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txt: Mearcstapa. Remember when you asked to use my library? I think I found a way you can pay me back. Care to get tea?
it would be my honor. where would you like me to meet you, and when?
My cottage, please. I'll be out front.
Oh, and get me something herbal, please. Just surprise me. :)
It's summertime in the Autumn Hollow, and the setting sun is shining orange and bright on the odd, little clutster of cottages. Off to the side of the Ritual Hall sits the Autumn King's cottage: a cozy, nest-like space with various odds and ends he's collected over the years decorating the space around his front door. There's a small garden table situated in the shade provided by the cottage, and upon a stool beside it perches the Autumn King.
He's an older, unassuming man -- seeming to be somewhere in his early-mid seventies -- with smeared, shadow-y features, and owlish looks dressed in a westerley cardigan and bluejeans. He grips the top rung of the stool with his talons, somehow managing to look both awkward and graceful as he reads the day's paper...
Mearcstapa arrives with a paper cupholder in hand, his usual messenger bag slung over his shoulder. "Lemongrass and ginger for you, honeyed lapsang for me. I have sweetener in my pocket, I wasn't sure how you'd prefer to take it." His pixellated freckles are strongly more green than red right now, as he offers Buidhe his cup.
Buidhe peers at Mearcstapa over the top of his paper -- for just longer enough to be awkward -- and then tilts his head to the side. His position shifts, and the paper is closed, and he reaches for the cup. "I don't need the sweetner. Without is just fine." His head tilts to the other side, gesturing to one of the empty seats with taloned fingers. "Join me?"
It... probably doesn't matter which seat you choose. Right?
Maybe Buidhe's intensity just makes it seem like it might.
Mearc nods, passing off Buidhe's cup and then lifting his own in salute. As he pulls the chair indicated out, he looks to make sure there's nothing on the seat, before sitting. "Thank you."
"Are you familiar with the Penn Museum?" The paper is gently folded, and placed on the table between them, and then Buidhe turns to fix Mearcstapa with his piercing, bright yellow eyes.
"Not particularly, but I could become familiar with it." Though it's hard to tell exactly where Mearcstapa's looking--vantablack pupilless eyes will do that--he doesn't seem to be making direct eye contact with the crown.
Without removing his gaze, Buidhe taps the newspaper with a claw, and -- even through several layers of paper -- it produces a little, shrill sound against the glass tabletop. Wowee those must be sharp.
The article in question is brief, but it seems to mostly be discussing a series of old, 18th century letters being housed at the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, and displayed as a part of an exhibit.
Mearcstapa looks down at the article, and then up at Buidhe. "Hm, sounds like a fascinating exhibit." The green intensifies further in his mien, and he sits up straighter in his chair.
"I thought it would be, too." Buidhe's ridiculously intense gaze only leaves Mearcstapa when he finishes reading the article. "I found the experience very rewarding."
There's a brief flutter of wings -- though Buidhe himself only moves to sip the lemongrass and ginger tea -- and a brief chill settles in the Hollow, accompanied by the scent of mulch, and mildew. "Shackamaxon Freehold predates Philadelphia, so I find myself watching mortal archeologists and anthropologists very carefully. In the event they find something they shouldn't. Even if they don't quite know what it is they have."
Mearc lets out a bit of a laugh, catching the thread of it now. "What is it you'd like them to cease to have?"
"The letters." It's difficult to tell when someone with a beak is smiling, but Buidhe's yellow eyes glitter from the depths of his murky, shadowed face. "They're coded, and written in Unami, but they contain information vital to the secrecy and safety of Shackamaxon. They're quite a bit out of date, sure, but..." The old snowy owl tilts his head to the side, and offers a shrug. This time the rustle of feathers definitely belongs to him.
"I think they'd be better off in the hands of someone who can truly appreciate them, regardless."
Mearc sips at his tea, almost seeming to chew on it for a moment. "I have a few more questions: am I allowed to have help from other changelings with this task? A heist in a museum is not a one-man job. Even if the security's only mundane, it's still security, and that's going to be a thing. Would you be able to help me create documents that might resemble the letters, without containing sensitive information? I'm not familiar with Unami, but leaving a good forgery in place seems a much better idea than just taking the letters."
"You can get help from other people, sure. I don't really care how you do it, just that they're resting comfortably in my library when the job is finished." Buide tilts his head to the side, and fixes Mearcstapa with another long stare. "A forgery is a very good idea -- and I could help you craft a convincing one to leave behind -- but the way I figure, you probably want to clear your debt to me before asking for more favors." There's a little coo of laughter, and then he takes a sip of his tea, holding his gaze.
He purses his lips slightly. "I was asking you to make it more possible for me to do the favor you've asked, not asking something personal for myself."
Buidhe just "smiles" again as he sets his tea down.
"Maybe there's someone you could talk to in Philadelphia that'd like to help you with that. One of those "Other Changelings" you were talking about a few seconds ago."
Thanks Buidhe.
"I see. Is there anything further that I need to know about this task?" Mearc tilts his head to one side.
The old man shifts his position -- beyond simply orienting his head, or upper body to face Mearcstapa -- for perhaps the first time since Mearcstapa arrived. "Not that I'm aware of." A beat passes. "Do you think there's something else you might need to know?"
"I think there's a lot of information that I don't have, but which I will need to acquire before I set to work if I intend to be successful in this endeavor." He looks thoughtful for a moment. "I will do my best, sir."
"I imagine you will. That's what I appreciate about you, Scrivener Mearcstapa." A beat. "You can keep the paper if you want it." He doesn't even remove his hands from the tea cup in order to gesture towards the article with a single claw. "Thank you for the tea. You made an excellent choice."
Mearc folds the paper and places it in his messenger bag, nodding. "You're welcome. I'll remember your preference for next time."
Taking that as his dismissal, he stands, moving to leave.
Buidhe simply goes back to his business without another word.
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