the compass shifted [OPEN]

[allsongs]

Date & Time: 1/24-1/30
Location: wilderness
Characters: Simmaeri the big honkin' dino-thing and you!!
Summary: WELCOME TO MAHOU JURASSIC PARK
Warnings: No clue, just a giant creature atm



Simmaeri took slow and careful turns then. Lumbering, methodical steps from massive, heavy legs made the closest scenery quiver. The feeling of stony, withered ground was slow in processing, much slower in understanding; it was such an unusual addition to the mix of already unusual things bombarding her senses. She could see no open expanses of white or gray, smell no fresh ice or snow, and hear only whispers of wind, gusting more like little gasps, choking on the chemicals mixed into the air itself. It stung her nostrils, made her eyes itch unpleasantly.

This was what her brothers and sisters had sought and embraced? It made no sense. It was as empty as it was unkind to her in that moment, and startled creatures quickly fled before she had chance to turn her head and regard them. Those, at least, would have been exciting; she did not know any creatures other than herself; seeing something new would, perhaps, make up for this startling change.

Either way, she lifted her head back up (not too high; the stinging seemed worse higher up) and let out another long, low sound, rumbling up from her neck and out through a snapping of her jaws. It filled the air and soon passed, and she waited well after the echo for a reply.

Was she really so far away that none could hear her back in the north? The terrain had changed so suddenly...what odd, foreign magic had done this?

Am I lost now? How strange this is.

Comments

[kingdom_of_song]

This time he did fall over, but he caught himself before he fell on his banjo. His hat rolled away and under a bush.

"I dinnae know what a collette is, sorry." He sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, instrument in his arms. "Cannae help ya there."

He was watching her carefully, in case she decided to step on him, or make him a snack. "Of course, I can speak! An' curse, and sing, and do whatever I like, me!" He sounded a wee bit indignant.

[allsongs]

Oh, my.

Did...a piece of himself – skin, a horn of sorts? – simply fall off? Simmaeri gave a troubled growl at that, slowing her head's descent from its traveling height to wait, see if he was suffering. But he spoke...it was a fascinating melody and rhythm she was drawn to far more than the fate of the hat. She once again allowed her head to lower, hovering near his level.

This musical creature could've walked into her nostril if he had mind to, how small he was...

Your words are very different, she observed, slowly turning and tilting her head to give him more eye than nose. The sharp, beaked portions of her jaws clicked together as she let out a little breath. You use the air alone. Strange sounds in the air. How? Is there more?

[kingdom_of_song]

Swann scurried backward like a crab at the sound of that growl. His banjo thumped along in his lap. The wee head didn't look so small when it was dipping down to take a look at you.

"Yer words are... they make me brain itch!" He scratched his head, causing his long curls to fluff. He was made of arms, legs, and hair.

More? Oh!

"There was an old man from Nantucket,
who's dobber was so long he could su--"

Maybe not that one. He cleared his throat.

"There once was a man called Reg
who went with a girl in a hedge
along came his wife
with a big carving knife
and cut off his meat and two veg!"

How that was better was anyone's guess, but he seemed pleased with himself. He'd almost forgotten he was being stared at by a whatever-the-hell-this-huge-thing was.

[allsongs]

The large pupil focused in on that bobbing, drunken mass dilated. No facial features like that of a human, but fascination and surprise played out in their own ways on her features. He was already an oddity, that strange creature (two legs and no tail...even having seen it once before, it seemed so improbable!), but then there were more words. Not simple puffs of breath and stirrings of vocal chords, no. Rhymes and rhythms, nearly music without having to carry a note too long.

Simmaeri knew song, reveled in it. Poetry and sagas, too. All in the art of her people, in their tapestry of thought, music, and magic. So the display before her was entirely new and stunningly captivating. And so soon gone! The beaked tips of her jaws clicked in a quiver, preceding a faint, whistle-like whine through her nose.

What are you doing! she cried. What is this you are doing? The words...

sorry I'm late my brain died

[kingdom_of_song]

What was this thing DOING oh god it was going to EAT HIM. It--

Maybe not? He still scrambled back a bit more.

"'Tis a limerick. A poem. Things I picked up here an' there, on my travels." The rest of them were more obviously dirty. How he knew this was a female, um, giant thing, he wasn't sure, but he'd keep the rest to himself. But she obviously liked it, so maybe something else?

"Um. I'll give ye something else? A bit of song?" He cleared his throat and sang.

[allsongs]

He spoke – sang – many sounds that were mere nonsense to Simmaeri as a language, but practically magic in sound and form. It was alarming, something so new. The rhymes seemed impossible – the notes alone, empty of the thoughts and magic that pulsed in her own songs. But it was...song, nonetheless.

The weaver woman that brought human song into Simmaeri's life was far and away, yet to be discovered. Instead, in this time, in this world, it was Swann and his kooky, brash melodies.

She gave a whine, a rumbling with the song. It...No, she couldn't. She couldn't match those sounds, those technical twists of the tongue – a nimble tongue, nothing like her own. She felt a pang of envy, of want. She wanted those sounds for her own.

How do you do this? her thoughts were almost a gasp. It's different. Why can I not do this, too?

[kingdom_of_song]

"Do... what? Sing?" Swann was too rattled by the situation to give the question much thought. "Och, well, 'tis like talking, only with melody."

He stared up at the creature, beginning to think maybe, maybe it wouldn't eat him. He was too small, must have been like a flea to it.

Swann wondered if fleas were crunchy, and perhaps tasted of chocolate to giant lizards.

"Can ye talk, or at least make noises?"

[allsongs]

She gave him a rumbling, throaty sound, accented with a kind of moaning note as retort.

I talk to you now, she said, baffled by his questions. I make sound, can you not hear? You say you sing, but your words are only air. It is different. Why?

[kingdom_of_song]

"You've got a point, 'tis talking. But ye do it... aye, differently. Yer not moving your lips." He peered at it. "Are you a lady? Cos your voice just comes off that way, it does. Dinnae ask me how."

It--she?--had another point. He spoke and sang and howled and snored with air. How did it work? Buggered if he knew. "I read in an old vet's manual about the voice-box and how air moves through it and makes sound, but I dinnae, all the vets I met were bampots."

[allsongs]

What do you mean? Lady? Simmaeri's own, intermingling language had no equivalent for it. And in trying to simply speak it aloud, she only gave a kind of hissing grunt, loosing frost in the air. Ah – frustrating! Not able to speak as others spoke. Jealous of the words! She'd never experienced such a thing before.

I cannot say your words. They're different.