As Never Idle surveys the collection laid out at the feet of participating kin, his eyes narrowed, his expression is unreadable. At this point, he's looking to see what you brought, and what makes it special.
Precipice cared little and less for plants, but that didn't mean she knew nothing about them. When a competition was called for, she couldn't resist but partake, for the thrill, for the challenge. Her offering is a strand of close-knit long-throated blossoms, their color a deep purple, made even deeper by the fact that they are drying fast, withering at her hooves.
(At this point OOCly rolled out, but continuing to respond as if in IC competition for a while more)
-----
Never Idle nods as he looks over the goodies, his eyes narrowed and expression thoughtful. He makes eye contact with all the kin, and those whose offerings he thinks are good enough remain. The others are sent home, tails between their legs.
Now, though, he wants more information. His mouth shifts as he considers. "Alright, then. Tell me where this came from. The plains? the swamp? Trees, mud, water? What is its source?"
"The ground," she replies immediately, matter-of-fact. It's only after a moment's pause she realizes the stag probably wants a little more than that. "The swamp," she clarifies, none too well.
-----
They are all interesting items, and they all catch his eye in different ways -- each from a different place, with a different story, with a different home. They are all unique, at least in one way, so no one is sent home. They all make him humm.
"How did you get it, then? And how did you bring it here?"
"Carefully," she replies with a dour laugh. The flower is poisonous, fatally so, and it took great care to bring it here. "I broke the stem much farther down and wrapped it in hide."
-----
"It sounds like that took some work…" his eyes narrowed as he said it, head tipped to the side and expression thoughtful. It took thought and, yes, a bit of daring. Or trouble. Or strength. They show difference.
"So, answer me this. If your plant were a kin, which species would it be? Acha? Totoma? Kimeti? Why?"
This question baffles her for a moment. Clearly she's never compared kin to plants. "A totoma," she decides at last. "It's a potent, deadly thing, not to be trifled with."
-----
"That was a really stupid question." It comes with a snicker, with his eyes narrowed and his tail swishing -- and as he says it, the Stag shape of Never Idle melts down into a more nimble mongoose, hopping in closer to touch the plant.
"I can't believe you answered it. Try this one instead -- if I were to make an accessory or talisman out of this, what would you ask for? What would you suggest?"
She laughs as well, glad he agrees, glad she didn't think too hard on the reply. Accessories are also not her forte, though she's proud of the crocodile teeth she wears around her neck that was all his doing, not her own. "Your opinion is better than mine," she admits with a shrug. "Make it a charm to wear at the base of one's tail, unobtrusive, but there. It'll serve as a warning, when necessary, otherwise just a pretty but practical charm."
-----
t's down to five of them, now. Five plants remain. Five he looks over.
"I might just do that. With the winner. If they're lucky." A mongoose grinning is an intimidating sight, but at least it melts away quickly. He circles the objects that remain, mouth pressed into a line instead, and thinks about what he'd make.
"If you could give this plant to someone, who would it be? A friend, an enemy? Why?"
"My daughters," she replies, without question. "It'd serve as a lesson to them. It's a pretty thing, but just a plant. It's deadliness is a reminder that even plants require some measure of respect." Even not eating them, one had to be wary of their dangers.
-----
"Well. It is down to you, now. Just those who remain. So tell me: why do you deserve to win? What sets you, personally, apart from the others?"
She laughs now, unable to contain it anymore. Listening to so many other responses, grave and serious compared to her rapid-fire top of her head comments has been at once boring and enlightening. When her turn comes to reply:
"Honestly, I don't." Blunt, honest, with warmth in her smirk. "This," a hoof waves over the offerings, discarded and otherwise, "is not what I'm good at, or what I care to be good at. I am a hunter, I don't mess with poisons, I don't mess with plants. Next time, ask us to bring you some skins."
-----
"Uh huh. Except, there's still many of you here -- and so, it's not just about you winning, but them LOSING. Why do you think the kin around you deserve to LOSE?"
An interesting question to ask, especially given her response to his last one, but her matter-of-factness rarely fails her. "They know too much," she replies with ease. "They thought too much about their offerings and lost sight of the offerings themselves? Something like that."
-----
"Yeah, fine, calm down." He gestures with one paw as he says it, in a way that's comical and not at all dignified or legendary, and then eases back into his Stag form -- looking down at them and tilting his head.
"In truth, these are all offerings to Matope. What would you ask for, with yours?"
"Strength and good sense for my tribe," she responds at once, but this time her golden eyes are serious. In her youth she would have asked for those qualities for herself, but times had changed. She had changed. Her tribe, her family, they were her first priority now.
