mordredeschain | (no subject)

*The bridge is only about ten yards long, and once they reach the other side he quickly leads her away.* The town be all bird-heads an' beast-heads; any humes ya think ya see are apt ta be rats in masks. The rats worship the human form, God alone kens why, so they try ta emulate it.

The other still obey me, mind, son o' the Crimson King as I am. But the rats will obey thee near as much.

Rats in human masks, its the stuff of fairy tales. She keeps a hold of his hand just in case.

"So I'm like, the pied piper here?"

*He laughs and nods.* I suppose it is summat o' that sort, aye.

If they get ta be too much just tell me. I can tell them ta leave you alone. I'm a spider, after all.

"Do rats not like spiders?" she queries, her attention suddenly drawn to the sky, looking from left to right. "Hey, wasnt the sun over that away when we set out? It's moved."

They wouldn't dare dislike us. The spider is the favored form o' the greater demons in this reality. We are kin ta Atlach-Nacha, Crimson Empress, who rules todash. I rather suspect they'd submit ta my hungers with pride, iffen I asked it o' them. There's a reason I don't live close enough for them ta fawn o'er me all the bedamned time.

Hmm? *He looks over at it.* Oh, looks like it be spiralin' again. That or North got lost and it followed.

Coventina is starting to feel more and more like Dorothy out of The Wizard of Oz. How can north get lost? That's very careless of it.

"Yes I imagine that could become tiring after a while, especially if their attentions are disingenuous. Fawning is not a good look on anyone, especially a rat."

*Alice was never so confused by Wonderland . . .

*Not long after--inasmuch as time has meaning still--they reach the edge of the taheen town. A small child with a rat head spots them first and goes running to spread the news of visitors.* They'll be bowing and scraping before long, set my watch an' warrant on it, but oh well. Come on.

The rat child is a little disconcerting in appearance. She thinks it might be the strangely human hands coming out of his coat sleeves. But he doesn't stay around long enough for her to get a good look.

"Actually I think it might be fun to see someone bow to you. For a short while. Do you think he has gone to warn people of your arrival?"

As they get even closer she sees that a crowd has gathered which appears to be waiting for them. Her hand is still in Mordreds and she tightens her grip a little.

"You won't leave go will you. Promise me you won't leave me alone."

Apparently he has, yes. *He grins when he sees the small crowd forming.* Don't worry, sai, I'd never leave thee.

*He smiles at the (literally) weasel-like face of the mayor, who's looking rather nervous. He generally does when Mordred is in town, say true.* Ah, Lamla o'Galee. I do so hope that you've been doing well.

"V-very well, sir." *The stoat man bows a little as he speaks.* "No major crimes or accidents, no problems at all to speak of. Would you and your friend like something to eat, sir?"

I've eaten well lately, but if you've threaded stock my friend might like some beef or fish. *He turns to her, ignoring Lamla's relief.* Which would you prefer if they have both, sai?

The releif radiating from the Weasel man is so intense it is almost tangible. She knows why.

"I would prefer fish but where would they get fish from in the midst of such desert like lands?"

They must be getting water from somewhere.

“There is a small oasis averaging half a mile from here, sir,” explains the mayor. “It does indeed have some fish and shrimp, for special occasions.”

I believe this counts, aye?

Who is she to argue with the little red prince over what constitutes a special occasion. She smiles at the mayor and tries not to stare at his twitching whiskers.

"That would be very kind of you. Thank you."

*The mayor smiles back, then excuses himself so he can send someone fishing.*

They're not bad people, really. They just think differently--an' they obey Red Daddy despite the fact that He wants ta destroy all things, because it's what they know. *He shrugs.* These be the ones as were smart enough ta flee when He finally went screamin' insane, for what it be worth, but they don't obey me out o' fear alone.

Although everybody is being very nice to them she still feels quite wary. Perhaps it is because she is in a strange land surrounded by even stranger people. The natural Instinct is to be cautious.

"I see. shall we take a look around the town while we're waiting for the fishermen to come back? I'd like to see what there is here."

That would be fine, aye. Although I'd call it a fairly average Wild West sort o' town, aside from the species o' the locals.

Is there much in fighting. Between the species I mean? The only wild west she knows about is all from movies, and they were full of bar room brawls and gun slingers.

*He shakes his head.* Not species so much, no. Personal feuds an' ideologies be the bigger issues, an' even then a town like this has ta stick together ta survive in All-World.

You'll not find gunslingers here, either. The gunslingers are all dead now, save perhaps White Daddy, an' though we may not wish ta be o' the Red we can't help that we're everythin' Gilead was against. No, we're not gunslingers. Not even close.

"I was just thinking about gunslingers, oh right yes of course." It still takes some getting used to the fact that he can pick unspoken thoughts right out of her head.

"Well that's a good thing. I've no wish to shot at."

Edited 2018-02-12 15:20 (UTC)

Bein' shot at is never fun, I agree. *He shudders. There are memories there, it seems.*

She looks at him with surprise. "Someone shot at you? At you?"

Hume-mother an' hume-father both have shot me, aye. *He rubs at a long-healed scar along his hip.* My family be . . . not a good one, human or demon.

"Why that's, that's awful." Her brow creases with consternation. and I thought my family was messed up

I be the son o' the Crimson King, awful's ta be expected.

*As if in answer to the comment, an elderly taheen man with a bird's head lacking half the feathers walks up to them curiously.* "L-little king? L-little Red K-king? Is that you, sir?"

Yes, it's me. *He sighs.* I'm not the kind o' god as heals, ya ken. Certainly not when the disease be time.

"O-oh, I don't expect that. But the Little Red King must be fed, say true, an' I'm so very tired . . ."

*Mordred attempts to make his smile reassuring. It's not perfect, but better than nothing.* Ah, I see. Sit with us a while, then, old-timer.

It takes her a little while to cotton on to what is happening. But when she does she finds that it doesn't sit well. She says nothing for a moment, mulling over the implication, before asking the bird man's name.

"I'm Pimlo Rassi, miss. Don't worry about me; my children are gone, my grandchildren grown an' I have lived too long."

*Mordred lays a soft hand on his shoulder, feeling the brittle feathers down the neck.* Time is a face upon the water indeed in these late days. How would you wish to end?

"However you would like me. Everything aches, a bit more pain is worth it now."

I'd not add to thy pain, old one. You'll not have to endure the venom.