Originally Posted by Erin
"These things just happen, sometimes," Erin answered Cinder, antennae tapping on the casks momentarily. "Appreciate them! It means that Fate has acknowledged we are on a Quest of Import. It shows that this is a worthy story, by setting trials forth."
"Aye lass, listen to the little one, she's got a good head on her shoulders." Isengrim said with a broad wink at Erin. The top-hatted wolf-fae poked one of the casks. "I haven't got one of these since I met the missus. Brings back memories, it does."
Reynarde, for her part, was sniffing around the casks, her small nose twitching madly. She was probably the most human-looking changeling present. And the least human-thinking.
"Silly." Was Cinder's judgment on the matter. The cloak of pain seemed to scrunch up in agreement, getting a little smaller. More a cape now.
Originally Posted by Underwood
“Oh, hey, look, it’s math. Someone figured our manhunt needed math in it. That makes sense.”
"Perfect sense, if one is a Fae." Cinder agreed somberly. She looked at Underwood. She might
have been smiling, if one can consider a tiny twitch of the lips a smile. "I am glad I am not the only one that's finding this a bit strange."
The werewolf stood well back, crossing her arms as she watched the others solve the puzzle. This was
what she was paying them for. Well, coldly forcing them into her service for.
Originally Posted by Daphne
"Unfortunately, my dear, the Mad Hatter is not in to take tea with."
Originally Posted by Erin
"Aaaaacutually..." Erin mused, taking a magic marker out of her pocket and beginning to mark all the casks with their contents. "Hey Heather, have a sip of this potion and take that door down. Let's use it as a sledge and take these things along."
"Lamb, you're a genius. And don't worry, we've got two hats here," Isengrim said, tipping his own top hat. Underwood was also sporting a rather dashing fedora. "And I'm sure we can scrounge up a madman between the lot of us. We're Lost, after all."
"Oh hey, creative destruction leading to booze." Heather grinned, as she hung off the door. With a wrench
, and some splintering of wood, she tore the wooden door off its hinges. "Like this?"
"Don't forget the tea, Heather." Sasha said. He was Russian. Tea was important
"Lamb, you're turning into a proper privateer." Isengrim said, clapping Erin on the shoulder as he helped man-handle the barrel of faerie-wine onto the makeshift sledge. "Stealing aught that isn't nailed down. I'm proud of ye."
"You people are weirdos." Cinder shook her head and followed on after Daphne. Othello was close. She could feel
The green house which contained a cat, a demon, and a secret proved to be a small, gypsy-esque wagon in the middle of a clearing. It was, as a matter of fact, painted bright green, and on its side was written The Marquis de Carabas's Traveling Emporium of Wonders
, in brilliant red-and-gold lettering. It was very dramatic, and yet oddly cozy. There was a tiny plume of smoke coming up from a small chimney, and there were windows of thickly frosted glass, allowing light in but letting no one see anything inside.
Song-birds chirped as you arrived, a brilliant array of bird-song. They scattered, however, as Cinder's cloak-of-pain billowed forth into a cloud, scaring the birds away. Something foreign had come into this pastoral idyll, and that foreign object was Cinder, with her madness and her confusion and her indomitable will
"Wait here." Cinder said quietly. Hers was not the sort of voice one disobeyed lightly. "This will be over soon."
Leaving her guides and privateers behind, the cloud of pain settling into a low mist before them, Cinder strode towards the wagon's door. She climbed the steps, and she knocked, a sharp, authoritative rat-a-tat-tat
. Now, the wagon's door was one of those old-fashioned ones, where one could open the whole door, or just the top, or just the bottom part.
After a moment, someone opened the top part. It was not Othello, at least unless the Cat was into some very odd sort of shapeshifting. It was a young woman, really just a girl, with long, dark hair and a somewhat disheveled look to her, as though she needed a haircut and a comb. She was clad in a long dress shirt, messily buttoned, and blinked up at Cinder with extreme (justified) dubiousness.
"I wish to speak with Felix March." Cinder said, her voice quiet, intense. You could see ever muscle in her body coiled like a spring, so much energy that it would have to erupt, and soon.
"Riiiiight. Othello, visitors!" The teenaged girl called, and disappeared back into the wagon. A moment later, Othello himself appeared, a dapper figure in a lime-green waistcoat, with dark skin and greyish hair, and clever whiskers upon his face.
"Why hello Madam, how can I---ohmygoodgodhelloAlice." Othello's eyes went wide as dishes, all but bugging out of his head. His cat-like ears pressed flat against his skull, and from what you could glimpse, his tail went absolutely rigid. The smooth, bantering tone turned fast and breathless, and his voice broke into an undignified squeak on Cinder's name. "Itsbeenaverylongtime."
"Very long." Cinder agreed. She smiled, utterly without humor. "Hello father."