"So," Richter said, batting at his ears with an idle paw as he confirmed the chosen task, "you want me—well, ah, us to make—"

Before loose lips could give away their secret, the imp who'd darted over to him invaded personal space and thrust a hand against his mouth so any further talk was muffled beyond comprehension. The sudden taste of popcorn, grease, and various less appealing or recognizable things assaulted a wagging tongue. Richter's head jerked back, immediately wanting to distance himself from the confusing mixture. A few spits and sputters followed, and he licked at his pelt to banish the lingering combination of flavors. Once the unpleasant experience had soundly passed, he bashfully rubbed his neck.

"Ah, sorry. I darn forgot about that rule. Won't happen again."

The imp, none too fussed despite the frightening speed at which he'd interfered, snickered and motioned the kangaroo on.

"I guess we have to make... well, that thing you don't want us to say. Shouldn't be too difficult. Just got to take my advice." This last part was directed at Harvey, the rabbit already set down on a stool and calmly awaiting any instructions he received from his partner in problem solving.

Neither of them were artistically inclined, one too caught up in the whirlwind of travel to have ever tried drawing and the other never caring about the presentation of the cuisine he consumed so long as it appeared edible (and sometimes not even that). Regardless, as with all these other challenges thus far, there existed no harm in trying. Therefore no further questions were asked, Richter simply shrugging his shoulders and pointing at a brush. A little too out of reach for the Walleye Rabbit, a second imp rushed over to deliver it to the budding artist. Any dignity the Lesser might have possessed sitting perfectly still, poised with the tool held between teeth, was totally undercut by eye stalks twisting in either direction.

"I think that size will do." Decision made, Richter nodded. "And we'll start with some yellow. Lots of yellow."

Accommodations for Lessers of wide-ranging sizes couldn't do too much for a critter who excelled at running over fine motor control. Efforts at sketching out a figure only resulted in slashes of paint across the canvas so vague that it demanded a large investment of imagination to refer to the connected lines as a living being's depiction. On the final stroke, struggling to push the brush against a higher point on the easel, Harvey toppled out of his seat. Due to quick thinking and equally swift hops, the fall was cushioned by the safe cradle of his partner's arms.

"Well, I can tell what you were going for, but I doubt anyone else will. Guess that'll have to be enough for us, huh, Harv?"

Score: 1

Okay, Moth, Oliver thought, his mind as gentle and earnest as always. He was sitting down, leaning in to hear the image he was meant to have the moth paint.

He wasn't sure how that'd work. None of the tools were small enough, and he feared the paint itself might harm the moth were it to step in the stuff.

What he was given was a description of a red-rock canyon at sunset, all oranges, pinks, and purples. An arch, a pillar, clouds... He squinted as he tried to imagine it, and then to project that thought to Moth.

Be careful. I'm not sure what you can-

But the moth, to his surprise, shot way ahead of him with sudden enthusiasm. It skittered into the art supplies, shifting this way and that, before rubbing two forelimbs together. Then it dipped into the paint--aided by an Imp, who set the supplies out for it--and began to rush to and fro over the canvas.

The result was an odd, pointillism sort of art piece: and it was also tiny, the image postcard-sized rather than covering the whole canvas, which would have taken hours. Oliver was impressed, really, that the moth had realized both their limited time and its own abilities. But it first ran around to outline the rock formations in bright orange, then fluttered back to land in darker orange. A second pass of rushing, tiny feet laid out rock shadows before it flew back into the paints, this time emerging with purples to begin on the shadowed sky. Pinks and blues were added. Oliver wasn't sure if moths could even see color, or if it were somehow using his own link to aid it, but by the time their round was up, it had created a surprisingly passable little landscape.

"...Can I keep this?" Oliver asked as he came around the wall, admiring it with widened eyes. He held out a wing-limb, letting the proud little moth land on it, and looked to it. "That was really good!" he praised it, genuine and pleased. "You're an artist! That's really cool."

Score: 4

POCKET LESSERS!

Part II: Team Challenge!

The spotlights swept between the Lessers, the Greaters, and the canvases. Special attention was given to particularly silly, awful, or amazing artwork. Most of them, of course, were simple smears of nonsensical color, eliciting loud laughter overhead as if from a bad laugh track.

"We're laughing WITH you, not AT you!" Nemean cried from her perch.

Her snicker suggested otherwise.

A fox-imp gave Anala a grin, a nod, and a thumbs-up. Meanwhile, various landscapes were being shown, along with a canvas that had a large dot on it, for some reason. This wasn't even mocked, this time; it was too confusing to the Imps, and to Nemean. "The BEEP is that?" could be heard murmured through the megaphone before the camera shifted, the beep loud and coming from nowhere.

The last of them finished up, and the loud applause--more scattered now--erupted. "Good job, everyone! Definitely something to hang on your refrigerators later. NEXT UP-!"

Another snicker suggested that this next challenge would be even harder.

"All your Lesser's gotta do now... is walk through the room ahead! And come out the other side! That's it. If they stop inside for any reason, they fail this challenge!" Mischief lay in every word.

And here it was, unveiled with a flourish of cloth by the fox-imps: a long 'room' of hammered planks, like a container without a roof. To either side were tables. Atop these tables... were feasts.

Steaming meats lay on a platter. Raw meats, in a bucket nearby. Fresh fish were strewn across ice, and huge bushes of juicy leaves studded with nectar-filled flowers lay arrayed beside bowls full of fruits and berries. A little farther on were more civilized meals: roast stuffed turkey, baked potatoes slathered in sour cream, warm fresh-baked cookies and icing-slathered cakes, puddings and soups of all kinds...

"Aaaaand.... GO!"

Laughter, again. She predicted that this would be chaos.

---

Team Challenge - Round 4!

This challenge requires the Lesser Gembounds to past through the feast room without stopping to touch or eat any food, or for any other reason.

Players should roll Other (or, if their character is Other-path, physical combat--to keep roll thresholds fair) to see whether their familiar succeeds in passing without pausing.

Round 4 is a pass/fail: a Barely+ will net one point to the team's score, while a Failure or Crit Fail yields no points. Keep track of your characters' scores!

New characters may no longer join this thread, aside from as spectators. The next post will take place on July 11th, so please post by the end of the 10th. If anyone already in the thread missed posting in the last round, they may double-post this round: once for each round.

Note: these rolls cannot be used for character progression.

@Oliver @Mocha @Sair @Anala @East @Kaizer @Miriam @Eleanora @Richter @Knightly (Tahlia) @Rift

Sair

Oh, no.

There was little else to say about this challenge. Nemean knew exactly what she was doing with this one, and it had been well prepared. It did not matter what your lesser ate, or what you ate for that matter (Sair could see many greaters drooling at the feasts right alongside their familiars), there was something there for everyone. The nectar-rich flowers, fruits and berries seemed to glow in the stage lights. No expense was spared, and Sair could only hope that the feasts would be repurposed once the challenge was over with. The food that had been served so far was delicious, but there was just something about those tables. Only the highest quality meat, fruit, fish, leaves, berries, and otherwise were strewn along those tables.

Please, Trill. I know it looks good, I do, but you prefer friends, don't you? The efforts of your own hard labour? Come, now. Just walk through and I'll take you to somewhere FULL of friends, yes? Sair didn't know when they had become so involved in the outcome of the event rather than just interested in the magic, but they were pleading, desperation flowing through the line like water through a broken dam. They wanted to see what they could do, to see what Trill could do. They wanted to test just how strong a familiar's bond could be.

Trill wanted to stare, for a while, but the rules of the challenge were crystal clear. It could not stop moving. Not even when it passed the fish, or the various delicious cuts of meat, or the... Every mental sign of hesitation was fended off by Sair, every begrudging step was praised. It was a long walk, and a slow one and there were moments where even Trill thought it would just stop for the fun of it, but it was completed nonetheless. The firetongue made it, begrudgingly as always, to the end of the room.

"Speaking." Thinking. Doing.
OOC: 3 points

We don't know how to accept we're just a product of a chance /
And less like gods but more like plants

ANALA
From a spark to a flame

Anala offered a silent thanks to the imp, dragging Ragnar's painting over to the next event. It required her to lift her head much higher than she was used to, and to take it slow, but she did make it over. Ragnar would be carrying it home, she decided. She set the painting down gently, lamenting her previous clean and now paint-stained fur, before the gasps caught her attention again.

Oh.

Master Nemean, you... Certainly know how to entertain. Ragnar was already salivating, which wasn't a good sign. Of course, she got the scavenger dinosaur. The wolf trotted up to her lesser and dragged it down to make eye-contact with a paw atop its head. "You listen here Ragnar. I know it looks good. I know it smells good. But we are SO close. Please, please, please... Just keep walking." She released her gentle hold on the creature, offering it an encouraging nudge forward.

Barely into the room, she watched his head turn.

Later! She tried to remind them, fur standing on end. It continued its slow steps, turning so that it was walking backwards to stare at the bucket of meat, but it was still walking. A win was a win, she decided. That's it, Ragnar! A little more! To your left! He stumbled. Oops, my left! He exited the room, eliciting cheers from the wolf.

OOC Notes: 3 points

Honesty required admitting a severe weakness, courtesy of imbibing a drink too many before dipping toes into potentially dangerous waters: being flush with liquid courage tended to also whet one's appetite. True to that piece of conventional wisdom, East's practically screamed upon witnessing the excessive bounty laid out for the contestants, the anticipatory churning of his gizzard an involuntary response impossible to repress. It might have even rivaled that of the opportunistic scavenger beside him, so strong and instantaneous the reaction was, to the point it could be a terrible influence during this next test. Possessing enough leftover common sense for concern, eyes slid over the Tunnel Runner's rangy physique in search of telltale signs of desperate hunger. An almost tangible aura of regal disdain hung about the Lesser, a thick shroud blanketing other emotional pangs from mental or physical view.

Lacking reassurances, guiding his less than cooperative companion through this hall of temptations relied upon hopes, dreams, and continuously exerted willpower. Two of these threads rather thin and the third fraying, due to time and a mind fuzzed at the edges, pessimism as much as reality said the odds weren't in his favor. Not too much of a surprise—he could count on one set of talons how often the opposite occurred. Therefore, it was business as usual taking on the risk by urging his familiar forward.

The main difference here was the consequences of failure would likely only be a public shaming for poor self-control and a full stomach. That'd be fine. Egos could heal better from bruises than bones could from shattering.

"Well," East said. "What are you waiting for? The other side of the room to crawl to you?"

A characteristic glare and huff answered the verbal prod and wing whose flared out feathers pointed in the direction the Tunnel Runner needed to go. Not comprehending language didn't preclude him from detecting the calm authority voiced or the mild penchant for snark, and ever prideful, neither received appreciation. He parted ways from his avian manager with a final head toss. If he'd been a Greater, rolling eyes could've easily accompanied the gesture, finishing polish on a dramatic attitude.

Begrudgingly participating in task after task must have fostered the urge for a spot of vengeance. It best explained the leisurely stroll which followed, drawn out to its absolute limit where every plodding step teetered on being judged as a disqualifying pause. A winner in life thus far, this was the most the Tunnel Runner was willing to debase himself in the service of protesting his unwilling recruitment into performing minor tricks for a crowd's amusement. Unlike certain creatures, total humiliation would never be worth spitting in the eye of those he looked down on. Dragging feet would have to suffice instead.

Score: 5

Although the serpentine curves of her form would make her a natural in every physical sense, the contortions one must sometimes execute in order to achieve a goal was a topic that conflicted Miriam more so than others. Reaching creative solutions often demonstrated a finesse sure to entertain onlookers, an undeniable positive for an ego such as hers. Nevertheless the very thought of investing further brainpower and muscle for better, more successful results exhausted the Gembound to her precious stone core. The matter of Claude's well-executed dance around her simple objective of impressing the audience tested whatever patience remained for what seemed like wasteful energy expenditure, the prospect of once again reevaluating her tactics to negate this latest confusing display of cheek causing shoulders to sag the slightest. Meanwhile she nursed a growing migraine, knuckles hopefully kneading relief as well as new angle of attack into throbbing temples.

Antagonism fomented vicious attitude. False encouragement fostered contrary behavior. A third avenue stood open to her, increasingly tempting due to the mounting desire to slither back to a sedentary existence: complete apathy could be embraced, forcing the decision to flop or flourish entirely on the Kyte. If he wished so badly control over every aspect of his image, she'd allow it for the time being. But make no mistake, whatever foolish route he chose would be final. Still a partner in this farce, she would enforce it to its bitter conclusion, regardless of how idiotic the entire situation felt.

"Go on, dear. Off you pop." Miriam waved the familiar off with a dangling paw, this laissez-faire moment allowed. "Give the crowd a glimpse of how your brilliant little brain works."

Very deliberately, she directed her gaze away from him, roaming it over the feast instead. Her stomach too satiated to truly crave the plentiful foods displayed, at least she could admire their exquisite presentation in the meantime. Already she imagined other participants were salivating at the sight. Pathetic, ill-bred beasts, the lot of them.

No threats? Zero honey-slathered compliments designed to ease him into compliance?

Without receiving input from either end of the spectrum of possible interactions his giant captor had given over the course of their feud, Claude found himself adrift in a sudden sea of options. He blinked dumbly at the obstacle of sweet and savory meats arrayed before them, their scents tantalizing, daring him to swoop in for a bite. Glancing back, his presence went unacknowledged, whether by eyes, words, or a mental nudge. Pass or fail—the outcome depended solely on him. Opposition removed, he'd been robbed of the driving force behind his outbursts.

The freedom of choice's return too overwhelming a change, the path of least resistance was followed. Utterly docile, the Kyte crossed the room, proving himself perfectly capable of obedience.

Miriam smothered the giggle which pleasurably bubbled up her throat.

Score: 1

Mocha

'Cause I'm having a good time

Mocha wished he was the one in the room. So many foods, many of which he had never tried, were strewn about in beautiful displays. He imagined that Nemean had done so both for lesser and greater alike, given the others around that were just as captivated. A double distraction!

But he was stronger! Nori was stronger!

...Right?

As if to answer the question, Nori snaked his way along, not even glancing at the extravagant meals. He had been kept well-fed in between events, and honestly? He just wanted to nap. Could it really still be called a nap if 90% of his time had been spent sleeping? Mocha didn't know. But Nori was unbothered, and so Mocha was unbothered. It seemed that the pair had nothing to worry about to begin with.

You're stronger than me!

3 points

Not too many times could Richter admit that he nearly felt optimism and good cheer vanish. Unlike some individuals who chose to focus on the perceived hopelessness of whatever dark situation they encountered, he wasn't prone to neglecting the nicer side likely bound to such circumstance: after all, where deep shadows dwelled, there must be an intense enough light to cast them. But now certainly qualified as an exception. Already having endured one event with his familiar, he'd gained a decent understanding of the serene rabbit's inner workings. A notable quirk realized almost instantly upon entering their partnership was the primary motivator that drove his hopping friend's entire life. Where it once had existed as a boon, a promise to dangle in front of a twitching nose and lead it to the finish line, the revealed buffet converted it into a probable curse.

Harvey worshipped at one altar, the dinner table, and there were two here piled high with delicious offerings.

"Oh, no." Before he could even register his own reaction, a horrified gasp slipped out. Belatedly, he covered his mouth, vainly wishing away already spoken fears.

Could he do anything at all in the face of an enemy as great as this? It wasn't like he could tell the Walleye Rabbit to cover his eyes on the journey through this unforeseen paradise. Stalks weren't exactly easy to cover, and a keen sense of smell nevertheless would guide the hungry critter to anything deserving a nibble. Besides it was too late, the glorious haven of hearty meals seen, and Harvey's bottomless pit of a stomach undeniably yearned for a taste of it.

The only viable option was to clasp his paws and hope for the best. "I know your belly has got to be rumbling again," Richter tried reasoning with the Lesser. "But trust me please, pal. You've got to hold yourself together and save your taste buds for the other side. You hear?"

Alas, nature couldn't be overcome, not even for the most steadfast of new friendships. Before pleas could be fully expressed, an organ other than the brain had decided action for Harvey. Rapid hops carried the rabbit to leaves shining vivid green, and he gnawed away at them, fervently endeavoring to strip the shrubs they belonged to bare.

Score: 1

Oliver felt bad, at the next part. At first, he thought it would be sort of easy: it wasn't like a moth ate food like this, right?

Then he saw the flowers on the bushes, and sensed the powerful draw they had on the moth. He hastened to warn it off. Honestly, if it was just a contest, he might have said screw it and let the moth have a feast. Better for it to enjoy itself and get a good feed in than for Oliver to win some random contest.

The problem was, he didn't exactly trust Nemean not to have poisoned food, or something. He was wary of it, to say the least, and at length, the moth fluttered on, leaving the room behind and passing this test.

Score: 5