eachdraidh | Video - Seelie/Unseelie

[The image that comes onto the lockets is an almost peaceful one. The blue sky and white fluffy clouds that bob a little from the POV of the locket. A little movement shows that that's because the transmission is clearly coming from a boat. The locket, with a little more jostling, is shown to be resting in fabric on what appears to be the deck of the boat. One might be curious as to why a transmission was coming suddenly from seemingly nowhere on a boat, but the answer shows itself soon enough in the form of one suckered tentacle flipping the locket around. If it was ever possible for an octopus to look both pissed off and surprised out of its mind, this one was doing a very good job. One of its many arms clutched at a small feather, the other limbs flopping around and smacking at the deck as the thing clearly tried to actually go somewhere. It couldn't walk to save its life and wound up rolling out of the pile of clothes, taking the locket with it.

Heavy stomps could be heard as boots came closer across the deck to the cephalopod, a shadow coming between the sun and the locket as a large man loomed over it. "Well then. What's this? How's you get aboard, ye slippery little thing. Back to the sea with you."

A hand bent down to try to pick up the octopus and there was a flurry of lashing arms as it latched onto the man and refused to let go. Curses were spat and the man called out for a fellow sailor, but before the other man could come closer with the knife it held to free his shipmate, a third voice joined. One others might find a bit familiar. A naked seventeen year old was clutching the man's arm and looking up at him with fear and horror. It took Stiles about five second to remember about the locket and he dropped to the deck, scrambling for both his clothes and to turn the locket off.]

~*~

[It was about twenty minutes later when a red-faced Stiles showed himself on the network.]

Um, about that...

Sorry? I... have no idea what happened. One minute I was standing looking over the rails and the next... um... aha. Let's just pretend that didn't happen, okay? Okay. But, if anyone can tell me what just happened, that would be really, really helpful. Especially in making sure it doesn't happen again.

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How'd you manage that?

[He's going to see the video later and... okay, not laugh his ass off because he's too busy being bummed, but be amused anyway.]

I'm assuming that it's because I let go of the feather. That's what Rachel suggested, anyway. Says she got turned into a groundhog or something. Lucky me, I was sans fur.

[You better not laugh, you jerk. Or make fun of his pale freckled butt.]

[He will save it for a rainy day when his brothers show up and he's happy again, and then he will laugh. He'll laugh a lot.]

Feather? Let me see it.

[He hates you.]

Why? So you can turn into a... frog?

[Yeah, okay, lame comeback. Shut up, Jon. But he opened his pouch of many things and dug around in it, arm lost almost up to the shoulder before he pulled out the small feather.]

There.

[He held it by the very edge of it, shirt between his fingers and the quill. Just in case.]

[Jon doesn't reach out to touch it, though he does cast a suspicious look at it, because he's in no mood to be a frog or anything else. A direwolf, maybe, but just Ghost. Only Ghost. He's too far away even to have wolf-dreams now.]

I've found one as well, but it didn't turn me into any such thing as an octopus.

Consider yourself lucky.

What did it turn you into?

I didn't, it only started to snow, when I touched it.

Even below deck.

... You're kidding me. Is this a joke? This is a joke, right?

[Jon just gives him a look. Does he look in the mood to joke?

Not that he ever looks in the mood to joke, what with the perma-pout...]

It's not. Why would it be?

Oh, gee, I don't know, Jon Snow. Why would I think it's a joke, Jon Snow?

[Bland look.]

[Jon gives him another look. Clearly, they're just trying to out-look one another.]

It's a bastard's name. Every bastard in the North has got it, likely on account of it snows a lot. [It'd be like asking some bastard from the Riverlands if he was joking about all the rivers because of his name.]

[Not unless a river decided to follow him around wherever he went like a trained dog.]

Does every bastard have his own little snow storm?

Most bastards live in the real world, not this queer fairy place.

[What do you mean, giants and ice zombies and direwolves aren't more normal than any of this?]

Since this place doesn't seem to give a crap about what side of the blanket you were born on...

And you seem to collect direwolves like redheads get freckles in the sun...

The pup is Lady Meera's, not mine. I've told you.

[No comment on redheads and freckles and the redhead whose freckles he's counted, or anything.]

Edited (whoops) 2014-09-15 09:04 (UTC)

Uh huh. And who's it with right now? You. And you've got that other one. And if there's this one here and that one, I'll bet you money that your puppy eyes will draw them in like... like puppy eyes.

I haven't got puppy eyes.

Suuuuuuuuuuuure you don't.

[Hear that? That's something we call 'sarcasm'.]

[Stiles no he is very fierce and intimidating and manly!!]

Good. Then we're agreed.

[Sarcasm vs obtuse on purpose, who wins?]

Jon, one day I'm going to introduce you to something called a 'mirror'.

[Jokes on u Stiles they don't have mirrors they have "Myrish looking glass," and it's all cloudy/mostly sucks.]

I know what I look like. And anyhow, direwolves are too clever by half, no soppy look would do any of them in.

Not well enough. And that's crap. Ghost would bite his own foot off if you gave him puppy eyes and asked him to. Just like I do many, many stupid things because of them, both from you and Scott.

Oh, that bloody wolf does as he wants regardless of what I ask, most days. Like now, for instance.

... Who's Scott?

Uh huh.

[Sure. You just tell yourself that, Jon. Stiles knows differently.]

Scott? I've mentioned him before, haven't I?

[Maybe not to Jon. It still kind of stung to think of being here without his best friend.]

He's my buddy. My homeboy. My brother from another mother. Only, you know, not literally.

[Stiles. Stiles. What are these words?]

So he's... not a bastard? [You literally cannot call someone your brother from another mother and not expect Jon to draw that conclusion, Stiles.]

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