A Boy Named Mr. Me [Destyn]

[Imogen]

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Ash 35, 122

There lives one moment for a man
When the door at his shoulder shakes,
When the taut rope parts under the pull,
And the barest branch is beautiful
One moment, while it breaks.

So rides my soul upon the sea
That drinks the howling ships,
Though in black jest it bows and nods
Under the moons with silver rods,
I know it is roaring at the gods,
Waiting the last eclipse.

- The Ballad of the White Horse, likely in reference to crabs.

~~~

"So what happens next, anyway? Do we bait them up here somehow? Or do we have to... go down to them?”

Imogen Ward stood on the beach, peering into the surface of the water with distrust written across her face. She had long since returned to her natural form, the only remaining hint of lemur-ness being the white tail, and put her clothes back on. Except her boots, anyway; she figured that there was no point bringing footwear to the beach when you were bound to toss it anyway once proper foraging got underway.

Thankfully, going barefoot was easy for Orkhan. Even if there were sharp rocks or the sand got too hot, the ability to exchange skin for scales took a lot of the guess-work out of walks. So it was that the young Sunsinger easily hustled to the shoreline in time for the planned crab campaign with Destyn, who kept calling them "water bugs". Were they? They certainly did look like large, wet bugs, but they also seemed too... large and solid, to Imogen's mind. Perhaps someday, in the unlikely event that she survived to retirement, she would travel to some great university's zoological institute and force the scientists to justify themselves.

The notion of crab fishing appealed to Imogen, and greatly. Wet bugs or no, they were meaty, too small to seriously injure her, and had a sweet and satisfying taste. The animals had enjoyed a bad reputation in Zaichaer (though they had been catching on when imported live and freshly boiled with a side of butter) largely because of the poor quality of the specimens in the river. She knew from her last visit to Ecith that the seas south of Sangen were filled with delicious species. It was all she could do to keep her mouth from watering with anticipation.

But cruel reality set in when Imogen reached the beach and started waiting for her new fae friend. Every so often, a crab would scuttle up onto the shore, sure- but mostly the little ones. The big ones, the tender, sweet, meaty ones... they stayed in the water, scuttling along, nearly out of sight from the shore. If she wanted to capture a basket of them, enough for a proper feast, she was going to have to find a way to draw them out.

Or go in after them.

This did not appeal to the Ork at all. It wasn't that she couldn't swim, but- well, actually it wasn't not that either. She could tread water. Opportunities to practice more than that had been scarce in her homeland (after all, none of the Sanctuaries had room to host a swimming pool), and only idiots spent time trying to swim the Talacara, which could turn nasty and sweep you away in an instant. No, she'd reluctantly done her training in running and climbing and so on, but swimming was only ever an occasional vice.

Well, perhaps Destyn had something in mind. He'd mentioned having caught the damn things before; perhaps he knew some secret method to fish the damn things out?

"Unless I...” Imogen mused quietly to herself, voice lost amid the wind and gentle surf. There was one power she might employ. This just seemed like a damn silly way to use it.

[Destyn]

A Boy Named Mr. Me

35 Ash, 122

Destyn arrived with the thunderous fanfare of rapidly beating wings. He'd been dressed for the beach even in the forest- barefoot and mostly bare-chested. This had been his state long before he'd committed himself to the notion of crab catching. This wasn't a costume donned for effect. It was simply Destyn. When he'd arrived on The Duck he'd been dressed for a mysterious journey. Now he was on one and the erosion of his wardrobe seemed perfectly fitting.

The Fae furrowed his brow in utter confusion at Imogen's question.

"What?!" He exclaimed unceremoniously. "They are buggies! We just simply, you know, go and capture them!" In all his many years of eating insects, it had never occurred to Destyn to attempt to trap them. They were abundant! One might even say ubiquitous. And the sort he most enjoyed munching on were guileless, simple creatures. He didn't seek out cicadas, he just bumped into them and enjoyed a pleasant treat. Sometimes they literally just buzzed directly into his mouth. Other times they bumped into his chest or arm and he had to pluck them from the air, but that was the sort of effort he was accustomed to putting into the capture of delicious buggies.

"Are giant buggies from the bottom of the ocean very clever, do you think?" His eyes widened and he leaned close, lowering his voice lest the crustacean spies listen in. "I did not know! I can be, you know, also sly. But but but, I am not, you know, so very guileful. I have no strategy. I just fly over and pluck them up and sometimes they pinch me which is, you know, not kind- But neither is munching them so it likely evens out."

A Boy Named Mr. Me

[Imogen]

"If we simply chase the crabs along the beach, we may perpetuate an old injustice." Imogen stated with sublime, insane confidence, "Attend well, Destyn, and consider- the crabs live under the water, but smaller ones come up to the beach to look for food. Why? Because the big crabs hoard the treasures of the sea below!"

The Sunsinger's convictions were bright and shining, though not exactly justified. In the long trip south from Sangen, she'd pestered the sailors crewing her ocean liner until they consented to help her fill her little journal with tales of the sea. These narratives were, in total honesty, not well-sourced affairs, as sailors had a dirty habit of mashing observations and tales passed down through a line of thirty drunken storytellers and deriving from that dross a truth which bore little resemblance to reality. But Imogen was no Arbiter, and quite content to repeat the tall tales of those who seemed like experts in their field.

"Y'see, the big crabs rule the plains just below the wave, content to let the birds and us chase their littler fellows while they stay safely below. But it's just those big crabs which have the sweetest taste! If we want the best crabs, that's where they are."

The Orkhan girl pointed firmly into the spray, then returned her finger to her temple, rubbing it. That little speech had served well to get her fired up, but hot blood wasn't an asset when dwelling on the finer points of strategy. The big crabs might keep themselves below to avoid danger above, but knowing their ploy didn't give her much in the way of ideas for countering it. Truly, the big ocean bugs were as devious as Destyn said.

The sailors on the ship had fished them up with cunning cages, basket-like devices which they deployed and into which a crab could easily walk, but could not exit. She'd looked at some of those cages, even held one in her hands at one point- but understanding that something could be done in one way was not quite the same as understanding exactly how that way worked. Frankly, even if she had a firm grasp on the crab-catching mechanism's function, Imogen had never really been a dab hand at crafts. The making of such a cage was almost certainly beyond her.

So Imogen pondered their predicament. Her Reaved weapons made a poor answer to this puzzle; even if she could master how to deploy them from the surface of the water and direct them, she'd just end up smashing the crabs rather than capturing them whole. If she assumed the form of a skeleton she could comfortably walk across the ocean shelf (and would be protected from the crab claws), but skeletons did not move with any particular alacrity. She feared she would just be getting into her bones for no reason other than to swipe dully at the things.

But maybe...

"How good are you at holding your breath?" Imogen asked, rounding back on Destyn, "If I could pull you around down there, could you snatch the crabs at the bottom of the ocean?"

[Destyn]

A Boy Named Mr. Me

35 Ash, 122

Saucer wide waxed the Faerie's eyes at Imogen's perfectly cogent hypothesis.

"Even." His voice caught in his throat, "Bigger." His eyes glistened with the welling of tears, "BUGGIES?!" The notion was truly elating. And if it was true, then certainly the cruel, greedy gianter giant buggies that crawled on the bottom of the sea, deserved to be devoured for their sins.

"Well, I was, you know, saved by Justice when I needed Him most." Destyn reverently reminded Imogen, "So, it is, I think, my duty to help you to bring an end to this injustice and also to the feeling of being hungry that I currently have in my tummy." He pointed to his concave belly and pouted slightly.

He nodded along as she further elaborated upon the mythos of the gianter giant buggies that crawled on the bottom of the sea- Squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, (not to mention pinching) covetous old sinners that they were!

"They prolly taste so good because they eat so well! You said they hoard treasures, which is like how in cities, there are the wealthy who do this. They have plenty to share, for the sea is bountiful, and yet they are greedy and let others suffer for their own leisure! It is, you know, terrible and cruel. And also it is stupid, because coins and paper notes are not useful, but people pretend that they are. I suppose you could use paper money for kindling or to roll something fun to smoke, but otherwise it is just paper like any other! Much more useful is food, tools, cookery... These are the things we valued in my clan. But these greedy gianter giant buggies that crawl on the bottom of the sea are, you know, fat cats. I cannot wait to eat them to justice!" This felt much nobler now than simply seeking to surfeit on seafood.

As Imogen broached a potential tactic, Destyn looked at her incredulously.

"How am I at holding my breath? I am the last of the Clan of the Water Bug! I am very good at swimming and at not breathing while I am under the water. But but but how will you swim and carry me around at the same time? Do you have another form that is more good at swimming, or will you do it as, you know, a Ork?" He scrunched up his face, clearly sceptical of Imogen's ability to execute her side of the strategy, though he wouldn't say so explicitly. He was guileless, but not intentionally rude. He had even held his tongue rather than broaching the notes he had about Imogen's flight as a winged lemur during their earlier outing in the jungle proper.

A Boy Named Mr. Me

[Imogen]

"Clan of the water bug", huh? In the stories, the Fae clans always had long names which she struggled to pronounce, but perhaps you couldn't trust the operas on everything. If she were a composer, she'd rather fit "Clann na Coineanach" or whatever into a song than "clan of the water bug." These were the sorts of liberties you had to take when you were doing one of those experimental shows with a lot of gaps to fill, rather than something classic like pirates kidnapping the bride on the wedding day. Pirates was easy. You always knew where you stood with pirates, Imogen thought.

"Yes, I think Arcas would probably tell us to seek the larger crabs if he were here." blasphemed the Sunsinger casually, "Plus, it must be better for the crabs as a whole, it seems to me. When you take the young and weak crabs before they can grow stronger, the population weakens when the big crabs die later and nobody is around to move in. Better to give the younger crabs room to grow, to become big crabs themselves in turn. That is the cycle which Aedrin established at the dawn of things, after all." There was nothing really blasphemous about saying that, though making fishing into some kind of religious experience was, perhaps, taking things further than they needed to go.

Still, she was happy to see Destyn so enthusiastically on board with the idea of getting the more scrumptious crabs. His sudden tirade against the commercial systems of the modern world took her aback, but she supposed that she'd been the one to raise the parallels anyway. And really, wasn't that why she'd felt comfortable spending her power in the pursuit of criminal activity? Sure, she'd never had quite the... fixation... on crime which Carina evinced, but she'd never felt a moment's remorse about hiding something from Zaichaeri customs officers or bribing a cook's boy on the train to get something out of the city for her. If a rule had no purpose other than to solidify the grasp of the unjustly powerful over the people, there was no moral argument against bypassing it.

"I agree completely, Destyn. Some people have more stuff than they could ever need, if they lived a thousand years, but all they ever do with it is maneuver to take more and more from everyone else, to make their own wealth increase forever. On the surface, men justify it by dint of their family name, the deeds of their ancestors, the will of the gods, or the laws which they themselves wrote, but in the end it is all justified by strength alone. Under the sea, there are no pretty words about it. The big crabs simply attack the smaller ones if they dare to take their food."

Imogen had given some thought to how she might propel Destyn. She had, as yet, no acquatic forms in her repertoire- though she hoped to find a suitable body to copy, she had to admit that learning how to swim effectively was likely to be a time-consuming process, and not really helpful to her present hopes of an early crab supper. Again, her skeletal form could walk the sea bed, but would move too slowly- at that point, Destyn might as well just swim himself. And she had no earthly intention of trying to learn to dive as herself.

No, her solution was elegant, if somewhat goofy.

"Here's what I'm thinking-" Imogen closed her eyes for a moment, connecting to her Rune. Silver fire blossomed next to her, then elongated into a shining line of argent. A moment later, the light coalesced into the quarterstaff which the Ork, in lemur-form, had used earlier to repel the attacking fire-marmosets. It floated in the air at her side, serene, and she gave it an affectionate slap with one hand. "I can direct this from the surface of the water, in bird-form, and I can exchange my sight to see through it." Imogen opened her eyes to prove it to Destyn, revealing blank, white orbs. "Even underwater, it'll move faster than those crabs. If you hold on to it, I can get you close enough to snatch them and put them into some kind of basket."

[Destyn]

A Boy Named Mr. Me

35 Ash, 122

Destyn beamed at the blasphemy. He didn't know much about worshipping Arcas, he just did what came naturally to him. He just sort of thought about what he'd like if he were the god of justice, and he did it. His prayers were always well wishes toward Arcas, as opposed to requests for himself. He might make wishes for his friends, but only rarely, because he didn't want to be annoying. Beyond that, he just tried to uphold his understanding of what Arcas was meant to embody. In this instance, it was toppling the crustacean monopolies that seemed to exist just beyond the shoreline. And here on their first fishing excursion, Destyn fell hook, line and sinker for Imogen's theological assertions.

"This is true." He nodded sagely, if solemnly. "Now I am sad that I have eaten so many of the smaller giant buggies that crawl at the bottom of the sea, but I did not know that they were, you know, being oppressed by the gianter giant buggies that crawl at the bottom of the sea, because I could not, you know, see them." He frowned and tipped his chin down, ashamed. "I should have looked harder." He acknowledged, grimly. He resolved to apologise for his transgressions when Imogen provided him with a light to pray by.

His smile returned when Imogen agreed with and elaborated upon his points about greed and the hierarchies it erected amongst mortals. It made him feel clever when people validated his ideas. Sometimes he worried that the way he spoke and his accent made people think he was stupid, which he didn't believe he was.

"This is why I do not like cities and prefer jungles and try to get my friends to move out of Kalzasi. I think it is, you know, very weird when people make you call them special things because of who their ancestors are. I mean, aside from their names. That I understand, but when people make you call them 'Your Highness' and get on your knees and stuff I think that is very strange and weird. It is like they are pretending they are gods, when they are not. Which is, it seems to me, a affront to actual gods." He pursed his lips, as Imogen contrasted the gianter giant buggies that crawled on the bottom of the sea with their bipedal counterparts in the cities.

"At least the buggies are more direct and also honester." He noted. But he didn't want to eat humans or avialae, so he would reserve his justice for the crustacean fat cats. At least for now.

Destyn considered Imogen's scheme with great interest, rubbing his chin and nodding along, comprehending.

"I see, I see. Yes. This could work. Do you think there is, maybe, some way to bind the staff onto my back? If I do not need to hold it I will have both hands free for grabbing the gianter giant buggies that crawl on the bottom of the sea! And yes! If I had, you know, a basket or a sack to put them in this would be, also, good." Unfortunately, he couldn't really use his wings to grasp the staff, but if there was a way to tuck it into his belt or perhaps he might even glamour a means of fastening it from the bark in his back. Whatever the case, it was clear that they were a stellar team who built upon one another's notions brilliantly.

A Boy Named Mr. Me

[Imogen]

Now they were cooking. Imogen had been prepared for her companion to reject the notion, but she need not have feared. Destyn was clearly prepared to take great strides in pioneering the future of crab fishing, and she couldn't wait to begin innovating.

But first, there were certain technical concerns which, it was true, had to be resolved. Affixing Destyn to her staff was not so difficult. Although she could only really alter its shape within certain strict parameters, she was perfectly capable of reshaping it to add swordcatches, loops of iron about the cap and butt, which she could easily tie to the fae'thalen lad's limbs. Making sure that she tied it somewhere which wouldn't hurt the lad when the staff tugged was a bit of guesswork, but they had plenty of time.

The basket was harder.

There weren't any wicker baskets on the beach which Imogen could borrow, and borrowing would have meant "temporary theft" anyway, since nobody in the camp was stupid enough to risk such a useful item on some harebrained scheme to delve for crabs. There were palm leaves which Imogen thought one could theoretically somehow cure and weave into basket form, but that theoretical procedure would have to be performed by a theoretical weaver, because Imogen Ward had never bothered to learn a stitch of anything in her life. So that left bags.

Bags were suboptimal. They would catch the water and be a source of drag, and there was a risk that the crabs could cut through canvas with their claws. However, Imogen had a ready solution.

"You see," Imogen explained to Destyn, very pleased with herself, "When I boarded The Duck, I wasn't sure where we were going, or for how long. I'd just gotten back from my trip to Ecith, where I spent a lot of time in the jungles, and so I packed an extra tent." The Ork dumped the mess of treated cloth and cord lines onto the beach, and began carefully laying it out.

"Actually, it was two tents more than I really needed, because it turns out that Carina doesn't like camping alone so we've been sleeping next to each other." That was a good and sensible arrangement, which Imogen liked. After all, it would be much harder for any predators to kill her friend if Imogen was already right there, practically underneath her. "So this is really a spare spare tent. And I think if we cut off a bit, like so..."

In theory, none of Imogen's pact weapons were ideal for the purpose of fine cutting. Her zweihander, of course, was not sharp, per se, but meant to overwhelm along the edge by dint of sheer weight. Thankfully, in much the same way that Imogen manipulated her staff, she could focus on her spearhead until it was like a knife, and direct the spear to (admittedly awkwardly) saw off a suitable bit of treated canvas, with a cord already-attached.

"Aha! You see? A ready-made bag. It might drag a bit in the water, but you can stuff the crabs in and then pull this like a drawstring to seal it up, so they can't get out!" The Sunsinger beamed, more proud of this Destyn-crab-fishing scheme than she'd been since, maybe, her initiation into Reaving. If this worked out, they'd have loads of juicy crab to eat, a welcome diversion from the days and weeks of fruit and nuts and tubers.

[Destyn]

A Boy Named Mr. Me

35 Ash, 122

Destyn also pondered the problem of what vessel they might use to house the captured gianter giant buggies that crawled at the bottom of the sea. One of his personal concerns, pertained to how giant these buggies actually were. He'd been going on Imogen's word that there were larger versions of the buggies upon which he'd been munching since his first beach day ever, a few weeks prior. In his mind they could have been anywhere from twice the size to nearing the scope of a primal, though he supposed they were safe from offending any real live primals while this far South. That was something he'd learned from Imogen, as well.

What they really needed, Destyn thought, was a net. The notion of a net had actually briefly occurred to him earlier in their discourse, when they were first strategising how best to capture crabs in the first place. He'd seen anglers on rivers using the natural flow of the water to execute their work for them by laying nets strategically across areas populated by many fish. He hadn't proposed this option, because there was so much collateral damage to the exploit that he deemed it cruel. In fact, he'd made a habit of cutting the nets he'd found left in streams and rivers to free the hauls of whatever thoughtless fisherpersons had left them. A net, however, would have been a perfect way to tote the large buggies, Destyn thought. But where would they get a net? And would the larger pincers of the gianter giant buggies that crawled at the bottom of the sea act as scissors and easily sever the tethers that comprised the net? He didn't really have time to address or trouble shoot these concerns before Imogen proposed a solution of her own. Actually, as she went into the details of her idea, he wondered whether his own might be married into it.

"But but but but I have a idea, though!" Destyn grinned, "Maybe we can make it drag less in the water if we, you know, cut holes into it? I do not know how big are the gianter giant buggies that crawl at the bottom of the sea, but if we do not make the holes, you know, so big then maybe they will stay put but also the water will flow more easier through the holes we make?" Now that his idea was out, he felt self-conscious about it.

"But maybe, you know, the pinchie claw things will cut through the holes and then they will free themselves, so maybe this is not such a good idea? I do not know. You seem more familiar with the ways of the gianter giant buggies that crawl at the bottom of the sea. You know of their greed, so perhaps you know also of their pinchie claw things." He shrugged. "I just know that oftentimes tents are made to keep out rain so probably they will move not so well in the water... even more bad than normal bags made of burlap which have, you know, little holes in them actually." He tilted his head,

"Does your tent come with ropes or string we could use to tie your pole thing to my back so it can, you know, carry me around like I am, you know, a living bindle under the water?"

A Boy Named Mr. Me

[Imogen]

"A bindle, yes! Absolutely." replied Imogen, trying desperately to remember what a "bindle" was. Some sort of carrying case? A transportative sarong, maybe? Damnation. Well, it would come to her, no doubt of that.

Just on the technical merits of the argument about the sack, though, Destyn was making some good points. If they cut holes in the tent-sack, it would definitely move more easily in the water... but would that also provide leverage for the crabs to escape? Tricky questions, especially when put to the consideration of someone for whom "fishing" had largely meant "walk to the market and purchase river catch wholesale." Once dead, filleted and on ice, fish were notoriously bad at escaping Imogen's clutches. Prior to that, though? Who could say.

"Yes, okay. First, I think we can rig you up a harness using the cord, as you say. It will take a little work, but I am sure I can get these cords out intact."

It was more than a little work, actually- the Kalzasaern merchant from whom Imogen had bought the tents had advertised them as "resistant to all conditions", and the Ork was beginning to suspect he was actually some sort of Circle master in disguise because those "conditions" seemed to include mystical blades forged out of her own soul-stuff. The use of sharp rocks also proved fruitless in extracting the cord, as did her attempts to tear bits off with her teeth (which she rapidly abandoned as her teeth started to ache from the strain). Thankfully, the Rune of Animus proved its incredible efficacy anew when she tried manifesting cat claws, which shredded the fabric with supreme ease.

Imogen regarded the newly-parted tent side with suspicion. "How... did that work so easily? Was this designed to be impervious to everything but cats?"

(The question seemed far-fetched, but cat owners must agree that there is some weight to that particular conspiracy. But that is a matter best left unspoken in public.)

Thus fully appointed with an effective tool, she required less than ten minutes to remove the cord and thin ropes from the tent, leaving its newly-extracted canvas to flap sadly in the stiff sea breeze. Now there was only the question of fashioning an effective binding, one which could drag Destyn through the water with the smallest modicum of discomfort.

That wasn't to say that this was an easy process, though. Imogen Ward had always viewed herself as a champion of the people, by which she naturally meant that she needed to stay among the people, by which she meant that she had limited interest in things like camping and the attendant skills for wilderness survival. Oh, she could tie knots, of course, but actually designing and executing a web to balance weight and inertia, purpose-woven? A bit beyond her.

Still, she did her best, planting her staff in the ground behind the fae boy and trying out different loops and knots, tugging on it to see how the forces affected Destyn's body. Once she'd settled on a plausible approach, which involved keeping a loose harness around Destyn's shoulders and a separate loop at the bottom he could push against with his feet in order to avoid being dragged across the seafloor, she got to work on trying to rig the whole thing up with enough resilience that it wasn't likely to simply snap.

As Imogen worked on the ties, she worked also on the issues raised:

"You have made some good points, I think. If the bag drags too much, it will be too hard for you to open and close it, so it will need to be ventilated. But the big crabs have big pincers, and sharp legs. If we let them thrash around, they'll tear open the holes and may very well get out."

The Sunsinger held up one of the cord loops to the sky, frowning at the knot she'd just tied, examining it critically for weaknesses. Unsatisfied, she undid the knot, and began the small labor anew.

"What if we layer the bags? An inner bag and and outer bag, both with holes cut going different directions. Then, even if the crabs manage to pull open the inner bag, they may be too stupid to understand the second bag, and will keep pulling at the first layer. That should give us enough strength and ventilation to hold the crabs, and confuse them long enough to get the catch to land."

Imogen stood back up, holding the newly-knotted harness. "What do you think? Oh, and try this on, I think it's strong enough to lift you."

[Destyn]

A Boy Named Mr. Me

35 Ash, 122

The Summer Fae of the quondam Clann na Feithidí Uisce would have, under other circumstances, been far more useful in this endeavour. He was not wholly incompetent when it came to catching things underwater. Granted, the bulk of his experience had been in fresh water, but things didn't seem so terribly different. Sure, seawater was not good to drink, as he'd learnt the hard way, and freshwater didn't boast such massive buggies crawling on the bottom of the river or pond, but where it counted for their purposes, he might have been very useful indeed. Except for lack of supplies. This little excursion had been so spur of the moment, that he simple hadn't the time to prepare any of the number of things that might have been useful in this endeavour. With time, Destyn would have been perfectly capable of weaving a net, but he'd also have needed something with which to weave it. Again, lack of preparedness blighted their cause.

Still, Imogen's eagerness to solve the problem with immediacy was rather infectious. Although several times it had occurred to him to just fly back to camp and see what he could gather that might be useful, and surely there would be something, the notion was always distracted by another scheme or proposed innovation to distract him. So, instead of doing that, he remained close by in Imogen's orbit and offered his help where he could. Although Imogen projected the notion that she had everything well in hand, so that didn't seem necessary often.

"Yay! Bindles!" Destyn was impossibly pleased at her approval of his little analogy. Especially because he thought 'bindle' was a fun word, so it both amused him when she repeated it and offered an opportunity for him to say the word again himself, which elicited a giggle or two.

"Rig me up?" Terms most often heard in maritime situations were venturing a bit beyond his Common vocabulary, and that one sounded downright risque! He knitted his brow a bit nervously, but decided to not to press the matter in hopes of using visual or context clues to figure out the meaning.

Observing her efforts to liberate the cords from their intended vessel elicited many emotions. He started with boredom, but the difficulty drew amusement, which was enough attention for him to at least invest himself in the outcome more immediately. Next came frustration, as it just seemed like too many techniques were failing (and his tummy was starting to rumble) but finally came victory, which he celebrated with his arms in the air and wings spread wide.

"It worked because, you know, nature is better at designing useful tools than people are!" And even if her mystical blades were forged by magical means, their designs resembled man-made weapons rather than naturally occurring counterparts, like claws or fangs. Smithies, to Destyn's keen nose, smelled as they smelted more of Industry than of Nature. And the Fae youth had clearly picked his side in that age old divide.

As the effort turned from freeing the cords to forming them into a useful accessory to their goals, Destyn figured Imogen would need his body as a model. He was actually tempted to flit off an gather some snacks to tide them over while they sought to gain other snacks from the tide. But it seemed more important that Imogen have him nearby so she could fit the harness to his torso as well as the staff, which was now protruding from the sand. He stood next to it comparing their heights, when Imogen addressed the issue of the holes.

"If I know buggies, and I know buggies, buggies are clumsy when they're all smushed in somewhere. Their bodies do not, you know, move as smoothly because their bones are on the outside which is also why they have a nice crunch when you bite into them. But I do not know how strong they are or, you know, how sharp the pinchie things are, so maybe they could cut through as easy as cat claw through canvas..." He frowned at a sudden thought, "And I hope they do not pinch me through the holes! We must make the holes smaller than holes that they can pinch me through, or it will hurt." He considered the matter of layering the bags. It sounded kind of like the outer bag would void the purpose of the inner bag, but Imogen sounded so sure of herself that he just shrugged and exclaimed,

"Sure!" As he situated his limbs in such a way that Imogen would be able to help him into the harness.

"I have never weared a harness before, but I think they look very fetching on, you know, a horse or a ass."

A Boy Named Mr. Me