#anywhere

"Who doesn't like flying?" startled, " I mean, every person dreams of flying..." She spins around, magazine in one hand, "It's wonderful! I'll fly soon. Wayfare is my 'thang'" The very white girl..errr blue girl says

Sigh. "Not everyone. And no without warning. What if you flub it and drop someone, there's a broken neck on your conscience." A shrug, apparently giving up in the face of her terrible irrepressible cheer. His phone buzzes again and scowls sourly. "Can you 'scotch a phone phone into the lake?"

"Nope. Those are too uhm techy?" A pause, "And I didn't think Sluagh broke necks. Don't you guys uhum have like foamy bones or something? That's why your skulls don't go 'cracck' when you go through narrow spaces."

"Something like that. They can still break, I'm not made of rubber. Or think of the next person you haul around by the..." He pauses, perhaps taking her age into account. "Seat of their pants." He takes a long, slow look around. "Is this your territory? Not YOU-you, your... clan, or whatsit. Not meaning to trespass." Perhaps realizing that if it had been some Rover he may well HAVE been keelhauled for spying, so far as he knows.

"im just a kid," sullen look, "you don't have to whisper yell at me." A slight sniff.

He blinks, and looks a little taken aback. He hadn't meant to snap. Probably. A glance up at the shadowy blob overhead, an entreaty.

Tromp tromp, footsteps in the woods, the occasional crack of a twig or rustle of a disturbed bird.

A flicker of hand motion - miming shaking an invisible... bag? Ah, treat bag, rattle rattle. An unspoken promise, added to his plea.

"And no..." She wipes at her nose "I mean, yes, the whole barony is under our protection...but there's no rule keeping you out. You're not that close"

He nods. "Good to know. I didn't mean it." A little reluctant - didn't mean to snap? Didn't mean to trespass? "I, ah. Appreciate you taking that to Sylvi. She wasn't in school the other day. When it was pis-." Cough. "Raining real hard."

"Oh, the flooding' Her mood shifts "My gosh it came down so hard. Was you and your family okay? Do you need food or dross? Some folks have to rebuild. We tried to help" A pause "I helped make samwiches"

A momentary flicker of interest - she's just OFFERING dross? No, there has to be a catch - he shakes his head. "No, I live over in town. There was a little leaking in the basement, but I like it damp." A frown, looking put upon for a moment. "But they made me mop up where it got into the laundry room. Tssh."

"Oh, well, not everyone likes milldew"

He glances up suddenly, turning to stare down a trail. "Something's out there."

"Probably an owlbear. Or maybe this is gnoll territory." He murmurs to himself. Taking a step over towards the nearest tree once more - Gerd will be on her own.

Symon might even hear, faintly, the elegiac strains of Led Zeppelin, muffled by headphones and distance. Black Dog.

Gerd tucks the magazine away in her own backpack, and pulls out her tiny weapon

And he stops, pulling his hand away from the branch, and a hint of an upturn to his mouth. "Bugbears don't listen to Zeppelin." A thoughtful look, then shakes his head. "Nope. Probably not." A glance at Gerd's weapon, sizing it up.

It appears to be a mace, a 'light' one' which is a nice way to say she will crack your arm bone instead of your femur.

He looks a bit more respectful at that - towards the weapon, if not the girl. "You get mobs out here often?"

"We're Rivervale trolls. We guard the green, we are the shields to the other Kithain who live here. We are the blue line." A pause "I thought everyone knew that."

To fae eyes, Dagmar is easy enough to spot - already six and half feet tall, with caramel blonde buns pulls up behind her curving horns.

"Oh, it's Dagmar!"

"Hi, Dagmar!" She waves with her mace

The teenager looks up, golden eyes searching. "Oh, Gerd! Hey." An upnod of the chin - spotting the troll, but missing the sluagh.

"You're the shield that guards the realms of men." He whispers, then flinches a bit at her yell.

"Well, the realms of other Changelings..." SHe says "mostly, but Sir Frank's a LIam and they fight hard for mortals so sure..."

"Can't trust them, though. So they say. Oathbreakers." His tone bland as he repeats what he's been told.

She squints. "Who you talking to?"

He shifts slightly over from the shadows, peering up at Dagmar. "Boo."

Her face cracks into a grin, teeth bright against her slate-blue complexion. "Hey."

His phone buzzes again, louder than his actual voice. His eyes close, mouth tight, and he takes a second to compose himself so that the momentary flash of - anger? Frustration? Is pushed aside, recovering his neutral expression. A nod to Dagmar. "Hey. I found a troll up a tree. Hows about that?"

Gerd is glaring at Symon, "Well They say wrong."

"Sir Frank is a nice good man and he loves his daughters and he's never lied to me."

GLARE

"I didn't say I said that." A pause, and he adds. "But I did say it, I guess. Sorry. Haven't met him. You know they say that sluagh are all just slithery muck dwellers that steal your secrets, and can't trust them either. -They- say a lot." His tone apologetic this time.

"Oh" She looks sheepish "Yes, I guess sluagh do get a bad rep too."

Dagmar is quiet, eyebrows furrowed and head tilted as she strains to listen to both parties up the tree.

(at the base of the tree now. 🙂 )

(Ah! My bad)

"Sorry, Dagmar.. I.. should have said this is Symon. You know him?"

Still quiet, a faint frown as she listens to the back and forth. "Frank seems okay. And yeah, Symon's cool."

A pause, and he remarks. "They're not all wrong.. I AM a slithery muck dweller. It's one of my better points." He looks a bit surprised to be called cool. "Hey, Flyswatter."

"Flyswatter?"

A nod towards Dagmar's glaive. "Yeah, cuz she hauls that Flyswatter around."

"Ha. That can could kill a pretty big fly. Dagmar's like the strongest girl I know"

A snort. And, briefly, a little crooked smile.

Suddenly a loud ringing tone erupts from his pocket. He flinches and whips his hands up to his ears, though he has to grope down, leaving one unprotected, as he fumbles for the phone. Pulling it out, the screen is flashing brightly - someone apparently activated the "Find my SmartPhone" feature that causes it to go off even if the ringer is PURPOSEFULLY muted. "----!" Luckily, his voice is soft enough that the ringing drowns out the sweat from Ger'd delicate ears.

"Oh"

"Uhg - stepmom?"