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?"
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.”
Inspired by an iconic episode of Chowder.
"Free samples for a pretty lady?"
"Sure! Do you know any?"
