lancer | diarmuid ua duibhne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ua_duibhne) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2020-02-10 01:33 pm
ua_duibhne) wrote in middaeg2020-02-10 01:33 pm
Entry tags:
[closed] cut a stout, black thorn to banish ghosts and goblins
Who: Diarmuid and Caren, Diarmuid and Zelda
When: Mid-Feoveuer
Where: The Wildes
What: be vewy quiet we're going qwesting
Warnings: None
i. closed to Caren
[Though the chill in the air has lingered well into the middle of the month, the brightening skies signal to Diarmuid that it’s time to put on his sturdiest boots and get to the quest he’d accepted earlier in the month. It’s been a while since he had a good hunt to lose himself in, even if this is a little unconventional compared to his own experiences. For one thing, he’s left both his spear and Mac-an-Coill at home. Rather, he’s enlisted the help of a predator far less likely to chase down the poor birds like fowl- and far more likely to instead get the better of Diarmuid himself with her quick tongue.
It’s mid-afternoon when he meets Caren at the edges of the forest. The trees around them are still heavy with frost, their branches glistening silver in the sunlight, but the crisp air is refreshing in its own way.]
Miss Ortensia. [He bows his head briefly.] My thanks for letting me borrow your nose.
[There’s also the strange matter of his hair. Diarmuid has yet to notice it himself but Caren might pick up on a few pale strands among the black, initially easy to dismiss as grey hairs until they catch the light. They’re quite undeniably pink. Maybe that witch back at the Coven took his gentle refusal of a date personally. Or, just as likely, he somehow managed to screw up the spell he learned in class the day before.
Either way: yikes.]
ii. closed to Zelda
[By this point, Diarmuid’s hair has come into its full blush pink glory and, while he’s trying to hide it beneath a wide-brimmed cap, there’s no missing the tufts of pastel poking out from the bottom. Particularly as he tips it back to greet Zelda.]
Hunting alone is a tragic thing.
[Each word creates a small cloud of white and the tip of his nose is slightly red but he seems in good spirits. In truth, he enjoys this weather; it reminds him of winters in Erin. The smell of fires, the company and drinks and stories exchanged as the flames crackled and danced through the night.]
I’m grateful for your help, though. They’re not the easiest birds to handle from what I can tell but maybe you’ll have the knack for it.
[Dressed in a thick cloak with a fur ruff, he’s more than ready to tackle both the elements and the tricky task of collecting feathers from the most antsy birds he’s ever had the displeasure of tracking. It’s with a mixture of trepidation and excitement, then, that he glances back through the thicket Caren had helped him to discover the day before.]
When: Mid-Feoveuer
Where: The Wildes
What: be vewy quiet we're going qwesting
Warnings: None
i. closed to Caren
[Though the chill in the air has lingered well into the middle of the month, the brightening skies signal to Diarmuid that it’s time to put on his sturdiest boots and get to the quest he’d accepted earlier in the month. It’s been a while since he had a good hunt to lose himself in, even if this is a little unconventional compared to his own experiences. For one thing, he’s left both his spear and Mac-an-Coill at home. Rather, he’s enlisted the help of a predator far less likely to chase down the poor birds like fowl- and far more likely to instead get the better of Diarmuid himself with her quick tongue.
It’s mid-afternoon when he meets Caren at the edges of the forest. The trees around them are still heavy with frost, their branches glistening silver in the sunlight, but the crisp air is refreshing in its own way.]
Miss Ortensia. [He bows his head briefly.] My thanks for letting me borrow your nose.
[There’s also the strange matter of his hair. Diarmuid has yet to notice it himself but Caren might pick up on a few pale strands among the black, initially easy to dismiss as grey hairs until they catch the light. They’re quite undeniably pink. Maybe that witch back at the Coven took his gentle refusal of a date personally. Or, just as likely, he somehow managed to screw up the spell he learned in class the day before.
Either way: yikes.]
ii. closed to Zelda
[By this point, Diarmuid’s hair has come into its full blush pink glory and, while he’s trying to hide it beneath a wide-brimmed cap, there’s no missing the tufts of pastel poking out from the bottom. Particularly as he tips it back to greet Zelda.]
Hunting alone is a tragic thing.
[Each word creates a small cloud of white and the tip of his nose is slightly red but he seems in good spirits. In truth, he enjoys this weather; it reminds him of winters in Erin. The smell of fires, the company and drinks and stories exchanged as the flames crackled and danced through the night.]
I’m grateful for your help, though. They’re not the easiest birds to handle from what I can tell but maybe you’ll have the knack for it.
[Dressed in a thick cloak with a fur ruff, he’s more than ready to tackle both the elements and the tricky task of collecting feathers from the most antsy birds he’s ever had the displeasure of tracking. It’s with a mixture of trepidation and excitement, then, that he glances back through the thicket Caren had helped him to discover the day before.]
I
[She was pleasantly surprised at the request Diarmuid had made of her earlier this month. And pleased too- it was something that she could do without being reminded of what she couldn't do.
She was still dressed warmly, with loose socks over her legs, wings, and tail. She had been about to say something more, but her gaze snagged on his hair.
Ah.]
Though...it seems you've updated your looks since we've last met. Experimenting?
[Trust Caren to find the possibly embarrassing thing.]
no subject
[It must be nice to have a built-in barrier against the cold; her winter coat is really quite impressive. Regardless, with formalities out of the way, he begins to look through his satchel for the notes he'd received from the jeweller who hired him. From what he's gathered, they're a very unusual quarry and the more both of them know the easier it will be to-]
Hm? [Diarmuid casts her a curious look, temporarily distracted. Experimenting?] I... well, I've cut it since then if that's what you mean.
no subject
[Her winter coat, bought at her home store, was plush and dense. It kept her warm with her feathers and fur still growing back in.
But she shook her head, and motioned to his hair.]
While you would look lovely with long or short hair, I didn't mean the length. You mean, you haven't....?
[One sec bro, she's got you. She'll just use her Watch and take a quick pic so she can send it to him.
Ping.]
no subject
... what.]
What on earth...?! [Immediately, he leans forward, staring at the picture on Caren's device with a look that can only be described as stunned. Sure enough, there are flecks of a very unusual colour scattered throughout the black.] I didn't- that's-
[He claps a hand to his face, covering his eyes as his cheeks begin to same the same colour as the offending strands.]
I look ridiculous! Why did no one tell me sooner?!
no subject
At the first chance she gets, she's going to set his face as her wallpaper.]
I think they were merely being polite and letting you enjoy your fashion, as it were.
...do you think your eyebrows will also turn pink?
no subject
Diarmuid groans.]
Please don't jinx me, Miss Ortensia. [Rubbing a hand over his face, he tries to collect himself.] Regardless. You remember why we're here, don't you?
[and it isn't to tease him]
no subject
You know I can't Lancer.
[But she is. Completely jinxing him as she smiles up at him, and offers a gloved hand.]
I know exactly what we're here for. Do you have something I can sniff, or am I going in blind?
ii
So Diarmuid's chipperness is a welcome change of pace, as is getting out of the city proper for a bit. Though she cannot stop herself from staring a bit at the flash of pastel pink she gets from under his cap, she politely bites her tongue on commenting upon it. Unlike some people, Zelda actually possesses a modicum of tact.]
Perhaps. I am no ranch hand by any means, but I did have a pet cucco as a child, and they can be quite the temperamental beast themselves. ... I have a feeling it may come down to a matter of luck, however.
[So this will clearly go well for them. Zelda has traded her usual dress for a pair of sensible trousers on this occasion, and has borrowed a thicker cloak from Scathach that doesn't quite match her typical style, but keeping warm is more important at this time. She follows Diarmuid's gaze towards the thicket.]
If you have a path in mind, then please, lead the way.
no subject
or ostrich. Regardless, the only experience he has is with hawks and even then he was never a particularly skilled falconer. He usually favoured hunting dogs. Neither, though, would be appropriate for their mission today.]Then we've as much chance of making fools out of ourselves as each other.
[With that, he turns his attention to the task at hand. With light, careful steps, he approaches the arch of trees, easing their branches aside to get a better look at the clearing beyond. Though the grass is frosted with ice, he's light enough on his feet to make only a small amount of sound, even as he heads into the thicker undergrowth. After a quick glance in Zelda's direction, he pushes through completely and disappears into the greenery.
As expected, the thicket is empty, but that doesn't mean there won't be plenty for them to investigate.
A hand reappears through the branches, beckoning Zelda to follow.]
no subject
Her steps are similarly light as she follows after, and as he beckons her into the thicket after a moment's wait, a bit of abjuration magic woven around her gently pushes the branches aside to allow her passage without her cloak or hair getting caught up in the leafless trees.
She... doesn't see anything that immediately screams CRYSTALLINE CHICKENS LIVE HERE, admittedly, but she kneels to get a better look underneath the bowing branches surrounding the thicket. Her voice doesn't stray much louder than a whisper when she asks:]
Do you imagine they are burrowed amidst the underbrush somewhere around here?