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 Posted: Sun Jan 22, 2017 3:49 pm
>>>It's true that in the past I've been a nasty
xx >>They weren't kidding when they called me, well, a witch
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▬ A closed Thread for Commander Mars & LavvytheJackalope, with possible guest appearances by nowSERENITY
▬ In which Frey has an unfortunate encounter with Riccard, and ultimately ends up in the hands of Pippin.
▬ Setting: A twisted backalley, followed by The Hack'N'Stack back room
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Posted: Sun Jan 22, 2017 3:55 pm
 
9481CF - leon
3761A8 - rick
Riccard really didn't like making these calls by himself. He was, frankly, getting too old for this s**t. He'd said as much to his boss on more than one occasion, but his tone was always light, laughing. It was the sort of thing the nymph slipped into casual conversation with the younger adversper over a drink every now and again. But they both knew that Rick would be doing this until the day he died. Maybe of old age, but more likely when he was offed, like his mentor, Eliza had been. People in their industry didn't tend to retire. It was simply a risk of the trade, plenty and well accepted. Rick didn't work towards retirement, he worked to leave behind a more powerful empire for those who would follow after him, for his Lost Boys and adopted street urchins, running left and right under his orders. Those who operated in his name, even if it was under a Crownless banner. But in any case, some things simply needed to be seen to personally. If he'd known that the elf would dart out of a window, he wouldn't have bothered with that courtesy.
Edimure Price and Riccard had long since had an understanding with one another. Price owned a stretch of docks along the Saxon River, which had long served Ricks purposes of moving cargo, both animate and inanimate, quietly and discreetly, for many years. Rick skimmed a little bit off of the top for Price, and knew that on occasion Price helped himself to samples here and there as well, but as long as he didn't step over any lines, Rick tolerated it. He let the elf know that he knew, used it to bring him to heel when he got rowdy. So three shipping crates going missing, and his men being restricted from the docks all of a sudden was very disconcerting for the aging nymph. It was most certainly crossing a line. But when he contacted the elf, his calls went unanswered. The only explanation he got was through the grape vine; something about someone else muscling their way in. Apparently someone had something on Price that the elf didn't want getting out. Well, Rick was going to find out which he valued more – his secrets, or his teeth. He didn't like being cut out of deals. More than anything, it made him look bad. Rick suddenly losing control of the docks he'd been using for years could be seen as a misstep on his part, at least in the Boss' eyes. Failing to reclaim them would be not only a loss, but an admission of a lack of control. That was unacceptable. He honestly hadn't expected Price to bail out of his window so immediately when he'd seen who came calling. Typically, this was the kind of thing he would have sent his protoge, Vince, to handle. But given Price's long history of working well with them he'd hoped they could discuss things civilly, like gentlemen. Apparently, however, Price had forgotten Ricks temper. Rick never went out on business unaccompanied these days. Again, too old for this s**t. So no sooner had the elf bolted than one large black wolf was bounding out of the front doors of Price's little two-story office building, and a shaggy blonde mutt was leaping right out of the window after the elf. Rick simply sighed, turning calmly on one heel and walking down the hall, following along calmly as his (literal) attack dogs easily tracked and overtook the older elf. Despite his race, Price was getting on in years himself, and he'd never paid too much attention to his cardio routine.
Through the tangle of tightly-packed buildings, narrow backalleys twisted and twined into a maze of high walls and strips of grey overcast sky. In the district between the residential, university, and warehouse districts, run-down brick and faded billboards, it was a part of town that was very easy to get lost in if one wasn't familiar with the area. Particularly those little back alleys. But it wasn't much traversed, so Rick didn't mind when he heard Price yelp loudly, indicating at least one of the lycans had found their mark. He took his time making his way through the wind – ah, this place brought back memories – towards the sounds of snarling and snapping teeth. It almost sounded like a dogfight might be happening, but he knew it was only Sasha and Vlad keeping their quarry on the ground until he stepped around the corner to take in the scene himself. The stout little elf was curled up, button-up shirt torn, hands clasped over his head, while Vlad, the shaggy, scrawny blonde mutt kept jaws clamped on one ankle. Sasha, the bigger, burly, black wolf, circled, slowly, snarling and snapping any time the elf tried to move. Rick sighed, pushing his sunglasses back further on his head and crouching down in front of the fallen man.
“Price, for petes sake. Has bolting out of the window ever worked? For anyone? I'm legitimately curious as to why you thought that was a good idea. I came here to talk business with you, not kick your teeth out.”
The elf seemed suspicious, peering up at Rick as the nymph waved at Vlad to release him, sharp fangs withdrawing at last from the thin skin at the his ankles.
“...Really?”
“Well of course. Naturally, that option's off the table now.” The elf looked a little sick. “I'm a very sensitive man, Price. You've known me long enough to know that. So when you start ignoring my calls and giving my men the could shoulder, it really hurts me. Right here.” He taps his chest with the side of his fist. Despite the words, he really doesn't sound very upset. Perhaps just a little bit of fatherly disappointment. He didn't expect anyone to be in this part of town at this particular time of day, particularly since the skies were threatening rain. Nevertheless, he didn't want Price making too loud of a fuss. Of course, most people in Saxon knew enough to mind their own business. If someone did hear, they'd likely just call the cops, and by then their business would be long concluded. “Top that off with three of my shipping containers missing-”
“Now Rick, I had nothing to do with that. Those units arrived when they were supposed to, where they were supposed to, so I don't know wh-”
“-I can't help but shake the feeling of being robbed. So the least you owe me is an explanation.”
“I… I'm not at liberty to discuss-” Rick planted a finger against the elfs lips, shushing his explanation. At the same time, his hand started heating up. Enough to cause some discomfort against Prices' skin, but not enough to burn. Yet.
“Please, Price, we're friends. You know you can always be frank with me.” His face was anything but friendly.
“It's…. someone else made me an offer.”
“One you couldn't refuse, I suppose? Come on, now, let's not live up to the stereotypes, here.”
“I didn't have a choice, all right!? I'm locked into this contract. If I break it, he'll-” But then the elf shuts his mouth, suddenly aware that spilling more information wouldn't be in his best interests at the moment. Rick simply sighed.
“Well, I understand, Price, but I'm disappointed. You're really in a position where you can't back out?”
Price glanced left and right. Vlad and Sasha had, by then, withdrawn to Riccards sides, framing the older man like patient gargoyles. They seemed lax. Price answered, hesitantly,
“I really can't.”
“I see.” With a sigh, Rick stood, turning around as if to simply walk away, shaking his head. Price knew it couldn't be that easy. He was right. Rick turned his head, nodding at Sasha. In one swift movement, the wolf was upon the elf, teeth clamped around the older mans throat, cutting off sound and air. Prices' eyes bulged.
“Hopefully we'll be able to negotiate better with the new owner.” He had a feeling that when the body turned up, the new owner would be more than willing to wheel and deal. Rick waved a hand, and both lycans tore into the man, ripping out his throat in a spray of red. This would be a corpse that the police would find. Maybe it would make the papers the next day or so. They wouldn't be able to get enough evidence for a conviction, at least that's what the police would say. Such reliable gents, those men were, particularly with the right carrot dangled in front of their noses. Control of those docks was worth much more than a friendly nudge with the Saxon Police Department. This death would be quickly swept under the rug, but the other dock owners would get the clear message.
Ricks hearing had worsened in his older age, so it wasn't until Vlad picked his head up from where he'd been helping Sasha tear up the now-corpse to send a proper message, ears pricked forward, that he noticed the disturbance. His gaze followed the lycans to a young man, peering around a corner, eyes wide and petrified. For a moment, Rick and the boy merely stared at one another, as if each one was trying to figure out exactly what the other was thinking. But, then, the boy made the same mistake as Price – he turned and bolted. See, Edimure? Only rookies think this stunt works. With a sigh he waved a finger, sending the two dogs off after the boy. He likely hadn't even had time to reach the street again before Sasha pounced on his back, knocking him down before shifting into his human shape to clamp one thick hand over the boys mouth. In his normal shape, Sashe was a towering man, with dark skin and long braided black hair, a wall of muscle. He easily plucked the lad off of his feet, trotting back to Rick and dropping the stranger in front of the nymph. By all accounts, he seemed to be little more than a bystander, shaking like a leaf on his knees in front of him. Still, he preferred to err on the side of caution. He could have been a set of eyes for whoever had thought they could muscle in on his territory by trapping Price into this 'contract' the deceased had talked about. He'd figure it out, one way or another.
“What's a lad like you doing in this part of town?”
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Posted: Thu Jan 26, 2017 9:38 pm
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and i'm screaming at the top of my lungs ;;
pretending,, the echoes belong to someone
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The street was empty on that quiet night as Frey was walking home from a long night of work. His mind was elsewhere, wandering through Kafka's strange and dreamlike vision. On a whim, he looked up at the night sky. Immediately, he recalled a passage, "Unknowingly, he gazed up at it... nothing up there drew together in a pattern to interpret the immediate future for him... In itself it was a highly reasonable action that Wese should walk on..." A sudden chill swept over Frey, causing him to lose all interest in the continuation of that particular passage.
A sound like dogs fighting interrupted his thoughts further. It would be best to just keep walking quickly, or so he thought, "...but he walked onto Schmar's knife." Literally, he hadn't walked onto any murderer's knife, but the way his heart clenched, frozen in terror, he felt that he may as well have. He had barely come into view of the alley when he caught sight of the grizzly scene. Two giant canines ripped into the body of a man, blood spraying over the walls and ground. He couldn't be sure if he'd made a sound, but he realized too late that he'd been spotted.
Turning on his heel he ran like he'd never run, but in an instant he was overtaken, thrown to the ground and then carried like a rag doll before being set again on solid ground. He sat on his knees in front of a man he hadn't noticed until now, it was too dark to make out his features and a light was shining behind his head.
“What's a lad like you doing in this part of town?”
His voice caught, making a small squeaking sound from his throat, but he managed to clear it and speak.
"I-I'm j-just going home, you see... s-sir. I don't have much money, please! I just want to go home! I don't want any trouble, I wont tell a soul! Please let me go home!" He was trembling violently and began to cry, dissolving into a shaking and sputtering little mess.
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we become silhouettes when our bodies finally go...
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Posted: Fri Jan 27, 2017 9:50 am
9481CF - leon
3761A8 - rick
He lifted an eyebrow as the boy started to sob. If he was a set of eyes, he was a damn good actor. The way the boy quaked, voice barely a squeaking noise, was enough to almost convince him that he really is just an innocent bystander. Almost. And really, no matter what the case may be, the next step would have been the same. He lifted his gaze, shifting it from Sasha to Vlad, and then back to the shifted lycan, still standing behind the boy. The look on the bigger lycans face was one of pity. They all knew what had to happen next, one way or another. That was a fault of Sashas. He was always a little too empathetic. Still, it hadn't ever stopped him from doing his job.
"Sasha. What is he?"
"Human, sir."
"Anything familiar?" The lycan gave the air around the boy another tentative sniff before shaking his head.
"No, sir." Rick grunted in answer, rubbing the back of his neck. After a pause, he simply said,
"Go get my kit." Sasha nodded obediently, turning a heel and darting away into the wind of the alley again. Nearby, Vlad quietly began to circle, the shaggy blonde mutt keeping his eyes trained on the boy kneeling in front of Rick. Of course, tears stopped moving the old nymph a long time ago. "What's your name, boy? How old are you?" He asked, as casually as if he were asking the boy over a cup of coffee rather than next to a torn up corpse. The crying child looked like he might have been in high school. It probably said something about Rick that the first thought he had was that it would be easier if he were; young, cute ones tended to sell quickly.
If he really was just a bystander and not a rival, he'd be pressed into the Crownless trade system. Likely drugged to be kept quiet and sedate, and then moved along with whatever shipment went along next. Maybe he'd get lucky and simply be sold off to a wealthy ***** who didn't mind that this kid had already hit puberty. Or, maybe he'd be unlucky, and get sold off to someone with more sinister purposes in mind, a sadist or a mad scientist. God knew there were plenty of both breeds in Saxon. If he was deemed truly useless, he might simply get hocked into one of the chop shops, but rick doubted that would be the case. The boy had a good face and a small figure. Someone would find a use for him one way or another. But he wouldn't be allowed to leave. However much he might promise he wouldn't tell, sooner or later it would get out of him to someone. Normal civilians just weren't equipped to keep secrets like these. Even if Rick were a merciful sort (which, frankly, he wasn't) the bypasser had become a loose end. And Rick couldn't abide leaving loose ends.
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Posted: Tue Feb 21, 2017 5:03 pm
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and i'm screaming at the top of my lungs ;;
pretending,, the echoes belong to someone
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Shaking, teeth chattering as if he were freezing, Frey could only manage short stuttering sentences between heaving sobs.
"Puh-p-please I-I'm not... I d-didn't m-mean to! I-I-I d-don't want to.. t-to..." He began to cry uncontrollably, babbling broken sentences that mostly consisted of the word, 'please.' Finally, he managed to get out his name, "Frey!! I-It's... my n-name. My n-name is... F-Fraid." His eyes bulged as he managed to look up at Rick for just a moment before he burst again into hysterics and turned his head sharply down to stare at the pavement. He wrapped his arms around himself and rocked a bit on his heels, his voice reduced to a soft muttering between loud gasps and hiccups.
This can't be real. How is this happening? What did I do to deserve this? Why why why? These thoughts swirled around endlessly in his mind as he wrestled with the reality of his situation. I'm going to die! I need to escape! His eyes darted up and around, searching for any way out. The shaggy mutt circled around like a shark waiting to tear him to pieces. His eyes landed again on the torn up corpse. He let out a pitiful squeak and turned again to look at the ground. It's hopeless! I can't! I can't!! Ican'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan't!!!
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we become silhouettes when our bodies finally go...
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Posted: Wed Apr 05, 2017 11:28 pm
9481CF - leon
3761A8 - rick
Rick sighed, looking down his nose at the kid. He really was a crier. Not that it was particularly shocking, given the circumstances. He watched the kids eyes dart around. It was a shame he was panicking. If he were deeper in shock, Riccard could easily just put a hand on his shoulder and guide him where he wanted, docile as a lamb. It was amazing how easy it was, handling people in that state. But, terrified as he was, the darting of his eyes told the older nymph that the kids brain was in survival mode. Even if he was too afraid to act, he was panicked. And Rick didn't deal with panic. Panic was loud and messy. Panic was the stink that brought unwelcome attention. While it was true, in a city like Saxon, people tended to mind their own business, panic spread like wildfire no matter where it was. So, the blubbering kids panic meant he had to be heavy-handed with him. The kid was too terrified to even spit out his own name. Sasha came trotting back, obedient and efficient as ever, with the supplies Rick had asked for in hand. Bag, cord, tape, zip ties. Riccard hated doing things like this. It felt so over the top and cliched. Like he was playing the boogie man in a kids film. But, in a lot of ways it was true. Rick was the villain hiding around the corner, waiting to snatch unwary and misbehaving children off the streets. To sell them off and trade them away like cattle, never to see their mothers or brothers again.
Like this poor sod. Riccard glanced up at Sasha, standing behind the crying kid. The lycan looked down at him with pity plainly written on his features. That had always been a weakness of his; he tended far too easily towards pity. Still, Rick had to give him credit; it never stopped him from doing his job. The nymph nodded at him, and the lycan set to work. He quickly stuffed a cloth into the boys mouth and taped it shut, easily pulled his hands behind them, zip tied them together, repeated with his ankles, pulled the bag over his head and tied everything up neatly. The picture of efficiency. The burly lycan hefted the boy over one shoulder, and the three of them strolled back to the car. Sasha had backed it into the alley, so no one could see them set the bound boy in the backseat - he wasn't kicking up enough of a fuss to deserve the cliche 'toss him in the trunk' treatment - and Rick climb into the cab. A few words were exchanged, brief, and the lycans left in separate directions while Riccard drove off.
For most of the ride, he went about in silence, with only the terrified passenger in the back punctuating the silence with the occasional sob. He drove smoothly, casually, his heavily tinted windows alleviating any worry about what passerby may think of the passenger with the bag over his head. The nymph spoke only once, stopped at a stoplight where he glanced back at the figure buckled into the backseat.
"You really are an unlucky sort."
He took the twisted back roads until he finally slid smoothly into a secluded backalley not terribly unlike the one they'd just come from. Not that his little tagalong would be able to see that the buildings were taller, the shade longer. The nymph parked, marching round to the back doors and grabbing the boy by the elbow and tugging him out of the car before putting him over one shoulder. He mumbled quietly to himself as he went to the back door, thumbing through keys with his remaining hand until he found the right one and unlocked the door he'd stopped in front of. He stepped inside, gracelessly dumping his hostage into a hard wooden chair that was placed for just such an occasion. He locked the door behind him, tugging out the cords Sasha had brought him and quickly, with practiced smoothness, bound the boy to the chair. He even patted him on the head before crossing the room, away from him, and calling up the stairs.
"Pietr! You home? We've got a guest."
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Posted: Wed Apr 05, 2017 11:55 pm
As it so happened, Pietr wasn't home at the moment. But the younger Barker was. He paused in his work, squinting his eyes at the sound of his uncles voice booming up the steps from the storage room. Ricks visits were seldom scheduled, so it wasn't terribly surprising to hear him calling for his elder brother about a 'visitor.' Someone the old nymph wanted squeezed, he guessed. The younger alchemist pushed his rolling chair away from his work desk, grabbing the cloth from his belt to wipe his hands clean. Well. Clean-ish.
"Jussa 'sec ther' Un'cl!" He called back, closing the lid he'd installed on his workdesk to keep his current project from congealing in his absence. He briefly ran a hand through his hair and checked his watch, only about 3. Perfect. After making sure he was at least somewhat presentable, he tucked the cloth back into his belt and left his workroom, deadbolting the door as he left and turned to head down the stairs. He poked his head out of the doorway with a grin, seeing Riccard standing there with his usual, grumpy face."Un'cl Rick! Piper en't in a'tha' momen' m'fraid'." He leaned to one side, peeking curiously past the older nymphs broad shoulder at the figure tied to the chair. He ran a critical eye over them. "E'S'hd be back n'a bit, min'. Bituvva scrawny one ennet?" On the one hand, scrawny bodies meant lackluster meat, usually a little too stringy for his tastes. But, on the other hand, frames like that one typically allowed for wonderfully easy access to the nervous system. Riccard made a small disappointed noise.
"Yeah. He walked in on some negotiations gone sour. I just need your brother to give him the run, make sure he doesn't belong to any brand names before I decide what to do with him." Pippin blinked at the nymph through his glasses, looking a mix of amazed and amused.
"Jus' stumbl'd righ' on en?" Rick nodded, prompting a short bout of giggling laughter from Pippin, slapping his knee as if his uncle had just told him a particularly corny joke. "Heh, hoo, tha' lil' bit musta 'ad awful luck!"
"That's what I said."
"Ya min'f I...?" Pip nodded towards the bound figure. Rick turned aside, giving the alchemist full access with a consenting nod. Pip grinned, fishing for something in one of the little pouches on his belt. Without a word, he quietly pried his glass eye - a grey one, mismatched with his natural blue living eye - out of its socket, gently depositing it in the pouch and retrieving another one. The new eye was glass as well, but bright green. He pushed the green glass eye into his empty socket, dropping a few eyedrops in and rolling his eyes in his head to make sure it was in properly. Once this little exchange was done (all the while Rick looked on, unflinching) the blonde stepped in front of the chair.
"'Ey ther' lil'fella! M'gonna get this bag offa yer 'ead now, kay?" With that said, he gently undid the ropes and knots keeping the bag on the boyd head, pulling it smoothly away from the boys face to reveal the mop of black and white mingled hair and big, watery grey eyes. Pip was at once struck with the impression that he was looking at a frightened puppy. It made him chuckle. "Aw look'at'cha ya poer lil'thin'! Yer shakin' like a leaf!" He looked back over his shoulder at Rick with a wide grin. "'E's cute!" Rick offered no response, which was expected. The alchemist returned his attentions to the boy in front of him. "N'w 'M g'nna get th' tape offa yer face, kay? Ya ain't gonna scream 'er yell 'er make no real loud noises." He made sure to look him in the eye when he said it, one flesh and one glass, peering at him through the frames of his glasses. His hands were still smudged with rusty smears, and the rag hanging from his belt was blotched black and brown. The green eye, of course, would tell Freys brain that everything Pippin said to him was the absolute truth. The idea that he even could still scream would be all but lost to him. He reached up with those fingers, rust outlining the grooves in them, tugged a corner of the tape up gently, and then yanked it off all at once with a loud ripping noise. He smiled politely, seeming apologetic. "At's be'er n'w, ennit? I'm Pippin, bu' ya' c'n jus' call me 'Pip' er 'Pep' iffn ya like. 'M yer frien' n'w. So, frien', who're ya?" He smiled sweetly, bent over at the waist to peer more closely at him.
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Posted: Fri May 05, 2017 12:15 pm
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and i'm screaming at the top of my lungs ;;
pretending,, the echoes belong to someone
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Feeling as though he were suffocating, Frey sat quietly in the back seat of the car, only occasionally letting out a tiny sob. Once the bag was over his head, he felt so stunned, everything began to move slowly like he was only dreaming. He kept his mind on his breathing, hard as it was with his mouth full and his face covered. The movement of the car made him feel nauseous while the situation as a whole was twisting him up so much inside, he thought for certain he would puke and choke on it and that would be the end of him. What a terrible and useless way to die... Maybe I deserve this.
Finally, the car stopped and he was carried out, limp as a ragdoll and more or less resigned to his fate. He only grunted as he was dropped, a little painfully, into the chair. His body trembled more than ever now as he felt himself being secured here, he broke out into a cold sweat and felt the tears welling up again. I wish I could at least die with some dignity, but I can't even do that. I can't...
Although he heard everything that was said with absolute clarity, his mind couldn't string any thoughts together at the moment. He was entirely absorbed in the feeling of his insides twisting themselves into knots and threatening to exit his body violently. He flinched when he felt that gentle hand brush against him, but relaxed a little when he felt the binds come loose. Then, the sack which had been smothering him was lifted up and over. The dim light felt dazzling at first, but his eyes quickly adjusted and he could see the young man who had 'freed' him. Frey couldn't help but think he was actually really handsome and felt somehow soothed by him, if only marginally. When the man spoke, he felt drawn to him and hung onto every word, accepting them as absolute truth.
Frey held his mouth tightly as the tape was torn off and spit the rag out as soon as he could, some spit was left on the corner of his mouth. He kept his eyes on the man who called himself Pip and couldn't help but smile a tiny little bit. He felt so relieved, like he could breathe again and he owed it all to him. His words took a little effort to get out, he felt like he hadn't spoken in years and his throat was dry despite his drooling.
"A-ah... Fff-rey. I-I'm Frey. ... My name. Pip..? Thank you." After staring at Pippin the entire time he'd been able, he now felt embarrassed and looked down. This brought him back to reality momentarily and sent a shock through his spine, causing him to shake uncontrollably yet again. Tears began to fall freely, but he couldn't say anything more.
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we become silhouettes when our bodies finally go...
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Posted: Sun Aug 27, 2017 3:33 pm
"Aww, Y'poer lil squib. 'Ere ere." Pippin patted the top of the quivering boys head. "Frey wassit? Heh, y'look t'be a mite 'frayed' at's a certain!" The alchemist laughed out loud, clearly entertained by his own joke. Rick didn't seem to share his enthusiasm, but didn't roll his eyes or groan. Pip was like an overexcited child. In many ways, he was one of Ricks children, much like Vincent, and Pietr. He was accustomed to the youngest brothers.... eccentricities. He'd never been quite right in the head. But there were much better things to be than normal. Like, say a little bit of a genius. There was no telling what Pippin might have been able to accomplish had he been given access to a proper education. Hell, there was still a lot he might accomplish still. But at the moment, the old nymph was decidedly more concerned about what to do with his new guest.
"It really might just be the unluckiest b*****d that there was. But I'd rather be completely certain." The nymph explained, watching the human continue to snivel and shake and be... well. Generally pathetic overall. Rick couldn't empathize with him much at all. Even when he'd been a desperate street urchin, fleeing from the lap of luxurious slavery and into the jaws of rough, life-threatening freedom, he'd never collapsed so helplessly. He'd never allowed himself to be helpless, to be pathetic... to be like this. But, to be fair, he'd never watched a middle-aged elf get torn apart by lycans, either. Well. He saw a young elf get torn in and his corpse savaged by a werewolf but, that was another matter. "I need Pietr to get the truth for me. I can turn a profit off of him, but I need to make sure before I can."
"Aye, e's got a foine face 'ats certain. Bu' Piper en't here jus yet. A'course yer always welcom' ta' hang 'round, unc'l!" Pippin piped, as cheery as ever. He put a hand on Freys shoulder, companionable. "An' lil Frayed 'ere, I'm sure he don' min' waitin' round a bit fer m'bruther. D'ya, Frey?"
He knelt again, tapping two fingers under the little humans chin to tilt his face up to look at him again. "Why doan'cha tell Pip a lil' 'boutcherself, eh?" He was probably a little difficult to understand, with his quick speech and thick accent. "After all, M'sure yer more'n jussa pretty face. What'dya like t'do, Frey?"
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