ORIGIN

It was time for the rat to prove his worth once again to his familiar. It wasn't that the familiar (still unnamed, more a thing and a tool than a friend to the rat) was a danger to him, really. In fact, it seemed rather docile, all things considered, but Archimedes knew that to keep it so, he'd need to continue to be just as useful to the serpent as he was to it. It was the promise he had made it, when initially bonding with it.

The Golden Charger--a black, finned snake with gold armored scales and six golden eyes--was coiling along Polaris's riverbank, tongue testing the air. It was Archimedes, however, who directed it.

That way, he urged it, pointing it to a rock cluster ahead and to the right. That's a likely mouse den. Or rat, but as he tipped his own nose up to sniff the air, he caught the distinct odor of mouse.

So that's what the snake had been following. And he could point it to the right direction--excellent. Wait here, he commanded, when the snake had drawn close (and wasn't that still the strangest sensation--this cold, alien consciousness twined into his own?).

Archimedes hopped down, and bounded swiftly around the back of the rocks--lashing out mentally at the sudden instinctive impulse of his own familiar to very nearly lunge for him. Then he was pushing into the gaps between the boulders from behind, hissing and snapping in an attempt to drive a mouse or three out toward the Charger.

It took a moment, but he managed; most of them scattered widely, but a smaller one ran straight for the waiting serpent. He felt, along the link, the lunge and the snap; felt the strange sensation as though his own mouth were packed with soft and struggling warmth.

Then he trotted back out again, unconcerned--and crawled atop the feeding snake, taking his position atop the back of its neck and preening his whiskers and his coat.

Both remained there, in the open and plain to be seen, not far from the riverbank.

Archimedes turned, dropping down from his face-washing with a quizzical look toward the voice.

The Charger was busy working its jaws around its meal, and it begain to whip toward Mossie in panicked alarm--but Archimedes quickly shushed it along the mental link. His reassurance that Mossie was (probably) not dangerous calmed it, and seemed, as a bonus, to convince it further that "with Archimedes" was by far the best place to be.

But Mossie herself was... of interest. Archimedes wondered if she were just quite enthusiastic, or...

His eyes drifted to the brown moth. His mind, vaguely, ticked at a memory of fairy flies, and he pondered. There was nothing particularly off in what she was saying, but somehow her demeanor was... not quite right. Not dangerous, though, or impolite, and so Archimedes--pushing away the instinct that screamed predator along his nerves--dipped his head in greeting.

"Good day to you. And thank you, though my... companion, here, cannot speak. It is, itself, a lesser." Male, or female, Archimedes hadn't bothered to learn. "You may wish to use caution with that moth? It might be one of the insects," and he went back to washing his whiskers between words, here, "whose dust is hallucinogenic."

Whether it was, he wasn't sure. But it seemed like a smart thing to check. "Either way you'll want to dispose of it quickly, before it turns to oil."

Advice thus given, and face washed, Archimedes dropped back down to study Mossie. She was small, but looked lithe and agile. Could she be of use to his plans..? "I am Archimedes, by the way; may I ask your name?"

That always seemed a good place to start--and one the rat all-too-often forgot.

Archimedes watched, whiskers twitching, nonplussed. Part of him was tempted simply to leave, but he did wonder at something Mossie had said, and buckled down to uncovering more.

Finding usefulness, after all, was something he was focusing on.

"Thank you. It's good to meet you, Mossie. May I ask," (and here he paused, wondering if whatever was happening was... over, yet) "and please, take your time--but may I ask about this... spell, and whatever you were planning with the moth?"

Something about this absolute fiasco still seemed to hold the seeds of value in it; perhaps he just had to uncover them.

Archimedes, truth be told, had literally no idea what Mossie was trying to say.

He sat back, holding up one forepaw (to forestall Mossie's rambling as much as an encroaching headache) and tried to make some sense of it. He'd have, he realized, to take it piece by piece. "Let me... see if I understand, if I may," he began, whiskers twitching as he struggled with all of this.

"You found a magic that alters the way others perceive the world around them? And you are... experimenting with venoms and halluci... 'halluciwhatsits,'" he corrected himself, so as not to insult the cat, "to serve much the same purpose?"

He thought he'd understood that right. And if Mossie could confirm, well--maybe he'd find some use in her, if she could be... directed. Her energy, at the moment, was perhaps a little chaotic for his needs. The catchphrase-... well, he did not mention that.

There seemed very little reason to.

"...Interesting," Archimedes offered. He shifted a little atop his mighty steed, studying Mossie for a moment.

Scatterbrained, perhaps, but there's almost a promise in that. Was it a sign of stupidity--or genius? Somehow, he could picture a mad scientist type behaving precisely in such a way.

"You know, if you're interested, I might have others of... like mind for you to meet--but tell me, what have you found so far?"

It was pleasant conversation that he offered: his tone polite, his expression curious. And he was wondering, too, how long it might take for the dust to wear off.