Welcome to Gaia! ::

Tybalt lifted a shoulder in a negligent half-shrug. "Aye, sometimes I wonder at th' things that come outta yer mouth. But it's nothin' t' worry yerself about." Honestly, he didn't know what he'd do if she started sounding normal. Vidya's oddities, her uniqueness, endeared her to him. Well, that and she put up with him.

He didn't jump at the sudden noise, but he tensed, wings flaring, fingers flying to the hilt of his dagger as he cut a glare at her bag. The only thing that kept him from actually drawing it was Vidya's grip on his arm; to break it would have meant pushing her from the branch, and he certainly wouldn't do that to spite some silly, although loud, sound. "What th' bloody hell's that thing?" he asked, eyes focused on it rather than his new attachment. He watched it flutter away, a wing unconsciously moving around Vidya as she relaxed against him, an instinctual comfort he would only give to her. As the communicator flew out of sight he too relaxed, fingers slowly relaxing around the hilt of his dagger, caressing the wood almost lovingly before his hand moved as close to its original position as he could manage.

A laugh was fought down, along with some vague bit of disappointment, as Vidya released his arm as if burned. His wing remained, and he offered her a rakish grin, feeling no small amount of pride that she had seemed to depend on him to protect her from whatever that thing was. Well, of course she should! Pirate she may be, but he was the Captain--fearless and well able to protect what was his, in his own opinion. "'S alright, Vid, no harm done."

"Annoyin' little thing, ain't it?" he muttered as he watched it come back. Although he was no longer on the defensive, his posture stated that he easily could be if the situation warranted it. He only relaxed further as Vidya unceremoniously shoved it back into her bag. He frowned, hit with an unexpected pang of disappointment as she stated that she had to leave. "Anytime, lass," he stated with a sigh.

Bringing his wing back into his own personal space, he carefully hoisted himself to a standing position on the branch, sharp talons gripping it tightly. Once he had gotten himself balanced, he held a hand down to her. "Need a lift?" he asked, quite out of character and probably unwisely; he had no idea if he could hold her now that she was his size, but he was determined to try anything once. And if it turned out his wings couldn't carry them both, well, what difference did it make? Other than a few broken bones, of course. Tybalt was willing to take that risk, as he was most others.

No, this had all the makings of a Very Bad Idea, as was evident when Tybalt released Vidya's hand long enough to scoop her into his arms and swayed dangerously on the branch, only the sudden flaring of his wings keeping him upright. She was heavy! Of course, she was also his size, and he wasn't known for his brute strength. The best he could do was try to stay upright, and it's what he did as he awkwardly turned and carefully walked towards the end of the branch. The wood dipped and creaked ominously because of their combined weight. "Hold on tight, alright?" he said, heeding his own advice and gripping her tighter--

--just before he leapt into the open air, a rustling behind them indicating that the taxed branch was very glad to be rid of them. Tybalt's arms tightened further still as they freefell for a few heart-stopping seconds, something that always got Tybalt's adrenaline rushing. Once Tybalt knew they had surpassed the lowest branches he slowly spread his wings, turning their headlong dive into a descending downward spiral around the trunk. It was different than the way he usually slowed down--a swoop and a soft flutter to the ground--but it was neccessary in order for him to be able to land them safely. His circles were tight enough that the very tips of his feathers scraped the trunk and he landed harder than he was used to, his momentum propelling them a few awkward steps before he was able to get them under control.

Wow, his arms HURT. As soon as he was able he dropped the arms that had held her legs up, waiting just long enough for her to find her footing before dropping the other one as well. His cocky grin was marred somewhat by his panting, heaving chest. "Goin' down?" he said nonchalantly, mentally cataloguing that stunt under his "things not to do EVER again" list.

Serious pain was a mild understatement, but Tybalt thought he hid it well. His breath was already slowing down, though his wings took a moment to recover, drooping exhaustedly before slowly drawing themselves to their normal upright position. He almost laughed at his first mate's fright and shakiness, but feared he wasn't much long for the upright world either. He made his way towards her, slowly, unsteadily. "Yer quite welcome," he replied, smiling as though he'd carried her over a puddle instead of dropped her out of a tree. "Shall we?"

After they parted ways, Tybalt went into the house, previous project forgotten as he flopped down on his bed, spreading his aching wings. Hm. Aside from the minor pain in his arms and the much more pressing one in his back, that hadn't been too bad.

"So then I says t' 'im, that ain' a dog, that's me wife!" Smith's voice was the first thing Tybalt heard as he walked down the stairs the next morning, much-depleted sack in hand. He winced at the lame joke.

He wasn't the only one. A pause followed, before, "That's it? That's the punchline?"

Another pause. "Well, yeh."

"I see. I've got to say, that's probably the worst joke ever." Tybalt entered the kitchen about then, chuckling quietly at the look of dismay he could see on Smith's face from over Inle's grunny-adorned head. Hm. His Author's new attachment would take some getting used to.

Inle turned in her chair at the noise from behind her and smiled widely as she saw who it was--more importantly, what they were carrying. "Morning. Is that my candy?"

That red-eyed, lipless smile caused a shiver to inch its way down his spine, and his feathers ruffled as he smiled back. That was just creepy. "Maybe," he replied, looking between the ghost and the apparent zombie. "How can y' see 'im?"

Inle's smile fell to reveal blank confusion, and Tybalt KNEW, just KNEW that any minute she was going to leap out of that chair screaming for his brain. Her AND that rabbit. "Why wouldn't I be able to see him? He's sitting right there," she said slowly, her tone resembling a child explaining long division to their math teacher.

Tybalt and Smith exchanged a "look" over her head, the former's slightly exasperated, the latter's slightly smug. "Well," Tybalt started after a moment, "he's, uh...y' know. Dead 'n all."

"Dead?"

"Aye, dead. 'E's a ghost, Mum."

"Ghost?"

Tybalt sighed and moved around the table, placing his bag on the newspaper-strewn surface. Smith looked up at him curiously. Tybalt looked over at Inle. Then, the parrot stuck his hand into the dead pirate's head. Smith's form wavered, Tybalt's hand visible within it for a moment, before seeming to "solidify" again. "Ghost. Spirit of a dead man. No longer amongst th' livin'. 'Zis ringin' any bells?" Smith scowled at Tybalt for a moment before turning back to Inle, smiling and waving.

Inle chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment, looking from one pirate to the other before scooting her chair back, taking her coffee cup AND the sack of candy, and walking out. The only thing Inle could think at that moment--and she was quite ashamed of it--was, "I see dead people?"

Reserved for Christmas stuff~

It was early Christmas morning and all through the house, not a creature was stirring--except for the usual morning contingent of Caduceus, Tybalt and Inle. Deuce had just started a pot of coffee, Tybalt was grabbing some cereal, and Inle was heading outside to get the paper. Her progress was halted as she tripped over a box someone had oh-so-thoughtfully placed right in front of the door. Inle brushed the snow off of herself as she gathered not only the box, but several other assorted packages and the newspaper and headed inside.

Deuce looked at her strangely as she unceremoniously dropped her burdens on the kitchen's island, then turned his gaze to the box as something within it yowled in protest. Tybalt, who had elected to eat at the counter rather than fight with a chair, poked at the box with his spoon. "Whassat?" he said through a mouthful of rice chex.

"I'm not sure I want to know," Inle muttered, removing smaller packages from the top of this mysterious meowing box. "It's got your name on it," she informed Tybalt.

The Tale immediately perked up, a curious, avaricious gleam in his eye, and shoved his cereal bowl aside. Breakfast could wait for presents. He eagerly removed the top--it wasn't put on there very well--and the trio gathered around the island peered inside. A rather angry looking black cat looked back at them. Glances were exchanged for a quiet moment.

"What the hell kind of idiot would entrust YOU with the life of a living creature?" Deuce asked finally, removing the cat from the box. It's cheery collar--quite out of place on such an obviously unhappy animal--jingled as it shook itself off.

"The same kind of idiot that would give him a set of weapons, apparently," Inle deadpanned as Tybalt eagerly removed a pair of throwing knives from the box. He was SMILING, and it was creepy because it was the kind of smile someone wears when they're about to do something very, very bad.

Tybalt looked up from his new toys with a maniacal glint in his eye. The cat, bemused, leapt off the counter and darted down the hall. Tybalt ran after it, calling out with weapons in hand, "Heeeeere, kitty, kitty, kitty!"

January was proving worse, weather-wise, than December could have ever hoped to be. It was Tybalt's first winter and was looking to be his last; he just couldn't seem to get warm! Blankets and jackets and his natural down only helped so much inside and they were veritably useless outdoors, and his birdlike metabolism afforded him very little body fat. The cold was making his normally short temper almost nonexistant, and he had been an utter bane to live with since the leaves had finally relinquished their death grips on the trees. He didn't want to be out here now, but what choice did he have? It was either retrieve his Author's lost item or watch over the siblings he had no patience for.

He hadn't been by the shop since Christmas Eve, the night of the big party. Pleasant memories of that night provided little comfort as he soared through the freezing air, the chill seeping through his feathers, threatening to stiffen his wings. It was the lesser evil; the other alternative was wading through the snow, and that could have easily led to frostbite. No, he would suffer this. He bit back a sneeze as he set down across the street from the shop with little of the ease and grace he normally possessed. As he sniffled it down, the scent of high magic followed it. He stopped, wings raised defensively as he glanced at the nondescript building. Another few steps and he could feel the lingering traces of energy. He never liked magic--hated it, avoided those who used it--for reasons he had never cared to explore. This was familiar, however, this particular brand of magic he knew. Another Tale had been called from the Void. Tybalt paused in the middle of the empty, snow-covered street, waiting for the energies surrounding the Shop to recede.

If magic were the proper word for it, then Ambrus Preston was sick of magic. It wasn't his realm; he left that to his brother Nexeu, and where his pale doppelganger was concerned... The less said, Ambrus was sure, the better. Magic had never been particularly kind to the assassin; this was merely another drop in a wineskin full of offenses he was tabulating against mysticism in general.

Not that he would breathe such a thing to the child clinging to him like a gold-feathered limpet. As much as life had led Ambrus to dislike children, this particular child was altogether too agreeable and sweet-tempered and... and CALM to be unlikable. And perhaps warm could be added to Ameretat's list of virtues; anticipating the cold walk home, and taking rueful note of the fact his new baby had been born into the world as most were (which is to say, without a scrap of clothing on), Ambrus had tucked the kid under his coat and done his best to wrap both of them in it.

On realizing that Ame had a body temperature of approximately "very hot", Ambrus realized this had probably been a useless gesture. Still, he had no intention of stopping and putting the child down in the snow long enough to adjust his clothing to deal with this sudden added heat source. Besides--as reticent as Ambrus was to admit it--the boy had already curled his tiny fingers around the assassin's heart, and it wouldn't do to upset him.

So here they were: a grown man carrying a winged child in his arms as he walked away from the fateful stationary store, talking--as he'd never had a habit to--to the bundle in his arms while Ameretat watched the world around them with wine-colored eyes.

"I'll need to get another bed for you," he was saying as they happened upon Tybalt. "Iau's--well, no, let's leave it as I need to get another bed."

Ocean-colored eyes narrowed speculatively at the pair heading his way. The first thing he noticed, of course, was the wings; the second were the tail feathers. It wasn't hard to put two and two together--the child's most obvious features, the familiar feeling of "Tale" that seemed to emanate from him even from here--Their taste was getting better. Tybalt didn't know whether to feel pleased that They had created another of his kind, someone to equally share this season-long misery, or defensive; was this a message? Were They seeking to replace Their most wayward of children with a fresh slate in a similar package?

Neither feeling won out in the moment-long struggle, both falling to one of Tybalt's strongest traits: curiosity. As much as he wanted to immediately dislike this enigma as much as he did everyone else, he found that he couldn't. There were too many questions and, to Tybalt's immense irritation, the barest feeling of kinship. Tybalt had been the only one of their kind with mostly avian traits--sure there were some with wings, and other anthropomorphs, but it wasn't the same--and now he was not. So he would reserve judgement, for the time being.

A wing extended into Ambrus and his package's path, as if it sought to stop them. "Oi," he said, almost congenially, "'re ye th' latest t' get trapped by th' Book an' th' Room? I was beginnin' t' think they'd finally run outta magic."

Sadly unprepared for all of this as he had been, Ambrus was still a little shocky as he made his way away from the shop--and so reacted to the sudden appearance of a bright-colored wing, attached to a bright-colored CHILD, in his path with an abrupt stop and a surprised noise. "Huh--?" Well, how was that for abrupt derailment of thoughts! And, not only was this child in his way (and looking suspiciously like Ame), but it was also talking to him.

Too many shocks at once. Ambrus squeezed both eyes shut, giving a rapid shake of his head as a dog might to shed water; when he opened them again, the vague shell-shocked look in his good eye was replaced by dispassionate interest. "If that's what you call it around here," he replied to Tybalt's imposition, "then yes." All he'd wanted was to buy some ink, dammit. "And who's asking?" Presumably one of the Tome's other children, from the looks of the kid.

Ameretat's response to all of this was not surprised, but was certainly surprising to his Author. He shifted somewhat in Ambrus's arms, so that he could get a better look at the newcomer with the funny lilt to his voice, eyes wide with curiosity. Though the Other was in all the wrong colors (even at this young age, scarcely an hour "old", the phoenix's sense of propriety was well-developed) he still had something about him that was familiar--and right.

Still clinging to his Author, the little bird gave a trilling laugh--an innocent sound, with only delight in it--before freeing one hand to reach toward Tybalt. Not to grab those feathers, just to...shake hands. The gesture was punctuated with a rapid arpeggio of whistled words; language and music all wound together. Already a brother in this cold place! How fortunate this is!

Ambrus blinked, once. "I think," he remarked, slow and careful, "that means he likes you."

Tybalt deduced that the Tale before him must be fresh from the pages if his Author was still this out of it. Though he did suppose it must be quite a shock to find something--quite a substantial something--where there was nothing of note before. Of course, his knowledge in that regard was limited to his own opinions, as the only "birth" he'd been present for was, of course, his own.

Sharp-taloned feet took on a slightly wider stance as he made himself as comfortable as one could while standing barefoot in the snow. "That's what they call 'em," he said, jerking his chin towards the shop, "but I say why not just call a spade a spade, eh? 'S not gonna make 'em anythin' more or less'n what they are." His eyes flicked towards the storefront for a moment as if to say "so there" to that which brought him into the world. "I'm askin'," he countered as he turned his attention back to the pair before him, smirking up at the man. "Who're you two?"

His gaze was drawn to the moving bundle in the Author's arms, grin turning warmer as the little bird laughed. He idly noted that this kid actually had a beak--good luck with that, poor bugger--and he instinctively drew his wing back as the newborn reached out. His wings resettled themselves with a rustle, feathers ruffling and smoothing like a gentle wave. With less wariness towards physical contact than he usually showed he reached out with one red-dusted hand as if offering it for inspection. The colors were different, but the texture was visibly similar. "Course he does, kid's got good taste."

Fortunately, the moment Ambrus had taken to mentally "reboot" had given him time to put his usual inhuman patience firmly back in place. Admittedly, the woman shopkeep's admission that this kind of thing just sort of happened had tried patience already worn thin by the Study's stunt, but Ambrus was centered now, dammit, and he'd be damned again if he let a kid knock him back off his guard. "Cute," he said, simply, and adjusted his hold on Ame a little. The kid didn't weigh much, but was definitely an unexpected burden.

"This is Ameretat," the assassin continued. Conspicuously, he left out his own name. "As he introduced himself." It certainly saved Ambrus the difficult of picking a name himself; he was not notably good with names.

The little bird in question, meanwhile, touched his own hand to Tybalt's in greeting. His touch was likely surprisingly warm in the cold outside air; there were still traces of powdery ash on his fingers and clinging to his feathers elsewhere. He gave another friendly sort of twitter then, before drawing back to cling to his Author--still watching Tybalt, however. The similarities between the two definitely were not lost on Ambrus, either.

"I suppose it knows when it's done something right." Flat affect, no indication that he was speaking of anything other than the weather. Ho-hum.

Tybalt's smile was more of the "I will kick you in the kneecap and steal your wallet while you're flailing in pain" persuasion than the "Cute? Why of course I am!" one. It was only half-directed at Ambrus, as he was still occupied examining the newest Tale. The fledgeling was warm, lucky mite, and Tybalt had the fleeting notion that maybe he should steal the kid. It was extremely fleeting, as he knew that unlike the other things he stole, this one he couldn't bury in a trunk for safekeeping once its shiny newness wore off. A pity, Tybalt was still rather cold.

He examined the ash before brushing it off on his coat, then jammed his hand in his pocket to preserve what warmth the air hadn't already leeched. "Ameretat," he repeated slowly, "odd name fer an odd kid." Like he was one to talk.

"They don't CARE if They've done somethin' right er not," he went on, "They've spit out many a wrong in their day, I've seen." His opinion was probably not the best or most unbiased, but it was his nonetheless. This Author wasn't like others, he noticed. Most Authors he'd met had some sort of pride or visible affection for their kid; this one just seemed kind of a blank slate. He almost-but-not-quite felt sorry for the kid.

Gushing over a brand-new baby was not in Ambrus's emotional repetoire. That was something better left up to either of his mothers. It was sufficient that Ame apparently understood his Author meant him no ill will, and returned that benificence with apparently boundless affection. The half-faceless shifted incrementally, hitching Ame up on his hip while observing once again that yes, he was standing here in ankle-deep snow talking to a parrot who came from the same Book that had spit out the phoenix child riding on his hip.

"You're hardly normal yourself," he remarked, blandly. Then a thought occured to him, as Tybalt went on on the subject of the Tome's proclivities. "Look," came the continuation, "it's cold, it's damp--and I don't even know why the hell I'm standing here--but maybe you could help me out a bit, since you seem to know what's going on here."

Since he didn't have an arm handy, Ambrus gave a jerk of his head back toward the store. "She didn't know too much. Care to enlighten me about what I'm supposed to do with--this?" The "this" in that sentence was obvious, or so Ambrus thought.

The "this" also gave another trilling laugh at some private joke, commenting in that weird language of his on something his parent had said. Or maybe on Tybalt's choice of outfit. Or maybe the evening falling around them; Ambrus had no real idea. It sounded like ancient Persian, but it didn't make a lick of sense. Or, from the kid's sudden case of the squirmies, maybe he was asking to be set down. "--Hey, hang on a second, there; it's cold, and--"

Ambrus wasn't exactly sure what happened next, but somehow, Ameretat managed to pop out of his grip and end up on the ground. The half-faceless grimaced, fully expecting to have to pick the kid up in another half-second when Ame realized how cold it was down there.

Perversely, the wet pavement steamed where Ameretat stepped on it, blazing a dry trail over to Tybalt. Ambrus simply sighed.

Rather than taking immediate offense at the truthful comment, Tybalt merely beamed. He knew he was a fish against the school and rather than being self-conscious about it, he reveled in it. He knew he was worth a stare or two and, had he been one of the normal people spotting himself, he would have stared too. He was just that marvelous-looking, and anyone who thought different could kiss his feathered a**.

"'This?' 'This'd be yers t' take care of because ye were unlucky enough t' enter th' shop when They were in a mood to be mischievous. 'E's yer kid now, take care of 'im an' whatnot." Tybalt mentally added "rather daft" to the mental list he was keeping about this Author--really, when you walk into a room and walk out of it with a kid, what else are you supposed to do with it?

He watched as Ameretat squirmed, almost winced as he fell to the ground. "Droppin' th' lad probly ain't a good first step." His eyes widened slightly as steam rose from the ground. "But that's a neat trick."

Tybalt crouched at the warmth's approach as if he meant to inspect it further, trying not to wince as cold-stiff muscles were forced into movement, trying harder when his tailfeathers touched the snow. His wings flared for balance, stirring lighter bits of snow, and he cocked his head at the other Tale. "Never heard of a Tale bein' born nekkid, either...though it don't look like it'll be an issue."

Put the kid up for adoption or saddle one of his mothers with it, if Ambrus had his druthers. Unfortunately, that didn't look like it would happen--his having his druthers, at any rate. "Great," Ambrus said, simply.

At least it wasn't the answer he was really fearing--grand adventures, quests to discover the meaning behind all this, etcetera, etcetera. He'd had quite enough of that to fill a lifetime sorting himself out, let alone a child he'd never wanted. He chose to ignore Tybalt's remark on dropping Ame; it wasn't worth getting upset over, especially as the little bird seemed no worse for the adventure.

In fact, though the little bird's gait was unsteady owing to his youth, he seemed quite happy to be down and walking about on his own. The bubble of heat extended around him about a foot, rendering it distinctly summery where he stepped--and melting a considerable amount of snow. He stopped before Tybalt, looking up at the older Tale, before pointing at one wing and inquiring, "Touch?"

Ambrus quirked a brow at that; the first English word the kid had said, and...it wasn't to him. Another man might have felt a little slighted; Ambrus just heaved another of those internal sighs. "Ame, I think we'd be better going home instead of bothering the kid any further. It's getting dark." 'Buy clothes for new baby' got added to Ambrus's mental checklist of further shopping, though there was little--he imagined--that Ame's morphology would allow for.

Oh, warmth! Warmth as he had not felt in months, warmth that could not be substituted by huddling in front of tame fires! Warmth he had missed increasingly as of late, that he had wondered if he was ever going to feel again. This was TRUE warmth, proven when it drove off the snow, and Tybalt could hardly mind the child's presence if he brought him such a gift.

He sighed contentedly. The urge to kidnap the little living furnace until spring was growing stronger, and his Author seemed just this side of apathetic enough to let him get away with it. Once again he thought better of it, though this time it was somewhat more difficult.

"'S no bother," he said, quite uncharacteristically. Normally he loathed people, especially children, but of course most children didn't produce such wonderous warmth. Stranger still was Tybalt's acquiesence to Ame's request; he spread his wings to their fullest, before pulling them forward to wrap around his shoulders like a jewel-toned cloak. This one would understand that delicacy was required, he figured, as they were of the same make.

Disinterested though Ambrus might seem, he still had some vested interest in protecting what Fate had deemed as his. So while he slid his hands into his pockets and watched the interaction between the two birdlike Tales with apparent apathy, he was also calculating how best to extricate himself and Ameretat from this situation with a minimum of fuss. A prospect that was seeming less and less likely, that, with how Tybalt was responding to Ame's talent with heat.

Ambrus took two steps forward, moving up to stand near his Tale's side. Ame himself was enraptured with the show Tybalt made of unfolding and refolding his wings, clasping his hands together before him with another bright laugh. Given permission to touch those jewel-toned feathers, he did just that--reaching out with careful fingers to brush one of the parrot's primaries, wonderingly. At Ambrus's remark, though, he pulled back and looked up at his parent, before giving Tybalt a mournful look.

A mournful look that got turned on Ambrus just as quickly. "Maybe we can meet up some other time," the half-faceless allowed, somewhat grudgingly. "We have errands to run before we can go home." More, now. Like getting something that would be proper for a young child to eat. 'Food for new baby' added itself to the list.

He almost envied the toddler's fresh innocence as it was something he had never possessed, though he much preferred his realistic, albeit jaded, view of the world. There were far less opportunities for disappointment if one expected to get disappointed in the first place. Ah, well, Ame would learn soon enough. His Author certainly didn't seem like the type to cover up brutal truths with pretty lies.

Tybalt almost chuckled at Ame's hangdog look and his Author's subsequent attempt to assuage him. Perhaps he'd been wrong about this one after all...it would certainly bear a look down the road once Author and Tale had grown used to each other. Tybalt pulled his wings back and rose, a hand disappearing into his long coat as he rummaged through an inner pocket. Eventually he came up with a handful of wallets and he dug through them a moment before finally extracting a loose card that was covered in lint and was inches away from disintigrating. It was one of Inle's that he had swiped from her desk, just because he could. He started to extend it towards Ambrus before thinking better of it and offering it down to Ame.

"Mum'll know more'n me 'bout what bein' an Author entails. She'll be more'n happy to answer your questions." His smile was false, as he knew Inle would sooner hang up on some random question-asking stranger than actually help them out; she disliked dealing with people almost as much as he usually did. It would be most amusing to watch, however.

Time would only tell whether or not Ame would even be subject to the usual disappointments of childhood. Many of them were founded on willful lying by one's parents anyhow, or such was Ambrus's outsider view on the matter of childhood. Others were... Well, unrealistic as it was, Ambrus hoped never to have to deal with fits over a desired toy or bag of candy. Small luck of that.

Ameretat's look of dismay dissolved as he was offered the card, however battered it was. Ambrus himself took considerable amusement in Tybalt's production of not one but several wallets, though it didn't show in his face. His Tale exclaimed over the card in his high-pitched, musical language, turning it over and over until he was content that he'd seen every angle of it. Only then did he turn to hand it to Ambrus proudly, receiving a "thank you, Ame" in return as his Author tucked the card away.

"I'll keep in touch," the half-faceless remarked blandly, intending no such thing. Inle would--for now--be spared another annoying phonecall; Ambrus would figure this out on his own from here. "Come on, Ame." With this last, he offered his Tale a hand, which Ameretat gratefully took. The little bird turned long enough to wave a wing and a hand in farewell, before following his Author as the pair began the long walk back home.

One liar could certainly recognize another. Tybalt's grin at Ameretat fell as he regarded the newborn's Author. "See that ye do," he stated, not quite an order. His grin returned as he waved back at the fledgeling, though it was considerably more forced than it had been only moments ago; the cold was already leeching away the warmth he had gleaned from Ameretat's proximity.

He sighed as the pair disappeared from view, turning back to the store and taking a long whiff of freezing air. Other than the burn it caused in his nose, there was nothing, indicating the recession of the Study's magics. He tucked his wings close and headed into the shop, emerging a moment later with something tucked under his arm. Tybalt made his way into the air and was his usual grumpy self before he was halfway home.