[Semi-Open] Eating Crow

[maltesefalcon]

Who: Cerrit Agrupnin and People that Should Know
What: Little Talks about a Big Deal
When: Backdated late August up until Dahlia's Gala
Where: Wherever Talks Happen
Warning(s): None yet


Cerrit's secret has been eating at him, and now it's time to let it out. If you work closely with him as an Enforcer or a member of the militia, or if you're good friends with Cerrit and you don't know about his deal with Aster yet, sometime in late August (post-Blight) or early September he's going to invite you for a private conversation.

The means may vary, the context may vary, but he has some things he needs to say.

Comments

[maltesefalcon]

"Ah, did I just steal your kill? I can share some of the meat; I wasn't going to eat it all out here anyway." It talks! In a smooth Travis Willingham voice! While tucking its wings back politely, and making itself look less like an overt threat!

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar emerges from the undergrowth, hands out and open in plain view, in his own attempt to look less like a threat.

"No, it's fine," he says, voice remarkably steady under the circumstances, "wasn't actually planning to kill it, just practicing getting close enough to."

[maltesefalcon]

"Relax, kid. I'm an Enforcer in town, you're not in any danger from me." The use of the word 'kid' here not to indicate that he sees Edgar as a baby goat, but instead that he's being casual and treating him like a person. To be honest, they're likely pretty similar in chronological age.

[hate_gettin_older]

The word Enforcer does not appear to have a relaxing effect; the opposite, if anything. His hands come down, but there's a faint stiffness about them, as though his body if not his brain is half expecting a fight.

"Well," he says, "like I said, wasn't mine."

[maltesefalcon]

Cerrit notices the increase in tension, head tilting to one side. That doesn't seem to bode well.

"Do you want any of the excess meat?"

[hate_gettin_older]

... well, now he's just confused. But possibly in a good way?

"I mean," cautiously, "if you're offering?"

[maltesefalcon]

"Yes? There's plenty here. I can spare a leg." Of course, he's going to remove said leg with beak and talons. It's not a dainty process.

[hate_gettin_older]

Another pause.

(There is a recalculation of categories going on in Edgar's head, not quite consciously.)

"Yeah, all right then. Thanks." His body language is still a little stiff, but it's mostly residual. "Can I help take it apart? Been learning how to do that."

[maltesefalcon]

"Got a knife on you? Sure, c'mon over."

Cerrit tucks his wings back, sidles over to allow Edgar access to the carcass.

"Just don't mangle the heart, that's my favorite part."

[hate_gettin_older]

He approaches the carcass, shifting to the side opposite the -- man? bird? bird-man? -- and crouching to examine it. Yes, he's got a knife, but he hasn't taken it out yet.

"Right, open it up first or skin it first?"

[maltesefalcon]

"Do you have a good use for the skin? If you want to preserve it, take it off first and set it aside. You could also break the antlers off, see if the blacksmiths want them for knife handles or the like."

Cerrit's mannerisms are giving bird, but his anatomy is all man. It's a delightful contradiction.

[hate_gettin_older]

"Yeah, don't want to waste anything." He draws the knife, leans in, starts to make the first cut. "I dunno what to do with the hide but John will. Same with the antlers, I'd bet."

[maltesefalcon]

Cerrit nods. "He does seem the sort. I accidentally frightened him the first time we met, landing on a roof near him. But. I like the guy well enough."

[hate_gettin_older]

"He's a good one," says Edgar, very matter-of-factly, as he cuts carefully along the hide. "Think you could hold up the hind legs for me?"

(The narration begs to be excused further details on the process of skinning the deer. While Edgar knows what he's doing, his player does not.)

[maltesefalcon]

The work happens, Cerrit offering Edgar what aid he needs. He is careful, so very careful, to not let his talons puncture the hide, and they never touch Edgar at all. He has the precision of a surgeon. Once the carcass is skinned, he moves to aid in butchery, using his talons more--but with the same care shown.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar finds himself admiring the efficiency of the talons. "Handy, those," he comments as Cerrit carves a leg free.

[maltesefalcon]

Cerrit decides to risk his dignity for the sake of humor, just to see Edgar's reaction.

"Until you need to wipe your ass."

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar's reaction is all that could be hoped for; he snorts with startled laughter, enough to nearly fumble the knife. (Only nearly, though; he's careful.)

"Not gonna ask how that works."

[maltesefalcon]

"Differently than humans." There's a wry laugh of his own. "Most of the time, I work hard to be civilized and as close to 'standard' humanoids as possible. You've caught me out when I'm following my instincts, instead."

[hate_gettin_older]

"Ah, 'civilized.' 'S overrated, if you ask me."

(He's not joking, really. Too many times hearing the term civilized reserved for people who weren't him or anyone he knew.)

[maltesefalcon]

"Even when the alternative is not being taken seriously?"

The question is somehow not sharp, not pointed at all. There's an honest curiosity toward Edgar's viewpoint, and something vaguely sullen and defensive in the aftertaste. Eisfuura were rare in cities, and even rarer in Avalir, and his brethren living in mountain tribes...perhaps they were happier for their freedoms from things like parties and dress uniforms. Perhaps not.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar shrugs, and there's maybe a touch of similar defensive sullenness under the flippancy of his answer. "Never figured they'd take us seriously anyway. Don't know about you."

[maltesefalcon]

"For me...they did. For years, so long as I dressed right, talked right, acted right. If I'd failed to live up to expectations, if I hadn't pulled off the act..." He's only ever really talked about this to Watson, before. He doesn't know why he's opening up now. Except, he does, just a little.

"This would never have been acceptable, back there. Any of this."

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar looks up at him from the messy butchering work, his face thoughtful.

"What's 'back there' then, for you?"

[maltesefalcon]

"The city of Avalir. It floated above the surface of the world, powered by magic. It was a center of enlightenment and culture. But my people were originally mountain-dwellers, in small communities of hunters, not...not the people who made Avalir possible."