#anywhere

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Symon has been told that there are swarms of trolls that hold sway in these parts, but they're pretty deep in the woods and he's not going in search for the lodge in any case. Up in a tree perches a rather strange bird, slumped comfortably into the crotch of a large forked branch. His backpack is hanging over a notch nearby, and a pair of sneakers, laced tied together, dangle over the branch near him.

A buzzing sound - he pulls out his phone and glances at it, then his mouth downturns. He shoves it back into a pocket . A hardbound book pulled from his bag and opened as he pointedly ignores the phone.

Fingers pulling a piece of some sort of pickled vegetable from a plastic bag in a pocket, and he slips this into his cheek to gum at - carefully wiping fingers on his jeans before touching the next page. He seems to be settled in for the long haul.

"Deep in the Rivervalian woods, where kithain of all types be..." A voice, definitely young, sings high and slightly of key, "There's giants, and ogres, and sons of pan, but most of all there's me. Gerd tha troll, Gerd the troll. Cheerful little gal who could be your pal, Gerd tha troll. I'm on a roll. I'm a troll who likes to play!" So chipper

The cheerfulness is toe-curlingly offensive- literally. Bare feet against the branch with over-long, spidery toes that appear to have too many joints, drawing in as the voice gets closer.

A small blue figure, well, not as small as she should be for her age, but a troll childling, thinking she is alone, is singing and skipping...oh dear god, she's actually skipping by

"Brekke is the chieftain strong and proud, she often knits her brow! She's also the storm which means she fights, but also can lecture and how!"

If only it was a little later in the season, and the branches filled with leaves - still, maybe she won't look up, as he curls inward goes still, waiting to see if she'll pass by. Although, as he hears more names, he can't help but listen in.

"Her Husband is Frank, our shaman mountain guy, he will tell you about the lore! He's kind and nicce, and he's wise...but by Odin you should hear him snore!"

She takes one step, two step, and bounds UP! to the top of a tree! Oh crap. She's over him. The little bundle of unwanted sunshine just hopscotched and is directly over him.

"Kerri's the Hearth, she cooks and cleans, and takes care of the business of the place! She's keeps the food all piping hot. But you better not make trouble in her kitchen, you'll be in for it if you get caught."

An inaudible exhalation, amused. But, nothing that juicy yet. Maybe she'll give some information worth selling. Leaning forward on the branch, hair trailing down - and then she jumps UP and PAST him! A hiss of surprise and he starts, losing his grip on the book - a hand flails back to grab a branch and prevents him from falling, and his tongue whips out to grab the book before it can fall. "Nnnngh!"

From above, the words pattering down like..sachrine rain drops, "She's Married to Olgar, our only Unseelie that we know. But he's a Rover and he's bad ass. He'd insist on those lyrics, you know? He's kind of ugly with a scary mug, and often he grinds his teeth.. But if you're lost on a trod, you won't care how he looks- You'll just be filled with relief."

Lovebranch mutters to him, "Having trouble up in a tree? mmmm" Amused

"How'd the res the rest go? " She knits her brow, "Oh, ..right"

"Sir Vali is a Beaumayn knight, he helps with the mountaining. He's my uncle who jokes around a lot, but he's almost never mean."

"Oh, I've forgotten Lut and Tig's part..." A frown "That's..." SHe looks down, "EEEK!"

He scowls up at her, twisting himself in ways that a back shouldn't bend as he regains his perch, clinging with toes as much as fingers as he maneuvers, finally plucking the book from his, ah, tasteful grip, the tongue lolling for a moment before sliding away. Throat pulses a little as he swallows, a froggish looking effect, and he hisses up at her. "Must you use THIS tree?"

"You have a mouth snake!"

"It's venomous. Don't get too close." His whisper harder to hear than usual, as his voice wheezes. He carefully tucks the book away into his bag. "Does every tree bear blueberries in these woods?" Buzz, buzz. From his pocket, ignored.

"No, it does not," she says loftily, "And why are you skulking about in the woods? " Her brow knits, "Are you a spy?"

"What if I was?" He retorts, catching his breath. "Haul me before the tribunal?" A pause, remembering Siv's piratey appearance. "Walk the plank, or keelhaul? I'll haunt you if you do, just see."

"No you won't, you'll be reborn , I know. I was reborn. So there." She adds, "And if you were a spy, you'd get Nuthing from me... "A pause, "Except all the stuff I just sung, I guess."

"Does your court mind that you traipse through the woods spouting slander?" A pause. "Or is it libel? No, that's written. I suppose it's neither if it's true." Settling back into a more comfortable position, somehow looking boneless and boney at the same time, all sharp angles but fluid motions. "Not a spy. Doesn't sound like there's anything worth spying on."

(Desc)The nine or 10 year old girl has dark curly hair that falls over her left eye, no matter how she blows at it to behave. She's dressed in a floral print dress. However, to fae sight, her fair skin is sky blue, and her dark hair is snow white. Instead of a floral print dress, her voile is a chimerical chain skirt.. with embossed flower designs

(Does she particularly resemble Sylvi or Siv in either form? Can't remember who is whose siblings or relatives)

OOC: Neither.

(flaps a hand absently Oh, you people all look alike.)

BIC: "Well, that's rude," She says, "Accusing me of Slander or whatever... and ... do you need help? Are you trapped up here?"

"What if you fall from the tree, and break your leg?" A calculating expression as he peers up, and then down, gauging the height that the girl is perched at. "Probably wouldn't die from the fall, but you might be out here a long time before anyone found you." A shake of his head, dark hair falling back to obscure his face once more. "No, I climb like a cat, and my bones are made of rubber. Can't jump like that, though." A hint of respect, or jealousy, perhaps. "Impressive."

"I thought everyone knew hopscotch, and don't worry, I won't fall. I'm not as good as Siv, but I'm fine with heights. Hopscotch can be used for easy landings.. here, I'll show you... "She wiggles her fingers "Boingy Boingy Boingy goes the slaugh not spy! Over the limb and the hedgey. A broken leg he will not get, the worst he might get is a wedgy!"

And with a lurch, Symon finds himself shooting off the tree, over the limb of an oak nearby, and landing on the ground!

Safely, if startled

As he feels the glamour wrap around he tries to cling to the branch, fingers and toes scraping bits of bark with him, and he hunches over, shaking, and sputters - upset about something, surely, though she can't hear his angry hissing from way up there. His backpack remains over a branch, and he approaches the tree once more - stopping for a moment, his angry purpling expression reddening a bit - as he ducks behind another tree, out of sight for a moment as he, ah, adjusts.

Moving back into sight, he points a finger at the bag, and then, sharply, down at the ground by his feet.

"You okay?" She calls out

"oh. Sure. Moment." She moves down nimbly, gets the bag "Catch' And throws it down to him

"And that is why I will not break a leg." Chipper

He does catch - or rather, the bag catches him, almost knocking him off his feet. What is that bag filled with, bricks? He glares up at her, and then sharply at a shadowy blob off on it's own branch. "I am sure you find this hilarious." He mutters.

"I can't hear you" the girl says "Oh right, Sluagh. Second." She hops down , then says "My name is Gerd. You are?"

He hitches the bag over one scrawny shoulder once more. "Symon." A pause, and he peers at her. "You know Sylvi?" Half a question, half a statement.

"Yup. Since you're not a spy I can tell you. She's like an older sister to me, though we're not related by blood."

He digs into the bag, and pulls out a large book - opening it, there is a slimmer volume tucked safely within, a comic ensconced in mylar packaging. He thrusts this towards her. "Here, this is hers. You can give it to her." Again, not quite a question or a statement.

She eyes it, then crosses her arms, "I'm not supposed to take quests from strangers."

He turns the book to show her the title - it's a Thor comic. "I suppose I could just leave it on the ground here. Even in the mylar moisture will get in, rot the pages, and squirrels will tear it apart. "

"No! Thor can't rot. he'll mess ragnorok!"

The comic dangles between two slender fingertips, from the very tip of the plastic covering. "What a shame..."

"Fine, fine. : She takes it, "But it's not a quest. I don't know you well enough to take a quest. Uncle Vali says I have to be careful. There are old women at cross roads and strange peddlers offering odd items for too too low a price."

"Not a bad idea. Watch out for old women in chicken-legged huts." And then, almost an afterthought, "And you should -ask- before whipping people around like that." He flicks his fingers towards the tree. "Might run afoul of someone who doesn't like flying."