Lovely Day for a Swim - Printable Version

Oh, how Lotte enjoyed swimming. While her mother's face often puckered in distaste whenever she mentioned her little excursions to Pisces, the activity really was best done here, especially during the intolerable heat that currently swept through a fair amount of the places her family usually frequented. Pristine white feathers, beautiful yet heavy, were cooled so well by the waters here. And the myriad pools she spent her time gliding about in? They were natural works of art, fascinating ripples spreading out across their surfaces whenever she kicked her webbed feet, an ever-shifting canvas influenced by motion.

"West," she called out, lapping about the pond, her pleasant mood reflected in the brightness of her tone. "Why don't you join me? The water's very nice right now. You might like it."

Unvoiced was the suggestion his temper might lessen if exposed to lower temperatures. Pisces' entirety was cold, but being exposed to the water sprayed as she swam past was likely a fair bit more soothing than simply sulking in a corner.

The bird in question stood a fair ways off from where she paddled, dark eyes burning holes into the mosses and grasses blanketing the floor near the cavern walls. Though the ceaseless crash of the cave's main feature, its waterfall, likely obscured most of her invitation, a sudden shifting of feet betrayed that the message had been received. Shoulders shook, signalling the signature scoff she'd expected. Nevertheless, she offered again, ever accommodating to her smaller yet older sibling's mercurial tendencies.

"Of course, I don't mean swim. That'd be silly." She laughed. It was raucous, far from her mother's soft chiming to her continued disappointment. "But it's cooler over here. And surely there's something you can grow too," she said, dangling an opportunity over the other Gembound's beak.

In order to host so many fish, the Lessers had to live off something, and she'd seen green growths in the depths whenever she plunged her beak below the surface of any pond. If West wished to cultivate his talents, he could do just as well closer to her where she could ensure his safety from any large predator that might cross their paths. Mother Miriam would be so cross if she lost either one of them to any "filthy ruffians roaming the caves."

"Ah, Lot, would ya just cram it," West snapped. The fading of youth over the cycles might've whittled away at the high pitch of his voice, but even now every angry chirp held the same nasal whistle he'd possessed since he first hatched out of his chrysalis. Not once as he tweeted did the bird spin to face his "sibling," no more a true relative of that gigantic scaly hag than he was of her either. He instead leaned forward, balancing on his toes, to further glare at the ground. "Can't ya see I'm busy here? Keep your bill flapping to yourself."

He hadn't any time to entertain her inane attempts at bonding, especially not when she was so transparent in her attempt to shield him from a world he'd known longer and better than her. More important was honing his skills so that he could finally force his self-proclaimed mother to loosen the grip she'd had on him forever and at last stretch his wings under another cavern's lights for good. Age brought the ability to recognize patterns, and he'd long realized the web of manipulation that giant had woven around him which his little sister remained blissfully unaware of, tugging at the strings to his emotions like he was an instrument to play. He aimed to cut them, but first his inner power needed to be strengthened beyond conjuring the weak, pathetic sprouts that Miriam tittered and clapped at, amusement gleaming in her eyes.

Rooted in this patch of earth, he could sense the steady pulses of seeds waiting to be nourished. Talons seized upon one signal amongst the crowd and sought to advance its life further with a swift upward jerk of his beak. Slowly from the carpet of greenery, another tender stalk forced its way out of hardy substrate. Although minuscule, its movement didn't escape West's scrutiny. Despite the success, he huffed, unsatisfied by how it'd barely breached the surface, an absolute runt compared to what he'd imagined.

It was easy to space out and lose track of time staring at the cascades along the walls and the small fish darting in and out of sight in the small ponds below, and Larkspur was doing exactly that when the sound of a small squabble broke through and drew her attention. Ever the curious (bordering on nosy) kid, she stared at the two Gembound, first from a distance. One was playing in the water, and one was much smaller--just a bit bigger than Larkspur herself--and focused on something on the ground. She couldn't quite see what it was, which gave her a curious itch she just had to scratch.

Unable to resist the urge, Larkspur left her pond-watching spot and flew over to where the other two were. "Hi," she said, trying not to stare too obviously alternately at the tiny seed-sprouts the small bird was focused on and the very plush, round-looking Gembound in the water. "What are you guys up to?"

No point in moping over an unsatisfactory result. The next would just have to be better. West grasped for another seed that he could sense nestled in rock and urged it to impress him better than the last pathetic sprout had. The rustling feathers of another bird swooping in might as well have been an errant breeze for how little attention he cast toward the new arrival. Well, barely any attention except for an idle, irritated chirp.

"None of ya business, ya pipsqueaking pis—"

"Manners," quacked Lotte, quite scandalized, echoing the familiar chide her mother often used whenever West's words escalated to a rather rude crescendo. Honestly, after how many cycles, her brother surely should've learned by now that resorting to such harshness was entirely unnecessary when simply asking for space was enough. As they'd both been told, a gentle touch and sweet words opened far more doors than closed them, and yet he always seemed so eager to slam shut every one he came across with tremendous spite. It appeared it'd be, as usual, up to her to employ her parent's lessons and present a welcoming face to strangers.

The duckybara paddled closer to the shore, large eyes squinted happily at the swallow. "Don't mind him," she said in hushed tones. "He's just a little busy is all, practicing his magic."

"It's a lot of work." Lotte laughed. "Me, I can hardly make bubbles, and that's if I focus real hard. Swimming's much more relaxing; less thought required."

Larkspur blinked in shock at the other bird's tone. Why so harsh? They had only been curious. But since he did not like them jumping in, they backed off and focused on the plush white Gembound instead. "Practicing magic," they echoed. "Why?" They could do magic too, but had never felt the need to practice. Should they have been doing it too?

"I don't like things that are a lot of work either," they agreed. "--I'm Larkspur, by the way! Bubbles sound like fun, though. It kind of goes with swimming... thematically?" Fun, they liked. They didn't know if the other bird looked like he was having any fun, though--it didn't sound like it? In the spirit of experimentation, they opened their bill and concentrated. A stream of multicolored bubbles flowed out! The light glinted off their surface like rainbows and Larkspur laughed in surprised delight. They jumped up in a flutter of wings, reaching for a bubble and gasping when it popped, and then looked back at Lotte. "Wow! I didn't expect that."

"Why?" Though not an iota of parrot dwelt in her lineage, the tilt of Lotte's head and her intonation almost could have convinced otherwise. She offered a blink of utter innocence and a shrug of her fluffy, rounded shoulders. "For... perfection, I guess? My mother always says that it's best to make sure you can do things right, so maybe that's the reason."

Then she squinted, a fascinating contradiction crossing her mind. "But she also says that the same thing every time is boring too. So wouldn't perfect magic be a smidge dull if you could guarantee doing it?"

A thought to save for asking her doting parent later. Surely she wouldn't mind providing her an answer, especially if she framed it right. Perhaps if the topic pertained to the use of magic in performances? Mother Miriam always loved to harp upon the myriad ways such could contribute to spectacle when one possessed the proper knowhow to incorporate its display effectively.

Upon Larkspur releasing a stream of bubbles from their bill, each sphere decorated by a brilliant colorful sheen, a tiny gasp of appreciation fell from Lotte's own. The rotund Gembound splashed in the water, erupting into raucous, delighted quacks. "Oh! That's very thematic indeed!" she agreed. "Much nicer than any I've ever done."

The deep desire to put on a show of solidarity for her fellow bubble blower led to her drawing in an exaggerated gulp of air, large enough to swell already pudgy cheeks. For a moment, she held that inhale, eyes intent while trying to infuse a portion of magic into the saliva settled in her mouth. The brief few seconds stretched longer as this pose was maintained due to not feeling a telltale tingle upon her tongue until, at last, she had no choice but to wheeze and breath normally again.

"See, I struggle." Finally, to not be rude, she gave her own introduction: "Lotte! Pleasure to meet you. And old sour mouth over there is..."

While his far more personable sister had been letting her beak spew out her every thought, West remained busy with his project. Unintelligible grumbles greeted the next sprout that emerged, the green growth noticeably stronger, as evidenced by the thickness of its stalk and the broadness of leaves adorning it. They were grudging acceptance of this instance of improvement; the problem now was whether he could reproduce the result with any real consistency. Once would only be a fluke, not anything worth singing about.

But then he heard the prod in Lotte's voice as she trailed off, an unmistakable invitation to chime in and ingratiate himself with a total stranger. Oh, he knew that trick well. After all, she'd learned it from mother worst, the hag who loved to weaponize every pause and honeyed word to her advantage. Although neither the finesse nor the same reek of malice was there, just recognizing the tactic tensed the warbler in place. Predictably, his tune didn't grow any sweeter.

"Busy. Ya know, like I told ya before, airhead. But, if you insist," he bit out, "It's West—same way I'm headed from here if you keep yapping to me."

Lotte could have her social hour if she really wanted it, but damned if he was going to play the role of cute accessory to show off to her friends.