closed | hooray, hooray!

[pactmarshal]

Who: Trahearne & others
Which: Closed Log
Where: Around Reverein
What: 'Tis the season!
Warnings: n/a for now

(( a belated collection of closed threads for the month of december. please message me if you're interested in something! ))

Comments

[thymebomb]

[ Uh....huh? This is admittedly the first time he's seen the elder since all the snow has fallen and trapped them inside, but he's sure he hasn't quite done anything that dangerous to get himself trapped....

Sure enough, anyway. He didn't leave any of his half-finished traps lying around, did he? Hm.

Aglovan himself barely registers the faint whispers, the tone too positive it passes as the distant shouts of children in his brain, and it's only when Trahearne opts to point that he finally turns to give a bewildered stare.

Oh. Worm...

Or perhaps not? He takes a surprised step back at the en-masse gathering of...tiny caterpillars? And then the noise hits, a bit louder as they come closer, and his head snaps to Trahearne with a faint look of dawning horror. FIGHT??? ]

Er, wait, wait...what is these, exactly? They're not bein' serious, now, right?

[ Please say Sike. He could never...Niamh would be so disappointed... ]

[pactmarshal]

[ As they hover closer, Trahearne lowers his stance, hand hovering over his scepter on his hip. ]

These are gumdrops. Fae-like creatures that come out during the winter. They demand certain types of dreamotion—some consume romantic energy, and others amicable energy.

[ Now the gumdrops have surrounded them both, their whispers about fighting now replacing the ambient buzz of the town around them. His brother's bewilderment and horror is understandable. He doesn't want to put a brother of his in harm, nor does he want to saddle him with the guilt of hurting an elder... Not that he minds the latter, really. ]

These ones demand hostile energy. I hope you're ready, Aglovan— [ He draws his scepter, and his torch, though readies neither yet. ] We will have to fight one another.

[thymebomb]

[ Well, that's not ominous at all. Not to say Aglovan is completely fight-averse; hell, he's in the Vigil. They like to tussel for fun! He builds weapons in his spare time! It's just...y'know...this is Trahearne? First of the Firstborn? Leader of the Pact??

And he's currently being nudged by tiny, violent little fae creatures to brawl with him?

Mother preserve him...

Not to mention, he notes with a faint grimace, his current weaponset isn't exactly built for friendly scraps. Still, he shifts on his heels before finally unhooking the pistol from his belt. The rifle sits with it's hefty weight across his shoulders, but that likely won't do him much good at the moment. ]

Not exactly how I pictured my day... [ Why did he leave his workshop...he misses it already. ] But I guess I'd been gettin' rusty, anyway.

[ Might as well put his work to actual use. ]

[pactmarshal]

[ And Trahearne totally understands the reservation, though he hopes Aglovan doesn't hold back. He, too, likes a good fight from time to time, anyway.

He watches his younger brother draw his pistol, and he lowers his center of gravity into a ready stance. He gives his wrist, the hand holding his scepter, a little flick. ]

Neither did I. [ Complete honesty. He really hopes they don't accidentally knock their coffee off the bench... That would be the real tragedy here. ]

But I'm glad to hear it—I don't mind a spar from time to time.

[ Though they're going to have to get angry to sate the gumdrops... Hmm. That feels like dangerous territory.

Anyway, Trahearne flicks his torch, and a sickly, greenish flame bursts into being at the end. did u ever think man who dies before path of fire would get the scourge elite spec? ]

On your signal.