[ P ] trading traces

open-eyed, burn the page, my little dark age Poison dreams, cathartic and enthralling. This is what the Tir Na Nog reminded Finnick of. The mountainside was muddled with a thick mist, foggy and dense as it crawled up his ankles like fingers searching for something to grasp. The layers of atmosphere did much to conceal his palette of monochrome gray and silver, guiding his limbs into a soft haze that blended well with his surroundings. Gunmetal eyes peered out from the smog, as alight with elven intent as they would be in any other corner of Rionnach — just slightly more here. His chest rose and fell with each pass of his paws over the mossy earth, nails curling into the dirt and ripping up clovers. The male beldam slid between trees as he glided to his destination of choice. Not so far from the entrance to the murky forest, a fairy ring bloomed, characterized by its abundance of chanterelles, morels, and his delicacy of choice: golden halos. Or, as the citizens would name it, magic mushrooms. The demand for hallucinogenics was growing in the Lowlands, and Finnick was only a man to offer his wares. Despite it being a passing job for him, it had grown into quite a hobby to participate in the blissful effects of the shrooms himself. Not often, but as his time permitted. This time, though, he only wanted them for sale. While he was at it, he would also grab some common herbs from the surrounding area. Salves were profitable for the soldiers and the thieves, often a healing tonic worth procuring from witches and warlocks alike. It was handy to have them in stores for his own use, so he felt it only necessary to collect what he could find. Head low to the ground, he approached the fairy circle with delicate ease. He knew better than to toy with the fae, so he walked quietly around the edges, nosing the grass in search of his bounty. "Ah!" He gasped softly at the sight of his prize. Careful to avoid piercing the flesh of the shroom, he uses the brunt strength of his paw to break the stem from the earth. A plump, tan fungi lay discarded atop the moist dirt, ready for the taking. Kneeling, he plucks the shroom and places it momentarily in his jaws before finding a nice spot to begin his pile of treasures. There, he dropped it, before returning to the hunt once more.

art ☓ alexandre ▸ table ☓ bunny

@Áine

There's a faint hum drifting in the breeze, a high-pitched drone ringing through the trees as she lays in meditation. A sign of the Fae, she thinks without fear, they must be near. Eerie as it might be, it's a sound that comforts and one that she can latch onto in focus. It replaces the roar of blood rushing in her ears, the heavy thuds of her heart, the trembling intake of breath each time she inhales. She presses her paws together tightly, clasping them in a semblance of prayer. Calm your mind. Brushing her lips over them, she exhales, a deep release of air deflating her body. Soothe yourself.

In a clearing of moss and ancient carved runes, it is here where Áine finds her peace, the mist washing away her unease and her turmoils. Here she can be away from all of her troubles, the responsibilities her father had left, her fears.

She is alone, unaccompanied by her own request. Her husband had tried to come with, and truth be told if he wasn't... if things had been a little different, she would have let him. 'Don't follow me,' she had said to him coldly. 'It's not a place for you.' She tries not to think of how hurt he had looked at the rebuff, but she had not lied. Tir na Nog would not have accepted him.

Unfolding herself from her position, she flops onto her side, feeling cool moss against her cheek. She closes her eyes, wanting nothing more than to hide away from the world. How lovely that would be, she thinks, to let the earth swallow her whole.

When she opens her eyes again, it isn't just an empty space that greets her, but a boy with a mushroom in his mouth. He doesn't seem to have noticed her and she takes the opportunity to roll back onto her stomach for appearance's sake. For a while, all she does is stare blankly as he ambles about, dropping the fungi in what she assumes to be a stash. A... herbalist? she wonders. What clan does he hail from? She's no expert in herbs or any of that botanical business, but what use did one have for mushrooms? Will he eat them later?

Not really caring at all to find out, she settles for silence, absentmindedly watching him do his gathering. The Fae have permitted him here, so she feels no danger at observing a stranger, and if he really did try something, she isn't afraid either.

@Finn

art & code by bean

open-eyed, burn the page, my little dark age He is immersed in his own work, not having caught a glimpse of the lady shrouded in fog. It was easy to forget others also visited the forest of the fae, even if he paid multiple trips to the area on a regular basis. Shifting his weight to each side as he moved about, Finnick felt his mind drift away as his body filtered through autopilot. Collect, deposit, return. With each mushroom retrieval, he felt a small weight release from his chest. He could only carry so much, however. His jaws were only able to open so wide. Feeling rather accomplished, he turns to inspect his loot. Despite the thick cover surrounding them, he feels eyes trailing his back. The hair along his neck raises in instinct, but he feels no fear. Turning, silver eyes meet blue ones. "Oh," he hums to himself, raising one eyebrow with mild surprise. "A girl." His statement came out as very dry, nose twitching as he wonders how he did not notice her before. Fur the color of cream spans her length, splayed around her while she lays still before him. She must have been there for quite some time, considering she was no longer standing. On any other occasion, he might have used this happenstance meeting as a lure. Something about the way she stared at him, silent and calm, kept him from doing just that. Shuffling around, he leans down to pluck a golden-lipped poppy from his stash. He recalls the name as Celandine. A herb commonly used for digestive issues, but rather pretty to look at otherwise. He snags it between his teeth, feeling rather silly as he pads over to her resting ground to set it before her paws. "Celandine. Nice to meet you," He murmurs pleasantly, before turning back to his pile. She did not seem like a threat, so he did not think to treat her as such. "Have you come to commune with the fae?"

art ☓ alexandre ▸ table ☓ bunny

@Áine

It takes a good while for the boy to notice her presence, his sequential movements catching him in a repetitive pattern of leaving and returning. There's a level of entertainment, she notices with some pleasure, in watching someone put focus on their work. It isn't even a difficult task— it's just mushroom picking —and it ought to be boring, but she finds herself paying close attention for the entire duration of being unnoticed. Resting her head on her paws, all but her eyes stay still as they follow him around. If permitted, she would be happy to remain in the mist for as long as possible, inconspicuous and unseen.

Of course, that can only be wishful thinking when, alas, he sees her.

Their eyes meet, coolness meeting surprise. She says nothing again, a slight tilt of her head the only indication of her own response at being caught. There's a nudging in her mind saying that she should probably feel sheepish, but the indifference already there overwhelms it completely.

"Oh, a girl," he says, breaking the silence first. The impassive observation has her raising a brow by a fraction, unsure why he had felt the need to state the obvious. She's almost tempted to snark in return, but he leaves no room for her to respond so quickly. Rifling through his herbs, he takes a moment before pulling out a flower. Huh. She raises her head when he begins to approach, apprehension naturally kicking in. "Celandine," he pronounces as he places the flower by her. "Nice to meet you. Have you come to commune with the Fae?"

What sort of ploy is this? Some suspicion bleeds into her thoughts at the abrupt gift, the sudden action surprising her although she is careful not to let it show. Her gaze falls to the little poppy next to her paws, looking for the most part innocent. Celandine. Is that its name? Or is it his? It seems familiar, she thinks, although she cannot be confident about where she has once seen it. Perhaps a book in the Library back home... It doesn't ring any alarms as being a poisonous plant, but she certainly isn't going to test it out. Although still a little wary, she makes a noise, tonal and contemplative. Harmless, it would seem for the time being— both the flower and its giver.

Returning her attention back onto the boy, she stares for a second more before she replies. Careful with her response, she says lightly, "Is that its name? Or yours?" She lifts a paw to brush the flower gently.

She smiles briefly, thinking that she should offer him some indication of her mood, to alleviate his own suspicions if he has any. It does not linger long before melting back into a line, but she hopes that it has done its job. "I suppose," she starts slowly, wondering how she should answer him. "I suppose you could say that."

Not wanting him to pry further, she points her chin at his mushroom stash. Some genuine interest filling her voice, she asks, "What're you going to do with all of those? Are you going to eat them?"

@Finn

art & code by bean

open-eyed, burn the page, my little dark age He is moving still, but less now that he is aware of her presence. The haphazard stash of fungi lays in a pile nearby — a myriad of natural, earthen scents and colors. He regards it with some semblance of satisfaction before deciding to rest beside it. Finn's hindquarters lower to brush against the moss, leaning back on his haunches to face this visiting girl in the forest of the fae. He watches quietly as she processes the gift he has given her. He wonders if she will heed the age-old advice — don't accept gifts from those you do not know. At the very least, she must be aware of the folklore. She has come to the Tir Na Nog to sprawl across its open palm. Surely, she must know, he thinks idly, silver eyes piercing through the fog and mist. She allows him a quiet noise. Whether it is borne from approval or distaste, he is naught to know. Perhaps she was aware of the tale. He couldn't say that his gift had been some sort of test from the start. In truth, he was only being hospitable. Now that he had the time to observe her mannerisms further, he felt that his original, innocent offering warranted a bit of harmless fun. He was undoubtedly curious from her reaction, but said nothing more of the golden-lipped flower. She, however, had other plans. "Is that its name? Or yours?" Tricky. He imagined it would be easiest to introduce himself now, but found that rather intimate for the situation. Seldom did he afford others his real name, and it was not often that he started conversations as such. With a jesting, softly drawn smirk, he replies simply. "Perhaps." Should she take offense to his obvious dodge, he wouldn't collapse. In the back of his mind, he hoped she would play along. Formal meetings were so lackluster — he loathed the feeling of proper greeting and courteous goodbye. "I suppose." She continues, addressing him with the tiniest hint of a smile. "I suppose you could say that." At this, his gaze softens, a twinkle manifesting in his eyes. "What wonderful news. I'm sure they are pleased to have you," he hums pleasantly, a monochrome tail swishing to his side. He wonders how often she returns to the fog. Her attention turns away from him, to the mushrooms in the corner of his vision. He follows her stare, taking particular time to digest each word she pronounces. "What're you going to do with all of those? Are you going to eat them?" Comes an unexpected inquisition, prompting him to chuckle under his breath at the proposition. "Goodness no. You'll have me stumbling out of the mountains not knowing the difference between wolf or tree." He larks, recalling the few shrooms that would surely warp reality if too high a dose is taken. Although the effects are tempting, he isn't usually one to dip into his own wares. Leaning forward as if to share a secret, he speaks in slightly hushed tones. "They're to be sold. Some as a means to heal, others for recreation," he winks at the latter, before retreating to his spot opposite her. He doesn't bother to explain the details, but assumes she's smart enough to understand the hint of mischief beyond his words.

art ☓ alexandre ▸ table ☓ bunny

@Áine