Topic: Safekeeping

Renfield Turnbull

Date: 2010-08-17 02:42 EST
Most storms on most worlds passed as little more than atmospheric disturbances; possibly devastating to the inhabitants of that world, but unremarkable in the grand scheme of the multiverse.

Now and again, it happened, that a storm came along so charged that one plane of existence couldn't contain it.

On the plane that existed Rhy'din, in Room Sixteen of the Red Dragon Inn, the effect was minimal. So small, even, as to be barely noticed.

It happened just after dawn, quiet, and for no real reason at all.

The winds of time and space swirled and parted, and from somewhere in the realm next door, a stetson dropped to the floor and rolled off, settling somewhere by the bed.

The storm had no opinion on the matter. Neither, in fact, did the stetson.

Somewhere, though, the owner hoped that one day it would find its way back to him. Or her, as the case may be.

Scotty

Date: 2010-08-27 13:03 EST
So, the hat had become quite the coveted item for the Lees. Mostly because they both liked wearing it, even if it was a little too big for both of them. It had been the prize in their latest duel for who got to wear it, and it had also been a prize of another kind after the duel.

Its original owner would likely be scandalized if he knew that, but since there was no way for him to know...

Scotty, though, had been a little curious as to its origins. He had never seen a hat like that before, and so he'd taken it with him one afternoon to the Federation Embassy at the Star's End. Turned out it was the campaign hat -- also colloquially called a stetson -- from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

That had made his eyebrows go up for a few reasons. Kind of struck by coincidences, since he and Harold had set up his otherself with Canadian citizenship. Though, if his 'twin' had become a policeman, the hat still couldn't have been his, given its size.

Still, Scotty got the hat cleaned up and made sure it was in good condition again. That had taken a mage -- there were some mud stains and a few gouges in it that needed taken care of by someone who could create miracles with fabric. Thanks to working for Mai, though, Scotty happened to know one or two such people.

It was after he got it back and cleaned up that he found a nametag in it. It was pretty faded, though. He could only make out a few letters -- an R, an f and a d, and a T and a b. And even those were pretty faded.

Huh.

Scotty thought about it for a bit.

Maybe later, he'd go see if the Federation Embassy could track down any historical records on the owner.

Scotty

Date: 2010-09-24 10:45 EST
There was a crab.

Smaller than Grace or Kyle, about the same size as Lily and Nameless, the little orchid crab was hiding under the bed. And Scotty was on one side, and Harold was on the other, and both of them exchanged a glance, baffled, from underneath that bed, before looking back at the little crab.

"I dinna think ours coulda bred without us seein' it..." Scotty said, then realized how wrong that sounded. Like he was some kinda voyeur. "Ach."

Harold made a sound that could only be called a sporfle, then cracked up, sending his husband off on his own giggles.

The crab was not amused.

It was a pretty little thing; delicate and brilliant red with black legs. Scotty had gotten an all right look at it before it skittered underneath the bed upon seeing him.

"Maybe it's a Nexus drop," Harold said, still giggling a little about Scotty's ill-chosen words. "Like it honed in on our crabs."

"Aye, it could be. D'ye think Grace could talk him or her out?" Scotty asked. For Grace was the most gentle of their own pet crabs. She was certainly good at soothing her pet human when something had him frayed and upset.

"Worth a try," Harold said, rising smoothly to his feet.

Scotty forgot about the crab for a moment to watch. Watching Harold move was one of his favorite things in the universe, only slightly down the list from being on Harold when he moved.

Harold gave him a wink, then opened the Crabitat, reaching down and chirping a soft note. Immediately, both Kyle and Grace mobbed his hand; Lily and Nameless tended to be nocturnal and gave half-hearted return chirps from under their coconut huts.

Harold transplanted Kyle to his other hand, then lifted both out. Grace bounced once on his palm, and when she skittered onto Scotty's outstretched hand, her feelers were already going in the direction of the newcomer.

"Ye think ye can talk our guest out, little love?" Scotty asked, cooing to Grace. He didn't know if she understood, but she bounced on his palm, and when he flattened his hand to the floor, she skittered under the bed.

"We'll listen for fights," Harold said, sitting up on top of the bed. They were both protective of their orchid crabs. Though, from everything they had observed, fights were exceptionally rare and always posturing, rather than violence.

Scotty sat up on the bed and offered a fingertip stroke across the back of Kyle's shell, earning a chirp back that said, Yes, squishie, you may touch me. It made Scotty grin.

Grace's soothing chirps, soft and melodic, came from under the bed.

"Dinna think we'll have t' worry about it."

Renfield Turnbull

Date: 2010-09-24 15:06 EST
Huh.

Renfield was starting to worry, now.

He'd come to love that little crab, very honestly. He'd always had a soft spot for animals but had rarely had one become such a fixture so quickly. It wasn't just the Constable's shell, though that was quite the coincidence. She got along so well with Margaret. They'd been something of an inseparable pair once they realized the begging for food potential in being quite so adorable.

Renfield didn't know if they saw it that way. It was just as effective either way.

He'd just rather thought they were permanent. Margaret seemed as perturbed about the disappearance as Renfield, offering questioning little bleats to him as though he should have the answer.

His world seemed a little off without the red streak nestled on the goat's back. The Constable was a wild animal, he couldn't truly expect her to stay, but the potential loss worried him stupid.

With a little frown, he searched the Closet Door. Behind the bar. All over Canada, high and low. Each room was checked. He walked the outside grounds, too, Margaret tailing him the whole way.

Nothing.

He chopped up a mix of the Constable's smellier preferences in food and left little blobs of it by the entrance, hoping she might come back.

Renfield thought perhaps Ray recognized his worry. He leaned on his partner, looking out off the porch. Trying not to think too much about the possibilities of birds, molts, or even just that she had grown tired of her squishies and moved on.