock the haste in their scout’s recoil. He’s still watching at a suspicious pause when Vanadi rejoins them on dry land.
“Did you see something?”
Knowing how they’re fished for is natural. Dick “a normal amount of defensive about eels” Dickerson shoots an unappreciative look at Wysteria and her mushrooms, exposing him like this in front of a popular kid. Beyond her, black scales slip up through the surface among pellets of dried fruit.
Whatever finicky business he’s up to with his journal and his chalk stops for him to clock the haste in their scout’s recoil. He’s still watching at a suspicious pause when Vanadi rejoins them on dry land.
“Did you see something?”
His wary glance finds Dick next, calculating. The calculation, specifically, being the odds of honesty resulting in him being asked to fish the thing out of the water. His lips thin, but, seeing as he is trying to be helpful today:
"It had eyes rather unlike any fish should. Humanoid eyes, if I had to name them."
A few more steps back from the water's edge accompany his reluctant honesty. Not it.
"It had eyes rather unlike any fish should. Humanoid eyes, if I had to name them."
A few more steps back from the water's edge accompany his reluctant honesty. Not it.
"Don't like that."
Tony had slowed and come to a stop, discarding some line about going for some unagi later as he eyeballs Vanadi, and then looks at the stream, and the odd quality it has with a school of eels wending through beneath the ripples. 'Don't like that', he says, and then moves on forwards.
Eels with people eyes isn't his area. His area is sometimes taking out a little obscure device he's explained minimally and taking down the numbers it reads out from its dials, or, more accurately, expecting Wysteria to take down the numbers he reads out from the dials. But he is given to moments of recklessly leading the way, and so.
He takes a very thought out jump onto the nearest rock to get closer to where they're all schooling. The floor is lava. Or eels.
Tony had slowed and come to a stop, discarding some line about going for some unagi later as he eyeballs Vanadi, and then looks at the stream, and the odd quality it has with a school of eels wending through beneath the ripples. 'Don't like that', he says, and then moves on forwards.
Eels with people eyes isn't his area. His area is sometimes taking out a little obscure device he's explained minimally and taking down the numbers it reads out from its dials, or, more accurately, expecting Wysteria to take down the numbers he reads out from the dials. But he is given to moments of recklessly leading the way, and so.
He takes a very thought out jump onto the nearest rock to get closer to where they're all schooling. The floor is lava. Or eels.
From where she is arranging a place for the jar of potentially toxic fungi in the little folding traveling case, Wysteria pauses to follow the arc of Tony's hop out onto the flat slab of rock in the stream. Vanadi had seemed more than deft about navigating the space, but she has seen enough of Mr. Stark in the field to consider the possibility of him slipping on a wet rock and into a school of poisonous blood sucking eels.
(Or maybe she's just seen enough of Mr. Stark in generalv that the possibility occurs to her at all and registers as some small measure of concern regardless of how graceful he is or isn't. Who can say.)
"What does an eel's eye usually look like?" is asked generally, or to Richard who is evidently a regional-zoologist-slash-chef as she packs the jar away and snaps shut the case.
(Or maybe she's just seen enough of Mr. Stark in generalv that the possibility occurs to her at all and registers as some small measure of concern regardless of how graceful he is or isn't. Who can say.)
"What does an eel's eye usually look like?" is asked generally, or to Richard who is evidently a regional-zoologist-slash-chef as she packs the jar away and snaps shut the case.
“Almost comically false-looking, usually, like doll eyes,” Joselyn contributes, because she's been here this whole time just go with it, “white or clear around and a very strong black pupil. How hard do you think you'd have to hit an eel to knock it out?”
That is the sound of someone with a staff who is thinking about how she could get an eel's humanoid eye in a jar.
That is the sound of someone with a staff who is thinking about how she could get an eel's humanoid eye in a jar.
As curious a man as Richard is, there is a reserve to his interest that catches on Vanadi looking warily back at him. He was absolutely going to ask. Now, with both hands wrapped idle around his journal and his brows at an uneven slant, he proceeds to calculate against Vanadi’s calculation -- if he does ask, can he do so in such a way --
Tony jumps.
In the earliest stages of opening his mouth, Richard closes it again, waiting to see if anyone else seems alarmed. They don’t. The Research and Scouting divisions have very different energies.
“They’re fish,” he agrees, late. “They should have eyes like a fish.
“With gloves it might be easier to flip one out of the water.” He’s tucking his journal away into his pack as he says so, precluding accusations of spectating over offering his assistance. "Stabbing it in the brain would be ensure its cooperation."
Tony jumps.
In the earliest stages of opening his mouth, Richard closes it again, waiting to see if anyone else seems alarmed. They don’t. The Research and Scouting divisions have very different energies.
“They’re fish,” he agrees, late. “They should have eyes like a fish.
“With gloves it might be easier to flip one out of the water.” He’s tucking his journal away into his pack as he says so, precluding accusations of spectating over offering his assistance. "Stabbing it in the brain would be ensure its cooperation."
Oh, great, they're all interested, just as he'd hoped they wouldn't be. Some things really are better left to their strange devices. Not one to discourage, though, Vanadi only stays well back from the water's edge to watch Tony at it.
"Should," he agrees. "I wonder if they've humanoid teeth. I can't decide if that would be more or less painful than their usual assortment."
"Should," he agrees. "I wonder if they've humanoid teeth. I can't decide if that would be more or less painful than their usual assortment."
Tony has by now taken a knee on damp rock, and is tugging a glove onto his left hand. His other hand is differently dressed, with a bracer-type piece buckled to his wrist, extending its support to the back of his hand which wraps around and tethers some configuration of fine metal against his palm through which his anchor shard glows.
As they speak, he takes out from a pocket a glittering disc of something crystal -- in fact, he takes a couple of them out, inspects one, puts the other back -- and twists it into place over his palm. All the while, he mainly has his eyes on swimming black tubes. If their eyes are strange, it's hard to tell without a closer look.
"I mean we could just ask it nicely," Tony says, on the back of brain stabbing as soliciting inspection. "Not everything needs to be solved with violence."
Which is when he extends his hand, palm flat and fingers splayed, and fires a wall of rippling green light directly into the river. At first, it seems more dramatic than it is, as a fine mist of water immediately erupts from the surface, an impact splash rippling out in a wide circle, but the shock of Fade energy isn't so powerful as to blow eels out of the water. Instead, while many eels writhe away, another many go still in the water, twitching.
Tony then reaches in with his gloved hand to grab one by the tail and flip it out onto the shore. He goes, 'yaaaagh' when he does it, as the eel seems to immediately begin squirming again. Pap. The dense-bodied fish lands roughly at Richard and Joselyn's feet.
A second one follows with a wild fling, hitting the dirt, almost bouncing in its thrashing.
They both have beautiful eyes. One, a clear blue. The other, hazel-brown.
As they speak, he takes out from a pocket a glittering disc of something crystal -- in fact, he takes a couple of them out, inspects one, puts the other back -- and twists it into place over his palm. All the while, he mainly has his eyes on swimming black tubes. If their eyes are strange, it's hard to tell without a closer look.
"I mean we could just ask it nicely," Tony says, on the back of brain stabbing as soliciting inspection. "Not everything needs to be solved with violence."
Which is when he extends his hand, palm flat and fingers splayed, and fires a wall of rippling green light directly into the river. At first, it seems more dramatic than it is, as a fine mist of water immediately erupts from the surface, an impact splash rippling out in a wide circle, but the shock of Fade energy isn't so powerful as to blow eels out of the water. Instead, while many eels writhe away, another many go still in the water, twitching.
Tony then reaches in with his gloved hand to grab one by the tail and flip it out onto the shore. He goes, 'yaaaagh' when he does it, as the eel seems to immediately begin squirming again. Pap. The dense-bodied fish lands roughly at Richard and Joselyn's feet.
A second one follows with a wild fling, hitting the dirt, almost bouncing in its thrashing.
They both have beautiful eyes. One, a clear blue. The other, hazel-brown.
At the sight of what Tony can produce with his anchor-shard, Joselyn looks thoughtfully at her own,
and then sets that aside. Probably pursuing anchor-shard magic would be just as complicated for her religious convictions as any other sort of magic, and ergo is not to be pursued in front of anyone else. (Or at all. Or just, with witnesses to her interest.) But the eels are more immediately pressing, and she looks briefly to Richard with a sort of well, that worked expression before casting her eye back down, thoughtfully,
“There's only one way to find out about the teeth. I think it's better to keep the entire head, though, else it's going to look like we visited a village in need of help and nicked some of their eyeballs.”
She is still not going to ask the eel nicely. The blue-eyed eel gets the butt of her staff, hard, where its head connects to the rest of its body because she isn't testing the teeth thing before she's done that.
and then sets that aside. Probably pursuing anchor-shard magic would be just as complicated for her religious convictions as any other sort of magic, and ergo is not to be pursued in front of anyone else. (Or at all. Or just, with witnesses to her interest.) But the eels are more immediately pressing, and she looks briefly to Richard with a sort of well, that worked expression before casting her eye back down, thoughtfully,
“There's only one way to find out about the teeth. I think it's better to keep the entire head, though, else it's going to look like we visited a village in need of help and nicked some of their eyeballs.”
She is still not going to ask the eel nicely. The blue-eyed eel gets the butt of her staff, hard, where its head connects to the rest of its body because she isn't testing the teeth thing before she's done that.
Crack.
No, sorry, that's not the sound of Joselyn's staff crunching through an eel's neck (that's really more of a wet thunk); it's Wysteria snapping a few extraneous twigs from the dry stick she's fetched up on out the grass. She passes the pared down thumb wide fork of it to Richard she moment she's within range to do so, which is very quickly.
"Here you are, Mr. Dickerson. As you are the expert, you must hold the other one," which is flopping around, oil black body becoming crusted with dirt as it squirms uselessly on the creek bank. "So we can get a better look at it. —Mr. de Vadarta, here. Would you like to see it up close?"
No, sorry, that's not the sound of Joselyn's staff crunching through an eel's neck (that's really more of a wet thunk); it's Wysteria snapping a few extraneous twigs from the dry stick she's fetched up on out the grass. She passes the pared down thumb wide fork of it to Richard she moment she's within range to do so, which is very quickly.
"Here you are, Mr. Dickerson. As you are the expert, you must hold the other one," which is flopping around, oil black body becoming crusted with dirt as it squirms uselessly on the creek bank. "So we can get a better look at it. —Mr. de Vadarta, here. Would you like to see it up close?"
Tony fires a wall of fade green light into the river, and Richard flinches ramrod straight away from his pack, transfixed after the fashion of a dog whose owner has just vanished behind a dropped blanket: tiny mind blown, no existing frame of reference to explain -- thump, an eel lands at his feet. Thunk. Crack. He looks to Wysteria at the sound of her footsteps, his eyes bright, energized at the prospect of incoming explanation --
She pushes a stick into his hands.
He holds it.
It takes him a beat to process that it is for a task. Once he has, he steps over to press his boot over the conscious eel’s flapping tail, and pins the head down with the fork of his stick, just behind the gill plate. It continues to struggle, slime clotted with dirt in the trench of its suffering. Richard ignores it.
“Was that magic or some other type of ability?”
He asks quietly, because they are supposed to be studying eel peepers, and not each other.
She pushes a stick into his hands.
He holds it.
It takes him a beat to process that it is for a task. Once he has, he steps over to press his boot over the conscious eel’s flapping tail, and pins the head down with the fork of his stick, just behind the gill plate. It continues to struggle, slime clotted with dirt in the trench of its suffering. Richard ignores it.
“Was that magic or some other type of ability?”
He asks quietly, because they are supposed to be studying eel peepers, and not each other.
She answers in the dramatic sense of sotto voce, which is to say the sort of whispering fit to be heard clear to the back of a large auditorium.
"It's a variation on how the anchor typically interacts with the Veil. So in some sense, yes. I suppose that it is magic of a kind." —and may or may not refer to a certain long standing argument with respect to the technical jargon they are or are not choosing to use in order to reference power drawn from or in relation to the Fade.
(Fade-iation is a stupid name and she stands by it.)
"Oh, they are very human looking, aren't they?"
"It's a variation on how the anchor typically interacts with the Veil. So in some sense, yes. I suppose that it is magic of a kind." —and may or may not refer to a certain long standing argument with respect to the technical jargon they are or are not choosing to use in order to reference power drawn from or in relation to the Fade.
(Fade-iation is a stupid name and she stands by it.)
"Oh, they are very human looking, aren't they?"
Well, and Tony can do that. That's good to know. Vanadi watches all of this from the dubious safety of several feet back, tense and wary. Maybe there's no need to be. Maybe they're just eels with strange eyes. But Vanadi isn't fond of taking chances ... until Wysteria very kindly reminds him that it's his job on this outing to do just that.
He nears with a deep sigh, like a man off to the gallows; at least he's got poor Mr. Dickerson between himself and the creature.
"And it's safe to assume, I hope, this isn't simply an unsettling trait of the eels in this world?"
He nears with a deep sigh, like a man off to the gallows; at least he's got poor Mr. Dickerson between himself and the creature.
"And it's safe to assume, I hope, this isn't simply an unsettling trait of the eels in this world?"
Having come prepared with numerous specimen jars, each individually held within leather bags for safe-keeping and to keep them from jostling and jangling as she moves, Joselyn is kneeling down at the struggling eel and its possibly-more-fortunate-actually kin to purpose. The staff that she has, to date, never once used for any magical purpose is serving now as a leaning post while she rifles in her satchel for the largest of the jars,
which would by no means contain the entirety of either eel, so this is probably about to get worse. Or better, for people who really don't want the eels to be alive so close to them. In a way, actually, Joselyn is really helpful.
“No, this is unusual for an eel.” Prising its jaws open to get a better look at the mouth— “Who's got the biggest knife?”
Hers might not quite do it. Still, she's game to try.
which would by no means contain the entirety of either eel, so this is probably about to get worse. Or better, for people who really don't want the eels to be alive so close to them. In a way, actually, Joselyn is really helpful.
“No, this is unusual for an eel.” Prising its jaws open to get a better look at the mouth— “Who's got the biggest knife?”
Hers might not quite do it. Still, she's game to try.
"I prefer 'Fade energy'," Tony is saying. He lines up his jump, swings his arms, and hyup, lands with two feet hitting the river bank at the same time in a neat hop. He roams nearer to the group, not paying an incredible amount of attention to the catch of the day just yet. "To magic. 'Fade-iation'? Is something we're throwing around. And this little accessory can attenuate or focus the output for attack blasts. Hey, I'll hook you up if you get hand lasers too."
The back of his hand bounces a friendly swat off Richard's shoulder as he says so, an easy transition into salesmen while some dorks look at fish. And Vanadi is a here too.
As Joselyn pries into the dead eel's mouth, the jaws give a little resistance from seized muscles, but it's relatively easy to overpower. There, a row of little needle-like teeth as she would expect to find in such a creature gleam back at her. As the jaw cracks open a little wider, she glimpses something else. Inside the mouth itself, and protruding from roof of it inside, is a neat semi-circle of bony protrusions. A second set of teeth, blunt, recognisably humanoid, grow out from within. On the lower, there is a strange fatty, musly swelling between its lower sets of teeth. She would be forgiven for imagining it to be an emerging human tongue, if not all the way grown freed.
The still alive eel continues to thrash. The human eyes in its head roll around.
The stream continues to flow, but perhaps Vanadi has the better vantage point to see some disruption beginning to occur. Almost as if it were following Tony's muddy tracks, an eel suddenly slithers out onto the bank, snapping at the air. And a second. And a third.
The back of his hand bounces a friendly swat off Richard's shoulder as he says so, an easy transition into salesmen while some dorks look at fish. And Vanadi is a here too.
As Joselyn pries into the dead eel's mouth, the jaws give a little resistance from seized muscles, but it's relatively easy to overpower. There, a row of little needle-like teeth as she would expect to find in such a creature gleam back at her. As the jaw cracks open a little wider, she glimpses something else. Inside the mouth itself, and protruding from roof of it inside, is a neat semi-circle of bony protrusions. A second set of teeth, blunt, recognisably humanoid, grow out from within. On the lower, there is a strange fatty, musly swelling between its lower sets of teeth. She would be forgiven for imagining it to be an emerging human tongue, if not all the way grown freed.
The still alive eel continues to thrash. The human eyes in its head roll around.
The stream continues to flow, but perhaps Vanadi has the better vantage point to see some disruption beginning to occur. Almost as if it were following Tony's muddy tracks, an eel suddenly slithers out onto the bank, snapping at the air. And a second. And a third.
He misses the teeth; he'd never dream of getting close enough to confirm an idle speculation. He misses the teeth, he misses what might one day have been a tongue, but he doesn't miss that flutter of motion near the river. His paranoia would never allow it.
He's stepping forward quickly, drawing his rapier with a rasp of metal. They're just eels and this is ridiculous, what is he going to do, make a fresh fish meal of them? -- and yet here he is.
"Tony," comes his word of tight warning, eyes on the slithering bodies. "All of you, keep back from the water."
He's stepping forward quickly, drawing his rapier with a rasp of metal. They're just eels and this is ridiculous, what is he going to do, make a fresh fish meal of them? -- and yet here he is.
"Tony," comes his word of tight warning, eyes on the slithering bodies. "All of you, keep back from the water."
Edited 2020-08-10 01:28 (UTC)
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