Myrobalan Shivana (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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middaeg2020-10-31 01:33 pm
faithlikeaseed) wrote in middaeg2020-10-31 01:33 pm
Entry tags:
Out of the mid-wood's twilight into the meadow's dawn | OTA
Who: fauns fauns FAUNS (and their enablers) (and anyone else)
When: Octeuril 31st
Where: The Haven
What: Somebody set up a trap specifically designed for Fauns. Or tried, anyway.
Warnings: F for Faunery; warnings per thread as needed!
It's a lovely day in Aefenglom and you are ahorrible beautiful Faun.
Somewhere between the evening of the 30th and the midnight advent of the 31st, a disused corner of the Haven has turned into a patch of cultivated wilderness. Somewhere a little after midnight on the 31st, and the beginning of the full moons, several Fauns (and one or two others, Monsters and Witches alike) received an enthusiastic if slightly garbled written invitation to come see what awaits.
Gourd vines of all descriptions drape an abandoned cottage, its floating terraces, and half of a nearby house. Flowers in a riot of colors decorate them, some glowing softly and others exuding a fragrant perfume. The fruits hanging pendant or nestled on the ground defy description and beg to be tasted: There are tiny pumpkins no larger than grapes, thin-skinned and sweet, while massive savory marrows lurk in the underbrush to trip the unwary. A rare fist-sized specimen glimmers with enchantment and grants a rush of energy when eaten--along with fleeting, unpredictable changes (horns, fur, hooves) that make one a little more faunish for an hour or two.
Cheap furniture, clotheslines, and hanging sheets have been used to roughly shape the vines into an impromptu maze. The design's irregular, wandering, like whoever planned the corridors couldn't see what he was doing. It wanders in and out of the cottage, pouching into dead-ends and cozy little clearings that might fit two comfortably and three if they're familiar. Some of them have benches in them; others, piles of pillows; and still others are carpeted in thick and flowering moss. Heavy quilts in a riot of colors and patterns can be found neatly folded in the buildings, waiting for chilled revelers to find them. There are also covered braziers for the truly cold, though they seem powered by magic and not by flame.
Food and drink are lavishly if haphazardly provided, spread out through the bowers like a treasure hunt. Casks of mead with cups attendant, bowls of honey candy and glazed nuts, fruit both fresh and dried, and a variety of different sorts of cheese provide an ample repast (so long as one's not hungry for blood or meat). Entertainment's on the guests to provide, with simple musical instruments (mostly pipes, an occasional lap-harp) gracing many of the grottos; others have toys and games, of varieties both innocent...and not...strewn about them.
There are also oddities here and there in the maze, like the bower where someone took painstaking care to tie a half-hundred feathers to the low vine ceiling. Another nook teams with stingless bees of all varieties during the day. What else might await someone who's looking?
When: Octeuril 31st
Where: The Haven
What: Somebody set up a trap specifically designed for Fauns. Or tried, anyway.
Warnings: F for Faunery; warnings per thread as needed!
It's a lovely day in Aefenglom and you are a
Somewhere between the evening of the 30th and the midnight advent of the 31st, a disused corner of the Haven has turned into a patch of cultivated wilderness. Somewhere a little after midnight on the 31st, and the beginning of the full moons, several Fauns (and one or two others, Monsters and Witches alike) received an enthusiastic if slightly garbled written invitation to come see what awaits.
Gourd vines of all descriptions drape an abandoned cottage, its floating terraces, and half of a nearby house. Flowers in a riot of colors decorate them, some glowing softly and others exuding a fragrant perfume. The fruits hanging pendant or nestled on the ground defy description and beg to be tasted: There are tiny pumpkins no larger than grapes, thin-skinned and sweet, while massive savory marrows lurk in the underbrush to trip the unwary. A rare fist-sized specimen glimmers with enchantment and grants a rush of energy when eaten--along with fleeting, unpredictable changes (horns, fur, hooves) that make one a little more faunish for an hour or two.
Cheap furniture, clotheslines, and hanging sheets have been used to roughly shape the vines into an impromptu maze. The design's irregular, wandering, like whoever planned the corridors couldn't see what he was doing. It wanders in and out of the cottage, pouching into dead-ends and cozy little clearings that might fit two comfortably and three if they're familiar. Some of them have benches in them; others, piles of pillows; and still others are carpeted in thick and flowering moss. Heavy quilts in a riot of colors and patterns can be found neatly folded in the buildings, waiting for chilled revelers to find them. There are also covered braziers for the truly cold, though they seem powered by magic and not by flame.
Food and drink are lavishly if haphazardly provided, spread out through the bowers like a treasure hunt. Casks of mead with cups attendant, bowls of honey candy and glazed nuts, fruit both fresh and dried, and a variety of different sorts of cheese provide an ample repast (so long as one's not hungry for blood or meat). Entertainment's on the guests to provide, with simple musical instruments (mostly pipes, an occasional lap-harp) gracing many of the grottos; others have toys and games, of varieties both innocent...and not...strewn about them.
There are also oddities here and there in the maze, like the bower where someone took painstaking care to tie a half-hundred feathers to the low vine ceiling. Another nook teams with stingless bees of all varieties during the day. What else might await someone who's looking?
Myr Shivana | Faun Menace At Large | OTA!
"Have you got a moment?"
It's the advent of the full moons and Myr is already looking shaggy and excited when he pops up at your elbow. Maybe it's in DiplomaTea, or maybe he overheard you out in the street somewhere, but there's look of wild determination on his face.
"I need a pair of eyes for something." And Crookytail--the mostly grown wormipede that's always at his side--just can't help with this one. ...Why is she wearing panniers stuffed full of food, anyway?
ii. forest ghost (Octeuril 31st)
Myr has made a terrible mistake.
Not the party; the party's wonderful, and it's a delight to him to hear people finding their way into the bower he'd created for them. He's never thrown a party before and the whole thing had been a mad lark from beginning to end, but it seems to be working and that's all he can ask for. He is not, he knows, being a very good host for it, because--
Because he hadn't imagined he'd end up six feet high at the shoulder in deer-shape when he tried it on in the waking world. Or that it would feel so natural he wouldn't want to shift back. Which is awfully inconvenient because now everything he'd built or borrowed or grown seems horribly fragile and he doesn't want to get too close to it and accidentally wreck what he can't see.
What a conundrum. It's enough that for the first hour of the party you might find him demurely folded up in a clearing on its outskirts, stark as a giant pile of snow among all the vines, his antlered head lifted as he listens to the goings on. Once he's more confident he's not going to blindly squash anything (or anyone) he creeps in on tip-hoof to participate. He's an eager audience to anyone playing music, lurking nearby and scarcely breathing with his ears trained on the musician 'til the song's done. "That's lovely. Is it one from your home?"
Later in the evening, as instinct takes over, things begin to get more interesting. Monsters who smell like predators--or worse, romantic rivals--might find themselves with nearly a ton of white deer in their way, scuffing at the ground with a hoof and shaking vine-festooned antlers. It might be a little alarming if it weren't for the almost puppyish eagerness in his voice: "Want to spar?"
Romantic prospects, on the other hand... Take a more delicate approach, though anything a deer that big tries to do can hardly be termed "delicate". Bless his heart, though, he does try once or twice to sidle up to someone interesting-sounding, making an appealing rumble low in his throat. "Enjoying yourself so far?"
...Though after those attempts it, well, seems a lot more practical to take his much-smaller two-legged form instead. Then he can stake out an alcove of his own, well-supplied with mead and snacks (who is the genius that distributed them everywhere?). "Come help me with this mead!" he calls to any passing footsteps, lifting a cup in good cheer. "I've gone and found too much to finish by myself." Shameless Faun.
iii. year's end (Noveuer 1st and 2nd)
One advantage of having spent the majority of his own party in deer-shape was Myr escaped the night without a hangover. Which meant, come the dawn--well, afternoon--of the next day, he woke with all his faculties and a keen appreciation for the enormous mess he'd made. Groaning to himself, he'd made a trip to his own cottage for a basket--make that several baskets--and a set of garden shears before beginning the laborious task of cleaning up.
Given it's largely his fault, it's not something he's precisely comfortable asking anyone else to help with--though he won't turn down any assistance that offers itself. There's trash to pick up, encroaching vines to trim back, furniture to return, gourds to harvest, and plenty of leftover food and mead to finish off to put the whole place back to rights. Given Myr's erratic sleep schedule, he'll be at it long into the night.
iv. wildcard!
((OOC: Choose your own adventure! Lmk what shape of a Myr you'd like.))
For L
And waiting.
And waiting.
It wouldn't have been exact to say the party was entirely for L's sake, because Myr didn't think his Bonded would appreciate being called out as a guest of honor, but...it had been a motivation. There was tension between them that they hadn't yet confronted directly; this particular indirect method seemed an ideal peace offering to Myr's moon-addled sensibilities.
But L didn't come, and as evening wears on toward night, Myr takes it in mind to go hunting for his Bonded.
He knows the detective's somewhere else in the Haven from the trail of their Bond. It isn't far to walk--even shorter for the monstrously long legs he has in deer-shape. His hoofbeats announce his arrival well before he looms out of the wispy evening fog, a huge and ghostlike hulk.
Good thing he's not trying to be stealthy, as he slows to a halt just a few long strides from his wayward Witch.]
Linden.
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Some changes are slower. Some things never change. Some things regress like a cassette tape being rewound, or reset like newer technology that only takes the press of a button to kick into motion as though for the first time. L's experienced a bit of it all, lately; in some ways, he needs to continue swimming up and catching glimmers of kindness and hope from one of his Bonded. In other ways, he never left that rooftop, never turned from that guardrail, and can pick up precisely where he left off now that Light Yagami has discovered and interrupted him.
He's still, as ever, not the sort to assume that even those who are fond of him truly want him around. He's skittish about believing it even when the invitation is pointed, personal, and blatant, and though Myr's moon-giddiness had gently pulled at him through the Bond, the promise of merriment sent to many in a hurry at an odd hour had seemed more like an accident. Myr's heart is soft and forgiving, to all sorts of riffraff and trainwrecks, and they'll be alright because they have been before. Some space to sort it out is all it'll take, and Myr will spend the evening doing the kind of drinking that leaves one happier, with the sorts of people that will only burden him with a song or a romp. What's heavy and somber will remain, when the cold morning brings Noveuer with it.
In the meantime, L's had an evening that was equal parts somber and gently festive. Light is an attentive pupil when it comes to his studies, but also when it comes to L himself, and he had thought through his strategy, considered his approach, earned a few real smiles from a pale face that's one year older, and still familiar.
The night's young enough while still being late, and there are times when L looks across the table at Light, or at a wrist he grew too accustomed to seeing in a cuff, and forgets for a moment that there are two minds in this Bond. They groove together naturally, work like some seamless machine, picking up where the other left off and complementing respective strengths and weaknesses. It turns out that's possible, when they're not trying to reveal and exploit the chinks in each other's armor; it turns out it's pleasant, as much as L revels in the game.
Still, his feet take him outside, seeking distance for the sole sake of finding perspective. What he likes is rarely what he believes he deserves, and in his Bond with Light, he seems to have found both. It's like the full moon overhead, untouched by any speck or crescent, but when he steps out in his shirtsleeves, it wanes just a bit. He has himself again, just a bit darker and emptier, useful, at least, for considering and recording the events and conversations of the last few hours, writing them in a slightly different voice and a lens that is, singularly, his own.
Pumpkins? It's a bit silly, isn't it?
But somehow
It's nice that you thought of this
No one ever has.
There's a shift again. The moon has all his attention, too bright, almost like--
...oh.
If he hadn't felt the Bond, felt his chosen name that's carved out a new life for him here before seeing Myr's changed, larger form, he might find it alarming when it followed the approaching sound of those hooves.]
...Myr.
[Not a question. Still a surprise, apparent in his voice.]
...Happy Samhain. You're... having a happy one?
[Wary, uncertain. He'd filled himself to the brim, to drowning with his other Bond tonight to edge out the heavy dark that has no place in a revelry. Had he found a way for it to spoil things for Myr, anyway?
He takes a stiff, careful step toward the white stag that's grown at least to a moose's size, reaching thin fingers toward his nose.]
You could still have a happy one.
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It is Samuin, it is his Witch's birthday, and it is half a month shy of a year since they Bonded each other.]
I am. You are, too.
[It has been a year that was not without its share of doubts, reversals, setbacks. It has been a year when Myr often wondered at his own selfish stubborness, and whether he's been as good for his Witch as he hoped. A year of fear, and anguish, and moments of transcendent fragile joy.
He knows where his Witch has been, most of the day, and with whom; he would need to have been far more lost in the pull of the moons than he is to not notice how that day has felt for L.
He is far enough lost in the pull of the moons, right now, that it doesn't hurt to know someone else can give his beloved that kind of quiet contentment as easily and seamlessly as breathing. It does evoke a certain kind of melancholy, though, to have all his effort rendered empty and unseen in this one little way.
It wasn't something he'd have wanted anyway, whispers a cold and doubting little thought that's wormed its way through the cottony contentment enfolding him. Even if you wanted it for him.]
I'm glad you have, [he fumbles on, tongue crossed and robbed of its usual eloquence by moons and the unaccustomed shape both.] That it's been a happy birthday for you.
[That it wasn't doomed to end as the last one had, in the harbor.] There was something I wanted to show you. I--made it with you in mind. Did you--
[How something so large can sound so small, and shy, might be a wonder for the ages.] --did you get my invitation?
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He takes a deep breath, centers himself in this Bond. The one that takes more effort, for all the warmth and kindness it affords. When he speaks, it's through the Bond, the same way they communicated nonverbally when his tongue was mangled beyond speech and he'd needed to adapt accordingly.]
It was nice.
[The past-tense usage is intentinonal, separating now from then. Light Yagami is always the only exception; the man is always both deadly to L, and everything that comes naturally and innately understood to the detective.
He still can't believe Light put so much effort into anything at all, for him. It would have been a simple enough opportunity to remind him how little he mattered, how stupid and trivial his sentiments were, but... Light had indulged them, gratified them, dignified both the deprived child and the jaded adult in L. It had been disarming, left him silent and unsettled, but still smiling, at the end of it. Tense around the eyes, heart pounding, but still... smiling, and it was real.
Had he warned Myr amply, in regards to one Light Yagami, or was it really too little too late, in the end?]
Oh, I...
[His hand cups against Myr's snout, stroking in several soft and cautious motions. Reassuring, perhaps?]
Birthdays don't matter so much, as you get older. I don't pay much attention to mine; he surprised me, but...
[He'd paid enough, last year, to end up in the harbor. Swallow. Continue.
His eyes widen at Myr's words, head canting, still cautious. Myr's surprised him, too, though maybe it shouldn't have been a surprise. Maybe he should have expected something, though it was easier to curl into a ball and resolutely assume silence and stillness.
A considered pause, before he nods.]
I got an invitation, but...
[Does it sound stupid, now? Under the moonlight, in the last hours of his birthday, a day that his Bonded both invited and came for him in person?]
You seemed so glad, I thought it could only be for others. I wanted to leave you to your gladness.
[He knows that their Bond has gems of perfect joy nestled in its history; he also knows that they're comparatively rare, that the difficulty might outweigh them.]
You... made something? With me in mind?
[He wants to see; of course he does.]
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But that is a worry for another time; the roiling in their Bond provokes no echoing anxiety in Myr's heart, though the slow swish of his tail stills and he shifts from hoof to hoof in a momentary fidget. The steadying touch on his nose soothes the brief dismay before it can grow strong enough to pull Myr out of his own instincts. Touching feels good; L smells familiar, and welcome, and whatever complex reasons his Witch had for avoiding him tonight are too slippery for Myr's reason to seize proper hold of. The rough outlines speak of shame, and that will simply not do.]
It was for you, too. You're always invited. [He takes a step forward, closing the distance between them. He wants (in a way that spills into their Bond) to be pressed close enough to feel L's heart beating against his own chest, though the logistics of that...with the great gulf in their sizes...are escaping him a little.] I love you more than I have words for. That's better than gladness.
[Were he more articulate he'd venture again to explain that he isn't here only for the happy moments; that the hard ones, and the dull ones, and the painful ones all have meaning and value too.
Let better than gladness suffice for his philosophy tonight.]
I did! [he continues, ears lifting.] While thinking of celebrating with you.
[So much of what he'd chosen for his bower had roots in L's tastes, though inviting the whole neighborhood over...was not perhaps the best idea for celebrating a notorious introvert. Which realization likely explains the abashed edge to Myr's tone as he continues,] Come with me to it?
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"Friendship" doesn't feel like the right word, any longer, if it ever was. They're Bonded, of course, but L struggles to remember the day apart from the tandem, melded chorus of their shared consciousness. It had edged him out, but still felt right and complete, so much that he feels a bit directionless without it.
His fingers tense slightly against the fur of Myr's face, continuing to stroke in small quick motions as though driven by some compulsion.]
Yes, I know... I know, that I am.
[It was stupid, in hindsight, for him to think that he wasn't for even a moment. Never mind that in that moment, there had seemed no truth more convincing. He is hard, and dull, and painful in so many ways. He lets Myr press closer, returning the proximity; he's bony, of course, but far more flexible. There are more ways for him to seek contact, chest against the large deer's flank, or as close as he can manage.
There's love in the gesture, returned, genuine. The Bond speaks it even if L's words are difficult and treacle-thick, in times like these.
He is surprised, for the second time, by an invitation from Myr to this event... but this time, it's because he expects that it might be too late. He keeps his shaggy, dark head nuzzled into Myr's fur, but his words are decided, certain.]
...yes. I'd really like nothing more, if you're really sure.
[I'm not festive; I'm not fun. I might have stepped into the harbor on purpose last year, and that's the only reason I'm content never knowing for sure.]
I want to see. I want to celebrate.
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(A dimly grasped thought troubles the back of his mind, an image like he'd conceive in the Fade: L returning to him from the depths of some primeval forest, shadow cast before him by the sun at his back. It isn't until that razor-edged silhouette becomes distinct from the massy dark around it that the detective's himself again.)]
Then let's! [he says, laughingly, turning his head brush his nose against his Bonded's hair.] Let's not stand here any longer!
[Though departing for his labyrinth means breaking this sweet contact, even if only a little while, because neither of them could really walk like this. And there's a little dismay to that, a little sorrow, enough that the faun lingers just a little longer despite his own words...
Until an idea occurs to him.]
Wait. Wait--here, [he says, sidling just enough away from L he can sink to the cobbles of the street, folding his long legs up beneath him. He's still almost too tall to mount like that, until he thinks to extend a leg as a step up.]
I'll carry you back. Be my eyes?
[He knows the way back, but obstacles could always change.]
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ii.
He turns around to spot the largest deer he's ever seen, snow white and, judging by the lack of other creatures around, the one who had spoken to him. It's comically obvious as Reynir searches around for anyone else who might have asked the question, and then fixes his eyes on the deer again. ]
Oh, um! Sort of. It's from my world, but not my home in that world, if that makes sense!
[ The tune is one that he's heard Onni play on the kantele before - he'd had all these silly ideas, about teaching himself to play it, offering to accompany him one of these days... but he still wants to get a little better at playing before he tries that. At least, that's the excuse he's been telling himself. ]
I can play you one that's from my country, if you... wanted?
[ He makes the offer shyly, but willingly. ]
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He lifts his ears appreciatively as Reynir answers him, though he doesn't turn his head toward the other faun; the blindfold tied incongruously around it says he couldn't look even if he wished to.]
That does. I know more songs than just the ones from my city, [he replies. After a moment's consideration he takes a few oddly delicate steps toward Reynir, feeling out the ground with a hoof to make sure he's not about to pull down any vines.]
If you'd be so kind; I'd be delighted to hear it. And more about your home, if you're telling. [He'll just settle himself down on the ground right here to listen, looking about as rapturous as a deer can at the prospect of hearing more music.]
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But he's going to treat it with the respect that he would if he were sure it was a powerful spirit. ]
Oh! Of course, I'd be happy to. You might regret asking that, actually, the full moon gets me, um - I mean, I talk a lot even on a normal day and I'll just ramble your ears off on a full moon if you're not careful.
[ The deer is settling itself down, which is actually a little bit of a relief. It seems gentle, but all the same, Reynir's not very used to being around creatures that are bigger than him - especially not since he'd grown a few inches from his change into a Faun. He adjusts his hold on the pipes, dithering a moment. ]
I, uh. Sorry, I've only been playing for um - for a few months, so I'm not - I'm not the best, but. Here goes.
[ He begins a song on the pipes; it's his best approximation of a folk tune that he'd heard many times growing up. Not completely accurate, but as close as he could get from memory and with a still somewhat limited knowledge of music.
When the song is done he lowers the pipes. ]
That's the only one I've taught myself so far...
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When he's in his right mind, tomorrow, he's going to have a whole heap of philosophical problems to think about.
But tonight's for not-thinking; tonight's for enjoying the company of old friends and making new ones. Thus Reynir's "warning" gets a rumbling laugh; having his ears talked off is, in fact, exactly what Myr's looking for along with his music--though he'll let the other Faun get to playing before saying so.
Had he eyes to close, he'd do so as Reynir plays, to better lose himself in the music. As it is he dips his head so his nose is nearly resting on the ground, every line of him relaxed by the song.
(If he were a spirit, Reynir would definitely be getting a boon for this one.)]
Thank you, [Myr says, when the song is through. ] I liked that one. [He goes so far as to hum a phrase of the song back at Reynir, looking pleased with himself as he does.]
You're doing very well for only a few months' practice. I want to hear more, when you've worked them out. Do any of them have words?
[A pause, and before he lets himself totally forget:] And don't worry at all about rambling at me; I like you already and want to hear whatever you'll tell me about your home.
i.
The deer is shaggy-looking and has a wild energy coming off of him, but he is using his worm as a pack-mule for foods, so it doesn't seem like this request is sinister. Probably no bone-monster murder or knee-capping of rivals. (Although it if was, Hector would still be here.)
"Of course. What do you need?"
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Indeed, fortunately, what Myr's got in mind for the night is not in the least little bit sinister. "I've got a bunch of trellises set up and I've no idea if they're laid out how I want them. Could use your opinion on it before I cover everything in vines," he explains, without...really giving all the context. Take that as a measure of his enthusiasm as he promptly wheels on a hoof and starts off for the Havens, calling back over his shoulder,
"And maybe some help with the vines! There's a lot of them."
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"Alright. I should be able to do that." He has magic now, and he enjoys using it to make weird plants happen. Maybe Myr won't mind if he uses some of his own blends of flora, just to keep things interesting.
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"Good! If I did this all myself I think I'd be too exhausted to enjoy it tomorrow." Splitting the work with another faun? Just perfect. "You should be able to see the trellises by now, I think."
They're rather haphazardly arranged in the space between the cottage and the adjoining house. There is, maybe, a suggestion he'd been trying to push them together in a way that would form a maze, but... It's a suggestion at most. "What do you think?"
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However he manages it, he's gone a bit pumpkin-crazy over it.
"Tomorrow? Oh, for the full moon." He accepts that these are sex pumpkins and moves on. Myr is definitely getting some bondage-weed in his trellises for that added floral spice.
"What is the... ummm... intent with these? If it's a path, it's not exactly straightforward."
a month and a half on, "he accepts that these are sex pumpkins" is killing me anew
Between the bees, the cats, Hector's strays, and Everett's rats, the Faun squad could settle themselves quite tidily as information brokers if they so chose.
"The full moon!" he enthuses. "And Linden's birthday." Is Myr doing this in part as an extremely elaborate birthday gift to one of his Bonded?
...Yes. Yes, he is.
He does look a little--not crestfallen, not even really dampened in his enthusiasm by Hector's question, just a little vexed at himself. "It's going to be a maze," he explains. "But I s'pose it's not any good at that yet. I've never built one before.
"You don't have any experience there, do you? From...I s'pose...crypts and things." Pause.
"...That's probably rude," he continues, "but I'm used to Nevarrans mostly and they build huge crypts for their necromancers."
Sex Pumpkins will be the name of their Faun Rock Band
"We can make a maze from this. It's a start." And honestly, not a bad one, for someone who is literally working blind.
He steps forward and begins doing some readjusting, encouraging some of the vines to grow the direction they need.
"But no, not many crypts for me, except for my lord's castle. If I needed a corpse for my work, I usually went for a potter's field, not some rich man's crypts. Nobles are so touchy about their dead, it's not worth the risk."
Hector's not offended, though. With Myr, he doesn't have to watch how he talks about his past. But also, he is assuming the people Myr mentioned built aforementioned crypts to keep the necromancers out.
ii
...Colours that the faun couldn't see.
Regardless. She turned her head at the voice. A chirp slipping at, antenna flicking... Maybe she really had too much to eat and gotten too tipsy. Because a deer was talking to her, she blinked back at it, a brilliant white deer. The meaning behind it's words completely escaped her as she reached out. A honey and wildberry scented hand patting at the deer's nose.]
Hello?
[Maybe she shouldn't go parties, then she wouldn't get drunk on air. Things seem to get even more weird everytime.]
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Hello, Mikasa! [he replies to her, cheery as anything.] Are you enjoying yourself?
[She certainly seems like she is and that makes him happy.]
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Though her petting stopped the moment he asked. The fae having to think about it.] Yes... Are you?
[Then a glance to where the main party was. Leaning towards the deer like she was telling him something secretive.] Do you want a carrot?
ii
I am having a grand time. Is... that you, Myr? Hardly recognized you!
iii.
"Did I miss a party, or did a bunch of flower fairies explode around here?" is his called greeting as he approaches the unfamiliar figure. There's a hint of humor in his voice, but also open curiosity. Honestly, he doesn't even know if flower fairies are a thing, but that seems to mean little in this place.
ii
With the wind at his back, he drops into a low crouch on the slanted roof. His hind feet shift back and forth and he chuckles at the invitation. He pounces down to the ground, but lands deliberately short, leaning into the shared urge to test their metal rather than his more potentially lethal predatory ones. After all, hadn't they just proved that direct level confrontation was better than stealth and ambush?]
More than you know.
[It's his final courteous announcement, a clear acceptance of a mutually satisfying offer. Then he springs up on his hind legs, launching himself well above even Myr's new height. The goat's urge to rear up hadn't exactly aligned well with the power of his feline legs. Still, he could use this. His tail flails, not a sting but a counterweight to tuck his legs in and use the force of his fall in a head to head collision.]