[AW] in the shadow of a low-lying sky [party]

[Warbird]

There are tents set up in the fibonacci spiral of her Court far below her. She is a black shadow overtop the party-goers, a distant thought, a cloud over the sun in a sunless sky. Warbird is no stranger to celebration. She is, after all, a creature of assured victory. But parties make people dense-- they dull the senses, distract the mind, overwhelm with lights and sounds and smells. If Solterra’s enemies were not all undergoing just the same thing, now would be an excellent time to strike.

In all the courts, there was observance of joy and change. A monumentous and simultaneous upheaval, from all edges of the globe. She’d been to Terrastella and witnessed, briefly, the transition of power there; so to it was in Denocte, and Delumine. There was mourning and confusion, rejoicing and worship; the whole world was buzzing.

A droplet of something wet seeps onto her ear and she flicks it away with a grunt of irritation. Stykkislange has lifted the front third of her body up in the air; her viper-like face is flattened in anticipation. Slaver is running down her exposed fangs.

Her snake is drooling.

“You disgust me,” Warbird noted, with half a mind to suddenly barrel roll and send the serpent writhing down to her death.

why are we not at the party? Styikki whined, squeezing tighter around Bird as though she could read the Valkyr’s thoughts. i can ssssssmell the food from up here!

“You do not eat those types of foods,” Warbird assured her, wings billowing slightly as they caught a thermal. Her body rocked steady, gentle, from side to side.

you want to meet the prinsssssseeeee, Stykki wheedled, undulating in an S-shape against the bright, blue sky. you want to bow to the king. sseellll your sssoooooul. She was teasing her master, mocking. After a beat, a tongue lash, she added: again.

“I will meet with Adonai in due time, when I have a better grasp of the situation, and not before,” Warbird said, resolute. “I know my place in this life and what I have to offer it. This is not a weakness.”

ssssso you ssssay, Stykki mumbled, not sounding convinced. She contracted herself again, perched on Warbird’s back like an ugly, scaled hawk. Quietly, she hissed: i want to try the ssssnacksssss.

Warbird rolled her eyes, feeling like a beleaguered mother to this surly, seven-foot demon. “You will eat the offered food-- and only the offered food-- or I will break your teeth. Again.”

promissssssse. i’ll be good girl.

The noise of disgust from Bird’s throat was swallowed by the rush of air in her ears as she couched her wings and lifted up and over into a fierce drop, hair lashing out behind her like banners raised to war. Her stomach left her, lost in the swell and the feel of the fall, and it was only at the very last second did she spread wide her powerful wings and feel the catch of air in them. Sun gleamed from her angel-white coverts, feathers plucked from the wings of her Valkyr mothers, as she came down to land, back feet then front. She tucked her wings up close to her body, shielding Stykki from the light of the day, as she pushed her large body into the crowd.

As they neared the feast table, Stykki relinquished her hold on her master, and slid all seven feet of her to the ground. Her scales made a dragging noise on the cobblestones as she zipped, serpentine, in and out of the feet of party goers, frightening and scattering those who noticed; she lifted herself up at the table’s edge, all the world like a princess for whom the spread was made, and flattened her head in a horrendous grin.

i sssshalll try thissss one firsssst, she decreed; jaw unhinged, she went to swallow a whole platter of sun cakes, until Warbird knocked her gracelessly aside with her wing.

“I shall not have you ruining the party for others, you filthy heathen,” the Valkyr scolded, delicately selecting one cake for herself, and one for her snake. “We can come back for more once we finish these,” she added, as Stykki draped, languid, over her back once more.

"Speech." stykki speech | @ anyone | come punch the snake

[Abbat]

YOU'VE GOT COLD, DEAD EYES-

Even if it wasn’t in your plans to become this caught up in the affairs of this new place, you cannot help yourself when it comes to luxury. There’s been a particular lack of it here as well, so let’s not pretend that you wouldn’t do anything for just a taste of what they consider high society.

Therefore, it should be no surprise to find you in the predicament that you’re currently within. Lavish comforts in this self-proclaimed purgatory have taken advantage of you, - You should’ve known better, - filling yourself with drinks that bring you nothing but endless amusement.  The chalice that you’ve grasped so tightly for the past fifteen minutes is halfway empty, your third through the evening, and assuredly, the one you’ve discovered the most joy with. You’ve found that colours have intensified their vibrancy, and the lines that keep objects, and beings contained beginning a mess of contortism. Seeing things correctly now requires a series of blinks, followed by knotted, sore brows and squinting eyes.

You’d spilled your dark drink earlier to find that it burned anything in its path, so it has been with that discovery that you’ve likely poisoned yourself. If you die with good food in your belly, higher than the moon above, finally having found something to ease your suffering you’ve endured in the wilds, then you can’t die with any regrets. Maybe it’s a blessing, likely so that’s why you’re still carrying on with your current manner.

Oh well, who’s gonna miss you these days?

You sling the goblet backwards to finish your drink, a miniscule curl of your left lip as the fluid slithers over your tastebuds. Endlessly disappointing in taste, what a waste against its other affects. The sand, and the growing ambience from the markets swallow the sound of an abandoned cup. The memory of your third round is gone before it touches the ground, already scurrying away to appreciate what has been your favourite part of the festival: the food.

And oh, how grand they are. You’re particularly fond of the sun-shaped cakes, having previously found yourself in awe as the honey bled, a golden essence that crept without haste, enough time for you to admire with the fullest effect. They’d made up for the failure of flavour that your drinks had left you with, if not tenfold.

You don’t remember stumbling through the crowd, attempting to push strangers out of any personal space you can claim with wings slightly spread. You do remember the sounds of a commotion, but nothing of true interest. As far as you choose to be aware of, flight is your best opportunity of escape, and you can surely fly yourself out of this party.

Regardless of any issues, you shall not leave without one more cake.

Your one-track mind has failed you once more as you bring yourself to the stretched table, no longer wasting time with admiration as your gaze finds the prize intended. With a pleased look, you reach for the next one, only to become to aware of something.

Maybe it’s because you’re tripping, the lines skewing into further confusion as your squint intensifies. “What the f-” is in the process of being mouthed when you come to a better realization of what it is. You cut it abruptly short with a sound, screaming, as whatever this thing is spreads its jaws wide to swallow the platter you’ve been selecting your treat from. Whether, or not the short outburst, more of a short squeal of surprise, and horror more than it was a true scream, - as if You’d admit that, though, - goes acknowledged by the creature, you take quick effort to snatch the cake of your choice.

At least it’s the cake, and not You, you have to be reminded, watching with eyes wide as a towering woman comes to your rescue. You watch with eyes wide, almost awestruck as muscle rolls underneath a blanket of darkness to toss a grand beast aside. She towers over you, bathed in monochrome, sullied only by the light of the fires used to illuminate the grounds. While you are sure she could maim you if it crossed her mind, her mass a mountain against yourself, you can’t help but admit that you are amazed by her existence.

She plucks one, two, two? cakes from the table as your stare continues, judging each of her movements, and decisions as if this is nothing more than a personal play.  A look of disgust, and disapproval replaces your stare of astonishment as she acknowledges the beast before you. Why-

“Why would a woman of your magnificence,” You are absolutely terrible as you yank the words out of your consciousness, and manipulate them into reality. So assured in yourself, as you scramble to catch her before she abandons you in her wake, left with nothing but awe. “want a beast like so,” A toss of your head motions to the beast as it climbs her, flattening your expression to show further disapproval. “to be their company for this party, when you could have better?” And with that, you lift wings to call the attention back to yourself.

Have me instead?

@Warbird / speaks / abbat is experiencing hallucinations from the "midnight black" drink, and is described like taking LSD for the hallucinatory effects. please feel welcome to be a douche to him, he's awful

[Warbird]

Even though it seemed to be in the nature of those around her to get caught up in the silliness and frivolity of the party, Warbird remained on alert. She sampled her little sun cake in delicate bites but kept her eyes open and her ears perked for any sort of trouble. The drink was running thick and, though new she was relatively new to Solterra, it did not take a genius to see that these were a hot-blooded people. If her experiences breaking up celebratory fights in the frigid temperatures of her homeland was any inclination, the hot and humid environment of the Day Court was a recipe for possible disaster.

These were a hungry and hurting people. They wanted and were willing to grasp at any sort of victory, any sort of positivity, any sort of relief-giving event that could distract them from the horrid weight of their present, past, and future. So let them eat, drink, and be merry, and Warbird would position herself close by, snake in tow, to be the fun police if necessary. Someone had to be willing to step in and shatter the glass-like aura of alacrity if it started to pose a threat to health and happiness.

Stykki had consumed her sun cake and was letting it rest in her mouth, the tacky, caramel-like texture sticking to her teeth and coating her tongue in a cloying, almost choking, sweetness. With her insatiable hunger momentarily satisfied enough for her to be happy, she coiled the front half of her body in a file atop Warbird’s back, flattening slightly in the warmth of the sun.

Moving as though one unified creature, both sets of eyes-- the glistening viper-like set of the snake and the blood red, lightly glowing pair of the horse-- flick irritably to the intoxicated creature that stumbled up to them. They’re the color of a darkened sand, as though the tide has come in and washed the beach wet; they have a fragile skeletal structure, all bird-bones and concave musculature, with two sets of horns adorning the peak of their skull like a crown formed out of parchment. Bird’s wings, reminding Warbird of a large wren or other songbird, rest upon the stranger’s back.

When they speak, they are reminiscent of a songbird, as well, and how annoying their daybreak music is to the layabouts wishing to sleep past dawn.

Tendrils of intoxication stick drowsily to his speech, and a haughty air billows around him, hot sand in a windstorm.

Stykkislange bares her rows of sharpened teeth, the remnants of the dissolving suncake sticking to the inner surface of her mouth, splaying out in a brown, saliva-dripping cobweb of sugar. While she is not exactly best friends with Warbird, she does expect the woman to come to her defense.

Instead, Bird flattens her mouth and dips her head in an acknowledgement of truth of the man’s statement. “While I make no claims to magnificence, I must concede your point; the snake is not great company.” Stykki makes an aborted hissing noise deep in her throat and lifts, s-shaped from Warbird’s back, insulted.

Warbird fixes her eyes back on Abbat and says in a level tone, scathing in it’s ferocity, “If you know of any better company, feel free to introduce me.”


"Speech." stykki speech | @Abbat
Inspired by an iconic episode of Chowder.
"Free samples for a pretty lady?"
"Sure! Do you know any?"