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The Philadelphia Marriott is ... in a bit of chaos right now, as one might expect when Doorways open En Masse. Thankfully, there are multiple groups from the Freehold here, and when people arrive, they're being assigned a group of rooms to go through. Somehow, Doll seems to have gotten her hands on the key-making machine, and she's got a stack of keys in her porcelain hands, standing near one of the side doors, waiting patiently for the next set of helpers to arrive.
Lif's set her hat aside for this particular rodeo--too memorable. She'd rather just be some lady with a ponytail than that chick with the hat. "Doll." Her leaky eyes are focused, a determined expression on her face.
Having a phone was real useful for being able to be contacted and pulled in quickly, and when Bailey had heard about hobs running amuck, they'd come quickly. Subtle? Not Bailey. They look as they always do, not really blending in too well among mortals in their patched, faded dirty leathers--full on with boots and cowboy hat. The gun is obscured under the coat, which is buttoned closed.
They tip their hat to Doll. "Afternoon."
"Good afternoon, Lif Loracks and Bailey Straw." Doll pauses for a moment, and then mouths the names again, her sculpted brow somehow managing to wrinkle up as she mouths 'Loracks' and 'Bailey Straw' to herself. Blinking her bright blue eyes rapidly, she snaps her attention back to the pair, and then hands them a stack of five room keys. "You have 310-315. The elevators have been closed down. Come back down when you're done with these and if there is more to do I will give you another batch. Thank you for coming to help us take care of this. Please be careful with any bargains you make, as they are your own responsibility. The Freehold cannot be responsible."
As they accept the keys, Lif nods, and then looks at Bailey. "Been a while. I know last time we spoke, I sort of set you off, but I want you to know you're probably the person I'd most want to go into this with. Alright?" As they speak, it's definitely sincere, and a little heartwarming. (Take Inspired, foof!)
"Got it," Bailey replies, eyeing the key cards--letting Lif take them. "We'll handle this, don'ya worry." They look to Lif and eye her, lips pursing tightly for a second, before their brows climb in surprise at the comment. "...Aight." They stand a bit straighter, then move past Doll towards the stairs. "Let's get to it, then."
"The keys will open the stairwells!" Doll calls after them. She stays right where she was put.
The Hotel is ... eerily silent, for the most part, as hotels often are, though there are ... strange, and most definitely inhuman sounds coming from indistinct distances. The stairs lead up to the left, and the first floor hallway stretches away to their right. The stairs themselves contain more of the same weirdly-echoing, muted noises, and unintelligible voices saying unintelligible words.
Lif picks a key at random to open the stairwells with. They're quiet and attentive, listening to the echoes to try and get a sense of the tone, even if the words are impossible to catch at this distance.
"Ain't this some spooky shit," Bailey mutters, not really seeming that put off by the indistinct sounds. Just keeping an eye out for movement as they head up the stairs.
The voices sound -- cajoling, a little frustrated. Probably the sounds of their fellow Freeholders trying to deal with whatever's behind the upstairs doors. Probably, right?
There's a distant, inhuman shriek. Who knows where that came from? It's the sort of sound that would be very normal in the Hedge, but in an airport Marriott? It's ... you know. Weird.
Bailey squints at the shriek, looking up the stairwell. They trot up it a little faster. (Anyway for an Animal Ken roll or something to identify the kind of creature that might make a call like that?)
Lif nods at Bailey, continuing up the stairs at a bit faster speed after hearing that shriek. "I'd love to avoid a fight if possible, but...but. If worst comes to worst, I've got a hatchet on me."
"Some sorta bird," they mutter thoughtfully as they head up the stairs. They look up over the railing, to the top of the stairs, trying to see if a bird might have tried flying to the top of the stairwell.
"Hopefully it's closer to a sparrow than an emu. Australia once lost a war against those." Lif also looks to see if she can get line of sight on it.
No sight of a bird just yet, but the sound was somewhat distant. Perhaps on the floor they're heading to? Indeed, some of the sounds seem to get louder as they head up the stairs.
Then heading to that floor.
Lif takes a look out the window rather than exiting the stairwell immediately, taking a slow deep breath. There's a soft zapping sound in her mantle and a few phantom sparks as she braces herself.
The hallway is -- let's call it crowded -- as if looking into the butterfly room in a science center, perhaps, save that the creatures are all tiny little griffins of one form or another. Something that looks a bit like a robin, a hummingbird, the insistent screech of a jay...
"Oh, shit. Gryfflings. They're going to be a fuck to handle all at once. Okay, what's the plan?" They glance over their shoulder at Bailey. "If we had a net or something to try to snare them..."
Bailey seemed ready to just go through the door--but pauses when Lif blocks it to look through the window. They shrug in reply. "Wrangle them up," they reply, before opening the door to slip through and step into the hallway. They put their fingers to their lips to let out a loud whistle. "'Ey!" to get their attention.
The door is opened, and the gryfflings don't really pay much attention to Bailey at the first. Then they whistle, and a startled jay gryffin tumbles out of the sky, landing on its side. The hummingbirds cluster together in little groups, hovering about shoulder-height, and a wren-colored thing huddles in a doorway. The robins peer at Bailey, chattering from where they land.
"Hey, Lif," Bailey says as they dig a hand into their bag, pulling out a simple glamour filled goblin fruit. "Ya any good at singin'?"
Lif nods slightly. "I am, yeah. Think that'll help attract them?"
"Might help calm 'em down," Bailey says as they peel the skin off of the fruit and offer it to the hovering hummingbirds.
"Sometimes I wish I was a nightingale; I'd make my lullabye a fairy tale..." Their voice is light and sweet, and they hold their arms open, almost as if in invitation as they begin to sing. ( https://open.spotify.com/track/5WI6jnIHZxdsZpTzwjohkp?si=yiYhXgfJS-WxtleerQ0E4w )
Ooooh, now that is a tasty treat! The hummingbirds spot that peeled fruit and start fluttering in, their little wings allowing them to hover by the skinned goblin fruit and chirrup as they dip their beaks into the juice blossoming on surface of the fruit where the skin was peeled away.
Lif starts to sing, and while there isn't a full-blown Disney Princess moment yet, but the robins start to hop
hop
hop
their way toward the watery Summer, chirping curiously.
"There ya go," Bailey replies, smiling. "We need to get ya'll back to your home. Ya'll wanna be back in the thorns an' trees, yeah? Ain't nothin' to eat here, and no where good to perch an' roost. We ain't gonna hurt none of ya. Just wanna get ya back home."
Lif doesn't stop singing, rolling from one song into another--Bailey can do the talking, she's just going to be sweet and hold out her hands in case any of the babies want to perch on her.
The sounds the hummingbird gryfflings make is a little bit like a cross between the vibration of their wings, the sweet, warbling tweet of a proper hummingbird, and the purr of a cat. One of them lands ever-so-delicately on Bailey's hand, one of its tiny claws hooking on to one of their stitches in order to balance itself while it slurps up goblin fruit juice.
Watching the robin and jay gryfflings hop hop hop closer is certainly a hopeful thing -- the wren-colored one stays where it is.
"I think I can get that wren-like one to sit still. Don't know if I'd spook these if I did so, though." That between songs, as she begins singing again. After all, a bird in the hand is worth two in the hotel.
Bailey keeps their hand holding the fruit perfectly still, letting the little critters perch to feed. Their other hand slowly dips into their bag to pull out another fruit to offer towards Lif. Then they look around, trying to tell if there's any hedge gates around that are open, or if they've all closed already.
They accept the fruit, and begin to peel it to offer the bebes near her.
The Hedge gates are long closed, so at least there are no more problems than ... well, whatever is behind whichever doors, if the trouble hasn't all come to the hallway already. But there's nothing conveniently open to shuffle them through.
The jay and robins hop HOP hop HOP toward the fruit, picking up speed, but the wren stays in the doorway where it is. Huddled, even, perhaps.
"Little ones," Bailey coos gently, "Can you show me which door you came through, into here?" Bailey looks towards the huddled wren, then the doorway it's huddled in. "Is that where you came from?"
"Bailey, I think it might be hurt. Here, if you feed these, I'll try to get that one?" They offer the fruit back to the strawfella.
"Ah? Aight," Bailey replies, taking the other fruit back. With their other hand busy, they use their teeth to bite through and peel the skin back, trying to coax the other birbs over to it.
The tiny wren in the doorway shivers a little as Lif approaches, and chirrups in a high, clear tone. More and more little birds come to land on Bailey's arms and shoulders, taking up perches on the strawhuman, making them look like, well.
You know like what.
Lif crouches down to examine the poor thing, holding out one hand carefully. "Don't you fret, sweetheart. We're going to get you home. Alright? Feed you a little food and get you home, where you can heal up right."
Bailey doesn't seem to mind this particularly much. This... is pretty natural, really. They whistle softly here and there, cheerful little notes--nothing that sounds like a real singer, but perhaps good enough for a birb.
It looks like the little birb has an injured wing, like it possibly smashed its wing against something and the fine bones are either dislocated or broken. Lif's hand held out gives the wrenling the ability to carefully shuffle onto their palm.
Lif holds on gently and carefully, cooing soft reassurances at the bird as they cradle it. "Poor snookum."
Bailey frowns at the injured birb for a moment, then looks around, looking up and down the hallway. Are there any doorframes that have more scratches than the others? Anything that might hint which door they came out of.
One of the birds on Bailey's shoulder scoots in close and nuzzles in at the side of their neck, trilling contentedly. Two hummingbirds sit on one of their hands, while the other wrist plays home to the jay, eagerly pecking at the fruit the strawfella holds.
The wren curls up in Lif's hand, making low, plaintive sounds. It turns in the watery Summer's hands, chirping toward the door it was huddling in, which, indeed, has a bit of feather stuck about 2/3 of the way up, one that matches the brown plumage of the bird huddled in Lif's hands.
Bailey eyes the doorway. "I think that's where they came out of. Ya mind openin' it? We can get 'em through an' back home, then move on to the rooms."
Lif nods, putting the hand not holding the Wrenbird on the door to unlock the gate.
A wash of glamour, and the door opens right into the Thorns, as one would expect. Most of the Hedge isn't trod, after all. Fortunately, they don't really have to go through the doorway to get the birds back in.
"Do you think this hurt one will survive out there, with its wing like this?" She looks uncertainly at Bailey. "The Hedge is pretty rough."
"Aight, ya lil boggers, off ya go," Bailey coos, stepping over to the door to try to urge them through--tossing the rest of the fruits through for them to nom on.
They look to the little one, lips pursing. "Not sure. I ain't no good at healin' or nothin'. Guess we could keep that one with us and see if Doll can heal it."
They glance at the hurt griffinen. "What do you think, hm? Do you want to stay just a bit, while we make sure you get patched up?"
The rest of the birds are happy enough to flutter through the door as soon as its open, though one of the hummingbird grifflings is so eager to be off that one of its talons gets stuck in Bailey's stitchery, and it has to tug a couple of times to get free, but the wrenling seems quite happy where it is, thank you, or at least, not eager or able to take wing back into the Hedge. A soft assenting chirp.
Bailey helps pry the claw out of their stitching and waves it off, then looks to Lif. "Just keep it close. Dun' know what else we'll find." Bailey waits for this gate to close before moving on to room 310 to start checking them one by one.
"You'll have to stay quiet for the moment. Here, let me settle you someplace safe." And so the bird is tucked down the front of Lif's shirt to settle in the front of her sports bra.
Which might be warm, but it's definitely soft.
The injured wrenling curls up in said sports bra, makes a tired and pained little chirrup, and then goes quiet for the time being, its breathing evening out and its eyes slowly closing. It's scary and hard being a tiny injured birb in this big scary world, and nice to be safe.
The rest of the birds happily return to their home, and as Bailey moves on, rooms 310 and 311 appear to be empty. As they approach room 312, they hear the soft sound of gentle footsteps, something like carpet rubbing against carpet.
"Somethin' in there," Bailey warns, waiting for Lif to get the keycard before opening the door. They step inside cautiously, peering about.
Lif follows Bailey, looking for the source of the sound.
What sits inside on the bed, slowly slumping down and looking forlornly toward the door when it opens, is something like a six-foot-tall ent covered in patches of moss. It sighs heavily, resting its forearms on its knees.
And Lif can't resist a grin. She's the Lorax and speaks to the trees. The Wyrd seems to know this and give her opportunities to do so. "Need help getting home?"
Bailey's stitched on brows climb, before they lift a hand to tip their hat to the ent. "Evenin'. I'm Bailey. Ya don' look too pleased to be here."
"Home?" sighs the creature sitting on the bed; it shakes its mossy pate slowly, little bits of green fluff slowly falling from its head like photosynthetic dandruff. "Home is gone, and now we are here. No water, no sky, no house."
Its voice sounds like the slow creaking of rotted wood breaking.
"Home's not gone. It's just beyond a door--do you know which door you walked out of?"
"We can get ya back there, nothin' to it," Bailey assures, giving a look around the hotel room.
"Oh, no. Home is gone. Long, long time ago," sighs the creaking tree-man. "But, true enough, I came in the door behind the door you came in. Went a step out, but the birds... landed on me. And didn't go back into the wandering Hedge."
Bailey frowns, hands hooking onto their hips. "What happened to your home?"
"The birds are safely home now. We sent them back in a door." She leans against the door as she speaks.
Pause. "Well, all but one. But that one is safe."
"Bad bargain, bad games. Long time ago," sighs the moss-covered man, looking sidelong at the pair as it lurches to its feet. "Good. I don't care to be a perch. I'm not aquatic."
There's a double-take. "Was that a pun? Nevermind. I'm Lif Loracks, of the Shackamaxon Freehold. This is Bailey. And you are?"
"Lost your home gambling?" They perk a brow, then nod when introduced. They wait for the ent to give a name, if any, before continuing. "I'm sorry about your home. But unfortunately, ya can't stay here, neither. If ya come with us back into the thorns, maybe we can help ya find somewhere to settle down."
"Mosspockets," creaks the creature, slowly listing from side to side. It seems as though it might say something, but then it just sighs heavily. "Can't do that. No home until the real home. But thanks. Don't need any more of your kind's trickery."
"Eh? Was it a Changeling that tricked ya outta your home?"
Lif looks Mosspockets over slowly. "Please tell us about it? We're here to help."
A heavy grunt in response to Bailey's question, which seems affirmative? Mosspockets sighs at Lif, who speaks to the trees (and they speak back sometimes). "Oh, it was a long, long time ago. I had a lovely home, with secret rooms, and reading nooks, and the squirrel-faced woman who brought me tea, every afternoon, in the reading nook with the best sun. Then they came, so long ago, and they tricked me out of the deed, and I had to go. I had to leave them the reading nooks, and all the books in it, and the secret room with the orrery... "
Lif listens thoughtfully. "Do you know the name of the one who tricked you? We could talk to them on your behalf, see if there's an arrangement that can be made."
Bailey scratches at their cheek. "Could do, maybe. Or we could try spinnin' ya up a new place, once we've got the hotel cleared out."
"Too long ago," sighs Mosspocket, slowly shaking its head back and forth with a torturous creaking, like a tree straining under heavy wind. "Still chasing the deed." A sad look aside at Bailey. "If I could find my own home, I could restore its library."
"Well. We can ask around among our own, about the matter. Would that be something you'd like?"
"You remember what this Lost looked like, at least?" Their arms cross.
"Oh, if you think you can... " A slow shake of its mossy head, and the vague half-smile it offers to Bailey is weary. "I found where they traded the deed, but there the trail goes cold. It's been a long time, my home."
"Where?"
"In the meantime, would it be alright for us to open a door back into the Hedge for you? Unfortunately, this isn't a place you can stay safely."
"The Asbury Market." Once a year, on Autumn Equinox, at the shore in New Jersey. "Yes, I suppose. I cannot stay here. I do not stay anywhere."
"Well, Mosspockets, if ya need a place to stay, I can offer my Hollow to ya," Bailey offers. "Until we can find ya a place you like, or get back your old place. There are birds that live around there, though... But... Ain't too bad of a place. But she's right, ya ain't gonna be safe here."
Lif opens the gate for Mosspockets. "Bailey, you feel like a trip to the market later this month?"
"I wouldn't mind, I wouldn't mind... " offers Mosspockets thoughtfully. "Will there be tea?"
"I can get some tea." They step over to the gate and remove their hat--tossing it through into the Hedge. Where it seems to float on the wind a moment before changing into a large crow with moon-yellow glowing eyes. It caws a bit. "You show this ent the way home, yeah? Gonna be staying with us for a while." The crow caws in agreement.
"Guess we're going to New Jersey, yeah," Bailey adds to Lif.
"Road trip. Maybe bring some of the other folks who're good with hobs along?" Their grin is crooked.
And that, it seems, is that. Once Mosspocket is through the door, and it closes, the rest of the rooms in their queue are empty!
Somewhere along the way, the birb began to snore. Tiny little twittering snores.
"...I might get attached to this one." She sighs.
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