Say Something Nice About the Above Character (IC)

Posted 5 years, 2 months ago by toynbeees

I've seen a few of these out there, but most of them are out of character threads. So, this is an in character thread to spread the love about people's characters! Say what you like about the character above you - their personality, appearance, anything! Just make sure to do it from the point of view of your own character~

RULES
Only basic things, but please take a look:

Don't skip anyone! Everyone deserves a reply
Wait 3 turns until going again, even if you're using a different character. This means everyone gets a fair shot
Only one bump per hour per person
Don't use insults, slurs, etc even if it's in character! This is a thread for positivity
If you think your reply will be long, claim! It stops someone from sweeping in and replying while you're typing
Please write a decent amount. At least two sentences for each reply

Salvador Wapenburg fizzelston

"So when you were out and burning with fever, " Salvador said. Always a good start. His snake-oil was probably the reason why Terry fainted in the first place. "Ive watched those Seinfeld-plays on your move-o-box" he said. Pointing at Terry's old tv. "I like them, " Salvador said. "Funny." Salvador added, just to strengthen his point. "I think you have a good taste in theatrical plays. You got some neat stuff too.. That move-o-box for example or the talking Gramophone," Salvador pointed at Terry's radio. Sounds like someone had the time of his life while poor old Terry was suffering from fever and Feverstoppers. "And your cat-birthday calendar that hangs in your toilet room... Also neat."

Salvador smiled nervously at Valin. "Promise me you don't tell anyone else alright.. Not a soul," he said. "Zip, nope, nobody," he added. Only to strengthen his point somehow? Who knows. Conspiratorially Salvador leaned into Valin's direction, his voice softer then a whisper. "I.. used magic." He confessed. Salvador plucked his glove from his hand, showing of his darken/cursed hand. "Everything I touch..speeds up. Like uh.. For example if you give me an apple, it will rot in no time.. If you give me a beard hair," he felt silent. It would grow in no-time.

Valin Summers Shadowzim777

"I must say sir." Valin trotted over to Salvador, inspecting him from head to toe. But there was one thing Valin was always jealous about. One thing he could never grow that Salvador here did. "You have such a fantastical mustache." Valin couldn't help but touch above his upper lip. It seemed very smooth. Not a trace of hair. Valin always imagined how much respect he could have with such a wonderful Mustache like Salvador had. Perhaps Mauve would finally respect him. Perhaps Valin would be more confident in himself with a Mustache. "Tell me fine sir, how is it you grew one? I would use a potion on myself, but I rather not have the aftermath of a magical mishap on me." he lightly chuckled. "Is there a secret? A special hair tonic? Or are you so rugged that it grew quickly on you?" He seemed interested to know the secret of obtaining a Mustache naturally.

------

Edit: Here we go!

Valin felt a bit skiddish of this old man touching is goods…Unless he was buying them of course. He gripped his own hands tightly watching the man seemingly questioning his business.

“Of course, It’s my livelihood. We all need to make ends meat around here. And if people such as yourself are interested in my wears, my expensive pay first and touch later wares, then it helps me support my family. My darling wife and my bundle of joy daughter.”

He seemed much more relaxed thinking about his family before he snapped back to see what this old timer was up too. Frankly, hearing the word “Lazy” was the one that snapped him out of his memory.

“Well, I may have to learn towards that demographic of sloth. People need solutions to problems, and I give it them a magical liquid inside a vial. It may be bad business for others to rely on magic, but everyone needs to make ends meet. Keeps my family up and running…Despite my wife already part of the wealthy side.”

He seemed to keep a watchful eye on this man. Surely, he seemed to be giving Valin some positivity, yet Valin was keen on sales tactics. He was not going to give this old person a deal just because he received some praise. It seemed rather vindictive on Valin’s part, but he still needed to make a profit. Perhaps buy his daughter Regina a nice dragon plush toy she always wanted.

“No more politic talk, 500 pieces shall do.” Valin extended his hand out to Skinner. “Up front, my good chum.”

Skinner (Human) kafkaesque

"So," Skinner started while eyeing the various vials and bottles that were ever so neatly arranged in front of him, "You're the type of person who sells what you make, huh?" He rubbed his chin while picking up one potion, skimmed the label for probably five seconds, then placed it back in a completely different location than before. No. Stop that. There was a good chance he was going to decimate that perfectly good collection by the time this encounter had panned itself out.

But that didn't seem to matter to the middle-aged man, as he remarked, "That's respectable, really. You have enough pride and skill in what you do to try making a profit out of it, and..." Skinner drew himself back so that he could rub his chin. It almost seemed as if envy was snaking its way into his voice, ever so slightly... But that didn't matter for now. For now, he just sucked it up and added with a wave of his hand, "... That's what I like about folks who don't have blue blood. Everyone always talks about how having that blue blood is good, because it means you get lots of money and prestige..."

Okay. So maybe that sounded a bit... Tantalizing... Which wasn't his point for once!

"But as I'd like to say, it also makes people a bit... Lazy? They expect others to do the work for them, and even though they can afford a bunch of servants, they don't exactly treat the servants as... Human. I don't even like calling my workers 'servants' as a result of all that. I prefer the term 'employees.' You know, because I pay them... And treat them decently..."

Gee. Wish the same thing could be said about Skinner's own wife. Talk about priorities. Speaking of which...

That was probably what the twinge of envy signified, as Skinner thumbed yet another flask and mused aloud, "That doesn't include the fact that you have a functional family too! With a nice wife and daughter..." Oh, how Skinner wished he even came close in that regard. His own wife hated him, and his daughter... She was too young to really form a judgment on him, given that she was literally a toddler. (He hoped that she liked him though, at least.) "It seems so rare the higher up the social ladder you go," he pondered almost mournfully, "It's almost like they focus more on politics than having a cohesive unit, you know?" Skinner's grin faltered, then he looked back down at the ground. "By the way, how much does this green potion cost? It looks interesting, just based off the label alone..." Nice diversion. Still uncomfortably heavy for a first conversation.

*breaks into the room* I am...... down for this necromancy......... thank you pickle for the Skinner-Ennette interaction- >:(

mom said it's my turn for a follow-up.

It was probably already said at least once before, but Brown would’ve lost her absolute shit if she knew of her not-daughter fraternizing with her bitch of an ex-husband. But she wasn’t relevant at the moment, because she was neither edgy nor aggressive at this point in her life, so let’s just get her out of the way.

She was in the corner of a party, probably sulking and complaining about why Skinner hauled her ass there in the first place, then… Then just ditched her. Great. Skinner, then again, did try persuading her to start doing a little jig, or try singing along to some of the instruments - as proper women often did - but she was pissy. The poor man couldn’t see why, so he left not too long after his initial - then final - attempts. Soon after, he stumbled into the other party, the same pretty, white-haired princess that he had taken care of in the past and sort of considered like a not-daughter at this point.

Aww… At least he regarded her with some genuine respect. Now if he could give the same feelings to his own wife, that’d be great.

“Politics is an acquired taste, dear,” hummed the middle-aged man with a cocked head, “It takes a steadfast and dedicated mind to ever really become adept at it. You alway learn. There’s no such thing as a comprehensive political theory, or even one that applies to most situations. That’s often the case with disciplines that attempt to explain human behavior, especially in a social context.” Skinner paused to scratch his chin. “Of course, I think that psychology comes the closest in terms of accuracy, but at the end of the day, a lot of it is theories, especially social psychology. They have some veracity to them, but they’re not nearly as comprehensive as a scientific law, hm?”

He hopped a step closer while she plucked at the strings of her lyre, seemingly enchanted by her music. Unlike Brown, it seemed, he held no hostility towards musicians; in fact, he rather liked their company, in spite of the fact that his society didn’t always hold them in the best light. At least she was playing an instrument considered “respectable” and not - say - an electric guitar. (Oh, how the nobility would’ve lost their fucking minds if that was being played…)

“So are parties, admittedly,” he reassured her with a wave of his hand, “They can be tough to stomach at times because, as you said, people are unpredictable. Especially when you invite foreigners over! Cultural differences can really hurt you at times. What’s considered a compliment for you might be considered an insult for someone else. And while one person might consider a gesture a grievous insult against their dignity, another might not care at all. It’s all so surreal, as you say…” Skinner blinked before hopping another step closer, like a pigeon hoping for some breadcrumbs… Except that he wasn’t hungry, just friendly.

With a laugh, the man exclaimed, “Oh, try not to bring that first meeting up too much, but… You’re such a sweetheart, dear! I can only hope to keep meeting you as time goes on, yes?” Cocking his head, he eyed her instrument before humming to the tune under his breath. “But don’t worry. Mistakes happen. It’s funny, really. The aristocrats in my home flirt all the time, but it’s rather… Subtle. Nobody professes their love at the first go, unless it’s been fermenting on the low for a while. They like it gradual, in other words, regardless of what part they’re from.” He raised his brows when she mentioned that he was easy to talk to. God, if only Brown saw him that way. Not that she was obligated to by any means, but…

Skinner would've thought it was nice.

“I hope so too,” he affirmed to the younger woman for a bow, “but… For now, I can linger around and listen to you play, yes? I know it might be odd since this session might be for yourself, but… I’m intrigued nonetheless, hm?”

Ennette PicklePantry

"You know, I like to think I'm good at politics. I've read countless books and study it extensively each day, but reading it and being involved are very different things! So when I went to my first ball-- First as in actually talking with people and giving my opinions and ideas, it was very stressful! I still get flustered when I think back to it. In fact, I'm still a little overwhelmed whenever I have to go to parties like that!" Ennette said as she played a tune on her lyre. Because of her music, she was able to keep a calm smile on her face, but it did twitch with embarrassment. "It sounds so silly when I talk about it. Getting stressed by partying? That's a problem only people of our status can have. I bet it's a dream compared to much realer problems." She gently pressed her hand against the strings to stop the music and looked up at Skinner. "You helped calm me down during that first party, you know. Our first interaction didn't go very smoothly-- Ah, I'm still so embarrassed!" She pressed her free hand against her flushed cheek. "But I like to think we've developed quite the friendship! You even helped me a few times when I was sick. I'm still very grateful for that, by the way. Compared to the many aristocrats and higher-class people I've met, I think you're the easiest to talk to, Skinner. I like the conversations we have, and I hope we get to have plenty more in the future!"

Well, well, if it wasn't the dirty thief that nearly killed her father! AND the father of that woman that called her a BUTT! She still couldn't understand why her dad was so insistent on letting Roswell near the castle. The last time he was there it sounded like he was torturing an animal! Her dad protected him by claiming it was "music" but??? It simply made no sense.
Breathe in slowly, Ennette. In... and out. That's right, through the nose. A princess must always stay calm, even in the face of dirty, smelly criminals. Although she had to admit, this way he was all crouched down like he was a toddler was not the best way to change her impression.
"I'm glad my dad has so much fun around you," she said with a smile that contradicted her true feelings. "He's been lonely ever since my mother died, so I'm glad he found someone that could help take his mind off things. And yes! I'd love to play some music on my lyre for you sometime!" He took a few steps away before she perked up with an, "Oh! By the way! You mentioned keeping an eye out for my dad, right? Some stuff has been going missing from the castle lately. Do you think you'd be able to find who could have done it?" From her angle, a shadow was cast over her face, and only one eyes was glowing. "Don't want him to get in trouble, right?" she asked slowly.

Roswell van Breek fizzelston

"So, " Roswell said. He'd knelt down in front of Ennete and rested his hands on his boney knees. As if he was talking g to a toddler instead of a 25 year old. "So you're En's daughter roi? de observed one?" What do you mean with that old man. Roswell's hand instinctively patted the inner pockets of his cloak. Which contained some...fresh new jewelry. Aha.
"Yer know, " Roswell said with spouted lips. "En yer father, me friend, he talks a lot about yer. Good things oi assure, " he said with a foxy grin. "He told me yer gut a gran judgement of character, " Roswell continued. En was right though, as Ennette seemed to distrust the unloyal thief. "Dats a very useful skill to 'ave, " the leidsman of a thieving-gespan pressed on her heart. "Der are folk in dis world that try to use de nativity of people for der own advantages, " Roswell said between his lips. Giving his knees a small squeeze before raising back to his full, scarecrow, height. "And observer folk loike yer and me, need to be wary of dat roi?" He said. With a cocked head and a greasy smile. "We don't want yer ol folk to get in trouble!" He crowed put a laughter.

"Oh!" Roswell said. As he seamlessly stirred the conversation into another direction, "he told me yer pretty good with day lyre of yers! Yer should play me a song someday!" Please don't.

--
"Olroight olroight, one more salmon strip.. Just don't blabber yer mouth infront of yer friends roi?"

Zinnia (Zinnia's cattos) salternate

Tortellini let out a loud trill upon crossing paths with the thief. As soon as she recognized him, Tortellini allowed her whiskers to twitch before letting out a mix between a yowl and a purr, waiting for him to offer her a snack. She began to treat the previous times he fed her religiously; it had already been included in whatever schedule the cat already had. This was a win-win situation; the cat got fed some extra food, the man got to be accompanied with the hobbling Scottish Fold.

Black PolarisStorm

Black was once again sitting around on the sidewalk, watching the cars and the world go by as he did nothing to change it. At least, until he spotted a familiar tripod cat out of the corner of his eye. The cat didn't seem upset this time, which was great. He watched as it walked up to him, and he gave it a soft smile. This was exactly what he needed today. He was depressed and caffeinated, but it was nothing a little bit of kitty love couldn't fix. He reached out and started petting the three-legged kitty. "You're such a soft baby... You're a cute little meow-meow!" he softly began to whisper as his smile grew bigger, "I'm sorry I don't have any treats, but you're a good kitty! You're a good little kitty and I love you, little baby! I love everything about you!" He wanted to scoop the cat up in his arms and snuggle the kitty so bad, but as he wasn't sure how the cat would react, he just resolved to petting it and whispering to it.

Thank you so much! I love him too, he's my baby at this point. And no worries! Here's your follow-up!

How come the weirdest shit always happens when Black’s just sitting on a bench? Always, a stranger will come sit next to him, and one of three things will happen: they sit in silence, they talk, but he’s bitter to them like the overwhelming majority of people, or god forbid, he actually mentions some of his issues. He already had a fear of going to Olive Garden after an event happened, he didn’t need a fear of sitting on benches, too, just because he didn’t want to tell too many people about how he has issues with literally everybody and everything.

But nevertheless, someone came and sat on the bench he was sitting on. He had just been chilling and drinking coffee like it was the end of the world when they came and started smoking, or at least that’s what he could tell from the smell of tobacco smoke that nearly made him choke. Couldn’t this person do that somewhere else? He turned to them, about to make a sarcastic quip about how they apparently have never seen the PSAs on TV about smoking, but held off after looking at her face, because Jesus, did she look like she had just walked out of one... What kind of shit did she have to be smoking for whatever the fuck that was to happen to her face? It sort of made him queasy, and that’s saying a lot, because he’s seen many people painfully die in front of him, and not even that made him as sick as this did. He turned away, and silently hoped that the first option would happen.

And then she turned and smiled at him. Fuck. She offered a pack of cigarettes to him, and he gave her an agitated “No thanks, I don’t smoke,” just in hopes that his bitter tone would convince her not to interact with him. He didn’t feel like talking, much less to someone whose face made him feel sick… And then she started talking again, saying he was… Quite the handsome fellow? He glanced down, shoving his face in his hands just to prevent her from seeing how red it was getting. If there was one thing he hadn’t expected to get called by her or anyone else, it was ‘handsome’. Hell, he thought he was ugly as fuck, and even believed that was part of why people didn’t like him. He hoped that it would be the only thing she said to him, but she continued, saying that he had a crisp suit, and asked if he was some kind of businessman or something, but no matter, grumpy fits him. Though a smile was also nice, as he looked so bitter, but that she thought he was a good man at the end of the day. How the hell was he a good man? She just said he was grumpy and bitter, which he was… And also handsome… Why was she even complimenting him? He didn’t deserve it. Nevertheless, he mustered a reply, “Thank you… I’m not really a businessman, at least in the traditional sense, I just like dressing informally.” She then said she thought he was an awfully nice man, she could tell, that she bet he had a big story, then asked how the weather was and if he minded if she sat here. Besides the fact she was already sitting there, Black didn’t exactly have the heart to tell her no. Sure, he preferred to sit alone, but just judging by her face, it was likely that she was alone, just like him. That was something he could relate to, at least. He finally removed his hands from his face, though he was still looking down, and said, “Yeah, you can sit here, I guess. The weather’s fine. And… I don’t exactly have a big story. At least, not one that I can tell.”

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Dolores (Human) kafkaesque

Dolores didn't care about appearances. It was for the best, especially as she attempted to ignore the reek of rotting flesh emanating from half of the younger party's face - as well as the loud barking coming from Poffin as she detected that signature odor and hopped around as time went on.

"It's most likely a relief that you're up here in these mountains at least," the older woman remarked with a mostly straightened out nose, "I think the air is a nice contrast from the smog and other industrial scents of the city, wouldn't you agree?" It wasn't a coincidence that she was currently trying to bake up some butter croissants, destined to be topped with a dollop of chocolate cream, for her guest; at least the scent of freshly baked goods was enough to provide her senses a distraction from, well, the macabre aroma that had permeated much of her home at this point. Hell, even her dog calmed down slightly as well, as soon as she pulled out the pastries from the oven.

After a nervous chuckle, she set down the pan on the countertop for the croissants to cool. Dolores took in a breath before eyeing the other, whom she had offered a raw chicken to gnaw on a while back. It was... A rather bizarre food item to be giving, and the former maid tried not to grimace thinking about this meal that better fit Poffin - or a wild animal - than someone who was supposed to be staying at her home during this particularly frigid night. However, when the guest requested for "blood and skin," Dolores could only comply.

Who knows what would've happened if she didn't.

She therefore tittered, "But that asides, miss... I hope everything has been going well for you. It's rather tragic that I found you like this, though..." Well then. Dolores trailed off, her mouth hanging open for a second while she gazed at the chicken - or what was left of it - then the refrigerator. Did she have any other amenities from the butcher's shop left? She doubted it. She really did. "... You deserve better than this, dear," she continued with a murmur, "You really do..." Dolores froze again, worrying that she was - somehow - uttering something wrong.

Am I being condescending? Am I overestimating the severity of the situation, or perhaps underestimating? Dolores offered a curtsy - even if she had done so the first time - before starting to chuckle shakily again.

"I mean in terms of what's happening to you, of course. I... I know I can't do much," she mused aloud, "but I can tell that you're a good person, even if you did - well - ask me for a raw chicken- Not that it's a bad thing! I just didn't expect it." She also didn't expect to be smelling necrosis en masse, or cleaning blood from the carpets later on, but what could she do... With a hasty wave of her hands, the old woman asked in an attempt to deflect the subject, "So, um, how about a croissant or two? I'm about to add some chocolate cream, but if you prefer them plain, let me know. Still... I think the chocolate would be nice." She offered the other a small smile. "You are what you eat, after all."

chugging my way through follow-ups.... let's go.... 😔

thank you pickle for the good food. I honestly missed Dolores and Clayton interacting tbh rfvevgbebgr- :")))

“That’s… Good at least,” admitted Dolores with a hesitant chuckle, though… The fact remained that she was still painfully unused to the idea of being served rather than serving someone else. There was nothing more she wanted to do than to get off her ass and start working, if only because that was what she was used to.

But… Then there was the fact that she’d probably get her ass kicked over not following her friend En’s directions and… That was going to make her feel really, really guilty - much more so than usual.

She thumbed the handle of the ceramic teacup before sighing, “I shouldn’t say that I’m surprised, but I sort of am. I know they invite me themselves, but… The thing is, I feel like I’m being invited out of pity, rather than true regard…” Not this shit again. Dolores attempted to give the butler a small smile, but it just looked more pained than anything truly relaxed. “I don’t want to be a burden on your or the other servants. I know what it’s like to work without being regarded as an equal, let alone human. So I suppose that it’s not the best to relate so much now, is it?”

With a slight laugh, she nodded at the butler’s announcement before neatly folding her hands together and taking in the scent of the warm drink, as the steam from it reached her nostrils. Dolores wasn’t going to get burnt anytime soon, but sure. Just in case. Even if tepid drinks kind of sucked.

“It’s okay,” the older woman sighed with a sheepish grin, “if only because I feel the same way when around the royal family-” She trailed off and held her hand to her mouth. “Again, it’s not out of disrespect,” Dolores quickly qualified with the slightest hesitance in her voice, “I’m just… Not used to relaxing around others. I’m just used to working nonstop, for others. I barely have any time to myself, even when retired. Would you know that? I’m always working for my dog, or for whoever happens to come up to the mountains and stay for the night. It’s lonely, but… You know.” Gesturing vaguely with her hand, Dolores made the point.

Her smile faded into a slight frown when he brought up that she was starting to relax more around the family. That, objectively, was a good thing. Dolores was fine with that. But alas alas, the prick of guilt still nagged at her from the back of her mind. That she should always be on guard, just in case…

It was taught to her long ago. Why get rid of it now?

Heaving out a sigh, the former maid muttered, “Well… I mean… It does get lonely up in the mountains, as said before…”, while biting on her lip. It was tempting to laugh nervously, but honestly, it wouldn’t have helped with the situation; it would’ve just made her sound more desperate, more… Of a gold digger. Kind of like what those naysayers tended to whisper about her, as brought up by En a while back.

Maybe they had a point. Maybe a royal shouldn’t regard a maid as an equal, no matter what?

“Of course,” mouthed Dolores, though it sounded the slightest bit mechanical. For the most part, though, it had that usual chime; it was just that… It was obvious that something was off, especially for her. It was going to kick her ass in the future.

Clayton PicklePantry

"The royal family has been quite happy with your visits," Clayton mentioned as he poured a warm drink for Dolores. "Currently, His Majesty is in a meeting, and both of his children are in their respective lessons. The neighboring kingdom hosts a large music celebration soon and invited Her Grace to perform. I'm sure she would be honored for you to watch." Once done setting out her lunch and drink, he bowed and stood at her side, opting not to sit across from her. "Apologies," he said, "it feels off lounging around you. I do not mean that with disrespect, but now that the royal family holds you in high regards I feel we are on different levels now." He bowed again, this time apologetically. "His Majesty is always trying to get me to relax around him and, in his words, act less like a butler and more like a person. I simply can't bring myself to do that, and I am sure you feel the same. However, I have noticed you beginning to relax and warm around the family. I'm quite pleased to see it, as well as seeing you become a more frequent guest. I hope you'll continue to visit the castle, I am sure the royal family would benefit greatly from being around you more often."

Mary fizzelston

"Ah," she smiled. "You made it," she added. Mary softly gestured the stoic butler over to her small wooden cart. In the cart lay different blankets of thick, clean, sheep wool. It's quality worthy for kings. "I was afraid the weather would scare you off." It was storming. The wind roughly hauled at the edges of her dress. And while it wasn't thundered yét, the threat of it lingered around them. Like invisible electricity. You could almost taste it.
"You're the one from the royal family I presume?" Mary asked. "The Butler?" Eying the butler. There was something so...Familiar too him. But Mary could lay her finger on it. His brown eyes were like mirrors. But not in an off putting way. Calm. That's how Mary would describe them. Collected, certain... Even with this raging disturbance around them.
Mary noticed that she was the one staring, (normally it was the stranger that stared at her) and quickly adjusted her gaze. She smiled apologetically. Some of her head tentacles squirmed.
"These are the best wool I can offer you. Oh no, I don't need money," she shook her head. "I don't have any need for that.." Mary softly tapped the wool with her hands and made some room for Clayton. Allowing the butler to test out the wool for himself.
"They made the greatest blankets," Mary said. A smile hearable in her voice. "I've heard the current king has a daughter. I promise you these blankets would keep her warm, even in the deepest of winter," Mary said. Her touch lingering just a bit too long around the edges of the wool. A daughter.. Oh, if things were different. "Just don't tell her about me if you present her those blankets.. I would rather stay anonymous," she said. Rubbing one of her tentacles absentmindedly.
Mary swallowed. Shook her head. Then forced a smile on his face. "Let me help you transfer these blankets. They are quite heavy, you know!"

Mary picked up some of the blankets and placed them in Clayton's car. Clayton took the rest. Between the two of them the transfer was complete in no time. She placed her hands on her hips to admire their handiwork.
Mary gazed at the other party. Hoping to get at least a smile out of them, but got met wit that same gaze.
Still those deep, mysterious brown eyes. Still that lingering look. Mary curled her fingers together and than carefully approached him. There was something pushing her. Someone pulling the strings... Mary carefully reached out for Clayton. Her thumb softly pressing against his forehead, then slightly below, then on the beginning of his nose bridge. Three times.

"Ah." Mary smiled.
Finally getting it now. Or well, sorta... She of course didn't know everything, but she knew there was something more about this man. She knew about the three.
"You're a good man Clayton," Mary said. A stranger glimmer in her eye. A few of her arm tentacles wrapped itself around her arm and hand, feisty, adjudicated. Almost hungry. But Mary payed them no mind. She smiled. More genuine as she ever did before too him. The wind gaining strength now tugged at the edges of their hairs and made the ends of Clayton's tailcoat wave. "Just stay careful out there," she told him. "The storm is only getting stronger I'm afraid."

"Of course I'm," she said with a beaming smile. "They are all just mare travelers in my domain, on my meadows," Mary continued with a soft laugh. "I better be a good host right?"
She paused. The laughing died and Mary tugged at the edges of her hair. "Oh I've seen those creatures before," she muttered softly. "Or at least similar," she shook her head. "Please don't go and look for them, they are nothing but danger," she warned Anya.
Then her smile popped up again. "Oh, I do, I love my sheep. You can pet one if you want!"

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Rochester (Human) kafkaesque

With Spot gurgling away on her shoulder, Rochester seemed relaxed. Good! That was the entire purpose of the interview, apparently, given that Beatrice had rambled to her wife about the researcher after it concluded, and Rochester was - as predicted - curious enough about the younger woman to give it a shot. You know, even with the "wild animal infestation" (as worded by Beatrice) and the chronic problem of Rochester keeping the door unlocked, no matter what...

This was going to be fine.

The elder motioned vaguely at her beloved sea slug before finally piquing in, "So, my wife was correct when she said that I would be intrigued in a fellow researcher. How interesting. I can't blame her, though. I did marry the bastard for a reason, after all-" Laughing merrily, she finished cutting up the apple before offering one slice to Spot, which he eagerly took up with a squeal, and reserving one for herself. It was this latter slice Rochester carefully balanced in her hand while trying to control her laughter, if only because she didn't want to look like an asshole for once.

"I'm sorry," she quickly clarified with an uncharacteristically large grin, "I meant that as a joke. I do love her. She's known as a giant for a reason, though... But enough about Beatrice. She does not like the attention very much anyway..." Rochester glanced around before sighing, then setting the remaining slices on a platter, before taking it out into the foyer and setting it down for the other party to take up as needed. Wait... She has a robot called "Big Onion" now, does she?

She scratched at her forehead for a moment, then made a grunt: "... I can see that in you too. You have worked hard to achieve your rank as a 'head scientist,' but you do not have the same reckless thirst for knowledge and power that your superior does. Unlike her, you actually have a sense of restraint, and I can definitely see someone like yourself succeeding her in time, mm?" Not that Rochester particularly expected it, if her prior experiences with the aristocracy and scientific bureaucracy proved anything, but...

It's good to hope sometimes. It's good to remain optimistic even when it seems dire.

"I do not know what is going on at your lab, of course," mused the former scientist with a contented smile, as she thumbed the apple slice before putting it in her mouth and starting to eat it, "but I can tell that this supposed uprising might actually be productive. You have empathy, and you have compassion. Use them. Science deserves to be more than just this cold process that dehumanizes everything it touches; it can be just as warm and human as... Everything else. Your little robots might be a bridge to that, of course... I, for one thing, rather welcome the rise of artificial intelligence, and I can also commend your work in that regard, hm?"

- Rochester, having no idea what the actual hell happened to her intern to have allowed him to hire a scarecrow as an intern. (that asides, I'd die for Hayes bless you.... it's just that Rochester would be confused af by him in all honesty srfvergerv-)

Hayes Tack PicklePantry

The scarecrow heaved and heaved, his back, hunched forward, expanding and shrinking with each heavy breath sucked through the stitches in his mouth. He didn't seem to really need to breathe, or to have trouble with this inconsistent kind; it was possible he was trying to emulate it n order to fit in better with humans.
"Land," he finally wheezed with a back tilt of his head. "You. Have land. He. Told me. He. Told me. About. You. About. How. You had. Land. Before him. His land. Is. Your land. It is. Good land. Clean. Few. Pests." His mouth was gaping in an attempt to smile, and he raised his scraggly arm to showcase the thumbs-up sign he had learned from M. Pourife.
His head slank back forward to a close when he spotted, well, Spot gurgling close by. "Animal," he croaked, holding an arm out in an attempt to point at him. "You. Have pet. Animal. Pets. Are good. Help. Keep. Land safe. From pests. Like crows. Don't. Eat crops. Very. Helpful. Pets. Are good. It is. Happy. With you. Because. You are. Good farmer. Good. With land. That is. Good."

Madison Avery P0CKETKNIFE

It was difficult to see through the fog and surrounding darkness, but under the glare of fluorescent street lamps it was painfully clear; he had a flat tire. He curses under his breath and kicks the old rim, not feeling any better when the force is enough to rattle his whole car. If any more screws came loose under the hood he'd have to consider scrapping the thing for parts. The idea that the final nail in his coffin was, quite literally, a nail in his tire, is laughable. Compared to the myriad of other issues, anyway; it seemed far too ordinary to be happening to him.

The sight that follows when he looks up isn't so ordinary--far from it, in fact. A lumbering figure advances from down the road, moving in an unnatural gait like it's thrusting itself forward with each step. He hears the fabric of it's body chafing against itself as it gets closer, and the rustling straw from within sounds eerily similar to the stalks of wheat blowing alongside the road. Now, Madison was no stranger to ghosts, demons, and other entities; he'd learned to make solid judgements about which ones to chat with and which ones to run from. This was, very easily, one of those latter cases for him. He panics, reaching into his pocket only to draw back an empty hand; his keys were in his car, mocking him through the window. If he were any quicker on his feet, he would've made an attempt to run, but in one large, sweeping step, the creature stands only inches from him. Talking is his last resort, he realizes quickly, so he opts to use it to whatever advantage he can.

"Hello," he utters the introduction tentatively and swallows his fear after. A few tense moments pass before he hears the creature reply in a hoarse, fragmented sentence. It was almost like how a child spoke; stringing together just enough words to get the meaning across. From that much he can gather the entity wasn't malicious, or at least not agitated at the moment. He doesn't want to risk the possibility, so he chooses his next words carefully and settles on a compliment. "Ah, you're here to keep an eye on the fields? Lovely! You're doing excellent work, really, I can see you're very….good at what you do." If what he did was inspire every creature in a five mile radius to leave, then that statement was entirely true. Madison couldn't recall another point in his life where he'd wanted to leave an area that quickly. He could only imagine what the crows felt....