17 ɂ text & spam & video

[mattersverymuch]

spam } roundabout

[There are two rats. Neither of them have names but what are known to themselves, and both of them were, until recently, terrifically annoyed at being removed from their perfectly amenable existence and deposited on the Barge, where there are no other rats and also no real gravity (the kind that exists they don't wholly believe in).]

[After a significant period of negotiation, a deal has been struck: they will stay, for the purposes of errands, company, and general nuisancing, in exchange for food and protection. As such, the marquis de Carabas has placed a charm on them, so that should anyone or anything threaten them, they grow to twice the size of the threat.]

[They run around on their own a decent portion of the time, but it's more energy-efficient to ride with the marquis, so he can be seen more or less everywhere he goes with a rat on his shoulder or in one of his multitudinous pockets. The CES is a dimly-lit forest when he visits, drifting mist obscuring one's view of the path ahead, and he consults with them on the most interesting direction in which to proceed. On deck, they run the railing ahead of him and pause to criticize the others on board with their beady eyes. In the halls, they scuttle from door to door underfoot, tails twitching, seeking out shadows. In the gardens, he tends to the beehive in a distant sort of way and will definitely not tell anyone how he knows how to do this. The rats keep away in his pocket for this period, because they were not born yesterday, thank you.]

private } snow

[Someone is a terrific mood. Which, lately, makes him contemplative.]

Your gift was useful. ["Thank you." Still can't say it.]

spam } dean

[Congratulations, Dean, there's a rat in your room. The slightly smaller one, not that you'll probably be able to tell the difference. Don't ask how it got in. Just don't.]

[Currently it's sitting on the bedside table, perfectly sedate, as if waiting for something. Which it is.]

video } public

[The aforementioned rats are sitting both on one shoulder, looking with an air of intense disapproval at the communicator. Technology: fuck it. The marquis looks amused at their annoyance, as he generally does whenever anybody is annoyed about anything. At least it's friendly amusement.]

What's always baffled me about this place is how inorganic it is. No - pests. [One of them looks at him with extreme displeasure. He shrugs. What?] An ordinary ship would pick something up at port, especially with all the cargo taken on. Even for a ship that's not technically a ship, enough other things come on board - entire alternate universes, for example - this level of sterility is impractically perfect.

And boring.

At least there are bees now.


( ooc; THERE IS A BEEHIVE IN THE GARDENS NOW, I JUST FORGOT TO SAY ANYTHING ABOUT IT, THE MARQUIS AND THE EMPEROR STOLE A BEEHIVE. yep. )

Comments

[surfaceshine]

[Dean's room has always been remarkably high traffic, all things considered. He sets down salt at the door - still, for some reason, even he couldn't say why anymore - and paints a devil's trap on the ceiling and is, more or less, okay with anything that gets past those for the most part.

This is the first time it's been a rat, though.

Walking out of his bathroom, shoving dirty clothes into a duffel bag to consider making a laundry run later, the hunter pauses and narrows his eyes at the creature.]

Really?

[mattersverymuch]

[Really. Really. Also, the rat is not happy with your attitude, Dean. It is unbecoming, and you're making a stupid face.]

[It sits up slightly and chitters at him, then gives him an extremely expectant look.]

[surfaceshine]

[Dean is pretty good at reading people. He wouldn't have said, until now, that the same extended to any other species, but he is getting the condescension loud and clear. Wow.

And as an aside, that's just how his face normally looks.

The hunter glances around surreptitiously, just to make sure there's no one else here to see him talking to the damn thing. Then:]

Alright Splinter, cool your jets. Are you someone I know?

[mattersverymuch]

[It hesitates at "Splinter" - what the hell is that - and then very clearly and distinctly shakes its head. No, it's not anyone he knows.]

[However, it does stand up on its hind legs and peer at the line of salt by the door, then back at Dean. It chitters again.]

[surfaceshine]

[This is the Barge. It's a legitimate question. Which he tells the creature defensively before he can stop himself.]

It's the Barge, it's not like it would be the first time, you know.

[Then he realizes he's defending himself to a rat and tells himself to knock it off. Drawing back slightly when it stands up - didn't these things start the black plague or something - Dean keeps his eyes on it like it's something he's hunting, turning his head and only flicking his gaze away quickly and then back.]

...don't tell me you're a ghost rat and now you can't get out or someshit.

[composited]

....I hope they're okay with mine.

The other bees, I mean.

[mattersverymuch]

They don't even know they're there.

[composited]

I don't know anything about bees.

Which is amazing, considering.

[deadly_ned]

Our bees? Mine and Alpha's?

[Coincidence of coincidences, the Piemaker gifted Alpha a little beehive not too long ago]

[mattersverymuch]

No. The other ones. Though yours are nice enough, I suppose.

[deadly_ned]

Which other ones?

And of course my bees are nice.

private

[breathoflight]

[If Snow was less the way she is, she would say "you're welcome" directly.]

I am glad to hear it.

[So, instead, she'll be indirect as he is.]

private

[mattersverymuch]

They don't like it here much. I told them to get used to it.

[Actually, he told them that they'd get to go home soon if they helped him out. They said they didn't believe him, he said he was their only chance . . . and so things go. Eventually, they came to agreement. The difference is, he doesn't think they actually ever believed him.]

[Oh, well. He's still an excellent liar. Rats are just better.]

I want to know more about your Queen. The other one.

[The evil one, using true fairy-tale parlance.]

private

[breathoflight]

[Snow trusts that de Carabas can handle any issues the rats may or may not have. He's not necessarily the most likable man in the multiverse - he has a habit of rubbing himself the wrong way with nearly everyone - but he is successful at building a working relationship regardless of how reluctant the other party may be.]

[The request catches Snow by surprise.]

What is it you would like to know?

private

[mattersverymuch]

Everything.

[But that's not quite true, is it? Ordinarily it would be; knowledge is power, after all. But in this case, what he wants is very specific.]

Information about her motivations would be . . . helpful.

[Because she lost so completely, so concretely, so permanently. Because evil, he has decided, is too simplistic for him. He has to know what not to do.]

[garden spam]

[routemistress]

[There are many old traditions connected with bees: one is the bringing of news. If someone died, if someone was born, someone would go and tell the bees about it, as a matter of courtesy.

That's not really what Iris is doing. Their collective consciousness with its scattershot singlemindedness is supremely uninterested in the doings of the mammals around it, providing they don't threaten the integrity of the hive and its food supply. Iris is sitting among the dianthus, bees walking across her face and hands and losing themselves in her hair, and she's attempting to shape her own thoughts into a form that the bees can understand sufficiently for her to inform them that the Barge dogs and cats don't require a declaration of war.

She's not at all sure she's succeeding, but the freeform mathematics of their dances are soothing to her, so she stays.

She lifts her eyes to the Marquis, a silent salute.]

[mattersverymuch]

[It's almost enough to bring a smile to his face: Iris Wildthyme, communing with organized chaos. She is such a delightful dichotomy that for a moment, despite how out of place he is in space and time, he feels quite content.]

[The rats rustle in his pockets and reach their little minds out to inspect her, speaking quietly to themselves in their own language. The marquis nods, watching one errant bee arriving late to the party and nestling itself deeply in the hair at the nape of her neck.]

Are you learning anything of note?

[His voice is a quiet, deep hum, almost a buzz. He doesn't speak everything, but he can imitate it well enough to soothe.]

[routemistress]

[It takes Iris some time to refocus on the part of her mind that speaks in words, and she smiles up at the Marquis with her eyes while she does so.]

The buddleia over in the corner there's nearly in bloom. They're very excited about it.

[The smile spreads and broadens on her mouth, slow as warming honey.]

The air 'ere's a lot better'n Chicago. You did 'em a favour.

[mattersverymuch]

[He's content enough to wait in silence, absorbing the thick warmth of Iris's presence and letting it touch the recent ragged edges of him like a balm. By the time she speaks, he's achieved perfect serenity. The difference is barely perceptible, but it is there.]

And I didn't even charge for it.

[The rats snicker and duck their heads back into his pockets to tell jokes to each other; the corner of his mouth turns up, too, though his eyes barely thaw. It's as good as one can expect, really.]

Bees are useful.

[secretasshole]

Be careful what you wish for.

[mattersverymuch]

Thank you for that pithy comment. I always am.

[secretasshole]

Glad to hear it.

[mirabilis]

What would you like to see instead?

[mattersverymuch]

Life.

[As if this should be obvious.]

[mirabilis]

But life of what? It seems that the reverse happens more.