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[miniroth]

"Out of ambit currently."
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action > at some point tbh

[moseyin]

[Okay. Enough avoiding it; he can't just keep hiding at Zack's spare home, hoping that their paths never cross. He can't stay away from Aerith forever, terrified that something's going to happen. She'll never forgive him for it.

After days of observing, Cloud plans his approach. Sephiroth seems to have a schedule of sorts; he's been heading to one of the schools every morning, and a stretch of his path heads off the main roads and is largely unoccupied, except for him. That's the best time to confront him, just in case- well. Just in case.

And if Cloud 'borrows' Aerith's Restore and Zack's weird burning sword materia, that's also just in case.

Just the sight of that silver hair, even if it's so much shorter than he remembers, makes Cloud's heart thud hard against his ribs. His empty hands itch, Monarch is like a vibrating plate of metal against his back. He needs to be armed. He can't do this without a sword in his hands, it's stupid.

He's a kid. Relax.

Cloud takes a pair of breaths, then steps out from the underbrush behind Sephiroth.]

Stop.

This got long. Accursed phone notepad!

[miniroth]

[Just a kid, doing normal kid things.

Like going to Kuma Lisa, and dealing with the annoyance of discovering just how many gaps there are in his education if he's serious about trying to pursue space engineering. Taking the long route back and forth and staying on the ground the entire time gave him more time to think about the remedial lessons needed, what might be done next in class, just how likely it really is that he's going to need calculus in order to get into space. Very likely, come to find out.

It gave time too, to see if the person lurking unseen might come out.

That's not happened yet. It would be much faster to fly, stretch his wings a bit and get a better cardio workout than these strolls did, but not knowing would be a constant aggravating lure to land anyway and see if whoever (or whatever) it was might announce themselves.

He's unarmed, unlike Cloud. No weapon, no materia, just another teen with no cares in the world with the exception of pop quizzes and bad grades. He still wears black from head to toe; he'd keep the same basic outfit for years, even as an adult. That he draws to a stop when someone suddenly speaks up from behind, without any visible shock or surprise, that's normal too, right?]

I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever come out.

[The pitch of Sephiroth's voice is different, this young. The overall tone though, that's somehow still the same, just as quiet and confident as ever. He pivots on one foot, the little jolt of excitement at FINALLY being able to put a face to that lingering sense of being watched not dimming at all upon noticing the stranger is armed and he is not. Except... Average people can't use swords like that, can they?

Cloud's a stranger, and seems .... on edge. Not a good combination, with the weapon and obvious strength to use it. Some of his curiosity dims to visible wariness.]

Do you need something?

Log for Vincent; trigger warnings: canon typical violence, blood, gore??, death??

[miniroth]

The long endless-seeming dunes are distant hills, faint tawny arches on the horizon giving way to stone cliffs, jagged tumbles of rocks and determined struggling brush and cacti. The rising spike of the lone mountain casts a long, dark shadow over the hard-packed earth, but the light touched it first hours ago as it crept over those same distant dune-hills, turning the weathered stone golden. The long ribbons of pale clouds have long since turned from violet of sunrise to the fluffy white of expected daylight, dawn having given way to brighter, harsher and hotter.

This close to the mountain, the rocks are jagged and unforgiving, sloughing off from the slopes in landslides and breakaways but creating an endless warren of nesting locations for countless species seeking refuge from the heat. If there's safety to be found, if there's moisture hidden somewhere in dark recesses, it'll be there. Scrubby, determined plantlife marks somewhat moister places than others, but finding anything like a pool is impossible.

Hopefully Vincent brought water.

Halfway up the mountain is no more merciful save that elevation gives some brief respite from the relentless heat; even that won't last long. Once the sun rose high enough even these rocks will scorch like frying pans. The breeze struggling off the distant line of bright blue ocean has long since turned hot and dry, a relentless lonely whistle through the stones - no relief there as well. But there's plenty of places to hide. As evidenced by how many creeping monsters might need to be cleared out to make his own little hiding spot out of the glare of the sun.

Sephiroth is no stranger to Cruel Summer, turning up and leaving again like clockwork. He's learned to stay as high as he can tolerate, and make use of the cold at altitude instead of the relentless suffocating heat until he found a likely perch for which to scout for trouble. Now is no different. He's been aloft and distant for a while, the far-off speck of dark and pale a thing not made for gliding but doing his best anyway, taking advantage of the hot rising thermals without the ease of any eagle or vulture. He's not suited for it, but he has time. It's a long distance for him to travel, and he's carrying supplies as well, unsure if Vincent was going to take the brutality of the desert as seriously as he should. But as time clicks closer towards eight AM, the shadows shortening by degrees, his path drifts closer.

Enough that it's obvious why he struggles with the thermals the average hawk makes a mockery of; scalloped and shorter wings are meant for agility, not long sustained flights, brilliant white and barred dotted with black, a flash of green depending on how the light hits, distinct from both clouds and orbiting actual birds.

Mountains are damnably large. It's going to take a few passes for even someone like him to spot a splotch of crimson among wind-worn gray and tan, rising again with heavy wingbeats into higher altitudes for refuge when the heat's too much. Then gradually back down in slow, searching arcs.

No monsters are moving, at least. None he's concerned about anyway, an idle cactuar posing and flexing on a boulder some distance away noted but not a danger. The big ones won't come out until later, once the heat has sufficiently warmed them.

[coffinturk]

In three day's time, morning and halfway up the mountain. It was a polite, reasonable duration that allowed for travel and to take care of any business that might need be handled before meeting in such an out of the way and dangerous place.

For Vincent Valentine, that had been the business of preparing the location as well as for the journey.

He had arrived more than a day before the appointed time. Though he would have had little difficulty in scaling the mountain terrain without doing so, the ascent is spotted with blended, graceful shifts between man and black chocobo as though he had possessed the Fox's gift his entire life. Of course he had not; but shapeshifting had become second nature long before Thirteen's touch and this was but one other form with far more merit than loss.

But the climb isn't without incident any more than the destination. The day rings out with periodic gunfire, the roar of monsters... and unnatural silence as the normal calls of beast and monster die down. Some have died. Others.... wisely quieting as if sensing the natural order is changing, however temporarily.

But the prevailing winds from the ocean will clear away the blood scent and the silence will be replaced as those that survive the day and night settle in to the new hierarchy. Eventually the void the gunman's ascent made will be filled as it always is in Cruel Summer even if he were to stay around. But for a time, there's a small stretch halfway up the mountain that may effectively called his territory.

Vincent had brought water. Whatever he was capable of surviving or being indifferent to or simply had the mental capacity to endure, he still would have brought it. This was not a mission in which he should test his limits. It may also be needed simply to replace the ammunition used to clear this small patch. His quarry is not simply a monster consumed with base instinct, but one that possesses as much intelligence and capacity for planning and foresight as himself.

And in all of Gaia, there were precious few that could claim to know what an intelligent monster could do better than Vincent Valentine; whether or not they looked human.

By the eve of the meeting time, he had finished. Vincent had found everything he needed. Wanted? That... was another matter. The night would be dark and cold; no fire lit. And the man cloaked in black and red would blend into the shadows, indifferent to the lack. Closer to the dawning light, Vincent stirs and drifts out of the darkness long enough to hang his cloak in another shadowed nook. Drafts from in and without cause the edges to flutter outward to catch and lure the eye.

But Vincent does not stay with it. He returns to where he was and turns ruby eyes to continuously scan the gradually lightening sky.

The first shot rings out; and the bullet reaches the skyborne SOLDIER at the same time as the sound.

More will follow where the only pause is how fast the action of the gun allows. And this gun was, while still just a pistol, modified as much as time and lore allowed. Not much. But subtly better.

Each shot fired is precise. Torso, heart, lung.... wing joints. These are the intended targets, though the moment there is any success in crippling the teenager's flight, the assailant seems to know and switches everything to the core of his target without evident mercy.

They seemed from behind the red flutter of cloth. And... close. But there was a problem; losing the use of his wings would not let Sephiroth glide (inasmuch as their design allows) to the side of the mountain. It would be a straight drop into a terrible fall toward a gorge nearer the base of the mountainside. One filled with a sprawl of sharp and unforgiving rocks.

voice; un: lyrist

[bardtricks]

Hey, kid.

[Hopefully that voice is familiar enough if the username isn't.]

You into music?

[miniroth]

[Sephiroth's immediate association is 'that gray guy with the pointy ears'. Tav is indeed remembered.

Wherever he is, there's beeping in the background. ???]

I haven't had the opportunity to listen to much beyond what they play over the speakers here. Why do you ask?

[Speaker music! Scandal!]

Answers in Truth

[coffinturk]

Vincent is not an easy man to track down. Even at the best of times he's often on the move or lingering in remote areas. A true loner at heart, finding more peace in solitude.

Though necessity does call for connections. The need to, supposedly, sustain himself on lore and just the practical nature of it being the realm's currency. To investigate things, of course and... sometimes there is a desire to reconnect with civilization, even if it's simply to watch from the sidelines. This means there are sightings and rumors. And therefore he can be tracked. Willow, the borders of Exile, Never Fade, even Tides have had recent sightings; he's been out collecting ribbons as well as getting the lay of the land. Cruel Summer... not so much. But most frequently, Vincent is seen returning to Wintermute. The dog spirits know him by name, there.

And they're willing to gossip a bit on the matter. Vincent doesn't live within the compound around the School of Thoth nor stay in town for very long, but he's often heading out over the snow and a number of the supplies and purchases have suggested he's making a nest for himself.

That of course brought a few snickers among those spirits who knew the gunman's most prevalent Familiar shape. Besides, they've seen the feathers.

What's true is that Vincent, for all his wanderings, is making a place for himself out in the wilds of Wintermute. An empty cabin is being slowly furnished and stocked; there is no electricity yet but maybe that will be solved another time.

THOWK Dusk is quickly approaching. The air is crisp and the landscape as snowy and cold as ever. But the unusually sunny weather earlier that day inspires one to work on tasks with the knowledge that it will be seen to completion. A nearby woods has given Vincent ample access to various deadwood to harvest and today he has made a great deal of progress in dragging it out and splitting it into segments, then further into logs fit for the fireplace. The task is repetitive but simple and the axe sharpened several times. When the split timber piles too high, Vincent pauses, gathers up the logs and carries them over to the growing pile tucked under the eaves at one side of the cabin.

Rinse and repeat. For once, he has set aside the cloak. It lays draped on a simple bench nesting on the cabin's porch. But he's still armed and armored; Wintermute does have some threats that would make it unwise to set aside such protections. The cold isn't the only danger.

[miniroth]

It's taken time, but he'd needed the time anyway. Time to... try to come to terms with what he now knew and had little reason to doubt. Zack was not the sort of person to lie, after all, at least not about something like that, which meant no matter how horrifying it was, it had to be the truth. He felt no different, even if there was the blood of an alien parasite in his veins. It was sickening to know, but nothing seemed to have changed just by knowing. But there was more yet to pursue, all the things Zack couldn't answer - probably Sephiroth was better off not asking about the woman who saw fit to hand him over as nothing more than a test subject. What if it left him where his future self had been, engulfed in rage and hatred?

Zack was kind even with full knowledge of who he was, what he would become. What he'd do. It wasn't something brought on just by seeing a pathetic example of a SOLDIER laid up in a civilian hospital, it had been there from the start. And it felt like betrayal to even think he might deliberately follow a similar path as he does in Zack's future and spit on that undeserved kindness.

Sephiroth was resolved to not inflict any more harm than absolutely necessary, no matter how he felt or what he was told. It meant he had to prepare better, make sure he was as fully healed as he could hope to get, and be more careful about his questions in his pursuit of the Turk who put him in the hospital to begin with.

.. Both by injury and by rescue. Pursuing a resolution that doesn't end in killing would.. make Zack happy, he hoped. It would for Glenn, he's certain. Natasha had suggested finding a peaceful means of ending the conflict too. They couldn't all be wrong.

Questions, time and observation has led him here, amongst the evergreens where his black and white coloration simply helped him blend in instead of betray him, feathers ruffled up against the cold, silent as the snow. A heavily insulated pack lay between his wings nestled alongside a sheathed sword, so well wrapped that he couldn't feel the icy cold of the treat inside it, insurance in case of lies. Sephiroth didn't much like the snow, but it was an ally, muffling what little sound there might have otherwise been when he leaves his perch, heavy wingbeats to drag himself skyward also eerily quiet - if there was one thing he could thank the Fox for, it was granting him an owl's feathers, and owl's silence. Although the goal was a peaceful resolution, that would mean catching a Turk unawares -- disarm him fast enough that he can't be shot down again and make sure no shapeshifting went on either. Most might think to just go straight up and over, Sephiroth does not. Vincent already knows to look up. But keeping track of moving things the same colors as the dark and snow crusted pines was another matter, and he is made for maneuverability through the branches.

The impact is sudden and of course from behind, but not from above; the only warning Vincent gets is the peripheral blur of vivid green eyespots when all else is washed into the dark grays, silvers and whites of Wintermute's desolation. All he'll need is a moment or two of distraction to drive the ex-Turk into the snow and use the razor's edge of a glittering violet and magenta blade to cut loose the ever-present gun and flick it aside and out of reach. He's smaller, he's possibly lighter, but with luck and surprise on his side, he'll be able to get the sword back up to Vincent's throat before the man can do much about him being there; SOLDIERs are unearthly fast, but Vincent's... no more human than he is, is he?

It Begins With A Text

[coffinturk]

[ The username is valentine.v. But it's already in the contacts list anyway right? ]

Are you home? I'd like to stop by and speak with you.

[ The truth is he's already in the area. He knows where Sephiroth lives exactly thanks to some helpful (and concerned) spirits in Lapine and Willow. But it was seen to be prudent to text before knocking on the door.

Ambushes... should be made a thing of the past. ]

[miniroth]

[His nominal 'neighbors' did keep an eye out for the solitary boy that should still be living at home with parents or a guardian and not on his own. He's kept a rigid schedule until lately, and that deviance has been noted.

But they mean well. And he allows it, their kindness and generosity an unfamiliar but not unwelcome thing. It does however mean finding him isn't terribly hard.. though trouble would risk the wrath of those same neighbors.]

My home is not really suited for entertaining guests.

[It's not a no. But it's also true. While the burrow into the hill was comfortable and warm outside, inside it was.. ridiculously sparse. He didn't really have .. things. At all. What was the point? A bed would do, a table, a chair.

Outside, wildflowers grow riot. Outside, it blends in to countless other hobbit-hole like homes.]

Catte Tags Out, Vincent Tags In.

[coffinturk]

There were many times the cat seemed to be around when Sephiroth needed him to be. Sometimes he was also just there. Quiet, nonjudgmental and patient. ...But then the teen didn't push too much contact upon the black-furred feline either so that was never tested to his limit.

Except that day when he returned from their world.


The cat had shown up moments later as though he'd been watching and waiting. An open window, a cracked door or a way opened when a familiar meow was heard. The cat would have let himself be picked up and settled, falling into his usual standard to purring and presence.He would not have left Sephiroth's side until the teen had seemed a little more... aware.

But at some point the feline signaled wanting out again. And there would be a wait between his disappearance and not simply because of the ruse. Vincent went to procure a simple meal of sandwiches and light soup and drinks for two before returning to knock on the door. The time? Well, it doesn't really matter. This time he didn't message ahead of time.

Honestly, he expects Sephiroth to be expecting him. Though the knocking is at least accompanied by a phrase.

"It's me."

It's undoubtedly a statement that not only expects Sephiroth to be inside but knows he is. For all he might consider entering if there continues to be silence to the announcement of his presence, Vincent knows better than to do so outright.

[miniroth]

It's a cat, it comes and goes. For the week and a half Sephiroth was missing, surely someone tended to it because when it slips in through an open window and cries for attention, it doesn't seem starving or anything. Which is good, as the teenager really isn't in a presence of mind to think of what is and isn't healthy for a cat to eat and then go find his spoon and get it made.

He's been functioning on autopilot since coming back to himself in a burning pinetree. The walk home, the blank survey of unburnt home, his things more or less where they were before, all more to rote memorization than anything like actively thinking about it. There's too much to process, returning here. Too much had happened too quickly. The cat is a comforting presence, the tiniest of rumbling purrs some measure of grounding while he sorts through Rhadore's annihilation, and with it her people ... and Rosen. No amount of knowing the distant future helped him in the near future.

An extended silence more akin to shock than to emotional turmoil, and the occasional jerk of half-healed injury reminding him it was still there through a stab of pain. Stillness and a cat doesn't agitate those. Whatever had happened in his absence, it was either as bad as the revelations of what he was, or simply made them much worse. It's ... just a matter of sorting through it.

And sorting what being here again meant. It's the last that shakes him eventually out of his silent immobility; as awful as things had been, there's no doubt now that it could change. Maybe not what's happened already, but the rest.. He can get up at least, let the cat back out and close the window against the smoke drifting across the Burrows from some nearby wildfire. Tend to a message or three, and sit at his small table still strewn with unfinished work and fail to do any of it. How much time passes between sitting down and a knock at the door eludes him, but it does pull Sephiroth's attention back up. The Turk.

Verdot.

When the door is opened, it's still painfully obvious he's out of sorts, the mask of impassivity isn't even in place. "It's not a good time." Is any time ever a good time? But hey, it's words!

An Text | UN: VALENTINE.V (same day as haircut!)

[coffinturk]

Do you know where Natasha lives?

[miniroth]

I'm not helping you Turk at more people, Mr. Valentine. But no, I never asked.

Sometime!!! During the Mayerling Meeting!!!!!

[coffinturk]

[ A text. ]

Seems like you're going to be fine with this vampire. Still. Want me to stay?

[ He did, after all, sort of push his way into coming even this far out. ]

...Dinner later, if you're feeling up to it?

After post-(soul-)surgical follow-up & any given Exile session with Mayerling - voice; un: imyarek

[unsheathedfromreality]

So you're aware, I'd noticed you and your -- training partner, is it? In Exile the other evening.

[It's a measure of their relationship, such as it is, that Illarion's sticking to Shriketongue (and not sounding like a total weirdo) in speaking to Sephiroth.]

I didn't want to interrupt, but surveilling you without your knowledge would be wrong.

[miniroth]

[Did Illarion reach Sephiroth? Reach Casimir? There's no way of being sure, when it's audio only, and at a distance that suggests the relic isn't in hand, but maybe sitting on a counter or table a short distance away.]

Oh. Were we disturbing you?

Oh. This Guy.

[coffinturk]

Winter has been unusually mild this year. But it marches on, with light snowfall or prismatic 'ice rain' marking the bulk of Willow's weather patterns.

At least it just seems pretty. No shimmering glamour to creep up on the unsuspecting. No signs of Unseelie in ascent of power. Perhaps that's because of the strange and tumultuous storm that stranded them all in Amrita. Maybe it's something to come in the next few months.

No one can say for sure. Certainly not Vincent.

These days, his presence, his arrivals are heralded by the sense of Knowing that comes through the Familiar bond. As it had deepened, it wasn't just location, but emotions. Genuine ones, honest. Proof that the lack of changing expression outwardly in no way reflected what the former Turk felt.

Today, there is an air of hesitance and uncertainty. Nonetheless, Vincent approaches the cozy home in Lapine that Sephiroth has chosen. There is a box balanced delicately on with the claw tipped gauntlet and a flat package occupying the other. It's hard to knock, but does he have to?

"Sephiroth?"

ohgod it's that guy again!!

[miniroth]

He didn't trust the rain.

Rare was it in Folkmore that something so unusual wasn't in some way touched and likely to cause problems, so he only went out in it when he had to, keeping close tabs on what weather forecasts he could get to shove as much into his day as he could. The rest of the time spent silent and gloomy indoors, working on any number of smaller things. Getting what exercise he could. Attending schoolwork.

Preparing for the inevitable.

And more often than not keeping an eye on that rain. It's just suspicious. It's a constant undercurrent of wariness that only ever broke when the sky cleared, and left him picking his way delicately through town with the fastidiousness of a cat to avoid any puddles or ice. Today is no exception.

He doesn't leave a window open for a little black cat anymore. It's unnecessary. There's also no such thing as turning up unannounced anymore, intention connecting to the sense of approaching presence that drags him from his spot by the window to open the door nearly as Vincent speaks.

In another six months, he might not be as comfortable in the house he's chosen, it's not suited to people any taller than he is now, and definitely favored smaller. But he still hasn't accessorized much, there's not a need for .. things. Trinkets and detritus, save a small number of chosen things, and as the door is opened the rest of the way and he steps to one side, heat billows out.

Most people keep their homes much cooler. He prefers it somewhere around eighty. "Get out of the rain before it does something." It's not even raining much!!

text | un: incendiary | probably a couple days after the truth meme

[fogsong]

Heyyy [ What the fuck is that, Sharon Da Silva? ] I just wanted to check in on you. I wasn't trying to be a dick before, just as an FYI.

[miniroth]

I understand. The temporary problem was hard for anyone affected to resist.

I apologize if Mr. Valentine upset you. He has a certain blind spot about me.

Wintermute Days

[coffinturk]

When Vincent had sensed Sephiroth's presence waning, he'd been swift to come to the youth's home. Swifter still to realize why; with only the orb of stardust present there could only be one cause. There was also no trace of Casimir.

He hadn't bothered to delay long. After a cursory once over of the home to be sure nothing dangerous was left on and a collection of all items that would be necessary to take with him, Vincent had finally picked up the orb and retreated to the far reaches of Wintermute.

While he didn't keep a cabin there for this express purpose, it was a better place than most to hide away and bide his time waiting for Sephiroth's return.

March's beginning did not bring any odd weather to the region that nearly always is locked in ice and snow. So sled dogs could travel, Vincent could arrange regular deliveries of necessary items and otherwise remain mostly nearby, save the occasional trip to meet with someone or drop by Kuma Lisa to arrange notes and homework for Sephiroth classes. Nice things. Normal things.

Ones that implied the youth that left will be in a state to simply pick up where he left off upon his return. That didn't mean there weren't other arrangements. Just that there was some hope for a more positive outcome.

Vincent is nearby, though. Because one thing that doesn't really wait are chores. Clear snow off the roof, collect dead fall trees to cut into wood and store. Firewood could be done with lore and summoning but why be wasteful?

And it kept him busy.

The former Turk's reaction to Sephiroth's return is immediate. As the Familiar Bond suddenly awakens, Vincent drops the tree he'd been dragging home and is in a split second shifted to the form of the black chocobo; swiftly running at full speed over the snow rather than the sedate pace he'd chosen as a human.

Is it instinct that suggests he would find no trouble if he made himself so vulnerable? Perhaps, deep down. But the conscious mind is pouring over the possibilities of who he will find, comparing it to... what? What emotion is tied to the connection?


The cabin has probably changed a lot since that first day Sephiroth visited to glean the truth from Vincent Valentine. A lot more shelves, many more books. Rugs and furniture. Soft lamps powered by a hidden, replenishable source can be turned on but candles and oil lamps are also an option. There is no fire and one waits to be lit, but the cabin itself is only starting to truly get cold; the normal occupant hasn't been gone long.

There's a masterful work of Lucrecia hung over the mantle; slumbering in crystal. Another of a landscape... no a recognizable field that was the backdrop of the picnic Lucrecia was painted in for Sephiroth's birthday gift, though this particular one lacks any people.

For what it's worth, Vincent had chosen a normal bed over a coffin. ...Though perhaps that was on chance that one day, someone else would visit and need to borrow it for a nap. Or the loft it occupies just doesn't have the height to push off or shift aside a lid with particular ease. Practical matters.

[miniroth]

No surprises this time on his reappearance, with the bond intact. One minute nothing beyond the vaguest 'starball is still there' sense, the next sharp startlement.

And then sudden seething fury. Not the hatred of pending genocide but the whole hearted uncontrolled indignant rage of a small child denied a piece of candy they'd really wanted, a temper tantrum made volatile and dangerous only by the fact that it is not a small child feeling it but someone well capable of doing significant harm with breathtaking ease. The obsessive want lingers. There's something slightly ... off, with that feeling. Like a discordant hum in the back of the mind. Like a haze of cloying smoke, or a mirage in a desert.

Denied. Denied, when the very next morning they would have set out to retrieve his sword from that decrepit old man, only a handful of hours before it would finally be back in his hands and instead he was here.

He'd gone willingly enough when the fox came to retrieve him, but in retrospect it's INFURIATING. Why did he capitulate so easy? Why didn't he ask her to just wait a little while??

Sephiroth is aware on immediate analysis of where he is, the view out the window is familiar, and though there's more THINGS now than there were before, it still has the smell and feel of Vincent to it all. And Vincent himself is absent, the cabin cooling but not yet bitterly cold.

A safe enough place away from prying eyes to pace and growl and seethe in stymied fury, though with the sense of approaching Turk after several minutes of angry pacing around the small cabin throws himself onto a chair, wings manifesting with an effortless thought to set himself to agitated preening; it's something that could occasionally help soothe his nerves, something he hadn't done even once outside Folkmore where anyone might see and worse Russ might catch on tape, but here there's no reason not to. He's still molting, doesn't think about where all the white had gone, replaced with charcoal and black, but the same amount of underfluff and loose coverts are easy to pull out and toss aside and smooth down feathers that were healthy and alive and remaining.

It helps a little bit, ratcheting roiling rage to simmering displeasure instead.

[backdated to late feb] un: donatello

[semilethal]

As you might have already determined, it didn't work. Something went wrong. I've been dead, otherwise I'd have told you sooner.

I know you wanted to witness the results. Sorry.

[miniroth]

[The response is in under two minutes.]

I surmised as much, though not your death. Having experienced it, I do not envy you the side effects.

I'm sorry as well, your goal was noble. It was nice while it lasted to have something to hope for. If you choose to try again, please feel free to request my assistance, your idea of specimen holding was remarkably humane for a scientist.

My previous offer of refuge remains.