Black bunnies blunder out from beneath the last leaves of cruciferous in her garden. At first, they startle her. Emersyn lifts her head sharply and narrows her eyes down on them all. She is about to say something chiding to the nefarious nibblers along the lines of shoo - or - you are better then that, but instead a rush of hot steam clouds out from around her. Each bunny crowds closer to one another, and they all crowd closer to each other too, a weird reflex twines its way through her - she doesnt know what it is that she feels. An ear twists to catch the sound of a frosty leaf scraping a wilted cabbage leaf as the last one of seven slides into place.
“Well?” She huffs through a puff of smoke, freezing and impatient. “Are you raiding my garden or do you have something for me. Show me your paws - all of them.” The bunnies petrify as they stiffen with fear. Emersyn does not soften, she has never been fond of rodents, even cute ones. Their whiskers stop twitching but the trembling in their ears is real. "Come on now! Out with it you ruddy lot!" Each scroll is surrendered, every message carrying one word.
Bunny messengers are cheap and easy to train, they only travel in groups and her only contact is too cheap to set up a time to see her face-to-face. He prefers to remain out of town. Positioned strategically within the city to either alert her or to remind her of things beyond her reach. In this case, he looks after her agenda.
Your, Boss, Is, Coming... Emersyn rearranges several of the scrolls until the rest comes into focus.
“Damn Rabbits."
He, Is, Here.
Two more show up, late, but for what the words say, effective. Emersyn wonders why some men have to be so cocky.
We’re Bunnies, the first message reads. Emersyn bristles when the second scroll corrects her, Not Rabbits, it reads. Somewhere her agent is having himself a good laugh over a fresh pot of tea.
Emersyn snaps at them “ Enough of that! Get out of here!” The ream scatters when she stomps her hoof down and shatters the earth. The frozen ground splinters like glass. Her teeth are long compared to the skulls of something so small. In the eyes of a bunny she is a terrifying beast, spitting ice and breathing steam. Nine cottontails disappear into the woods and she hopes she won’t see them again.
A week ago, she invited the Ipomoea … somewhere then promptly forgot. A week later, he is here, right now. A pock of color at the last edgerow of her dead winter garden. Emersyn’s hair is just settling from scaring off the messengers when she sees him, her blood still cooling. Not only has she forgotten that she invited him out here, but she forgets why. It comes back to her quickly now, what more of a moment can she be in when his starling red gaze meets her staring eyes, lammergeier gray. Realization and intrigue tend to soften the distant and cold stare.
“Ipomoea,” Emersyn is surprised at first, she can’t help it, “- I thought they were raiding, as they often times do. Who sends bunnies? They are so very disorganized, you can imagine my frustration.” She hesitates no longer, “Please come in, thank you for making the journey to see me.” And although it is not long of a journey, it is enough of one when it is so cold outside. At least her contact within the city has impeccable timing.
The soldier lives farther away now than she ever intended to be. She thinks about that often. Emersyn rarely focuses on the reasons which lead her here, out to the meadowlands - sewn into a seam of trees. It is nothing like her to want this life, this hassle of keeping after herself. She should want for so much more because she has always had it growing up. Handmaids, timekeepers, tutors, everything prepped and prepared for her. Lately, she finds more interest in doing it all for herself. A form of mindful meditation through daily rituals.
Perhaps then, for some peace of mind, she has chosen the distance to keep her focused. She and the army of winter birds and anxious squirrels living in her garden paints a life of someone experiencing the death of an ego. It seems perfect, but the soldier is still not soft, nor her voice tender, and she does not warble with the warblers at her window. In fact, she still shakes them off her panes and yells at the deer to stay off of her front lawn and out of her lilies.
“How have you been? I’ve been scarce since our last meeting. Strangely, the city seemed crowded.” Emersyn cannot help the ironic pitch of her lips as she grins while walking past him. Her home is beautiful, fit for one, designed and kept by a sterile, strategic mind. The only whimsey in it all are the evergreens that creep on in the winter. Windows are verdant and green with houseplants which press themselves into every light-bearing space. Emersyn has been absent from the streets of Delumine, all in the name of experiencing a personal renaissance.
Emersyn has almost grown feral in her absence away from society, but her eyes have still been watching. Mind keening. Her shadows into the wood stretching longer and deeper into the forest.
“After we spoke on Veneror, I felt .. different. I did not need to speak to God that day to find my way back home, but it took looking for him to find a good friend.” Emersyn nurses a fire and coaxes more heat from the hearth, flames paint her gold in all the places she should be silver, somehow she still seems to be made of marble. “I’m talking about you, of course.”
The only other thing that is alive are the various species of Philodendron in groups, vines, and hangs. Moss grows in corners, falls like emerald lace down the walls, and disappears behind a work table covered in leather, deerskin, and various tools. She has been taking on other projects too. Her house is made out of wood, and it breathes with them. So does the fire too.
“I hope being this far removed from our people will be acceptable for the time being. It has come to my attention that we may have poachers.” Just as she says this she pokes at the leather straps to a harness that appear to be attached to skillfully crafted wings. It won’t fly, this much is obvious, but judging by the books that surround the table, Emersyn isn’t thinking about flying based solely on the principle of mechanical engineering alone.
She carries on.
“Viride is big. The people of Dawn are .. lacking in numbers.” She is not unkind with her words but neither is she gentle. She has never been a gentle person, this much can be seen by the stillness within her eyes. “There are not enough of us, what will we do about this?” Wherever her worry is, it is not written on her face. It is the intensity that electrifies the air around her. “I love this forest but I do not want to kill to protect it. -- Can I get you any tea?” She says it more for herself than for Ipomoea. The soldier’s eyes read differently, I will kill. Even if I don’t have to.
@Ipomoea
Ooc: Why is my head always full of hurricanes?
