MOST ICONIC BIRD CALL BRACKET: THE FINALE: MOURNING DOVE vs. AMERICAN CROW.
these two combatants need no introduction. they've left a trail of destruction in their wake leading up to this. 32 birds, whittled down to just two.
THE MOURNING DOVE. embodiment of elegance and tranquility. its subtle beauty is a sight to behold. a voice that enchants the soul. a creature of resilience and adaptability. this is truly the peoples' bird.
THE AMERICAN CROW. a competitor that will leave you in awe with its enigmatic presence. it possesses unmatched intelligence, able to solve complex puzzles and exhibit remarkable problem-solving skills. and, of course, the caw. an unbeatable opponent.
"Oh Abelard! I must do that paper work! you've been hoarding all of it. FOr SHAME. THis is my calling I love PAPERWORK! best early birthday gift!" attempts to shoo the other away from the desk. -Dodomedic
He opened his mouth. He promptly closed his mouth. A confused little noise escaped him as he tried to figure out what was going on here. "I did not take you as liking paperwork," he calmly pointed out, standing from his desk. "Ah-- wait, birthday? Is it your birthday?"
Abel? That's a lot of paperwork. You want me to help? Just tell me what I need to do. :) THE SOONER WE GET THIS DUMB PAPERWORK OUT OF THE WAY THE SOONER WE CAN DO SOMETHING FUN. THAT IS NOT PAPERWORK.
Abelärd gave a soft little laugh as he patted a particularly thick stack, threatening to fall over. "Unfortunately... I do not know how much you can help, liebe. This," he ran a finger down the edges of the papers, "is all medical based. Unless you want to talk to me while I work. That might make the process go faster."
And keep him awake. Two cups of tea in, and he was exhausted.
"Er, hallo. Zhis is... awkward..." Ignatz had come to this base to escape the fireworks, only to find more fireworks going off here. "Uh, do you happen to have any spare chloroform? Someone stole mine and I'm hoping to find a sleep aid. Somezhing zhat will keep me unconscious until, ohh... August 1st, perhaps?"
"C--Chloroform?" Abelärd's eyes widened behind his glasses, and a look of utter concern washed over him. Quietly he approached the other Medic, and with a soft, placating gesture, he motioned for him to sit down. "Ah, I am not going to prescribe you anything zhat vill make you fall into any sort of coma, but," he cleared his throat, feeling his accent rise up just a little in his state of concern, "how about we talk? I can make you tea, and I have some cookies here. Tell me what is wrong, and I will do my best to help you."
“I... suppose I could make time for a fellow ornizhophile and dove enzhusiast. I may even be convinced to part wizh a few, if you care to take zhem off my hands.” He cast his eyes down towards the plate of treats, scanning for anything that looked familiar. The corners of his mouth turned down slightly as he finally followed suit and selected a snickerdoodle as well. With a dubious look on his face, he took a small bite, then nodded his satisfaction.
Flicking a crumb from the corner of his mouth carefully, Ignatz seemed to be inwardly debating something. “I have been plagued by a certain Soldier. Ein junger Soldat... Deutsch oder Österreichisch... He likes to take my supplies. After his last prank, I had glitter in my office for days. And now he’s got imitators. I am at wit’s end trying to... dissuade zheir hijinks wizhout resorting to paying zhem in zheir own coin, so to speak.”
His steely gaze took the BLU Medic in, assessing his rather gentle demeanor as though looking for some hint of the sadism that seemed to be the hallmark of their class. “I suppose you’d be zhe wrong man to ask for any suggestions, being as good-natured as you are.”
Quite surprised at the earnest offer to part with a dove or two, he gave an airy and warm laugh that was just as inviting and comforting as his tea. Taking up a pfeffernüsse, he considered it for a moment, glancing over at his three mourning doves, slumbering away. “Perhaps I might. Although, if they are doves that require certain, ah, how is the best way to put this...” He took a sip of his tea, mulling over the English words required. “Ah, if they are high maintenance, you must tell me what I would need to do in order to take care of them.”
A young soldier, playing pranks? Now, Abelärd would have expected that to be coming from a scout, not a soldier. But, regardless, he listened to the trouble doctor regale the details of the annoying prank, and he couldn’t help a small chuckle.
“Now that... ah, well, that sounds problematic. Even more, since you have doves. You don’t want them breathing in or ingesting the glitter.” Running a fingertip along his teacup, he watched how to blue latex contrasted with the gentle amber tones of the tea.
He took a sip when he heard the comment.
I suppose you’d be zhe wrong man to ask for any suggestions, being as good-natured as you are.
In a serene manner, he set the teacup down on its plate.
“There are some... who would warn you such notions are silly,” he admitted carefully. His gray-blue eyes were oddly hard as he held his gaze, and gave him a sweet smile. Kindness and ice contrasted in a strange juxtaposition. “If you ask my brother on RED, he’ll likely tell you a different story. Although,” tactfully he added with a small placating gesture of his hand, “I try to remain as good natured as possible. This world has enough hatred in it. However,” his voice dropped, taking on a strange edge to it, “people have many chapters to their books. It is hard to tell what story they have until you start reading it.” With a cheery flash of a a warm smile, his voice returned to normal as his eyes grew soft and merry once more. “Oh, I do love helping others. If there is anything I can do, I could possibly speak with him... or help you come up with a prank of your own.”
Please reblog if you play a character who is 30 years of age or older
I don’t care if it’s an OC or a canon character, and while I play a human, I don’t care if your fandom isn’t but for the love of god, why is everyone in their twenties? Give me some mid thirties or even some fourties. Hell, throw me some silver foxes. Please.
Please reblog this if it’s okay for me to just pop into your ask box to RP with you even if you haven’t reblogged a meme because I just want to RP with you
To those I owe replies on both Abel and Aldous: I will reply, yesterday got wild. Tonight I have a dinner get together but I should be able to squeak some tags out. Thanks, all!
"Er, hallo. Zhis is... awkward..." Ignatz had come to this base to escape the fireworks, only to find more fireworks going off here. "Uh, do you happen to have any spare chloroform? Someone stole mine and I'm hoping to find a sleep aid. Somezhing zhat will keep me unconscious until, ohh... August 1st, perhaps?"
"C--Chloroform?" Abelärd's eyes widened behind his glasses, and a look of utter concern washed over him. Quietly he approached the other Medic, and with a soft, placating gesture, he motioned for him to sit down. "Ah, I am not going to prescribe you anything zhat vill make you fall into any sort of coma, but," he cleared his throat, feeling his accent rise up just a little in his state of concern, "how about we talk? I can make you tea, and I have some cookies here. Tell me what is wrong, and I will do my best to help you."
Ignatz took the offered seat, sweeping his coat tails to one side with a flourish so he wouldn’t sit upon them. “Danke. Tee und Milch, bitte. Haben Sie Zucker?” he asked, slipping absently into their native tongue. Catching himself, he switched back to English. If one spoke German too freely in these parts, one would inevitably be slapped with rude accusations and baseless allegations. “Er, if you have no sugar, honey will suffice. I am not picky.”
Sighing, he removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Why are zhese Americans so fascinated by loud noises and pretty colors? Zhese fireworks are endless and driving my birds to distraction.”
There was a soft hint of sadness to his smile as his accent slipped right into fluent Deutsche, and then back again, to a restrained English. It was why he tried to keep his accent light and hard to notice in most conversations. Eleven years with this company, one had to be careful.
Abelärd gave a tiny but amused chuckle at his observations as he set about making tea with milk. Plucking up the small jar of honey, he paused to dwell on any potential answers given. “Ah, well,” he glanced over at his mourning doves who were, thankfully by now, used to the explosions. They sat, plump and content, with their tiny heads tucked underneath their wings. “This day holds meaning for them as their day of independence. As for why fireworks were chosen as the method of, ah, well... celebration, I do not know.” Taking up the teapot, he turned towards him and offered a sympathetic smile. “I’ve grown used to the sound, and have become accustomed to this holiday. I’m with a Soldier. American.”
“My sympazhies,” Ignatz said bitterly. “To be tied down to one person seems more prison zhan privilege.” He would refrain from insulting the nationality of this man’s lover. Low hanging fruit and all. “All I need are my birds and my work. Perhaps some new documents as well, wizh a bit less history attached to zhem.”
Crossing his legs, he watched the BLU shrewdly. “You are very... nice. To an enemy. I would have jumped at zhe chance to offer zhe chloroform, only to replace it wizh poison. Or, you know, gone directly for zhe bone saw.” Not that Iggy made any move to grab his own. It was in easy reach, of course, but he was content to clean his glasses on his sleeve for now.
He could have jumped at the sympathetic quip and the comment about being tied down to one person being akin to a prison, but he did not. Instead, he softly shook his head and gave a light and airy chuckle.
“I admit, all I need are my doves, time to bake and quality time to paint. But... as we know, this job is not kind with free time.”
He took time to place a teacup of tea in front of him, along with the small jar of honey and a bit of milk. He settled down across from him with a cup of his own, and placed in the middle of the table a plate of cookies and other such baked goods.
“Ahhh, because you are in red, and I am in blue?” He quirked a little charming smile at that. “Perhaps this is wrong of me, but once the scheduled battles are over, they become colors to me once more. Simply that. I find there’s enough hostility in this world that I view someone of the opposite team as the human they are.” He took up the milk and added a dollop to his tea. “I have had many attack me in my infirmary. And I tend to readily deal with them.” A funny little smile formed as he held out his hand to him, for shaking. “ What rude manners! I’m Abelärd Haswell. My twin is on RED.”
Shocked at the sudden introduction, the Medic put his glasses back on and straightened up stiffly. “Er, Ignatz. Ignatz Fuchs,” he lied, accepting the introduction with all the stiff manner he’d been drilled in since childhood. “You are a dove breeder as well? I have zhe standard domestic rock doves and Barbary doves, of course, but I have a breeding pair of Luzon bleeding-hearts, some Java doves and a few African collared-doves. If you ever need to swap a few for diversity in breeding, please do let me know.”
He took the tea cup gingerly and prepared his tea to his liking. “I don’t see team color as such...” The Medic thought over his words carefully. He didn’t want to make a bad impression, after all. “I just seem to find myself a victim of pranks fairly often and I have taken to extreme measures to discourage such from recurring.” Yes, that was plausible. He would stick with that.
Whether or not Abelärd knew the given name was false, it was hard to tell. His expression did not falter, not his smile fade, so, surely this man took the name as intended. “Ah, dove breeder?” He looked over towards his mourning doves. Three of them now. His eyes settled on a particular sweet male dove, cuddled right up to its mate, and he contentedly sighed as he stirred a drop of honey into his tea. “Fascinating! Why, I have never seen Java or, ah, what did you call them? ‘Bleeding hearts’? I have never seen those!” Interest piqued, he couldn’t help but scoot his chair closer to the table, so he could better share in this riveting conversation. “I only have mourning doves. A mated pair and their one remaining child. I would love to see your doves! A--Ah, well,” he sheepishly curled his hands around his warm teacup, “only if you permit me, of course.”
Hearing the man’s plight of being a target of pranks, it was hard to say whether or not he believed it. But surely he had, for his expression became soft and sympathetic. He dropped his voice to a gentle whisper. “Es tut mir schrecklich leid.” As if to further bolster his apology, he slid the plate of baked goods towards him. “I used to be a target of pranks. However,” his tone hardened suddenly, “I have only become a target for testing one’s strength. Many come to my infirmary now to start a fight. I am strictly a healer,” he filched a snickerdoodle before cheerily adding, “but, I excel at combat.”
"Hey, babe."
Casually leaning in the doorframe. Sucking on a bomb pop. Happy 4th of July indeed.
Abelärd gives a tiny little cough and a clearing of the throat, but nothing can hide the coloring to his cheeks or the tiny upturn of his lips, betraying a smile.
Abelärd cheekily reached out and slipped the bomb pop out of his hands, just as he pulled it from his mouth. With his own impish little smile, he stuck it in his mouth.
"Abel, I'm definitely not going out to do that thing you told me not to do to, okay great bye!"
In a bold maneuver, Fritz attempted to slide his skinny frame right past Abelärd's and through the medbay doors, winter coat in hand.
A hand firmly clamped down on Fritz's arm and, despite the older gentleman being far smaller, he had a surprising amount of strength and managed to keep him rooted in place.
There was a long sigh that sounded ever suffering, and with a deliberate motion Abelärd pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. With a cold sternness he allowed his eyes to settle on the winter coat, clutched in his hand.
"You have some chutzpah to try and rush out of this infirmary while making such a poor attempt at feigning innocence." He raised an eyebrow, and with firmness and a heavy slip of his accent, he added, "and vhat are we not doing? Vhat was zhe one thing I told you not to do? Hmmm?"
"Listen, your brother already started the car, this is an emergency. I can't live on leaf water, I've tried." There was an experimental tug to break free of the smaller man, to no avail. "The weather isn't that bad, and it's going to get worse tomorrow. We've got one decent window to drive into town, and this is it."
Fritz half hoped Aldous would sense something was amiss and gun it before they were both caught and forced to live on leaf water for the next fuck knows how long.
“And we are supposed to get snow tonight,” Abelärd sternly replied, tone edged with concerned coldness. He lifted his hand and, standing on his tiptoes, he patted his cheek. “Zeiskeit.” He sighed, and his mouth fell back into the frown of a disappointed father. “You both will have to deal with this ‘leaf water’ until the next supply try. I assure you, drinking tea and getting antioxidants in you will do you both some good. I will not have you go down the mountain, into the next town, and get snowed in on the way back.”
He looked towards the BLU Medbay doors before slowly returning his attention back towards him. And his eyes narrowed behind his halfmoon spectacles. “You mentioned my brother. He isn’t here. He’s outside, isn’t he? With the company van.”
"Or, alternatively, we could drive into town and not drink antioxidants." There was a slight pinch of his brows at the unfamiliar term, but now was not the time to ask. He grimaced as Abelärd looked toward the doors and back, which was really all the veteran medic needed to know.
"I can... neither confirm or deny those allegations."
His own aviators were pushed further up the bridge of his nose. He wasn't going to outright sell out Aldous, but he knew when they'd been had. And they'd been had.
Neither confirm or deny those allegations? Abelärd looked back towards Fritz, and the look he gave him was rather sassy.
“I see. Excuse me a moment.”
With a spry burst of speed, Abelärd dashed over to the coat rack and took up his own coat and scarf. Shouldering the infirmary doors open, he pulled them on as he quickly made his way out of the base.
"Er, hallo. Zhis is... awkward..." Ignatz had come to this base to escape the fireworks, only to find more fireworks going off here. "Uh, do you happen to have any spare chloroform? Someone stole mine and I'm hoping to find a sleep aid. Somezhing zhat will keep me unconscious until, ohh... August 1st, perhaps?"
"C--Chloroform?" Abelärd's eyes widened behind his glasses, and a look of utter concern washed over him. Quietly he approached the other Medic, and with a soft, placating gesture, he motioned for him to sit down. "Ah, I am not going to prescribe you anything zhat vill make you fall into any sort of coma, but," he cleared his throat, feeling his accent rise up just a little in his state of concern, "how about we talk? I can make you tea, and I have some cookies here. Tell me what is wrong, and I will do my best to help you."
Ignatz took the offered seat, sweeping his coat tails to one side with a flourish so he wouldn’t sit upon them. “Danke. Tee und Milch, bitte. Haben Sie Zucker?” he asked, slipping absently into their native tongue. Catching himself, he switched back to English. If one spoke German too freely in these parts, one would inevitably be slapped with rude accusations and baseless allegations. “Er, if you have no sugar, honey will suffice. I am not picky.”
Sighing, he removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Why are zhese Americans so fascinated by loud noises and pretty colors? Zhese fireworks are endless and driving my birds to distraction.”
There was a soft hint of sadness to his smile as his accent slipped right into fluent Deutsche, and then back again, to a restrained English. It was why he tried to keep his accent light and hard to notice in most conversations. Eleven years with this company, one had to be careful.
Abelärd gave a tiny but amused chuckle at his observations as he set about making tea with milk. Plucking up the small jar of honey, he paused to dwell on any potential answers given. “Ah, well,” he glanced over at his mourning doves who were, thankfully by now, used to the explosions. They sat, plump and content, with their tiny heads tucked underneath their wings. “This day holds meaning for them as their day of independence. As for why fireworks were chosen as the method of, ah, well... celebration, I do not know.” Taking up the teapot, he turned towards him and offered a sympathetic smile. “I’ve grown used to the sound, and have become accustomed to this holiday. I’m with a Soldier. American.”
“My sympazhies,” Ignatz said bitterly. “To be tied down to one person seems more prison zhan privilege.” He would refrain from insulting the nationality of this man’s lover. Low hanging fruit and all. “All I need are my birds and my work. Perhaps some new documents as well, wizh a bit less history attached to zhem.”
Crossing his legs, he watched the BLU shrewdly. “You are very... nice. To an enemy. I would have jumped at zhe chance to offer zhe chloroform, only to replace it wizh poison. Or, you know, gone directly for zhe bone saw.” Not that Iggy made any move to grab his own. It was in easy reach, of course, but he was content to clean his glasses on his sleeve for now.
He could have jumped at the sympathetic quip and the comment about being tied down to one person being akin to a prison, but he did not. Instead, he softly shook his head and gave a light and airy chuckle.
“I admit, all I need are my doves, time to bake and quality time to paint. But... as we know, this job is not kind with free time.”
He took time to place a teacup of tea in front of him, along with the small jar of honey and a bit of milk. He settled down across from him with a cup of his own, and placed in the middle of the table a plate of cookies and other such baked goods.
“Ahhh, because you are in red, and I am in blue?” He quirked a little charming smile at that. “Perhaps this is wrong of me, but once the scheduled battles are over, they become colors to me once more. Simply that. I find there’s enough hostility in this world that I view someone of the opposite team as the human they are.” He took up the milk and added a dollop to his tea. “I have had many attack me in my infirmary. And I tend to readily deal with them.” A funny little smile formed as he held out his hand to him, for shaking. “ What rude manners! I’m Abelärd Haswell. My twin is on RED.”
"Abel, I'm definitely not going out to do that thing you told me not to do to, okay great bye!"
In a bold maneuver, Fritz attempted to slide his skinny frame right past Abelärd's and through the medbay doors, winter coat in hand.
A hand firmly clamped down on Fritz's arm and, despite the older gentleman being far smaller, he had a surprising amount of strength and managed to keep him rooted in place.
There was a long sigh that sounded ever suffering, and with a deliberate motion Abelärd pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. With a cold sternness he allowed his eyes to settle on the winter coat, clutched in his hand.
"You have some chutzpah to try and rush out of this infirmary while making such a poor attempt at feigning innocence." He raised an eyebrow, and with firmness and a heavy slip of his accent, he added, "and vhat are we not doing? Vhat was zhe one thing I told you not to do? Hmmm?"
"Listen, your brother already started the car, this is an emergency. I can't live on leaf water, I've tried." There was an experimental tug to break free of the smaller man, to no avail. "The weather isn't that bad, and it's going to get worse tomorrow. We've got one decent window to drive into town, and this is it."
Fritz half hoped Aldous would sense something was amiss and gun it before they were both caught and forced to live on leaf water for the next fuck knows how long.
“And we are supposed to get snow tonight,” Abelärd sternly replied, tone edged with concerned coldness. He lifted his hand and, standing on his tiptoes, he patted his cheek. “Zeiskeit.” He sighed, and his mouth fell back into the frown of a disappointed father. “You both will have to deal with this ‘leaf water’ until the next supply try. I assure you, drinking tea and getting antioxidants in you will do you both some good. I will not have you go down the mountain, into the next town, and get snowed in on the way back.”
He looked towards the BLU Medbay doors before slowly returning his attention back towards him. And his eyes narrowed behind his halfmoon spectacles. “You mentioned my brother. He isn’t here. He’s outside, isn’t he? With the company van.”
"Er, hallo. Zhis is... awkward..." Ignatz had come to this base to escape the fireworks, only to find more fireworks going off here. "Uh, do you happen to have any spare chloroform? Someone stole mine and I'm hoping to find a sleep aid. Somezhing zhat will keep me unconscious until, ohh... August 1st, perhaps?"
"C--Chloroform?" Abelärd's eyes widened behind his glasses, and a look of utter concern washed over him. Quietly he approached the other Medic, and with a soft, placating gesture, he motioned for him to sit down. "Ah, I am not going to prescribe you anything zhat vill make you fall into any sort of coma, but," he cleared his throat, feeling his accent rise up just a little in his state of concern, "how about we talk? I can make you tea, and I have some cookies here. Tell me what is wrong, and I will do my best to help you."
Ignatz took the offered seat, sweeping his coat tails to one side with a flourish so he wouldn’t sit upon them. “Danke. Tee und Milch, bitte. Haben Sie Zucker?” he asked, slipping absently into their native tongue. Catching himself, he switched back to English. If one spoke German too freely in these parts, one would inevitably be slapped with rude accusations and baseless allegations. “Er, if you have no sugar, honey will suffice. I am not picky.”
Sighing, he removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Why are zhese Americans so fascinated by loud noises and pretty colors? Zhese fireworks are endless and driving my birds to distraction.”
There was a soft hint of sadness to his smile as his accent slipped right into fluent Deutsche, and then back again, to a restrained English. It was why he tried to keep his accent light and hard to notice in most conversations. Eleven years with this company, one had to be careful.
Abelärd gave a tiny but amused chuckle at his observations as he set about making tea with milk. Plucking up the small jar of honey, he paused to dwell on any potential answers given. “Ah, well,” he glanced over at his mourning doves who were, thankfully by now, used to the explosions. They sat, plump and content, with their tiny heads tucked underneath their wings. “This day holds meaning for them as their day of independence. As for why fireworks were chosen as the method of, ah, well... celebration, I do not know.” Taking up the teapot, he turned towards him and offered a sympathetic smile. “I’ve grown used to the sound, and have become accustomed to this holiday. I’m with a Soldier. American.”
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