ArchivedLogs:Close Encounters of the Bird Kind

Close Encounters of the Bird Kind
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Ducky	2013-06-10 '
Location <WES> Westchester
Less than an hour from the city proper, Westchester is accessible by train but far enough removed to play home to extensive sweeps of farmland, as well as enough parks, reservoirs and riverland by the Hudson to make people feel like they have gotten away from urban life. The rumors and reports of a very large bird in the town of Westchester, New York have continued to pop up, raising concerns for the safety of small pets and local wildlife. It is approaching dusk, and the late spring sun is starting to sink behind the sparse clouds in the east, casting a brilliantly orange and pink glow over the buildings, and transforming the sky into some sort of expressionist painting. The heat of the day still clings, but is thankfully far from opressive, with a slight breeze stirring the air, signalling the chance of a storm as the evening progresses. A ruggedly worn old barn, the sides once painted bright red, but now dulled from exposure to the elements, and peeling in some places, stands silhouetted against the setting sun. Judging by the presence of freshly baled alfalfa in the loft, the tired old building is still in use, at least for storage. In the distance, an old farm house sits amidst waving grains, the lights just flickering on for the evening, contributing to the warm, idylic scene. Ducky looks out the open window of the car, twisted in her seat so that she can lean partially out the window, squinting her eyes at the barn. "This is where they all said the giant bird man goes past every night. I, uh, I don't think this spot is a hunting ground, since there isn't really any kinda animals to pick up," Ducky babbles, looking up into the sparsly clouded sky, "Or, um, there aren't any now. Anyway." She ruffles her short hair, looking sheepishly at Jackson, "Um, I've never really done much hands on investigation... now what?" Jackson has stolen Ryan's car. He often does. Like a sneakthief. So they are riding in /style/ in his sleek /and/ ecofriendly electric vehicle. In idling it makes pretty much no sound. He drums his fingers against the steering wheel, and shifts it into park. "Well," he says, cheerfully, "Hive's told me on quests you gotta make sure to talk to /all/ the NPCs. I guess in this case that'd be -- birds. See if maybe they've seen nothin'? Or just. Poke around. Look for signs of giant -- birdman." He unclips his seat belt, opening his door to get out. It's a pretty sunset, isn't it? And if you're going to go giant birdman hunting, it's certainly -- an idyllic location. Only the occasional chirp of cicadas in the surrounding woods interrupt them; that, and of course, the occasional tweeting of nearby birds. No /immediate/ sign of a giant birdman. Quite a number of sparrows and crows competing for one last late-night snack, though! Ducky unclips her seatbelt, carefully extricating herself from the expensive car, gently shutting the door, as though afraid she'd break it. She ruffles her hair as she looks around nervously, trying to look around, "I, uh, hm, well, may as well check now that we're closer to where he's been sighted. Or she. It's dark. Never know - could be a giant birdwoman." Ducky shrugs slightly and offers a slightly nervous grin at Jackson, "Thank you for bringing me out here. I, uh, yeah, don't think I would have, even with the lifted restriction, this time at least." Shouldering a large canvas messenger bag that she had stocked for the trip, Ducky makes her way over a nearby phone pole, slanted slightly from age, with several crows perched atop it. "Excuse me," the mousy girl calls up, her hands in the pocket of her shirt, careful not to stand directly under the birds, "Can, uh, can I ask you some questions? Please? I have bread, and fruit. And jerky, if you like that, too." "Don't hardly blame you," Jackson admits, and here his habitual smile falters for a moment. "The city's -- kinda rough right now an' even not-the-city --" His head shakes. "Well. S'quieter out here, at least. Ain't heard nothin' about that craziness /spreading/." He hangs back a little, as Ducky moves away; following, but not /too/ closely. His head tips back to look up at the birds. He has a bag of his own hanging at his hip, black, with the FreakAngels logo on it. His fingers rest against it when he comes to a stop, just listening and watching for now. The caw-caw of crows promptly comes to a screeching /halt/ when Ducky starts speaking to them; all at once, their black eyes are set upon her -- gleaming and shiny as they peeeeeeer. Shuffling atop of their wires. "{TALKING FOOD,}" one of them promptly caws. "{IS IT DEAD YET,}" another replies. "{NO NOT DEAD STILL MOVING. HURRY UP AND DIE I AM HUNGRY,}" a third one caws. The fourth, still peering upon its wire, seems a little bit larger -- a bit more /cunning/ -- than the others. It peers down upon Ducky with an edge of hunger, and. "{FOOD FIRST. THEN TALK.}" Ducky narrows her eyes at the birds upon hearing their responses, setting her balled up hands on her hips and grumbling a bit, "I. am. not. food." Her voice has a decided edge to it, a bit harsher and more stern than she usually is, "I am offering food, for information. Please." Ducky fishes around into her messenger bag, pulling out what look like scavenged food from the dining hall, a dinner roll, several sliced pieces of apple, and a small packet of beef jerky. "I'll give you food. If you come down here to talk to me. I mean no harm," Ducky holds out her arm, the bread and other food held out in her open hand, the other gently resting at her side. She offers a glance back to Jackson, and a bit of a sheepish shrug and a grin. Jackson's eyebrows hike up when Ducky insists she is not food. /Amused/, though, more than concerned, his lips curling upwards. He offers this slightly amused smile to Ducky when she looks back at him. His hands stay folded behind his back, eyes watching the birds. Then Ducky. Then scanning the world around them. "You're kinda a little like food," he is quietly /so encouraging/! "{YES YOU ARE FOOD YOU JUST HAVEN'T STOPPED MOVING}" --- "{DON'T TALK TO FOOD}" --- "{LOOK FOOD BROUGHT /MORE/ FOOD YESSS IF IT DIES WE CAN EAT IT AAAAALL}" --- "{SHUT UP. /ALL/ OF YOU.}" This last bit comes from the fourth -- and biggest -- crow. With a meaningless CAW, she is suddenly fluttering down from the wire, landing -- thud! -- in front of Ducky. Peering up at her with a reptilian quirk of her head. Then, slowly, she is -- hop, hop, hop -- approaching her. Eyeing that food. /Greedily/. "{Put food down.}" This is -- much more quiet than the previous screeches. "{Then, will talk. You tell me what you want to know.}" She pauses to preen at her own oily feathers, lifting a wing to -- preen, preen, /fluff/. Very huffily. "{Also, shiny things. If you have shiny things, put them down. /All/ the shinies. Will tell you secrets. All the secrets, for all the shinies.}" The crow 'boss' swivels her head up to peer at Ducky with those gleaming black eyes; as if this was haggling, and she was driving one /hell/ of a hard bargain. Ducky is still glaring rather pointedly at the three remaining crows on the wire, wincing slightly at the forcefulness of the statments. Her eyes focused only on those three, she concentrates, and in a decidedly harsh mental voice, a bit overloud from lack of practice << I AM NOT FOOD. >>. It looks like she is physically straining to project it, but she does not actually vocalize the sentiment - instead, it is projected as a dual layer - a series of squawks and caws like the crows, with an underlying echo of English. At that point, she drops her attention entirely to the crow who has approached her, gently placing the food on the ground, a bit away from her, before stepping back and carefully sitting herself on the ground, giving the crow and her food space. "I don't have many shiny things. But let me look to see what I have," Ducky says to the crow, opening her bag and digging around for a moment, eventually there's a tearing sound, like tinfoil being torn off the roll. Carefully folding the piece of foil into a neat little shiny square, Ducky carefully reaches out to place it near the crow, "That is all the shiny I have. I'm afraid I'm not very shiny." There's a little bit of a dejected tone in her voice. She sits and watches for a moment, her head tilting slightly to the side in a birdlike manner, "Can you tell me about the really large bird that has been flying around here? I've heard that he comes through this way at night. Has he encroached on your teritory? Or have you been able to talk to him?" The /dozens/ of (shiny!) piercings on Jax's face disappear abruptly when Ducky starts tearing the foil off. Nothin' to see here! He's just. Lingering. In the background. Quiet and completely unshiny. At the psychic YALP, the three crows who are bickering over how best they should prepare to consume Ducky proceed to angrily /caw/, fearful and shocked; they immediately flutter away in a brush of black feathers and angry, screechy caws. "{ANGRY FOOD}" -- "{RUN RUN RUN}" -- "{FIND ITS SHINY NEST POOP ON ITS SHINY NEST}". Shortly after this, there might be -- a fresh crow turd -- yep, there we go -- SPLAT. Right on top of Ryan's nice, shiny car. Behold: THE FURY OF THE CROWS! Meanwhile, the crow on the ground eyes that food -- very /gluttonously/. It's taking all her willpower not to immediately POUNCE upon the spread Ducky sets out for her. She does her best to preen her feathers and look disinterested, but. At the sight of that tinfoil? OHGOD GIVE IT HERE. There's an actual /squawk/ as the crow's wings SNAP up, fluttering, and: "{SHINY SHINY SHIN--}" Then, as if remembering where she is, she instantly snaps her feathers down and returns to... boredly preening. "{Is that all?}" the crow woman asks, feigning indifference. "{...well. I /suppose/ it will have to be enough. Large bird. Yes. Many large birds. Oh, but one. You're interested in the /giant-bird/. Stinks like y--}" The crow pauses, as if -- actually considering, for a moment! Whether or not this next sentence is, mmm. /Diplomatic/. She really is a shrewd old bird. "{--/smells/ like you do. Eats much food. Sometimes, drops a little. We eat. Tasty. Comes, mm. Just when sun is down. Soon. Very soon. We were waiting for him. No talking; just screeches. Very /rude/ bird,}" she adds, as if she finds this fact -- quite upsetting! Ducky smirks slightly, watching as the three crows take flight, although the look of bemusement fades to horror as the birds proceed to splatter right onto the shiny expensive car, "Shit. Uh, sorry Mister Jackson." She ruffles her hair, and then starts smoothing it back down in small sections, as though she were preening herself in mimc of the bird before her. "I am very sorry he is so rude. Does he bring his food to this barn to eat? We won't interfere with him bringing his food, or him dropping any. I just want to talk to him." Ducky tilts her head, still smoothing her hair back out, "Do you ever see anyone else with him? Or where he goes from here?" "Hrgnh." Jackson actually facepalms, hand lifting to thwack against his forehead. But, "S'ok," he says a moment later, "they're birds. It'll wash." His hand drops back down to his side. "This is the place?" He looks around the barn a little more curiously, this time. "-- Does he got a name?" "{He /drops/ food. Sometimes. Hunts food, sometimes. Once, ate on top of the barn. He is /very/ rude,}" the crow insists, hopping a bit closer toward -- food. And shiny things. Until, just then -- she starts to /caw/, loudly and violently: "{OH OH HERE HE COMES RUDE BIRD RUDE BIRD--}" And here something /indeed/ comes; the sun has just about set -- the pinkening sky showing signs of violet -- when something... swoops out from behind the trees. Something /big/. Easily the size of a man; its wingspan, however, hints at something -- a bit larger. Extending out in a canopy of black overhead, briefly blotting out portions of the sky as it -- swoops. And /screeches/. Landing, with a *THWUNK*, on the edge of that barn-house; something in its clutches. Its... feet? The 'head' of it proceeds to -- bob down. Pecking. /Tearing/. Meanwhile, the helpful crow is /rushing/ forward in a furious flap of feathers to -- peck peck gobble chew peck PECK every bit of food she can grab, with her claws flashing out to seize hold of that foil -- gimme gimme gimme! -- because it's time to vamoose with the loot. Ducky smiles, saying quietly to the bird who has begun to gorge on the food, "Thank you for your help." She starts to stand up, brushing herself off a bit and nodding to Jax, "Yeah, um, she says that sometimes he stops by to eat here, right around this time of night. Doesn't talk, just squawks and yells - no conversation. Rude. Drops food, 'cause he sits on the rooftop and..." her voice trails off as she looks up. Backing closer to Jackson, Ducky looks decidedly nervous, as though she may be reconsidering the wisdom of venturing out here. "Uh. Yeah, Mister Jackson. It, uh, looks like this is the place," Ducky says quietly, her eyes wide in nervousness, her voice cracking a bit, "Sh... should I go talk to him?" Jackson looks upwards at that shadow. His eye widens, and for a moment he just stays -- peering upwards at the roof in careful study. "Do you still want to?" he asks Ducky, quietly. "I mean, he's just a person, right? Like Horus. I'll be right there with you." His hand tips upwards. "Or I can try talkin' to him first. Or we can go home. It's alright no matter which y'choose." The crow lady, seeing that her work is undisturbed, slows down a bit in her gobbling; long enough, at least, to swallow as much as she can. But once she's got her shiny tinfoil and a belly full of grub, she's /out/ of here, fluttering away amidst a flash of feathers. The figure on the barn, meanwhile, continues to roost; as his (?) head dips down, there is -- perhaps a distant /tearing/ sound. A long, glistening /strip/ is ripped from the thing he's carrying; he's in the process of -- tearing it into manageable chunks and swallowing it. Dip, BITE, tear, tear -- his whole body flexing with the motion. No screech, not anymore. Taking a deep breath, Ducky seems to steel herself against the growing knot of fear that has taken up residence in her stomach. "I... yes. I should still go try and talk to him. It's, uh, well, it's why we came out here, and I don't want to just back out of it. That seems," she grimaces for a moment, "Not right. And not fair. He could just be confused, and lost." There's a wince at the glistening tearing and consumption, and Ducky looks nauseus for a moment, but she takes another steadying breath, before starting to walk forward, steeling herself for this encounter. Standing far enough back to not be considered an immediate threat, but close enough to talk, Ducky takes another deep breath, and calls out, "Excuse me. Hello, I am very sorry to bother you while you are eating, but," she falters for a moment, at a loss for words, "I wanted to get a chance to speak to you." This time, Jackson follows along closely. He stays near Ducky's side; for a moment in the fading light there's a noticeable (shiny!) glimmer around him, but then it fades. "Could be," he agrees, and his voice and expression at least are calm. He positions himself at her elbow, looking upwards at the figure. His own, "Hi," is quiet-polite. Tentative, unsure yet if it'll even be understood from him and not Ducky. The bird-creature that's tearing those long, sharp strips of -- flesh? -- from the lump beneath him stiffens at the sound of Ducky's voice; a long, lurid length of meat dangles from his face as his head twists around -- sharp, sudden, /fast/ -- to stare down at Ducky. Though it's hard to make out his shape in the rapidly fading darkness, there is a flash of eyes -- almost aglow! -- yellow-green. And then... SCREEEEEEEEEEEeeee-- {HUMANS! RETURN TO CARNIVAL! KILL! HUMANS!} -- eeeech... Which is proceeded by -- a massive /unfurling/ of those giant, /feathered/ wings, followed by a horrible choking sound in his throat -- the sort of noise you'd expect a cat to make if it was about to hock up a hairball. Except... many, many times louder, and many, many times worse. And then... PTOOOOIE. Something's -- sailing in the air. Toward Jackson and Ducky. Just as the creature's wings flap down and he hurls himself in the air, soaring back into the sky -- minus his meat. The thing he's hocked toward them? A large, glistening globe of very powerful /acid/. "Tssss --" It's a quick short hiss and Jackson steps forward reflexively, hand moving to Ducky's shoulder to /tug/ her back behind him instead. "Hey! We ain't --" In front of them a /shimmer/ spreads, translucent in the air, hard to see in the fading light. A solid wall growing wide between them and that blob of acid. "Hey! We just -- wanted to talk --" There's an edge to Jackson's voice -- possibly frustration, possibly just strain. "... what did he say?" Ducky smiles and offers a small wave initially, "Hi, we don't mean any harm, I'm just..." her voice drops off suddenly, and she looks quite concerned at the choking sound, "Are, are you alright? Sir?" Ducky takes a step forward, worried that he's actually choking on his food. When he continues to fly up into the air, Ducky stumbles back away, concerned look vanishing, replaced by a look of panic as she sees the glob of acid. When Jackson grabs her shoulder, Ducky tumbles back, flinching and curling her arms up to cover her face, a bit of a whimper escaping her lips. "'m sorry Mister Jackson. He... he said, ah, he said... humans. Return to carnival! Kill! Humans!" Ducky explains, biting her lip and chancing a glance up at the wall of light, "'m sorry." Tsssh! Acid splats wetly against the shield; it crawls its way to the ground, where it proceeds to -- sizzle. And eat. Grass instantly curling inward into blackened, withered flakes; even the /ground/ seems to be bubbling a bit beneath it. The smell is -- not very pleasant, also. The creature above /sweeps/ through the air, heading back toward the trees with a final -- completely unintelligible -- screech. ONWARD, TO THE NIGHT! Jackson's eye is wide, the shield still shimmering in place as the bird takes off. He's gone a little paler, his hands curling into fists and his shoulders curled slightly inwards. "-- Kill. Carnival --" His eye squeezes shut, then opens again to watch the man take off. "N-no, Ducky, that -- ain't --" His words are a little slow, a little hesitant. It's only when the bird heads over the trees that he lets the shield down, and only then does he speak more steadily again. "-- Ain't /you/ done nothin' wrong, he -- that -- he seemed kinda -- I mean. I don't think. You coulda done nothin' /different/. I don't imagine the world's been. Real kind to him." He's moving over to lean against the side of the barn as he speaks, sinking against it heavily. Ducky whimpers, inadvertantly shuffling closer to Jackson as the acid splatters against the sheild, her eyes watching the curling death of the grass as the acid sinks in, flinching away from the splattered acid. "I'm not sure what's going on, but I know for one thing. That's not Horus. There is no way that was Horus, or even anything like him. I..." she shudders, wretching at the smell of the acid, "Angry. And, and loud. Very loud. 'snot very articulate." As Jackson sinks against the barn, Ducky shuffles towards the barn too, leaning against it beside her teacher. She presses the heels of her hands against her temples, closing her eyes tightly, trying to take deep breaths to steady herself. "That was a nifty thing with the sheild. Thank you. But, uh, I don't think I'm up to doing anything else more with looking for him tonight," the girl grimaces, running a hand through her hair and trying to squeeze her head, "My head hurts." "No, that sure wasn't Horus." Jackson's eye has closed again. But now he opens it, to look over at Ducky. "S'anything that helps for that? Mine usually get worse if I don't have enough sugar. Brain -- powers seem to burn glucose sometimes a lot like --" He shrugs a shoulder. "I got snacks. And water. Only got headache pills back at school, though." He gestures off in the direction of the car. "Might could get you some dinner on the way."