Dreaming in Detroit (a changeling RP)

"Sorrel, Switch is an Ellylon. Or at least part Ellylon." Aish tells the other cat.

"They likely weren't what they said they are," they say as they stare off in the direction Logan ran, "but they were interesting, and seemed to want to help."

 

"And we'll need all the help we can get," Emer says, then sighs. "Dawn encroaches, though. I've - I can't be out for the dawn, and I'm beat. Can we agree to meet again? Think through our options that are not geasa and then come up with a plan after?"

 

"I'm good with that," Duck says. "Just give me a place and I can meet you there, long as it's somewhere in the city. I should be going home, soon, though."

[[wait, is Goose still holding Dogs leash]]

 

Aish stands up. "Well, sounds like the best place to meet will be the tunnels. I'll find you all there tonight."

They shift forms, then as a silver tabby they jump off the car's roof to land a few feet out of the Dog's reach. They flick their tail at the Dog just so, and wander off into the shadows, where they open the Shadow Roads to head home.

 

Ophidian listens, camouflaged in the shadows. It must be a dull tool, not suited for cooperation. Deception and manipulation will, regrettably, be its remaining recourse. This identity will see use once more, to place the geas. Then, a new persona will be in order. Mimicry is easier with a person, rather than a cadaver. Should all go according to plan, the others shall find the amenable drug dealer they seek. Perhaps it might be able to get along with the others, if it is not itself? This intruding thought stirs unrest in Ophidian once again. A tool doesn't feel loneliness, no-no-no. Ophidian needs none.

In any case, first, Ophidian must go rest. After dawn, it shall prepare.

Ophidian slinks away into the shadows.

 

Sorrel nods. "Tonight." They're left with a sense of apprehension at what they're about to do, but--anything has to be better than just letting this happen.

 

Switch offers a wide smile, taking hold of The Dog's Lead with a preternatural swiftness as one of The Cats makes their exit.

If The Dog wishes to chase, well, Switch will be there. "The Bacon will be ready soon. We must wait before we part," they remind The Dog. "We will see you all tonight?"

 

"Sounds good to me." He sighs. "Take care of yourselves," he says, a little redundantly.

If someone were paying careful attention, they would see the eye in the hollow of his throat open as he portals away.

 

The Dog grins lazily, waving to Goose with the cadence of a wagging tail.

Then he tries to leap after Aish.

 

Aish purrs in amusement from just inside the Shadow Roads, then wanders off to hunt for their dinner.

 

Switch gives a shout, hauling on The Lead. "If you pull Us in you will get no bacon! The pancakes will be cold and the Service we paid for will be wasted!"

 

Switch and the Dog collect their bacon and pancake feast, then begin making their way back down to the tunnels underneath the city.

Dawn will be coming, soon, and while they don't mind daylight, they have found they receive far more questions about The Dog being on The Lead when he is wearing The Skin.

 

Emer is inside when the dawn hits, and so her house fills with the smell of dead magic, but at least her neighbors don't get a show. She leans against the wall, trying to breath as the world ends, the way it does every day.

Six hours of sleep and a long hot shower later, she's ready to call in; taking a sick day the way she never needs to for normal illness. Being a changeling does have perks, even if sometimes they feel few and far between. She's privileged, as changelings go, largely because Tylwyth Teg tend to be fascinated by the advances mortals make in their favorite realms of expertise. She didn't grow up deep enough in the Summerlands to feel how much they hated her, and she'd known what she was getting into when she moved to the mortal world full time, down to knowing how to get into a university. It seems almost a hindrance, now, because she looks at her closet and there's nothing there that's suitable for misadventure. What she really wants is armor, or leather, and weapons. What she has is either businesswear or jeans and t-shirts and sports hoodies. She puts on dark jeans and a Red Wings hoodie, then pulls out her much-annotated map of what she knows of the magical community in Detroit. She's a bit inclined to try to track down the very strange ones before dark.

 

Aish stood in their own strange bit of Detroit's magical community- the Court of Cats. They'd told their sister about the meeting in rather broad terms- mostly, that it happened. Ari had been less than amused, but was too tired from her work in the iron-laden mortal city to pursue the matter. Besides, her current job would take a few days more at least, so neither sibling felt the need for Aish to tell the full story. That Aish didn't want their sister anywhere near goblin fruit was hardly a factor, truly.

When dusk fell, they were ready to leave for the tunnels. They took a moment to breathe and call the shadows to open a Road, then they were gone, leaving only the smell of juniper berries and soot.

 

"I'm going to the tunnels," Goose tells his boyfriend. Well, one of his boyfriends, anyway. "Tonight."

He sighs. "Be safe, okay?"

"'Course," he says.

The eyes along his arms flare open as he teleports.

 

Ruben Goodfellow, a dealer of fruit within the tunnels. Any resistance toward the geasa crumbled at the sight of Ophidian's naked form. He would not speak of this, for fear of the painful death such an action would entail. At the same time, he may not lie about it, for fear of a painless death. Ophidian yawns deeply, the combined effects of reduced sleep and being awake during daylight weighing down on its energy. It keeps itself awake throughout the day through practicing and rehearsing the dealer's mannerisms. Ophidian's previous identity was no longer suitable in any case. Even with its misguided attempts at cooperation, the death of the actual Logan Thrush has been reported by local media sooner than expected.

Ophidian continues to ruminate as it awaits nightfall...and its second chance at achieving cooperation.

 

Sorrel considered leaving. It wouldn’t be the first time, it wouldn’t be the last. They could pack their things and be gone before anyone missed them.

But. People were dying. And they were going to keep dying, no matter how hard Sorrel shoved it to the back of their mind. They’d seen some of that death firsthand; they couldn’t leave this behind so easily. When they awoke at dusk, they took to the Roads.

 

Dog was sprawled contentedly in the Shallowing, long fingers buried in the dirt as he transplanted seedlings to larger homes. The racks of tomatoes and strawberries might remind the unwary suspiciously of goblin fruit, especially with what Switch had said earlier.

Fairy lights danced contentedly overhead, lighting the garden enough to encourage growth, their dim glow supplemented by carefully inked runes for growth and prosperity, and ... possibly other, unseen things, from the strange scents in the air.

His foot twitched lazily, imitating a wag, as he looked around at the arriving changelings.

 

Switch is... buried, for lack of a better word, in their workshop. Their coat is long forgotten and their many limbs are freed to move in quick, practiced motions, articulated wrists turning round as they reach for something on one shelf or another. The Dog is left to tend to company until they are needed, because there is work to be done and pieces to patch, and the rotator cuff on Precision Limb Alternate Three has been sticky and they should get that fixed, get more pieces of work repaired and cobbled and returned for their due boons and payment.

The workshop looks like it's looming out of a bit of a junk-heap, honestly, and the Ellyon's hybridization is a little more clear when one can see the mix of cobbled pieces and chitin that make up its body.

 

Aish found the perfect exit from the Shadow Roads that took them to the first two of their new distractions- and dumped them out right behind the one that was most likely to drool on them. Fuck.

They jumped back into the Shadow Roads, leaving behind the scent of juniper berries and soot.