An Armed Collision

Log Info

• Title: An Armed Collision
• Emitter: Jinks
• Characters: Slixvah
• Place: Society for Progressive Arcanists
• Time: July 18th, 2022
• Summary: Slixvah steps out from a lecture hall for a breather only to be sent sprawling by a careless Lucht. The halfling is an odd and unapologetic creature concerned only for the state of the item he's transporting. The pair speak briefly after the egalrin manages to defuse the situation. Odundik (as he introduces himself) goes back about his business with renewed frantic energy.

Arcanist's Society, Midday

Finally. Finally there's a break in the weather. But instead of overcast, misty mugginess, it's just glaringly hot, the clouds in the sky seemingly avoiding the light of the sun's deadly laser. No blankets over that.

At least in the courtyard, arcane science is never stopped. Save for the poor sods that have to walk or fly to their classes due to having no fun teleporting abound.

A door to a lecture hall is opened towards the courtyard, a wave of debate being flung out as a beribboned and book clutching eglarin woman is jabbing a finger back in there. "Saint Marteen's Observatory of the Second Sea has no place in the Diviner's Collection!"

Muffled voices of discontent yell back.

"I don't care, he's a Saint of bloody Illotha, you idiot! Trickery! It-"

The door is slammed shut.

The book thuds against her face. "... why d'I bother with this school..." she sighs, wings drooping. Feathers are missing in places on them.

-- and when Illotha closes a door she opens you up for a Suprise Attack!

Slixvah has just enough time to make note of bare feet slapping rapidly on the cobblestones and a surprised 'ack!' before something jagged, heavy, and with a much lower center of gravity slams bodily into her. A long, heavy package falls by her feet as the lucht-shaped trip attack goes spiraling and tumbling off to one side, rolling into the grass ass-over-tea kettle.

"oooo~OOO~ooooh," they groan, sprawled on their back. It is a halfling..! Probably? The curious creature has deeply-tanned skin with shocking grey splotches; like milk dribbled into dark tea. Their hair is wild and long but doesn't seem to grow on half their scalp and their clothes are old, patchwork, and freshly-torn.

Judging by bloodied nose and knuckles (on a four-fingered hand..?), they've just escaped a scuffle.

Slixvah slides the book off her beak before she's suddenly caught flat footed! There's a surprised squawk that caws out from her, the book going flying as she flails and falls over. Feathers suddenly animate and unravel from her wings as they catch her from hitting face first into the cobble.

She rubs her face. "... aaaand.... the woe part starts..." she chirps to herself as she gets to her feet.

She looks down, a little surprise on her face as she swoops over to them. "Oh goodness, oh precious, are ya aight?" she inquires of them. "Do ya need a chirurgeon?"

She squints. Then lightly sighs. "... is that you, Git."

"You know Git?!" The lucht's eyes pop open; they're an unmatched set. One's almond-shaped and a fairly normal (if unremarkable) brown color while the other is the same milky grey with a thin black ring and ice-blue pupil inside of it. He sniffs and draws an arm under his nose, wincing and smearing blood and snot on his upper-lip and sleeve. "Did you know him before he got exspunged?" As an afterthought: "Git's a gobber, though, and I'm Lucht Siuil-- mostly."

Sitting up, the little man sighs and blinks. He's forgetting something..? He pats his hips, his shirt, chest-- leans to one side to pat his rump... and THEN he sees the package where it fell; one edge is dented.

"Oh no! Oh, no, no, nonono... did I break it?" He pops up to his knees and scrambles over.

Slixvah raises her brows. "Mostly?" she echoes. "I know 'im. Dunno if it was before or after him getting kicked out."

She shakes her head quickly, her holding her hands out to slow them. "Hey hey, Slick, chill your roll. You're bleedin'. Do you want me ta fix ya up?" she offers. "Can't deliver somethin' broken if you ain't able ta get your broken self delivered."

A glance to the package. "... whuzzat?" she asks.

"It's something for Mama to give to-- someone..." the halfling answers Slixvah, perched over the box on his knees with his weird little hands opening and closing nervously. As if he's too afraid to touch to box lest it fall apart entirely.

"You--?" He blinks and looks up, stunned. "That's nice. Most people aren't that nice. I'm fine." He adds, glancing down at his bloodied knuckle. "'You should see the other guys,' right?" He smiles awkwardly as he chews on his lip.

"Some of the students here should be fed to ogres. Or lowered into acid. Or deprecated out of a high window." His awkward smile takes on an edge. "... it's why I don't like to come here.

"But most everyone is out working so Mama Bula asked me."

Slixvah furrows her brows, crouching down across from them. "... I agree wit'cha that they're rude as hell, but none of that tho'. Rather hit 'em with a book."

Her gaze drifts from the odd hands to the eyes. "Honey. I ain't got a bird brain. You actin' all sorts of weird."

But her expression softens. "But ya can trust me, I'm an affront to these people. I got kicked outta a lecture too long ago."

A beat. "Who's Mama Bula?"

"I'm not weird!" Snaps the mutant halfling, jumping up quick and balling his hands into fists. "You're weird! This whole compounded place is weird." He paces away two steps only to turn sharply and come right back.

When he rolls his shoulder the joint pops and his arm seems to go rubbery for a moment. He's trying to calm down but it's clear that he's feeling more than a little lathered.

"Why are you in front of these people? If you hit them with a book it's easier from behind. Use subtle-fuge."

The mention of Mama Bula has a visible effect on him; he drops down into a crouch with his rump by his ankles. Reaching up, the halfling smooths his mad hair to one side, parting the other side down with his fingers. There's a scar there, massive and old and spotted with the same grey discoloration.

"Mama Bula is Mama Bula," he explains, frustrated; as if he's forced to explain why the sky's blue. "She takes care of us so we help her. Me, Git, and the others."

The accusation of illnormalcy hits a sensitive twang, Slixvah glancing down to the ground. "Yeah, I knows. But a lil' weird never hurt no one, no?" she recovers, smiling. "I'd rather call 'em a fool to their face. And use my wits as my subtle-fuge, sugar. Thems folks in there ain't used ta someone like me."

She watches. Observes the little things. Her head cocks to the side slowly. "Mama Bula fix you up?" she asks. "Lookin' like she does well wit' what she can."

The lucht considers Slixvah, head tilted has he continues to comb through his hair with crooked fingers. He's trying to sort out her reaction. She's weird? She's going to call someone at the Academy a fool? That seems to be fine. He thinks.

"Someone brought me here. They said they found me in 'status' in the crashed city. I don't remember." He looks down past his nose into the middle-distance. "They said I'm a high-bird. Like you, I guess? Maybe we're related? Kept poking me and asking me questions I didn't know the answer to... "I don't think Mama Bula can do this," he comments, looking at his hand. "But she lets me stay with her so I don't have to stay here and clean up when it's dark. And nobody calls me 'Oh-Dumb-Dick' at Mama's house."

He sighs and stops combing his hair, looking at his fingernails, shaking out his hand, and wiping it on his old, dirty pants before extending it to Slixvah. "I'm Odundik. Sorry, bad manners but I'm trying."

The egalrin's been keeping a gentle smile as best she can in her expression, but behind those warm eyes, every word was being filtered through and filed away for later. "Hybrid," she intones. "Part gobber maybe? Maybeys that's what they was askin' of ya."

She looks to the hand, then back up to the lucht. With one motion, she slides off the white glove she's wearing and grasps the attempted-to-be-cleaned hand. "Slixvah Unmesi. Pleasure ta meet thee," she half rhymes. "No worries. Ya doin' good, honey. That sounds like she's real nice ta let ya stay there."

Rapport built. Circle back...

A nod towards the box. "Whazzat?" she asks again. "You 'fraid it's gonna fall apart? Need someone ta make sure it gets ta where it needs gettin'?"

Odundik engages in the handshake perfunctorily. It's clearly a gesture he's familiar with and knows to be expected-- but that doesn't have to mean he enjoys doing it. He's also less-than-subtle about wiping his hands off on his pantsleg again after Slixvah releases him.

"Mama Bula is the best!" The lucht agrees merrily only to turn crestfallen when the egalrin reminds him of the package. He stays crouched and crosses his arms tightly over his chest. "Do... do you promise to be careful?

"I can't let Mama Bula down."

Slixvah replaces her glove as she gives him a dip of the head. "Odu, I'm made of fluffy feathers. Like a pillow but better. I can carry it, you just show me where we goin'. Aight? I promise."

She steps towards the package, her glancing back for permission.

The halfling crouches there for a long moment just looking at the package. Long enough, in fact, that Slixvah might prompt him again. Then, suddenly, he blurts a "no!" and hops up, scurrying over and putting himself between her and the long, heavy box. "I'll do it.

"Mama Bula asked me to do it. I have to do it." He turns and leans over, inspecting the damage corner. A long finger stretches to touch it, slowly, only to be jerked back as if the item were hot to the touch. Then he tries again and presses firmly, grunting and narrowing his eyes as if he might smooth out the damage.

"Darkwood is tough, right?" There's another moment's hesitation before he lifts the packaga off the ground, struggling with its over three-feet of length. He holds it from the bottom arm wraps his other arm up along its length, bracing it from the other side with his cheek.

Turning in a tight circle, he takes a moment to get his bearings and make sure no one is too close. "It's an arm," he blurts.

Slix quits her advance and puts her hands up in feign surrender. "I getcha, I getcha," she hums, unfazed. Watching. "Darkwood... sort of. It's flexible, which make it tough. 'sides. Boxes are made ta get dinged up. If they were too tough, the stuff inside wouldn't make it."

And then the contents are revealed. "I see," she intones. "And where we goin' wit' it?"

>'I fuckin' called it'. Gawds damn I'm good.<

She preens herself.

"No. No, I'll do it. I'm fine now." He really does seem to be, at least. Mercurial, that's the word. "It's a surprise for Kerry-Anne when she gets back so 'shhhhhh.'"

Odundik tosses his head to get the hair back from his eyes sniffs. His nose and upper lip are still a mess but he doesn't seem to mind.

"Stay and hit some people with books. Or demarcate their heads." He takes a few steps back and has one last look around. "You should watch where you're going, too, so you don't bump into people."

He's just about ready to run off...

Slixvah rests her hands on her hips, her rolling a shoulder as a couple feathers from her wings flutter off to the ground. "Kerry-Anne..." she repeats, totally not filing that away for later. "I gotcha. My beak is sealed," she snickers.

A glance behind her towards the door. "I think I'll go back in a bit, I still got some fight left in me."

She looks down, raises a hand, and waggles her fingers. "I'll keep that in mind, you do the same, lil' Odu. Peace."

She turns slightly to leave. And to retrieve her book.

"Git, I swear to the fuckin' sky gods if you're doing this shit again..." she whistles quietly to herself. Slix stops short. Her arms hang limp, and she rubs her face. The book fell into the fountain. "Woe. Shit." <Auran>