Kitten Dinner

Tenebrae - Tuesday, November 29, 2016, 6:26 AM

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-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* A10: Temple District *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The air of solemn, heavy divinity in the area is often broken by laughter. The dual presence of the deities Althea and Daeus, man and wife, stand towards the center, with their children and their children's temples positioned around them. The presence of the divine is felt not only by their temples, but also by the actions of their worshipers. The great plaza is as a social center, paved in brilliant, white flagstones and covered in benches and sitting areas. Priests, acolytes, and servicefolk of all stripes roam the plaza, going from one task to the other.

At the front of the temples of Daeus and Althea, at the Plaza's centermost point, rests a great fountain, the cheerful waters reflecting the Sun during the day, and the Moon and Stars at night. The fountain is strategically centered, and is oft a place for wisdom and lesson-giving. It is not uncommon for a priest of some stripe or the other to stand there, surrounded by the curious and faithful, delivering messages of hope or contemplation. At other times, it and the plaza become a landscape of celebration of the holy holidays.

Few vendors are seen in the plaza--the nearby temples provide most food or services. Towards the west, the great Bridge stretches across the river, and towards the east, the Redridge mountains. The plaza rests in the midst of it all, the temples massive and grand on the Alexandrian scale.

Munch lounges on the edge of the plaza fountain, stubby little wings spread wide, soaking up the early morning sunlight. Reaver, the massive greataxe, rests on the bench beside him. The metal man is a bit lopsided this day, one arm withered and skeletal compared to the other limbs.

Roselle is a tall, dignified, shaven-headed figure gliding down the plaza, movements negligently graceful. Or at least, she /would/ be dignified, if she weren't at present stooping to talk to a chubby-cheeked little queen in a bright green dress with even more colourful peasant embroidery at its ruched and ruffled hem. The lass looks to be about seven, and is carrying on her arm an oversized basket, which she lords over importantly. She's a tow-headed child with untidy braids, even untidier ribbons, and a generous smattering of dirt and what looks suspiciously like chocolate about her mouth. "...But you need a kitten!" she chirrups to the much taller Roselle. "It's better'n weasels!"

Munch buzzes softly, and one magicite eye opens, peering lazily. "Kittens better than weasels? Well, maybe if you cook 'em right."

Garrin has arrived.

As it happens, the mismatched pair are near enough the fountain that Munch's statement can be easily heard. It provokes a moment of silence - a struggling one for Roselle, who's trying vainly to hide a twitch of her mouth, and one of utter horror on the little girl's part. She /stares/ at Munch with huge, horrified eyes which betray her belief in his Utter Soulessness, at the thought that he might even suggest cookery of kittens on par with cookery of weasels. "...You don't cook kittens!" she says, stomping a tiny foot. "You don't EAT them! That's jus' wrong, Mister Funny-Looking Dragon Man!"

Roselle, mouth still twitching, drops a restraining hand on the girl's shoulder. "I think, Laburnum," she murmurs, with only the slightest tremor in her voice, "The gentleman isn't used to kittens."

And then there's Garrin! He's still a bit singed from his pockets catching on fire earlier, but he nearly had demon blood cookies to look at! Nobody tell Munch.

Garrin stops dead when he sees Munch and Roselle, though, curioustly tilting his head at them, even though his overly large, ridiculously plumed hat is there.

Munch opens his other magicite eye, the orbs glowing a soft blue as he stands up straight, looming well above the little girl. "I eat a great many things. Not all of them right." His metal face splits open, parting both vertical and horizontal, reveiling row upon row of gleaming metal fangs layered within. "I am Munch, the TerrorMaw." Many a mighty warrior has fled before his visage, even demons and dragons have been given pause at the mere sight of the Golem Who Eats. But little children? ...they tend to think he's silly looking. Some even give him hugs. It's very confusing to the metal man.

The truth of this statement is further verified by Laburnum's reaction to those rows and rows of gleaming metal fangs. She /stares/, completely fascinated. "...How d'you DO that?" she breathes worshipfully. "Y'can open your FACE like that! I wish I could!" A gleeful bounce on her toes. "Coz it'd scare Timmy Butterworth SILLY an' that'd be worth a basketful of kittens!" A pause with a suitably guilty afterthought. "...Well maybe not, not if y'gonna EAT them because YOU CAN'T EAT KITTENS!"

Roselle just stands there and watches the trainwreck go from bad to worse. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Munch," she replies with a crooked smile. "She's right though - that /is/ impressive. Roselle...er, Mistress of Weasels, for lack of a better title. Not that I had one to begin with."

"No one is eating /any/ kittens while I'm here," affirms Garrin.

"Besies, even golems aren't immune to the Kitten Pox that goes with eating them."

Munch kneels down, still towering over the little girl, but both have less strain to look eye to eye. "Can't I? Seems pretty easy. Just pop 'em in and chew. Barely even a mouthful. So why can't I eat kittens?" It might be noted he makes no move towards said kittens, but seems actually curious. "Pretty sure I could deal with a Kitten Pox, havn't met an illness yet could keep me down for long."

"Nope," affirms Garrin a second time. "Kitten Pox will cause golems plenty of problems, I'm afraid." He tuts, clickng his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "It's not ordinary illness. It's an illness /and/ a curse at the same time. Those who harm kittens begin to suffer hte malady. Everywhere around them, piteous meowing is what it starts with. Followed by a complete injuries in the middle of the night as restless cats walk upon you. And then, of course, comes the worst part. The worst part is what it does to your teeth."

GAME: Garrin rolls Bluff: (8)+16: 24

<OOC> Munch won't even try to Sence Motive that. Would fail. Badly.

Roselle looks up at a familiar voice, and her eyes narrow with amusement and recognition. "Hullo Garrin," she calls. "I see you've completely recovered from being on fire. No other ill-effects?" His explanation of Kitten Pox makes her mouth quiver. Hard. "It sounds like an absolutely virulent malady," she murmurs, her voice juuuust slightly unsteady. "I've heard that you start err, being used as a scratching post at phantom hours of the night as well, with no hint as to the Phantom Terror That Scratches and Pees in the Night."

Laburnum, meanwhile, draws back her precious basket protectively - there /are/ indeed scuffles and softs mews coming from it - and lifts her rosy-cheeked round face defiantly to the Funny Looking Dragon Man. "Because they're furry an'...an' soft an' they is good mousers an' they're CUTE!" she declares with the unshakeable confidence of a seven year old who knows the world to be Her Domain. And then there's Garrin, supporting her in her bid for the Emancipation of Kittens from the Curse of Being Devoured, and she gives a little squeal of happiness before darting over and wrapping her arms around his leg. Because she's only /that/ tall after all. "SEE! SEE!" she declares triumphantly. "YOU tell 'im, Mr. Funny Hat!"

Munch glances to Garrin, considering for a few long moments before shrugging. "Guess I'm an exception. Am pretty unique." Try not to think too hard about his certainity on that. Turning back to Laburnum, he inquires. "What do you mean by 'cute'?"

"Have you ever asked yourself why /dragons/ don't eat kittens? They know better. ALso, yes. They're cute. Adorable. Big eyes. People love 'em. And the people who eat them? WEll, they're villains. And we allknow what happens to THEM in Alexandria. Folks like you kill 'em, am I right?" Garrin pats Much on the back.

Laburnum is bidding fair to be Alexandria's Next Crusader for Kitten Rights, she is. "YES," she agrees with Garrin, nodding staunchly. "Cute? Cute is..." She takes a moment to think about this, scrunching her little face up like a monkey's. Rather than answer that, she gingerly uncovers the top of her basket, and lowers it slightly so Munch - and Garrin, by default, can look into it. A tangled mass of black, white, and tortoiseshell furry faces with ears, tiny puff tails, and loooooooooud mews peers up with inquisitive pale blue eyes. "See? CUTE!"

Roselle meanwhile, just...stands there, mouth compressed tightly. Because if not, she's going to laugh. And laughing would not be good at this point, oh no. "Cute is not weasels," she murmurs after a moment of gathering some self-control. "Weasels are pie."

Munch considers for several long moments. "Well, I am part dragon. But villians tend to be those who know better, but do it anyway. Those who don't know better are typically classified as monsters. They get lynch mobs. And when you eat part of the lynch mob, the rest get really polite and diplomatic. But there are lots of monsters and villains who don't want to be diplomatic, and those kinds the Guild usually sends me after." He considers a few moments. "Though I still don't 'get' cute."

Laburnum squints up at Munch from her safe place hanging onto Garrin's leg. "Coz you're a grown-up that's why," she informs him, as if that explains everything. "Growns-ups're weird."

"Yeah. You are part dragon, and there's A REASON they know better. As for cute, it means they make us want to fuss over and call them adorableand scratch under their chins. Awwww. They're adorable." He reaches down to touch a kittne.

Munch eyes Laburnum a few moments, his eyes shifting from blue to green a few moments before returning. "I agree grown ups are weird. Are you a grown up? How old are you?"

The kittens, sensing attention, clamber over each other in a furry mewling pile, trying to lick at Garrin's fingers and get scritched. One of them, a tortoiseshell fluffball, treads firmly on all its siblings, ignoring the vociferous disapproval, and darts out a tiny pink tongue to rasp against the redhead's hand. Seems like someone's been Marked.

Roselle meanwhile languidly drops herself onto the fountain ledge beside Munch, all the better to listen to the very entertaining conversation going on. Laburnum might have replied right away to the golem's question, but she's distracted first by his eyes. "How do you DO THAT?" she asks, mouthing a silent 'Waaaaaow'. "Your eyes change colour! So COOL!"

Of course he has. This was an inevitability that Garrin forsaw.

"Faiza is going to love this," he adds, reaching down to pick up the kitte in question and place it on his shoulder, like you do with kittens.

Tarragon has arrived.

Munch nods, and very carefully reaches up to his face, clawed fingers pressing a moment before disconnecting one of his eyes, pulling the magicite orb out a little, the wires and conections behind it trailing a moment before he puts it all back into place. "My eyes do a lot of things. It's one of the advantages of being built, not born. But there's a lot of disadvantages as well. How old did you say? I'm five." The golem holds up a handful of fingers, assuring that he is indeed the youngest present. Not counting the kittens, of course.

There is a little group by the fountain in the plaza - a rather bizarre one, all things considered. There's Munch, who is squatting down so he can be relatively eye-to-eye with a stout, be-basketed, rosy-cheeked young lass of about seven sturdy years of age. She's in a bright green dress with colourful peasant embroidery at the hem; she's also hanging onto Garrin's leg protectively. Or so it seems. Garrin, meanwhile, has a kitten on his shoulder. A small, mewling, tortoiseshell bundle of fluff which is at present trying to clamber up his head and turn into a fuzzy hat. Roselle, seated at the fountain, seems to be amused by the conversation taking place.

Laburnum's eyes open /wiiiiiide/. Young missy is apparently so fascinated by the golem's being able to /take his eye out/ that she stares and stares, until a gentle nudge from Roselle reminds her of her manners. "...YOU CAN TAKE YOUR EYES OUT!" she squeaks with amazement. "That's like MAGIC!" She then remembers to answer him, belatedly, "...Five? But you're a grown-up, you can't be FIVE, you're a giant! I'm seven and look, I'm so small!"

Roselle adds, in an aside to Garrin, "It looks like you've been Claimed, you know. By the Cuteness of Doom."

Said cat will soon no doubt find its way onto Garrin's hat. And begin obliterating the brightly colored feathers up there. Because /kitten/.

Garrin nods solemnly to Laburnum, though, "War Golems, you know. They're /cheaters/."

Munch eyes Garrin. "Not cheating if you didn't get a choice. I was built big. I wasn't born, but I started out bigger than most people. But I won't ever grow any bigger." He buzzes softly a moment. "Well, no, that's not entirely true, sometimes I get a lot bigger, but that's with more magic, and only lasts a little while." He nods to the little girl. "People get confused sometimes, because they think I already know all the stuff they know and understand. But sometimes nobody ever told me, so I don't know. Like 'cute', I still don't really know 'cute'. Though I think I understand a little more than I did before."

Verna has arrived.

There is a little group by the fountain in the plaza - a rather bizarre one, all things considered. There's Munch, who is squatting down so he can be relatively eye-to-eye with a stout, be-basketed, rosy-cheeked young lass of about seven sturdy years of age. She's in a bright green dress with colourful peasant embroidery at the hem; she's also hanging onto Garrin's leg protectively. Or so it seems. Garrin, meanwhile, has a kitten on his shoulder. A small, mewling, tortoiseshell bundle of fluff which is at present clawing halfway up his ridiculously feathered and plumed hat, and will no doubt ruin allll those lovely colourful feathers in short order. Roselle is seated at the fountain, and she seems to be replying to something in the conversation.

Miss Laburnum blinks at Garrin with big cornflower blue eyes, wiping at a smudge of chocolate on her mouth. "What's a War Goatlem?" she asks curiously. "You don't look like a goat, Mister Dragonman! And...oh." It's difficult for a seven year old to understand the concept of 'made, sentient golems'. "...but you're aliiiiive! When I make mud dolls, they don't come alive like you are!" And then suddenly a big bright smile flashes over her face. "OH! MAGIC! Right?"

Verna descends the trail that winds up the ridge, her familiarity with it such that she can do so with little attention paid to where her feet fall. This asusmes that she does, indeed, use her feet, as her cloak and robes just brush the ground, concealing her precise means of locomotion.

Rather than the path, her attention is focused upon the large tome which floats open before her, at convenient height for perusing by eyes shrouded within her hood. Behind, and slightly above her right shoulder, a second object hovers in pace with her travel: a copper-skinned spheroid with a single large amber gem set along its equator. A gem that is oft pointed over her shoulder towards the tome, but is also rotated to point elsewhere, intermittently.

Out of the sky comes a rather....normal human being. If normal human beings could fly that is. Speaking of magic that is. She flies right on by the group, then loops around and comes back, to come in for a gentle landing. "huh. haven't seen these buildings before." She says once she touches down. Of course, Munch is one of the curious ones to look at too, but she seems a little more interested in the buildings.

Verna is noticed by Garrin and a cheerful hand is raised in her direction. In the meantime, the cat upon his hat (rather than a cat in a hat) is chewong on feathers, rolling a round upon it like kittens are wont to do.

"Welllll, a War Golem is a creature that's built. alive, like you and me, but made of steel. They made them many years ago, and most of the secrets about that have been lost. They're special," he adds. "Very... special." He gives the girl a knowing look. A nod.

Munch nods in agreement. "Very powerful magic, now mostly lost. Nobody is left who knows how to do it right. And we aren't all made out of steel. We come in all types, from stone to wood to lots of different metals. I'm different even from most war golems in that I was made with alchemy, so I eat things, and use them to change. And I'm a lot younger. Most were made a long time ago, and only really woke up recently. Was was built only recent, and woke up right away." He glances to the recent arrivals, but keeps his focus on the child.

Laburnum oooooohs, her eyes even bigger than before. How much of this she understands, that's debatable, but Special and Secrets? That she does. But like all small children, she has the attention span of a gnat, and the kitten in Garrin's hat makes her giggle very hard. "Bad Biscuit!" she says, shaking a finger at the kitten, and then she dissolves into fits of laughter. "He's gonna ruin your haaat, Mister Redhead..." Then she detaches herself from Garrin's leg, advances cautiously towards Munch, and attaches herself to his arm /carefully/ by way of a hug. "You's special," she tells him solemnly. "An' special things are Diff'rent. I like you. Jus' don't eat kittens ok." The queen of the universe has spoken, yes. And then her attention snaps sharply towards something that flies past and her big blue eyes get even bigger. "...That's a /flying lady/," she informs everyone in a stage whisper, totally riveted. "That's magic too right?"

Roselle, whose gaze has followed the direction of Garrin's wave with sparrow-like curiousity and a tilted head, looks over to Laburnum and then to where she's staring at. "...Well yes, I think so," she agrees, watching Tarragon with a flicker of interest in her dark, kohl-lined eyes.

Verna's hood opening lifts upwards briefly at the exclamation of flying women and shadow overhead of the same. Her movement continues, however, towards the fountain and those in its vicinity. "The art of sentient constructs is a very ancient one," she opines softly. "It is regrettable that much of that knowledge is lost."

Tarragon says, "yes it's magic." She says to Roselle as she walks her way over with light steps. "One of a few things, but I was more interested in the builds since I'm new to Alexandria." She then turns and looks towards Laburnum, tilting her head. "But everything must be new to you, my lady.""

Munch nods again, and hold up a single finger. "Rule One, Do Not Eat Pets. Familiars and Mounts count as pets." He gently pats Laburnum on the head. "I like you too. And yes, flying is a good magic. I can't do that one quite yet. My wings havn't finished growing yet." His stubby little wings flutter a little.

Garrin has reconnected.

"There are still functional forges out there, but they're few and far between." Garrin gives ROselle a big old smile, though. "I'll have to figure out what to call this guy... or girl. I have no idea which it is. I mean, how do you even TELL with kittens? Nevermind. I don't want to know."

Munch says, "Falv-...uh... scent. You can tell by scent."

Laburnum takes a caaaareful step back, closer in to Munch, big wide eyes focused on Tarragon. "...Ummm. No?" she says slowly, a grubby finger going to her mouth to be chewed on nervously. "I live here. S'not new an'...umm. Lady?" The term of address, she's probably more used to hearing for adults, because she glances behind Munch instinctively to peek at Roselle. "But that's really cool magic, being able t'fly like that." A wistful look. "I wanna fly when I grow up..." When Munch pats her head, she turns a big, sunny chocolate-smeared smile onto him. "Yes! Don't eat pets an' cute things." She peers at his wings curiously. "...How long 'fore your wings get all big an' proper so you can fly?" She hasn't noticed Verna yet, or else that glowing sphere? Would definitely be of Absorbing Interest.

Roselle gives Verna a lopsided grin as she comes up. "I don't know much about golems and constructs m'self," she says frankly, and then she gives Tarragon a chuckle and a nod. "Magic yes. This little one seems to enjoy it enough...Oh /Garrin/, I think you have to wait till it gets older before you try. And I think Laburnum said its name is Biscuit." She almost /chokes/ at Munch's comment and hastily turns it into a cough. LOUD cough.

Garrin has partially disconnected.

Munch flutters his wings again, and shrugs. "I don't know. I thought they'd be fully grown by now, but they aren't. They're stronger than they used to be, so they're still growing, but the people who knew died, so they can't tell anyone."

Garrin gets distracted by cat.

Let's be honest: there is a kitten and it's distracting. He has it in his hands, now, on its back and he's scratching the belly.

SCRITCH THAT BELLEH>

Laburnum ohs. "That's...kinda sad," she says, looking up at Munch. Then she gingerly unhooks her basket from her arm, and holds it out to him, after pulling aside the cloth that covers the kittens up. "Momma says petting kittens can help make things better?" Yes, she's offering to let him pet the little fuzzy creatures, which are now scrambling around in a furry mass, mewing ferociously for attention. In fact, they scramble so much that one of them actually falls out of the basket - a black and white, inquisitive furball which lands, somewhat dazed, shakes itself, and then wobbles over to the nearest thing available. That happens to be Verna's direction. MEW. Louuuud kittens.

Tarragon says, "yes, but it's still somewhat new. I literally just got here, so this is all new to me." She then ponders. "Fly when you grow up? Why can't you fly now?" She then tilts her head. "With my help of course...""

Garrin is, incidentally, now designated Kitten Scritcher of the Highest Order, as he's moved off to the side of the fountain and is busily bonding with the tortoiseshell feline who's now claimed its territory.

Laburnum's attention is absolutely distracted from kittens at this startling revelation of Tarragon's. Good thing Roselle's wise in the ways of children and attention-span, because she reaches out and hooks the basket from Laburnum. "This," she tells Munch quietly with a grin, "Is known as Fuzz Therapy. You scritch kittens like this..." She demonstrates by gingerly scritching a fuzzy head. "And they look adorably cute, like so. And make noise." Meanwhile, Laburnum bounces up and down on her toes, clasping her hands together in front of her. "You can make me FLY?" she breathes to Tarragon, a look of absolute adoration in her eyes. "REALLY?" The black and white kitten that got out of the basket is now sniffing around, and will likely trot up to Verna and sniff some more because, kittens. They are Inquisitive.

Munch buzzes softly, and carefully pets the kittens. He's not really into it, but can respect a tiny predator, and it works out. After a few moments, the metal man carefully withdraws his hand, and stands up. "Thank you. I should be going now. If you like to visit later, I'm usually at the Junkyard in Goblintown. Well, no, I'm usually out in the wilds, but if I'm in town I'm usually in the junkyard."