genessia | Omar Diggs [Bounty Log for Attleton][Open for Action afterwards]

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Omar Diggs [Bounty Log for Attleton][Open for Action afterwards]

"I didn't do it, man! Back off or I swear I'm gonna blow her brains out!"

Mr. Diggs, a disheveled, middle-aged man, threatened a terrified young redhead at gunpoint. He held her neck in his arms as he pressed the barrel into her temple.

Ted had gotten pretty good at tracking down wanted criminals, either through persistence or dumb luck. He remembers bits of gossip in his travels, and when he tread enough pavement, it was only a matter of time before he found his man.

It was a far more difficult matter when his man found a hostage, however. Ordinarily these everyday thugs wouldn't give him much hassle, but the threatening of innocents made things much trickier. He usually doesn't have to resort to diplomacy, and in his life-fiber suit, Ted isn't exactly the picture of peace.

"Just...calm down, sir. You're only wanted for questioning; if you're innocent, then...well, I must say your innocence is looking very questionable at the moment. I would think one's image might be some import-"

"Shut up!" Omar pressed the hammer of the revolver as the woman was hitched up an inch higher, shrieking. Okay, bad choice of words. Still, what could he do? He had chased his quarry into an alley. There didn't seem to be a good way to get the drop of him. It was them three with brown brick wall on either side. A chill wind rustled through the tension.

"All right, just...take it easy. Calm down."

"I am calm!"

Ted grit his teeth out of nerves. He just needed time. Silently, he willed one of his threads to creep along the left wall, using the shadow of nearby cover to obscure it. With luck, Omar's peripheral vision wouldn't see that dark tendril inching ever closer to his position. Ted just needed his attention for some moments longer.

"Listen, I-"

"No YOU listen! On the count of three, you're gonna back off. If you move a single muscle, she's dead, got it! By the time I say 'one', if you're not out of my sight, you're gonna see a real murder." He shot Ted a steeled look of grim determination.

"One!" The woman peeped a small shriek. Come on, life fibers, go closer! Ted couldn't budge.

"Two!" It looked to be in position. But if Ted gets this wrong, then-

"Three!" No time. With a silent prayer, Ted bid the thread lance its way across the alley, striking Omar clean in the head. A whipping snap resounded along the walls, and the assailant was neutralized. Ted let out gasping breaths of relief.

"Sorry, Ma'am. Are you all right? My apologies for-"

"Aaaaaah!" With a scream, the woman whose name Ted never knew ran off in terror.

"...ah. Suppose I can't blame her; as costumes go, mine isn't the friendliest..."

***

Ted needed to get his mind off murderers for a while. And what better way to do that than recite poetry to the confused looks of pedestrians everywhere? Colorful verse rolled off a colorfully dressed man.

"There is a gentle thought that often springs
to life in me, because it speaks of you.
Its reasoning about love’s so sweet and true,
the heart is conquered, and accepts these things.
‘Who is this’ the mind enquires of the heart,
‘who comes here to seduce our intellect?
Is his power so great we must reject
every other intellectual art?
The heart replies ‘O, meditative mind
this is love’s messenger and newly sent
to bring me all Love’s words and desires.
His life, and all the strength that he can find,
from her sweet eyes are mercifully lent,
who feels compassion for our inner fires."

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"You've got a little talent."

Sync was mostly concealed in the shadow of a building, having leaned to listen. Given that he now lived here, it wasn't much of a surprise to see Ted, even if it wasn't entirely wanted. Wanted or not though, the teen had to question why the walking rainbow was literally waxing poetic.

"Got something on your mind?"

Ted's neck snapped towards Sync, eyes flashing and smile widening. Well if it isn't his precocious coworker!

"Ha, well hello, Sync. Fancy seeing you here. And thank you." Ted's surprised that he cares for verse at all, given a teenage boy's typical interests. "I confess I didn't figure you much for poetry."

He chuckled a little less earnestly at the question. "Mm, trying to meet a strong thing with another, like marriage or turning the heater on in winter. Though I can't quite tell whether that's strength, like mustering an army for war, or weakness, like retreating to the other side of the globe."

"The Order of Lorelei had a certain need for it." Which he didn't feel like getting into, but it was the basis for Fonic Artes--Magic, in his home. While most used a Fonic Verse purely for war, some turned it into entertainment, as well. Giving a shrug after, he pushed away from the wall, stepping into the light and striding up to Ted now to appraise him.

He also didn't enjoy the next answer, but Sync offered his thoughts anyway, "Weakness," It was a prompt answer, but not condescending. After all; Sync spent most of his time ignoring or running away from problems on Auldrant. "Subtlety can be more valuable sometimes."

"Hah! What can be more subtle than poetry, whose good aim is to mean what it does not say?" He exhaled, releasing the subject in favor of one more particular.

"The Order of Lorelei," he echoed in a reverent tone. "What's that? Something to do with a 'God-general', perhaps?" Ted was doing some sizing of his own, though abstractly; he was looking almost through Sync than at him.

"You've been peeping in places you shouldn't," Sync warned, though his tone was hardly menacing. It was very tired actually. While he hadn't gotten to a point where he was ready to let go of Auldrant, it was something he could handle a little better now.

"It's who I worked for, as a God-General." The answer was concise, as that was really all there was to it. This wouldn't be the case for someone like Ted, who likely hadn't heard these terms unless another God-General had rolled through this place then disappeared before he had appeared. There had been Arietta, but he had not been ready to face her and now he was alone. "What of it?" Ted's gaze didn't phase the teen, whether it was through or at, but he did look away briefly. The value of his mask was in that his poker face was all the more enhanced as he stared back, betraying nothing of his thoughts.

Ted has yet to suffer any consequence for indulging his curiosity on the network. None that he recognized, at least, and it's always fun to play the prescient mystic and reveal one knows more than they ought. Not that it always amount to much; so far all he has are proper nouns and some vague connection between them.

"Come on, there must be more to it than that. Didn't they stand for anything? What sort of work did they need done? Poetry and...violence, at least." I.e. the two things he'd brought about today.

"Well, it's a prestigious title at least, especially for one so young. Suppose I wonder how you manage to accomplish so much." He kept pretty good track of who did what bounties, and Sync had gotten his feet thoroughly wet in the short time he's been here. Presumably he was equipped to handle danger, though they'd never gone on assignment at Jolly Eddy's before.

Now there was a smirk. In Sync's opinion, that surmised the Order very well. Shrugging at this and the later question, disguised as a vague statement, Sync stepped closer, moving to make a slow circle around Ted to find a bench to sit on.

"Suppose I say that I was pawn," Which was extremely honest, though downplaying the work he had accomplished as said pawn. "To answer the question though; The Order existed to make sure Auldrant followed The Score. To the point where some asked what The Score dictated what they should have for dinner." Which while it didn't necessarily explain in detail; he hoped it was enough. The Score ruled Auldrant for quite a long time.

Ted too occupies said bench. "Suppose I believe you." He pondered the next proper noun: The Score.

"Interesting; sounds a little like Calvinism. This Score, then, was not invincible? It needed an Order to enforce its edicts?"

Sync nodded at Ted's words. Since they were being honest, he did appreciate Ted taking it at face value. "Suppose I said I earned my keep anyway," There was a sigh after. "If I was going to be a pawn, I planned to be useful."

On the Score, he snorted. "The Score..." Syn leaned on the bench and turned to Ted. "Yulia Jue read the Score of the entire planet of Auldrant, leaving six Fonstones of massive size. By reading these, one could see what Yulia Jue saw, and The Score of the planet promised everlasting prosperity; the Order founded itself to keep the planet from deviating from The Score at all costs. Though, Yulia Jue held a secret about that..."

Ted considered. With a title like "God-General", he clearly had some prestige. So he must mean 'pawn' not as a weak or low piece, but something...manipulated. Or meant to be sacrificed for a higher goal.

Disturbing. Equally disturbing that one so young is basically confessing to exacting violence for the sake of The Score. Sync didn't even really sound like he believed in that mission either. This was all present on Ted's pensive face as he rolled thoughts around.

"...I see. So The Score could be deviated from, and it was The Order's job to, in keeping with the name, purge the deviants. A fragile prophecy. And this prophetess was hiding something?"

"The odd thing about The Score was...it was fragile, but not. Often times it merely meant observing something and and confirming it to be as Yulia's Score read. A good example was Hod. If the Hod War hadn't happened...but it was in The Score, so the Order let it. 'A few innocent lives paled in comparison to the ultimate destiny of the planet.' Or so it went."

He was progressively sounding more bitter as he spoke. "Anyway. Yulia Jue had read a Seventh Fonstone, and the highest in the Order knew of it, you had to be Maestro Rank or higher to know much. Van. The Commandant of the Oracle Knights, my superior, was from Hod. There's a long convoluted plot, but to summarize, Van read the Seventh Fonstone, and joined the Order and Oracle Knights to undermine it from within and set the planet on a new course. Because at the end of the Seventh Fonstone, it read, 'Thus shall Auldrant be destroyed by the miasma and turned to dust. This is the end of Auldrant.' Polarizing, you might say. Everyone had been relying on Yulia Jue's predictions for so long that when she finally read the entire Planetary Score, she was horrified and tried to hide it because she knew it would bring the end that much sooner, and prayed the future could change."

Though he turned to regard Ted with his expression betraying little under the mask. "I'm a direct product of Van's efforts to subvert the Score."

The plot elements were multiplying. Now there's another order, the Oracle Knights. Some possible contradictions, too. How did it promise both posterity and destruction? Perhaps there was something subtle in the text. More to the point, how would miasma bring that about?

The Score seemed, like most prophetic things, like an artifact of the divine. What, then, could Yue possibly pray to to avert it?

Ted almost gives in to the temptation to prod Sync until he fills all the blanks, but relents. They're not on Auldrant, so perhaps it's all vain anyway. And Sync seemed to be sharing for personal reasons of his own. He'll follow his lead and simply move the story along.

"A direct product? How do you mean?"

There was a pause now. Yes it was a complicated story, and for it to all make sense, Sync would have to explain it all, which he didn't care to.

Instead he sudden reached and pulled Ted close by the scruff of his shirt, but not roughly. While he might be mistaken, Ted seemed like one the few he could confide in.

"I don't want to talk about this ever again after we're done here, and I don't want anyone else hearing about it," He warned quietly, having pulled the man close enough that the tip of his mask was almost grazing his chin. Letting Ted go gently after that, Sync sighed.

"Fomicry is a process where you replicate an object. The replica is essentially a complete copy, right down to the fonon frequency. The only different is when you do it to a person; memories can't be replicated. No one understands how to properly use Memory Particles. Anyway..." Now the teen sounded bitter again. "The Score said that Fon Master Ion, leader of the Order, would die at 12. He got sick and since he was supposed to die anyone, no one cared for him or treated him. He grew bitter that The Score dictated his fate without a choice, and Van approached him with a plan to abolish The Score. You don't need to know about that." He turned away from Ted now, looking straight ahead.

"He convinced Ion to let him make Replicas using Fomicry. The goal was to make a perfect Replica, but they fell short. The Seventh was the closest."

He tilted his head down.

"I was the Fifth. I was made just to be pawn, and I wasn't even any good for what they wanted so they threw the rest of us away into the volcano, but I hid. Van found me just repeating the same line over and over..."

He grit his teeth, reaching under the mask to wipe a bitter tear away. He hadn't let himself actually deal with the issue before. Not for two long Auldrant years. "'The Synchronization Level is the problem.' So he named me Sync, and since my physical abilities surpassed the Fon Master, he decided to use me. If it meant the world and The Score would be destroyed, I was all for it."

Ted was startled at the tug of his neck, thoughts flashing as he wondered if he'd unwittingly said something explosive. Wouldn't be the first time. When Sync explains, he nods attentively, figuring the worst was about to unfold.

Even a mask wouldn't do much to hide Ted's expression as it darkened with contemplation. Cloning. It wasn't the first time he'd encountered someone being made wholesale; Mewtwo and Abel had similar upbringings. The difference was that they were painstakingly designed to serve a select purpose; presumably their creators wouldn't dream of putting them to pasture.

But to go through the abominable trouble of it all, only to throw it away when it didn't work...well, suppose he can't be surprised. If one's callous enough to clone, their attitude about life and death was bound to be similarly wretched.

So this is what Sync meant by "pawn." And if he were meant to seamlessly replace someone at a specific age, that could mean Sync was no older than a handful of years. He couldn't imagine the effect that would have on someone; to be mature yet not, narrowly escaping death from those who had not the barest scrap of love.

Ted yearned to offer that now. But not yet; not until he'd heard everything. "I see...that's awful. What did you do?"

"I did my job," The reply was curt, but Sync folded his hands together.

"Van's plan was to remake the entire world; his theory was that a clone didn't have a predestined fate, and making a replica of the whole of Auldrant would theoretically free it from the Score. I was moved into the Oracle Knights as one of his God-Generals, subservient only to him, and since he trusted me possibly the most, I had almost as many duties as his Right-Hand, Legretta. So I spied, organized. I even at point posed as Ion to help him gather the data necessary for Fomicry. However it was for nothing. I never was of any use, and I couldn't accept what help anyone offered me."

His words turned bitter again. "They thought it was so easy to extend a hand to me and say it was okay, they'd take me. They fought me tooth and nail and put on airs of putting that behind them..."

Sync certainly was an efficient job-doer. Was this where his no-nonsense attitude about work came from? His labors didn't seem to give him much pleasure.

So Van wanted to clone an entire planet. Ambitious, to say the least. Still, he can't see why that would be any freer than anything else. If fatalism's the order of the day, why would it cover one world any more or less than another? It was like they conceded the deadly truth of the matter before they'd even begun to fight.

And now, Sync speaks of vanity, a subject Ted knows painfully well. Believing that you're of no use; that you can't make a difference. An anomaly of existence that can't seem to change a stubborn world, however much he'd like to.

For now, all he can do is move along. Sync's misgiving's over help that seemed too pat prompted him to keep affection close at hand. "'They'?"

Edited 2017-05-29 17:25 (UTC)

This was indeed why he tended to be very professional; when all you had to your existence was work, you tended to do that one thing well. Taking joy from his work might be impossible as his work wasn't joyous in nature even now, it was merely another way to exist.

For cloning Auldrant, there were inherent flaws...but Sync hadn't told Ted everything yet, though it might be inferred; he was made to replace Ion, but being told what he was made for did hint that he didn't have Ion's memories. That step had thwarted Jade to the point the man had almost killed himself for answers. Van felt it was best Replicas existed without memories.

There was a silence from the boy. "Luke fon Fabre was Van's student, and he traveled with Jade Curtiss and Anise Tatlin. There were more, but those three wound up here. They opposed Van at every step they would, even if they were always three steps behind in their reasoning."

So, his roommates, in effect. People here tended to cling to what was familiar, and perhaps he was no different.

Ted was quiet as he recollected the other network broadcasts he's seen. All three of those he knew, Jade most of all, though not the hand he'd played in fomicry from the beginning.

"I see. So you were enemies, then, albeit reluctant ones by the sound of it."

He didn't take those three to be especially zealous followers of the Score or anything like that; presumably Van's plan would have dire consequences if his opposition was so fierce.

"I recall Anise said she was lucky to have people she knew around. You included."

"Hm." Sync was mostly indifferent in the end. He had done his job because it was what Van wanted, but he would be lying if he had attempted to claim that at one time he didn't hate them. Mostly because he felt so embittered by his circumstance.

He was turning this over in his brain when Ted's comment made him perk up. "Did she?" It was unexpected. He felt she was just caring for him because he looked like Ion sometimes. He also wondered if she interested him just because he coveted anything Ion had.

Ultimately though, he did miss her since she had made the effort, a bit more sincerely than Jade. Looking back over to Ted, he shrugged his shoulders after a moment. "That is my story." Which unless Ted had questions, seemed like the end. He reclined back against the bench and stretched out a bit to relax, just remembering all that put a lot of tension on him.

Ted mentally summed up the story, and Sync along with it. Cloned to replace a terminally ill, child-leader of The Order. He was then left to die after things didn't go as planned, only to be rescued by one with designs to thwart the cruel system that produced him. Sync agreed, presumably because it was better to be useful than nothing at all. He must have held the question all victims of the Score did: "What choice do I have?"

Yet it went awry. Sync said even then, after devoting his life exclusively to dismantling the presiding system, he wasn't useful after all. He couldn't do the one thing he'd set his mind to. His resistance was futile. But he resisted anyway; resisted the one way out his enemies might give him. Why? Because he couldn't trust. Because betrayal had been scarred into him from the very beginning. And even when that fate had been averted, it was replaced by one of mere subservience and destruction. He must have had no inkling of what Luke, Anise, and Jade offered.

Ted didn't know what time span this all happened in, but he guessed no more than a few years, despite the adolescence. Good Lord, one could measure how far away Sync was from a normal life in light-years. What an awful tragedy. Ted spoke in a quivering, doleful way, close to tears.

"I'm sorry, Sync. That must've been an excruciating life to live."

Granted, Sync played his part in his own misery too, but Ted could hardly blame him for that. The circumstances were mitigating, to say the least. Besides, in his own youth, Ted had nursed similar desires born from similar wounds.

And yet, he wondered why Sync told him all this. Ted did have an uncanny ability to extract the past from relative strangers, but that couldn't explain all. Perhaps this had been burdening him a long time; so long that he didn't much care who he told, so long as he got it off his chest. And Sync had vouchsafed all of this to Ted, someone whom he lightly knew at work? As Ted continued, the sorrow in his voice was gradually eclipsed by hope.

"But for all that...I can see how you've grown. You're doing so much better. I can't tell you how honored I am that you'd confide in me. It's not in vain. I swear to secrecy, of course. In exchange, will you please me and promise to put me at your disposal? I wouldn't mind, you know, helping you keep to this upward path you're on."

He was smiling warmly, looking at the eyes of Sync's mask, before laughing a little at himself.

"If that's not too forward."

Crossing his arms as he listened to Ted attempt to empathize. He wondered if it was even possible, but he kept the possibility open in his mind.

What he hadn't expected were compliments. He took them, regarding Ted now more seriously. It seemed that perhaps yes, he was being serious. Almost far too serious, but that's how Ted came off to Sync in the end. Serious and perhaps foolish. There was a sigh and the teen reached to slip his mask off his face. There wasn't much to Sync's face that was remarkable, he just looked older in the eyes, like he had seen more than he should have. Given his story; this might not be surprising.

"Alright Ted. I don't know where I'm heading, but fine; help me get there." Wherever it was, he did not entertain noble thoughts of suddenly being a hero. However if he could find something more to life than what he had on Auldrant, he would take that. Anise had already reminded him that like it or not; this was home now. He had used up that second chance as eagerly as it had been offered to him.

He replaced the mask onto his face again, looking forward. "Did you have anything you wanted to talk about?"

Ted stifled a laugh at the--surely--symbolic unmasking. He wondered if Sync did that often; take it off in tender moments. He's very encouraged that Sync, with the origin he had, can now trust so well that sharing his miseries didn't seem to tax him very much.

"Oh, I do. Heaven--the beatific vision, and all that. I don't see why you couldn't get there any more than I could." But even Ted knew this might not be the time to start witnessing. Has to pace himself. Something he wanted to talk about? For a moment ,Ted thought he might want some turnabout; an offer to share a dark past of his own. He has a little of that, but...well, it seemed like such a nice day. Too nice to darken it with his own unresolved woes. It could wait. He had something else in mind anyway.

"But nicely; yes, you may rely on me always." Now he'll get physical and try to rope an arm around Sync's shoulder, drawing him in for some close and personal, brotherly feeling. He'd always wanted siblings.

"Want to get something to eat? On the way you can tell me all about how you catch criminals, like that, ah, killer I've seen you dispatch on the Beacon Boards. Been trying for that one a while; I'd love to know your methods. I've a few of my own, of course."

Sometime while Ted was reciting poetry, Cole had appeared, already sitting cross legged on the ground. He peered up at Ted under the brim of his hat, all his attention on him. Stories and poems were best when read aloud, Cole felt.

"Neither of them are right, not completely," he commented when Ted finished with the poem. Ted was an oddity to him, he couldn't read him at all. Solas had cut him out before, could Ted do that too? There was no way he didn't need some help.

"Why did you choose that poem?"

Edited 2017-02-01 10:48 (UTC)

"Hah, is that right, Cole? I'd recognize that hat anywhere." Ted chuckled and went to sit beside him, sliding up to a nearby wall like two beggars.

"Heh, well I tried very hard not to choose it, actually. The book it's in was a gift I did not choose from a plant-man who never entered into my mind. I even flipped to its page capriciously. Isn't it great fun? Not choosing, I mean.

Well, if I did choose it I should look very silly, for I cannot read Italian. The poet himself, one Mr. Alighieri, is very firm about the unbearable loss of meaning in translation. He'd no doubt rip me to ribbons for so easily accepting the secondhand. Alas, I like it anyway, even if shrunk in a foreign tongue. Do you? I see you note some imperfection in both Love and Intellect."

"I like my hat...," he said in a dreamy sort of voice. Cole really loved that hat, even it it wasn't the easiest to see around some times. He tilted his head so he could look at Ted out of the side of his vision.

"Love... Beautiful, bright, too intense, overwhelming. Wisdom is brittle, easily broken. Rare. People are more than just one, so they can't both be right." He was very sure of what he just said, whatever he just said.

"Why is it fun to not choose?"

"Hah, I should hope so! It's so constant that the only other explanation would be some lingering curse." But who would be mean enough to curse someone to wear ridiculous clothing? ~~certainly not him...~~

When it comes to saying things no one is likely to understand, Ted's unmatched, and takes Cole's weird words to heart. "'Overwhelming'...yes, it can be. I've heard that love at its utmost can burn as terribly as hatred to the uninitiated. Wisdom, fragile? Worldly wisdom, perhaps, or one's grasp on the better kind. Hmm...is what people embody really the measure of righteousness? It's funny; the author, Dante, came from a time where the wise were interested in intellect and stoicism, casting out passion as unworthy. Until him, it seemed the two might never reconcile. In a way, he made them right because they were 'both'; rather like marriage and the sexes, perhaps." Ted stretched.

"Oh no, Cole, not you too! Haha. Well, let me be a cad and ask a question of my own: are you having fun here? In Genessia, that is?"

Having recently re-acquired his motorcycle, Jethro, Tannusen didn't do a whole lot of walking from place to place on a daily basis. But there were exceptions, and this was one of them. He'd dropped Jethro off at Trahearne's shop, letting the inquisitive chimerical kirin poke at interesting books whenever the non-Enchanted populace wasn't looking.

And so it was that he happened to be on the same path at the same time as the poetry-slinging human. He paused, and waited patiently rather than interrupting. The Faerie didn't speak up until it seemed Ted was in between poems.

"An interesting hobby," although Tannusen had threatened to publicly murder Ted the last -- and only -- time they'd spoken, he seemed neutral enough about the guy today. One would think he'd cross the street and keep going, after his last exit...

Edited 2017-02-01 16:21 (UTC)

Ted's senses pricked at the presence of Tannusen's arrival. His reading faltered for a fraction before continuing unabated. The liar. The one who sought amusement, and for all he knew, might kill any muses that happened to be nearby. Not very conducive to poetry.

Cross the street and keep going? What an excellent idea! Ted's stealing it. Obliviousness comes very naturally to him; all the more so when he puts in effort.

Sure Ted, just as soon as your legs are longer and your stride is stronger than Tannusen's, you might have a chance. Well, scratch that, the tiger can still teleport other people at-will, just not himself anymore.

"Human," he never caught the guy's name, who'd already known his, and this world had quickly snapped him out of calling all non-Fae 'mortal'. "Will you calm down? I'm after a minute of your time, at most."

Ever the optimist, Ted keeps walking right along. Who knows? There are lots of humans out and about. It'd be far too presumptuous to assume little ol' him was the one he wanted. He's so boring, after all.

"Fine then, we'll do it this way," Tannusen is keeping pace just fine, thank you, striding along behind Ted with his gloved hands tucked casually into his pockets. "You told me the other day that I wouldn't want to hear what you had to say, and you were right. I'm the idiot that pushed for it anyway, despite usually being on the other side of that warning."

See, Ted, he doesn't actually need your input to say what he's gonna say.

"I let my temper run the show, and I overreacted. I wanted to apologize for that."

Ted's gait stopped at that. He was too shocked to continue. He had been convinced that the world was almost all proud, and little knew the difference between good and evil. And now Tannusen, of all people, was showing penitence? What on earth?

Two trains of thought ran. The first was that this was yet another lie; some strange gambit to get a reaction out of him. If so, his altered countenance proved that well enough.

The other one, per the poem, set about banishing. Dante's chief accomplishment was the joining of Intellect and Love; Ted's own intellect bid him remember love's rules, as harsh and exacting as pure intellect. If he does not forgive, he will not be forgiven. And there is much to forgive.

"...You're forgiven." He knows a poem about it, in fact, though for now he's at a loss for words. He continued to walk, though at a milder pace. For a man seeking rest from the death of the world, that wasn't half bad.

Tannusen nearly walks into the guy when he comes to a sudden stop like that, but he hops to the side to avoid a collision, and then waits patiently enough for a response.

Pooka, especially those of Tannusen's oddly-advanced years, aren't always compelled to lie about everything at all times. No, that's mostly the rule for dull things like what they'd had for breakfast that morning, or 'how was the flight'. Sure, sometimes the compulsion claws its way up higher than inane small-talk levels, but it's not a constant. Especially if one is a smart pooka and doesn't fight it too often.

When the human speaks, Tannusen merely nods in response, and he doesn't follow when Ted starts walking again. He'd said his piece, and it'd been heard. That's all he'd been after.

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