Born to Slide the Slippery Slope

Just as the last time, her sly insinuation paid off. She might as well have rubbed salt into a wound for how quickly the bird jolted at the reminder of his less than graceful entrance into the wider world outside of his chrysalis. Indignation rooted itself so completely in bones that Miriam could feel his feathered body vibrate as the negative energy it contained built to a volatile peak.

She waited, anticipation quivering in whiskers. Any second, and the seal of self-restraint on the younger Gembound’s voice would undoubtedly break. Keen ears twitched as they caught the faintest little whistle of an inhale. She counted one heartbeat’s passage. Two…

"Up to," he exploded. "Up to! Course I can." Were the bird less rotund, he could’ve puffed his chest out for bravado at this point. Instead he threw his weight forward, attempting such, almost spilling out of Miriam’s hand if not for a quick adjustment of its angle on her part. "I–I show ya! Can do magic more good than you can."

He hopped about a little while recovering from his near topple to the ground, this bold declaration ended with an impassioned stomp of a foot. Its talons, utterly ineffectual against natural armor, registered more as tickles to the giant holding him than stabs emphasizing his intent. Quick as he angered, the bird jerked his gaze ceilingward. He yanked blindly at his own power, determined to drag it kicking into the light so the previous performance could be put to shame.

Predictably, nothing happened. The hatchling's show consisted of only a miniature temper tantrum, a poor challenger to Miriam's gem.

Oh, how cute. Judging by the latest glare directed at the center of her palm, the child was fuming over the failure to yield anything remotely impressive.

Honestly, what had he expected? Anyone possessing a modicum of intellect could see that he'd lashed out without a single idea of what results he desired. If his talons had even managed to grasp a sliver of magic, it wouldn't have had the tiniest clue what form to manifest as, so devoid of any of the guidance necessary to create a display worth envying. Not that he'd had any chance against her magic to begin with; a mere fledgling of inferior design could never measure up, much less surpass, one such as herself.

Pathetic as it was, a certain entertainment could be derived from witnessing a miserable flop. Her unoccupied hand cradled her cheek while she observed, calm amusement undiminished. "I believe," she offered in gentle instruction, "you're supposed to locate where your magic resides and then draw it out. Slowly, perhaps, in your case. Speed comes with practice. When you have it in your grip, it becomes easier to know what shape it might be coaxed into. Try that, hmmm?"

Or don't. She could always benefit from a couple more laughs.

The advice might not have fallen on deaf ears, but Miriam likely wouldn't know it had until he actually proved he'd listened. For now, the very suggestion appeared to be gasoline thrown onto a fire; as soon as her soft hiss penetrated the foul mood gathering about the bird's head, he let loose another rapid-fire series of sharp tweets and twitters at the interrupter.

She thought he wasn't thinking about where he might've gone wrong already? What, was she as stupid as she was absurdly tall? He knew there was an issue. The whole reason he'd been standing here in silent fury was because he'd been trying to determine exactly what it was. He'd try her idea, sure, but he doubted it'd do any good. No way this overgrown worm knew better than him, after all.

The bird sank into a deep sulk, and dark eyes glassed over while a mental probe reached inside himself for that useful something he'd failed to draw out the first time around. He spent a minute at most gazing within before a huff shook his body, boredom settling in.

"No magic," he snapped. "You sure you not confused?"

If only his pecks inflicted pain to her instead of glancing off scales. She deserved it for being so useless.

While observing this latest failure, Miriam had stuck to the pose she'd adopted, positively beatific in disposition compared to the hellfire the little bird exhibited with every infuriated chirp. A chipper hum received the accusation leveled at her before she bothered to elaborate using speech. "Oh," she cooed, "Certainly. I've cycles of practice, small one. But maybe I was too vague? If you let me, I can give you a visual to focus on for a better start."

Despite the skeptical stare burning into her scales, the suggestion wasn't immediately spurned. Taking the silence as her cue, a yawn was held back, and she languorously dropped the hand from her cheek so that a claw could be pointed at the unremarkable grey slash marring the bird's breast. It hovered at a careful distance from him so its sharpness couldn't heighten his nerves, delightful as it might have been to see him squirm. She watched as the child's beak dipped, following the direction she'd given it, and only then continued.

"That thing there? It's your stone. Everyone has one. It's often credited as the root of magic, though it doesn't necessarily always mean that's where it lives when someone tries casting. Place your focus there first. If you can't sense it, then perhaps see if there are any connecting threads that you can follow elsewhere." Advice given, she settled right back into her previous position, casual as ever despite the irritating cold. "And that's it. Simple as can be, surely."

"Simple," he mimicked. "Simple!"

Credit had to be handed to the bird: although far from the serpent Miriam was, he might as well have been a relative of hers for how adept he was at lacing his words with such venom. Had he a more immense vocabulary, perhaps such vindictive delivery would have possessed more potent of a bite. Instead it came across more as a feisty hatchling testing how far he could push his elders' patience before they finally snapped back. A mercy then that Miriam could tolerate most attitudes so long as it didn't bore or defy her too much.

"Fine," grumbled the bird. Damp feathers stiffening due to the pervasive chill of the tunnel, he shook his wings out before making another attempt. "I start at stone."

Unvoiced threat coiled around the statement. If her advice proved just as fruitless as before... Well, it wouldn't be his brightest or safest idea, but he just might try embarking on his first flight for the express purpose of plunging his beak into a more tender spot than scales provided. Unblinking blue eyes showed promise for that, a wide open target to attack. Annoyed as he was, painful consequences could be dealt with later.

Every instruction he followed to the letter. Not once did his gaze leave what Miriam had called his stone. He extended his mind out, and upon feeling only a void, mentally swept his talons about for a possible invisible connection to the mark on his breast. He fumbled about like this for longer than the earlier minute; though he hadn't been keeping count, likely it had been a few minutes instead. All this effort, and what did he have to show for it?

An utterly infuriating nothing. Just like before.

"Ya no brain! Stone nothing! Magic nothing! I most everybody. So why no magic!"

Three times without results. This surely must be testament to this giant's complete incompetence. The bird wailed, literally hopping mad, and flung himself toward Miriam's quietly smiling face.

That poor, pitiable fool.

A certain amount of grace had to be granted to him, fresh out of the chrysalis as he surely was, but the bird had gravely miscalculated. Fluffy feathers too damp, legs too young and inexperienced to carry out a proper leap, attempting to soar would only result in shattered bones on cold, unforgiving stone. Miriam concluded this easily, impassive while she tracked the hatchling's trajectory through the air. The imbecile was so dedicated to venting his rage that his tunnel vision failed to perceive the inevitable, agonizing drop to come.

Little more than a split second it took for a decisive action. Just as the moronic puffball's jump reached its apex and gravity began dragging him down by the talons, a set of claws daintily plucked him out of space by those same treacherous feet. Oblivious to the danger he'd placed himself in, the bird twittered furiously at the indignity of being dangled upside down. She paid no mind to his scorn and returned him promptly back to her open palm, resetting his position.

"Silly child," she chastised. "Simply hurtling yourself off the edge and into the abyss hardly counts as flying. You'd be a broken mess on the ground instead. And then where does that get you? Certainly nowhere closer to magic."

Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth. The bird, although still quite displeased, avoided the mock stern gaze leveled at him. Turned out, despite all his bluster, enough room did exist in his skull for a modicum of shame. Good. She could work with that.

"How about we take a rest, hm? I can find you some food, take us to a warmer part of the caves perhaps?" Voice chipper, Miriam gestured toward the west and where Orion lay at the end of this far too frigid tunnel. "A fuller stomach might be conducive to improving your casting attempts." The tatzelwurm tempted with simple matters of the mind and body, no doubt easy bait for a clueless child.

Thus far he'd proven useless, but for one regard: humor. Much as she took pride in the challenge of molding her dear Claude to her will, so often did frustration occur during the process instead of entertainment. This morsel could fill that void, a personal pocket-sized jester, quick to perform at the slightest sign of provocation. And if he at last unlocked his magic, perhaps this relationship could blossom into something even more beneficial for her future.

Talons rapped out a beat on the golden scales beneath them. Silence reigned, heavy as the bird weighed his options. They were limited: either reject whom he'd thus far considered a huge nuisance and be left to the cold or take advantage of the peaceful branch extended to him, useless as the one holding it was, and obtain the chance at a free meal. Though enraged, not even he could deny what most newly born hatched with. Just as his head had entered this world empty of most its concepts, so too did a telltale pit of hunger lay inside him, demanding satisfaction the longer he breathed.

A tremendous sigh rocked the bird's rotund body, and the next words clacked out of his beak sang of bitter defeat. "Food. Then more magic."

How he despised conceding even this minor battle. It made clear the disadvantage of his size, the current precariousness of his position. Doubtlessly age and experience wouldn't dull the hatred stemming from this humiliation. He'd remember this first loss and strive to never be caught in such a vulnerable state again, forced into a corner where the best choice was bowing his head to a giant's will.

He itched to rake his talons across Miriam's face when she giggled and accepted his submission. Good sense just barely held his temper in check, cultivated by recent shame, and instead he dug those natural weapons into her palm for a better grip as she began slithering forward on the path to her intended destination. Like any halfway decent songbird, he knew when to keep quiet and wait for a window of opportunity. One day he'd fly to freedom and chirp his sweet melodies, but not before achieving the equally sweet payback of destroying his current mistress's far too smug gaze.