poly_chromatic | Quest 295

[Audio Post]

[The recording opens with the white noise of the City--the bustle of bodies, the shuffle of feet, the chatter of passerby--all oddly faint and removed from the microphone, as though recorded from a reasonable distance. A minute later, there comes a new sound, closer this time: a soft trill, a faint whistle, a rustle of feathers.]

My goodness, this isn't nearly so pleasant a curse in the middle of winter. It's much harder to fly, somehow, and the wind is so cold! Brrr. No wonder birds keep to their nests in weather like this.

[Another rustle of feathers; she seems to be adjusting them again and again, trying to find an arrangement that's comfortable--or perhaps, just making use of the movement to keep warm.]

And it's so hard to find an open window like this, as well! No one wants to let all the heat out by leaving one that way, of course. So first it's the trouble that one can't get out, and then it's the trouble that one can't get back in!

[Another high-pitched whistle.]

My, I do make a pretty sight against all the snow, though.

[She falls silent a minute, the background chatter returning to the forefront of the recording, and for a time it seems as though the message might be over, but then--]

Oh! There! Someone's opened the--oh, good, no, don't close, please, I want to come in too!

[And with an almost violent rustle of feathers, the audio ends with an abrupt click.]

[OOC: Yup, she's a Western Rosella again today, wings and feathers and all. And, evidently, not too fond about being out in the cold weather! She'll be responding via voice or video on the Network, but for anyone who wants Action, she's just managed to sneak into the Library as of the end of this post, and she'll be out and about again if you'd like to catch her around the City, too!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Carla had gone down to the library earlier, and with a bird companion of her own already perched on her shoulder. She catches sight of a hint of red feathers and comes out from the shelves curiously.]

What now...

[Well, okay, she made it in the outer door, at least, which is an improvement considering she's out of the wind and the cold, but now it's the inner one that's giving her a new bit of trouble. And she proceeds to flutter quite a bit when she spots Carla--a friendly face (that comes attached to opposable thumbs) is exactly what she needs at the moment.]

Oh! Miss Carla! Miss Carla, over here, could you please open this door?

[The bird on her shoulder flutters its wings at the other avian. Carla just frowns for a moment, but there is still only one person who calls her Miss Carla. She goes to pull open the door.]

Cursed, Rosella?

Yes! Yes, I'm afraid so.

[And gratefully, she flutters inside, darting up to a perch on the back of a chair, where she can dig her talons in a little.]

This one happens rather often, actually. The City likes to turn me into some sort of parrot, it seems.

[Carla follows after her at a sedate pace, hands in her pockets.]

It's not really the right kind of weather for parrots.

No, it's certainly not! But the curses don't always take that into consideration, I'm afraid, and sometimes one just finds oneself stuck like this.

I could take you back to the Warehouse later.

[Although that raised the question of how she'd gotten out in the first place...]

Oh, I'd hate to put you to any trouble--it'll only last until midnight, I hope, and then I'll be a girl again and the whole thing will be settled. It's really just a matter of keeping warm in the meantime.

[She shuffles her feathers, a little sheepishly. Getting out had been an interesting experience, and not one she's interested in repeating anytime soon.]

Twenty-four hours is normal?

[She's been through only a few curses, she wasn't going to assume something like that too soon.]

That's how it is for most curses. Weekends like this are a bit trickier; they come once a month, and it'll either be one curse each day or one curse that lasts for two, but it's always over by Monday, and one can usually count on the fact that there won't be a curse on the Monday after a weekend like this, as well.

[Luckily, Rosella is always more than happy to share her expertise.]

A break would be nice. I was spoiled with everything being so quiet over New Years.

[She really doesn't like all these things being forced on her. Carla motions up at the bird on her shoulder as she adds,]

You should at least have lunch with us.

[Rosella's cooking has been a main source of sustenance around the Blonde & Carla apartment, and there are some debts Carla is more inclined to honor than others.]

[Food! Food is an excellent idea. Particularly since Rosella usually doesn't eat much on days when she's turned into a bird, not after one rather bad experience where someone enticed her down with bread and a mirror and tried to lock her in a birdcage.]

I'd like that very much! But who is this, may I ask? A friend of yours, or is it your soul?

He's... yeah. He and Blonde's crocodile showed up this morning.

[She has not been enjoying the bird's company. He knows so, and pipes up cheerfully,]

Hello, Rosella.

Yes, that curse sometimes happens on weekends like this, I'm afraid. Yours is wonderfully lovely, though! [Okay, so maybe this is a slight stretch of the truth, but it's polite.] Mine is a griffin, when he chances to come around, and his name is Almeisan.

[She flutters a wing, cheerfully.]

It's so very nice to meet you!

[Both Carla and the barbet know that he is ragged, but... for all her annoyance, she has a sad sort of affection for its ripped feathers. Her expression softens somewhat and she reaches up to pet him. He initially tries to bite her before settling quietly.]

I definitely prefer my soul on the inside.

It is mostly better that way, I'm afraid, but sometimes it can be rather nice to meet one's soul, just the same. Did yours tell you why he ended up the way he did? Er--in the shape he did, I mean. All the ones I've talked to have mentioned that they shape they choose is meant to say something about themselves.

[The bird begins to say something, but Carla's hand tightens around him very suddenly. Her voice is cold when she hisses at him.]

Don't.

[The bird bites at her in retaliation, kicking and clawing until he gets loose, going to perch on one of the nearby shelves and preen his feathers snidely. All Carla adds to this is,]

He doesn't need to tell me.

She knows.

[The barbet adds nastily.]

[O-Oh. Well. That's...that's a bit awkward, yes, and admittedly Rosella isn't quite sure how to process it at first; she's seen people get into spats with their daemons before, of course, and even held a few with her own, but she's never seen such vehemence about it, and certainly not from such close proximity.]

I...um, oh, I, er, I see. Yes, well--I think he's very lovely, and suits you.

[Carla suspects that her 'soul' had been of a different shape, before she died, but she isn't interested in having that conversation with him, nor with Rosella. She glares after the barbet for a moment before offering out her hand. He doesn't move at first, but eventually hops back over to her. He had wings, yes, but they were damaged and he couldn't go far without her, even if she let him.]

We'll go get lunch. Stay inside where it's warm.

Yes, of course, I will, and thank you so very much.

Quest 295

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