✧ from the ashes ✧

[ tales of old ; spun anew ]

[vulpesly]

✧ VULPESLY ✧ ---- affiliated, private roleplay blog featuring an oc, canon + canon divergent multimuse roster with shared verses. Primarily bsd and ffxiv centric, crossover, au, + oc friendly . Outfoxed by Aevis, +20 only, not spoiler free .

✧ AFFLILIATED ✧ ---- sunderedscript, heartbloomd.

✧ ORIGINAL MUSES ✧ ----

Mordred

Merlin

Gawain Lott

Dinadan

Shimazaki Haruki

Hasegawa Shigure

Liekki

Tamamo no Mae

Ashiya Setsuki

Yoshino

Shingetsu

Shirohebi

Fuyumi

Xiaoyu

Shion

✧ CANON MUSES ✧ ----

Jono Saigiku

Tachihara Michizou

Gengetsu

Ashiya Mutsuki

G'raha Tia

✧ [ muses ] ✧ [ rules ] ✧ [ memes ] ✧

[sunderedscript]

When his back hits the tree, he's honestly expecting to maybe get punched. Mordred certainly has the look of someone angry. There are a few ways he could get out of this, be smaller, be taller, or he could accept what he perceives as anger-

Except, Mordred doesn't hurl a fiting insult, or a punch, he does hit Dagonet in a way. A kiss. A proper kiss that Mordred initiated. It stuns him. Eyes wide as this time it takes the jester time to react. It's hot against the cold dread he had felt a moment prior. Causing his cheeks to start burning. And by the time he regains his footing so to speak, Mordred is pulling away just enough to breath, forehead pressed against forehead, and a hot breath on his lips. It tastes of chocolate.

Hands tremble as Mordred speaks. Dagonet has dreamt of this day for years, and this isn't his first kiss. He's had flings and spent countless nights with Dinadan, but those kisses and touches didn't feel like this. Those were for fun or comfort, this was a kiss with a deep feeling behind it, like the words being spoken.

Slowly those trembling hands reach up to grab at Mordred's wrist, touch light as a feather. "How could I ignore your sorrow back then? I just... didn't want you to be alone." And whatever attempts he made as Dagonet the human were ignored, but the little orange tom cat wasn't. It was his only way. Even if it still rung wrong.

"I'll only say something more foolish if I try to explain myself... so please shut me up?"

[vulpesly]

Mordred gives the smallest shake of his head, not at Dagonet's request however. "No more explanations. I get it. Or mostly get it. And I'm grateful really, you helped me more than you know. As for shutting you up--" He draws back a little, head taking on a thoughtful tilt as he considers Dagonet. Despite the jester making no further moves to run, Mordred still hasn't released him. If anything, his grip has tightened.

After a drawn out moment of contemplation, the prince... well, the hint of fangs can only be called a smirk, but the expression is warm with affection. "As you wish." Another kiss then, this one gentler than the last as well as significantly more thorough. Now that he doesn't have to worry about Dagonet fleeing again, he'd like to give his foolish knight his undivided attention.

Said attention includes the prince pressing closer, breaking the kiss only so that he can begin peppering a trail along Dagonet's jaw and throat. He's debating letting himself wander as far as the bell, however he pauses, head once again cocked as he speaks, voice hushed against skin, "still want to go to the bar? Or would you rather go back to bed with me?"

Yet even as the words leave him, Mordred pulls back suddenly, a somewhat chagrined look on his face. "...Uh, I don't have a key on me." So much for an attempt at a smooth delivery. He's going to need more practice at this sort of thing, clearly. And they're going to need to climb back up to the window.

[heartbloomd]

A counter to a counter to a counter—-Lancelot's sparring matches with the king, especially without abilities in play, often end in draws because they anticipate each movement, each feint, each counter to the point where neither can land a proper blow on the other. (A rare feat indeed to not be completely toyed with when one's opponent is His Majesty.) Fighting another knight can create that same difficulty, though not to the same degree. And though it can be frustrating, he's long since learned not to allow that emotion to affect him.

Not surprised enough by the sidestep to do anything more than stumble slightly before regaining his balance, he debates his next move—-and ultimately retreats a couple of steps. He could strike while the traitor removes his jacket, yet fights are as psychological as they are physical. Despite his threats, he's only trying to restrain, not cause any harm. That impression will serve him.

And if one of his wrists bumps just slightly against his still-invisible sword, well, that's a coincidence. Don't mind that. "You know, I never took you for a fool," the knight says, almost conversationally. This time, he intends to wait for the other to make the first move. "I'll admit that I'm not the best judge of character, though, and I've been wrong before."

[vulpesly]

Once he's out of the restrictions of his jacket, Mordred shakes himself off, savoring the freedom of movement restored to him. The only trouble is he's significantly less shielded from the sun now, a fact that has him hazarding a glare at the bright sky, trying to gauge just how long he can put up with the harsh sunlight before his strength would start to flag. Fighting out in the open in the middle of a Summer day is not doing anything for his chances.

His attention doesn't waver long; too dangerous to take his focus off Lancelot for more than a heartbeat or two, but even in that time, the knight has withdrawn a few paces and has started speaking. That brings Mordred up short, gaze narrowing with undisguised suspicion.

Is Lancelot taunting him? Either he's trying to rile Mordred into making a mistake, or distract him from noticing something else. If it's the latter, he's managed to miss it. If it's the former... Mordred can work with that. He needs to close the distance between them again anyway and find an opening, that may prove easier to do if Lancelot thinks he's angry and reckless (which he is, technically, but only a little!).

So Mordred let's himself show some of the frustration he feels, bristling as he tenses. "Shut up!" Despite never being much of an actor, looking irritated comes naturally to him, he only has to play it up a little, and then only briefly before he's making a dash for Lancelot. His steps are quick, but not as quick as they can be, Mordred holding back just enough that Lancelot's assessments won't be entirely accurate. His chosen attack is straightforward--he is, after all, supposed to be pissed off, so simple is better--making a grab for one of the knight's wrists. In part, Mordred aims to replicate the twist and grab Lancelot pulled on him, with the added intent of using those few seconds to peel back fabric layers and apply his Ability to what skin he can find.

[vulpesly]

Coming to the horrible realization that Dinadan loves reaction gifs, he has hundreds saved on his phone and he's ready with something for every occasion. He's always been the sort to keep up with the current times, and he especially loves the current age with all its memes and ever-evolving slang.

[sunderedscript]

Mordred react even worse than earlier and it has Dagonet wonder if perhaps it would be better to just keep lying. Lies tended to be better than bitter truth. Not that he blames Mordred from getting upset, he knew it was upsetting. To find the cat you cried your heart out too was a person with ulterior motives, who wouldn't be upset?

He dare not look at Mordred as he paces. Honestly he should have just gone back to bed. Stupid stupid Dagonet. It makes him want to rip his hair out. And maybe now getting strangled would be justified.

When Mordred stands before him, Dagonet doesn't dare meet his gaze. No. He curls up a little, holding the bell tightly in his hand. "She told me to amuse myself. You were always alone... I wanted to be there." But he couldn't as Dagonet. He could only ever play another part. Even if that part was a cat. "If you hate me for it, that's fine. I deserve it."

A deep breath in and a slow breath out, then he stands and all he can think of is running away like a coward. "I think... I'm going to head down to the bar, I'll grab my things and be out of your hair when I get back- I am sorry, really." He gives Mordred a bright smile, like this wasn't more painful than any physical torture he had ever lived through, and it doesn't waver. It only takes a second to decide his route, the nearby tree was close enough he could use it to scale down.

"You can dump the hot chocolate to. And sorry again." With that, the jester will exit stage left via a tree.

[vulpesly]

You were always alone... I wanted to be there. Merlin had nothing to do with it. She provided the means, but the choice was entirely Dagonet's. Mordred takes a step back, blinking, a few lingering pieces falling into place; and with it, a subtle shift somewhere deep within him. What had been a gentle spark, small and steady in its warmth, catches hold of this new kindling, igniting itself into a proper flame.

He opens his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut again as he realizes Dagonet is no longer sitting in front of him. It takes Mordred a moment to register that the jester is making a swift exit down the nearby tree. "H-hey, wait--!!" Taking off after Dagonet, Mordred manages to catch up with him at the base of the tree thanks to a few reckless hops down through the branches. Poor Dagonet doesn't get very far then, Mordred grabbing him by the back of the shirt again, only this time it's to pull him off balance and shove the jester's back against the tree trunk.

Mordred shifts his grip then, hands on Dagonet's shoulders to keep him in place. The prince pants, more from emotion than exertion, face flushed and expression outraged.

"I don't hate you, you bloody moron!" Does he need to prove it? He can do that. Without loosening his grip for fear of the fool making another run for it, Mordred kisses him. It is neither hesitant nor gentle, but rather something much more earnest, a desire--no, a need--to share that fire that's been running through his veins since he realized how much Dagonet has cared all this time.

Kisses can't last forever, of course, so sooner rather than later the prince has to break away. He does not retreat, however, staying where he is, forehead pressed to Dagonet's as he tries to steady his breathing and his pulse. "Don't be stupid. How can I hate you? All the ways you could've chosen to use that bell, and... you chose me. Not because Merlin told you to. Like you said, you wanted to be there." And doing so in disguise is the only way he could have. Mordred knows if Dagonet had shown up as himself, the prince would have retreated, wary as he was about being near any of the knights. Mordred can't find it in himself to fault Dagonet for finding a roundabout way to offer his company.

"You don't hate me for what I did to you, so why would I hate you for what you did for me?"

[sunderedscript]

Mordred’s words cut through the silence, near deafening and it weighs heavily over Dagonet’s head. There is a sigh and slouched shoulders. I'll believe what you tell me. Because I choose to trust you. Words that pierce his very heart.

Dagonet lied often, out of necessity, such was the nature of spying upon his fellow knights and working as a tool for Merlin. There was always a bit of guilt attached to it, he was a liar but he liked to believe he had a good heart befitting a knight. But there was always secrets to be kept, lies to be told, and all for Merlin. But lying to Mordred makes his heart weigh the heaviest. It was harder to lie when the receiver wasn’t fooled by the mask he wore. A glance is given to the prince between locks of dark purple. And how much of his mask and true self blend and which did Mordred believe was the real Dagonet?

So he chugs the hot chocolate, sits it down and looks up to the sky. He watches for a moment, not answering. Then he reaches to take off the bell, holding it in his palm as it shines in the moonbeams and reflects sparkling lights of Jester and Prince both. “I lied and told the truth. I don’t have the heart to fully lie to you.” It’s why he spoke in riddles and puzzles. A trait he picked up from Merlin. “This bell is a gift to me, from her, for she tasked me with a never ending trial that threatens to forever break me should it have the chance. It contains magic, you see, but it’s almost all used up and I vowed never to use the remaining bit after you left. It hurt too much.” He still doesn’t have the heart to, even if it would explain everything with its last use. He was a fool, a sentimental one at that. “The cat is Merlin’s pet. She is his master.” A glance is given to Mordred, wondering if he pieced it together.

[vulpesly]

Without a word, Mordred gets to his feet, expression blank. He paces to one end of the roof, then back across to the other, each time stopping at the very edge. Back and forth, back and forth, the prince paces, not so much as glancing at Dagonet with each pass. The pieces have fallen into place, yes, although it is not at all the picture he expected it to be. The cat. Dagonet. They're one and the same. He'd been spying on Mordred the entire time? Since the beginning?

His mind races, drawing up old memories, trying to recall all that he had said and done when he thought he'd been alone with just a random stray for company. Across the visits he'd poured his heart out to that cat, admitted to sorrows he'd never even dared share with Arthur, worries and fears he couldn't express otherwise. The king had so much on his plate already, Mordred couldn't bring himself to add to that; afraid of appearing selfish or spoiled, of getting between the knights and their king, he'd kept quiet. Except when that cat was curled up purring in his lap, offering a willing ear.

Mordred stops abruptly, face buried in hands, fingers twisting into his hair. God, there had been a couple times he'd even let himself break down and cry into that cat's fur. And all this time... all this time, it had been Dagonet? Disguised, deceiving him, never once hinting he was more than a common stray? There is a bitter pit in his stomach at the thought that Merlin would send her spy to him when he was at his most vulnerable.

Except...

Slowly, Mordred lifts his head, peeking over his fingers at Dagonet. It dawns on him then that Dagonet had the means to spy on him during more opportune moments. Conversations with Arthur or Guinevere, for one. But he hadn't. The jester-turned-cat only ever showed up when Mordred had been at his lowest, the most in need of a friendly face and a shoulder to cry on, and offered simple comfort. Was that really the sort of thing Merlin wanted information on? It doesn't seem right.

"I need to know--no lies, no half truths, no riddles." Mordred crosses over to stand in front of Dagonet, looming over the jester with a sharp, searching stare. "She gave you the bell, but did you choose what you did with it? Or were you acting on her orders?"

[heartbloomd]

Will this scheme get Akane in more trouble than he's already in? Yes. Is it worth the chance to sneak away and rest somewhere? Also yes. So he'll trust in his fellow fox's ability to create enough of a distraction, and he scoops the paperclips from his pocket before placing them on the table, then takes another swig of his abominable drink.

"Professor Bennett, and he's a mage," he warns. "Not a particularly strong one, though—-better at theory than application. But he has enough tracking skills to keep me in check." Most of the time, anyway.

[vulpesly]

Pocketing the newly acquired paperclips, Liekki flashes a grin. The expression doesn't hold for long, however, once Akane adds a few more details to his target's information. His eyebrows come down hard at the comment about tracking in particular.

"Mages are tricky to deal with, you know? I should have asked for more paperclips." Amateur mistake not asking more questions before committing to his own deal. Ah well, Liekki likes a challenge that (probably) isn't very high stakes. The beginnings of a plan take form in his mind even as he fights the urge to look over at the professor in question. "What else can you tell me? Does he have a family or anything? Is he the skeptical sort, maybe?"

[vulpesly]

Videos that capture Dinadan's energy: Tom Holland lip sync battle

[sunderedscript]

Mordred didn't seem mad at him! Horray! It has the jester almost sigh in relief, were it not for the fact Mordred just lifted him up like he weighed nothing. But maybe another day he could make a lewd comment on Mordred's strength.

Not that the cat-like prince gives him the chance, because before he's sat down, the prince is eyeing him like a doctor does a patient. A reach to pat his warm harm before smiling. "Dontcha worry~ It was hot but I've felt way worse~ I used to burn myself all the time when first learning oh and there there was time time I almost lobbed a finger off learning to juggle knives." His pain tolerance is totally from that-

"Are you feeling better? Try having a drink before they get cold~ It's not my favorite way to make hot chocolate." A mug is lifted from the plate and held out with a bright smile. Maybe he should bug Merlin to smuggle his coco block over next, but what to bride her with-

[vulpesly]

Mordred eyes the jester a moment longer, expression dubious, before he accepts the cup being offered to him. Using sleeves to fend off the mug's heat, he settles himself back down onto the roof beside Dagonet. "Half the things you say worry me--" He sighs, lifting the drink up to take a sip before wincing and lowering it to his lap again. Still too hot. Although the warmth and sweetness is pleasant after sitting in the night air for a while.

For a time, he stares into his cup and considers saying nothing else. They could spend the next while sitting in comfortable silence, watch the stars, maybe trade a joke or two as they finish off the hot chocolate. The sunrise might even catch them still up here together. It's tempting. But Mordred finds it difficult to appreciate a prettily constructed stageplay when he's caught a glimpse of something else behind the curtain.

"I know you're trying to distract me." Mordred looks to Dagonet, then back down at the mug in his hands. He's decided to neither press the issue nor let it go, seeking instead a middle ground. Your sleight-of-hand was very clever, but a trick is still a trick, if I clap it's for you not because you hoodwinked me. "If you don't want to talk about it, fine. I'll believe what you tell me. Because I choose to trust you. It's your choice what you want me to believe."

[sunderedscript]

By the time he finishes the hot chocolate, he notes Mordred hasn't come back. So he takes the two mugs and steps back to the open window, glancing up and sighing. This wouldn't be easy at all. But he'd down weirder things. So returns to grab a plate, to sit the mugs on top, and then its the plate with drinks and all on his head.

"Well, Sir Squeak~ Wish me luck~" The mouse would probably tell Dinadan about this next time, but oh well. For now, the jester has the impossible task of scaling a wall with a plat upon is head and piping hot drinks atop them. When he pokes his head up, he spots his missing prince.

"Delivery~" Please laugh. Because he forgot to account for the plate getting hot from the very hot chocolate. "I used all your chocolate, but I can get you more in the morning. You'll catch a cold if you sleep out here." He can only hope Mordred feels better and less talking about bells and cats.

[vulpesly]

Mordred is just beginning to wonder how long he's been out here when Dagonet pops up, startling the prince onto his feet in a hurry. For a moment he looks as frazzled and bristly as a properly spooked cat before he registers the jester's presence--and the cup laden plate balanced on his head. The huff he gives in answer might be a laugh, or an incredulous scoff (the hint of a smile suggests the former is the correct pick).

"You're going to burn yourself, nitwit! Or fall!" Moving to the roof's edge, Mordred lifts the plate with one hand, the other catching the back of Dagonet's shirt to haul him onto the roof. Once he's sure Dagonet is safe from a tumble, Mordred sets down the plate, glancing from it to his hand. In just the few seconds he'd been holding it, the heat had begun to sting, and Dagonet had been carrying it for longer.

Mordred crouches down beside Dagonet, eyes narrowed not with anger but concern. "Did you get burned? Sorry. I didn't mean to make you come up here, I must have zoned out."

[sunderedscript]

Dagonet sags a little as Mordred goes to the window. He feels like an idiot. Mordred doubts him and seems to be upset, tired and wanting for space. Dagonet just watches for a moment before he looks away.

"Just be careful, okay? You aren't a cat." Finally Dagonet stands to his feet, wanting to pace a little as anxiety claws at his ribs. Should have just told the truth, you fool- But he's made his bed. "I'll make us some snacks for when you get back. Do you want tea? Or maybe hot chocolate?"

Worried as he is, Dagonet is a coward, and running to hide in the kitchen was better to him then following Mordred to the roof and telling the truth of it. Merlin can call him a cowardly fool for it later. he will reach to pet Sir Squeak from his little nest on Dagonet's scarf. "I think I fucked up buddy." Another pet, before he signs and ventures to the kitchen. Time to make snacks and avoid the anxiety trying his insides into knots.

[vulpesly]

"It's fine. This is nothing compared to castle walls." Once he's slid the window open, Mordred perches on the sill a moment, looking back at Dagonet. Now he's certain something is up, Dagonet looks downcast and uneasy. He debates briefly if he should come back inside and pick up where they left off, even if Dagonet doesn't want to talk about it, but eventually Mordred thinks better of it.

He needs to clear his head first, shake off the last cobwebs of that nightmare, and maybe give Dagonet a little time to sort himself out too. So out the prince goes. While the jester may have said he's no cat, Mordred has no trouble making use of the slightest of footholds, balancing on edges and points a person has no right balancing on, reaching the rooftop in short order.

The climb is brief, the time Mordred spends up there is not. Stretched out along roofing tiles, arms behind his head, he keeps his gaze fixed on the sky. His thoughts whirl around the conversation for a while before slowing, eventually fading altogether until the prince slips into a comfortable half-doze, absently watching stray clouds. If Dagonet is waiting for him to come back down, it will be a while.

[vulpesly]

Dinadan's scarf is enchanted to flutter and flow as though there's always a wind blowing across it. This has no practical use and in fact has interfered with his work before. Not that Dinadan cares, he likes the effect of a perpetually flowing scarf (and he put a lot of attention into ripping the edges to look pleasingly ragged and like twin fox tails).

Good spies don't get seen very often, so when he does he likes to leave a cool impression!

[sunderedscript]

It was an expected and obvious question. A spy of Dagonet's degree should be able to come up with better lies and more believable stories. But lying to Mordred didn't feel right, it made him anxious in a way that nothing else ever did. Mordred trusted him, and that was heavy.

"Well you see... His ribbon was all dirty and when I swapped it with a different bell to get this one a new ribbon, I spooked him. And now he won't let me near-" Its half-assed but his voice doesn't favor with the tells of a lie. "You know I like bells- and it's pretty so I made it into a necklace."

"But less about cats and bells- It's late. We should try going back to sleep."

[vulpesly]

"Alright." Although he chooses to accept the explanation, there's a note of doubt in Mordred's voice. Dagonet's always been difficult to read; he's even harder to read at this moment and Mordred thinks that's where his uncertainty comes from. In his experience, Dagonet seems more cheerful and quick with an answer (and a change of subject) when a conversation is turning in a direction he wants to avoid. Why he'd want to avoid talking about the cat is the puzzle. There's something Dagonet isn't telling him.

He could keep pressing the matter. Where would that get them? Mordred hasn't seen what Dagonet is like when backed into a corner yet, and he's not sure he wants to, not after the rough interruption their night has already had. Or is he overthinking all of this? When you get down to it, it's just a cat with an unnaturally long lifespan. Camelot is full of oddities and the unexplained, that's the way of things where Merlin is involved.

Sighing, Mordred tucks the bell back into Dagonet's shirt then gives it one last pat through the fabric. "You can go back to bed, I'm not tired," the half smile he offers is certainly tired. Climbing to his feet, he looks around the room before settling on the window. It's a short climb to the roof from there for someone like Mordred, and right now somewhere high is exactly where he wants to be. "I need some fresh air."

[sunderedscript]

"Could it be?" A gasp, grinning as he speaks. "My beloved prince, in love with the court fool? What will our king say when he finds out about our-" and he's about to continue with the stage worthy dramatics till Mordred is pulling down his shirt. Cheeks turn pink and the jester perks up a little. "I thought you said you were boring and slow- yet here you are try to disrobe me already~ Or... not."

Nope. Any luck he had of skipping bases and going for a home run falls as Mordred focuses on the bell he still wore. Part by habit and part as a reminder. Dagonet looks to the bell and for a the briefest moment sorrow flickers in green eyes and his smile lessens. Maybe he should come clean?

"I guess it's time to let that cat out of the bag." He won't use it. He has long since resolved to leave the last use alone. "No. The only pet I've ever had is Sir Squeak. But I know of the ginger cat you speak of. If you are worried, much like Sir Squeak, your tom cat is very much alive. I know you won't believe me... but Merlin can be very kind." A small flick of the bell not taking it from Mordred's hand, letting it ring its single time. He knows Mordred doesn't trust her, resents her even. He also knows the softer side of Merlin was rare to see and she only showed it to him on occasion.

A small pause as he rolls it a little in Mordred's palm. "He wailed and cried for days and days after you left. Wouldn't leave the room or eat at all. I was worried he would die of heartbreak. But he's doing a lot better now, promise. He still likes tormenting the other knights~"

[vulpesly]

The ginger cat is still alive. The news fills Mordred with relief that is slightly bittersweet. He hadn't once thought a stray cat would care one way or another about him leaving; part of him is glad it cared, while another part is unhappy to have caused it any misery. It's almost funny that of all the living beings to call Camelot home, the only ones to miss his presence were Arthur, Guin, and a cat.

They're not pleasant thoughts and they chase themselves around in Mordred's mind as he continues to gaze solemnly at the bell. He's reluctant to let go of the thing, rolling it from side to side and drawing out the faintest jingle with each pass. As it rings, he's reminded of hearing that same sound every time the cat came to visit. It always seemed to know where to find him, and always when he most needed someone to talk to. Not very cat-like, now that he thinks about it...

And there's another question that comes to mind the more the prince dwells on the subject. "So if he wasn't your cat, and he's still alive--"

"--then why are you wearing his bell?"

[vulpesly]

✧ « @heartbloomd ➥ answered »

There's a pale blue kitten trotting over to where Dinadan sits, meowing cutely and headbutting his ankles. Give them attention, please, and maybe some of that food.

The cat meows and Dinadan stops with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. He blinks, frowns, even rubs at one ear to check his hearing is still working right. Nope, his hearing is fine. That cat did just meow, and it didn't come with an auto-translation provided by his Ability. Huh, okay weird. So not a natural cat then--the blue fur should make that obvious, but people these days do all sorts of weird things to their pet's fur in the name of fashion, he's not judging.

"You want some?" He's making an educated guess. While the meows are only coming across as meows to him, if there's anything Dinadan has learned about living creatures as a whole: the two things they want the most are food and attention.

Ripping off a chunk of ham, he dangles it above and just a liiiittle out of the cat's reach. He gives the piece of meat an enticing wiggle. "Do you do tricks? Or is being blue your only trick?" Even if the cat can't answer (which continues to feel weird to him), Dinadan is too much in the habit of talking to animals to bother stopping now.

[vulpesly]

✧ « @sunderedscript ➥ answered »

The blue hawkling sits on his perch staring at the stranger trying to talk to him. Was this guy a weirdo or an ability user. Milton doesn’t know. A look around, no sign of his father, yet- being back on holiday meant behaving and Milton was never fond of that.

“Do birds normally talk with you, sir?” Milton stretches his wings, ready to fly off should things get dangerous. Or peck at an ear or eye.

Regular hawks are broody and bad tempered, terrible conversationalists. A blue one, however? That's interesting. Maybe it's a fairy's lost mount, or a princess cursed to appear as a bird by day. Or a run of the mill shapeshifter, that's usually the case when he comes across odd animals. Whatever the case may be, Dinadan can't resist pestering the thing.

And his efforts prove successful! As soon as the young hawk speaks, Dinadan throws his hands in the air in triumph. He beams (that voice sounds a bit high and posh, so maybe cursed princess isn't off the table yet). "I knew it! I knew birds could talk! 'You're off your rocker, Danny boy!' everyone said, but I knew I wasn't crazy!"

"Wanna know how I knew?" Still grinning, Dinadan raises a finger and winks at the hawk. "Parrots gave the game away, you see: they can fly and they can talk, so it stands to reason other birds who can fly can also talk. You've gotta admit, my logic checks out. I was sure if I talked to enough of you guys, someone would cave sooner or later to prove me right!"

[vulpesly]

✧ « @heartbloomd ➥ nonverbal rp starters »

✨ Playfully shove my muse’s shoulder (Vivi to Mordred, teeny kitty headbutt!)

With the day being overcast, Mordred has ventured outdoors for some fresh air. When Vivi finds him, he's reclining amidst the thick branches of one of the park's trees with a book. There's plenty of room for a little cat to join him, of course, and Mordred is more than willing to split his attention between reading and dragging a leafy twig this way and that for Vivi to hunt.

Or so he thinks, but at some point his movements stop, Mordred becoming engrossed in a particular bit of the story. It isn't until there's a bump to his shoulder that he remembers he has company.

Looking up, he offers Vivi a small, apologetic smile before closing the book. It's set aside, balance on a nearby branch. "Right, sorry, I'm done." Mordred brings the twig down to tickle the leaves along Vivi's nose, laughing. "If you're getting hungry, we can get something."