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 Posted: Wed Aug 29, 2012 12:50 am
██ : x ( WREN & ALASTAIR/MEITAL. )
██ : x ( LATE AFTERNOON & COLD, LIGHT RAIN. )
██ : x ( THE CITY. )
What did one do with a magical bottle exactly?
Certainly they didn't drag it around with them everywhere they went, especially not when, at random intervals, it pleased itself by unfurling half-corporeal wings and trying to fly. No, they most certainly did not. Except, of course, in Wren's case. The man had yet to find comfort in the idea of leaving a sentient object in his house alone, especially when it could fly short distances on its own. The man sighed into his hands, blowing warmth into them as he stumbled through the downpour that had started on his way to the butchers. At least, he thought with mild cattiness, it will wash away the sent of blood.
The light drizzle was chilly and not at all comfortable like the showers they'd had early in the season. No, this marked the turning point of warmth into cold, summer into fall. It was by no means a downpour, but slowly, Wren could feel it soaking into his bones, a chill that wouldn't go away for hours. He'd been fool enough to forget an umbrella, and his miserable walk home was beginning to look like a long one. The bottle in his pack hadn't seemed to mind on the way down, though now he could hear rustling inside of it as though it were irritated - at what, he could not honestly say. Just so long as it didn't start doing anything drastic, he was alright though. After all, magical flying bottles weren't exactly a common sight, and he had no interest in explaining it to others, or trying to keep them from touching what was his.
Rumbling into his gloved hands, the huntsman turned down another street, boots clicking off of cobblestone as he passed a corner cafe, a coffee shop, a bookstore. All three seemed welcoming enough, but he doubted even if he managed a smile, he would look anymore fitting in any of them than a three eyed shark. The huntsman sighed and shivered again, curling and uncurling his fingers and listening to his bag rustle indignantly. He wondered if there was anywhere he could go for information on mysterious, wing-sprouting bottles.
And then he realized just how dumb that idea sounded, and watched his breath turn to fog in front of him as the clouds above rumbled thickly, and the rain continued to fall.
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Posted: Wed Aug 29, 2012 12:45 pm
It had to rain. That was the thought running through Alastair's mind as they walked down the street. It was only a light drizzle, but the chill in the air made him shiver and tug his coat a little tighter around his body.
Splash!
The water froze his leg, seeping through his pants where the drops of puddle water hit him. "Meital," he said in a somewhat weary tone as he looked down at the little girl. She looked up innocently at him from under the ducky umbrella that she carried, despite her protests from earlier that day when they left the house. "It's not very lady like to go around jumping in puddles."
Meital frowned at him then down at puddle in which she stood. "Who cares about being lady like?" she asked and kicked a foot in the puddle, sending up another spray of water.
Alastair rubbed at his forehead. "Then could you at least stop splashing the water for me? I'd prefer not getting soaked in water." That was whole point of carrying the umbrella. But it seemed Meital's affinity toward water made her enjoy running around and playing in water. At least, she wasn't stopping the water around her. Alastair didn't know what he would say to people who witnessed that happen. So far, she didn't seem to have much control over that power, and it was limited to water close to her.
Meital pouted at him. "But it's fun," she argued, jumping and splashing more water. She laughed as the water flew out in all directions, hitting anyone walking near them.
Alastair began to think it would be best if he didn't take Meital out in the rain again. They were nearing the bookstore when Meital stopped her playing to stare at man passing them. She skipped back a few steps until she was walking backwards in parallel to the man. "Meital," Alastair called, feeling tired. He caught up to the dust child and took her hand. "I'm so sorry," he said to the man then looked down at Meital. "What are you doing?"
"But," Meital mumbled uncertainly as she glanced at the man.
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Posted: Wed Aug 29, 2012 2:43 pm
There were reasons, Wren thought to himself, why being out in the rain always turned out to be a disastrous event.
The man avoided a little girl splashing into puddles alongside what he could only imagine was her father, not bothering to pay attention long enough to consider that she had bright blue hair and he did not. He tugged at his gloves as he stomped along, avoiding miserably large pools of water like a slippery, wayward cat stuck out in the rain. He considered briefly just finding a place to stay the night; his house was still so far away and he was going nowhere fast without a horse -
Wren's thoughts train wrecked into nothing when the sound of footsteps clicked alongside his own. That had not been there before, and he doubted he'd passed anyone on the street remotely close to him without the huntsman noticing - especially since a grand total of five might have existed in the whole of Amies alone. Stopping just to the right of a large puddle, the man frowned and glanced over - and down. She has blue hair. He thought in mild fascination. And then his shoulders rolled defensively, and he forgot to be intrigued in favor of being absolutely confused.
"Yes?" He asked the girl, his eyes flickering to the man who joined her. At least he'd the decency to bring an umbrella. "It's - " He started waspishly towards the rather well-dressed gent, not at all in the mood to try and scrounge for pleasantries, when his leather messenger bag decided it had other plans. Or, more specifically, the bottle inside. Without warning, it lurched forward with enough force to drag the unfortunate soul carrying it stumbling as well, dragging a startled, cat like noise from his throat. Barely managing to keep himself from running headlong into the ground, Wren watched in mild horror when the bag collided with the ground, sending water spraying through the air. The bottle itself rolled free of its confines, shining in the half-light for all to see. The wings that it had sprouted mere days ago gave a lengthy stretch as though to show off, to preen. They then began swirling back in around the bottles iridescent glass, twisting into little more than wisp-like ghosts of what they had been only moments before, as though now content to be out in the open where everyone could see and admire.
Right at Meital's feet.
"That's - uh - " Wren began without knowing at all where he was going. That's my magical wing-sprouting bottle. He stared down at the thing in horror for what it had done. I'm going to kill you one day. His eyes flickered to the pair again, and defensively, he reached down and snatched the glass bottle back up before it could fly away, along with his bag.
Now what was he supposed to do?
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Posted: Thu Aug 30, 2012 9:53 am
Alastair couldn't understand what was going through Meital's mind when she started following the stranger back down the street. He would have to have a talk with her about the dangers of approaching someone she didn't know. But this only proved his decision not to let her run around unsupervised. Who knew what kind of trouble the young Dust could get into if no one was there to watch her?
Meital wasn't concerned with the worrying thoughts filling her guardian's mind. The moment the bottle sprung free from the leather messenger bag, her eyes lit up. She crouched down to stare at the bottle that came to rest at her feet. "It's so pretty!" Her eyes followed the bottle as the man retrieved the bottle from where it rested on the ground.
Her exclamation brought Alastair's mind back to the situation at hand. After filing away the need to sit Meital down and have a talk with her, Alastair stared, stunned, at the bottle. Had Meital known about the bottle and that was why she followed the man? He guessed if the man had a bottle like the one that Meital grew from, then the man couldn't be all that bad. Though he would still prefer if Meital didn't go around trailing after strangers. "I'm really sorry about all this, sir," he said, not missing the faint, ghostly wings that sprouted from the bottle. Surely, the man had to know by now that his bottle was no ordinary item.
Meital hopped to her feet and looked up at her guardian. "Was I pretty like that too?" she asked curiously.
Alastair laughed weakly at the inquiry. "Yes, very pretty." He patted her on the head, gaining a pout from the Dust as she tried to swat away the hand. He turned back to the man and held out a hand. "I'm Alastair Greyson, and this is Meital."
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Posted: Thu Aug 30, 2012 3:45 pm
"Stop apologizing, its fine." Wren said, eyes flickering from the girl to Alastair. It's not fine though, a part of him hissed waspishly, irritated at the bottles antics, and the fact that it was raining, and this man seemed about as unsurprised by the bottle as he was by the fact that his child had bright teal hair. Sighing, he hooked the strap of the bag over his shoulder, the bottle balanced in the palm of his hand. It was too late to conceal the wings now from the two, and anyways, he imagined he would simply be doing himself more harm if he tried to put the defiant little creation back in before it wanted to go.
The girls comments made Wren's brow furrow, a thoroughly confused look spreading across his face. Was she that pretty too? She was a child, not a bottle - and why was that man responding like it meant nothing and sounded completely logical in his head?
"I'm..." Wren struggled to keep his temper in check, "I'm missing something here, aren't I?" He glanced at Alastair with a look of helplessness and suspicious irritation, and the gesture was met with a long, contemplating stare before the huntsman finally relinquished one hand to shake it. "Wren." He responded. "Wren Ivanov." He didn't know exactly why these two were getting his full name; most were lucky to get his last, if anything at all.
But this man seemed to know about these magical bottles, and Wren couldn't lie himself into the belief that he was fine and that he didn't need any pointers in what might or might not have been the right direction. The bottle vibrated in his hands, wings shifting in between tangibility and ghostly wisps when they pleased.
"Did you have a - " Wren struggled for words, "bottle like this too?"
It was obvious that the man didn't exactly pride himself in the art of conversation. But he was trying. Damn it, he was trying.
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Posted: Thu Aug 30, 2012 4:17 pm
Alastair opened his mouth to apologize for all the apologies but caught himself before he could speak. Instead, he offered a friendly smile to the man. It wasn't too long ago when he was in the same situation as the man, caring for the bottle without knowing what was to come from it. But luckily for him, he came across others who went through the same thing as he did. If he hadn't learned beforehand what would result from the bottle, Meital's appearance would have completely surprised him. He still felt overwhelmed at suddenly having to care for a young child, but he was learning how to cope with it.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister Ivanov," Alastair said politely with a slight bow of his head. "If you can believe it," he gave an amused chuckle, "Meital actually came from a bottle like that one you have."
"But I didn't have pretty wings," Meital added, pouting in jealousy. Alastair happily noted that not all creatures with wings scared the young dust. So far, butterflies and bees were on that list.
Alastair looked at the bottle again. The wings were indeed quite lovely, even in their eerie ghostly state. "Do you know of what species of bird it is?" He was still curious as to the nature of the bottles. Why did the bottles appear to certain people? What determined to type of child that would come from the child? He had met other guardians all with different types of Dusts, from lightning to Phoenix to snow. And of course, his own child was dew.
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Posted: Thu Aug 30, 2012 4:53 pm
Settling into a state of immobility as the discomfort of rain sliding beneath his collar dissolved into little more than a minor nuisance, Wren waited for the man to work his mouth around something that wasn't an apology. "Wren is fine." He responded immediately, glancing at the other with a dry, watchful stare. So this man had manners? A pity then, that he was stuck with the huntsman of all people. There were many things he knew how to do, after all, but being polite was sadly not one of them. "I'm no gentleman."
The news settled against his skin for a long moment before sinking in, and when it did, Wren's mouth twisted, and what came out of his throat might have been a disbelieving laugh that quickly dissolved into thin air. "... You're not - " The huntsman stared down at the bottle skeptically, and with just a tinge of horror framing his bright blue eyes. "You've got to be joking." His eyes flickered to Alastair. "You're telling me that this thing is going to turn into a child?"
Wren was not a child person.
The girl - Meital's - comment wasn't missed, and Wren glanced at her with a slight frown. This was a bottle-child? Well, at least it explained the teal hair. He worked his mind for something to say, but Alastair saved him from the horror of trying to make conversation by asking a question he hadn't thought of before himself.
Wren tilted the bottle in his hands, contemplating the iridescent blue glass. What species of bird? It seemed almost obvious, didn't it? As if sensing his gaze, the bottle's wings spread into miniature representations of the real thing, white feathers fluttering as they gave a few preening flaps. "Mute swan." He said, remembering the day he'd found the troublesome little thing. "I'm rather afraid to imagine what kind of child will come from this." He added sardonically. Because really, all he'd seen from the bottle was defiance and vanity.
His future with the bottle was already shaping in his mind, and it wasn't exactly a future he'd ever planned nor wanted before. Maybe he could dump it on Deimos. The man was more of a child person than he was, if one conveniently forgot to consider that he'd once given his nephew a crossbow and the results had been catastrophic.
Wren sighed, realizing even if the man was more of a child person than he was, he wouldn't ever trust him alone with children for long periods of time, let alone life. Which meant he was most likely stuck. Stuck with his soon-to-be magic child thing.
What have I gotten myself into?
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Posted: Fri Aug 31, 2012 11:14 am
"Wren it is then," Alastair said, still with a polite smile.
"That's a funny name," Meital blurted out as she stared up at the man.
Alastair resisted the urge to rub his forehead and sigh. A headache was blooming already. He would have to instill some manners into the Dust child and hope they stick, though so far he was having a hard enough time keeping her from running off all the time. "It's rude to say things like that, Meital," he told her, trying to be gentle but firm. "You wouldn't want someone saying your name is funny. Now apologize."
Meital's mouth pursed, and she stared up at her guardian with a defiant look, like she was about to refuse to do anything that he might request of her. Alastair glared firmly back at her. If he let her get away with things at this age, she would walk all over him as she grew up. He needed to get the hang of this whole disciplining thing. While he was used to disciplining college students, a child was very different. And Meital was looking like she would be a difficult case. After the quiet exchange of glares, Meital bowed her head and mumbled, "Sorry," in a soft voice.
Alastair nodded. That was better. Meital didn't look very happy with him for making her apologize, but Alastair already knew there would be times when Meital would hate him for enforcing rules upon her. Didn't every child get angry with a parent at some point? "It is hard to believe," Alastair agreed, turning back to Wren. "I hardly believed it myself when I first learned what was to come from the bottle that I found. But after some time, Meital was born."
Alastair glanced at the bottle again, observing the gentle flaps of the wings. "Mute swan," he repeated thoughtfully. "A lovely creature. Unfortunately, I can't be much help on what type of child yours will be. I had no idea what to expect from Meital when she was born." He laughed. He certainly hadn't expected a girl who was stubborn at time yet fearful of bugs. "I should probably warn you to be watchful of the powers the child might have."
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Posted: Fri Aug 31, 2012 3:11 pm
"So I've heard." Wren retorted sardonically when the girl called him out on his name. After all, what parent named a child after a bird? "I am glad you are such a well-mannered young lady." His voice was thick and smooth and dangerously calm; he'd had enough experience with Deimos's nieces to know that kids played on an entirely different level than he did, and it wasn't a matter of raising or lowering himself to their playing field, but instead avoiding it all together.
The apology was taken in stride, and Wren twisted the bottle in his hand, contemplating the idea of what child it would bring and whether or not he would have the manners of a stubborn ox as well. "It's fine." He replied for the sake of replying - he didn't have a problem being as catty as he pleased in front of men and women alike, but children were rather more difficult to handle when considering their innate vulnerability to things as small and insignificant as words.
"You've met others?" Wren returned dubiously, "I didn't realize magical, child-sprouting bottles were so common here." The huntsman wrangled some cattiness away, though the news of impending child responsibilities and idea of others so easily accepting such a thing made him feel rather, well... out of the loop.
Wren weighed the bottle in the palm of his hand and stared at it until the wings furled backwards in on themselves. "I could venture a few ideas, none of them pleasing." He told the man, lowering the bottle and glancing back up. "Powers?" Because of course, if magical bottle-children weren't enough, they were going to have powers as well. Wren's mouth twisted into a grimace. "Do they appear as actual children?" The huntsman made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat at his own inability to speak in coherent sentences. "I mean - they aren't... younger than that," He gestured vaguely to Meital, "when they appear?"
Because maybe he could handle magical, power wielding children, but bottle babies was one step too far.
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Posted: Fri Aug 31, 2012 6:11 pm
"Well, we're working on that," Alastair said with an awkward chuckle. Good behavior seemed like too much to ask for from the little Dust at this point in time. "Only two or three, but there are probably others out there. I don't think these bottles are that common. At least, not in the sense that they're sprouting up everywhere for everyone." It was still a curious thing to wonder about how the bottles came into being, but that was all part of their magic.
"Four," Meital corrected as she pointed at Wren, deciding that she wouldn't let the adults completely ignore her by starting a long, boring adult chat. "This guy would make four." She grinned proudly, like she deserved praise for knowing that four came after three.
"So he does," Alastair agreed. "But it's rude to point." He gently pushed her arm down so that she was no longer pointing at the man. Would he even be able to get Meital to sit down for a lecture on manners? He didn't think the child would take well to that lesson.
Meital frowned at him. "Don't splash the water. Don't tell people their names are funny. Don't point. Don't. Don't. DON'T! That's all you ever say." She deliberately kicked at a puddle and sent water splashing over Alastair's pants.
"Meital," Alastair said in a slow, trying to stay calm, tone. She was putting a strain on his usual disposition, and he preferred not to make a scene on the street by getting into a shouting match with her out of frustration. "If you're going to continue misbehaving, I will force you to sit and wait quietly while I do the most boring and tedious of work, and you will have absolutely no fun." That threat seemed to quiet her right down. The threat of no fun and boredom was apparently a good one.
"From what I've seen," Alastair answered Wren's question, "they seemed to appear at about this age." He gestured to Meital. "I'm no expert on the matter. But I would venture to guess that they don't start as young as babies. As for the powers," he glanced wearily at Meital.
She seemed to guess what he was thinking, or perhaps, she simply wanted to show off and make trouble. But in the next moment, the rain falling closest to her halted in midair. Her range was very small, and only the raindrops she halted at that one instant stopped. The rain that fell after that instant continued to fall around her.
"Though I don't know if her ability is limited to that," Alastair continued nervously. "Her powers might grow as she does." He couldn't say he looked forward to that notion.
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Posted: Fri Aug 31, 2012 7:36 pm
Wren bobbed his head in a short, jerking nod towards the comment and said little more. What this man did with his child was his business - and it wasn't as though the huntsman was an expert who had any say in such a matter. His time with children was short and spent mostly in brooding silence while his limbs were used as climbing material and his many habits and hobbies were called into question. "What other - ah - " He gestured vaguely to the swan-like wings the bottle produced, "kinds? of them have you met?" His lips pulled into a thin line. "I imagine there would be a news article on magical bottles and their after-effects if that were the case." He responded, his tone sardonic as he imagined just what kind of headline that would make.
Wren's eyes flickered to Meital when she corrected Alastair and pointed at him, a brow raised. He supposed this was just how children acted, but at the same time, his hackles raised, and he could only stare at the bottle in his hands with even more suspicion than before. After all, the huntsman had never wanted children, and in fact, he'd gone out of his way just to avoid them most days. The only ones he'd failed to derail from his life were Deimos's nephews, and that was no fault of his own.
The huntsman's train of thought was broken quickly by Meital's outburst, and he watched with mild scrutiny as Alastair reprimanded her in a way that made him seem rather like a teacher. For all I know, he is, Wren thought caustically, sighing, and with the grace of a rather miffed cat, sidestepped spray sent up from the puddle with a scowl.
His ability to hold a polite, steely expression was beginning to deteriorate, and quick. It wasn't like he was a socialite, anyways. Prolonged exposure to social situations? It never ended well with him.
"That's..." Wren paused, biting his lip on the word, "better than the alternative, I guess." He glanced down at the bottle, thumbing over one of the intangible wings. "I just - I'm not a child person."
This is going to be impossible.
When Meital showed off, Wren couldn't help frowning, a hand stretching forward to touch the suspended droplets of rain. "Thats - " What was the word? "Impressive. You have complete control?" Gods forbid they can't control their own powers. Wren glanced over at Alastair. "That sounds treacherous." He retorted, his tone dry. "As long as whatever comes out of this can't do much more than fly, I'll be fine." He glanced imploringly at the bottle.
"But somehow, I'm guessing thats not going to be the case."
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Posted: Mon Sep 03, 2012 10:31 am
"Well," Alastair said, thinking back on his past encounters with other Dust guardians. "There was one with a snow child. She had these icy looking wings that made me think my eyes were playing tricks on me the first time." He laughed at the memory. It was his first time learning about what would come from the bottle that seemed to never stop dripping water. "And there was a teen with an affinity toward lightning and a Phoenix child. I also met another guardian at the time that Meital was still a bottle, and his bottle had vines growing from it."
He shrugged. He guessed if everyone was suddenly stumbling upon these magic bottles all the time, there might be some news about it. "Perhaps those that find the bottles simply don't make a big deal out of it," he decided after thinking about it. He glanced down at the child that was his responsibility. Meital pouted over being reprimanded for her outburst. "I'd rather she have somewhat a normal life, instead of being hounded by people that want to examine and study her." He didn't know if something like that would really happen or was simply a common plot in books he read when the hero had some unusual ability.
"He's a stuffy old fart!" Meital told Wren after he mentioned not being a child person. Wearing a wide grin, she tugged on Alastair's sleeve to indicate she was talking about him instead of pointing. At least, the no pointing comment seemed to have stuck. For now.
"That's not very nice to say," Alastair said, a little hurt by the comment. He wasn't that old. "I never actually imagined raising a child either." Even with the Dust child already born, the idea still panicked him. What if he did everything wrong? The worries and fears gave him a constant headache of racing thoughts.
Meital grinned proudly at Wren, but she lost her concentration. The frozen drops of rain resumed their fall to the ground at her feet.
"Not quite," Alastair said with a wince. "Sometimes she just does it, and it lasts for a couple seconds before her attention shifts to something else. And it's a very limited range, but at least, it doesn't seem to be a power that will cause too much damage." Yet, he thought. Who knew how powerful her ability might become? Or how it might evolve?
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Posted: Wed Sep 05, 2012 12:36 am
Wren listened with faint intrigue at the list of children supposedly born out of these bottles of "magic." And while there was certainly enough evidence (he did glance again at Meryl just to make sure he wasn't seeing things,) to prove the fact that something here was not by any means normal, he was still a skeptic to the idea of children with such marvelous powers running rampant across the countryside. He knew certainly that Alastair was not making it up, no, his charge was enough to prove that... Only, when you are told that dragons are real, it takes awhile for the fact to sink in, and to break the mold of your previous understanding that nothing beyond the myth and legend of it all was true.
"Perhaps; but you cannot expect to take a child around that is not a fit to normal society without repercussions. We might not make a big deal out of it, but human society is a sordid affair that will take apart anything that does not conform." Wren found himself saying tersely, his tone a bit too harsh, as though harboring an old wound. Steeling himself, the man crossed his arms and shook away rain from his face. "It is either dumb luck or good fortune that you've been able to avoid curiosity over your girl for her outlandish appearance - teal hair isn't a common sight, what if my child decides to sprout tangible wings?" He stared down at the bottle, now tucked back into the bag, though its shimmering wings still seemed visible enough beneath the shadow of rain. "Imagine what one might do if they saw that; a child with swan wings. The scholars would be climbing over each other like sharks to dissect it themselves." Wren sighed, pressing the palm of his hand to his forehead. "
Glancing back at Meital, the huntsman couldn't help but feel out of place seeing such a wide grin and only understanding it as a foreign, strange look. "All men older than you probably seem that way." He responded dryly, his tone dropping down into its usual cattiness. Glancing back at the scholar, Wren forced himself to uncross his arms and shake out his head again, water droplets spraying even though it did little good. "You seem to be doing an... acceptable job of it." Wren returned, frowning at the lack of manners which Meital seemed to display with pride.
"That's good." The man rumbled, but found himself unable to respond when a sudden chill swept up his spine, and his hands flew to his mouth to cover a sneeze. "Damn this rain." He muttered, shaking out his dark hair again and staring back at Alastair with sharp, bright blue eyes.
"I apologize," He said, straightening slightly. "You must have had places to be; I didn't intend to disrupt you for so long." His eyes turned upwards to the sky, which had grayed considerably, and was now raining more harshly than before. "As for me, I think I shall take my leave shortly," He was, after all, without an umbrella, and not exactly the most noble conversationalist, especially after prolonged exposure, "and find somewhere dry where I can't subject my terrible immune system to anymore of this insufferable weather."
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Posted: Thu Sep 06, 2012 9:51 am
It was true that no one he passed he seemed to make any sort of scene about seeing a child with teal hear. "Perhaps they think it's just some strange hair dye," Alastair suggested, trying to find some sliver of an explanation. "They probably see her hair and turn their noses up at me thinking I'm a horrible, unfit parent to dye my child's hair such a color." His concerns had been far too occupied with taking good care of the Dust that he hadn't paid much attention to the reactions of those around him.
"What's wrong with the color of my hair?" Meital asked, frowning as she glanced between the two adults. She didn't really understand what they were talking about, but it sounded like boring stuff.
"Nothing. Your hair is very pretty," Alastair answered quickly to appease her. It worked, and Meital grinned proudly at his response. "Wings," he frowned at Wren, "those would stand out far more." As if that wasn't obvious. But strange hair color could be explained away, sort of, while wings would be a little hard to convince people that there was nothing strange about it. For that, he was glad that his child didn't seem to have anything unusual about her beyond the color of her hair. "Perhaps you could say they're a prop. I think they have those costume wings that people wear in plays and such." It was a long shot, but sometimes people were more willing to buy an obvious lie rather than think too hard about the truth in front of them.
"Yeah," Meital said, squinting up at Wren, "you're pretty old too." She hoped it wasn't always like this, being dragged around by her guardian and forced to listen to him talk about adult things that bored her to tears.
"It certainly isn't an easy job." Alastair sighed, feeling more tired than ever before now that he had a child to keep watch over.
He looked up toward the miserable gray sky. It didn't seem likely that it would let up any time soon, even more so when it started falling a little harder. He did prefer to finish up his errands before it really started to pour. "My apologies for keeping you so long," Alastair said with a bow of his head. "And we do have a few things to do before heading home. Right, Meital?"
"Boring stuff," Meital agreed unhappily.
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Posted: Fri Sep 07, 2012 3:23 pm
"That's true."
Wren frowned, the thought of it still baffling to him. Alastair had claimed to see a girl with ice-wings, and a boy affiliated with lightning. What part of that wouldn't make the morning paper if seen by the wrong pair of eyes? The bottle in his bag shimmered, making his stomach lurch unpleasantly. And just what would this one sprout? Wings were the least of his problem if it had an attitude that said look at me.
"And unique." Wren replied to Meital dryly at the question posed and Alastair's own response. "Props," He continued, glancing at the scholar, "would work if he - she - it didn't move them at all. I don't think our technology is advanced enough for movable, attachable appendages." He glanced down at the bottle again, but it seemed disinterested now in showing off. "But as long as no one got close enough to touch, I suppose it could pass." The tone of his voice, however, said he thought otherwise.
"Yes." Wren said with a smooth, steely tone. "Though you should be careful what you say; you aren't getting any younger yourself." Sighing, the huntsman bowed his head slightly to Alastair, stepping back, now drenched head to toe in rain.
"It's fine." Wren returned, his tone dropping. "I - live on the outskirts of town, should you ever need anything." Which he really hoped this man didn't, but it seemed a good decision incase of... emergencies. The explanation was vague, but then, Wren imagined there were only a few houses situated on the edge of town, and he could not be that hard to find. Maybe.
Glancing at Meital, the huntsman's eyes flickered over her with amusement and wariness. "Make it interesting if its so terrible to deal with." He told her flatly, and shook out his head, glancing back at Alastair through damp lashes. "I will see you around, Alastair." And with that, he stepped away and turned, walking down the cobblestone street and out of sight, the bottle in hand, and a new dread lurching in his stomach and urging him to throw himself off the nearest bridge.
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