#(moved to new thread for tracking!)

[vievieveda]

busy | francesco & veda

@philoflore:

Well, perhaps tonight was not going to be suited for relaxing with a nice cup of tea. At least, this was what he figured. The patrons weren't much like the sort you found on the patios of his hometown, although he generally found that you shouldn't judge a person by their language, or their clothes, or the state of their hygiene, though he did pray that what he was seeing on the sole of these boots was mud. It didn't smell much like it did in his garden, and he kept his finger against his nostrils as he waited for the woman he thought to be the owner to return. She seemed to have it all under control, which he found quite remarkable, given the rough manners of her clientele.

"That look is nothing less but my way of expressing awe, Madam. Miss. Tavern keeper." He wrinkled his nose. He figured that the place was always in such a state, no matter the day. "Oh. Hum. I ... Well..." The look he gave her then was apologetic. He was just about to ask her something more complicated than that. "I suppose I can survive without tea. Perhaps do you store Chartreuse." It came from the bottle, and it also was just a cocktail of plants carefully selected. Closest and furthest thing to tea he could think of.

.

"Veda. Vee if you're feeling some sort of way," she introduced when he tried to assign her a title. The human was no madam or miss, at least not in her mind. Having spent the majority of her formative years in the tavern had erased any manners or courtesy she might have formed elsewhere. Veda's language and general attitude was the same as the rowdy patrons that helped earn her keep. And she wouldn't have it any other way. "But the awe is appreciated all the same. That being said, feel free to remain awestruck even as I reluctantly tell you I have no Chartreuse and offer you some Madeira instead?" Vee graced the man with her most charming smile, resting her chin in her hand and elbow on the bartop. The options were limited by the tastes of her usual clientele. She only carried Madeira for the few regulars that preferred wine. "I've been told the ale doesn't taste like horsepiss tonight, as well."

[kanaloasteele]

Kanaloa and Maeve - First Meeting

Where: Outskirts of the town

When: Morning/midday

The morning air was refreshingly cold as it beat against Maeve's flushed, freckled cheeks. It beat down on her naturally warmer body and instead of tiring her, it vitalised her.

Leaves in the trees atop the cliff twitched and strained against the vicious breeze, threads of golden hair joining them in their desperate rebellion, as Maeve stood up from her crouched position. Muscles and veins in her arms rippled and flexed as the blonde smoothly nocks an arrow, and pulls the bow back, knuckles almost brushing against her cheekbone.

Barefoot, and clad in leather pants, and an ornate leather chest piece that bore the trademark ocean inspired detailing of Maeve's own print. On her hips hung an axe, and on her back she wore a quiver with the same ornate detailing that could be found on her leather chest plate. Some of her waist length golden waves was still secured behind her face with a leather tie, but most of it had fallen free, tangled and wild, framing her face like a golden haze.

The poor creature that Maeve had her sights on was a distant descendent of the Griffin. It sat nestled in an appropriated birds nest, snoring, quite unaware of it's impending end. Time had not been kind to this branch of the species, they were only just slightly larger than Maeve's own hands. They also had almost no self defensive properties besides concealing itself. It's thin, ragged wings in no way resembled the eagles, and the fluffy tail appeared more catlike than lionlike. The sub-species were no match for the fast developing world around them and as such, the dwindling species was very close to becoming just another myth if they were lucky. So few knew of them that it was not common knowledge that the saliva from this animal was potent for potions, and extremely valuable.

"Poof" Maeve exhaled as she stepped nonchalantly off the tree branch, simultaneously releasing the bow. As she fell to the ground, her arrow found it's target and while two bare feet hit the ground, a sad corpse landed hardly a yard away. A cloud of dirt and dust billowed about it's sad frame.

Without delay, the werewolf deftly darted to her catch, quickly sweeping it up into a pouch secured to her hip. At one point in her three hundred years, Maeve had whispered a small prayer for every animal life that she took. Over the years however, her thanks and apologies made less and less sese, specifically because she no longer hunted and killed out of necessity but out of maintaining her lifestyle. Her apologies and thanks seemed insincere and void of any intention. Instead, she simply sighed deeply and began cleaning the retrieved bow. She was still polishing the lethal point when she heard a disturbance behind her.

Never one to leave herself vulnerable, Maeve turned smoothly and casually, to greet or confront, continuing to clean the fresh blood off her arrow with a cloth. At five foot, six inches, the blonde was tall, and her snugly fitted leather attire exposed dense muscles dotted with faint, golden hair, the blonde could present as an intimidating presence. Certainly the weaponry did not help, but Maeve's own hooded expression did nothing at all to make her appear more approachable.

@maevemedeina

One of the things that Kanaloa had come to appreciate since moving to Destarin was the fact that his day started when he wished it to.  In reality what that meant was that he was up just as early as he was on campaign, but he didn't have someone breathing down his neck the second he woke up.

The crisp morning air was a familiar sensation for the berserker as he breathed deeply before settling into his normal stretching routine.  While he might not have superior officers screaming at him to start training, his routine was something that had been built into him for decades now.  It didn't matter how much he had to drink the night prior, he was always up at the crack of dawn to begin his workouts.

Pulling his long dark locks back in a loose leather strip, Kanaloa settled a tight leather vest across his bare torso, the slight tinkling sounds of metal tapping together as he cinched the weighted vest firmly against his body.  A creation of his own design; his vest, bracers and greaves were made of tight leather lined with slim pockets that he filled with bars of steel from his forge.  Each piece was customizable in how much metal he placed in the pouches before he began his run every morning.  With this being a full workout, there was enough metal in all the pieces to easily triple Kanaloa's body weight.

Starting at the docks, the first lap around the city was a nice warm-up but as he entered his subsequent laps he began to pick up the pace until he was running at his top speed around the city.  The docks were the worst to navigate as he had to bob and weave through the crowds so that neither himself nor his weapons caught on anything.

Sweat glistened on the man's body as his feet pounded against the ground, booted footfalls alerting those around him to his presence.  As he was finishing out his final lap his senses screamed a warning and he came to a skidding stop in a clearing, his faze falling on a blonde woman cleaning an arrow after a kill.

The man's hand slipped down to the hilt of the Da Dao broadsword on his hip, his other hand rising to grasp what appeared to be the haft of another weapon strapped to his back.  He could tell from a glance that he towered over the woman by at least a foot, but that didn't mean much when supernatural species came into play.

Taking a few breaths to calm his breathing and the fight response it triggered, Kanaloa straightened up from his fighting crouch and released the grip he had on his sword, angling it behind him instead.  “Apologies.  I didn't expect anyone else out here so early.  Don't generally run into folks out here when I run.”  Though he seemed relaxed, the berserker was never far from a violent response if necessary.  Too many mistakes could happen if you let your guard fully down.

[myriadxofxmuses]

@fxntasmagoria from X

"Free to live," he whispered, his grin widening sickeningly as his eyes pierced hers.

a thumb grazed itself along her arm, caressing her beautiful, desturctive, permanent scars. eyes momentarily shut as he took in the intoxiating sensation of the raised skin that marked her otherwise smooth skin. her looks may have attracted the rest of the world, but he cherished damage. and her self harm was more alluring than any beauty her face could possess.

his dead gaze opened to find hers once more with her million dollar question. What did she have to do? the true answer would have surprised even his most seasoned psychologist - harls especially all things considered. and the answer was nothing. she didn't have to do anything. ignore all the rules. all the possible punishment. all the fear. the remorse. she just had to be, disregarding all societal contraints.

but where was the fun in that?

his touch slipped from her skin as he stood. his steps echoed softely as he made his way to behind her. his hands ran themselves down her arms as he inhaled deeply, his mind running through all the posible entertainment she could give him. a shuddering breath escaped him as his hands came to rest, his grip gentle yet firm as he leaned down and whispered in her ear.

"You have to die for me. Zoe Rivas can no longer exist," he challeneged, exhaling a soft and trembling breath against her neck.

[xflashbastardx]

@rawbutprecious - from [X]

Aziraphale was still working to reorganize the books. Gabriel had really made a mess of things. He had certainly invented the most unique way to sort books. Who would think to sort books by the first word of the first sentences? It was quite an unusual way to put books on a shelf. It was also very complicated. Getting things put in order was also a challenge. He found history mixed with fiction. He found poetry mixed with art. There were math books with his Shakespeare folios. It was going to take some time to figure everything out. It would take some time to put every book where it belonged. He was lost in his work. So lost that he had forgotten about his tea. However, he was brought out of his book bliss by a familiar voice. He looked over at the couch. "Crowley?" he asked, hurrying over to the couch. "Crowley? Can you hear me? Oh, bother..." Aziraphale did not want the angel to hurt himself so he cautiously grabbed the blanket and tossed it on the nearby chair so that it wouldn't tangle around the demon's legs.

No, Crowley couldn't hear Aziraphale; he'd always been a heavy sleeper, and if the angel wished to rouse him from his slumber, it would take more than that. Somehow, he managed to roll over onto his stomach without toppling off the sofa entirely. Whatever images were playing themselves out in his sleeping mind had one hand gripping the cushion until the knuckles blanched.

For a while, that was all that happened. A few minutes passed with little else from the dreaming demon besides the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders from the breathing he didn't really need but which had become habit after so much time on Earth. But then he groaned, twisting and burying his face in the throw pillow upon which he'd been resting.

[rexcorlapis]

 The  Luhua  Pools  was  simply  an  excuse,  but  Zhongli  still  wanted  to  sit  by  the  waters  with  Dan  Heng  nonetheless.  His  never-ending  vocation  as  an  Archon  makes  his  days  drag  on,  and  he  was  in  sore  need  of  familiar  company  with  whom  he  could  unwind.  Dan  Heng's  gentle  and  curious  nature  makes  Zhongli  smile  slightly  as  he  leads  him  away  and  into  the  mountains.

❛      The  walk  is  quite  far,  but  if  we  take  to  the   s  k  i  e  s  ,  it  will  only  be  but  a  few  minutes.  The  feature  is  clear  to  see  from  the  Wangshu  Inn,  but  I  had  thought  you  would  enjoy  basking  in  the  waters  yourself.  Should  we  hunger,  there  are  LOTUS  SEEDS  from  which  we  could  eat,  and  should  you  hunger  still,  I  will  find  you  boar  or  fish  or  fowl  to  dine  on.     ❜

@reversescale // continued.

[l-ravensflies]

@lizxmorgrave

Elizabeth wouldn’t say she was wandering – exactly. She did have a point for walking around town. There were people she needed to check on and find after the insanity of the festival. Noah topped the list, but she also wanted to find Addie, Chuck, and the young one . . . Briar? Yes, she rather thought that was her name. That one would need some nurturing, too lost in her newborn state still. Goodness only knew, she needed to learn how to feed properly. And still, she found herself being distracted by the sights and sounds of the town as it worked to come back from all the damage. People could be so very resilient in their own way.

Then, she heard a voice she hadn’t expected . . . but one she would never have mistaken. Spinning around, she locked her gaze on a familiar, and long-missed figure. “Ronan!”

↳

Of course.

Why would the higher beings make things easier for him?

He only needed a bit more time. Maybe another day. Or a week. A month perhaps? Sure, he might be lying to himself, but really, hadn't he been doing that for the last however long his life had been?

He knew he was a horrible brother. But what scared him the most was that he might no longer be even seen as a brother and that? That's what's going to kill him. Just like that, the thought of wanting to run away was back, and along with the fear, the temptation was increasing.

Yet all it really took was one look at the familiar face for all of that to diminish. "...Liz."

[starlightintheirwake]

continued from here ( x )

"Fine," Armand means to remark plainly, but his curt tone indicates otherwise. He supposes it doesn't matter. He's skimming Lestat's thoughts as it is, and making no attempt to shield his own.

Armand stares at him. He watches Lestat glance about, and he neither speaks nor moves. He was 'fine'. Precisely until this conversation, but he refuses to allow Lestat de Lioncourt a rise from him. Yet in his throat where all his desire and contempt lives, Armand feels it all the same.

If this encounter were to turn hostile, it would have by now, but it doesn't mean Armand wishes to exchange pleasantries. Still, he does not ask Lestat to leave.

Patiently he waits for Lestat to look his way, wide eyes unblinking. He meets him with the Mind Gift.

You have my electronic mail address.

@monsieur-lemort

[izzyphan]

like cinderella | tajhana & isabel

@tajhanasaha

Tajhana so rarely left the confines of her home and business, not because she did not enjoy all that was Destarin but rather because she felt she had a responsibility to remain there, in case anyone were to need her. Now that she had a few more employees though, well, she was trying to allow herself a little more freedom, at least when her third eye presented a security that she would not be too missed were she to go and that instead something or someone out in the world might need her more. It was what had drawn her to the woods, that third eye that was hidden within her forehead, opened only when necessary but felt by the seer at all times. Someone was to be there, someone who would be a great influence in the town and with all that had happened...well, it would be good to make sure that influence was a positive one. Her slippers taking slow steps through the woods nearest Ashharren, following the path of the carriage road until she saw one of regal makings, those who were working as escort seeming to take a break while her eye lead her to a space within the trees. Hearing a voice from the space Tajhana listened softly, assuming, of course, that she was the one being spoken to. "You already know of the messengers?" she asked, incidentally announcing her presence she believed was already known.

.

The shifter was so focused upon the bird that it didn't even occur to her yet that someone else was speaking to her. A couple more sentences were exchanged when the bluebird noticed her companion before Isabel did. "Oh!" came the surprised little sound as she turned towards the stranger.

She didn't want to admit it so boldly but the emissary slowly nodded at the woman's question. "Pyoter," she began, lifting her hand gently so as not to disturb the bird who'd given her such knowledge. His voice was still in her ear, but it was subdued with her attention elsewhere at the moment. Telepathically, Isabel reached out to the blue bird silently, wondering if he knew anything of her current companion.

"Um, Pyoter. Told me. Everyone is talking about it, I guess. Animal and people alike. And," Isabel continued, worrying at her bottom lip for a moment. It wasn't often she was so blatant with her abilities in front of strangers. "And some of his favorite raspberry bushes got trampled in the aftermath when some people ran."

[re-regeneratedanomaly]

open to all!

"Hey you! Could you get that-uh, you are cute."

"Hi!" she tilts her head, leaning against the chains, "Can you get that key and free me?"

[littlewitchlilim]

@hxwthornes:

Not being much of a night person herself, Zelda had hunkered down in her home and hoped nothing got damaged too badly in the aftermath of the strawberry festival. Her home was around the corner from her shop, and if she had peeked out the window she could see the building in its moonlit glory. But she was no fool, and she could hear screams, howls, and much else she had no intention of encountering. All she could do was wait it all out.

And, the next morning, managed to convince herself that the red splotches on the side of her shop's building were only strawberry residue.

The elf dedicated her morning to cleaning it, as citizens cleaned up their own doors and walkways from the carnage, more traveling throughout the street as the sun positioned itself higher in the sky. There was a light thud from around the corner of the building that had Zelda peering around to see someone attempting to open the still-locked front doors. "Is it already ten?" she asked, not having a way to tell time out here. "Sorry, I'm afraid I've let time get the better of me." She dropped the dirtied rag into her wooden bucket, a mix of soap and reddened water sloshing around inside as she picked it up, blowing hair from her face. "Anything I can help you with?"

.

The witch had been damn near giddy when she'd woken from the Strawberry Moon to blood running through the streets and corpses hanging. It had been one hell of a night and Lilim couldn't even remember if she'd helped the culling of the messengers. The Moon might not have affected her directly, but she still had reveled in the chaos the solstice had brought.

Her own shop didn't open for another couple of hours, news of a sweets and potion shop reaching her ears. Lilim made her own potions, but didn't sell them. And she couldn't help but be curious as to just what the blonde was peddling. "I heard you sell potions, I was just kinda curious about what sort," she finally answered when Zelda asked. The stranger had to have some sort of magic to be able to sell the liquid mixes in the first place, and she wanted to know what sort she had.

[vievieveda]

@thevaaniiofcrirtha:

OPEN STARTER for anyone location ; Kosmos / the grocerer If anyone had told Vanathi the Vaanii two years ago that she'd be selling fruits and vegetables in a magic grocer shop, she would've laughed. Not just laughed, but probably laughed so hard she'd kicked a chair - or perhaps a table - over in her effort to calm herself and to enjoy how ridiculous that sounded. Now, it wasn't even that ridiculous, she loved the work. It was much better than getting killed every month, and then resurrected. Nobody would ever understand the pain of having to take a five hour steaming hot bath just to feel like yourself again... or well, possibly a lot of people did. If not: they were missing out. She placed a new load of freshly conjured purple potatoes in their little crate and greeted the unsuspected bystander. Her toothy smile meant to draw them in, even if at times it seemed like she wanted to hit you over the head with a Withering Watermelon.

"Would you like to sample some of our recently harvested snack cucumbers?"

.

The tavern was not quite as busy during the day as it was in the evenings, making it easier for its owner to take time away from the often bustling location. When Veda had left the warmth of the pub, it wasn't to wander so much as to complete a very specific job. With the Faire upcoming and the arrival of emissaries, vendors seemed to be taking it as a sign that doubling prices would go unnoticed. Nothing went unnoticed to the human, which was precisely why she was out and about on this very fine day. It was that ability to gather secrets that allowed her to 'negotiate' with Blood, Sweat, and Beers vendors into more reasonable pricing.

Considering the nature of some of those secrets, it was easier than Vee was even expecting. She didn't begrudge them for trying to take advantage of the market; but she was not the market. And she refused to be treated as such. Business completed, she was taking a lovely stroll back to Rocheilles when a familiar voice caught her attention.

"Snack cucumbers, Vanathi? Dare I ask what makes them a 'snack' and not a 'meal' vegetable?"

[kanaloasteele]

Hiding in Plain Sight

Asvari had no need for weapons. He'd never liked them, he'd never supported their use, and he'd always found that carrying one made him even more of a target. Instead he counted solely on his illusions - sometimes the illusion of carrying a big weapon was a good way to avoid conflict.

However, his run to a shop that sold these particular items was merely because he'd found Destarin to be far more dangerous, violent, and unpredictable than he'd accounted for. Especially for a witch living on the streets - and the occasional night in someone's company - who was thieving his way to a better life, such could be dangerous.

The smile that appeared on his face when the weapons smith took his shirt off was more one of longing and appreciation than that of a costumer looking to buy a small dagger. He pushed the illusion around him, since he was already looking less like a beggar, he further extended his lashes, gave a bit of glow to his cheeks, and smoothed his voice. "Good afternoon," he said. "I'm interested in commissioning you for a dagger," he added. He was also interested in other things, but he tried to keep his head on.

@witchofillusion

There was something soothing about the repetitive nature of striking hammer against hot metal, the flare of sparks shooting out and landing on his sweat slicked skin.  Sure he was only making sword blanks which didn't require much thought, but it was part of what he loved about his job.

Pulling away and shoving the partially forged blank back into the fire, Kanaloa stepped away for a swallow of water before turning to the customer that approached.  “Howdy.  I've got a number of daggers already made if you have an idea of the size and shape of blade you're looking for.”

[fire-starterdylan]

@grayxstratford​

This was certainly interesting. Gray had heard the raucous early that morning and had been awoken by guards dragging masters down the hallways in the suites. One of them had asked her name and then after checking their list they had apologized for the inconvenience and left her to go back to sleep. So back to sleep she went, it obviously didn’t affect her- but in the morning she did find it sort of affected her? Indirectly at least. When she walked out of the building and found a large number of people- not just slaves she realized, but slaves, and masters all tied to the ground where they were naked and being tortured. She lit a cigarette slowly as she looked around, this was definitely interesting. What could she have done to spare her this? She didn’t know, but she’d have to keep it up in the future if this was a regular thing. She tried walking around the group but got a little too close in her curiosity and managed to trip over someone’s tied down leg. “Oh for god’s sake,” she muttered as she sat up and inspected her knee.

Dylan was sunburnt and exhausted, and he hoped it wasn’t his imagination that the quad was starting to get a little cooler.  Hopefully the day was starting to be done, because Dylan didn’t know how much longer he could really hold out.  His legs were barely keeping him up, it was mostly just the chains holding his arms up really doing the heavy lifting, legs bent and nearly kneeling.  An eye felt a little swollen, but it was hard to tell under the blindfold, and his stomach felt that ache of hunger, from being stuck for two days in this situation.  He jolted almost violently when he felt something over one of his legs and he whipped his head around, trying to figure out where that came from.  “I’m sorry, I’ll stand!”  And he stood at attention on aching feet, hands clenching into fists above his head.

[dark-sirenparis]

@scarlettxmcknight

It had been a long time since she spent time at the beach, and today she was itching to be outside and active. Scarlett had been learning to surf for years now, since the first week she got here. It was a new sport to be conquered and she had gotten fairly good at it thanks to her stubbornness.

She had just finished a good run and decided to go back to shore for a break. She walked farther up the beach and was about to stick her board in the sand when she heard a voice near her. Scarlett stopped when she realized she recognized the voice and turned her head to look. "...Paris?" she asked in surprise, her mind racing with memories.

Paris expected people to know who he was, after all he had been here for quite some time. He was a professor, an entrepreneur, and had been married to the one time most beautiful woman on the island - that was bound to get people talking. The siren opened an eye when he heard the voice, before sitting up a bit in his lounge chair and smirking. A board was blocking his sun, no wonder, but he was less concerned with that and the focus was on the girl instead. "Charlotte!" he greeted, pearly white teeth glistening in the sun. She couldn't see behind his sun glasses, but the way his head tilted down and up was enough of an indicator where his eyes were going. "Still here, are we?"

[feelings-fortilly]

@brightwood-duchess

Katell was deep in her own thoughts, pacing back and forth as she worried over her friends and what was happening on the island. By the Realms, she hoped they were alright. This anxiety was maddening. The tears she’d wept had dried now on her cheeks. Occasionally one would slip down again when her mind crept to close to terrifying thoughts but she tried to keep herself reigned in.

Someone knocked into her shoulder as she completed another round in her circle and demanded she find somewhere else to pace before she drove them crazy. She offered them a steely look of fury before doing as they told. As she walked through the clinic to find a new spot to pace, a hand reached out to take hers.

Katell looked over the stranger. This girl looked shaken as well, and beat up. Dried blood covered her hands and decorated the tank top she wore. She looked as lost as Katell felt. 

“Yes, I’ll... I’ll get you some,” she offered and marched off to do just that. When she returned she passed the bottle of water to this stranger and gracefully took a seat beside her. Not too close but close enough. “Might I get you a towel? To... to clean your hands with?” She made the offer gently. 

Tilly opened her mouth to stop her, that she could have just gotten it herself - she wasn't quite sure how much she felt like talking to people. But she wasn't going to turn down someone's gesture of good will. She accepted it graciously when the girl came back and even scooted over a bit, to make room for her in case she wanted to sit. "No thanks," she told her, opening the water and taking a long sip of it, letting it sit between her thighs when she was finished. "No, I'll keep it on there for a little while, actually," she said, an air of spite and irritation. "A nice way to remember my night." Tilly rolled her eyes at that. But the truth was she just couldn't bring herself to stand. She just wanted to sit here, curl up on the hospital bed and pass out until this was all over. She was trying really hard not to think about her charred clothes buried under the dorm building. "Blood's dried up right now anyway, so I don't think a towel's going to do much anyway."

[slavexisabel]

@cassiehayesx​:

Cassie was never exactly a quiet person. She didn’t have a lot of interest in blending in or avoiding notice. She was herself, always, unflinchingly–but even that didn’t usually involve as much noise and flash as today.

April 1st was, after all, her birthday, and as far as she was concerned, her birthday was all about her.

Which was why she was roller-skating around the campus wearing a Hawaiian shirt patterned with her own face and the words ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY” and carrying a basket full of sweets and party favors that was nearly as big as she was. (Thanks, super strength!) A series of cheerful honks announced her presence wherever she went, as she gleefully blew on the party horn balanced between her lips, moving this way and that with the air of someone who had nowhere in particular to go.

“Hello!” she crowed as she approached someone, letting the party horn fall unceremoniously, though she’d tied it to a string round her neck for precisely this purpose. Grinning wildly, she launched into the same speech she’d given the last few people she’d run into: “It’s my mother fucking birthday, let’s fucking goooooo! You want some free shit? I promise they’re not pranks, even though I was born on April Fools Day!” Okay. Maybe some of the candy was secretly gross flavors, and maybe a few of the little tubes that claimed to hold a surprise prize inside were in fact spring-loaded glitter tubes, but look–that was her right, as the birthday girl. And anyway, she could tell which ones were good, and had every intention of replacing things for anyone who got a trick. Just, you know. After.

.

“But it’s ... that’s.”  Despite having been on the island for over a year now, it was still difficult for Isabel to reconcile how Americans typically celebrated holidays and how she’d celebrated them as a child.  It wasn’t Tết, and ngày cá tháng tư rarely resulted in pranks.  Last April, she’d been introduced to the silly small ones people would play, but it was a distant memory.  Thankfully the loudly dressed loud Mistress reminded her of the differences between their cultures, else she would have stuck her hand in the basket at the offer.

“Happy birthday, Miss,” she finally remembered to say; individual birthdays weren’t a big deal back home, not like on the island.  The giving out free things was new to her, however.  The shifter could not recall such a thing occurring before.  “Is there a reason you’re giving things out and not getting presents?”  She made no motion towards the large basket, but did make a mental note that clearly this stranger was a fellow supernatural.  If the Mistress insisted, she would happily take some candy.  But given what she knew about individual birthdays here, she was confused more than intrigued.