I Talk to Squirrels
Log Info
- Title: I Talk to Squirrels
- Emitter: Cryosanthia
- Characters: Jinks, Aryia, Merek, Mercy, MAC-B1G, Randolf
- Place: A06: Lower Alexandrian Gardens District
- Time: Saturday, October 16, 2021, 8:00 PM
- Summary: It's a rainy day in the lower gardens, many a folk going about a damp if leisurely day. For most. Merek is tending the gardens while Aryia is chatting up Jinks at a cafe across the street. There's some movement in the bushes, Mercy, MAC-B1G, and a drenched Randolf oblivious to it. Soon, sparks begin flying out of the golem after Aryia and Jinks spot a massive squirrel skittering along, only for them to pop out of MAC's face plate! Aryia snags the rascal and Jinks bags them. MAC suggests dealing with the were-squirrel by disintegrating them, but Mercy detects inJUSTICE and puts a stop to it. Jinks recognizes the weresquirrel used to be a gnome, and Randolf puts the ex-gnome to sleep with a spell. Collecting the bag of squirrel, they head off to try and fix the poor soul.
-=--=--=--=--=--<* A06: Lower Alexandrian Gardens District *>=--=--=--=--=--=-
The city is divided, unofficially, into Upper Alexandria and Lower Alexandria. The Upper resides further up on the slope of the mountain, and rests to the east of the great river. The Lower resides to the west of it, and if the Lower could be said to have a heart, this verdant park might be its center.
Amid all the bustle of the Lower City, its Gardens District provides a peaceful respite. The warmth of Althea holds sway here, and though Daeus receives the occasional nod, this is clearly Her domain. She shares it with Dana, in the verdant green of this area. Vines and trees, remain green no matter the season and numerous flowers bloom along the park's walkways. Faerie-light lanterns hang from branches and along hedgerows.
A number of shops may be found here, most notably the city hospital, for which the park was originally built. Though now open to the public, the gardens by and large, remain underneath the hospital's care. However, in the Althean tradition, much of the work is provided by volunteers.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= As the Squirrel Hunters -=-=-=-=-=-=-= Jinks 3'4" 39 Lb Gnome Male A gnomish fellow in fancy garb and jewelry. Aryia 4'8" 110 Lb Shadow Elf Female A heavily scarred mul with a resolved look about her. Merek 5'10" 215 Lb Human Male A black-haired, dusky male with golden eyes. Mercy 5'5" 150 Lb Human Female A platinum haired Aesir woman, in flamboyant black. MAC-B1G 6'6" 303 Lb War Golem Neuter Drab gray primarily metal humanoid with cyan-lit optical receptors. Randolf 4'10" 280 Lb Mountain Dwarf Male A burly, well-dressed Khazad in wizardly robes. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= As the Squirrel -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Cryosanthia 6'9" 291 Lb Sith-Makar Female A dashingly tall, elegant white-scaled lizard woman. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
Ceriday, but not a Cheery day. The full moon is up, the tide is high, the cold, cold rain falls from a grey-black sky. There is no moon, nor stars and a raw wind blows down the mountain.
Jinks braves the weather under the canvas tarp of a bistro across the street from Telmentar's wards, leaning back in a chair at a small table for two. The gnome mouths the words of a song and stares dreamily into the smooth, black night sky. A red-wax candle burns low in between two small plates of nibbled sweet dessert breads and small, paired glasses of half-drunk ap'tif. The other chair is vacant but pushed back from the table as if waiting for its former occupant.
The rain continues to pour down. The day has been grey all day long, the sun hidden behind the dark clouds that now erases the night sky. The trees droop, branches and leaves heavy with water. The gardens are barely visible through the drizzle, and where they are, flowers bob when they are struck by drops.
Merek makes his way along and into the gardens to do what he usually likes to do, which is to work on the plants within the garden, taking the time to see to each of them.
Randolf comes tromping along, his robe pulled up and over his head as his heavy boots splash rain water hither and yon. Despite his best efforts, his shaggy auburn mane and majestic beard are soaked, giving him the appearance of a sopping wet sheep dog. His kilt is a soggy mess, weighing heavily on his burly frame. "Och, piss an' blood an' flamin' -shit-, it -would- be rainin'!" he grumbles sourly. He turns a gloomy scowl up at the heavens, only to get a fresh wave of rain in his face. "Gyuk!" He coughs and splutters, resuming his plodding steps.
Aryia is in her treated heavy grey cloak, shades stashed away as lamplight eyes illuminate her winding path through the dark and rain. She's silent, per usual, but oddly relaxed with the darkness of night and its blanket thereafter.
She passes by the bistro, slowing slightly as she notes the familiar gnome. A grey hand raises in cordial greeting, them glancing to the empty chair. "Date night?" she queries with a few flicks of a hand.
She cranes her head back for a moment to see the troubled dwarf get doused, a little chuff of a chuckle lost to the rain. Reminds her of the ocean sprays on the sea. <Handspeech>
Night brings with it certain creatures, and scares others away. Raccoons come out, squirrels vanish. The birds go to sleep, the bats hunt bugs with ultrasonic squeaks.
Amongst the flower-beds there is movement, a shifting of the stalks, suggesting something relatively large is moving behind the rows.
"Hm?" Jinks tilts his head, closing his mouth and abandoning the song. "Oh," comes with a glance at the table. He uncrosses his leg and sits up, takes the glass closest to him and drains it. "No, an old friend in town." His smile is a queer one, goofy and unguarded. He clears his throat, wills himself to the present, and gestures towards the other plate. "She had to go. Hardly touched hers. Help yourself if you'd like. Honey, ground pistacchio, and flaked pastry. It's quite the mess but worth the crumbs."
The gnome's eyes linger on the other glass for a moment before he laughs quietly and shakes his head.
Randolf trundles under the bistro's awning, shaking himself off in a mighty spray. "Gah! Couldn't possibly be -snow-. Good, clean, -proper- weather. It's always got tae be this endless torrent pissin' down out the clouds!" He gives his sodden robe's lapels a tug, trying to compose himself, before he goes to settle himself at a table. Ariya is given a nod and a wave. "Ariya. All right?" He nods to Jinks as well. If he notices the rustling in the shrubbery, he pays it no mind. Right now, he's focused on trying to drip-dry.
The mute Mul'neissa tilts her head to the side slightly, trying to get some read on the silver-tongued gnome. Especially after his rapid departure from the TarRaCe. "That's good. I'm glad you got to see them," she motions slowly, relaxed. The proposition makes her ponder, then her cloak rises in a little shrug as she moves around the occupy the vacant chair. "Thank you. I hope you're well," she says with one hand while the other scoops up the pastry and nibbles on it. A soft sigh leaves her. Glowing gaze glances to the sodden finger waggler, her brows pinched in an amused manner. She gives a little wave, and a thumbs up before pointing at him and tilting her head to the side. Returning the question.
Though, a long ear does twitch, and said gaze goes off towards the rustle in the distance. Idly watching the man tending to the garden in the rain, as well as whatever was moving about in there. Might have been a cat. <Handspeech>
A glimpse is caught. It's just a squirrel, really close and large. It sounds further away, must be a trick of the rain.
A second glance reveals it is not in the planter on the edge of the bistro's fence. It only seemed like it must be. It actually is on the opposite side of the street.
It's near Merek, and using him as scale...
That's one hefty squirrel!
Meanwhile, the flowers await Merek's attention.
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+10: (5)+10: 15 (Squirrel stealth) GAME: Aryia rolls perception-4: (11)+21+-4: 28
Jinks' mouth twitches, one corner pulling back. A tick. He busies himself watching Randolf, raises a casual, bare hand in greeting, and finds a smirk before he turns back to Aryia. "Someone convinced me to dance in those baths. I slipped and made a fool of myself. It's not a pleasant memory." The words are considered and chosen carefully before offered, paired with a smile of self-deprecation. Followed by the next course, a hand brushing through the air dismissively. A riddle, perhaps, but not one worth solving.
GAME: Jinks rolls Perception-4: (19)+7+-4: 22
Neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow deters the travel of one large, conspicuous, and weather-proof construct. MAC-B1G may possibly function at high efficiencies in any or all atmospheric conditions below the melting or combustion points of primary components. Despite its mass, the wide footprint of its ambulatory appendages limits the sinking in the sodden ground as it travels through the gardens.
GAME: Randolf rolls perception-4: (10)+5+-4: 11 GAME: Mercy rolls perception -4: (5)+9+-4: 10
Mercy ambles down the street, a martial clinking can be heard coming from her cape. She cheerfully takes in her surroundings. As she nods and smiles to those she knows she fails to notice a squirrel doing something... squirrelish.
Merek looks about the place, although he takes the time to keep on working with the plants. The man seems to be content while he watches the place.
Randolf grunts as he leans over, taking ahold of his beard and wringing it out. Another fresh torrent of rain pours from the unfortunate whiskers to splash on the floor. "Aye, I'm doin' well, all things bein' equal," he says, shaking the rain off his hands. "Dinnae help that it's -pissin' down rain- like the dickens." So busy is he divesting himself of his excess water content, he does not notice the giant squirrel nearby.
The mute woman tilts her head to the other side at Jinks's recollection. Wasn't he fine being the fall man? Or... maybe not? It's uncertain if Aryia read deeper into his words, instead her offering a small nod of platitude. Wasn't worth solving. "I see," she gestures with a V-handshape tapping near her eye with a small, amused smile towards Randolf.
Glimmering eyes narrow at whatever it was in the distance. Her brow quirks high, the crumbly pastry getting pulled free from her lips. "... th- f-ck..?" she hisses quietly, pointing at the hefty squirrel in the distance and ignoring the golem and walking JUSTICE. Strange as it was for magical beasts and the like in the land, the mundane being abnormal was always a point of interest. <Handspeech>
The squirrel of unusual size pops its head above the fall flowers. Beady little black eyes look Aryia-wards, as if it heard her nigh-silent exclamation. Whiskers twitch! It ducks down, vanishing except for a fluffy tail that trails in a wavy line as it bounces through the garden.
Past Merek, right behind the man's back, it's on the path and in danger of being stepped on by the golen!
The foot comes down! The squirrel is... gone.
Definitely not squished on the path. Simply, gone.
A prank and illusion magic might be a play. Anything is possible.
MAC-B1G does not appear immediately aware of the close encounter with indigenous wildlife. It takes several more strides before the lower joint in one ambulatory appendage grinds, and then ... chitters? The next step of the other is the last as it comes to a halt. "Unusual condition detected. Performing system diagnostic."
Blithely unaware of the vanishing giant squirrel, The, now oilskin clad, Inquisitress continues to amble over to the others gathering at the bistro the hood of her nautical looking raincoat is down but upon her hat the water beads and drips as if the brim at least is water resistant. It keeps the rain off her neck and face but the white shiny plume is looking a little bedraggled. Pushing her way under the flap to come beneath the awning she doffs said floppy hat and flourishes it in greeting. Only belatedly realizing that this would spray waterdrops about the enclosure....
"Greetings All I am... OH! I AM TERRIBLY SORRY!" She opens up her oilskin and pulls out a handkerchief. Dry cloth in hand, she makes a beeline for the wettest person in the area.
Jinks actually noticed the oversized vermin, too, after finding a way out of his own head. "This reminds me of the time a flesh-and-blood coyote stole my trousers." He glances from Merek, the gardens, golem, and gopher-cousin back to Aryia. "True story. Ask Serene. She'll probably pretend she doesn't remember but then Goddess Dreaming's Silver Knights don't like advertising when the unfiltered charisma of a gnomish lyricist makes them question their vows." There he is. A bag of nonsense in an expensive suit of swagger.
The gnome just closes his eyes when Mercy douses the table's candle and splashes his fancy garb, grinning. Then he hops the railing from the bistro's patio and lands in the street, calling out. "Tallman-- Merek-- there's a giant squirrel trying to crawl into your trousers. Well, it was..." He looks around the garden with his brows pushed together.
Now that made Aryia sit up straight and stare hard at the missing squirrel. Steeling her mind, her eyes scan through the pouring rain. Something... squirrely was going on.
Then her face is splashed with water. She wasn't too terribly upset about it, her just reflexively wiping her face off with her shoulder as she glances to the newcomers. She gives a small raise of the hand in greeting and waves off the inquisitor's apologies, but mostly directs her attention back to... trying to figure out what the heck was going on with that.
Though, a tiny smirk does appear on her lips at Jinks's antics. Both from the story, and current ongoings.
Randolf works on wringing out his kilt. Splish splash, more water! The poor dwarf really is not very well equipped for a place where the precipitation falls in its liquid state. He looks up as Mercy arrives, just in time to get a fresh spray of rain to soak his beard down once again. "... oh, piss up my -arse-," he growls. "I'm doomed tae live me life as some kind o' yuge walkin' sponge, aren't I?" He sighs heavily and starts wringing out his whiskers once again. Only to pause and give Jinks the hairy eyeball. "Wait... did you say giant -squirrel-?" He turns to peer out into the downpour, looking for any sign of the giant critter. "I see nothing. Nothing but rain. Rain hither an' yon. Rain -everywhere-."
Continuing to apologize, the damp Inquisitress hovers over the dwarf attempting to help dry him out with her hankie. "I'm SO sorry. Really I didn't meant to spray you. I hope you'll forgive me for my Misfeasance." She bows deeply at the room dry platinum-blonde hair nearly brushing the floor before she uprights herself and flips it back over her shoulder blades. "What's this about a Squirrel?"
Rain continues to patter down.
MAC-B1G's limbs begin to contort. Its left manipulator articulates and rotates through each joint, in turn. This is followed by the right. Then each ambulatory appendage, in turn. On the last, it pauses nearly as soon as it is lifted. Some sparks emerge from the 'knee' joint.
"ERROR!" It announces loudly. "CONTAMINATION DETECTED. ERROR CODE TWENTY-THREE NINETEEN."
There are new sparks, further up the leg.. and then the leg starts moving. Both do, as the construct quickly overcomes inertia and begins tromping at high speed towards the bistro.
There's a sticatto rattling coming from the central portion of the golem construct.
Merek looks to the squirrel, and back along to the plants. Well, it looks like the flowers are doing nicely while he will take the time to watch the party.
Aryia abruptly stands and is well out of the way in a flutter of a grey cloak. High speed metal plus water plus sparking equals a wreck waiting to happen. Nope. Not breaking any bones again right now.
Randolf looks up as Mercy comes at him with that hanky. "-Mal-feasance. An'--oy, wait a tick, stop--gaaack!" He flails his stumpy arms, batting Mercy away. "Och -really-!" he harrumphs. "There's nae need, missus." It's about that time that the construct starts tromping their way. He turns to look, eyes getting wide. "Is... is that some manner o' death machine about tae mechanize us fer the glory o' the Overmind Control System?" he asks. "Because after the day I've head, I -really- would rather not deal wi' -that- manner o' bullshit."
Jinks half-runs across the street, head tucked and hands tossing up the collar of his expensive coat. He arrests his momentum-- or at least attempts to-- when the construct-man starts this direction, kicking his feet over slick cobblestones. His torso turns and his legs scamper in opposite directions. The gnome's head follows Mac, at least. "Don't you--" his arms start to spiral in an attempt to find his balance-- "dare smash into--" his left leg kicks out, high, and he teeters on his right ankle-- "that eatery!"
These new boots are meant to be pretty. Not practical. They're not the sort of thing you buy for traction or travel. So a fraction of the heel holding the weight of a gnome-- even a trim and fit one-- to a slick, smooth stone of the street... well, it's not the best of situations.
Squik!
And now Jinks is tumbling ass-over-teakettle.
GAME: Mercy rolls profession/sailor: (19)+7: 26
Mercy's boots despite shiny appearances are soft-soled for traction on wet rocking ship decks. Her instincts tell her something on the lines of 'unstowed cargo' or 'loose fire belcher' and she grabs the nearest upright. Pulling herself up quite adroitly despite the weight of armour and weapons to the top of the awning and thence to the roof proper. "A Milliard of Blue Blistering Barnacles 'WARE ON DECK!"
Some rattling this way comes.
There's a click, then a scratchy audio recording, as if the wax cylinder has started to melt.
- "Friends! Alexandrians! Countrymen!
- "Lend me your ears.
- "I come to bury...
>scrrrch<
- "... to bury... to bury..."
>scrrrch-rrch!<
- "..tubeberry... berry... berrytube.. berryberry.."
Aryia was well out of the way, even back in the rain at this point. But the scratching makes her head cant to the side. Closer she draws, back under the awning to listen. Was this another illusion...?
A grey hand comes out from the cloak, eyes focusing on the area around the sound. Her glimmer grows brighter as three, shimmering milk colored orbs of soft light manifest from parted shadow to illuminate the area, and to better inspect what might be squirrels in the golem's metaphorical pants.
Aryia gets light headed for a moment before catching herself with a shake of her head.
Other components may be scratched, brushed against, and/or gnawed upon; none of which were designed as load-bearing components. MAC's torso rotates 180 degrees, then 360, then more, manipulators abruptly rising to point directly upwards rather than outwards. There is less chance of inadvertently decapitating gnomes this way, though it also gives the construct the semblance of shifting from twirl to true pirouette. As a (perhaps beneficial) side-effect, the charging forward comes to a literal screeching halt.
"DANGER! DANGER! ... Ill...sun." More vocalizations before another partial recording is triggered.
"For ... glory... Altima... suppression ... Alexandros." The broken sounds are shifted by doppler effect as it continues to rotate.
Jinks sits up from where he'd fallen prone, one hand holding his head and his legs splayed out in front of him. He frowns at mention of the Witch Queen and takes his time getting to his feet. "Now I'm wishing I took those artifice extension courses. I've no idea how to get a squirrel out of a malfunctioning wargolem." He looks to the folk still sheltered beneath the awning and shrugs.
Randolf can only stare at the mechanical terror that is Mac. He boggles, quite bemused, perhaps even baffled. "Wait a tick... the giant squirrel is... -inside- that thing?" He gives his damp beard a tug, blinking like an owl. "It's... it's nae some sort o' super-genius squirrel, is it? One that built itself a mechanized mobile suit? I've read some -stories-, I tell ye..." He hops to his feet, drawing his wand off his belt. "How do we get it out?'
The gnome is in good company. The squirrel has no idea how to get a squirrel out of a malfunctioning wargolem. It has more of a vested interest and impetus to succeed however.
The wargolem has a faceplate. One that functions as its 'face.' The sole purpose of this plate is to provide some humanoid semblance. It has little function, and MAC-B1G does not suffer any efficiency impairment when the plate pops off.
In its place is large, chittering squirrel head. The resemblance to a rodent in a suit of titan armour is incredible. It squirms, thrashing its head from side to side, attempting to escape. Black beady eyes fixate on Jinks and Aryia, and it 'skrrreees!' at them.
GAME: Aryia rolls cmb+2: (17)+12+2: 31 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20-1: (19)+-1: 18
In truth, there is the possibility of -some- impairment. Not directly due to the removed faceplate, but more that it's cyan optical sensors were at/behind said faceplate. This means that they are now covered in squirrel, which makes it difficult to perceive anything.
On the plus side, the golem has an exceptional ear-scan.
Mercy stands atop her perch on the bistro roof and stares. Boggles more accurately. Her jaw is slack and her eyes are wide. "Well... that's a thing."
Aryia glances between the others as they try and make heads or fluffy tails of this development. She's a bit worried that a single critter could mess up a fighting machine. Though, she sees them go up, up, up and-
Pop goes the faceplate!
Woosh goes the Mul.
A grey cloak passes by MAC in a short leap as the mute woman plucks the squirrel out from their mech-suit, her skidding on the slick ground and flailing an arm to keep her balance. They try and bite at her arm, which it does so, but she seems unfazed as she tightens are grip to keep it from piercing skin. "... who lost their rat?" she signs to the rain, keeping the squirrel in check with her other hand. Her visage more annoyed at the squirming than anything.<Handspeech>
"It's... entirely nuts." Jinks remarks, squinting against the rain when he looks up at Mercy. Then Aryia has the rodent in her grasp. "Well, you know what the say, right? A squirrel in the hand is worth two in the construct."
'Squeee!' 'rt-t-tt-t-tt!' 'chrrrr!'
The squirrel squirms and struggles to escape the mul'niessa's grip. This is one huge squirrel. It's forty pounds. It's heavier than Jinks. Wet, it likely weighs more. It's three feet tall, plus tail and extra squirmy.
It tries to bite her again.
MAC-B1G reaches up manipulators towards it's 'face,' which currently consists of little more than two glowing cyan sensors and exposed space. Now that it can perceive its manipulators in front of itself, it turns it's attention to the ground to retrieve the faceplate. The metal is latched anew into place, looking no worse for the wear, aside from a splotch of mud on the front. "Contaminant removed. Repair protocols engaged." It also turns its focus to the squirming former, uninvited, tenant.
Aryia raises a brow as the creature tries to bite her again. She glares at it and cracks her neck. With one hand raised, she brings a side of a palm down in a chopping motion to bonk it on the head. "St-p," she hisses, annoyed.
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20-1: (1)+-1: 0 (EPIC FAIL) (Squirrel Bite)
Jinks pulls an empty purse out of his coat and the ribbon out of his hair, walking over towards the squeaking and squirming squirrel. "Hold it steady..." He's seen people do this with raptors. He overturns the purse and looks to drop it over the squirrels head, arms extended to their full length and head pulled back. "You remind me of a dust-fiend I knew in my younger days... all nerves... and teeth..."
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+3: (11)+3: 14 GAME: Jinks rolls 2d4: (4): 4 (Gallant Inspiration)
The squirrel chitters back at MAC-B1G. It has tasted the wargolem's tubing, and it likes it! Peanut oil infused insulation is yummy!
At this moment it is bopped on its head, and its incisors fall out. Squirrel surprise! There's a startled squeak and then it is pawing at its mouth.
As Jinks approaches with a bag and rope, it squirms even harder! It can't escape Aryia's grip.
'Squeeee!'
Taking extra care, the gnome eventually manages to take a good angle and drop the purse over the squirrels head. It catches and sits like a jaunty chapeau for a moment and then luck steps in and it falls down into place. Jinks pulls the drawstring on the purse and then loops it closed with the ribbon from his hair.
Mercy carefully lets herself down from the Bistro roof and puts her crossbow back onto her back.
MAC-B1G observes as the rodent is packaged for disposal. The cylinder on its back articulates over the scapular plate and telescopes to full length. The fore-barrel is cradled in one manipulator as the tip begins to glow cyan. "Threat locked. Stand clear."
Randolf watches all this with his jaw hanging open. "Sweet blessed Reos an' all his wacky tapdancin' nephews," he grumbles, shoving his wand back into its holster. He goes and plumps his hefty rump back into his seat. "So -that- just happened. Suppose next we'll be havin' a plague o' samurai cats from the Distant East." He pauses, then slaps his forehead. "Why do I -say- these things...?"
"HOLD!" Mercy raises a hand and marches over between the golem and the squirming restrained squirrel. "We haven't confirmed this one's crimes yet. While he or she is guilty of assaulting you Sir or M'am, however you wish to be addressed. It has not done anything warranting death.
Aryia works with Jinks to get it into the bag, her all but shoving the creature in there with gusto and snapping her hand away as its tied off. She shakes her hand off, her sporting a few bite marks on the arm but none pierced skin.
Then she looks at MAC.
The shadow elf all but dives to the floor a ways away with a mild panic on her visage.
MAC-B1G's faceplate pans towards Mercy following the statement. "Negative. Not death," it corrects. "Disintegration." There is a distinct difference, afterall. The weapon remains directed at the Purse of Doom for several moments longer before it releases the weapon to articulate rearwards to collapse and stow itself. "Directive triggered: adherence to custom and regulations of indigenous biological denizens of local geographic jurisdiction."
The squirrel calms down as it is bagged. It remains unhappy that it is held, and blinded, but after some futile snapping and squirming it gives up and hangs there. A heavy fluffy weight.
It awaits its fate.
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "sure, k/nature or k/dungeoneering or k/local DC15" GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+11: (13)+11: 24 <OOC> Jinks says, "That can be Dungeon or Local. 1-lower if it's Nature." GAME: Randolf rolls knowledge/local: (6)+6: 12 GAME: Merek rolls knowledge/nature: (12)+8: 20
"Oh," says Jinks as realization dawns. "Ooooooooooooooooh." The gnome points a finger at the squirrel and shakes it in recognition. "So that's why he's so familiar. I think it's a gnome," he narrows his eyes, "hopped up on goofballs, whim-whams, or jelly-stingers. Whatever it is Tilly Tonka's tasty transformative taffy treats are called these days."
Merek looks to the squirrel and will think about it, then he stands up from the flowers, "That might be a lycanthrope. Which means, we need to kinda, talk to it maybe I will think," he notes.
Mercy twitches at the mention of Tilly Tonka. She glares briefly at Merek for some reason, muttering "Black Tentacled" then looks curiously at the bag? "Could be?"
Randolf fumbles in his pocket for his pipe and tobacco pouch. Merek's statement has the dwarf boggling once again. Slowly turning his gaze to the bagged up megasquirrel. "Lycanthrope...? It's a bloody were -squirrel-? Those -exist-?" He pauses, then shakes his head mournfully. "Och, o' -course- they do. How silly of me tae ask." He goes to fill his pipe, then pauses, upending it and dumping a trickle of water from the bowl. "Well I -imagine- it'll nae be best pleased bein' stuffed in a sack," he grumbles, shaking the last of the rain out of his pipe.
Aryia picks herself back up, brushing off her now damp verdant jacket before pulling her treated cloak closed and walking back to the bag. She raises a brow and holds a hand out towards the stilled bag. "I can hold them if you want to interrogate. It won't hurt me."
Her eyes focus, and she cracks her neck. <Handspech>
MAC-B1G's faceplate pans to the other units, interpreting and collating the new information. "Additional identifying information recorded. Recommended course of action: disintegration."
The squirrel, or were-squirrel, or gnome hopped up on pixie dust, whatever the critter happens to be, is well and truly restrained and blinded by handbag. While it squirms, and even out-weighs Jinks, it can't escape.
It awaits its impending disintegration with no comprehension at all. Once in a while it squeaks in alarm, a 'raak' noise, then twitches its tail.
It's fluffy, hypnotic, charm inducing tail.
Jinks narrows his eyes and scratches at his jaw, trying to remember. "Well... maybe we just find a Seer or Silver Guard and they can hold him... (or her?)" The gnome respects the afflicted's privacy and doesn't peer between its hindlegs to confirmation one way or the other. "Them until the curse can be removed? I'm trying to remember my lessons about shape-changers. I think there are a couple different sources."
Jinks sniffs, "Actually. There's an old legend about gnomish women who lose their husbands turning into were-cougars and living in hidden mountain towns. They come in to Clockwork Point and steal unaware young men from taverns."
Aryia waits until all were good before carefully kneeling down and picking the bag up as gently as she can. "Shhhh..." she quietly hisses, her looking to Jinks as he explains further with her brow raised high. This thing was not going to run away from the pugilist. At all.
Randolf tugs at his beard, watching the whole scene unfold. "Wait a tick," he says. "If we need tae pacify 'im, I can try a sleep spell." He sets his pipe and tobacco pouch on the table and hops to his feet, drawing his wand. "Cannae really thing of anything else tae do," he grumbles.
Randolf turns his attention the were-squirrel... thingy. He lifts his hands, tracing a pattern with his wand. "A'right now, laddie, just hold still, this won't hurt a bit..." he says in what he hopes is a soothing tone. "Re ex re ahn umaka dor dormus!" He makes a swish and a flick at the squirrel, and he's rewarded with a hazy burst of sparkles around the poor critter's head. But sleep comes swiftly and peacefully. Nodding his head firmly, he holsters his wand. "Right. That should keep 'im quiet."
Jinks steps back when there's talk of making things sleep. He doesn't want to risk catch the edge of the effect; for some reason he's been dozing off in the weirdest places recently. "We'll just have to make sure the poor idiot is kept and seen to. Some of these holy warrior-types can get a little... overzealous about their callings." He lifts his hand and runs it through his loose hair, pushing it back behind his ears. "Seldan still owes us for that attempted kidnapping. Maybe it's time to cash in that chip."
Aryia hoists the bag as the critter person settles down, her lips angled off to the side and her brows pinched. This was a weird, weird night. At least they had a handle on things.
She waves a hand to Jinks, "We can't get in the temples to find him. Hopefully they'll let us pass it off to those guarding." The elf hoists the bag, and follows after.<Handspeech>
"I can be really loud," Jinks assures Aryia, falling into step with the tallman.
And it keeps raining.
Randolf sits himself down with a harrumph. "Why -thank- ye, Randolf, fer pacifyin' this fearsome werebeastie," he grumbles, picking up his pipe. He tugs open the strings of his tobacco pouch with a scowl. "Oh, it was nothin' at all, I'm happy tae help! Why I--" He pauses, then upends his pouch. A gout of rain water pours out, and then the glob of his ruined tobacco, plopping wetly onto the floor. He hangs his head and buries his face in his hands. "Blessed Reos, sodding -end- me," he whimpers softly.
Aryia looks over to Randolf as he pouts, and she softly sighs. She snaps a couple fingers at him to get his attention through the rain, and she makes a common gesture. Fingers touch her chin, then motion towards him
"Thank you."
She smiles. <Handspeech>
Randolf glances up at Ariya. With his wet beard and sodden clothing, he really does cut quite the piteous figure. But her gesture softens his expression, and he manages a wan smile. "Yer welcome," he says. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Oh, hell. It's only rain." He hops to his feet, straightening his robe. "Hope yer all able tae get that beastie sorted. I'll be at the Arcanist's Guild if anyone needs me fer anything." Tossing a two-fingered salute, he turns and trundles out into the downpour. "Gaaah, sodding -rain-!" can be heard echoing in his wake.
OOC Snippets
Relevant music:
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "I feel this is relevant to the scene: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fBGSJ3sbivI"
Tempting Fate
<OOC> Aryia says, "i dont this thing can hit aryia unless it crits xD"
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "oooh no..."
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "the dice heard you..."
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20-1: (1)+-1: 0 (EPIC FAIL) (Squirrel Bite)
<OOC> Aryia FATE BALANCES IN MY FAVOR
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "you bop it's tooth out"