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Thread: Ice To Meetcha (All Over Again)

  1. #1
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,606, Level: 8
    Level completed: 29%, EXP required for next Level: 6,394
    Level completed: 29%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,394


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,285
    AP
    0
    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

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    Ice To Meetcha (All Over Again)

    Closed to Eteri n Nevin!
    Clutching a tattered note in hand, one scrawled in (borrowed) green crayon on paper (a tannish sort he couldn’t quite recall the origin of), Fenn set off down Stonevale’s early morning streets. A politely quiet direwolf, dark-furred specter of death, padded behind him.

    After being saved from the consequences of his own sticky-handed folly by a music-man known as Henry — maybe he needed to try and reign his greed in a little more? — Fenn had spent his previous few days shyly intruding upon Stonevale’s orphanage. It was a new location to him. New locations always meant new shinies to look at, or new places to map out in his head, or perhaps new people to meet. That latter sometimes lead to new friends. In this case, a lot of new friends. A lot of friends about his size. Like Theo! Small children tended to find funny-looking outsiders fascinating. Particularly if that outsider had a bag of shit from all over the world (not all of it junk), the ability to summon a snowday on command, and a big doggie.

    Truth be told, he hadn’t minded getting a little positive attention for once.

    But his distracted dawdling had gone on for long enough. He had an alchemist he needed to meet. Re-meet? Get to know again. That.

    Now, the little fae wandered out with the hood of his brown cloak up, in case the rain that gather of late decided to come back. He’d considered putting up a Glamour too, to make him seem nothing more than an ordinary human child. But Stonevale, he’d decided, was too comfortable with oddities such as himself to have to bother with that today. Plus, Daugi was odd enough on her own anyway. His wings, his antennae... they wouldn't be that much worse than the sharp-toothed wolf. He noticed that she padded about with a sense of familiarity. Her eyes wandered about passively, her ears and tail lay relaxed, and there was nary a curious snuffle of her nose. Obviously, he and her must have been through here often. Past him, that was.

    Fenn still wasn't entirely sure how he related to his old self, the one with fewer insectoid appendages and secrets hidden in memories that he'd torn away from his mind without a known reason.

    It was uncanny, not knowing oneself.

    Banrion had, on his requested, pressed the appearance of the potion shop into his mind. A dark wooden door was burned into the space behind his eyes. After ducking through a gaggle of miners on the way their way to work and hurrying past the Slaughtered Lamb — it was going to be a few months before he’d set foot in that establishment again — his gaze snapped to a door identical to the one house in his brain. Delicate chimes and a well-kept sign above it greeted the small puck. “Herbal Magicks”, it said. The puck’s wings hummed as he gave it a cheerful grin. There was a more intriguing sight for his eyes than the door, however. One but a foot away. One very shiny sight.

    Fenn sidled to a stop by the vast window to the entrance’s right and peered inside. It was dark, compared to the sunlight inside; dark and lined with a fascinating variety of vivid liquids in various jars and vials. Tinctures. Potions. Medicines. Even candies! The little paper-wrapped sweets made Fenn drool a little. It was all so tempting! How did his past self have the self-control to not loot the place? A mystery for the ages.

    Tearing himself away from the display, the little puck sidled over to the door and turned the knob, letting loose a jangle of windchimes to announce his entrance. He gave a little wave behind before vanishing into the shop.

    “Auf,” his wolf farewell’d, before settling into a cozy flop on the alchemist’s doorstep.
    Last edited by FennWenn; 07-20-2018 at 07:59 PM.

  2. #2
    Senior Member

    EXP: 61,139, Level: 10
    Level completed: 65%, EXP required for next Level: 3,861
    Level completed: 65%,
    EXP required for next Level: 3,861


    Nevin's Avatar

    GP
    3,657
    AP
    0
    Name
    Nevin Aimaparapoiitis
    Age
    22 / 37
    Race
    Human (Godling)
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    "And I've told you before, just because you think you're an important figure doesn't mean I am going to give you a discount!" One of Nevin's eyebrows was twitching rapidly, the red hairs dancing up and down. His fingers were drumming an angry rhythm on the wooden counter top as he gave a steady, heated glare to the person standing at the register. When the chimes rang as someone entered the shop, Nevin's idle hand rose and waved a swift greeting over the person's shoulder.

    The man standing in front of the counter was dressed in rather opulent attire, with golden and silver baubles dangling about his clothing on thin, fine little chains attached with little hooks. Gems glittered in the light of the shop, casting multi-colored glows about the room. The wealthy man was also rather large - across, at least, not height. In fact, he was wider than he was tall, and looked almost like a squashed pumpkin on his gaudy orange clothes.

    "I will have you know that I come from a long line of illustrious nobles! I could easily run this pedantic little shop into the ground if I so chose!" Nevin twisted his tight, polite smile into something that looked definitively darker, and showed a few too many teeth.

    "Oh, now it's threats, is it? Because you don't want to just stroll out with whatever you want?" The alchemist's fingers drove into the wood as his smile widened. "Get out. Now. Or I will throw you out bodily. You will likely leave minus blood and other body parts - you'd be surprised how many alchemical concoctions I could come up with from the human anatomy. And you are sure to be full of rich, fatty tissues." The 'noble' paled beneath his chalky makeup - and turned to start waddling out of the shop as fast as he could. He bumped into the little figure casually making its way down the aisle, and did his best to give a superior sneer to the tiny winged fae. Once he processed the wings though, he ran faster. Well, waddled faster.

    "And good riddance. Now then, what can I do for-" The alchemist had turned his attention to Fenn, finally, and froze, his eyes wide. The lack of motion had nothing to do with the cold. No, it was bewilderment on his face. "Fenn? What in the name of the Great Crimson Flow happened to you?"
    - "We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood; Fear the old blood."

    Nevin: Formal, thoughtful, nurturing, bearer of tropey tentacles.

    "More threads! More! Threads for the Crimson Thread King!"
    A member of the NevCrew:
    Nevin: Thread count: please, don't try.
    Erik: Thread count: five or six. Maybe seven...
    Huntsman: seven. Maybe eight. Shhhhhhh.
    Telli' thread count: zero. I just can't get into writing the little hellion.
    Ronnel: Not even approved yet.

  3. #3
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,606, Level: 8
    Level completed: 29%, EXP required for next Level: 6,394
    Level completed: 29%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,394


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,285
    AP
    0
    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    As the vivid, rotund merchant blubbered past in his anxious fit, Fenn squeezed out of the way, pressed uncomfortably close against the nearest shelf of potions. Tchink-yoink! He exhaled relief as the merchant exited— wait. There was a weight in his hands. One of silvery chains and glittery baubles. Fenn frowned down at the jeweling, then shrugged. Oh. He’d done it again. The stealing-without-even-thinking-about-it thing. Well, waste not what you’ve already taken.

    As he strung the lengths of baubles around his neck with all the eagerness of a small child playing at royalty, he found himself directly addressed.

    What happened to you?

    Hesitance struck Fenn between the eyes as the question did. His gaze darted over to the alchemist.

    The man loomed tall behind the counter, garbed in maybe a few too many laters of clothing for the season, dark eyes surprise-struck from behind his curiously blood-red hair. Fenn stared back in a moment of muteness, mulling over how to approach. This stranger had just been making threats. Though, all of them had been aimed at the most obnoxious merchant, which meant that this alchemist didn’t seem entirely unfriendly. As of yet.

    And of course, the warmth in the way he spoke Fenn’s name — already knew his name — spoke of shared rapport.

    It certainly smelled interesting in here. Fenn’s antennae fanned out, taking in a waft of dried herbs, earth, cat hair — as distinct from muskier direwolf shed — and… the subtle iron strain of mortal blood. The few things Banrion had told him about the alchemist man made it a nonsurprising scent to behold. Not a particularly comforting one, though; where did the blood come from? Who knew. Past-him had better not have befriended a secret murderer on top of all the other shit he’d pulled. Then again, a befriended killer probably wouldn’t kill their friends, right? That made that possible outcome better than Fenn’s slow discovery that he was banned from thirty-seven of the forty bars he’d poked his nose into recently — not counting the Slaughtered Lamb.

    Fenn tried to tamp down on his magics, but they had surged with his unease. In a flitter of embarrassment, he was up at the counter, bringing with him the haze of cold air and patches of thin ice where his feet brushed the floor.

    The paper in his hands slid across the counter, leaving behind its own trail of ice.

    You are Nevin? Hey there!

    Sorry note is rough. Did it on short notice; not a long-term planner? Trying to get to know myself again.

    Banrion told me you were someone I should get reacquainted with. Something about helping her obtain a poison, and also, saving my life once? From my own stupidity or something. So I guess I owe you debt. Dunno how to pay. Anyway, she thinks you could be useful maybe. So we should be friends again? Kind of don’t have any friends because I don’t remember any of—

    Oh! Haven’t told you. Went through a metamorphosis, lost memory. Bug now. Don’t remember most things from before it.

    But Banri remembered, so here I am.

    Some things she told me; you have booze. You have blood powers? You definitely do potiony things. And, am advised to make a pact to not steal from you again because apparently your shiny shop is tempting and she doesn’t want me to offend you more than I have previously. Also, something about an Ezra assistant who was also my friend? And probably other things, but my memory is still kind of shoddy. That’s all.

    ...also, am hungry. Always hungry. It’s guaranteed, am think. Do you have food?

    — Fenn


    The fae waited patiently while it was read; he knew it was a lot to take in all at once. A faint pride at the lettering puffed up inside his chest. For whatever unremembered reason, his old self had ingrained some deeply stubborn preference for writing entirely in uppercase, and it was a difficult thing to untangle his hands of.
    Last edited by FennWenn; 09-27-2018 at 02:01 PM.

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