In an effort to maintain his patience, Daniel found himself falling into his usual habits; while others at the crowd’s edge desperately tried to gather facts from those closer to the main attraction, he listened. The more unkind individuals he overheard preferred to call this by less neutral terms. Most common of those was “sticking his ratty nose into others’ affairs”. Nevertheless, it was the best he could do at the moment to gather intelligence without landing himself into the awful entanglement of conversation.
It’d be nice to not have to piece together reality from unreliable scraps of information though. Take the following dialogue he managed to grasp from various chatter for example:
“He’s missing what!”
“Half his face. Least that’s what Susan up there said. Got his tongue lolling out of the empty side and everything.”
“But how can he even talk?”
“Got a, uh, parrot. Yeah, a bird for an interpreter. Does little paw signals for words instead.”
“...You’re not having me on, are you.”
“No, never! And this little fella helps feed him too. Carries over the food and drops it in his mouth. Home’s honest truth.”
Gossip always tended to twist the facts into so much yarn, but even this went a little far for his tastes. He half expected a following statement proclaiming that Rupert also wore an eyepatch on the remaining side of his face. It seemed fittingly absurd for the image being painted before him. If he didn’t care about drawing attention to himself, Daniel would have scoffed.
Staring seemed to be enough however. The exuberant speaker of this tale, a rather rotund groundhog, glared right at him. Their fur indignantly fluffed up, and their buck teeth were on full aggressive display.
“And what are you looking at, beady-eyes. Don’t you have anything better to do!”
Why, yes. If this nuisance wasn’t clogging the clearing up like everyone else, he’d be listening to Rupert himself. But life wasn’t fair like that, so he had to make do with a dumb animal instead.
Daniel wanted more than anything to say just that to their face. Already his body responded to his snarling thoughts, causing him to instinctively start baring his own fangs. Fear of fighting’s consequences eventually outpaced his anger though, and his mouth clamped shut just as soon as it had begun to open. The tiniest shred of willpower was the only thing which kept him from collapsing to the ground in a defensive sprawl. He averted his gaze, searching for anything else to hold his attention.
Plenty of other spirits chatted away without any care, but after what had happened, he’d more than enough of his fill of listening to their nonsense. One more altercation like that and he would be too paralyzed by his own cowardice to move for hours. No, surely there was something more interesting to occupy his mind for the time being.
Maybe he'd been mistaken, but a bear seemed a few moments ago to have been looking at more than just the crowd. Something, oddly enough, ground-level. He crept forward, keeping his eyes and nose low. What could possibly be that tiny?
In an effort to maintain his patience, Daniel found himself falling into his usual habits; while others at the crowd’s edge desperately tried to gather facts from those closer to the main attraction, he listened. The more unkind individuals he overheard preferred to call this by less neutral terms. Most common of those was “sticking his ratty nose into others’ affairs”. Nevertheless, it was the best he could do at the moment to gather intelligence without landing himself into the awful entanglement of conversation.
It’d be nice to not have to piece together reality from unreliable scraps of information though. Take the following dialogue he managed to grasp from various chatter for example:
“He’s missing what!”
“Half his face. Least that’s what Susan up there said. Got his tongue lolling out of the empty side and everything.”
“But how can he even talk?”
“Got a, uh, parrot. Yeah, a bird for an interpreter. Does little paw signals for words instead.”
“...You’re not having me on, are you.”
“No, never! And this little fella helps feed him too. Carries over the food and drops it in his mouth. Home’s honest truth.”
Gossip always tended to twist the facts into so much yarn, but even this went a little far for his tastes. He half expected a following statement proclaiming that Rupert also wore an eyepatch on the remaining side of his face. It seemed fittingly absurd for the image being painted before him. If he didn’t care about drawing attention to himself, Daniel would have scoffed.
Staring seemed to be enough however. The exuberant speaker of this tale, a rather rotund groundhog, glared right at him. Their fur indignantly fluffed up, and their buck teeth were on full aggressive display.
“And what are you looking at, beady-eyes. Don’t you have anything better to do!”
Why, yes. If this nuisance wasn’t clogging the clearing up like everyone else, he’d be listening to Rupert himself. But life wasn’t fair like that, so he had to make do with a dumb animal instead.
Daniel wanted more than anything to say just that to their face. Already his body responded to his snarling thoughts, causing him to instinctively start baring his own fangs. Fear of fighting’s consequences eventually outpaced his anger though, and his mouth clamped shut just as soon as it had begun to open. The tiniest shred of willpower was the only thing which kept him from collapsing to the ground in a defensive sprawl. He averted his gaze, searching for anything else to hold his attention.
Plenty of other spirits chatted away without any care, but after what had happened, he’d more than enough of his fill of listening to their nonsense. One more altercation like that and he would be too paralyzed by his own cowardice to move for hours. No, surely there was something more interesting to occupy his mind for the time being.
Maybe he'd been mistaken, but a bear seemed a few moments ago to have been looking at more than just the crowd. Something, oddly enough, ground-level. He crept forward, keeping his eyes and nose low. What could possibly be that tiny?
"Oh. Okay."
Sims blinked, watching the massive animal turn its head away from him as dismissively as it had parted the other bodies earlier.
"Okay?" the shrew spat, his voice shrill and indignant, "Okay?!"
He started forward, the fur at the base of his tail bristling,
"If you decide to engage me in whatever misplaced, infuriating, and, to be quite frank, insulting version of "pity" you thought was necessary seconds ago, you do not get to shrug off the whole of the gesture with a simpering little "okay" and just-- and just--!"
Sims stumbled, effort of yelling and of being distressed in a way that was so full-bodied making him feel as weak and starving as he had before the rooster had startled him. He paused, again pressing his stomach to the cold tubing of the exposed grass roots as he steadied himself-- screwing his eyes up in an effort to focus on anything but the emptiness of this tiny ineffective body.
And, when Sims finally opened his oily looking eyes, he looked up and saw the possum approaching-- materialising out of the blurry vignette of the world beyond Sims' limited eyesight and into a kind of clarity that was still indescribable to Sims.
There was a visceral reaction that cut through him: an immediate disgust that was so poignant and so lingering that he felt his teeth chatter. When his mind found no immediate reason for the response, it only made him more agitated. Yet this did nothing to stop the marsupial's advance and Sims felt his little heart beating furiously-- anxiously-- against his ribcage as the possum's body got larger and larger as it came closer and closer.
"Wh-watch where you're stepping," Sims snapped, long before the creature would have even been able to clip his whiskers, "All of you gawkers already have settled on making this area-- where I live, mind you-- unnavigable with your brutish, clumsy bodies and I'm not keen on the idea of being trampled on by an overgrown rat!"
He made a sound through his nose, somewhere between a snort and puff and looked up at the newcomer definitely before giving the bear another (he assumed) scathing look for good measure.
"Oh. Okay."
Sims blinked, watching the massive animal turn its head away from him as dismissively as it had parted the other bodies earlier.
"Okay?" the shrew spat, his voice shrill and indignant, "Okay?!"
He started forward, the fur at the base of his tail bristling,
"If you decide to engage me in whatever misplaced, infuriating, and, to be quite frank, insulting version of "pity" you thought was necessary seconds ago, you do not get to shrug off the whole of the gesture with a simpering little "okay" and just-- and just--!"
Sims stumbled, effort of yelling and of being distressed in a way that was so full-bodied making him feel as weak and starving as he had before the rooster had startled him. He paused, again pressing his stomach to the cold tubing of the exposed grass roots as he steadied himself-- screwing his eyes up in an effort to focus on anything but the emptiness of this tiny ineffective body.
And, when Sims finally opened his oily looking eyes, he looked up and saw the possum approaching-- materialising out of the blurry vignette of the world beyond Sims' limited eyesight and into a kind of clarity that was still indescribable to Sims.
There was a visceral reaction that cut through him: an immediate disgust that was so poignant and so lingering that he felt his teeth chatter. When his mind found no immediate reason for the response, it only made him more agitated. Yet this did nothing to stop the marsupial's advance and Sims felt his little heart beating furiously-- anxiously-- against his ribcage as the possum's body got larger and larger as it came closer and closer.
"Wh-watch where you're stepping," Sims snapped, long before the creature would have even been able to clip his whiskers, "All of you gawkers already have settled on making this area-- where I live, mind you-- unnavigable with your brutish, clumsy bodies and I'm not keen on the idea of being trampled on by an overgrown rat!"
He made a sound through his nose, somewhere between a snort and puff and looked up at the newcomer definitely before giving the bear another (he assumed) scathing look for good measure.
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miles
{he/they}
{fr +0}
{lore}
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Something about what the bird had said seemed a little off - perhaps it was the manner with which he’d said it, or maybe it was just the fact that it was coming from the beak of a bird. Regardless, Peggy got the impression that she wasn’t getting the whole story, but that was alright. Honestly, she couldn’t care less if everything he’d said up until now was a complete lie. She wanted someone to talk to, not someone who told the truth. With that, she quickly dismissed whatever suspicion she’d had as irrelevant.
Besides, something much more interesting, or perhaps just more annoying and pressing was a sudden shout of “Incoming!” and the crash of leaves and bark as a spirit made a less than graceful impact on a nearby branch. Peggy wasn’t often the jumpy sort, so her initial reaction only truly consisted of turning her head to acknowledge the other creature’s presence. They appeared to be entangled in some mystery cloth or similar material, although what it was probably mattered less than the question of how to get it off. There was, of course, the question of how it got on her in the first place, but for now she silenced her curiosity as her new grackle companion took center stage in accosting the bat.
His response once again struck something in the stoat, but this time it wasn’t confusion or mild suspicion; more like indignation. “Well aren’t you podsnappery!” She shouted at the bird, standing on her hind legs to look ever so slightly taller. “Just because you had the slightest bit of finesse in your response to the crash doesn’t mean you have the right to be so hypocritical about it!” With a slight huff, she almost fell forward but managed to land rather gracefully on her front paws again.
Deciding that the grackle’s rude behavior was now worthy of the silent treatment, Peggy turned away from the bird and towards the bat that he’d somehow insulted in her own biased opinion. “You alright there?” She asked the spirit, switching her inexplicably angry demeanor for one of concern without batting an eye. Her eyes drifted down to the banner that the bat was trying so desperately to free herself from. “Since you don’t seem to have any of your own, do ya need a hand there?”
Something about what the bird had said seemed a little off - perhaps it was the manner with which he’d said it, or maybe it was just the fact that it was coming from the beak of a bird. Regardless, Peggy got the impression that she wasn’t getting the whole story, but that was alright. Honestly, she couldn’t care less if everything he’d said up until now was a complete lie. She wanted someone to talk to, not someone who told the truth. With that, she quickly dismissed whatever suspicion she’d had as irrelevant.
Besides, something much more interesting, or perhaps just more annoying and pressing was a sudden shout of “Incoming!” and the crash of leaves and bark as a spirit made a less than graceful impact on a nearby branch. Peggy wasn’t often the jumpy sort, so her initial reaction only truly consisted of turning her head to acknowledge the other creature’s presence. They appeared to be entangled in some mystery cloth or similar material, although what it was probably mattered less than the question of how to get it off. There was, of course, the question of how it got on her in the first place, but for now she silenced her curiosity as her new grackle companion took center stage in accosting the bat.
His response once again struck something in the stoat, but this time it wasn’t confusion or mild suspicion; more like indignation. “Well aren’t you podsnappery!” She shouted at the bird, standing on her hind legs to look ever so slightly taller. “Just because you had the slightest bit of finesse in your response to the crash doesn’t mean you have the right to be so hypocritical about it!” With a slight huff, she almost fell forward but managed to land rather gracefully on her front paws again.
Deciding that the grackle’s rude behavior was now worthy of the silent treatment, Peggy turned away from the bird and towards the bat that he’d somehow insulted in her own biased opinion. “You alright there?” She asked the spirit, switching her inexplicably angry demeanor for one of concern without batting an eye. Her eyes drifted down to the banner that the bat was trying so desperately to free herself from. “Since you don’t seem to have any of your own, do ya need a hand there?”
Live today. Don’t wait for tomorrow.
Alta's attempts to glean something of the surrounding conversation were once again interrupted by Sims' continued tirade. He was only half-paying attention, even so, having gotten the gist of what the tiny creature was saying the first time around. Really, his ability to formulate a lengthy, angry diatribe in response to monosyllabic responses was more interesting to Alta than the contents of his speech.
To be frank, he didn't understand why exactly him moving a bit to the side warranted vehement rage. In concept, yes, he knew being talked down to or pitied was liable to be upsetting- and while it'd never gotten under his skin to the degree it seemed to get under the little rodent's, there was a certain needling irritation that came with being blatantly treated like you were lesser.
Like you couldn't comprehend what was going on, so oblivious that others didn't bother to keep their voices down, to hide the blatantly condescending edge in their tone. That, at least, he knew intimately well-
...What was he talking- er, thinking about? Alta couldn't recall the last time he'd noticed being actively patronized, and it certainly wasn't a common enough occurrence for him to feel this sort of worn, resigned acrimony.
Trying to connect the emotion to anything besides some sort of visceral reaction to Sims' words proved useless, so he filed that away as something to consider later. In the moment, he had to deal with aforementioned spirit, who didn't look like he planned to let the matter go anytime soon.
A breath in to formulate a response was interrupted by something in his periphery. Movement in the grasses nearby, a distinctive black-and-white shape against the sun-bleached blades, and the rodent recoiled, fur bristling and stance hunched. Did the two know each other, or was it just fear of a larger creature? Then again, if it was the latter, he wouldn't have been screeching indignantly at Alta. Nevertheless, the other spirit- an animal he'd seen in home before, but also one he didn't know the name of- wasn't any danger to him.
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, but the mouselike spirit appeared to have composed himself somewhat, and though he was shaking in fear he still had the energy to shoot Alta a venomous glare. Well. His earlier assumption was correct- for whatever reason, he wasn't letting the subject drop.
"I moved out of the way. It's common decency, not a matter of..." a pause to think out his speech- he rarely had to engage in conversation besides the bare minimum of curt politeness or questions. "-targeted pity."
Alta's attempts to glean something of the surrounding conversation were once again interrupted by Sims' continued tirade. He was only half-paying attention, even so, having gotten the gist of what the tiny creature was saying the first time around. Really, his ability to formulate a lengthy, angry diatribe in response to monosyllabic responses was more interesting to Alta than the contents of his speech.
To be frank, he didn't understand why exactly him moving a bit to the side warranted vehement rage. In concept, yes, he knew being talked down to or pitied was liable to be upsetting- and while it'd never gotten under his skin to the degree it seemed to get under the little rodent's, there was a certain needling irritation that came with being blatantly treated like you were lesser.
Like you couldn't comprehend what was going on, so oblivious that others didn't bother to keep their voices down, to hide the blatantly condescending edge in their tone. That, at least, he knew intimately well-
...What was he talking- er, thinking about? Alta couldn't recall the last time he'd noticed being actively patronized, and it certainly wasn't a common enough occurrence for him to feel this sort of worn, resigned acrimony.
Trying to connect the emotion to anything besides some sort of visceral reaction to Sims' words proved useless, so he filed that away as something to consider later. In the moment, he had to deal with aforementioned spirit, who didn't look like he planned to let the matter go anytime soon.
A breath in to formulate a response was interrupted by something in his periphery. Movement in the grasses nearby, a distinctive black-and-white shape against the sun-bleached blades, and the rodent recoiled, fur bristling and stance hunched. Did the two know each other, or was it just fear of a larger creature? Then again, if it was the latter, he wouldn't have been screeching indignantly at Alta. Nevertheless, the other spirit- an animal he'd seen in home before, but also one he didn't know the name of- wasn't any danger to him.
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, but the mouselike spirit appeared to have composed himself somewhat, and though he was shaking in fear he still had the energy to shoot Alta a venomous glare. Well. His earlier assumption was correct- for whatever reason, he wasn't letting the subject drop.
"I moved out of the way. It's common decency, not a matter of..." a pause to think out his speech- he rarely had to engage in conversation besides the bare minimum of curt politeness or questions. "-targeted pity."
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 ....they/he
....FR time + 1
....hauntings#0781
....interesting things here
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He heard the small spirit sooner than he saw him, an unsurprising fact considering the circumstances. What hadn’t been accounted for was just how loud such an individual could be; although the outburst was minuscule compared to the noise of the crowd, it still managed to ring with distinct clarity. Ears twitching, his advance halted.
Was—was that ranting? It seemed like it was, the words streaming forth and jerking about in a manner Daniel could only read as agitation. Squinting to discern a shape amongst the grasses, he swept his snout left and right along them. While he considered his sense of smell to be rather keen, in this moment it proved just as useless as his eyesight. Too many scents mingled with each other here, some of which he still had yet to categorize. Hearing remained the best tool he could rely upon.
Resigned to this, he resumed his slow approach to the bear, treading the ground lightly so as not to squish someone unseen. The voice indicated a location close to the large mammal, a reasonable enough conclusion from what little he had seen. It didn’t give him much context to what he overheard though, other than perhaps the spirit had caused some sort of offense to the other.
Whatever. He only wanted to satisfy his own curiosity through observation; someone else could worry about the more tangled social aspects. Experience knew he was terrible at understanding the nuances of conversation, especially one he had no business contributing to.
But then the words stopped before stabbing out once more. As they found their mark, undoubtedly Daniel himself, he in turn finally pinpointed their source. Frustratingly enough, he couldn’t explain exactly what he saw, the most accurate description he could confidently state being rodent-like. Whatever they were, their biting statements made up plenty for their size.
Ordinarily, being called an “overgrown rat” wouldn’t be considered anything noteworthy. There were so many jabs one could make at his appearance, and by now, he’d heard most variations. Perhaps it had been the proximity of the previous confrontation, its effects still lingering on him. Regardless, for a few seconds, his heartbeat slowed and the surrounding world shrank. His legs briefly swayed beneath him before he snapped them back to rigidity.
Annoyance flashed across his mind at having to fight against this reaction. Again. What hope did he have of talking to Rupert if a bit of snippiness could threaten to ground him so easily? Pathetic.
Caught up in his internal berating, Daniel almost missed the bear’s response. Seemingly, he’d been correct to assume a link between the two, as it addressed what had been heard before the target switched to himself. Knowing this, the opossum would have gladly left it at that and made his retreat. However, having failed to avoid attention, he instead found himself fumbling for a way to gently extract himself from the situation.
“Is there a problem here?” he rasped. The instant the words left his mouth, Daniel reconsidered flopping over dead.
He heard the small spirit sooner than he saw him, an unsurprising fact considering the circumstances. What hadn’t been accounted for was just how loud such an individual could be; although the outburst was minuscule compared to the noise of the crowd, it still managed to ring with distinct clarity. Ears twitching, his advance halted.
Was—was that ranting? It seemed like it was, the words streaming forth and jerking about in a manner Daniel could only read as agitation. Squinting to discern a shape amongst the grasses, he swept his snout left and right along them. While he considered his sense of smell to be rather keen, in this moment it proved just as useless as his eyesight. Too many scents mingled with each other here, some of which he still had yet to categorize. Hearing remained the best tool he could rely upon.
Resigned to this, he resumed his slow approach to the bear, treading the ground lightly so as not to squish someone unseen. The voice indicated a location close to the large mammal, a reasonable enough conclusion from what little he had seen. It didn’t give him much context to what he overheard though, other than perhaps the spirit had caused some sort of offense to the other.
Whatever. He only wanted to satisfy his own curiosity through observation; someone else could worry about the more tangled social aspects. Experience knew he was terrible at understanding the nuances of conversation, especially one he had no business contributing to.
But then the words stopped before stabbing out once more. As they found their mark, undoubtedly Daniel himself, he in turn finally pinpointed their source. Frustratingly enough, he couldn’t explain exactly what he saw, the most accurate description he could confidently state being rodent-like. Whatever they were, their biting statements made up plenty for their size.
Ordinarily, being called an “overgrown rat” wouldn’t be considered anything noteworthy. There were so many jabs one could make at his appearance, and by now, he’d heard most variations. Perhaps it had been the proximity of the previous confrontation, its effects still lingering on him. Regardless, for a few seconds, his heartbeat slowed and the surrounding world shrank. His legs briefly swayed beneath him before he snapped them back to rigidity.
Annoyance flashed across his mind at having to fight against this reaction. Again. What hope did he have of talking to Rupert if a bit of snippiness could threaten to ground him so easily? Pathetic.
Caught up in his internal berating, Daniel almost missed the bear’s response. Seemingly, he’d been correct to assume a link between the two, as it addressed what had been heard before the target switched to himself. Knowing this, the opossum would have gladly left it at that and made his retreat. However, having failed to avoid attention, he instead found himself fumbling for a way to gently extract himself from the situation.
“Is there a problem here?” he rasped. The instant the words left his mouth, Daniel reconsidered flopping over dead.
