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Bad Fish

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Mist Gul
Young Wyrm
Young Wyrm

Joined: 31 May 2012
Posts: 65
See this user's pet
Jobs: Doctor, Herbalist

6882.12 Silver Crowns


PostPosted: Wed Jan 10, 2018 1:51 am    Post subject: Bad Fish Reply with quote

"Listen to me very carefully, Lewyn," Mist spoke clear and crisp, the warm gold of his gaze stern as he regarded a woebegone young male, "Anyone who knows you're a fae and insists on putting a decorative chain of iron bells around your waist is not your friend."

"But she was really smoking hot," the youth protested weakly.

"So are these burns," Mist retorted, flicking the bandaged wounds smartly. Lewyn groaned and tipped over, clinging to himself. His mother nodded in approval as she watched her idiot son.

"He'll be all right, Mrs. Conar. Just keep it clean, use the silver salve... here, you can take this jar home with you, but you can get it at any drug store or apothecary," Mist continued, picking up a cloth shopping bag and packing it neatly with bandages and other supplies. He paused and peered at the young man.

"You are the fifth boy I've seen in the past two weeks with these burns. Just who is this smoking hot girl that you're so willing to let damn near kill you?"

Lewyn gaped at Mist in horror.

"...She... I... But. No. Mom!" he stammered, and she exhaled, pressing fingertips to her brow.

"I have told you and told you and told you. You are fae, we are fae, cold iron can kill us. Particularly when it's made into bells and wrapped around your body."

"But that's stupid, Mom!" Lewyn complained, white faced.

"So is trying to ignore it and ending up in the emergency room and being very very lucky that they happened to have a mage on staff," his mother snapped, her features stressed and haggard despite her irritation. Lewyn hunkered, wings wilted down, and finally sighed.

"M'sorry Mom," he mumbled, "Uhm. I dunno. It's just this girl, she's really hot, she's a fae, too, so... I don't know what's going on."

"A fae girl is doing this?" Mist pressed, just as Mrs. Conar did, both regarding the boy oddly. He nodded, miserable. After a moment, he pulled out his phone and showed them a photo.

Mist drew back, brows knit, upper lip snagged. The hot fae girl in the photo was a hideous creature, lank and slick skinned, lamp like eyes, wide and yellowish, in a head lacking a nose and lips. Her mouth was open, hagfish jaws filled with needle like teeth and dripping slime.

She wore a 'Juicy' t-shirt over emaciated and filthy body.

Lewyn yelped and nearly threw the phone when he glanced to the image, horrified.

"Lewyn..." Mrs. Conar sighed, taking the phone from him and eying the terrible visage depicted.

"She was hot! She was so gorgeous! She had blue hair and purple eyes and … not... this..."

"She's an unsidhe of some sort. Probably a river undine. An amoral fae, one of the darkness," Mrs. Conar explained, "And you didn't bother looking past her glamour, and here we are."

"Why would she be doing this to other fae?" Mist asked, frowning faintly. He took Lewyn's phone and ran his fingertips over the screen, too lightly to flick the image away.

"Why do humans do horrible things to each other?" Mrs. Conar replied, shaking her head, her shoulders lifting in a shrug, "Where did you see this girl last, Lewyn?"

"The skate park where the ambulance picked me up," he responded glumly. Mist nodded, thoughtful, before handing back the phone.

"You are grounded, young man, until you can prove to your father and I that you won't happily stick your head into a noose just because a pretty girl is holding it, not to mention spending much more time on glamours," Mrs. Conar scolded, though she hugged the boy tightly, struggling to keep from weeping. She did not like thinking how close she'd come to losing him.

"If you could get it around the other parents and children that this is happening, and talk to the local police..." Mist offered, finishing off the paperwork to release Lewyn, "I have a bad feeling about this. I am going to call the other boys that were attacked."

"Thank you," Mrs. Conar told him, earnest and quiet. Mist simply smiled and dipped his head, elegant and quiet before slipping from the room.
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Mist Gul
Young Wyrm
Young Wyrm

Joined: 31 May 2012
Posts: 65
See this user's pet
Jobs: Doctor, Herbalist

6882.12 Silver Crowns


PostPosted: Thu Jan 11, 2018 2:42 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

The Jacob Henderson Memorial Skatepark took up about a quarter of a city block, a masterwork of concrete, plywood, and steel sculpted into a shredder's paradise. Everything from the absolute novice to the radical aerialist found representation. Picnic tables, sun shades, a small multipurpose building with snack and parts shop, equipment rooms, and restrooms completed the space.

Teens flocked to the park weekends and after school, many anxiously waiting for the park caretaker to open up and loan out tools. Just as many swooped through the bowls and pipes and steps, practicing their moves or showing them off. It was lively and filled with teenage drama.

In point of fact, as Mist walked quietly for the park, a pretty little elf girl abruptly snatched up her books from a picnic table, woebegone, blue eyes limned in tears, lips pursed up and quivering. A toss of brown hair, and she whirled from the scene. She was sobbing by the time she got to Mist, and collided with him.

Mist crouched to pick up the scattered books, and suddenly had his arms full of woe and misery. A brow quirked as he continued to pick up the books, deftly shifting the girl to his side, then simply lifting her as if she was a little child.

She really was, he mused, head tilting as he took time to inspect the girl. Thirteen, fourteen, he could remember being that relative age. It wasn't that long ago. Not for him. A gentle finger brushed away a tear.

The girl bubbled out her troubles, clinging blindly to Mist, great gulping sobs punctuating her words. She so loved Isador, and everyone knew it and that new girl even said how cute Isador would be with her and she meant her and not her, and now the new girl had Isador just staring at her...

"What is her name?" Mist asked, lifting his gaze and looking the park over. The girl sniffled, wiping her face with her sleeve.

"Uhm. Beatrice. Maybe. She's said she's Mona, too." Spite stabbed through her voice for a moment.

"What does she look like?"

The girl started to speak, but paused, frowning.

"...I don't know. I... I thought she had red hair and brown skin and orange eyes but... I... I... We're not supposed to use glamor around friends and stuff, and not at school and... But..."

"Has she been going to your school?"

The girl's head shook slowly, her brows knitting.

"Aren't you taught to look through glamors?" Mist inquired, smiling faintly as the girl abruptly realized that she'd been picked up by a stranger. A very tall, very handsome, very gentle stranger, but still.

"Uhm... yes...?" she responded in a sheepish squeak, wincing. She stared fixedly at Mist's face, the glow of the runes and his eyes. The thick, long blond hair and tan skin. Isadore was suddenly a dim memory. She began construction of a whole new cloud castle, featuring this stranger.

"And are you usually running away in tears so thick you don't realize whom you..." Mist continued, only to stop, and swore softly under his breath in fluid Sindari.

"...I don't...?" she responded, doleful, utterly enchanted by this random prince charming. Mist's lips pressed together, silently casting a spell in a wide radius around himself and the girl. It rushed off of him in a silent, invisible wave of energy in a widening radius.

Several pings answered the questing. Three sobbing girls had run that way in the past several days, each abruptly ceasing their woe within forty feet. Mist turned a slow circle, head tilted.

Nothing worth attention came to his mind, but that stopped him. There should be much worth attention, there had been magic done near that spot at least thrice. Mist closed his eyes for a heart's beat, then looked once more.

A spindly creature leaned, overlong arms folded over sunken chest, to a light pole outside of the park perimeter. Mist tipped his gaze back to the girl, who still gazed at him in adoration.

"This girl, Beatrice, Mona, was she your friend? Close to you? A few girls, perhaps?" he asked thoughtfully. The girl nodded, shrugging. That all was ceasing to matter at all to her.

"Yeah, but know we just met her, it's not like she's my best friend or anything."

"Are some of your girlfriends missing?"

She startled faintly.

"...Yeah, Asphodel and Mimi and Sarita, but it's no big deal, they're just um. Uhm. I mean their parents are all freaked out but..."

Mist frowned faintly, taking out his phone. He quickly found the stories, but they were buried and unimportant. Asphodel Winiree disappeared after school, her friends were all certain she had willingly left with her estranged father. Mimi Gateson had run off to be with her internet boyfriend, and had sent a message saying she hated her abusive parents. Sarita Rosaree simply abandoned the group home where she lived. She had a record of running away.

"Ye's Mist Silhaeven?"

Mist startled faintly and turned to regard a dark haired and skinned woman, finding himself pinned by argent eyes as bright as his own. The girl squeaked faintly and stared, as well.

"...Yes, I am," he responded slowly, taking the woman in. Half elf, half human, he was certain, but of what breed, he hadn't a clue. She was five and half feet in height, and seemed taller. Her hair was a river of bone straight black taken up in an untidy ponytail.

"I be Halcyon Waterspout, actin' detective for th' Guard. T'were told ye'd sent word o' a few lads burnt by a rogue fae. And bein' as ye's about the only other'n concern't about this other than the families o' the boys, I be thinkin' I'd best be speakin' with ye."

Mist stared at the woman as the girl did, wide eyed and not terrifically comprehending of the woman's accent.

Halcyon regarded them flatly.

"Tell me what you know about the boys burned by the rogue fae please, I am an officer of the Guard," she repeated, slowly and clearly. A moment later, irritation flashed across her impassive features. She withdrew a small leather case and displayed both identification and a badge. Mist glanced to it, then nodded.

"...I haven't heard an accent like yours in a long while," he apologized lamely, "And I was afraid of that. A fae, I am told probably a river undine, evil or amoral, has been attacking young fae boys and girls."

"Ye mean the three missing girls," Halcyon asked, a frown fleeting over her features. While Mist nodded, the girl sputtered, flushing, and desperately trying to take Mist's attention from the paladin.

"No, no, it's not that, I mean, they're all okay, they just... ran away."

"This one would have been next," Mist spoke softly, turning to cast a gaze upon the lanky creature leaning to a light pole nearby. Halcyon glanced to the being as well, absent as if she hadn't seen it, but turned a nearly imperceptible nod to Mist.

"The female doing this seems to have an immense power of glamor," he added a moment later, "Even these children, who have been taught to deal with glamor, are blind to what she is until they see a photo of her."

"Which means we has plenty of witnesses, and nay one that can say what happened," Halcyon murmured, "And I already be in trouble for reducin' the population o' *****."

"The glamor must be removed," Mist decided with a slight shrug. He finally set the girl down onto her feet, but held onto her arm, pushing her a step towards Halcyon.

"Keep hold on her, she was supposed to go running into the loving arms of a beautiful young man who would take her away from all this, and he is still standing there waiting."

"Nay, she has done that arready, ye silly git," Halcyon chuckled softly. Mist paused and stared at the woman in dismay, only to look again at the girl. He groaned, dropping his face into his hand, shoulders slumping.

"Bah, I'd think ye'd be used to it, ye's pretty enough," Halcyon noted, amused. The girl huffed at her, outraged.

"It's not glamor, I'd know if it was, we all know how to deal with glamor!"

"Mmhm. Meantime, m'lass, I shall be takin' ye home. What be ye name?"

The girl pulled at Halcyon's grip to find it was steel under a gentle seeming.

"...Freesia Humblebee."

"Freesia. Ye has a choice. Ye may walk away with me dignified like a lady, or, unconscious over me shoulder. Which shall it be?" Halcyon queried, polite. Freesia gaped at the woman. After a moment's thought, gauging the steel in the silver, Freesia sighed and nodded. She would walk like a lady.
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Mist Gul
Young Wyrm
Young Wyrm

Joined: 31 May 2012
Posts: 65
See this user's pet
Jobs: Doctor, Herbalist

6882.12 Silver Crowns


PostPosted: Tue Jan 16, 2018 9:06 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Mist paced the perimeter of the skate park, silent, thoughtful, unobserved. Despite how flashy a blond he was, how beautiful, how bright the runes on his face and body were, he had ways to dim his appearance.

There were layers on layers of spells and wards on the park, preventing injury, abduction, violence, which explained well enough why the girls were sent running away from the park. They couldn't be taken from the park. It was why the boys were enticed to put the chains on themselves. Teenaged drama was free to run rampant in within the confines of the boundaries.

A pleasant featured fae man oversaw the small community center and shop housed within a comfortable and plain rectangular building. He loaned out tools, sold parts, drinks and snacks. He gave mechanical advice and kept the bathrooms clean. He rented out the various picnic areas and the community center for parties, he hired kids on to help out.

A freezing rain began to fall as Mist walked. He changed course and cut through the park, stopping in the shelter of one of the picnic areas to watch the group of kids vying for Beatrice's attention. At first, they huddled together. Then, one by one, the kids fled for their homes.

Except for her. Beatrice, Mona, whatever she called herself. Mist watched her coolly.

"Oh, look, Trampzilla's admiration society abandoned her."

Mist quirked a brow and picked out a pair of young troll girls walking, their pace determined, through the icy rain. One sneered, tossing fashionably fat curls of raging purple hair over her shoulders.

"I can't even tell what they see in her, she's nasty scrawny and she's so ugly, not even an orc boy would look at her."

"Glamour," the pair chorused, disgusted, the first one snorting "Lame" a moment later.

"My brother nearly yanked her head off the other day, said she was doing this freak dance around his band mate, Lew, and next thing he knows, Lew's all wound up in iron and junk, and screaming in pain, so he had to help Lew and let the trash ho go," the purpled haired girl sniffed, tossing her head once more.

"We should bash in her head. Cept we'd get trash ho brains all over us, and euw."

"Yeah, and worse, we'd get kicked out of the park. Like when Mazy tried to punch that skeezy bitch last year."

"Actually, all we have to do is wait, she'll slither down her little scum hole since there's no one here to fawn over her, and then plug up the drain," the other pointed out reasonably.

"O-M-G, Ygra, you're a genius," the purple haired girl hissed, widening cobalt eyes.

Mist's brows knit as he ease dropped on the girls. His gaze flicked over to Beatrice once more. She was obviously in an ill temper. She got to her feet and waved at the male being leaning to the post, and he responded with a shrug. She stared at him, and he shrugged again.

Agitated, Beatrice shook her fists at the male, and he simply shook his head and walked across the street, vanishing into an alleyway. Beatrice turned, aggravation clear in every movement, and walked to a low spot in the grass.

It had been a drain, Mist could tell, but a small artesian well had overcome it, creating a muddy, stagnant puddle around the original drain pipe. As he watched, Beatrice slithered down into the pipe. Moments later, the pair of troll girls hurried over to the drain.

Ygra cheerfully clamped the iron pipe closed with a grip of her hand and push of shoe to the side of the metal.

"Say, this is iron. Why doesn't it bother her?" the other girl wondered, "And she was carrying that chain around, too?"

"Duh, Heidi. Not all fae are affected by the same things," Ygra scoffed, "But she sure knows what hurts our fae. But the moment I say anything about sweet lovely beautiful speshul snowflake Mimi, or whatever her name is today, they all get huffy and pissy and we're racist and crap."

"Ugh, I know. And what is it with her and names?" Heidi shuddered. Ygra started to speak, then paused, narrowing her bright orange eyes.

"That's probably her thing. Her name. Like some of the old gods, if you know their right name in the right place, they have to obey you."

"Then maybe we should get together with Recktal and Blaise and have a little chat with Tramperella once the fae have gone home," Heidi purred, cracking her knuckles slowly and carefully.

"Yeah, but I don't want our friends hating on us because they can't help but to see her as pretty polly perfect," Ygra exhaled, "It's just like Darlene and her baby. If you don't help Darlene out of her stupidity, the baby suffers, and no one wants to call CPS on her."

"Who's going to believe us, anyhow? The cops don't care. Their parents care right up until they lay eyes on her, then we're just mean, spiteful little troll girls," Heidi exhaled, sagging, "Come on, let's get home, I'm freezing."

Mist tilted his head and slowly paced after the girls. He stopped at the drain and knelt, holding his hand over the morass and newly clamped pipe.

A pair of pale and filthy arms reached up out of the mud in a splattering of ice and muck, seizing Mist's hand. It yanked him under, into the puddle, with scarcely a yelp of protest.
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