fledto

[fledto]

nèstor coasts into the room unannounced, empty handed, and looking far too smug for such an early hour. he helps himself to the coffee before nisa greets him, though he doesn't really intend to drink it. it's a prop, something to do while he waits for her to acknowledge his presence. "in truth, i've always wondered what you do before the rest of us arrive." he studies the other as she rearranges the neatly stacked tabs, amusement dancing in his eyes. a vague gesture toward the papers in question, "though now i see you just like to... arrange things."

the real truth of it is not so simple; néstor has been disturbed by the tremors rippling throughout the crooked mile of late. his constituents grow suspicious, restless, and he knows better than anyone that when the rumor mill churns, someone always gets stuck in the gears. "we should move to postpone all agenda items not pertaining to our little mundane problem, no?" he approaches with a subdued interest, peering over at the documents that she has prepared.

closed starter for @fledto, nestor carillo. just before the council meeting.

She arrived before the others. It was a bad habit, her punctuality. She liked to get a head start on things, make sure her ducks were all in a row, and prioritize the points she wanted to make from most to least pressing. Of course, there were many things to get in order before the gala that night, and in lieu of some of the other matters that had been brought up before her, speculation of fables by mundies was thrown to the top of the list. Nisa had been there for all of twenty minutes before company arrived, and she'd already placed her papers and reorganized them by tabs twice. Nestor's presence was like a gadfly buzzing in her ear - he hadn't even said anything and she felt her nerves begin to grate. Still, picture of poise (she's doing so well, really), Nisa gives him a curt smile and greeting, and busies herself with reorganizing her papers a third time. "The coffee's still hot. We have half an hour before we start." Nisa refused to let anything - or anyone - get to her today. Too much was happening and it all needed to happen perfectly. "I've never seen you here this early. Special occasion?" Nisa asked innocently.

[fledto]

"yes, yes, shame about the witch." he waves the other off with an absent mind, tangled up in the melodrama of his own thoughts. nerves, a decidedly mundane affliction, have taken to rowan like a blight these three centuries past. the truest consequence of his infatuation with humans was, after all, finding that he could relate to them. "but for which wrongdoing should i confess, my dear friend?" oh, woe is he.

luckily for puck, the sheriff's office is interested in crimes of one particular ilk — of which he still maintains innocence, at least. this fact is something of a comfort. "between the meddling, and the thieving, and the general mischief..." he casts a sidelong glance at his spritely counterpart. it is clearly eating him up, the thought of facing a mirror that can name his every fault. "ever the tragedy, this is turning out to be."

open to. anyone — come one, come all ! setting & notes. remembrance day event part two, looming about around the main enclave. feel free to assume connections if not plotted yet, or this can be their first interaction if you'd like.

      a slimy thing, waffling about and bouncing from one corridor to another, eyes on the action as always. if there was one thing fionn couldn't miss, it was a show — comedies or tragedies, both equally as entertaining to a lone sprite, itching to get a firsthand view at the next sensation that sweeps their quaint little town. it's about time, he'd assert, after days of droning boredom, the cabin fever was bound to settle in eventually - fionn just didn't expect it to be so soon. " what a shame, " a tone decorated with dramatization, cutting through the undercurrent of empathy that was, albeit, genuine, but it was hard to tell with him.

      " now, what say you when the magic mirror reveals your deepest secret to the entire town, hm ? " he was merely playing, but surely this was neither the time nor place, with tensions inevitably rising and, eventually, anxieties too. " the time to confess your wrongdoings is nigh. i pinky promise i won't tell another soul, unlike that dreaded mirror. "

[fledto]

maris' words produce a grim chuckle that morphs into a groan as grethe props herself up on one elbow. a wry smile accompanies her question, "and then who would stand between him and wolf?" this event was nothing more than an empty gesture. yet the pretense under which they all operated maintained order, ensured peace. so yes, grethe, too, would be performing her duties ─ signing the compact, attending the festivities, and drinking her fill ─ as she had every year since the first. albeit a bit more grudgingly, now. "cole wouldn't dare disrupt the delicate balance. he knows our heads best serve him atop our shoulders."

unpainted fingers reach out in a fruitless attempt to smooth a wrinkle that has formed on maris' collar. two more form in its place. "speaking of old friends, i stopped by the lucky pawn this morning. business call."

a  small  grimace  twists  at  her  features  as  maris  struggles  to  smooth  out  a  part  of  her  satin  blouse  in  the  mirror  ─  in  between  the  threat  of  discovery  from  the  mundane  world  and  keeping  the  peace  in  check  around  town  as  remembrance  day  rolled  around,  there  had  been  very  little  time  to  exercise  a  bit  of  selfcare  and  her  nails  were  paying  the  price  for  the  neglect,  getting  caught  in  one  of  the  loops  of  her  belt  as  she  roughly  tucked  in  her  blouse.  nursing  the  injured  nail  between  her  teeth,  she  turned  to  raise  a  knowing,  unamused  brow  at  grethe.  even  if  she  had  lucked  out  by  not  pulling  any  extra  shifts  for  tonight,  maris  felt  like  her  attendance  was  mandatory  and  anything  less  than  perfect  smiles  would  lead  to  scrutiny  from  king  cole.  ❝  i  am  all  for  a  little  truancy,  especially  if  it  adds  a  few  more  greys  to  wolf's  thick  head  of  hair,  but  i  fear  cole  might  call  for  our  heads  if  we  don't  present  a  united  front  for  all  of  town  to  see.  ❞  and,  after  spending  about  fifteen  minutes  making  sure  there  were  no  creases  in  her  blouse,  maris  flopped  onto  the  bed  beside  grethe,  ruining  all  her  hard  work.   ❝  i  am  planning  on  getting  absolutely  sloshed  on  his  dime,  however  ─  heard  from  a  little  bird  in  catering  that  they've  pulled  out  the  good  stuff.  i  think  i'm  gonna  need  it  if  i  bump  into  any  old  friends.  ❞

[fledto]

"i'm hardly the boogeyman." though something tells her his clientele would prefer that she was. maybe robin would too, these days.

there's no surprise at his hesitance to reveal his source, only a grudging acceptance — for now. grethe knows a thing or two about convictions, and neither of them can be considered fickle in their own. "entrusted it to you, or disposed of it?" she takes a step forward when he reveals the dagger, unlike any of the others she has seen. the object in question practically sings with old magic, beckoning her forward, appealing to a part of her long dead. grethe covers it quickly with the corner of the cloth. the song dims. "this thing has harm written all over it."

robin let out a heavy sigh. " you're calling me trouble, but you're the one scaring my business away. " there was no getting around grethe, though. she came here with a purpose, and she wouldn't leave until it was done. all it would take is a name, and as much as robin wanted to speed this along, there was still honor among thieves.

a latch was released under the counters and a false bottom was revealed. there was a vault with smaller precious items, and within it was the dagger in question. he pulled it out with a cloth limiting its contact with his skin. " you can have it, but the person who brought it meant no harm. they didn't want it in their possession anymore, so they entrusted it to me. "

[fledto]

[fledto]

closed starter for @thievesandwitches, inside the lucky pawn, pre-remembrance day gala

she's here on a call about a cursed dagger—prohibited under ordinary conditions, but never more than now. with the threat of the mundies looming down their backs, grethe doesn't need any fables getting noble ideas about protecting themselves from outsiders. "hello, trouble."

upon taking notice of her, the patron at the counter gathers their belongings to leave. the detective takes her time inspecting the wares as they do so. "i'm going to assume you planned to turn that into the business office." she turns to her old friend without preamble, done browsing. "i need a name. who brought it in?"

[fledto]

they are all too aware of dorothy's presence at their side, hovering as she is. not to worry though, he is not of the skittish variety. in fact, in a world so rife with peril, puck rather appreciates that he is worthy of the proximity. "hmm? yes." okay, so he made a slight embellishment. but there was a poison tester, and puck did observe the task being performed⸺once or twice. "a king shouldn't taste his food without going through the proper channels. it’s a very important job.”

"no, best not then." a decisive nod, as if she's making a very wise decision. her hands now free, and their own cup drained and abandoned, puck takes her arm in his. the tension in her frame is palpable, he pats her lightly as he guides her away from the source of terror, an attempt at comfort. "surely there must be something that is safe from the witch..." in regards to which witch they are referring to, puck is not entirely sure. he thinks for a moment before an idea crosses his mind. "how about dancing?" puck has met their share of witches and warlocks and everything in between. they can't think of a single one who would object to that, even the poisoning sort.

PUCK — as odd as they come , as comforting as a knit blanket , the only pillow in which she'd allow to cradle her head by choice . relief paints a portrait on her face , cherub cheeks rogued from embarrassment now glowing from intrigue instead . of course he would understand what she was looking for , the doubt that had sequestered her thirst .

as he lifts the ladle , dorothy steps closer , practically glued to his side by adhesive in the way she hovers as he surveys the refreshments . " were you ?? " curiosity of the most gullible variety lifts the end of her question , cup coming to hover beneath her chin as she watches .

worry glazes her eyes as puck brings the cup to his lips and drinks , a hand twitching to reach out and stop him . she relents the idea of the effort — he claimed to have been a tester of the very sort , after all . who was she to doubt him ??

dorothy blinks at the conclusion he deduces , looking between him and the ladle with a reluctance she cannot hide . her lips purse , brown sights flickering to her cup , before shaking her head . " i best not risk it , " she murmurs , stepping forward only to set down her cup on the table , tension present in her stiff limbs . " what if it is a poison made only for me ?? the witch is powerful , puck , i have no doubts she'd be capable of such a spell . "

[fledto]

néstor arrives before the rest of the crowd, a model citizen, a representative here to perform his civic duty. truthfully, he wields the title so he doesn’t have to wait in line with all the rest of them. “i’ve never been good with vows.” a flash of a smile. though he can tell she can’t be bothered with conversation, néstor leans forward with a comfortable air, deliberately relaxed, as if in the presence of an old friend.

“but contracts? those i am familiar with. in truth, i prefer to think of my time here as a profitable arrangement, more business than pleasure.” though certainly it can be said that he finds ways to derive pleasure from most things, business included. he can’t remember the last time he has lingered in this office of his own free will, usually preferring to make quick work of this. yet he remains all the same, looking around with a renewed curiosity.

open at the business office.

it had been the wrong day for yvonne to have such a large responsibility when it came to remembrance day. she knew it was coming but the woman is still drained from last night's sleepwalking episode, how she'd somehow opened all the locks and awoken in the middle of a pathway in her white night dress. still, she cleans up well, sleeks her hair back and dons professional attire - this is her moment for her efforts to be recognised by the people of fabletown. yvonne robertson is very good at her job, she has to be and no matter if she's exhausted, she will deliver. still, making everyone pledge once more did seem like a clerical nightmare and she could have done without it. "come to renew your vows to this place?" she hums, hardly looking up towards them as dark circles weigh her bloodshot blue eyes down. of course, there had been no hesitancy with yvonne signing herself away once more - still no closer to being appreciated or getting the recognition she deserved. things would be different if she didn't pick this job but she had to remain close to them... she was always close to them.

[fledto]

closed starter for @einchants, snack table at the gala

puck haunt the sweets table, eating his fill of little delicacies. if there's one thing they love more than mischief, it is not having to choose between affording a glamour or imbibing in a sweet treat (or five). after contemplating their choice carefully, they pluck another pastry from the table, turning to enjoy. then, a crime is committed: it is taken right out of their eager hands.

"hey!" by the time he makes a move to defend his own honor, the thief has taken a bite. puck can do nothing but watch in abject horror. where's the sheriff when you need him? where are the witnesses? "... that was the last fig tart."

[fledto]

closed starter for @daevours, some far flung corner at the gala

she knows she'll find him here, removed from the action, observing the crowd. grethe comes to stand beside the wolf without a word of greeting⸺a welcome silence⸺but she does not come without offering. in her hands are two drinks, one already claimed and the other, presumably, for him. though she's not above having both, if need be.

the pair stand wordless like two sentinels at the edge of the room, her eyes scanning the crowd from his vantage point. she may be technically off duty, but they both share the same vice⸺still, even grethe thinks he could stand to let his hair down, at times. "you know, you can still catch the bad guys and enjoy the hors d'oeuvres."

a beat, a glance out of the corner of her eye. "at least you clean up nice."

[fledto]

there was a time when such a request would be granted without hesitation, sending a thousand different ideas reeling through his mind⸺but that time is over, and it is ill advised to pretend otherwise. alma's words prompt half grimace, half tight - lipped smile. appearances must be kept. "darling," he speaks as if diffusing a bomb. "do you remember what we discussed?"

hand rests gingerly on her shoulder, applying ever so light a pressure. maintaining a friendly distance, he guides them away from the dance floor. eyes scan the crowd for an easy exit, but néstor sees none. "surely your date is entertainment enough for the evening, amor?"

CLOSED FOR @fledto - nestor carrillo

the penthouse was beautifully decorated by the party committee ( also known at the 13th floor witches, who must have had nothing better to do ), and the edges of the glamours made the night sky dance with an array of colors. what a lovely event to spend with her love. of course - he believes that they've gone separate ways, but she knows better. they're fleeting emotions he has - regret, resentment, remorse - that would fly away soon enough. and she'd be there, as she always would be.

" baby, i'm bored, " alma pouted with her lips touching the edge of a glass. " won't you entertain me? "

[fledto]

ah yes, his favorite day of the year. he practically hums with the utter potential of it all⸺fables from all walks of life don their fanciest attire, leaving their common sense at home. what joyous opportunity! over the years, puck has learned the real fun begins on cleaning duty: when sticky fingers attract all the treasures that have been forgotten in the midst of the evening's revelry. he oft leaves with pockets full of shiny things to pawn and food he doesn't have to pay for. what's not to like?

nothing can ruin this high, or so puck thinks, foolishly optimistic as he steps out of the lucky pawn and into the presence of the one person who can. "happy day!" he walks jauntily past, a polite greeting met with a macabre reply.

"jeez⸺" he doesn't mean to utter that aloud, and certainly not in that tone. it's just that he feels suddenly... deflated. "do you always get this philosophical before a big party?"

mise  en  scenè  ⸺  the  crooked  mile,  at  the  juncture  between  the  open  arms  hotel  and  the  lucky  pawn,  an  hour  before  sunset.

in  a  few  hours,  fables  from  each  parcel  of  their  sequestered  town  will  march  their  inexorable  way  to  the  woodland  in  the  opaque  night,  beneath  the  cool  balm  of  stars.  the  sun  will  slope  beneath  the  horizon—the  world  aflame,  then  put  out  as  if  drowned—and  the  shoulders  of  the  sky  will  falter,  will  capitulate  to  the  black  sails  of  darkness.  the  day’s  light,  extinguished  in  but  a  short  breath,  a  short-lived  exhalation  of  time.

natural  occurrences  still  startle  lancelot,  but  he  supposes  it  is  to  be  expected,  even  excused:  after  all,  he  was  only  recently  roused  from  an  interminable  stupor.  hanging  from  a  tree  for  the  better  part  of  four  centuries  will  do  that  to  you,  king  cole  had  said.  the  symbol  of  death  marks  him  still;  no  signet  of  valiance  or  virtue  or  the  life  he  paraded  and  prided  himself  in  when  camelot  still  stood  tall  and  unfallen.  no  fate  could  be  so  final  and  so  essentially  pathetic.  nothing,  not  even  the  glory  of  a  name,  could  absolutely  survive  death.

this  world,  this  mundane  world,  had  prevailed  and  thrived  long  before  the  fables  arrived.  it  will  continue  to  do  so  long  after  they  are  gone.  one  way  or  another,  he  thinks.  how  long  before  their  magic  is  depleted?  before  the  cardinal  bond  between  birthplace  and  creation  is  severed  completely?  until  no  one  who  has  entered  the  heart  of  their  collective  tale  can  remember  it,  can  pass  it  on?

for  now,  he  waits,  a  sombre  sentry  hemmed  in  between  the  open  arms  and  the  lucky  pawn.  the  fleet  of  footsteps  draws  neither  his  eye  nor  his  ear,  but  he  inclines  his  head  nonetheless.  “for  how  long  do  you  think  we’ll  remain  hidden?  another  decade?  another  century?  tomorrow,  perhaps,  we’ll  wake  to  the  mundane  authority  storming  our  homes.”

[fledto]

puck is knocked back, winded for just a moment by the projectile that launches itself against their chest⸺a loud "oof!"  escapes, then a sputter, a laugh. they steady themself. it's completely not embarrassing at all, and very smooth, what has just occurred. or so they choose to believe.

"never fear,"  puck whispers conspiratorially, leaning in. he likes to believe he understands dorothy, at times. though each of their encounters increasingly feel as if he has stepped into a scene of an entirely unscripted production of dorothy's world. luckily, he is all too happy to step into the role. where she has an ... abundance of caution, puck often chooses to throw his to the wind. "ah, i was chosen poison tester to a king, once upon a time."  not entirely false! he thinks grimly, batting the fact away as he takes the ladle in hand. puck makes as if he's choosing carefully before filling a glass, smelling first, then taking a swig. 

"this one is perfectly safe. but i'd steer well clear of that one." still brandishing the utensil, he arches a brow in a silent offering.

─── REMEMBERING . oh , how dorothy l o a t h e d to remember !!

dreadful fantasy and grisly delusions plagued the girl's mind , often splintering the world into fractals of strange peculiarity she could never make sense of . the sidewalk she traipsed down to get to tonight's festivities might as well have been the ebbing waves of an ocean as it seemed to roll beneath her feet ( not that the kansas girl had ever seen one ) , the wind carrying the echo of a most harrowing laugh who's timbre was all but unfamiliar . that dreadful glinda's .

dorothy hoped that wicked WITCH wouldn't show her face this eve .

the girl lingered by a concessions table , brandishing an empty cup , brows coming to a furrow as she investigates the surplus of options . which had been poisoned ?? had any ?? she leaned over , pressing onto the balls of her glittering red shoes , though as her face just barely crossed over the threshold of the bowl , a reflection of the most horrifying nature looked back at her . dorothy jumped , launched back back fright , right into the chest of someone else . with a yip that'd put toto's to shame , dorothy spun , horror painted across her features as she clutched her empty cup to her quick beating pulse .

" oh !! " she gasped , looking up at them . an anxious , bashful laugh sounded like wind chimes in a slow-brewing storm as she shrunk into herself . " sorry — i thought i , , , saw something in that bowl . here , " she steps aside , lifting a hand from her empty glass to gesture vaguely towards the assortment of bowled beverages . " you go ahead , i'm not thirsty . "

an 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 for 𝘋𝘖𝘙𝘖𝘛𝘏𝘠 𝘎𝘈𝘓𝘌 set at the remembrance day festivities . 0 / 3 replies !!

[fledto]

closed starter for @off3ring, their apartment

"shall we play hookie tonight?"  from her spot on the bed, grethe offers a devilish grin at her counterpart, flirting with the idea of breaking tradition for the first time in centuries. of course, this is just an empty offer⸺she's already dressed.  "we could both use some scandal."

[fledto]

closed starter for @ficklefablcs, in line at the business office

by the time they shuffle into the business office, grethe is wearing a face of grim determination. annoyingly late, and given her brother's penchant for dragging his feet, the pair have earned a prime spot at the end of a very long line. she doesn't so much as look at him when she speaks. "next year, i'm leaving you at home." for him, she knows that is likely a hopeful concept.

after a few moments of simmering in silence, she casts a glance in his direction. then, as if to extend an olive branch, she nudges him with her shoulder, as playfully as she can muster.  "honestly, you look as if i've escorted you here in cuffs."

[fledto]

jack of no trades. master of fuck all

[fledto]