abraxaslogs | quest ( closed )

The fish open their mouths wide, and though no sound emerges, their terror is evident (it doesn't take much). Their tiny feet drum a quiet but rapid rhythm against the ground as they retreat to the safety of the darkness beneath the porch. A second later, a straggler rounds the corner of the inn and joins the huddle.

(Are they multiplying out in the long grass? Maybe.)

Michael observes with an impassive expression. They're ultimately Nanaue's creations, and they could really stand to grow a backbone anyway. With enough experience, they might learn a fraction of their creator's self-assurance.

"Should I take that to mean you're finished?"

Artistic pursuits seem to be one of few activities that can hold the manshark's attention, but there is always a limit. Michael pushes a pot of white paint closer to Nanaue so he can apply any finishing touches he deems necessary to the mask.

Despite the paint and bits of clay spattered across the top of the table, Michael is miraculously untouched by the mess. He's doubtful of the resilience of these clay masks but for once that's to their advantage. For the sake of having something to do, he's also bent to the task of mask-making: a single, passable imitation of an open-mouthed shark lies on the table in front of him.

Nanaue laughs very, very loudly at the terrified feety fish. Dumb fish! So easily scared. He doesn't chase them, though, and it's been a while since he's used one for a snack... he has pocket jerky that spawns out of his kilt pouch three times a day now, along with whatever else he's got shoved in there.

"MORE PAINT!" he declares, grabbing a brush and dipping it into the white pot offered by Michael. He removes his ghost mask with the other hand and gets back to work, although Michael's creation quickly catches him attention - along with Baby's. The little bipedal seal child hauls itself onto the table to stare down at Michael's work. It holds its fins out to him.

"LET BABY WEAR?" he interprets for his child, staring curiously at Michael.

Baby wants to be a shark, apparently.

Michael approves of the change in diet. Jerky is both easier to catch and less of a mess than a live walking fish madly thrashing its feet to free itself.

He's not expecting Baby to take interest in what they're working on, but Nanaue provides a helpful translation. Michael looks between the shark and his child.

"If it pleases him."

His work is enough to catch someone's eye. Michael's ego doesn't need the stroking, but an archangel doesn't turn down a compliment. He chooses to believe Baby has more discerning tastes than his guardian.

Since he's only made the one mask, Michael's piece has had enough time to dry that it's sturdy enough to wear—at least for a little while. He ties on the strings meant to hold it in place and sets it in Baby's fins. It's big enough that as he helps the seal put it on his face, Baby's eyes and mouth show between the teeth, looking as though he's been swallowed by a shark. That wasn't the intended effect but Michael doesn't say so. He gives an approving nod.

"Whenever you're finished with that one, we'll show the locals your work and see if any are interested in a trade."

Baby stares at them both through the opening of the mouth, while Nanaue chortles.

"BABY SCARY!"

He continues to laugh as he picks Baby up, setting it in the grass where it begins toddling around, perhaps seeking out more feety fish to terrorize, as its parent had just done. Nanaue turns back toward the table, pointing at the last mask he had donned and removed.

"THAT DONE!"

They can go find some villagers now for mask trading! Nanaue is excited to take their masks...

There are no more feety fish to frighten in the immediate area, but Baby does find a few grasshoppers to chase across the lawn. They aren't exclusive to any particular part of the commune though so it's likely not enough to hold his attention once his guardian and Michael step away from the table and set off down the road.

It doesn't take them long to locate a mask-wearing local going about his business, carrying a leather pack up the trail and away from the docks. The man's expression is obscured by a goat mask woven from reeds, but he seems to be smiling behind it as if nothing is out of the ordinary—as if he's not even aware he's wearing a mask in the first place.

Michael stops the man with a hand on his shoulder.

"What a lovely mask," he says, with all the enthusiasm of the still grey sea in the distance. "We'd like to propose a trade. In exchange for what you're wearing, a mask made by the hand of a Summoned; one favoured by Xeimer."

He pauses and looks to Nanaue, motioning with one hand to indicate this is the part where he gives whatever endorsement he cares to of his own work.

Nanaue is momentarily distracted as Michael talks to the village friend, watching Baby chase and eat a butterfly. He chortles to himself, looking at Michael as he points to Baby, opening his mouth to say LOOK!

He stands there, pointing for a long moment - and then remembers!

"BOO!" Nanaue yells, putting his ghost mask in front of his face, leaning threateningly toward the villager.

The man takes a startled step back. It's probably the encroaching seven foot manshark that's the root cause of his fear rather than the mask. Either way, Michael's hand on his shoulder is suddenly firm, keeping him from moving too far away or turning to run. He on the other hand gives the display an approving look.

"Good job," he says to Nanaue, then directs his attention back to the man. "A terrifying object sure to confuse any unwelcome forces, as you can plainly see. How about that exchange?"

The man puts a hand to his mask, but he hesitates to take it off.

"Oh, I don't know. My family and I worked on these together, you see—"

"As did they."

Michael motions at Baby, drawing attention to the little seal who's now sporting a dusting of yellow butterfly scales on his upper lip. He figures Baby can be counted to to something cute, even if that's just standing there and looking up with his big wet eyes. Who among the locals would dare upset a child?

Nanaue grins wide beneath his mask, which he also turns on the villager.

Baby, helpfully, lifts both arms (flippers) out toward the man, again wanting uppies.

"TRADE MASK, HOLD BABY!"

Clearly, a trade even better than just the mask. He starts to take his own lumpy mask off, and holds it out to the poor, confused man.

"TRAAAAADE..." he repeats again, in case there is any confusion.

Between being boxed in by a loud sharkman and an angel with an unrelenting grip, and now being asked for uppies by the most oddly-shaped (but also cutest) child in Solvunn, the man appears frozen in place by confusion. Luckily Michael is there to keep things moving by loosening the strings that hold his mask in place.

"That sounds like more than a fair deal."

Not really. Michael remains suspicious of Baby's power to manipulate emotion—but when it's not being used against him, it's an advantage to leverage. Maybe they'll offer Baby first, next time. Immobilize their prospective trade partner with complacency and simply slip the mask from them.

Those are thoughts for later. Right now, Michael snatches the mask away and moves over, making room for Nanaue to fit his probably still slightly-wet ghost mask on the man's face.

How well they work together! Nanaue laughs to himself as he moves to tie the twine of the lumpy mask around the back of the villager's head - now absolutely frozen in fear. Having used slightly too much clay, the weight of it is fairly uneven. This must be the intention of the artist.

With that done, he makes good on his promise and scoops up Baby, shoving the little seal child into the man's arms - who is forced to take it out of fear of dropping the creature. Baby sits placidly in the cradle of his arms, and - oddly enough, that does seem to make the man calm down.

"He's so soft..." the man remarks, attempting to look down at the baby seal through the mask that does not fit his face at all.

Nanaue nods to him, then nods at Michael, before placing the much smaller mask on top of his head. Like a hat.

"GOOD TRADE!"

Whatever the intention of the artist, the mask is certainly serving its purpose. A lump of clay drips from the heavier side, the one already sliding low on the man's cheek. He has perhaps an hour of wear time left if he's very, very gentle with it. Perfect.

Michael spares a glance at Nanaue. Does it count as wearing the mask if he's treating it as another garment entirely? He decides not—and anyway, he's not devoted to following the Elders' commands to the letter. That's for the locals. They'll get the odd mask when Nanaue tires of it, which should be by the time they get back to the inn.

"Good trade," he concurs.

He watches the man, now petting Baby in silence, wondering at the softness of his fur. He does not seem inclined to put him down any time soon. There's a soft thwump, the sound of whacking someone with a feather pillow though no such pillow has materialized, and the man startles back to his surroundings.

"Ah, thank you both." He hands the seal back to Nanaue then puts his hands to the mask, an uncertain smile on his face. It's from the Summoned so surely it must be a good trade, right?

He turns and heads away in the direction he'd been headed before the two can level any new offers at him.

Michael turns to Nanaue again and motions at his new hat.

"The Elders will want to see that. Let's show them."

Nanaue takes Baby back, enjoying the warm feeling he gets from holding him each and every time.

"WINGS... HEHEHE..."

This is probably a secret, but it's okay. The man seems confused and probably doesn't understand what he means.

As they turn and Michael reminds him of their actual mission (one that seems to have slipped his mind entirely) he nods, dumbly, and offers it to his brother-friend, Baby remaining cradled in the crook of his other arm.

"BAD MASK?"

That was what it was about? The details are obviously... beyond him.

His wings aren't a secret Michael makes an effort to keep. They aren't something the average person can see, so it's simply easier not to mention them. Angel isn't a term that means much to the locals. It's the leviathan jaws he prefers to keep under wraps—thankfully, the man gave him no occasion to use them.

Michael's used to being responsible for keeping sight of the goal. Nanaue loses focus more easily than others but he's also less argumentative than most about being put back on track, so all is forgiven.

"Bad mask." He turns it over in his hands. Nothing about it strikes him as particularly cursed. "Or bad magic, or bad materials. That's for the elders to figure out."

quest ( closed )

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject