[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.]
[garden spam]
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.]