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The Freehold maintains a Stable Trod which runs from Bethlehem in the Lehigh Valley down through Philadelphia to Cape May on the Jersey Shore. Each Court maintains a Hollow as well as a single old Hollow right off Independence Mall. There's a door that looks like it leads to the electric for a parking garage, and does, but if the correct knock is given - changed weekly by Winter - it opens to a homey little village in the Hedge. Small cottages, a small garden of extremely generic and tasteless Goblin Fruit which only restore glamour in their native state, and right now, a large, broad-shouldered figure made of what looks like stone sitting among those vines, humming to themself and knitting a scarf.
Sort of.
The scarf unravels itself and the fruit slowly take on a more vivid hue as Ari devotes their knitting efforts to hedgespinning the Hollow's output. Who wants to spin straw into gold when you can knit grey blobby fruit into amaranthine?
And into this cosy little village pads Michael, dressed in a waistcoat and top hot, hands gloved as he takes an inhale of the otherworldly air and smiles, working his way down towards the garden, fingers of his left hand trailing through vines in exploration as he pulls that glove off and tucks it into his pocket. Ari receives a broad smile, the Fox dropping down to sprawl on the earth himself, uncaring for the effect on his finery. " Now that's creation at work." He comments in bright fashion, nodding at the scarf, his hat slipping slightly. "And rather more vibrant then the starting product. You seem in good spirits." A warm smile.
The winds of the hedge carry may things hither and yon, most of them lost, few of them found. Tonight, though? They carry... leaves. A fine selection of flame and fodder writ in leaves, tumbling on the fingers of unseen hands above the village. They dance and dip and threaten to tumble to earth, but never quite do, until they all do, drifting down like fall's confetti to jumble and litter into a pile against one of the little cottages, until they're not leaves anymore, but a lanky, pale fellow familiar to both these veterans of the Freehold, one leg jauntily crossed over the other, calf over knee, his hands folded behind his head of wild curls. "Fortunately for many of us, Hedgespinning is a misnomer, and does not in fact require a spinning wheel of any sort. Hedgecrochet just hasn't got the same ring, though."
The Mantle which spirals out from the large Elemental is unmistakable: sprawling illusory green vines with little white flowers, blooming shimmering crystals which perfume the air with the scent of lilies and daffodils. Ari isn't just Spring, they're Spring. They pause their humming but not their knitting, the work coming undone as quickly as it's done. "Not creation," they rumble, "but reshaping. I cannot make the thing from nothing, but I can tell the story of how grey became purple. And who would not be satisfied with such work? An evening spent reworking old plants adds to our stock and strength. The Steward will be pleased."
"Knitting," they gently correct Johnny, turning their solid black eyes toward him and tipping their head in his direction. "But you are right - it has not the same ring."
The gentle giant doesn't seem surprised - but then, a person of their size likely learned long ago not to scare people by reacting suddenly.
The Fox is less sanguine. He knows Vorpal and doesn't run, but does duck back, tail twitching in unease as the other's presence enters his perception. Ari might be a Sovereign, but the Wryd around Vorpal, that sheer feeling of 'Them'.. He shutters himself, soul carefully tucked away. It's only after a moment he trusts himself to speak, his nature more restrained, quiet now. "It is good work." He hums quietly. "And these plants do look like they need fresh spirits, mm?"
"I'll have you know it's respect keeping me from making a crochet-crotchety pun right now. That and," Vorpal admits, "-the general ill fit of calling you crotchety. Knitting it is, and you've my apologies for trying to set up such an awful play on words." Deep shadows cloak Vorpal's feet, only evinced as thoroughly round his eyes, where the darkness swallows them nearly entirely, leaving a faint gleam in the darkness to mark their presence in the shade. "It's excellent work, in truth, and a fine choice of hobby to redo what's been made into something more interesting- and useful. Though I wouldn't call them in need of fresh spirits. They don't much like it round here, and we're probably the better off for it. The last thing we need Thornside is a bunch of invisible essentials wandering about and changing things round at a whim. At least here, we can see what's muddling things about, for better or worse."
They pause for a moment, watching Michael, a patient status check. Once they're certain that the fox isn't too spooked by the high-Wyrd Helldiver, they continue knitting. "It certainly wouldn't hurt to have two other spirits contributing to work that keeps us all a little safer," the Elemental prompts (in much the same way as a teacher says SURELY SOMEONE WILL VOLUNTEER). "I'm glad my work meets your approval, Vorpal."
Metaphorically peeking out from under a bushy tail, Michael glances at Vorpal, speaking up in slightly whimsical tones. "No play on words is awful unless they are. I'd call them crotchety, but alas, that ship has sailed." A mournful sigh. "Such is the price of inattention." Canting his head as he considers he nods at Ari. "I do what I can to find the soulful, and encourage them to shine more. The world needs that. As for work and us being safer, I'm not a warrior, but I can see to souls and minds. Dangers aren't always external ones."
Vorpal draws forth a massive sigh, as if somehow horribly put upon- one that both he and Ari knows is entirely fanciful, for Vorpal likes nothing more than a chance to Do Something, and holds a hand out as if expecting to be handed something. Which is exactly what happens, as his shadow- one of them, as his feet cast numerous behind him, as if lit by several lights at once- fishes about in its pockets, finds nothing, and then pulls what looks very much like knitting needles from the bush of its hair. Vorpal then twirls the shadow-made knitting needles between his fingers and draws up a few of the finer vines of ivy on the cottage and begins knitting them together. Does he HAVE to do the same thing that Ari is doing? Probably not, but it's as effective as most things he could do that aren't picking a fight. "Your work doesn't need my approval, it'd be excellent either way, but I appreciate being appreciated- thank you." There's a flick of the flickers in the shadows of his eyes- Vorpal's glancing towards Michael. "Don't you worry about warriors. There's plenty in Summer and I'm not a bad hand myself. You just keep up the good work."
A poignant pause.
"Though I think Ari meant more like... "right now.""
The yarn is knitted, the yarn unravels, the yarn is knitted, the yarn unravels, and after a while it's possible to see that Ari is just knitting one big loop of yarn. What's important is dedicating one's actions to changing the Hedge. Telling the story of what you're doing. The massive Spring laughs softly at Vorpal's little display, and tips their head towards him as though awarding him a little gold star on today's list of Good Students. "I did, but our work is a marathon, not a sprint. All must contribute as they are able. Michael speaks a great truth that I wish more of us understood. Our minds as much as our bodies must be fortified and repaired." Gold stars for everybody.
"I suppose I can come up with something." Michael allows Vorpal. "It depends on what's desired, though, something for one of the cottages, yes. A bit more of the homey touch, maybe." He pats his pockets, finding and donning a pair of overlarge glasses. Squinting at Ari though them, he considers, then plucks out some of his own furs and, pulling his right hand glove off to reveal a mechanical hand, some of the ivy himself, beginning to knit them together with a quiet hum. "Gift giving's important. An exchange of affection. I may steal an idea from Christmas, gaudy though it may be. A stocking on each door, a chance to bestow small gifts and trinkets for any who desire it."
"Delightful idea- though, if you're helping us with the plants," Vorpal points out- perhaps not gently but without any indication that it's an issue that it needed to be pointed out, "You'll make about as much progress towards those stockings as we are." After all, neither of their work progresses towards anything in actuality- their efforts are being fed to the Hedge, an exercise in the nature of a narrative- for what are fairies if not stories incarnate- that excellence deserves reward, and if the reward desired is nicer fruits, so be it. But nothing, it seems, is without cost, and the price is the excellence itself, the knitting and crocheting going nowhere, while the plants and their fruits go ever more impressive.
"Fortified and repaired is no joke," Vorpal murmurs. "You know the saying, you don't know what you got 'til its gone?" He nods sagely. "It was a lot easier keeping my head on straight with the others around. Not that you and yours aren't lovely, mind, just. I got kinda used to'em. Little harder on my own."
"I can try both." The Fox muses, mechanical hand making a faint whirring sound as vines and fur are woven together in a way that doesn't make logical sense. But then, this is the Hedge after all. He beams at Vorpal, nodding fervently. "We are deeply lovely, one and all." He announces. "And this is a great way to speak and to listen. Do you want to speak about the others Vorpal?"
"Speak about them?" Vorpal makes a sound in his throat. It's not... strictly dismissive. "Not sure. They're still around someplace- I highly doubt anything's managed to get the better of them, but. Stings to talk about something you lost, you know?" He shrugs, keeps knitting together the vines, weaving the effort into the goblin fruit. "Eh. They'll be back someday. Or find a way to drop a line. Just a matter of time." He hopes. That much is clear.
Michael turns to face him, fingers continuing to work as he talks, the Fox's voice losing some of its teasing quality and becoming a shade softer. "It does. But if you're expecting them to come back, they're not truly lost, perhaps? And even if you're without them right now, you've the memories of them, yes?"
"Well. They're definitely Lost," Vorpal remarks drily. "And they're not the ones lost. I am. Wherever they are, they're together, and probably doin' better'n me. Which is good. I had shit to work on anyhow. More time I get to myself, the more impressed they get to be with how hard I worked on everything. So, y'know. It's fine." Except it's not. This is Silver Lining 101.
A twitch of a tail, Michael taking a moment to process these words, consider Vorpal's mood and response. Vorpal buzzes with power, and Michael is only a small fox compared, so he still keeps a certain distance, but that doesn't mean he misses someone in pain, hidden or not. "They sound like good folk to know. What chance do I have of wheedling a tale or two out of you?"
"I'd say they're the best folx to know. But I'm hella biased," Vorpal admits shamelessly as the pitch needles in his hand weave more life and power into the hedgefruits around the village hollow. "Depends on the story. There's a bunch of'em, and all of'em have their own stories. Some are fun to recall. Others?" Less so. "What kinda bedtime story you angling for, Mikey?"
Lips quirk upwards, amused, Mikey's own hands moving, flesh and blood working with mechanical one as he continues his own weaving. "To you, they would be the best folk to know. Your perception is your reality. It's why it's important to keep senses clear." A wry shake of his head. "And my thoughts are running off again. This isn't my story, it's theirs, and you're the one giving it. Which one would you find happiness in recalling?"
A flick of barely-visible eyes, and Jack offers a snorting laugh. "I can't promise the ones I want to retell are the same ones you want to hear. My reality versus yours, as it were. However." He muses a moment, then starts to speak, his shadows posing dramatically in pantomime behind him as he does. "There's several."
"One's basically me but inverted. A warrior, still, but where I dance and slash, she stands and delivers. Where I'm shadow, she's light- in my place, I was the terror- she's always been the hero of her story." Pause. "She's also significantly prettier. I appreciate that."
"You ever see someone on TV that doesn't want to have their face on the evening news? One of the others looks kinda like that, but he's less scrambled and more pixellated. He's somehow more of a punk kid than I am, which is saying something, but he means well. Like I'm a total edgelord, but he's like archetypical. Cute kid, though."
"One of'em's got real estate halfway between cute as hell and give'em hell. Or more at the corner of- she's both, not partway each. She's simultaneously one of the cutest, clumsiest, and deadliest people I know. I love'er to death, and pretty much everyone else who's ever met her does, too. Ever seen a red panda in a miniskirt? Mmh."
"And there's the first one of'em I met. They're - hard to describe. They're who their People need them to be. They struggle with being their own person the same way that I've struggled to be a Person instead of a Story. They've gotten a lot better, though. Probably even more since we parted ways."
"Sam and Widget are special cases, they kinda... wander. I dunno if they're still with the others. They might be on walkabout at any given moment. So maybe let's talk about the others. Any of them sound like a story you'd want to hear?"
A slow smile from the fox, before he studies the moving shadows, tail twitching and hands working. The fabric he weaves is bought to his face to let him peek over it as though he's trying to hide while still watching and listening. "They sound wonderful." He utters. "Different, unique, all with their own art and story." Michael nods keenly. "I'll sacrifice my wants for yours. This is your telling, you guide the weaving. Say what you want to Vorpal."
"...yeah, they are." His hands don't stop, the whole time he's working, fingers weaving with a clever ease that completely supercedes what mortal hands are capable of. And then Michael says something about sacrificing his wants, and Vorpal's hands go still. Dark eyes flash towards him. "Don't. I don't want it. Lay your wants on someone else's altar if you don't want them. I asked for them because I don't want to have to pick. Talking about them's hard enough. Easier to just coast.
Pick one or change the subject."
His head ducks down, tail curving around himself in a self protective fashion as Vorpal's anger sparks and he pulls limbs tighter around himself. But a Joyeux is what he seeks to be and he resists the urge to tuck tail and flee into illusion and mirage. He only nods once, looking up again carefully. "Maybe the red panda in the miniskirt? Red is a good colour for fur. Otherwise why would mine be?"
The response, apparently, is appropriate. Jack's shadows cease to seem to stare at Michael, and the Torrent returns to knitting the plants into plump red courgettes. "June's a good choice. She's wonderful. Brave, cheerful, skilled, snuggly, and you wouldn't believe how much muscle that little shortstack packs beneath her fur. She goes on dates with Teagan- the last one I mentioned, the one that reflects their companions- and plays bait to get predators focused on her instead of innocent girls. Never ends well for the predators," he snorts. When did he start manipulating the needles with his shadows? Never you mind, but he's reclining again, hands behind his head.
A flicker of fang shows. "Twisted wants, twisted people. I hope they find what they deserve." He nods slowly, patting down his tail so his fur doesn't stick up quite so much. "She does sound brave, and good. They all do. They're family to you, yes?"
"Family?" He considers that a few moments, staring up at the Hedge's leaves overhead. "... yeah. Yeah, I'd say so. Close as I've ever had, anyhow. Before or After. That's why I know they'll turn up, eventually." Because they've just got to.
The Fox nods, considering. This is a hard desire to shape, because it's well outside his paws. But it's where Vorpal's being lies. "You'll find them again. Or they'll find you. Family goes two ways. So they'd want to come back to you."
"... yeah." He doesn't sound so entirely sure, but he lets the comment ride. "What about you? Who's home for you, Mikey? You got people to lean on? Or to do the leaning?"
The fox lets the conversation rest, at least for now. You don't support someone by hounding them. He smiles warmly, ears twitching. "I've friends." He answers. "And I enjoy a good party. I'm doing good with where I am, I reckon."
"Good. Everyone needs people," Vorpal offers in quick reply, slouching back into his reclined comfort. "Keep that head on a swivel, though. Friends are nice, but family's who's gonna put in the footwork. Whether it's just in keeping your head... uh..." A quick glance. "... screwed on..." Ha, cyborg joke! "... or come after you if things go south."
"Family." That word is chewed on, and there is desire there, yearning, before the fox grins, waving with his clockwork hand. "Nice and bolted. And it's handy when I need to get creative with spare parts. The things people leave lying about.. they're so handy. Handy? See?" He winks at the bad joke, reclining and curling his tail about himself to get comfortable.
"Well played," Vorpal allows, and one of his shadows drifts over and offers an unsettling solid-looking high five. "Don't leave me hanging, handyman. Lay some tin on me."
A blink, a cautious look. Shadows shouldn't be doing that! He huffs, ears twitching nervously before he attempts to carefully swat at what seems to be the shadow's hand, metal meeting darkness.
Bap! High five! The shadow slinks back and Jack flashes Michael a thumbs up. "I'm gonna be here a while. You're free to hang out if you like but I'm probably not gonna be super talkative while I'm focusing. Still-" He looks to Michael and nods. "Thanks for chatting. It was nice to talk about them a little."
"Part of what I'm here to do." The fox smiles warmly, then stands, stretching and bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I'll be back, and around, here and there. I'm like the proverbial bad penny that way." A wink, a wave, then he's slipping away, to find another bout of mischief.
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