[OPEN] I just want to play on my pan-pipes

[aenseidhe]

Characters: Iorveth and YOOOU
Date: 2/12
Location: Outskirts of the Wood sector
Situation: Elf sits in tree doing typical elf shit like having pointy ears and playing his manly elf flute and leaving traps that will set you on fire.
Warnings/Rating: Nothing really? He won't let anyone actually step on the traps :| Unless anyone is Dean Winchester.



[ A suitable tree hadn't been hard to find, nor had been setting out the sturdy enough, thick enough branches and wooden planks over a couple level enough arms of the tree, nor the subsequently lashing them down with rope to make a makeshift sort of lofted platform with room enough for him and his pack alone. Setting the traps had been more of the difficult part. It wasn't that making and setting them were particularly hard - the crafting second nature to him after so many years - but it was more trying to find materials for the last few, after he exhausted the ones he had with them. That, and, listening to a bunch of humans telling him how horrible he is for wanting to put up fortifications where he sleeps. It's been laughable how absurd it is, and he almost wishes another Scoia'tael, or Geralt were around just to hear it. The day he sleeps without a bow in hand and something around to wake him if another approaches is the day he finds himself in a free Elven state, far out of Nordling or Nilfgaardian lands. He wouldn't even had mentioned it if he wasn't concerned a Kedan might wander by.

Despite the fact he'd sarcastically told someone he would set up a warning sign, there is no sign at all, as that would completely defeat the purpose of traps, but the elf seated high up on his lofted landing in the tree, partly camouflaged in the branches and leaves, is keeping an eye down at the area below. Just in case some idiot actually comes wandering out here. As much as he'd love to let them right into the trap that will ignite and light them up like a bonfire, A.) he doesn't want to waste the trap on an unobservant simpleton and B.) he doesn't want to have to evade guards without knowing the land well enough to hide somewhere and/or be wanted for murder quite yet.

So, with bow placed over his lap and quiver close by on the landing, he's idly playing at a wooden flute - a simple, soothing kind of tune that echoes nicely through the forest. It's something of home that relieves the tension a little that he'd been holding off since arrive. The woods here aren't like those in Temeria or Aedirn. They aren't as full, and the air still smells weirdly of sea. But he'll have to get used to it. He doesn't have a choice. If the phenomenon is what he thinks it is, he could be here for a short time, or he could be here forever. He can't know. At least not yet. ]

Comments

[seriouslytwisted]

[Raphael is all kinds of sulky today, and that's saying something considering how he was behaving yesterday. It's not as if he doesn't have good reason, but the point still stands. Instead of wandering around and looking at things in wonder -during the day even, and holy crap the air doesn't smell like either sewage or New York pollution and it's weird- he's just shuffling through the woods and wishing he were back home. With said pollution. Three days in the fresh air and sunshine was nice, but he's already sick of this place.

...mostly sick of this place. It's fun to kick at the leaves on the ground and a) not worry about being caught and dragged off for dissection and b) be amazed that leaves could be so many different colors while dead.

-Wait a minute is that a flute? That is a flute. And that down there is a trap. Raphael crouches down to examine it before he looks up and notices the structure in a nearby tree.]

'ay! Did you put this here?

[aenseidhe]

[ While he spots the newcomer far off, Iorveth only shifts a little to watch through a part in the leaves for what he'll do. A walking turtle. Hm. It doesn't strike him as particularly strange, as he's well familiar with nonhumans, but it is new. Hm. He'd figured he might meet other races here, considering they're all being pulled in from other worlds, but this is the first he'd seen of it.

Even after the question is shot at him and the humanoid turtle goes poking at one of the traps, Iorveth takes the time to finish out that bit of his song before setting the flute aside, tone casual and unperturbed. ]

No, it was the gnome that passed by earlier. Apparently he thought I'd needed some protection. [ Obvious sarcasm, but less dry and more amused. It was definitely him. ]

[seriouslytwisted]

[SMARTASS.]

Wow, suspicious much? What if I stepped on one of these?

[He wouldn't, but WHAT IF HE HAD? He'd be barbecue, that's what.]

[aenseidhe]

[ Whoops. ]

Then I imagine you'd be in a lot of pain. [ He would have stopped him before he did, honestly, but it's more entertaining to be contrary. ]

[seriouslytwisted]

[Oh he's gonna be sassy, huh? Raphael can deal with sassy. He enjoys dealing with sassy.]

What're you doing up there anyway? Don't you have a house?

[emasculates]

[She has spent some thirty years evading traps. By now, it's nearly in her blood. Instinct sees her avoid a small clump of too-perfect grass with the neat and easy grace of someone who has danced this dance on desert sand.

All battlefields are the same. They vary in terms of climate, terrain, weapons, but the purpose of each does not differ and has not since the earliest days of mankind. Killing fields. There are few places she'd rather be, and after that whole instance with the Zombies her step is almost cheerful when she stops a short distance away from what she assumes to be the elf's hiding spot. It's camouflaged to the point she can't expressly see him, but it does seem to be the source of the noise.

She isn't the sort to bring a tea service, complete with pot and cozy, but she is carrying a cloth satchel slung over one shoulder. It's weighted down oddly, in a way that suggests a thermos and cups.

Oh, and she's armed. There's a considerably sized Bowie knife in a sheath around her waist, plainly visible, and a handgun in a shoulder holster. She cocks her head, briefly listening to the music, and then--]

I've made better music beating pots together. And your tea grows colder by the minute.

[Snark? Yes. But it's a strangely congenial sort.]

[aenseidhe]

[ He spots her from a decent distance away - the advantage of building a landing up higher on in the tree, hence why the Scoia'tael usually do it, and for a while simply watches from a thinner area of branches and leaves. There's a small pile of something that looked like acorns to his side that he'll ping her in the forehead with if she's close to stepping into a trap, but it's unnecessary.

An impressed smirk passes over him - not many humans usually manage their way around those, or perhaps he'd just been dealing with the idiots in Flotsam for too long. Either way, his respect rises an ounce, at least in the sense she's not incapable.

A short laugh floats down from the loft, and there's a shuffle and creak as he adjusts, tucking the flute away and setting the quiver and bow back onto his person. He won't be coming down weaponless either, but really, it's very rare he's ever weaponless at all, so it's not as if it's something meant to threaten. It's an easy few hops along the arms of the tree, the term 'squirrel' seeming to fit sort of well at the time, and he's dropping down from a lower branch a moment later. ]

I'm a rebel leader, not a bard. [ Shrug and a half-smirk. There are people a lot better than him with a flute. It's just something to pass the time and ease tension. ] The only half decent one I know was left behind on my homeworld.

[emasculates]

Then perhaps your music should have remained with him.

[She unslings the satchel from her shoulder, holds it out more like someone's severed head than a rather innocuous object. The day she manages even a simple gesture without some implicit threat of violence lurking just beyond it is the day she swears off going about armed.]

The rebel leaders I have known pretended philosophy in their spare time. I did not care for it. [And then an abrupt change in topic,] The tea is styled after my homeland. Bitter.

[aenseidhe]

And deprive myself a means to annoy wandering humans away from my camp?

[ A snort at the way she holds it, and he's honestly not about to take a random sack from a human with arms strapped to her, there could be anything in that, so he just stands, watching her pointedly with arms crossed. She can empty it out herself. ]

They're not very good rebels if they don't have a cause to wax philosophic over. [ He knows he's prone to ranting over humanity and the Elven plight, but usually doesn't have a need, as the only ones he's spoken to at length are his men, and they know all he'll say already. ] Charming. I prefer bitter.

[emasculates]

There are other ways to be annoying.

[Fine, she shrugs and reaches into the bag. Look, a thermos. Isn't it scary. And then she's throwing it at him in a languid underhand so she can pull out two mugs as well.]

So do most rebel leaders.

[... prefer it bitter, she means. Fahd used to joke the only thing more bitter than the tea he drank was the company he kept, generally said with a sideways glance at her.]

[littlecousin]

[Nita flies everywhere. Right now, she's flying back from one of her many social calls, intentionally treating the branches of the towering Wood Sector trees as an obstacle course. It's no challenge at all, but it's fun, and she likes the way the light filters through the leaves. The surface world is wonderful and she loves it, but she's a sea creature, and has never quite gotten used to sun untouched by water. The softer light of the forest feels more like home.

When she hears the music, she draws up short, hovering amidst the leaves until she can trace the source of the sound and follow it to the musician. She approaches Iorveth's platform from above, touching down lightly on a bough in front of him, far enough away to be respectful, and waits for him to finish his song. It's rude to interrupt a performer.]

[aenseidhe]

[ What the crap, flying human. Well, if she's flying she must not actually be human, so Iorveth will settle with that knowledge as he eyes her over the flute he plays suspiciously. He will most certainly take the time to finish his song, trying not to let on that there's a strong tension in him now at being taken so by surprise. Granted, even human mages can manage flight on occasion. Strange.

Finishing off the last note, he calmly places the flute aside, hand falling to cover the grip of the bow in his lap as he regards her with a tilted head. ]

Are you part bird?

[littlecousin]

[If that was meant as an insult, it bounces harmlessly off her good nature. She giggles.]

No, I'm part human.

[On close inspection, it turns out she has pointed ears. They're not very pronounced, though.]

That was pretty.

[aenseidhe]

[ Hm. Interesting enough, and he'll give a small twitch of his lips back that might of been a smile if Iorveth, you know, ever actually smiled. ]

And what's the other part?

[ Hey, they match, then. Well, in the pointiness. The elf's are pretty apparent. He gives a nonchalant shrug. ]

I'm not terribly skilled, but at least I've stopped sounding like something dying.

[littlecousin]

Atlantean.

[Assuming that means anything to him, which is an assumption Nita no longer makes. It's hard not being famous anymore, gosh.

She'll readily explain if he presses further, though.]

Jeez, take a compliment.

[Wait.]

...Unless that's rude in your culture, in which case, never mind.

[fatedchaos]

[It's taken Vanessa some time to try it out, but she's simply floating along, feeling the wind breeze through her molecules. It's as natural as breathing, but only she would actually try to suffocate herself on a regular basis.

She finds herself in the forest after a time, drifting around trees and soaking everything in. That's when she hears the music, a soft and soothing melody that her molecules hum along with. With a sigh, the girl hides behind a tree, hoping that she's far enough away that she can explain how she got there before she begins to pull herself back together.

Once she's completely sure that everything is in the right place, she steps out from behind her cover, raising one hand in greeting.] You play well.

[aenseidhe]

[ It's actually a surprise to see her step out, given that Iorveth usually spots most people from far off, but no matter. Maybe she's just sneakier than most. He'll have to remember that.

A smirk pulls at his lips and the flute is tucked back into the leather pouch from whence it came, and the bow is tucked back into its sheath behind him. Raising up, he slips from his platform, takes a couple steps down nearby branches as if they're more stairs then branches to get to a lower one, plopping down with feet dangling. ]

There are others far better. [ A shrug. ] It passes the time.

[idealisme]

[Every day Enjolras grows stronger, explores more of the city.

He has focused on the central parts of the city up, but now he ventures further afield, taking care to keep a close watch on his surroundings so he doesn't become lost.

Not enough of a watch to spot any traps that may be about, however.]

[aenseidhe]

[ The flute song trails off as Iorveth spots a human wandering through the woods. Strange to see one out this far, but for the moment he only watches, a leg hung over the edge of his makeshift loft that he swings idly.

At least, up until he comes a bit to close to one of the set traps. He considers, for a moment, just letting the man walk into it, as he's apparently that oblivious, but that's one of the combustable traps and he'd really rather not let it go to waist. So, with something like a tired sigh, he notches an arrow and snaps it out, the bolt thunking into the grass and dirt about an inch from the man's left foot. He calls out from his spot in the tree after. ]

You may not wish to step there. I don't imagine conflagration would brighten your day. The way you wish, at least. [ Lol brighten. Geddit. ]

[idealisme]

[The sudden movement startles Enjolras into a brief panic.

He searches for the one who has shot at him, frustrated to find no one at ground level to vent his frustration on.]

Where I am from, monsieur, it is courtesy to greet strangers with a 'good day.'

[aenseidhe]

Where I am from, it is in self-interest to stop an unobservant simpleton from ruining a well set trap.

[ And the source of the voice hops down a couple branches to be within sight, bow held out to point at the ground just before Enjolras. Trap. There. Don't step on it. ]

[effective]

[The Wood Sector is the only place on the whole turtle that Katniss can come to in order to find any peace. It's not like the forests back home, but it's at least something familiar, something that makes sense. On the back of a giant turtle, she'll take whatever sense she can get.

Her steps fall silently as she walks, long practice enabling her to avoid disturbing any of the undergrowth. Her bow is in her hand, but relaxed, arrows in the quiver.

The traps almost take her by surprise. Almost, but not quite. She stops, body stiffening as adrenaline surges through her body. This is definitely not District Twelve; she's in enemy territory now. It's only then that she hears the flute]

[aenseidhe]

[ He's surprised she's able to be so silent, not used to many humans really having that skill when making their way through woods, aside from the secret service commanders. And a child none the less. Hm.

Iorveth's eyes follow her as she trails across the forest floor, continuing his playing regardless, but as she approaches the tree, and the perimeter of traps, he switches to something lower and more menacing. Sort of like if you were playing the Jaws theme if you played it on a flute :| He's giving her a soundtrack.

Though, as she comes closer and closer, the music dies out and the bow is brought up. He's not too visible from where he is, high up in the tree, so the arrow that snaps out of the leaves and branches a moment later seems to just come from the tree itself. The wooden bolt thuds into the grass and dirt less than an inch from the toe of Katniss's boot closest to the trap.

Hay durr. ]

[effective]

[Great, and now the music is making fun of her. Everything is a game of some kind, in this place.

Her body reacts automatically when the arrow sinks into the ground in front of her. The bow comes up, one of her own arrows set to the string between one breath and the next. Her eyes lock on the place her attacker had to be, and while for a moment it looks like the tree had decided to shed weapons, a second or two gives her practised eyes the time to see the outline of a person.

She shoots. The arrow thunks into the trunk next to their head, but she's already moving, taking cover behind the trunk of another tree. Her breath comes in harsh pants, and she forces herself to keep her eyes open, throttling her panic. She didn't kill them, whoever it was. She's okay. She's still good.]

[aenseidhe]

[ His head jerks quickly to the side, body ducking as an arrow comes flying back and sinks into the trunk behind him. A low whistle comes from him as he leans back to see where it hit. It's been a while since he'd seen a human archer quite this good. And one so young. Hm.

Noting that she'd taken to hiding, Iorveth sets to pulling out a piece of parchment he'd snatched from his suite the few minutes he'd been there, and the small pencil, writing out a note as he whistles idly - something cheery and nonchalant. One piece of twine later and it's tied to the shaft to the arrow that had thudded into the tree behind him.

A short second to aim, and he fires her arrow back to her, sinking again into the dirt just to the side of where she must be. The note reads: ]

Decent. For a fledgling human. [ And there is a wry kind of clapping that comes from the tree a second later. ]