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

I do assure you, I do not mind in the least.

Well, in that case...

[And in complete defiance of all birdy instincts, she completes another hop-and-flutter maneuver, taking great care to keep her feet and claws pulled in for as harmless a landing as possible.]

Is...er, is that...all right, then?

[My, his fur is so very warm.]

[How considerate of her to keep those claws hidden. That might have made this ordeal somewhat more trying. But all seems well, if she can keep her balance on his shoulders and back.]

Yes, I think...that will do well enough. Shall we try a few steps?

[A few...experimental and four-footed steps forward.]

[He's right, that she's not so large as to make this endeavor gawky or uncomfortable, but it does take a bit of shifting and a certain amount of hunkering down before she feels secure--which she does rather awkwardly, and more than a little self-consciously.]

If it's not bothering you, I think it'll do just fine.

[Not so very different from riding a horse, in a sense. Just a bit odder, and considerably more furry.]

Not at all, though I think I shall go slow, so as to make sure you can balance.

[It's not, perhaps, the most elegant means of moving, but it will have to do...]

Mm. Your fur is nice and warm.

[To say nothing of the fact that the proximity is very nice, too, and it's rather difficult to claim impropriety when one is sporting feathers.]

I'm not a cold-weather bird at all.

I'm quite glad you think so.

[What does one say in reply to that, that one's fur is nice and warm? Well...]

And I should think you're not, with your colours. You seem more the sort of bird that should live on some sunny island than in some snowy city.

It'd fit, wouldn't it? I could leave the cities to you and have the country for myself.

As long as it wasn't cold in the country, I suppose that might be a good arrangement.

I could live on the island where my father met my mother, you know. That was certainly a tropical place, though the colors were all wrong.

I can guess at what you mean by that, but I should like to ask: how were the colours all wrong?

Well, the way that Daddy tells it, the sand was blue and the waves were pink and I think the sky was violet, too. It's quite an odd place, the Enchanted Isle. The only thing that's right is the Quartz Tower, and that's white as it ought to be.

I see.

Now, the Quartz Tower you've told me of before. I do remember that part of it. I suppose I can imagine the rest of it, though I do wonder what colour the sand turned when pink waves struck it.

[They have arrived, Princess, at the curtained doorway that leads to one of the boxes. This is far easier than trying to manage any other sort of door. And it puts them rather higher up.

Cain pauses without those curtains.]

Perhaps it would be best if you followed me from here. I'm not sure we'd both manage to get through the curtains.

Oh! My, that was an easy trip.

[But, obligingly, she situates her wings and feet and hops down, fluttering along as she goes and wobbling a bit as she returns to the ground. It's much easier, flying from perch to perch; flat surfaces take a bit more work.]

[Cain will try to be obliging and push through the curtains first, holding them more or less open in that way that cats very often hold doors and curtains and things open...by simply leaning on them.]

I do hope you'll have enough room.

Quest 295

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