Welcome to Gaia! ::

Lancre's time was spent writing. When he wasn't writing he spent his time reading. The only problem with that, he thought as he searched through the roost under the bridge, was that there were very few writers other than himself. He had read his own things. And, he thought as he picked up yet another leaf and looked at it for a moment, although he was brilliant, he KNEW his own stories far too well.

There was no excitement, no drama, nothing unanticipated! He scowled and tossed the leaf aside. Sometimes a leaf is just a leaf, after all.

He had paper. He had stolen it from the humans, but it was a rarity, so most writing was done on leaves and transcribed to the precious paper only when it was at its greatest. So he figured other pidges would do the same. Thus the leaves searching.

(( The gather of Entertainers! 8D ))



U-Turn walked in boldly. Today had been a really good day! He had come up with a most fantastic story, and was eager to share it. As he spotted Lancre, U-Turn briefly wondered if this story was worthy of being written. No story of U-Turn's had ever been written before, but then, U-Turn's uncanny ability to remember stories of any kind made writing unessacary. U-Turn nodded politely to Merge, noting that her wings seemed to be clamping down on bags of some sort. U-Turn saw that Lancre looked a bit bored, or even disappointed. Bobbing his head to a rythm only known to him, U-Turn asked, "What's wrong, Lancre?" U-Turn had made it a point to learn the names of all the birds in his flock just like Gapper and Baker, though U-Turn faltered every now and then. Still, names were like stories of their own, so U-Turn remembered.

(( Slate, Coffee, Foggy! ))

"Howdy, lamb," she nodded to U-Turn, adjusting the bags under her arm. Two clown faces looked smashed between her fluffy bosom and her wings like two strangled grandchildren under a grandmother's arms.

"Lancre, honey," she said, hefting herself down and her bags with a crunch!. "Have you tried that great trash bin behind the library?"

She opened one bag and looked upon all the popped kernels as though they were gold coins instead of golden (and somewhat stale) puffs. Offering a bag to the others, she stuffed a mass of them into her beak and went right along talking.

"I see them throw out newspapers all the time into those bins, what a waste! Newspapers, darling. Who'd throw out papers that are smashing good for nesting in? Humans, that's who!"

"Ha! Humans can't write!" Lancre said in response to Merge's comment. "They have no soul! No artistry! For a pidge to be inspired he must look to his fellow pidges!" Then he flushed, realizing he was going on one of his little rants again.

With a heartfelt sigh he sat down, his legs spread out as he started to think. "A story, then," he said, looking at them. "You're both entertainers, so tell me a story. I have horrid writer's block at the moment."

He paused, looking around. "I'll get my note taking material while you plan something!" he added, rushing off for his bottle of black ink and some fresh leaves to write on.

Lancre came back a little while later with a handful of fresh leaves and a bottle of ink. He sat down in front of the others and pulled the sharpened feather he kept tied around his neck with a string out. For a moment he eyed the tip before sharpening it yet more with his beak.

"I am ready!" he said, dipping the feather into the ink.