(Untitled)

[enigmaestro]

Who: Everyone at the State Island Renn Faire.
When: From noon 4/29 to 11:59pm 5/2
Where: Staten Island.
Summary: Reality is temporarily broken as demonic forces accidentally make a Renn Faire very real.
Warnings: None?
Format: Whatever thou doth deign upon.

Comments

SOUTH

[enigmaestro]

[The Southern tip holds excitement, from the jousting tournaments upon the King’s Field, to gamblings on Fortune’s Stage. Take heed, for this section of the land is where the rogues and thieves congregate, and it is rumored that under Fortune’s Stage lies a cavern meant for only outlaw eyes.]

[fantasycliche]

[ Finally, a part of this strange new plane that isn't absolutely bewildering and insane. Pleased as she is to find such a corner of the world, Khisanth wastes no time in shedding that stupid human shape and taking up a lounge around the spire of St. George's Chapel. mmmm comfy. So she's just hangin' out up here, wings idly fanning to keep cool, tip of her long tail contentedly twitching, and mostly ignoring the various looks that humans toss up at her. She'd already eaten earlier, after all.

...But despite that, those ponies at the pony ride not too far off look really really tasty. ]

[outspeeds]

[ Bart could not figure out if that dragon perched on the spire was real or a very convincing animatronic. All signs --like the fanning of its wings, the occasional twitching of its tail, and the fact that no wires or electronics were in sight-- pointed to 'real'. Still, he was very eager to find out. And that probably had something to do with the fact that a real dragon would be the coolest thing ever. (He's played way too many fantasy games.)

Since he wasn't in his Impulse costume --if only for the reason it did not match what everybody else was wearing -- he could not simply scale the chapel. Stairs it was, then. It won't be long before a hatchling in a fake beard, silly robe and sillier wizard's hat pokes his head out of the highest window. As far as he can, he turns his head toward the spire. ]

Cooooool.

[fantasycliche]

[ The black head cocks, one orange eye tilts down to inspect whoever it is down there. And then, if a dragon's face is capable of making an expression of distaste (it is, it just depends on who's trying to read its expressions), a look of distaste is exactly what she aims down at him. ]

Oh. It's you.

[outspeeds]

It talks, too? [ Today just can't get any cooler! Without much thought for his own wellbeing, he grabs into the top frame of the window, and pulls himself upward. He then throws two hands out for balance, and starts to walk. ]

Yeah, it's me. Have we met?

[fantasycliche]

[ That? That is not the right reaction for a human meeting a dragon to feel. Khisanth's a little offended. There's an offended huff of air, and she eyes him carefully. Ignoring the question, of course, because it's hardly worth answering. ]

Not too close, human. I'm feeling a little peckish.

[ And yes, she's looking pleased at the sound of her own voice. She's been a human too much lately, she's missed these DEEP SEXY TONES. ]

[outspeeds]

Oh, okay. [ He stops walking, choosing to respect her personal space. This may not last long, depending on whatever thought compels him in the future. ]

You want me to run down and get you some burgers or something? [ He'll realise what dragons eat ... later.

The people below look very concerned. Seeing a dragon was a first for them to begin with, and now there was a boy on the spire with her, and they appear to be talking casually. ]

[fantasycliche]

[ Well, at least he'd stopped. It's almost disappointing, she wouldn't have minded eating him. But she's feeling a little sleepy after her last meal, so it might've been more effort that it was be worth. He's a scrawny little hatchling.

With a luxurious stretch, wings out and neck arching (because that's more like it, people offering her food): ] Maybe. What are burgers?

[outspeeds]

[ . . . Why did he even expect a dragon to know what a burger is? ]

They're these ... meat-things. In buns and lettuce and cheese. [ He stacks his hands on top of each other in a gesture. ]

[fantasycliche]

[ oh ew. Lips curling back from HUGE SHARP TEETH at mention of buns, lettuce, and cheese, and one tawny eye narrows. ]

Do I look as though I would enjoy eating vegetables, human?

[outspeeds]

[ And Bart? He's unfazed. ]

You can have 'em without vegetables too. I don't like them myself.

[fantasycliche]

Find me a "burger" with only meat. I may find it acceptable.

[ just so imperiously given, this command. SHE HAS EVERY RIGHT TO BOSS HIM AROUND RIGHT. RIGHT. of course she does she's a dragon. ]

[outspeeds]

[ HE MAY GET TO FEED A DRAGON! HE REALLY DOESN'T MIND THE BOSSING. ]

Sure, I can do that. [ He glances at the people below. It appears they've lost interest, so maybe it won't hurt if he --

A dozen burger patties materialize in his arms. ]

[fantasycliche]

[ There's a slow blink of surprise, but she doesn't react much. It seems the hatchling can do magic. She's maybe a little tiny bit grudgingly impressed.

Then she gets a good look at the patties. ]

You expect me to eat those?

[outspeeds]

Yeah . . . ? What's wrong? I don't think they've gone bad or anything. [ He inspects them and, nope! They're fine! ]

[fantasycliche]

They're cooked, and nevermind the size of them. [ there really could not possible be any more scorn shoved into that accusation. ] We dragons take our meals fresh. Still living is much preferred.