howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

Liranan has never used a key before! It is exciting! If Zevran were here, maybe he would show Liranan how to use lockpicks. That would be great!

As it is, Liranan is currently wandering around the room and picking up everything he can. Because he has hands!

Ysalwen heads toward the window and the chairs nearby, sniffing at everything in an effort to see -- what scent tells her at all.

(So far, mostly nothing except lemons.)

Cullen has a board under his arm that has letters on it.

And some numbers.

And the words YES, NO, and GOODBYE.

He refused the little pointer that the bar tried to give him along with the board. Ysalwen has paws; what use have they for a strange triangular thing?

He props it against the hearth, stretches.

(It'll be possible, he thinks, for someone to come in the window if they really want. Of course, it's also a reasonable escape route, and not in direct line of sight from the front door. Helpful.)

Liranan comes back around to the fireplace, leaning over to pick up the box.

"What's this? Cullen, what's this? Is it for Ysalwen to use? Can she use it now? I miss her talking."

It isn't the same hearing it when it isn't her.

"When she wants to use it, yes," Cullen says.

And glances at her. "I thought it might be preferable to scattering dirt or sand all over the floor." Wry.

Ysalwen looks up from her investigation of the screens separating out the beds.

She taps the ground twice with her right paw.

Definitely better than dirt. And faster, too.

Liranan, meanwhile, has decided that this means she wants the board laid out, and heads over to lay the board in front of her.

"Here!"

He is helping!

Cullen follows, a little more slowly, eyebrows raised.

If she's got something to say, he should probably be there, considering Liranan can't read.

B. O. R. E. D.

She spells out.

Then sweeps her paw across the ground as if to indicate a space.

B. O. O. K. S.

If they do not get it she will also spell out QUESTION.

Cullen laughs (surprising himself, a little).

"Yes," he says. "Although can you turn pages?"

"I can help!"

Liranan looks pleased at being able to help! With his hands!!!

"...of course," Cullen says, and works very hard to keep a straight face.

"Any kind of book in particular?" He does realize not everyone is fond of books on modern siege equipment.

P. H. Y. S. I. C. S.

A sweep of the paw again.

C. H. E. M. I. S. T. R. Y.

Another sweep.

T. A. C. T. I. C. S.

Sweep.

Y. O. U. Sweep. R. E. A. D. Sweep. T. O. O.

What?

Cullen snorts. "Don't worry about me. I'll..." Remember what those words looked like and write them down himself, once he's at the bar. "...get something for you, and be back shortly. Would you like anything else while I'm down there?"

She yips once.

F. O. O. D.

Sweep.

Ysalwen stretches up and out a little to lick Liranan's hand.

G. R. E. Y. Sweep. W. A. R. D. E. N.

Another sweep.

T. H. A. N. K. Sweep Y. O. U.

He coughs to hide his -- embarrassment? awkwardness? -- and turns toward the door. "I -- yes. I'll be back. And I'll lock the door."

Click.

....it is going to be a very long few days, isn't it.

(As he is requesting books, food, writing implements, and other necessary items, he thinks to add a bottle of West Hill brandy to his order.)

Liranan, meanwhile, flops down beside Ysalwen and buries his face in her neck, much as she does when in her real body and having a very difficult day.

(She does not like people to see her cry.)

Bodyswaps are incredibly stressful. Liranan does not like them.

Edited 2015-11-08 05:17 (UTC)

What takes the longest is figuring out how he's supposed to get it all back upstairs.

In the end Cullen throws up his hands and gets two plain satchels. It's not as though they're going to be withstanding a siege; they're perfectly capable of leaving and coming back down for anything they might want.

So: two satchels, one with food, one with reading and writing material (and brandy). Easy enough.

Still, it's been a good ten minutes by the time his key rattles in the lock.

Liranan sits up at the sound of the key, rubbing his eyes.

Ysalwen, who can still see his damp cheeks, leans up and licks all over his -- her -- the face.

Helpfully.

That is pretty much what Cullen will walk in on.

Indeed.

His brow furrows as he sets both bags on the table. "Liranan? What's the matter?"

T. I. R. E. D. Ysalwen spells out.

Sweep.

H. A. R. D. Sweep. P. E. O. P. L. E. Sweep. T. A. L. K. Sweep. H. I. M. Sweep. N.O.T. Sweep. M. E.

Sweep.

N. O. T. Sweep. N. O. R. M. A. L.

Liranan just keeps rubbing at his face. Ysalwen's face.

The face. At least until Cullen talks again.

When he does, it's to say, gently:

"I suspect you'll find an ewer and basin in there." Pointing toward the bathroom. "Some cool water on your face might help matters. And then come eat something."

Liranan stands up, fingers tangling with Ysalwen's fur, much like her fingers do with his when she wants him to come along.

Ysalwen heaves herself up, trotting after him to the bathroom. She casts a quick look back at Cullen on the way. It will be all right. She will make sure of it.

His mouth presses into a thin line.

But he turns and begins to unpack the satchels. There are things that are his job, and things that are not, and at the very least he's clear on which is which at this moment.

Bread, and cheese, and apples, and cold roast chicken will be waiting for Ysalwen and Liranan when they emerge, as will a stack of books. Meanwhile, Cullen has removed his boots, placed them by the bed in the corner (figuring that they'd prefer the bed by the window; he's polite), and has made himself as unobtrusive as possible on the window seat.

Liranan comes back out after a couple minutes, hair frizzed and messy from laying on Ysalwen's shoulder for so long. Also a long day. But his face looks better. Less -- strained.

He also takes some of the roast chicken and cheese, flopping down on the window seat next to Cullen.

"I miss being me. Me is better. I know how to do that. Ysa is better at being her."

...he wasn't expecting that.

Cullen draws up his knees, carefully, so as not to disturb Liranan.

And says, cheerfully, "It's true. Mabari are better."

You take that back, you fiend!

"Not better than Ysa."

Heresy. Blasphemy.

Have you even met her?????

"Maybe better than the rest of people."