Not My Chicken

[Casmire RaJir]

"Would you sit down and stop pestering the stupid bird? Feathers are fluttering into my drink." Cas scowled and reached forward to delicately pluck a red feather from the glass and flick it away. A gentle breeze quickly took up the damp feather, flying past him over his shoulder. His amber eyes lowered across the table and settled on two white paws and Snowball's large round eyes peering over the edge of the table. Her claws dug into the wood grain of the table, gaze shifting between Cas and the third member of their current party seated at or around the table, a fluffed up and panicked-to-complete-stillness chicken.

He waved his hand at the cat peering over the other side of the table having to lean forward and shoo her away. The motion was enough to startle the bird who immediately took flight and collided with his face in a round mass of feathers and talons. "Bloody hell!" Casmire sputtered as he snatched the chicken and held it at arm's length to give it a hard glare. A slight stirring could be heard under the table and he glanced down at his lap to see Snowball sitting there waiting.

Carefully he set the bird back on the table and giving it a careful pet as though he expected the thing to explode and then leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. In silence - save for the prattle of clucking on the table - he regarded the creature with morbid resignation. Others nearby gave unnerved glances in his direction, most of them merely passing by his table sitting set outside a small foody place. He wore dark pants and a rich green vest over a black tunic. And he'd done absolutely nothing to disguise himself as a fae, only a bit of glamour to make him a bit taller. He appeared lithe in a graceful sort of way in spite of the careless and lanky appearance he had now.

"You know when someone asks me for favors, this is not even close to what I might have ever expected." How he'd come to be the one clutching the chicken he didn't know. But here he was.

Casmire recanted in his mind the series of events that took place and landed him here. A few nights ago he lost a precious item to a bad bet. Then early this morning he'd been approached with the very same man who he'd lost to and was offered his precious item if he did him a favor. Shortly followed was a grand tale of how this chicken was a witness to something and he had to escort it to Domrhask. Apparently, the chicken form was a disguise and sitting on his table was a shifter.

"You couldn't have picked something a little less ... stupid?" One brow lifted as he spoke to the chicken who stared back at him unblinkingly. With a groan, he leaned forward and peered at the creature. "Perhaps something smaller? Are you even competent?" The longer he stared at the imbecile bird the more he was convinced this wasn't even a shifter.

[Corr Blackbeam]

Bird-black eyes darted and swivelled, following the progress of a small, red feather, which had been whipped up the wall of the eatery by a sudden breeze. The large raven, which in truth was not really a raven, sidestepped where it stood, perched on the edge of the building’s slate roof, and lazily ruffled its feathers. It cocked its head and peered down at the source of the errant plumage.

If he had had hands to scratch his head with, Corr Blackbeam – that is, the raven form of Corr Blackbeam – would have done so. Fellsgard was, of course, a melting pot for all sorts of creatures, races, halfbreeds and travellers from afar. He knew that. But he had never, not in his entire thirty-three years, seen this particular combination of companions out and about in the city’s streets.

Occupying one of the eatery’s outdoor tables below him was a Fae, if the features and pointed ears were anything to go by – Corr had spent long enough people-watching in Fellsgard to recognise them, most of the time; a snow cat (he hadn’t seen one of those in a long time, and never outside a cage); and a… chicken?

Corr cocked his sleek, black head the other way and craned his neck for a better look. The Fae was lounging in a chair pulled up to the table, and the chicken was squatting uneasily in front of him, its own beady, black eyes trained on the snow cat, which was clearly lingering too close by for comfort. (Two decades spent alternating between human and bird form had taught Corr, by now, to pick up on all the various signs of avian distress.)

As Corr watched, the Fae tried to shoo his cat back, away from the chicken. But this only succeeded in disturbing the poor bird further, and it flew directly into its owner’s (guardian’s? companion’s? Corr had no idea) face.

Ravens didn’t exhale like humans did, so Corr couldn’t really laugh, but he did let out a brief, harsh sort of croak, and ruffled his feathers again. Then he noticed that the people sitting at the neighbouring table were getting up to leave.

His attention snapped away from the unusual trio to the handful of shiny coins the patrons were placing carefully on the scrubbed wood. He watched them try to cover the tip with a scrap of parchment – their hastily-scribbled bill, he guessed – and then gather their belongings.

This was why he was perched on the rooftop; this was the reason he had come to this crowded part of town. The eatery was a favourite haunt of his when he was running low on funds. A day spent pilfering tips left by unsuspecting customers – before the waiters could come out and collect them – could quite easily top his purse up enough for him to afford a half-decent bed for the night. He had to be quick about it, though.

As the green-and-black clad Fae leaned forward and said something to the chicken, Corr took his chance. He swooped down in one slick, smooth movement and alighted on the table, using his beak to nudge the bill quickly out of the way. With practiced efficiency, he lifted each coin, again with his beak, and dropped them into the leather pouch, half-hidden beneath a fuzz of feathers, that he wore strapped to his upper left leg for just such occasions as these.

Anyone paying particular attention might have noticed that this was not really ordinary raven behaviour, though Corr had seen some of his avian brethren ‘trading’ shiny trinkets for food in the past. The pouch, he knew, was the real giveaway.

But Corr had done this a hundred times before, and knew that most restaurant patrons barely glanced twice at the birds that pecked up stray crumbs from abandoned tables and the cobblestones nearby. Besides, he thought, as he dropped another coin into his pouch, he would be up and away in a moment, to perch and observe and wait for the next tip to be left unwittingly in his line of sight.

[Vanya Valentine]

Enigmatic hell hounds croon havoc, vexation upon the sands, while the predatory, apex of the beast remains nestled within the safety of sovereign jungle walls. They suckle, drink heavily at thee breast of life, birthed into a world of lecherous animosity and fevered bedlam based upon the preaching of depravity. Based within the throes of primeval world, of primal instinct and fervid inamorata. The old testaments, and wills upon which the livid enchantments of history confound upon, ligaments and tissues of a lascivious heart of archaic, rustic mystery. How profound, this Bible of deceit, it bids you welcome adventurer. Stay, if but for the breath of a moment and let us welcome you, o' gracious guest, unto the very enthralling lips of enigmatic Eden. Walk among those of barbaric enticement, lingering primeval ghosts. Prolific monoliths of times well passed, and yet still they remain, straying remnants of a world which refuses to change. Taste the euphoric rapture, the bitter, acrid knife of betrayal slipping amorously between lithe, dulcet ribs. Enthrall in the cataclysmic mutiny of two worlds expanding, imploding, clashing against one another in a heated affair. Walk in the wake of monstrous beasts, their paths unfurled as if coaxing closer, closer still the rush of a curious mind until gnashing severity of fangs sever all thought from a feeble stem and cerebral musings. This is the world of beast and monsters~

And speaking of monsters, it seemed one in particular was on the move. Keen eyes shifting back and forth over the evergreen as the wind whistled overhead with a gentle gust of wind. A lone wolf, a woman traveled along the dirt path quietly. Observing her surroundings and dreading every step she took forward. The sun had stalked her since the day began and exhaustion was quickly overwhelming the dark huntress as sweat trickled down her forehead and her breathing became heavier as the journey went on. Luckily however the sun was finally sinking into the depths of the horizon ahead and allowing the moon to slowly take its place in the sky above. The Huntress did not typically visit these lands, especially the war torn country of Fellsgard. But her prey had forced her to the bleeding land and as a result she found herself dodging bandits and avoiding the military by sticking to the woodlands just a few miles off from the main road.

The raven haired woman inhaled deeply through her nostrils and clenched her fist around the handle of her briefcase in irritation.

'How much further?' She thought aloud, a hymning sound flaring within her mind as the link to her Familiar reached back to communicate a reply.

'Not far, my beloved wolf. However, this one sees trouble ahead, would you like to divert our course?' A soft, warming voice informed, making the woman quirk a brow as she began to sniff the air in attempts to catch a scent. She noticed it then, just barely masked by the smell of fresh water. The fresh scent of recently spilled blood, although...not human from what she could gather from this distance.

'Of what nature? I smell blood; a beast perhaps?' The huntress questioned, finding her heart thrashing within her chest at the thought of a new hunt so soon. There was a brief silence before the familiar replied.

'The most violent beast of all, dear wolf.' She mused before chuckling darkly, clearly amused by whatever she was witnessing. 'Humans~'

The Wolf paused, stopping in her tracks as a grimace flickered across her face.

Trouble in these woods? So close to the city? And by humans? Getting involved might not of been the best idea for her now but she had come way to far to simply tuck tail and go the other way. The sun was also still up and the heat that beamed upon her flesh through the treeline kept her exhausted and particularly vulnerable, last thing she needed was a conflict right now especially in a land that tended to discriminate heavily against people like her.

Still, better to know what shes walking into than ignore it.

'Show me~' She demanded, remaining still on the dirt path as a flood of energy pulsed within her eyes. Those crimson optics fluctuating with energy as her pupils tightened and a blue shine could be seen emanating from within the crimson lens of her glasses. Her own sight began to grow dark as the vision from her familiar overshadowed her own sight. The Familiar flew overhead in the shape of a raven, its eyes peering down at the sight of a group of men and a couple of women gathered around what looked to be a traveling Elven family. The Huntress found it hard to see any further details from the sheer height her familiar was flying. 'Get closer, can't make much out from that height.' She ordered, the Raven slowly descended closer to the earth before flying to a nearby branch just above the scene taking place.

With this position the whole situation just became a lot more clearer. The group were standing around three bodies which were gruesomely strangled to death which explained why The Wolf had failed to catch a scent sooner, the only blood that was spilled was from one of the bodies that had apparently smashed their head against a stone when falling down. A boy, probably a teenager given how young he appeared for an elf, a mother, clearly the elder of the family...and a child. Buried within her mothers arms as the men all stood beside one another. Her heart tightened at the display, clenching her jaw tightly as she focused her attention on the men who she presumed to be the culprits.

"Well, at least we got a little coin and some supplies. Think they're from around here? Maybe they've got a house in these woods?" One of the men asked, counting through a couple coin purses that must have come from the unfortunate souls who were unlucky enough to cross their path. A larger man stroked his grizzled beard, one whole side of his face practically burned away and horribly scarred.

"Maybe, if they do then they might also have some more stuff we can take sell. We need money to get to back overseas, especially since we lost our damn ship even getting over here. Given where they were heading i can only assume they were on their way to Fellsgard so they either live there and were up to some buisness out this way, or live our in these woods and were heading to the city for some reason. Its hard to tell, but i don't wanna spend anymore time in these damn woods. We're gonna head to Fellsgard for a while. We can always come back out here to search for things another time." The man explained, making the others simply nod their heads in agreement. After they all decided what to do next a couple of women in their group grabbed the bodies they had murdered and dragged them off to the river beside them, tossing the bodies into the water and watching them float downstream before climbing back up the hill, climbing into the back of a well decorated wagon being pulled by a couple of horses and continued off the dirt path and onto a stone road leaving up the river that led out of the woodland and an open road directly towards the city.

The Huntress closed her eyes and severed the visual link connecting she and her familiars eyesight.

'Shall this one follow? Hunt them, the wolf shall?' Her familiar asked, making the young wolf sigh deeply before continuing on the dirt road.

'Oh no, not doing that shit again. Last time i got involved with such affairs during the daytime i ended up locked in a bloody cage, so no, leave them be. I don't want to get mixed up in any kind of drama out here. But i do need to rest, we've been on the move for days and i am running low on my supplies. Plus i'd rather not risk a fight this deep into Tviyr territory, especially not with the Fellsgard Military just looking for an excuse to throw people in jail. And you know how i am with closed in spaces.' The Wolf explained, rolling her shoulders and making her way to the stone road and slowly making her way onto the open road that the bandits had taken to the city.

After about an extra hour of time had passed eventually The Wolf found herself approaching the city gates at long last. The place was buzzing and immediately an overwhelming collection of scents flooded her senses and caught the woman off guard as she shuddered. Wines and Ale, freshly cooked meats and sugar glazed bread from bakeries and even blood from the butcher which all made The Huntress practically salivate for a brief moment as a hunger and a thirst rose within her. She casually walked through the gates and wandered the roads towards the heart of the city with her shifting blue eyes glancing back and forth at the colorful individuals around her. Fellsgard had always been a mixpot of races and cultures and thus it was greatly amusing to see. And after a bit of walking she paused in her tracks as her eyes landed at the stable were two horses were stationed...the very same horses who were originally pulling the wagon she had seen flee the scene of the crime but an hour and a half ago. It was parked off to the side of the inn and smoke emanated from the chimney. The smell of well cooked meals filled the air and the bustling of chatter radiated from within the lit up Inn.

The fluttering of wings flapped nearby as the old Raven came flying down from the sky and landing upon her shoulder. The Wolf stared at the horses for a long, long while. The sheer predatory energy she radiated forcing them to neigh and back away from the gates as the dark haired woman clenched her jaw tightly. There were likely other inns in the city but she had a feeling that this would be the only one she'd be able to get at this time. But the idea of sharing a building with bandits wasn't exactly something she was terribly fond of. So for now she decided to avoid the inn and let some time pass, maybe by the time she returned the bandits would either be asleep or gone. Last thing she wanted was for them to see a woman dressed in nobility clothes taking shelter under the same roof as them.

And so she continued onward, heading a bit further down the road until she reached what appeared to be a small restaurant that apparently specialized in poultry of all kinds given the number of different scents radiating from the place. The Wolf scoffed and slowly backed away into a dark, empty alleyway that concealed her and the raven on her shoulder in complete darkness. And after a brief moment when she emerged from the dark the raven was no more, but instead a black cat with blue eyes perched around her shoulders and purring quietly as The Huntress approaching the front door of the restaurant. In the end she had not eaten in a while and whatever they had cooking here smelled pleasant enough for her to enjoy...last thing she wanted to do though was enter a poultry restaurant with a bird perched on her shoulder though so for now Larka would be adopting her feline shape. Reaching out a hand and and pushing the door open open with an audible 'creeeeeeek'. Forcing some of the individuals inside to shift their gaze over to the mysterious young woman who made her way inside, draped in High Class clothes of a fashion clearly not a commoner and nor was she a simple traveler. And carrying a large Briefcase by her side with a black cat perched on her shoulders made it clear to anyone who merely observed the woman that she was clearly not from around here. Silver framed sunglasses concealing her eyes behind crimson lenses as her coat fluttered slightly in the breeze. She was well dressed, her hair tied back into a ponytail with a red ribbon holding it back nice and neat. Dark colored lipstick graced upon full lips and a silver cross dangling from black and red beads wrapped around her forearm and wrist. She was an...unusual character to say the least, at least in Fellsgard standards.

"Oh my, another one huh? Such a busy night this is! Go on and take a seat honey we'll be right with ya!" An older lady' voice rang, a tall elf with a head of silver locks. Clearly either the Owner or a Barmaid...or both. She carried several platters along her arms and within both hands masterfully, serving the patrons ale and food one table at a time. Surprisingly the restaurant was well populated, there were a couple older men in cloaks, sitting alone at their own table playing some sort of card game. A woman off to the far corner sleeping in her chair, some elves blabbering about something or another and some kids eating chicken rather ravenously. Her eyes did not linger on them long, she found herself looking back at the white haired elf as she finished delivering her payload and pulled he hair back and wrapped it up with a rubber band. Quickly marching back to the front of the restaurant and vanishing into the kitchen where she could see some other, similarly appearing Elves working.

So this was a family establishment...how lovely. The Wolf chuckled softly to herself, looking around the restraunt to see most the tables were either taken or completely messy from those who were in just before her. Grimacing at the sight the black haired woman made her way to the other section of the restaurant which was a gated area that was just outside so people could eat out there and watch the city streets. Immidiately she spotted a man with a cat of his own and a live chicken at his table which made The Wolf lift a brow in curiosity. And then, moments later she witnessed a raven fly down onto the table and began to pluck coins off of it which immediately made her exchange glances with the cat on her shoulder before giving a toothy grin.

Casually she approached the table, setting her briefcase down beside her leg and pulling off her jacket. Revealing a dark burgundy colored shirt and a black corset with silver trimmings hugging her waist. Silver chains hanging from her hips and down her thighs as the Huntress took a seat and sighed deeply. "Hope you don't mind company sugar~" She'd muse, glancing at mysterious man before glancing back over at the Raven and giving the bird a wink.

That Raven was no ordinary bird, The Wolf could smell it. Not only that, but shifters tended to recognize one of their own, especially considering The Huntress tended to also favor the form of a raven. Still, she wasen't going to call em out, figured she'd let them do their thing as she leaned back against the chair and gave the man across from her a smile, those ivory fangs on full display as she reached out and offered her hand.

"Wasn't anywhere else to really sit, hope i ain't bothering you honey. Friends call me Vivi, and we're friends now aren't we?" She mused jokingly as the whimsical woman introduced herself.

It was going to be an interesting day~

[Casmire RaJir]

The low growling pur from beneath the table spoke less than subtle volumes of impatience and affection. How a feline could very nearly in the same moment be loving and malicious was something that always gave Casmire pause. Snowball was certainly not an exception. He could feel her brushing against his leg and held his breath waiting for teeth or claws. Neither of the typical sharp attacks occurred and after a brief moment of stillness the snow cat began chattering and chirping.

He leaned back, extending his legs out before him as he peered beneath the table to find Snowball staring wide-eyed at something. It wasn’t that huge of a mystery, however. The dark haired fae’s wings twitched as his head tilted and fell into the palm of his hand, his gaze narrowed on another bird. “For a place that is known for cooking birds, they sure do attract a lot of feathered creatures…” he sighed, musing that perhaps that’s how they got their supply of meat. Who’s dinner was that crow going to be? Thanks in part to his own imagination he half expected someone to leap from some obscure shadow and snatch the black bird.

The longer he looked at the feathered thing, the stranger it began to appear as it fished around the table for… coin? And was it wearing… pockets?

With a sniff he gathered his long limbs as he leaned forward to stare at the raven, brows quickly knitting together and forming a dark shadow over his gaze.

Someone passed through his line of sight and his gaze followed suspiciously as a woman moved to drape a jacket over the empty chair at his table. She sat and he frowned, pointed ears lowering slightly in discontent.

Between them sat the chicken he now suspected was petrified and would soon solidify into a stony figure. Save for the occasional twitch of the head and a nervous, ”Bauck”, the stupid bird remained perfectly still. Casmire regarded the round bird with a sideways slant to his mouth before his gaze flicked upwards.

Only because leaning forward would likely send the creature into another feather-shedding flight, he settled back in his chair again. He kicked his legs out again and propped his elbows on the arms of the chair. Of course I mind, he thought to himself as he rubbed his mouth with his fingertips before drawing his hand into a fist and resting his chin there.

His gaze narrowed at her white smile and extended hand, it had taken him quite some time to realize what the gesture meant when he’d first left his home. But now he knew and he was wiser for his benefit in this instance, so he looked back to the woman’s face not even moving to take her hand. “Casmire,” he offered his name in a tight lipped manner before sneering. “You would like that wouldn’t you?”

“If your friends call you Vivi, what does everyone else call you… I still lack a name to call y-”

And then there were moments that felines got that look, when focusing their predatory and playful attention. Pupils expanding to the point of near loss of the iris, puckered mouth as whiskers jutted forward, ears lowered slightly, and hind legs anxiously shuffling. A furry rocket preparing to launch if Casmire had ever seen one. Which is exactly what happened when he’d been cut off as his chair flew out from under him.

In a blur of white fur, Snowball shot out from under his chair. A chair, mind you, that was far too small for a cat her size to be hunching under and staring at birds. Her target was the raven on the neighboring table as she leaped up onto the table, glasses and plates getting pushed off only to shatter on the floor.

And as fate would have it, the bloody chicken took flight. Its’ shadow passed over Casmire and she landed on the head of someone behind him before flying elsewhere with a terrified squawk.

Flat on his back he scrambled up to his feet and cursed. “I’m going to cook that damned bird and have it for dinner when I get my hands on it,” he snarled.

((ooc note - yo! I don’t mind at all if Snowball is used in responses. <3))

[Corr Blackbeam]

The pile of coins diminished gradually as Corr dropped them one by one into his pouch, careful to ensure he didn't miss any. The process was slower than he would have liked – it was a rather large tip, and, though the prospect of an ale and a comfortable bed for the night made him ruffle his feathers in glee, he kept one beady eye on the restaurant’s entrance, alert for any sign of an approaching server.

With his remaining attention trained on the coins, he unfortunately had no gaze to spare for his immediate surroundings. So it was a bit of a shock, when he'd almost finished loading the pouch, to glance up at the neighbouring table – occupied by the Fae and his unusual animal companions – and find two sets of rather suspicious eyes on him. The snow cat seemed very interested in his movements, to Corr’s slight but escalating concern; and the Fae, who was clearly sharper than Corr had given him credit for, appeared to have noticed his coin-pouch.

Cursing inwardly, Corr attempted to take off. He had hoovered up most of the money by now – only a few copper coins were left, and he wasn’t about to risk his safety for that meagre amount. But the tip had been substantial, and his pouch was rather heavily weighed down. His wings beat the air, struggling for a moment to gain traction, and he berated himself again, far more rudely this time. He’d been too greedy; he hadn’t thought. A few black feathers drifted over to the Fae.

At that moment, a tall shadow fell over the ground and part of the table, blocking out the light. Cocking his head, Corr found himself suddenly distracted by the appearance of a noblewoman. At least, he assumed she was a noblewoman – her clothes were conspicuously fine, and her hair was neatly groomed. Unusually, she was clutching a briefcase – a traveller, perhaps? – and had a black cat draped lazily around her shoulders. Corr eyed the animal warily. More cats?

The woman exchanged words with the Fae, but Corr was too busy keeping a careful eye on the snow cat – which seemed, at the moment, to be the bigger threat – to pay attention to what was being said. As he stretched his wings again, this time actually managing to hover a few inches off the table, he briefly noticed the woman give him a wink.

Bhelest’s blood, he cursed. She’s noticed, too. This was not how he’d envisaged this playing out. At all.

And it only got worse from there. His successful attempt at flight – even if he wasn’t able, at present, to rise much higher than a foot – appeared to have spurred the snow cat to action. Corr let out an involuntary ‘SQUAAWK!’ as the animal suddenly leapt from its position under the Fae’s chair (sending said chair, and its owner, flying), and headed straight for him.

A frenzied flurry of wings followed, from both Corr and the chicken. There was a streak of white fur as the cat jumped onto the table, sending crockery flying every which way to smash loudly on the ground. The restaurant’s other patrons turned in alarm at the disturbance, and Corr, his escape plan thoroughly hampered by the weight of his pouch, panicked at all the attention.

The snow cat’s mouth was open as it closed in, and Corr caught the flash of sunlight on its long, white canines. Thankfully, he dropped down, just as its jaws snapped in the air right where he’d been hovering. But the cat changed tack and swatted at him with a paw, and that did find its mark – Corr felt himself tumbling head over wing as he dropped heavily to the dusty ground with a disgruntled ‘CRAWK’.

There was nothing for it, he thought miserably, but to abandon the coin-stuffed pouch. It pained him to do it, but with any luck, he thought, he could come back and fetch it later, providing no one noticed it sitting there and helped themselves. With a quick flick of his beak, he severed the cord that fastened it to his leg, and immediately took off high into the air, wheeling and beating his wings to get well clear of the snow cat’s claws.

He hovered for a moment, surveying the damage, and then noticed the Fae’s chicken not far away, cowering where it perched.

He should really fly off this minute, he thought; find himself an empty alley in which to transform, and then casually wander back here to try to filch the coin pouch from the ground amid the confusion. But something struck him as a bit odd about that chicken, and he found himself – despite his better judgement – eager for a closer look at the bird. He could always take off again if any further trouble came his way…

He flew over to the trembling chicken and perched a few feet from it, adjusting his sleek wings and blinking his round, black eyes. Why was that Fae so concerned to keep the plump bird near him? He cocked his head and stared at the chicken, and gave a low, quiet ‘Crawk’, to see if it reacted.

[Casmire RaJir]

He spun around to see the fat end of the hen float away, carried by a panicked beat of its wings. Feathers shed from all directions, the stress of current events sending all birds present into an instant molt it seemed. A few red feathers landed and clung to his clothes as he all but shoved and tossed chairs in his path.

Someone bumped smack into the front of him and the impact sent him backward into a nearby table. A second person pushed past screeching about a feral cat as Casmire bent to lean on the table with a low growling curse. He braced himself as his reddened eyes scanned hungrily for the chicken, only to land on the raven as Snowball nearly caught him in her mouth only for him to drop down and then be smacked as she swept a clawed paw.

For a moment there, he thought the bird was done for. At least it might have been if it didn't literally shed some extra weight. At first glance, he thought the bird had taken a massive shit before flying off but he looked closer and it was far from that. And then the white fur of his catastrophic cat blocked his view and he sighed as he moved around the table.

He bent to move Snowball aside and frowned down at a pouch of all things. "So I wasn't seeing things..." he muttered as he lifted it to his face to examine it. The distinctive clink of metal jingled as the contents shuffled about when he dropped his hand to his side as something further ahead came into view.

A slow smirk split his face as he watched the damned hen land on the cobbled roadside. Everything else faded out as though he were underwater as his attention focused on the bird, his long legs carrying him forward as he lifted a hand licked with flames. "Witness my ass..." he muttered as roasting the stupid bird bottle rocketed to the top of his priorities, his intentions punctuated as he all but threw a ball of fire at the thing.

Snowball shot forward and startled the bird in the very same moment and Casmire quickly held onto the flame and flung it into the ground a foot or two in front of him. Embers hissed as it met the cool ground, smoke carrying a few sparks up in front of him before it faded.

Again the bird was gone. Casmire kicked at the ground and hissed. "Shit!"

Sitting at the crest of a building across from the recent disaster was a positively fluffed auburn hen. Nervously and curiously the thing fret over its feathers and soundness of perch. She quietly tittered as she watched the activity below, chest heaving in and out soundlessly.

The nervous movements stiffened and only a stray breeze ruffled her feathers as another bird landed nearby. Not turning her head but watching with a beady unblinking gaze, the round bird watched as the crow crept closer and offered a questioning sound. The hen's response was an exasperated breathy cluck before throwing a wing outwards.

"Hey, bird!" Heads turned including the feathered head of a mortified chicken, to see Casmire standing in the street shouting at the rooftop of the building. "You fly your feathered ass down here now or so help me.... you will not live to see another day and whoever is after you will be the least of your worries!" The snowcat sat at his feet, not really seeing what Casmire was yelling at but seemed boredly accustomed to the outburst.

[Corr Blackbeam]

Corr jumped slightly on his narrow perch as the plump hen gave a frustrated cluck and extended an orange-red wing. There was something curiously intelligent about its small, fast-moving eyes… not like other chickens he’d come across while shifted. The birds were usually irritatingly slow and inane. But this one…

He wondered fleetingly if it was shapeshifter intellect he’d recognised there, and mentally cursed his half-breed handicap. He knew full-blood shapeshifters often easily recognised their kin when transformed – but he’d always had trouble in that regard. Who knew how many others of his kind he’d come across while in raven or rat form and ignored, blithely unaware of their hidden natures?

However, before he could respond to the hen’s cluck and try to find out more, a sharp voice issued from the street, carrying clearly up towards them. It was the Fae. Corr cocked his dark head at the irate figure. The snow cat that had batted him out of the air sat patiently at its owner’s feet, seemingly used to this sort of occurrence.

The Fae’s words piqued Corr’s interest immediately. ‘Whoever is after you will be the least of your worries’? Glancing back at the frazzled chicken, a series of deductions flitted through his mind. What sane person would be hunting a regular old chicken? There had to be something special about this bird. His hunch had to have been correct – this was a shapeshifter.

Corr ruffled his feathers and pondered the situation. His first inclination was to simply fly away – if someone dangerous was after this shifter, and he got involved, who was to say he wouldn’t become a target, too? He couldn’t be dealing with that; not right now. Not in his line of work, where moving around the city unseen, untracked and undisturbed was paramount.

But…

But.

Something about the poor chicken’s plight made him hesitate, despite himself. He looked uncertainly at the animal, then back at the Fae.

And that was when he saw it. His pouch.

The Fae had it – held in a hand that rested casually at his side. Corr bristled, his feathers prickling outwards just like the hen’s, but in anger rather than fear. His beady black eyes flashed and he hopped from one foot to the other, letting out an irritated CRAWK.

In his growing annoyance, he made a split second (and, in hindsight, possibly stupid) decision. Taking off, he beat his ebony wings a few times, soared to his left into a narrow, shadowy alleyway that snaked up the side of the building he’d been perched on, and fluttered quickly to the ground, where he began to transform.

It was an ugly process, and took him a moment or so, but raven-to-human was far, far easier for him than shifting the opposite way... Almost, he thought, as though his body was eager to get back to its ‘default’ humanoid form. In any case, before long, he was Corr-Blackbeam-the-man again – dark cloak, hood and boots all firmly in place – and he emerged from the deep shadows in the alley with a quick glance left and right, before taking a few strides out into the sunlit, cobbled street.

He checked himself as he reached the middle of the road, where a noticeable scorch mark was visible in the dust a pace or so in front of the Fae. A faint curl of smoke rose and faded from the patch, and he saw a tiny ember still glowing in its centre, which quickly blackened and died. Slowly, Corr raised his eyes to the Fae.

He knew little of their race, having rarely encountered them before, but this one seemed oddly tall – taller, he thought, than a Fae should have been. All the same, Corr stepped close to him, his expression pinched and threatening, speaking in a low tone with a brittle, irritated edge.

“I don’t know who you are, why you’re guarding that shifter up there, or what trouble it’s gone and got itself into…” he said, his avian eyes flicking quickly up at the hen, “but you’ll want to be careful using spellcraft out in the open in this city.” He narrowed his eyes. “Cause a spectacle like that again and you’re liable to disappear without a trace.” He glanced around, wondering if any guards or passers-by had already spotted what had happened. “Trust me, I’ve seen it."

Corr looked back at the Fae, his gaze travelling down to the leather pouch stuffed with his money that the stranger still clutched in one hand.

“That’s mine, by the way. And I’d like it back.” He held out a pale, upturned palm. “Now.”