Short Stories of the Bratty Halfbat

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Short Stories of the Bratty Halfbat

Postby Lozen on Fri May 19, 2017 2:46 am

"Butt Cramps," Part 1...
based on Balard's Quit Message: (Quit: <Abby`> "Butt cramps makes good RP")


On a hot summer's eve, when it had been warm enough to sleep where you stood, comfortable and lazy, the strongest and mightiest were at their most irritable. Practicing routinely to keep above the rest of those wannabe-sport squirts, the bar is ever set higher for a stressed out Abby, pacing back and forth from the field of combat to the political arena. Either she is found fully decked in armor or behind a stand on the podium to announce her plans as Reeve. Doing stuff like, skull-bashing the idiots who cannot fathom how to count votes or striking a deal of blows with the numb-skulls that take pain like a daily vitamin. Enduring the hammering from weight of the promises to her supporters or wincing in anger and agony at the crack of her cap from the blow of a sledge. It was, is, and shall be for the first few days a strain in both mind and body. To learn what it means to be a Reeve and the duties that must be performed on top of the quest to rise those she mentors above the masses and flourish in the spotlight in the gladiatorial arena. The question is, how much of a pain in the ass was this year going to be?


On one eventful day, oh boy, here it comes, the worst stick in the butt she will ever have to tolerate...


"... But what does a Reeve do?" This, the newly elected Reeve, Abby has asked for the tenth time from a select number of Official Proprietors of Nanthalion.



A dark skinned moriel who chooses not to be named speaks Ominously and Purposefully to the Mercenary Leader, "The Reeve is an elected official serving the Nanthalion Citizens. They are the go-between person for the commoners and the nobles. They are essentially, the Mayor of the region. Their job is depicted as being one as a public servant and organizers to ensu-" Remember how nice, warm, relaxing this season is? The redhead nods her head and snaps upright before those fluttering lids shutters the waking light in her eyes. "-or worse. Professionalism in all capacities is expected of the Reeve in all matters. They are required to work with Temples, Imperial Guard, Shop Managers and Bazaar Marketplace to see to promotional events and things required by Nanthalion’s business leaders. A Reeve also ensures the morale and public opin-" The handsome lady, listening to this general ramble, gave a not so pretty snort and sighed while concluding in thought, '... But what do I do?'


Sometime later...


Sitting on her rump, with a forehead braced in the palm of her hand in the event she needs to run it down her face in frustration, she observes the past documentations that had been saved over the past Reeve's in office. Shuffling the papers about in disorder, as none appeared to have any relevance to what she sought, it took time to gather that none of the other Reeves personally did anything more than handle disputes between the nobility and the people that support her office. A lofty box with crumpled wax sheets spilling out had toppled to the floor. Inside, a glance of those emeralds held the 'Gift' from one such fan. When she first laid those green eyes upon the bunched threads of steel-mail, she had assumed to be a coif, but pulling the small assortment out, it turned out to be a pair, not hoods, but in fact swimwear. A Chainmail Bikini. Well, at least she had a paper weight for her stack of work-logs.


"Other than a few battles and a statue... Heh," there is a smirk, wary and worrisome trembling in the curt laugh, "I'm going to rock their world, aren't I?"
With that hinted statement of her ambition, a pen bleeds a scrawl of scribbling lines of the plans she has to set into motion, the work that will be done in the coming time enormous, and enough to set her as an exemplary note in history whether this pulls through or flops.


Aside from being a pencil pushing desk jockey, later that day is when the action really starts to heat up. It takes her a bit to wiggle her gracefully built figure into that block of iron frame, but when ready, she comes storming out into the field, all takers on, and beware the vent of her ink-stained mitts... Just one person stands at attention. A slight girl with black locks of hair smoothed back from a marshmallow complexion face full of mirth at the sight of her mentor. Holding onto a sword, short and light with mithril, ready for the day's sparring practice, and prepared to learn the lessons harshly if she has to from the red tank tutor.


Being flung from one extreme to the other like a ping-pong ball caused her to be strung out to the point her muscles creaked louder than her worn plates.
'When did I last sleep in a bed?' she wondered. A pinch between her eyes to massage the sinuses cuts off the vision of her pupil for a short second or two. Taking in a deep breath, "You will follow my example and perform this every day before we spar. Is that understood?"


A little Casper-girl nods an acknowledged and accepting head.


Abby begins her warm-ups, showing off what it took to prepare the body and mind to ease in the day's routine and faux duel. Limber in the arms and shoulders, rolling and turning with a sway of her hips, and plopping down to stretch for those toes...


-Crrkkhh!-


"..."
'That didn't sound too good,' the wide eyed Abby slow and gradually pulls up and away from her feet. A cricking noise had been felt more than heard from the lower half of her right buttocks. Letting out an audible, "Ha~," before bracing herself to stand upright. The score sent a tragic ripple of spasms up and around her jiggly butt cheek. Flaring her nostrils, straight faced, staring at the stark white girl, and nodding her acceptaince, "Alright, let's do this!"


Lozen, the Bratty Halfbat, having already mirrored her instructor's stretches, stood ready for combat. The combatants met, with Abby using only the finger of her gauntlets to poke down the cuts and swipes of the wingless chirot. It did take a minute or two for the both of them to settle. At once, both of them look almost like sisters, both having the pale complexion of an albino. Abby stands stock still until her student leaves for the day. Then... She limps, holding her behind, and calling for a healer to get their ass in here before she is expected to deliver some kind of speech like a stuffed hand puppet.



Part 2 coming soon...
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Re: Short Stories of the Bratty Halfbat

Postby The Mercenary Abby on Fri May 19, 2017 2:52 am

*LOLING IRL*

WHY.

How did a Quit Message lead to all of this??
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Re: Short Stories of the Bratty Halfbat

Postby Marena on Fri May 19, 2017 9:31 am

[[ That quit message makes me giggle each time. Great story, fun read, want more...! P.S. Marena is working on a water herb cure to be added to the Apothecary which will relieve excessive flatulence....just er....in case Abby or friends might need it *hides*]]
Player of:
Marena - "Take a breath, Rest your head....." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ATjxh-pwlQ
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Re: Short Stories of the Bratty Halfbat

Postby Tehya on Fri May 19, 2017 2:57 pm

=D>
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Re: Short Stories of the Bratty Halfbat

Postby Lozen on Fri May 19, 2017 4:59 pm

"Butt Cramps," Part 2: Butt Hurt...


"Does that feel better?Would you like me to rub it to be sure it isn't still sore? The roughly four foot flinae pops her feet up off the floor to *POOF* into her foot long fluttering form to zip around the lower backside of Abby. A pair of itty-bitty hands go to grab those exposed pale moons before the redhead shimmies up those trousers and barks in alarm, "Hey!"


Recently, the mercenary Abby had been training a noble house recruit eager to become stronger, but in doing so, had injured herself in a most awkward spot from just doing a warm-up stretch. Below that firm right butt-cheek are tendons that attach hamstrings to a pretty awesome pelvis. Now, feeling that tight bundle contract into a cramped space, it would make her feel like all Abby needed to do was stretch out some more, and the more she did during that mock spar with her student. This... This didn't go very well.
You see, when it comes to this kind of butt cramp, those hamstrings like to ball up, protect itself from any further harm, and the more she would stretch it back out, the harder it fights and squeezes itself tighter into a knot avoiding any damage. So, by the time that match had ended, the redhead's skin had the complexion of an albino. She showed other sign of the agony jolting up her bum until Lozen left the field. Calling for a healer, she managed to get the fae Latanya's attention, and the couple set to working on realizing and remedying the Reeve's malady.



"You need to relax. Come on, lay back, take a load off your shoulders... No really, take that armor off, it isn't helping." With a flit here and there, the fae raps her knuckles on the steel and iron pauldrons and down breast plates for the effect of testing just how dense and heavy these shells were. A pause in mid-flight, fisting her sashaying hips, tilting that head and puffing out those cheeks, and then proceeds with a rhythmic tapping of her toes with one foot on the armor irritably until the warlord gets undressed. "I can heal it, but won't do any good until you settle down. It will come right back with a vengeance."


Groaning and sighing, the fight in Abby wimps out of her, and she shrugs out of the weighted outfit. Within minutes disrobing, the muscled and scarred body flashes in front of the chipper healer, the bunch in her rear did seem to find a bit of tranquility to ease her down onto a bench now. "Tred lightly then? Is that it?"


"Nawp! You need 'Ar En Ar'. You don't know it, but you are sick. Then the happy-go-lucky fairy does an Auctioneer's Chant, Bet'yaFiveMehrialFiveMehrialSheWon'tListenFiveMehrialSixSixGoingOnceGoingTwi- EEP! Abby flicks a long middle finger right up the rump of the quick-talking fae. Latanya scoots-scoots in the air and halts to turn about face and stick out her tongue before zipping away with the trail of her fading voice, "Next time, relax before you stick another stick up yoOUR-AHaHaHa!" She reaches flailing arms out and cuts through the air like a misfired missile. A redhead is never someone to be trifled with, let alone an Abby, as the fae's blithe warranted of such an example.
Wincing, bearing with it, Abby brakes and tugs down the tuck of her painfully rippling bun muscle. the damn tunic harshly over her stubborn redhead. Biting her lower lip and wheezing out a few last words slowly, "ffffFFFFFuuUUUccckkK mmmMMEEEeee haaarrd!" She shakes her head and limps on back to try on something less substantial but still considerably lofty for being the Reeve...



A couple hours later, away from the Arena, the newly Elected Reeve tenderly sets her ass down in a seat behind a ponderous desk of the Reeve's appointed Office of Delegations. Relaxing for the moment to pinch a velum to review the filed case, and raised a perplexed brow, "How the fu- Who told them my name was... Nevermind, I didn't get this memoir," she resolutely balls up the paper and tosses it off to scorch in a nearby fireplace.


A fiery sprite shakes its head after it was rudely pelted, sits up on the inflamed logs, takes a sizzling hold of the balled paper, and uncurls it before its fully consumed to read. 'To the Reeve, Abellie Bueldrift, a former candidate of the electoral race has been found in a troublesome scandal relating to two supplemental well wishing supporters, and...' ... Then the ashes fall from the little devilish fire-spirit's fingers. It burps black smoke, rubbing its tum, and lays back down to lazily burn down the firewood.



Prying another layer off of the stack of documents, Abby bends the corner so she can hold it aloof in the event it will be the next meal for the slothful dancing flame, but before a sentence could be read, "Hello? I- I'm Marena. They said I could come back when I have an 'Ah-Point Meant' and I do mean to make a point of this," a blonde with eyes of the tropic sea searches through a bulging pouch, taking random objects out to cradle in one arm, and eventually pulling from its containment an unraveling roll of dripping vomit-yellow seaweed. "It's called 'Lamb In Area' and I want to add it in the Apothecary's selection, but I need someone to test it on, and this little fairy mail-maid came to tell me about your butt hurtin-"


-SLAM-


An ornate chair with the collective history of many other Reeve's gracing their bottoms on that seat had flown back in the abrupt rise of the embarrassed current occupant. The towering stack of papers topple and fly about the desk and its surrounding carpet after the thunderous slap leaving a splintering impression at the base of Abby's shaking in fury.
"Oh-hohoho, when I get my hands on that little nymph, I'm gonna..." There is a silence between the human and the mermaid. It was much like a stand off. The two stared, wondering who was going to make the first move, the befuddled apprehension mounting in the one, and the painful suffering in the other. Finally, Abby's vibrant green eyes well up. The anguish in her face is plain to the simplest. Arcing her back, bracing a crossed arm down on the desk, and reaches behind to soothe a massage down the side of her buns of steel as the left now flares. With a blank, straight faced, silent understanding wide-eyed stare, Marena slowly approaches and stands firm in front of the abused desk. Then, projects a hand out, holding the floppy ribbon of laminaria, and offers it without word to Abby.


Part 3 coming sometime in the near future...
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Re: Short Stories of the Bratty Halfbat

Postby The Mercenary Abby on Wed May 24, 2017 6:06 pm

Considering the last few days, this story definitely perks me right back up xD

Re-reading it made me realize of some of the subtle touches on detail to the characters that made this scary good. But then I realize that as funny as this story is: I STILL can't believe it's all from ONE quit message xD
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Re: Short Stories of the Bratty Halfbat

Postby Lozen on Mon Jun 19, 2017 11:04 am

"Camera Shy"

(Author's Notes: This is a story of characters that are being played with Shokushu High School as the setting, but with a flare of additional props set up, such as there being a second half of the Shokushu Island housing boy students as well as other unmentioned facilities.)

The sun had been fighting to stay up for a good part of the day, but it laid itself out awhile ago, and its light dimmed behind the horizon until it nearly was out. Purple haze and pink strident colors blazed through the normally blue sky turning black as night. Buildings, both tall and narrow or flat and long, grew shadows that blanketed the concrete ground and invaded the forestry with the retreating shades of trees. Eventually, the whole ground was nothing but darkness. Then the sky shown no light, but the twinkle of stars, and one baleful moon that shown its lucid reflection of the sun's slumber behind the earth.

Even if the cosmos was asleep, the people on this planet, on the island, and around a particular dorm had not fallen into that sleepy rhythm of night...

A little girl, no taller than five feet, ran up the steps of a nearby building, and peered around the sides to be sure no one noticed her arrival. This Sneak is hooded, shrouded in a manner to keep those who may catch sight of her to be challenged knowing who it is. Well, we know it is a girl, but no one would think that here. This is Shokushu, regularly known for having an All Girl's campus, but there is Boy's side to the island. Someplace this small lady should not be snooping about.

Another thing that should not be happening is the little blonde opening up the boy's dorm, going into a vacant hall, and contemplating breaking into a room. A very specific room. She raises her head, looking at the numbers on each dorm room door, and counts the first few.

"100, 102, 104, 106... Must be upstairs," Enya Beisser whispers to herself. She runs quietly down the hall for the staircase and heads up. In a minute, she pokes her head through the door with that big red Exit into the upstairs hall placard frame, and then ventures into the long stairwell corridor. Normally, there is an elevator for this sort of thing, the stairs being for emergency only, but there is also a chance she might be trapped by somebody wanting to go up or down the dorm complex. Best to walk where nobody treads. Wandering down, she commences to count down the numbers. At the number, 204, her fingers snap excitedly together, a smile on her face beams mischievously at the doorway, and a hand digging into her hoody's poncho for some tools.

The girl kneels down in front of the door with a clenched fist being brought to bare her belongings to the lock, a paperclip and loose wire is being inserted into the keyhole, a flat plastic card slipped aligned with the door's frame and latch to tap into the lock-bar, and she twists around the contraption inside of the knob's lock until a click is made. The card slides to block the bar from locking into the latch, leaving the door to be simply pushed open, and then she quickly, quietly, and stealthy crawls on all fours inside with the door being gently placed shut.

Peeking around inside the room, her hoody is pulled back so she can use her peripheral vision, taking in the sights of the boy's dorm room, specifically Danny's room, and notices he isn't about. She stands up, walking around a bit, looking at the many things in here from a computer, which is covered in different articles that their Underground Tribune completed, notes about the keyboard, and a few sticky notes that are tacked onto various parts of the desk with scribbles of different hand-writings and numbers on them. Looking elsewhere, she sees his bed, not exactly made with one side flapped open and an pressed pillow fluffed and abandoned in the corner, and a couple bundled up sheets thrown in disarray.

A slight wrinkle in her nose is made at that display. Looking behind her shoulder, to be sure there is no sound or sight of him coming in anytime soon, she quickly makes his bed. Everything is torn off the bed to start from scratch. She throws up the sheets, flattens them down and tucks their corners in, folds back the head of the sheets so she may place the pillow properly inside, and then grabs the blanket to spread it over the whole furnish. When she finishes, there is a glint of light that catches her eyes, and a sight to behold when she turns her attention to it beneath the bed.

His camera. Danny's camera!

Oh! We haven't covered who Danny is, have we? Quite a chatty guy, hangs around a group of news freaks who believe the island is plagued with monsters, and dreams to one day be physically attached by the hip to this ex-fashion model turned business majoring Director Tabitha. Danny is even shorter than that bimbo! Tab is like 5'11, if not a full whooping 6 foot giant, and Danny thinks his pecker is going to reach THAT!? Anyways...

Blinking and shaking her head, leaning in, and eyeing the would-be photo journalist's 'Precious,' "He would never leave it in his room... Unless... Oh," the girl realizes a sound she has been putting off as background noise may actually be of importance. There was a rushing noise. Like a muffled static, but the closer she walked to the bathroom, the louder, more distinct, and identifiable it became.

Danny was in the shower!

Quickly, there was an idea hatched in her mind. Trying to keep herself from giggling uncontrollably, with a mouth cupped up in a single hand, she reaches down to pick up that camera with the other, and inspects it when she regains some self control. Turning it over, she figures out how to take some snap shots of it by blinding herself a few times from the -Click- and quick -Flash-. Smiling, she figures exactly what she wants to do with this. Glancing over her shoulder, to make sure he isn't coming out of the bathroom yet, the girl sets the first part of her plan into motion. The camera is set down on his bed for the moment.

The hoody she wears is unzipped, opened, and let to hang off of her shoulders before it is slipped off onto the floor. A shirt is rolled up her flat tummy, stopped around the curves of her cleavage before hooking both fingers beneath the bunched roll and sports bra, and yanked up as one to bare a pair of full and youthful breasts in a room meant for the opposite gender. With a deft pull further, she tears away the rest of the shirt and bra, throws it on the floor, and grabs up her hoody once more to cover her nubile figure. She zips it up all the way. Grabs the camera off the bed, twirls around on the ball of her feet wistfully, sits on the side edge of the bed with a bouncy flop, and lays her back on the second bounce with blonde spilling hair blossoming over the made bed like a sunflower.

Reaching a hand up in the air above herself, with the lens facing her, she takes a selfie snap shot of herself just laying there. Then she uses her free hand to grab a hold of the zipper around the base of her throat. Slowly, she unzips, taking shot after shot after shot of herself as the zipper comes gradually down her exposing torso. Her tanned bosom, ribs, tummy, belly-button, and that narrow waist is revealed when the whole zipper pulls away with the hoody's halves falling back onto the bed. She smiles at the camera, front teeth nibbling on her lower lip like a naughty chipmunk girl, in the last few photos with her hand trailing down her bare abdominal to dive into those shorts for him.

Then she gets up, grabs her shirt and bra, takes the hoody off for a moment to get dressed, and throws the coat back on before collecting the camera again. She heads for the bathroom, figuring Danny has taken long enough in there, probably jerking it with thoughts about Tabby, opens the door slowly, aims the camera at where the shower's general direction is, and yells, "FIRE! FIRE! GET OUT! THERE IS A FIRE!"

-Click-
-Flash-
-Click-
-Flash-


With Danny opening the shower door and leaping out, his wet glistening body is photographed a couple times by the hysterically laughing girl, and she gives him a wave. The big boy, stunned, posing in shock for the photo shoot, slowly processes what is going on, and goes into an ashamed and frustrated rage, yelling at Enya's retreating and giggling form.

Before she runs out of his room, she hangs his camera up on the doorknob, and then flees down the hallway for a quick escape before Danny gets enough ample time clothe himself to go after her...
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Re: Short Stories of the Bratty Halfbat

Postby Lozen on Tue Jun 20, 2017 3:33 am

Sit down a moment. I want to talk to you about someone. Might not ever get a chance to see something like this ever again.

Ever seen the wind carry a bright green leaf blown right into your face and in a blur, at the last possible second, before you could brush it away, in its place is a fiery haired feisty fae girl popping out of no where to smack you silly? No? You will.

Lets go over what you will encounter. A leaf sets on your shoulder, it looks like something caught it on fire, you want to flick it off, but that is a terrible idea. A tiny squeaky voice, high pitched, and cute will utter a curse at you for swatting her tiny bum off! Then, you can expect quite a thrashing when she pops into her bigger body.

Now you can get a good look at her. Slim girl, nubile with a face that becomes cuter the angrier she gets, but you may want to hold her down when that happens. She has been known to punch people below the belt. As to how she packs such a wallop in those spindly arms is beyond me. I'd recommend grabbing a hold of those wavering fire-red locks of hair, there is a bunch of it spilling down her back, and yank on her real hard to pull her back from whomever she is demanding 'Tips' from.

Oh! I didn't mention that she is a Postal Fa- I mean, she is in the Fairy Mail service. You will see her wearing a scarf around her head to keep the hair out of her leafy green eyes. Wouldn't want her to miss out on a package's deadline by blindly taking the wrong turn. The outfit she wears is rather open, a green tabard outlined on the open edges with red and a single broad fiery red strip down the middle, keeping her cool during this hot season. She doesn't have to worry about when it is cold, fire being her specialty. Besides, if she ever is too cold, maybe somebody should offer her a nice hot bod to warm her up?

Well, now that you have an image of what she is and looks like, I want to present a story about her daily life, and I hope you enjoy what I'm about to tell you.


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A Postal Fairy

Mapsoloff Flowerfield floated above the head of this priestess of whatever the hell God they devoted their lives to. The fairy was feeling happy to have had the day off, but the moment she wandered across this miserable looking person, she felt compelled to cheer her up, make a few funny poses, and even chat a while with the religious nut. Then it hit her, this person was in trouble, but the kind that didn't require a knight in shinning armor, a wizard to ward off a curse, or a thief to steal a precious way into a hoard of treasures.

She needed a letter delivered. The priestess was on her way to do it herself until caught up with this chatty fae girl. If Maps had just moved along, minding her own business, not be instinctively attracted to the concept of making someone happy, then she would have enjoyed a nice day of relaxation. Nope, the fairy had a job, one that was going to be done whether she liked it or not, and it had to be handled today.

Sighing, well on her way to buzzing off in the general direction of this hamlet, she pondered reading what the letter said, but thought better of it. In her current fairy size, the rolled up parchment shrunk with her, and made it easy to carry. She didn't know what this letter was going to get her into...

The Inn had a small man sit down at the bar counter, reading over the letter again and again, and becoming more furious every time it had been reread.

Maps sat down in a stool next to the man, a hand cupping the curve of her jaw and point of that chin, and an elbow propped on the counter's surface to lean in. She listened to the male priest explain the letter, as if she cared, about how his duties are being neglected in ridding an undead apparition from the nearby village. Thing he makes perfectly clear is that the folk fled from there in fear of this so-called ghastly menace, but in fact there is none, and his presence to purify the would-be creature is impossible without their actually being one.

A cute, little, and drawn out yawn comes out of the fae. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she recalls how this was supposed to be her day off, but now she is hear being the subjected target of this man's frustration. That tiny mewled yawn caught the priest's attention. Seeing that she had nothing better to do, he writes quickly down on the back of the paper, rolls it up, and informs her that she must take this letter to the representatives of the village.

Breathing in deeply, puffing out her cheeks with that inhaled breath, huffs, and then snatches the letter from his hands before she shrinks to take off in a Zip-n-Zag out the tavern door...

The men and women who look over the letter happen to pale at the news. Turning to the fiery red haired girl, they all, out of turn, explain their plight of what roams at night in their village. Fog rolls in, moaning and groaning can be heard bouncing off their humble homes for each to hear, the shades of this unwanted creature shifting from house to house, and the screams of their townsfolk as they flee for their lives drives the rest of the residents to follow. It is a ghost town now. No one lives there as that creature haunts the spot.

Drooping her head and sagging those shoulders, she stares at the assembled people, wondering what in the world she is supposed to be doing about it. She explains that all she does is convey messages back and forth among the citizens of the Empire. Sometimes, even beyond, but those on rare occasions.

That last bit seals her fate. Beyond, that word to them meant Beyond the grave. They convince her of this to the point of growing restless, angry, a mob ready to grab their torches and pitchforks to use on the girl if she refused to send their own message to this ghost. Shuddering a sigh, she relents, and accepts the job...

Fog, thick as steam in a bath, envelops the green and red fairy. It is at night, when this -thing- is supposed to appear, but going where she might, not one peep is heard or spook seen. Buzzing back and forth, house to house, even roaming through the trees, and down where the rocks lay; Nothing. Hours pass, if another minute goes, she will be well into the dew of morning, and have no one to drop this letter off to.

Suddenly, she gets an idea. Maybe there is nothing ghastly about the place because -It- doesn't think anyone is here. Instead of being quiet, she starts to push over pots, pans, brooms being smacked into windows to let the shards tinkle and crash down onto the ground, and become a Vandal chorusing through the remainder of the night.

That is when the cries come calling out. Eerie moans, terrible groans, hollering howls, and frightening noises that screech out in the darkness. Too tired to care, she follows after the evoked sounds.

It had to be in a crypt. A little shiver runs up her lithe little spine before she darts down into the depths of a mausoleum. The walls are cinder blocks, rough cut stones,stones embedded into the dirt, and then roots and untamed soil. Turning a corner, she notices the cave, torn out with tools that lay propped against the recently made dugout, and the dark light shinning in its recess.

Spinning like a shot arrow, she quickly charges in, wanting to throw that paper at whatever it is before she is caught up in another workload. Yet, the moment she enters, a spell works around her, and becomes a frozen miasma that steels her heart and makes her breath puff out like smoke. Freezing, unable to move, she drops like a fly, and lands with a smack on the scrapped up earth.

Looking up dizzily, she sees a man drop down to one knee, and peers at her vulnerable form curiously. Scooping her up in two hands, he cups her close in those palms, and begins to blow warmly into his praising hands for that fae catch to heat up.

Apologetically, the man informs her that he had not intended for that spell to have that kind of effect. It being meant to still people who thought about coming down here and giving him the time to scare them off. Not once thinking someone of a diminutive size would come rushing in here and blindly triggering his trap.

Hopping out of his hands, she instantly grows up, hands him the letter, and immediately tries to flee. The cold creeps up her spine and she knows if her form shrinks back down, the same thing will happen, and she will be a green and red snowflake on the ground once more. Without becoming smaller, it allowed the man to grasp her by that slender shoulder, and give her a chance to bring her attention back to him.

He waves off the chance that she really needed to go. Instead, he holds up the request of the villagers, and explains that his work here is about done. He was simply excavating this site for a powerful item that was documented to have been buried here, and asking permission to go grave robbing was not exactly a bright idea. So, he made a ruse, and posed as the crypts haunting ghost. Now that he is done, those villagers could come back, and he wants that message to be carried to them soon.

Sitting on her bare rump, chilled, impatient, but trying to put on a happy face; She waits for the man to write up his own letter. Handing it off to her, she walks out of the tomb, and pops back to her natural tiny self to bolt back the way she came...

A cheer rings through the crowd and the assembly of townsfolk cater off their belongings towards the door for them to return home. Happy finally that this mission is over, she turns to leave herself, but is caught deftly by one of her wings by a wizened old man. There is a tremor of fury that makes her every fiber quake as he holds up a rolled up parchment with a single ruby ring holding its shape.

He explains, before the village had been scared off, his nephew was to be married to his newly acquired niece in-law. Yet, they couldn't marry there, would not hold a wedding in a small hamlet like this one, and certainly not in an Inn. So, they traveled off to another town, where most of their family followed, and would marry under the gaze of whatever Gods is worshiped in that locale. The ring holding the letter is supposed to be the precious wedding band the groom is to slip on the bride. That letter is an apology for not having the trinket available in time of their departure.

Feeling really guilty for becoming angry, almost sobbing with shame, she nods her head, takes the letter and gift, and zooms off on another errand to one more town...

Asking around about those who are going to be married soon isn't easy. Everyone seems to either consider themselves to-be-wed or already in the process of the arrangement. It isn't true. They are deluded into thinking wearing a slave's collar or branding themselves to forever be their owner's is a matrimonial ceremony. Try as she might, she couldn't tell them that she was after people who were REALLY getting hitched and not seem mocking about their enslaved engagement.

Zipping and Zagging from one establishment to the other tires her out. Gradually, she decides to settle down for some shut-eye. Heading for an Inn, she takes note of a couple fighting with one another. The heated argument would have been ignored except for one simple bit of dialogue being spoken too loudly for her ears. Apparently, somebody misplaced a ring.

Buzzing over to the two, she pops into her full size, and waves at them with the rolled parchment with the sparkling ruby ring shinning in their eyes. It takes them a moment to realize what she had and the two cried with joy. Smiling, she hands it over to them, gives the two thanks as they do in turn, and she slowly backs away with caution. When the to-be-weds don't appear to be interested in giving her something to do, she finally shrinks back, and was about to fly off...

In moments, there is men surrounding the pair. One holds onto the shoulders of the bride, the other two grips on both arms of the groom, and they appear to be grabbing that ring right off the note. The bride is roughly being molested by the man suggesting she would find a better man on the auction block. While the groom gets a taste of what it feels like to be a punching bag.

Fluttering in the air, witnessing, processing the act unfolding before her, she fills with so much rage that the inhibited instinct to always be cheerful, joyous, and happy as all faes are becomes voided. The fiery fairy goes Postal and rains hell down on the group...

Sometime later, she is getting a strong drink from this city's Lonely Inn.
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