CRIME NOIR

THE FLOWERS

"Our hero breaks free. But behind him, his ally: trapped in poisoned blooms. Blossoms that promised ascension... but do they, really? The pages in this book all touch on death..."

A pause, as East flew through clear, clean air. The effects of the pollen faded almost at once. "...But then, how to explain the bloodstains? If only he had some way to reach the scene of the crime. The bones hidden just below, wrapped in deadly roots."

oops switched up posting order a tad

@East

Freed of the bewitchment that had momentarily ensnared his mind, wings keeping him aloft to prevent another descent into madness, the new vantage point attained allowed East to absorb fully the extent of the floral hallucinogen’s sprawl. From this high point, there was no mistaking where Bentley was; just as his altered state of consciousness had cast him as a unique monster among pale duplicates, here the dog’s existence could be read as a shifting, multicolored ink stain on paper. Lacking the option of a quick exit overhead, he remained vulnerable to the plants’ potent influence. Showing no signs of squirming out of their deceiving grasp, although the methods employed might have questionable effectiveness, he would have to be dragged out of it lest succumb to whatever cruel fate was intended for the helpless and trapped.

Words sufficed since talons might inflict harm to both parties involved. East preferred not to learn the pain a retaliating bite would bring.

"Ben, can you hear me? Listen to my voice," he called out. "I don’t know where you think you are, but you need to stand. No matter what, stay up and keep your head as high in the air as possible. Don’t breathe in too deeply."

Throughout this, uneasy glances were given to the surroundings, searching for a more substantial way to guide Bentley out from the field. The white expanse offered none, blank and virtually unbroken—excepting a knot East’s eye tripped upon at the very center that disrupted the repeating pattern of petals. Something buried there?

The Narrator seemed eager to fill him in on the details. Shame they couldn’t tie a rope to them so he could pull the entire clue up.

But perhaps another plant in the palace’s garden could. After all, not every one kept close to the ground. Some twined around tasteful and strategically placed bits of architecture. A decent choice for cordage, but what did he know; last time he tried his hand at anything of the sort, he’d taken a lesson in the taste of dirt and how broken bones felt.

Then there was the dilemma: reaching the last vines the pair had passed would require leaving Bentley alone. Could he endure until his return without clawing apart and snapping himself to pieces?

No time to allow qualms to liquefy iron will. He’d have to. With any luck, the vine retrieved could serve as a lead out of the flowers afterward.

A gulp of fresh, untainted air drowned out prickling nerves. Stomach settled, he shouted down to Bentley, "I think I’ve found what we’re supposed to be looking for, but I can’t get it out. I’m going to need you to stay here in the meanwhile. Remember what I said. Stand and keep your head high." Thanks to stern emphasis, communication ended with the traditional command given to all good and loyal boys: "Stay."

The marble column embraced by decorative vines, their leaves edged in gold, didn’t demand too far of a flight away from the field. Nevertheless, as East’s talons scrabbled for purchase on its side so that he could unwind one from the group, a timer set already in his mind ticked down the seconds he could afford absence. The plant fibers tough to chew through, his beak jerked the chosen vine back and forth to break free an acceptable length for him to work with. Far from a vegetarian, he resisted the urge to spit out any shredded fragments that entered his mouth once it tore loose. Instead he pinned the unmoored portion against smooth stone and, bracing himself so feet didn’t slip, pulled the ripped end inward on itself to tie into a loop.

If he hadn’t botched the attempt, this should tighten once it caught onto the concerning lump rooted among the flowers. Of course, that would also depend on whether he flung it well too.

@Bentley

He saw shadowy figures coming for him, menacing as they swayed to and fro with staggered steps. He yelped and whimpered, struggling and failing to escape. Any second, they would have him! They would-

East's voice reached him and he dimly registered it. It was faint, distorted to his hallucinating mind, but he listened. It was a struggle to force his body to obey and even more of one to ignore the advancing shadows but he did so: stood high, head held up as high as he could. The disturbed pollen still drifted into his nostrils but after a moment the worst of it, at least, cleared.

Ben trembled where he stood, flanks heaving, soft whimpers still escaping him. His wide eyes jerked around to watch the approaching strangers-... whose silhouettes now resolved into gently swaying flowers. Not enemies. Just plants.

He didn't know what to say to East, so--fear clear in his voice--he called up a stranged, "Okay..."

@East

Now that he’d finished crafting his makeshift lasso, East dropped the vine out of his beak and grabbed onto the untied end his foot held secure to the side of the column. Without skipping a beat, legs pushed off and propelled him away in the same instant wings spread for a downward flap. Freshly airborne, he banked, whirling around to face the direction he’d come from before and, with the natural ease of any creature made for the skies, swooped away. Any obstacles between him and the field he swiftly navigated, weaving in and out wherever necessary.

It, after all, wouldn’t do to rope a random piece of garden decor; doubtless none would appreciate him dragging a statue by its pretty neck.

Carrying a new tool meant no announcement came upon return. The prospect of speaking around a mass of plant fiber and leaves tended to discourage an attempt; not many reasons to give someone a whole language of garbled noises to decipher. The energy could be better expended wheeling above the flowers once, twice, and finally halting in place. Momentum pulled the vine taut in his grip, and the loop sailed forth.

On target, if just barely—it thudded onto the soil, the buried curiosity on the verge of crossing outside the encompassing vine's boundaries. He reeled the possible catch in.

CRIME NOIR

THE FLOWERS

The helpful Narrator did not say a word, this time, as East's lasso found purchase. Something caught in it--but it was something large enough that the bat-hawk would find difficult to move. It was heavy. Motionless, like a rock, and unwieldy: long and liable to spin when dragged.

A keen hawk's eye could easily note its resemblance to a long, thick bone.

Bentley stood trembling in the flowers, staring up at East with wide yellow eyes and wondering what he was meant to do. 'Stay' was clear enough (and he was, indeed, a good boy). But...

"...East? Can I--move yet?" he called up, and his voice was tight with fear.

He wasn't sure quite what had happened. His mind was not the sharpest, and even putting the nightmarish visions together with the flowers all around him was difficult--made all the more so by the fact that they yet lingered, tainting everything with confusing, shifting shadows.

@East

The Narrator, compared to their usual wry remarks, had been abnormally straightforward recently. As East's tug found substantial resistance and he caught sight of a literal dead ringer for previous morbid statements, a heavy suspicion tightened its hold around his heart. Whatever his invisible observer's true intentions were, though, they'd been successful in pinning him down by the wings; a bird of prey who often played scavenger and coroner, the disturbed grave had the opposite effect of warding him away. A flashing sign might as well have been hung above the spot proclaiming it was a historical location of foul play.

Having gotten this far on his strength alone, the vine's hold was transferred from his beak to a set of talons. Yellow eyes more narrowed and critical than Bentley's own took in the tremble of his companion. A debate rumbled behind those irises, weighing risks, until at last his head dipped in acknowledgement of the question addressed to him.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said. "Yes, you can move. But I wouldn't recommend lowering your head and taking a whiff unless you want to be stuck chasing shadows. Or worse, chomping on your own tail."

Some inkling of an idea had formed during quiet consideration of the place Bentley occupied in the grand scheme of things. However, reaching a far from satisfactory conclusion, voicing it was like dislodging a sharp-edged stone stuck in his throat. He eased into the beginning of a proposal, ignoring the way it tore his insides up on the way out, nonchalance affected despite straining to maintain a steady grip on the vine which lifted the tip of its prize against gravity's will.

"Say, have you ever held your breath before?"

@Bentley

The moment he'd been given permission to move, Bentley began to run--crashing through the flowers in terrified, bounding leaps, head held comically high.

It wasn't until he'd come clear of the little garden, and shaken himself thoroughly (and with obvious relief) that he looked up at East and registered his question.

"Sure!" he said, though a tremor remained behind his attempt at his usual friendly cheer. And, oblivious: "Why?"

The mysteries of the flowers and the book and East and the lump East was pulling were all beyond the dog, for now. At the moment all he could focus on was the rapid thudding of his heart and the shaking the adrenaline had left behind. It was unpleasant, and it was hard for him to think, and he wasn't a genius on the best of days.

@East

If ever there were a moment some karmic force had just cause to exact vengeance upon him, using untold powers to dislodge rock from the cave ceiling so he might be flattened into a feathery imprint in the dirt, this undeniably was turning out to be quite the prime candidate. Freshly escaped from harm’s den, the plan East had might as well count as tossing Bentley back inside and praying the dog could follow his own scent trail back out to safety. He resisted the urge to wince as this image came to mind; his bird brain refused to provide a more palatable alternative plan though.

"Well, you see this vine I’m holding?" he said, choosing his next words and trying to phrase them less like he was encouraging a casual stroll through fire. "It’s caught onto something I’m going to need your help digging up. There shouldn’t be any trouble if you avoid inhaling whatever fright fumes those flowers give off. Stay on task, hold that air in, and you’ll be out before you can sneeze."

@Bentley

Bentley looked up, craning his neck and dropping onto his rump so he could see the vine. Then he stood again, turning to follow it with his gaze, and froze. "I have to go back in..?" he whined, pathetically. A moment was spent looking back toward East, the 'puppy dog eyes' all the brighter for his golden irises.

Tail tucked, head low, he slinked back to the flowers, whimpering a little.

He didn't want to go back in, but if the bird needed help... and Bentley said he'd help, and... he said it was okay...

"...Okay..." he said at last, and waded in. He kept his head up, but his ears were pinned back in fear: he did not want to draw those terrors again. In his mind they must be lurking, ready to pounce-...

Bentley found the thing with touches of his paws. He couldn't see it and he feared dipping his head down, but a quick scratch and he called up again. "It isn't buried! ...What do I do?"

@East