creator_raven (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
creator_raven) wrote2006-06-13 12:32 am
creator_raven) wrote2006-06-13 12:32 am
[OOM: In the rafters]
The rafters are cool and dark and quiet--well, quieter than the bar beneath, at least.
For the moment, it will serve well enough.
It is the dark and the quiet that have Raven perched on one of the beams, beak tucked beneath his wing.
He might be sleeping.
For the moment, it will serve well enough.
It is the dark and the quiet that have Raven perched on one of the beams, beak tucked beneath his wing.
He might be sleeping.
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She's barely left the rafters in the last week or two - they're the best place to keep an eye on things without letting certain parties notice (http://veryvorkosigan.livejournal.com/4439.html?thread=54103#t54103) that she's watching.
Attempting to be stealthy does not do wonders for Peach's temper.
Right now she's hopping from beam to beam, craning her neck down to get a better view, occasionally muttering curses. She's so intent on the floor, in fact, that in the shadows she doesn't notice the other bird she's about to bump into.
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"I had not thought you wanted me dead, perhaps. It is a useful thing to know."
There is something of humor in his tone, and in the bright black eye he turns to her.
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"If I wanted you dead," she says, "I'd be plucking your feathers already, bird."
All the same, humor is one of the better ways to calm Peach down, and the anger in her voice fades to her usual good-natured crankiness even as she's speaking.
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"It would certainly be an interesting effort, perhaps."
He doesn't sound particularly fussed.
"Though I do not much like resembling a chicken, yes?"
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"I suppose it wouldn't be a good look for you," she relents, grudgingly.
She's still making an unenthusiastic attempt to keep one eye on the floor.
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"You are, perhaps, kind to say so."
Then he tilts his head again, peering intently at the bar below.
Old Ones tend to stand out.
"Possibly it is time for a conference, yes?"
He flutters his wings, settling more comfortably on the beam.
"Also the Old are worthy of torment, yes?"
Raven caws once. Very loudly.
Hopefully Merriman thinks to look up.
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Peach and Raven together do seem to make a conference in and of themselves, and they're both looking down at him from their respective perches.
'You cawed?' he dead-pans, setting his teacup down on a nearby table.
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Puns aren't gonna help Peach's temper either.
She leans down quickly toward him. "Get up here already if you wanna chat," she hisses in what's probably supposed to be a whisper.
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It's the work of a moment before he is also perched on a nearby rafter, awkwardly trying to keep his balance, gripping the wood in an attempt to keep from pitching over backwards or slipping forwards. It takes a few seconds for him to find a position that feels secure, but he makes the best of it.
'Well?' he says quietly, all traces of humour gone from his voice.
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Raven's feathers look a little ruffled.
Literally.
"Also she is very good at following me."
There are reasons for that.
This does not mean Raven is less pissed.
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"I've been watching her from up here for the last week or two," she explains. "She's not doing much. Walking in the woods, talking with that Narnian kid, annoying people."
She claws at the rafter in frustration. "All the same," she says, "it's not gonna go on like this. Storm's coming."
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'She is building strength before Midsummer,' Merriman mutters. 'I somehow doubt she will wait that long.'
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"I am not so good with patience, either, I do not think."
She shrugs.
"Also she is fond of stockpiling, is she not? That is even more troublesome."
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Peach is bent over, gnawing introspectively at the wood she perches on - not watching anyone on the floor, just staring downward into the middle distance.
"We're gonna need a tank," she says after a minute, and looks up toward Merriman. "Protection. You'll have to get ready; there's no time." Beat. "Don't be afraid to ask for what you paid for."
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'Very well,' he says at last. 'There are possibilities. And not necessarily unorthodox ones, either.'
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"Sometimes it is better not to be predictable."
She cracks a slight smile, showing a hint of teeth.
"Or deliberate."
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"My hands, I think, are entirely empty."
She holds them up, palms out, fingers spread.
Call it a gesture of intent.
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'Have you any other thoughts on this matter?' he says to Peach, quietly. 'If not, then there is work I ought to be doing elsewhere, in preparation.'
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"I have thoughts, perhaps, but they are not helpful ones."
Her shoulders twitch.
"And we have spoken of them before. So. I think I will go flying."
And she drops neatly to the ground, striding toward the lakeside door.
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'I will remember,' he says, with a grave nod. 'And thank you, for the reminder.'
And then he is also gone.