ORIGIN

The Collector had, perhaps not unexpectedly, a connection to each of his own creations--and a connection forged even to many of the 'gifts' which he had not, himself, created but had exchanged out over the cycles.

This was one of those. At least, he assumed it was here.

Somewhere.

He'd inspected the trees up above, but there was nothing, so he could only assume that it was buried--or in a tunnel beneath the dirt. Eventually, he would dig down himself and try to find it but that was such terribly messy work; and if it was there and merely buried, rather than in some form of still-used tunnel or den, well, that'd necessitate covering it up again and that would be even more work.

So he waited here, leaning up against a nearby tree, hooves crossed and red eyes flickering as he gazed out over the early morning mist. Pegasus was beautiful: a natural beauty, a soft wilderness that didn't belong in these caves. It existed for rending, for burning, though the only one he'd sent here for that purpose had failed. Had tried to lie to him.

And so--fickle Gembound at its core--Pegasus still stood.

Ahh, well; it did serve a purpose. As did he.

He would wait here, for a few days; if he were lucky James would happen by. If the horse didn't turn up, he'd simply assume his lovely enchanted--bag, had it been?--abandoned, and repossess it, as was his wont. But no one could blame him for not having tried to reach its current owner.

@James (11th tag is the charm)

James looked vastly different than the last time they'd met. A long, beautiful mane and tail, both braided so as to keep out of the way, with his forelock long enough to drape down either side of his face and over his gemstone. Around his neck was a bag woven from vines and lined with thick leaves, with fruit filling it nearly to the brim and held around his neck.

It was a slow day, really, his favorite kind of day, where nothing at all was happening and no one was dying and people weren't being cruel to one another. The birds sang and his children stopped by to say hello, and of course his beloved Tahi-shei was off somewhere doing his own thing.

He wasn't expecting his perfect day to be interrupted by someone he'd purposefully avoided.

"Collector," he said, voice cool as he came to a stop, head held high and wings held close to his sides, "How nice of you to visit."

James' kind eyes turned hard and cold, his ears flat against his head. Magic welled up in his chest, ready to be used should the Collector have come for sinister purposes. A wispy purple glow licked off of his fur, trailing into the air like smoke, excess magic struggling to be contained.

'I had wondered why the birds had stopped singing,' he thought dryly.

Scarlet eyes trailed over the freshly-upgraded winged steed.

"A pleasure to see you too, James. You look quite well. Those braids are fabulous," he added, looking them over from a distance.

After a moment, he pushed off of the tree. He was, as it turned out, quite a few yards off the bag: some two horse lengths', in fact. A subtle hint, if the horse were paying close attention, that perhaps he was not quite as omniscient as he seemed. (Or maybe he just wanted it to seem that way. Who knew?)

"I do apologize if I'm intruding. I simply wished to ask if you still intended to keep this," and here the clawed hand gestured down at exactly the wrong patch of dirt, "or if it were abandoned..? I would generally offer back some of the price paid to repossess such an item before its owners death--assuming its semi-abandonment, at least; but nothing much was paid for this one, so the most I could offer would simply be a gemstone or the like. But! If you are still using it, then by all means, do keep it well-hidden."

@James

James didn't react to the compliment, looking down at where the Collector pointed instead, snorting.

"Ah yes, the sling," he said, "I'll have you know that I don't appreciate being lied to. Or tricked."

He stared down the Collector for a moment, "Why should I give it back? At least in my possession, no one else will be cursed to relive Elias's death over and over again. Very nice touch by the way, I really did appreciate experiencing death while fifty feet in the air."

"If I gave it back, what would you do with it?", he asked.

"Lied to..? Why, whatever do you mean?" The tone was mild, polite; his head tilted a tad to one side. "Ah, perhaps you misunderstand. I am not requesting it back; I am merely asking if you have abandoned it. By all means, keep it if you wish. If it were reclaimed, I would simply hold onto it; unless, of course, someone wishes to trade for a nice, new bag." He paused, glancing down at the dirt (the wrong part entirely, once again); "-well. New-ish."

@James

James resisted the urge to roll his eyes, "I'm not in the mood for games. I'm keeping it. It will remain buried in the dirt where no one can be hurt by it until either it rots or you are dead."

He turned around and flicked his tail, "Now I request you leave, Collector. You've overstayed your welcome."

He grinned beneath his hood. Oh, there was more to it than that, but he could hardly tell James that, could he-? The foolish horse might get it into his head to act upon it, then.

And a question unasked deserved no answer.

"There are no games here, James. By all means, keep it. My terrible apologies for having disturbed you. Although, as for leaving, that sounds like something you want; and things that others want must be paid for. So I think I will stay awhile, and look at the..." Crimson eyes scanned Pegasus, as if trying to come up with something worth looking at--and failing. In a voice that suggested he were forcing a polite answer to something terribly ugly, he finished with, "...unique... terrain. I am sure I won't get in your way. Ta ta," and one clawed hand raised to wave at the horse's tail.

@James

James huffed and said nothing else, making his way into the forest and back towards home. The chrysali were safe, his home was safe. He'd keep an eye on the Collector until he left, of course. L

He lingered in the trees, hiding behind the thick trunks, standing behind one to hide himself.

Just in case.

Exit James unless smth happens

Nothing much of interest happened.

For a time, the Collector merely stood there; he leaned back against a tree of his own, one hoof crossing against another.

For a time, he drew out a guitar; and this he played, strumming notes that sang, slow and bittersweet, over the rolling meadows beyond. He put the guitar back into his cloak, then--and there was nowhere it could have possibly fit--and pulled out... something else.

He scattered this "something else" across the ground, glancing around furtively as if to ensure that no one was watching.

And a heartbeat later, he simply... disappeared.

Should James choose to investigate, he would find something that looked, and smelled, very much like buttered popcorn littered across the grass.

@James (and the Collector exits)

James approached when the Collector had left, eyes narrowed. He looked at it, sniffed it, and then painstakingly swept it away from the bag's location, far enough away that he was comfortable.

With that, he left, sighing softly as he tried to relax again, headed back home.

Exit

Game Master Dark

James

Game Master Dark

James

Game Master Dark

James

Game Master Dark

James

Game Master Dark

James