[ Angel Devil. ] [ chatcube, or action. ] [ if you're visiting the rose barn, look for the door with the creepy bat-and-angel-wing sigil on it. Knock first! Or get zapped. ]
[ ...there is, louder, now shed of his curse, the piece of him that always wonders why. the piece of him that would rush to rebuff a reached-out hand, when offered.
it is a piece he would usually mollify with cynicism: imperious assurance that he understood the base motives that would drive someone to an appearance of 'kindness,' or 'care;' whispers that since he knew the real reason, he could tolerate it, and be all the more in control of its course.
there are steps and steps in the sands of time behind them that put them in this moment. but even in hindsight... the cold patterns he would normally place them as do not, in any way, match. ]
[ ...but right now he doesn't have quite the same cold calculation underpinning his thoughts that is his "birthright" as a Genome, making him want to KEEP looking, keep teasing out the "why" until it is flayed of feeling, for fact. he doesn't feel like it is all just playing pretend, over top of that.
instead, he hears that sound, a call that he knows in his tiny bones, mixed with something else that's all Muffin... and feels. ]
[muffin chuffs, trying to laugh and purr at the same time. he's sitting alone in a backyard in the middle of the night, but he feels as warm as if he were right in quetzal's arms]
[he can't hide behind this cube when he's got a cube over there oh no]
Is um... Gryphons have two names in my flock. Have spoken name, like Muffin, then have namecall. Is our signature call. Announce ourselves with, call to- mates with, call to flock.
Should... be part of all my songs, but forgot. Made it when I was chick by copying flocks' calls.
[ ...This was more than just a new pet name. This would be something he would carry every time he sang. And Muffin sang, always. In every corner of the Pasture, he'd wear it out. Like a pendant on a chest, a ring on a finger...
A name that Muffin had not even asked for from his flock here. A name he had once made, but wanted from him...
[ he is a cube to him right now. he is a bird who is a cube who does not have a prehensile tail to curl around Muffin. he feels the absence, all of a sudden, a phantom limb fizzing away in the air and nowhere.
[peeps a little too loud, as if surprised to get an answer to a question he just asked a second ago. his nerves are buzzing right now.
that's not a no. and equally importantly, it's not a yes yet either. there's no tease or easy nickname tossed off— quetzal gets it. it'll be a real namecall.]
Take your time. ...Have been without this long. Can wait little longer for the right one.
[ it takes, certainly, a little longer. and then a little longer more, and some longer more after that.
he thinks in silence, at first. but in little pieces, he tries out sounds, feeling each out. it's quiet, but the cubecall is still open.
they've been communicating, like this, but he's been letting his gut guide what comes out of his mouth. now he isn't trying to be automatic. now he's trying to study the shape, feel, of the sounds. perhaps it's a little similar, to the way he'd made play of the simple act of speaking.
making it an act of pure scrutiny, though, doesn't work out. he oft talks himself out of sounds he'd briefly gotten attached to, after walking it around a little. he knows he's definitely gotten a lot more opinions on the sounds he can make, but...
[ ...opinions... it would be nice if he could fit all of him into just a sound, but there's just too much gryphon. maybe it can be... something else. some smaller piece of him, so that a little bird can fit it in his own beak to call. ]
[ he thinks about the piece of this gryphon that's only his: the things he feels when he looks at him. feels the shape of the sound they make him want to make. and gives a short, gentle crooning sound.
[Muffin waits and listens to the small sounds as quetzal works. he stays still and quiet, lest he interrupt and sway quetzal's direction with a misplaced chirp or flutter.
he doesn't know his old namecall, but he remembers the spaces it filled. he was the runt of the litter when he learned to sing, and he sang all the louder for it. as he grew, his call stayed sharp. he loved his flock and he sang their songs, but he wasn't going to stay sheltered in the chorus. his call demanded attention and authority.
that staccato-bright call could only have been made in that flock. likewise this new call, now, could only be made in this moment, by this person.
muffin sits up to face the cube and croons softly back,]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[chirps when he remembers it's a cube call]
Okay. When is ready, I'll be ready.
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"...Thank you. You're always... being the one I can trust." ]
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I'm... happy when you trust me.
1/2
it is a piece he would usually mollify with cynicism: imperious assurance that he understood the base motives that would drive someone to an appearance of 'kindness,' or 'care;' whispers that since he knew the real reason, he could tolerate it, and be all the more in control of its course.
there are steps and steps in the sands of time behind them that put them in this moment. but even in hindsight...
the cold patterns he would normally place them as do not, in any way, match. ]
2/3
he doesn't have quite the same cold calculation underpinning his thoughts that is his "birthright" as a Genome, making him want to KEEP looking, keep teasing out the "why" until it is flayed of feeling, for fact. he doesn't feel like it is all just playing pretend, over top of that.
instead, he hears that sound,
a call that he knows in his tiny bones, mixed with something else that's all Muffin... and feels. ]
3/3
...I'm just glad you chose it was worth having." ]
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[muffin chuffs, trying to laugh and purr at the same time. he's sitting alone in a backyard in the middle of the night, but he feels as warm as if he were right in quetzal's arms]
—Quetzal? Can I ask you something?
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[sits up straighter, BE BOLD GO FOR IT]
Can I get another name from you? A namecall?
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But from that flush... that's not just a request for something so every-day.
Namecall is a very specific bit of word. Tell him more so he can do this right. ]
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Is um... Gryphons have two names in my flock. Have spoken name, like Muffin, then have namecall. Is our signature call. Announce ourselves with, call to- mates with, call to flock.
Should... be part of all my songs, but forgot. Made it when I was chick by copying flocks' calls.
dumb emeto/bird regurgitation joke 1/2
[ why does feeling this happy in this body make him feel like throwing up ]2/3 im so fucking sad i lost the first version of this comment when it was 3/4 done
This would be something he would carry every time he sang. And Muffin sang, always. In every corner of the Pasture, he'd wear it out. Like a pendant on a chest, a ring on a finger...
A name that Muffin had not even asked for from his flock here. A name he had once made, but wanted from him...
from the one he'd already named Quetzal.
"Oh." ]
3/3
"--Let me think! It must be perfect." ]
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that's not a no. and equally importantly, it's not a yes yet either. there's no tease or easy nickname tossed off— quetzal gets it. it'll be a real namecall.]
Take your time. ...Have been without this long. Can wait little longer for the right one.
1/2
he thinks in silence, at first. but in little pieces, he tries out sounds, feeling each out. it's quiet, but the cubecall is still open.
they've been communicating, like this, but he's been letting his gut guide what comes out of his mouth. now he isn't trying to be automatic. now he's trying to study the shape, feel, of the sounds. perhaps it's a little similar, to the way he'd made play of the simple act of speaking.
making it an act of pure scrutiny, though, doesn't work out. he oft talks himself out of sounds he'd briefly gotten attached to, after walking it around a little. he knows he's definitely gotten a lot more opinions on the sounds he can make, but...
... ]
2/3
he fluffs up into a little huffy orb, and surely his cube looks a sight, too.
opinions. shouldn't this call represent as much of who Muffin is as it can? ]
3/4
it would be nice if he could fit all of him into just a sound, but there's just too much gryphon.
maybe it can be... something else.
some smaller piece of him,
so that a little bird can fit it in his own beak to call. ]
4/4
and gives a short, gentle crooning sound.
Oo-woo. ]
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he doesn't know his old namecall, but he remembers the spaces it filled. he was the runt of the litter when he learned to sing, and he sang all the louder for it. as he grew, his call stayed sharp. he loved his flock and he sang their songs, but he wasn't going to stay sheltered in the chorus. his call demanded attention and authority.
that staccato-bright call could only have been made in that flock. likewise this new call, now, could only be made in this moment, by this person.
muffin sits up to face the cube and croons softly back,]
... Oo-woo?
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Oo-woo.
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🎀