Notalien wrote:Outside The Palace
Thgasif-Mntud/
The General/Thomas-Man
Interesting, so The Leader Savage known as Titus is not happy with the savage they are being contracted to? They mentally stored this information for later use. Besides that The General also learned that the foreign emissary, which they have been able to gather was a leader and their offspring. Seemed appalled by slavery. This brought The General the same type of amusement that one would get from seeing an animal in an law-enforcement uniform. The General kept quiet as they followed the party to The Primitive Control Center. Stopping at the balcony.
"Mr. 'lijah sir, I finished it," Caleb said, showing off the dark blue of his silk dress. Though its design was relatively simple, there was a pair of channels of lustrous sky-blue Mikado silk that ran parallel to one another, one halfway to the dress's right and the other halfway to the left, both stretching down to its legs. Dazzling arrays of glassy crystals ran within these the parallel channels, exuding protecting magical energy, and the middle column was occupied by a flowing aqua, intentionally wrinkled to resemble the waves of the ocean. The soft silk
flowed within one's vision, and the ends of it grew white like a wave crashing upon a beach. The waist was held by a band of deep indigo, with those same wave-like patterns where it met the middle column. For its legs, the dress had little pattern to note, but at each of its four sides, a little column of ethereal silk flowed down a few inches, shimmering with a different crystalline power. He said something in a strange, fractured language that conveyed everything emotional and said nothing logical, yet somehow it was understandable: it was something about having made a dress, that it was good, and that it was enchanted with the swiftness of the ocean waves.
"Wonderful work, Caleb." Elijah gave a little clap, his umbrella spinning on his wrist. "I think we might be able to give it as a gift.)
"Thanks, Mr. 'lijah sir." The Doll looked down at the chaos down below. "They seem kinda mad down there. Wonder what's up."
"Mad, Caleb? Well..." He looked around, and that aged piece of paper flew out of his pocket alongside those ghost-like dolls from before. "Ah, wonderful. I don't suppose you two could scout for me, yes?" Those items soared around him for a few seconds, then dove: the dolls went to inspect the
slain mob's area, remaining just above it all and out of sight in little roof corners and crannies, whereas the paper left for where the
demoralized one had been, flying around like any other scrap of paper that had been thrown in the wind. Neither exuded any moderate sum of magical energy, though perhaps one might be able to tell that there was something watching. Otherwise, the little things would remain, silent.
"Mr. 'lijah sir, do you think they'll need any help?" He tilted his head, and one of his four red ribbons ripped itself down the middle.
"Perhaps... perhaps that would be a good idea. But nothing much, Caleb."
"You got it, Mr. 'lijah sir." A hopped-salute, and the back-ribbon ripped off its split ends, which were briefly blown on the wind. Then, they stayed suspended in the air, unraveling towards their destinations as little more than single strands of red ribbon perhaps several feet in length, though a good amount stayed behind, and these pieces Caleb reclaimed with the ribbon that had just torn itself. "Those'll help, I hope. Should give them the time to get away."
"Delightful." Elijah looked over the balcony. "Ah, it looks like some other folks are heading in. Seems to me the celebrations won't be taking much longer — why don't we go say hello, Caleb?"
"Mr. 'lijah sir, their clothes look ama—"
"Hoo, now." Elijah grabbed his Doll his back ribbons as Caleb's hands began to decay into a writhing mass of ribbons. "Stable, now." His hand reformed.
"I'm sorry, Mr. 'lijah sir, but I always love seeing new fashion."
"Ah, of course, of course, Caleb. But, let's not displease them now — they don't look terribly happy. What with the violence over there." A beat. "I'm surprised we didn't attract any sort of big mob."
"Wouldn't have liked that, Mr. 'lijah sir. I dunno if people would like the way I do things." Caleb lifted his cotton-covered right arm to his mouth and started to eat off of it as they exited the balcony.
"Neither would I— oh, hello." Elijah planted his umbrella-cane as he noticed
The General, and he smiled as Caleb continued to eat off of his arm. "You're the owner of that little spaceship, I'll take it? Rather bold of you to come right in like that, on that thing, in a place like this, but— ah, that's awfully dreary." This was one of the first times that Caleb had ended up close to someone else, and he peeked at The General over his cotton arm, his shivering eye like a deific
judgment. Aside from that, he had his usual aura of almost familiar, like someone had tried to make some doll in honor of their bygone beloved and had done so with such obsessive vigor and skill that one could either shudder at the inability to move on or praise its devotion.
But Caleb's material was like none other, and simultaneously could be everything, as though he was made of imagination.