thehometree | Nightmare 2 || Amber post or Action

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Nightmare 2 || Amber post or Action

amber;

[ Pitch is, well, lounging. There's really no other word for it, and he just so happens to look like someone lounging half-under a warm kotatsu...only it's a bed. That's right you're looking at what appears to be fully grown man lounging underneath somebody's bed while he's making an amber post. ]

Do you know that everyone can see these? Doesn't matter where they are, if they check their magic looking glass, they can all see and hear me.

action;

[ And in case you were worried about it, yes that is an awfully familiar looking bed. Checking on your particular bed would reveal a certain Boogeyman lounging underneath, with his wings neatly folded along his back almost like an extra bit of cape with gold at the edges and fluffy bits between his shoulders. Do you sleep somewhere other than a bed? Well, no big deal. Pitch is just making use of this bed (like a creeper) for the moment. Hey, at least he's not in your space? ]

((OOC; Don't worry about a 'catch up' log, or any kind logging. I'm slower than frozen sap in Winter for tagging, but the plot lasts more than a week, so only worry about having fun, not being plot relevant, elsewise tag your comments amber or action please? Just so I can keep it all straight in my head ;'D ))

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[Orcelito is used to creepy people leaning over his shoulder while he works. He’s just glad you’re finally quiet. That quill keeps moving uninterrupted - to the ink, to the paper, back to the ink, back to the paper… but what is of such interest to distract from the presence of a bogeyman? A glance at the paper reveals the following in elegant script:]

"Who leads the Night? Who leads the Day? Join their hands before the Heart of the Tree."

Lead - leader, guide, escort, influence, option, direction, ~~map~~
Day - ~~time~~, magic, disposition
Night - ~~time~~, magic, disposition

Day hours: active - Night hours: activity low
Residents - 18 / 19 est.
Magicians –

[Suddenly the boy stops writing. The quill remains paused as if in thought. Then he asks in casually,] Do you know how many magic users there are here in the Tree? [Because this person skulks around so much he’s bound to have noticed, especially if he sneaks into houses uninvited and hides under beds. And aren’t the shady characters in fairytales always attracted to witches and sorcerers? (And children alone in their bedrooms at night.)]

[ Well this is no fun. It looks like a boring riddle topping a boring list, and Pitch wilted a little in consternation. ]

First you demand silence then demand I speak. Make up your mind. At any rate I do not keep a running tally of you mortals.

[ Pitch Black isn't just some garden variety spook. He was usually drawn to fear, with only a few exceptions. Either way, he wasn't about to become some sort of supernatural census taker. ]

You entered my house - without permission I might add. You are subject to the rules here. And I asked you to speak. [He makes it sound quite sensible. Pity you can’t give him those numbers, though.] Do you not like riddles?

[ Orcelito. Pitch is giving you the most deadpan look imaginable. Just because you couldn't always see him didn't mean that he wasn't there. ]

Not always. Why haven't you solved it? You're the one writing it down.

[Have your deadpan look back, mate. Orcelito is just as superstitious as the next guy, but in his opinion, Pitch is nothing like his concept of a bogeyman. And he’s seen your face on the amber stone so often, you’re just another Adventurer to him. (In short, he’s growing out of his belief in such things.)]

I am in the process of solving it. I didn’t have ink and paper until recently, so there was no way to write it out. Besides, this riddle concerns all the Tree’s residents. It should be a concern to you as well.

[That’s another unfortunate thing about when kids grow up. They get rather presumptuous.]

[ Indeed that is the problem with children, and it is exactly why Pitch didn't want to leave his fate to children originally. But North was playing the long game, and his genius was seeing tha the key to beleif lay in passing from one generation to another.]

You think so? Perhaps I rather enjoy the status quo.

[ Meaning we can see each other and we're talking. Which is awesome in Pitch's opinion. ]

Really? [And he gives you a questioning look much too innocent for his words.] You seem to be bored with the status quo. Isn’t that why you carry the amber around and sneak into homes? Because you refuse to observe the expectations of an orderly community? I should think you’d be eager to help stir things up a bit. [He waves the feather quill tantalizingly.]

[ Eying Orcelito warily, Pitch does enjoy 'stirring things up' sometimes, but not the way Orcelito seems to think. It was also nice that whatever magic was making certain Pitch stayed visible was not a temporary thing. ]

Ah, but I suppose you could say 'Old Habits Die Hard.' I haven't been sneaking, and I've always come and gone into any place at all without too many - if anyone at all really - remarking on my presence.

What I am eager to see is a storied individual. Are there no real writers here at all?

[Orcelito wants to further investigate and challenge that first comment, but his attention is caught by the second.]

By storied individuals… you mean fiction writers? [Orcelito lowers the quill, thoughtful. There’s a new consideration… he’s been thinking about record-keeping not creative writing, and so have most of the others here.] I haven’t met any yet.

[He raises the quill to his chin.] But everyone here has stories to tell. We’re from different worlds and each world has its own legends and histories. I’m sure if you ask, those here might be willing to share their stories with you. [And ask politely, instead of, you know, sneaking around frightening people.]

But the stories will need to be told verbally. We don’t have enough ink and paper to stretch to creative endeavors.

You suppose correctly. Though if you are needing a reliable resource, maybe we can help each other out.

[ Never let it be said Pitch Black was above getting mortals to do some of the leg work when it suited him. Holding out one gray hand, Black Sand coalesced together to form a single ink well. Pitch removed the lid on it's tiny hinge so that the lid flashed purple in the low light. ]

Feel free to test it. You can try to pour it out and it will always be full when you set it down again. Surely a story wouldn't be that strange for a young man writing down riddles and lists. Find a writer for me, and I'll give you the ink well.

[Orcelito leans forward in curiosity – and lets out a gasp of astonishment when the inkwell comes into being. He’s seen magic before, but this… is it real?

Daring to question, he reaches forward with a pale and, it must be admitted, shaking hand to dip the green-feathered quill into the ink. It certainly feels right – that’s his first indication this is real. This ink isn’t watery – oh no – it feels delightfully thick and rich.

With lots of care, he removes the quill and sets it to paper. Immediately, his hand stops trembling; he can write beautifully under any duress, and it shows as the letters form simply and smoothly. He gets nearly a whole sentence out of that single load.

Orcelito takes a deep, calming breath, and he’s back to his serious self. Now comes the tricky part. He’s learned from past experience to be very careful in these matters.]

I want your conditions, exactly. What types of stories are you looking for, and do you have a preference for prose, poetry, or song?

[ Pitch only kept the smile throughout. It's not until Orcelito is finished that the Black Sand that was forming the inkwell, the ink inside it, and all other traces save the writing on the page swirled and raced right back out of existence. ]

Prose. At least a short story, though a novel would not be amiss. Horror stories, of course. But actual fear is the key. Simply writing a surgeon's handbook of gross anatomy means nothing without true fear.

[Orcelito is visibly disappointed when the inkwell vanishes. He quickly looks down at the paper to make sure his writing hasn’t disappeared too.]

A novel would be a stretch at this time. [He smiles, humored by Pitch’s assumption that someone here would have the time to write an entire novel just for him.] But a single story to evoke fear… that’s reasonable. Though, it may be difficult to find someone who can craft a truly frightening narrative.

Of course, I will need assurance that this isn’t a ploy. [He holds up the page he just wrote on.] I presume this ink won’t vanish in a few days. If anything suspicious occurs, the deal is off.

[ Well a novel was doubtful, but you asked for details. At the implication that this could be some sort of ploy, Pitch actually looks offended. ]

Who do you take me for? A peddler in cheap tricks?! Hmph! Disappearing ink indeed.

[ The fact his pride was wounded just from implying there might be something shady going on should probably tell you this is legit. ]

[Sir, you were hiding in the shadows under a child’s bed. Your credibility is very low.]

I have no way of knowing what your integrity in matters of trade is. My roommate seems to trust you, but that only goes so far. I’m taking this deal seriously, and you must as well.

[He smiles again.] Of course, there may be more than just one story in it for you. Provided you follow through.

[ Hey it comes with the job...though admittedly he did not always have to hide under beds. He still looks mildly offended.]

Kit has done much for me, but if you insist on being offensive, that goodwill only goes so far.

[ Even teaching Kit to read and write is self-serving in the long run. ]

[He only maintains that cool smile.] Just so long as we understand each other.

[But part of that reply has him regarding Pitch with new interest. There’s a feeling from him that isn’t quite fear, but is definitely concern. (And if Pitch has seen big brothers checking on frightened little sisters during the night, it should feel familiar.) His voice, however, gives away nothing.] What is your interest in Kit?

[ And he is still of the opinion he owes you nothing kid. Funny enough Pitch Black never even tried to frighten Kit at first. He took her for an odd little cat spirit. The mistake was cleared up, and Kit eventually understood that Pitch was immortal, and since her culture had no sort of negative connotations with the shadowy places under the bed, she always treated Pitch just like everyone else.

And maybe that's not a big deal to other people, but it is to him. So Pitch draws himself up to his full height, an though everything from grey skin, black cloak, and black hair blends with darkness. It makes the bright molten gold of his eyes stand out all the more. As though daring Orcelito to say something about it. ]

She is my friend.

[Finally, there’s a crack in Orcelito’s arrogance and an emotion beyond wary annoyance rears. Awe, because we never really grow out of our respect for darkness. He leans backs, tilting his head to follow those golden eyes, and for just a moment he might as well be six again instead of sixteen and jaded towards all things dark and towering. A spark of fear flickers anew – and of fascination.

Is he trying to intimidate him? Why now, all of a sudden? The question wasn’t meant as a strike. For it to be taken that way, for him to feel defensive, there must be a reason…

Orcelito carefully reviews their conversation and arranges it into a pattern he can understand. And a new impression of this mysterious visitor forms – one based on honest evaluation rather than assumptions. Because, for all that show and shadow and skulking, there’s a promised story with an endless inkwell and a happy roommate.

So Orcelito relaxes. His expression softens with the confident smile that comes from understanding. And he says with childlike simplicity:]

She’s my friend too.

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Nightmare 2 || Amber post or Action

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He'll have to give Sarah the matching quill or something ;;

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