( There is an awful lot of clucking on this feed and not all of it is incoherent bird talk. )

Vous devez être courageux avec vos sentiments! Dites-leur de le monde!

( Alexiel's heels click hollowly against the sidewalk as she approaches the flock. )

Et qu'est-ce que vous savez au sujet de mes sentiments? ( Speaking the various languages of humans isn't so hard when you've been around as long as Alexiel has. ) Je préfère les garder pour moi.

( The hens congregate around her feet and cluck louder. )

Le temps est compté! Vous perdrez votre chance!

( Pursing her lips, the Angel barely refrains from rolling her eyes. But she does nudge the hens out of the way with the toe of her shoe. )

Déplacer.


( * Translation (the hens are in italics): You must be brave with your feelings! Tell them to the world!

And what do you know about my feelings? I prefer to keep them to myself.

Time is running out! You will lose your chance!

Move. )

[ The feed snaps on to a very irritable Karl, sprawled out on a chaise by the pool, a book lying half-open in his lap. There's something of the cooked and crispy variety piled on the table near him. Several somethings. Apparently, Karl thought it simpler to roast the flock of talking chickens than to let them cluck away. ]

[ Glancing at the Device, he scowls, ]

For a limited time only. If you're in the mood for an extra-roasted meal, stop by here and pick it up. No strings. [ He even promises not to attack you. If you leave fast enough. ] Hopefully these feathered rats taste better than the advice they dole out.

[ On cue, a colorful rooster flutters to perch on the chaise. Tilting its head at Karl, it opines, ] Remember, mon ami, you can't court a woman like you’d go at a piece of steak. For many of the fairer sex, less is more. Teasing is pleasing. Light is rig--

[ Cut off by Karl thwacking the bird with his book, matter-of-fact and vicious. Expect the pile of chickens to grow significantly larger. ]

Harry is at a table with a few bunsen burners and some vials that make it look like a science project cooking but he's holding some ripped up pieces of paper above one of the beakers and staring a cock with fancy plumage that is looking back at him and speaking with a french accent. 

"Bonjour Monsieur Wizard, where is your lady, feminine, female, girl, le cluck?"

The wizard blinks once and looks slowly around as though trying to find someone throwing their voice. 

"Did you just speak in a Pepe Le Pew voice?"

"Intimacy is difficult at this range." 

"Scuse me?"

"You must call her Monsieur.  Pick up le telephone, speak sweet nothings, a touching gesture, no? You must break the ice, begin your courtship..."

The bird continues to talk and Dresden's face twitches a little.

And then he bursts into laughter.  Because come on.  It's talking like a cartoon character.  In the background the bird is flapping it's wings in excitement, it's descriptions of what Harry should do becoming more personal and the device clicks off.

[Voice Post;]
[You'd think it was accidental by the way it all starts up so suddenly. Truth be told, it isn't. Carry that device in one's pocket and one can start it up almost any time one likes. But let's pretend it is accidental. Listen: footsteps, clicky clocky bootheels walking on pavement. ... And a tiny, tinny, feminine voice... With a distinctly French accent. She's distant at first, but catching up fast...]

Oh, mon petit, mon petit, zhere is so much that I must tell you! Attendre un moment, s'il vous plaît. [Panting for breath] Zhere is so so much, mon petit. Oui, oui, beaucoup de choses, je suis certaine...

[Clicky clocky bootheels stop, grind grit as they turn. There is some agitated chicken clucking, feathers being ruffled back into place, &c. Cluckcluckcluck...]

Alors, oui, laissez-moi réfléchir. For zhe details of l'amour, oui, zhey, how you say, most complex, oui? Oui. Ah! I shall begin wiz zhe simplest. C'est bon. And you, mon petit, you must attend, oui? Oui. Zhere is... Zhere is... [une pause] Zhere is...

[Chilly silence for a moment.]

Oui?

[Quietly, with a little distance:]

Mais... Non.

Mais oui. Please, do go on. [une autre pause] Ma cocotte.

Je ne pense pas que je n'ai rien à vous dire.

[A furry of flapping chicken feathers, clucking, flapping, clucking, flapping--the fat little creature is trying to get off the ground only with some difficulty. Odd little display. Hurry. Bug out. Get-out-of-there-chicken sounds.

Une autre pause. Oui. And then, a little hurt:]

Well. That wasn't very nice.

[Silence for a moment, grit underfoot again. Then footsteps again.

Then...humming? Yes. Humming. And then...]

J'ai changé cent fois de nom, j'ai perdu femme et enfants, mais j'ai tant d'amis.

[And then quiet whistling for what must be a few verses (yes, it is a few verses, actually). And then, quietly...]

Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing, through the graves the wind is blowing, freedom soon will come...

Then we'll come from the shadows...

[Click.]
[//voice post ends]

[ooc: Someone had a chicken bothering him. And then he bothered the chicken. Pretty much. So! Special thanks to Leonard Cohen (I don't think he wants those thanks).]

[Voice Post]
((Click.))
((It takes a moment. There's a little shuffling, scuffling, scratching. How strange. It sounds a little like the Network entries made those weekends when Cain finds himself as a cat. How unexpected. Except...ruffling feathers?

Yes. Ruffling feathers.

And then, a delicate, feminine voice--and distinctly accented:))
Ah, oui. It would seem zhat Monsieur le Comte n'est pas ici en ce moment. C'est bon. In zhis way, I can provide 'im with l'information which, mais oui, 'e would zeem to need très mal.

((Tiny, polite throat-clearing sounds...)) Hem hem.

Monsieur le Comte, zhou you 'ave quite la réputation à Londres--mais, non, à London, oui--it is pe'aps not la réputation que l'on désire, oui? Oui. Monsieur le Comte, s'il vous plaît, I do not wish to offend, bien sûr, mais, I would like to offer you zome advice, oui.

((Tiny, cooing clucking sounds...))

Monsieur le Comte, zhere is une jeune fille, très jolie, with whom you are acquainted, non? Oui. Monsieur le Comte, you must pay zhe greater attention à cette jeune fille. Ah ah ah, non, Monsieur le Comte, you know already of cette jeune fille. For I know you are zhinking of 'er even now. Mais oui. I can see 'ow your eyes glow avec zhe light of l'amour.

((A chuckling clucking sound.))

Alors, you must pay zhe greater attention to 'er. Cette jeune fille aime les fleurs--oui, toutes les fleurs, mais en particulier...la rose. Oui, la rose. So, Monsieur le Comte, it is my advice to you zhat you begin by sending (oui, sending? oui) cette jeune fille plus de fleurs. Journellement, s'il vous plaît, Monsieur le Comte, journellement. Zhat means...every day. Et, in so doing, you must include une lettre. Non, non, non, I cannot compose cette lettre for you. Only you, Monsieur le Comte, can compose cette lettre so zhat cette jeune fille will truly, truly understand zhe depth of zhe affection which you feel for 'er.

((More clucking, a little bit of feather ruffling, some scratching...))

Monsieur le Comte, mais oui, I do understand, oui, je comprends, zhat it is très difficile pour vous to truly express zhe emotions which I know are dans votre cœur. Mais, if you could just try, pour moi, to show some of zhat emotion, oui, je suis sûr que cette jeune fille will understand and she will show zhe emotions dans son cœur.

Alors, avec such an understanding between you, zhere shall be greater understanding yet to come. Bien sûr! How could zhere not be?

And from zhere, Monsieur le Comte, zhen you shall begin zhe soft touch to her hand, zhe soft touch to her hair, zhe soft kiss to her lips dans le moonlight. Monsieur le Comte, zhese zhings you know well, mais oui. But you must do zhese things avec votre cœur.

For, at the last, Monsieur le Comte, zis time, it is not a game. Zis time, it is, mais oui, l'amour réal.

Alors--

((There is, suddenly, the sound of a door opening. And then there is an exasperated sound. Only one person knows how to sound that exasperated. It is a young and newly-turned twenty-one year-old earl (that would be Frenchie Henny's 'Monsieur le Comte') who has discovered this invasion of his Network device.))

How did you get in here? ((Pause; now with more irritation--)) Have you got on my Network device?

Moi? M'accusez-vous?

((Another exasperated sound.))

You sound like that suspicious medium I knew in London.

Mais, oui?

He called himself 'Crehador'. I wouldn't be surprised in the least if the two of you were acquainted. He would be acquainted with a talking chicken.

Monsieur Crehador does not care for zhe state of your heart, Monsieur le Comte, as I do. En fait, I have prepared for you zhe suggestions pour l'amour. Non, non, zhey are most excellent, oui. Monsieur le Comte, you would be très intelligent if you would listen to my advice. Oui, oui. As I said, you have la réputation, mais j'ai les conseils.

Of course, look what I'm saying. I'm talking to a chicken as though talking chickens were a commonplace thing in my world.

((Clearly, they are as good as ignoring one another. Ruffling feathers again.))

Now, come down from there at once.

Non! Not until you 'ave listened to my advice to you!

I can't very well do that if you're standing on my Network device you realise.

You...are très difficile.

Very well, then.

((The sound of what can only be described as a "scuffle" ensues. Yes, flapping wings, clucking, scratching, indeed, even some undignified squawking, all of it sounding as though it's tumbling about the room. Chaos, momentary chaos. It thunders about for a little while.

And then...

Silence... ... ...

Followed by a furious flapping of wings--but only flapping, hard, but uselessly.

And then, Cain speaks again, over these flapping wings.))

He-Who-Kills, I believe I've found dinner for tonight, if you've a taste for chicken. Perhaps coq au vin.

((More desperate flapping.))

Yes, I think that would be splendid.

((The flapping goes on, perhaps more desperately still. But to no avail, it would seem. Instead, with a click and a tap, the recording ends. And there is only silence as it all ends with a--))
((Click.))
[//voice post ends]

[ooc: I know I just posted him yesterday, but a little French hen giving Cain romantic advice? Too good to pass up. Also! No filters this time! Because, lol, chicken posts.]

[ When the feed kicks in, the Doctor is apparently holed up in some rather cramped and dark place. Judging by the way a broom falls in front of him just as he's about to speak, you could probably hazard a guess that he's in a cupboard. In the background there is a very muffled, very vulgar sounding accent that's saying some very particular things about the use of tongue. ]

This is not like it is in a Disney movie. [ Sounding put out. ] You'd think there'd be singing and maybe some cute little baby animals dancing around. Not -- not this.

[ Meester Doctor, we hav no time to lose. You must learn ze language of love at once.

Shouting to the door. ] Please go away, I'm not interested!

[The sound of a great many hens hemming and hawing away is the first sound. The chatter is so loud there is no way to distinguish the conversation at hand.

Until, above their clucking,]

Faire taire! Faire taire! Faire taire!

[And should you happen to be beneath her window at this unfortunate time, there will be hens tossed from the third floor out into the street. One by one by one. Careful not to be shat upon.]

[WARNING: This post can contain suggestive language. Of l'amour. Skip it if it bothers you.]

[The device is turned on by one of the birds pecking at it. Behind the bird, one can see Sophie, tending to a rosebush full of blue roses.

The bird chirps and starts talking,] There are other bushes to tend to, mademoiselle.

Mmhmm. [Sophie, clearly paying attention. The bird continues,] It can be an incentive to your lover, during the act of l'amour...

[Sophie plucks a few roses, watches them proudly and completely unaware she's being recorded, and repeats:] Mmmh- wait, pardon?

L'act de l'amouuuuuuur~ [Repeats the bird, helpfully.] A modern man will want a modern woman to take to his bed, and if mademoiselle considered-

No, no - stop! [She looks flushed, flustered and angry. And brandishing the roses like weapons.] Stop giving me advice about that.

But mademoiselle, do you not want to do like the mod-

I said be quiet! I'll spell you quiet, I swear! [She notices the blinking green light behind the bird.] Did you do that? Is this rec- re- re- [Oh god, oh drats and blast, everyone can see.]

Leave! Leave, shoo, or I'll turn you into a duster.

[The bird's feathers ruffle up, and it takes flight with a:] Le wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch.

[Sophie stomps angrily over to the device, grumbling all the way,] You're right I am, and feeling pretty mean towards birds right now, the nerve, I swear--

[And the connection ends. :)]

[ooc; Now she'll go hide somewhere and dieeeeee.]