James was here (and queer) in Canis for a rather... trivial reason. He neither had hands nor the resources to make something suitable to carry his young, and the only way to get to Pegasus in a decent amount of time was to fly. He could trust Comet to keep herself stable on his back, but a tiny newborn foal (he hoped it was a foal, he didn't even know what the child would look like, it could turn out to be a potato for all he knew) couldn't be trusted to stay on. He needed a sling. Something comfortable and sturdy to withstand flight and weight. His net bags worked for fruits and small things, but not a child.
He'd even brought some fruit in said net bag as an offering, though he doubted just a bag of fruit would be enough for a sling.
Pride, then Khloros, then Mercy- his poor vocal chords.
He'd have to hope that the Collector answered to his more common name. If he had a different one then... Maybe he could make a stop to see Eythan instead after this and ask how Avi was and talk about his child too- he was such a dad. All he could think about were his children. At least he was still free to roam around and explore with Comet. She loved their outings- wait. He was here to see the Collector. Focus!
A guitar? A banjo-? Oh, but there was no name for this; for it was made of polished bone and strung with sinew. It sounded damn good, though; each note rang rich through Canis, a harmony with what had come before. The melody was cheerful, yet achingly lonely; stoic, but mournful, all at once.
And there, a bit ahead: the Collector, playing, hooded head down and clawed fingers strumming. He sat atop one of the mounds, hooves idly crossed.
The music faded, quieted, slowed, as he looked up at James. Red eyes stared unblinking, and a smiling voice spoke. "I am the Collector;" and its croon was smooth, "How might I be of service today?"
A final note--discordant, this--and the instrument was set to one side, the clawed hands resting in his lap, giving James his full attention.
@James
James perked up at the sound of music, blinking gently before trotting forward. He lifted his wings and flew, taking flight and quickly descending again, landing gently in front of the Colletor.
He bent his head down and used a wing to push off the bag around his neck, placing down the bag of fruit,
He shifted nervously and cleared his throat,
He very gently nudged the fruit forward and ruffled his feathers, taking a deep breath to calm his rambling.
Goodness- he wasn't doing good at this at all! It wasn't his fault the Collector was a bit intimidating, he just hoped he wasn't being disrespectful.
The apple was lifted into the hood. A sharp crunch, and it came away with a sharp-toothed bite missing. After chewing, swallowing, he spoke again. "Tell me, with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking-? I believe I missed your name."
@James
James smiled, shuffling a bit bashfully,
He bent his neck and picked up an apple in his mouth, biting it in half and letting the rest fall in front of him to snack on in a moment. He swallowed his mouthful and lifted his head again, ears perked forward.
He ate up the last of his apple, not really minding anything the other did. Unless he became hostile, then he'd remain docile. He wasn't one to judge by teeth and claws, but by character. So far, the Collector seemed nice.
"James; a fine name. Never fear--the Collector will do just fine. And it is because in ages past, and still today, I am the one to haunt the forgotten places, and find those things left behind. Useful, powerful, or simply interesting, hm? Amusingly enough, from all your kind, you are the first to have the presence of mind to ask me such a question," he added, his tone one of warm approval.
"As for what you ask, well; the last such item I gave away, for carrying, was a legged sled. A strange, but kindly creation. That would, I think, have been your best bet; not as fast as flying, perhaps, but then you may find your wings weary carrying a child in flight past a certain age..." The Collector considered, thinking. Another bite of his apple, then. "There was a wagon, too, but that one-... I would not recommend putting children on that one."
Eyes widened a tad, the pinprick crimson seeming to swell beneath the cowl. "There may be something... that I can adapt. But it will take time," he added, thinking--and then glanced at James. "Tell me, young one: how long before the little one comes-?"
@James
James smiled,
He loved hearing people's stories. Backstories, adventures, hardships, jokes and tales of hilarity. It made everyone happy to share things.
He seemed worried for it. After a moment, though, he looked back up at the Collector and quickly shook his head.
James counted the days, brows furrowed as he tried to remember...
He offered a soft smile, ruffling his wings a bit.
A pause, as James spoke.
'I was friends with the person you gave the sled to.'
Tragedy-! That 'was;' it removed all sorts of fun potential. Still-... There was no point in turning away from it, was there? The Collector at once affected a sorrowful demeanor: a bow of his head, a soft sigh. "Oh, I would not worry about-... the sled too much, James. Not the sled; it will return if harmed. The cost to subdue it, however, was great," and his tone fell into a mournful hush. Crimson eyes lifted and there was every sign of sympathy, of honesty, as he continued--embellishing, of course, where he saw fit.
Ahh, but the Collector did love a good story.
"I had told that one--Aristotle was its name, I believe?--that the sled would require magic to return to life. He chose to bring me the stones of the unhatched--those who could still be returned to life. They... did contain magic, of course, but his choice-! A terrible thing, to steal potential lives, but alas, I was bound by contract. I would have preferred to see those children live, and flourish. Three lives, he took," and the Collector offered another deep sigh, another shake of that hooded head. "Alas, perhaps the cave is not the kindest place, regardless. Perhaps... it was for the best. On to... the present, hm? No point, I suppose, in dwelling in the past," but his tone was still full of what sounded like soft grief.
He left a long and thoughtful pause, as if it were taking him a moment to shift his thoughts back to the here and now.
"It was a... harness, though I can refit it, I think. It must have belonged to a creature larger than you, but I am certain I could size it down, perhaps add a sling. I believe it also lightens the weight of whatever is drawn--it might apply to carrying, I do not yet know. These things often have a drawback, mind you--enchantments can be fickle things--but I do not know what it might be."
And here he waited, with bated breath, to see what James' reaction might be. How well had the pegasus known Aristotle-? How close had they been; and had he already been told this tragic tale..?
@James
James' breath hitched. His eyes narrowed.
He sounded... disappointed. And tired.
He stamped a foot and shook his head,
James sighed, his opinion of the lion unchanged. Such a thing was unforgivable.
How excellent-! A wonderful story indeed.
"Ahh, I am--terribly sorry. I didn't realize you were close." Ahh, what a firm and kindly promise. As for payment-... He'd have to be careful, with this one. He had something good, here; to go too far would be to tip the winged horse off. To drive its newfound believe away.
He also had to be careful not to push too hard into this topic, and yet... Ahh, the delightful possibilities.
"Given the... solemnity of the situation, I will ask but one thing. I detested what he asked me to do. He kept two stones, in greed; would you find and warn the children who hatch from it; warn him what he has done? I would hate to see what he might--ahh, but this may distress you, hmm? It may be the right thing to do, but if it is too difficult for you I will find something else, and we shan't discuss it further."
@James