"Alpha, noted."

By this point in time, it'd found no value in correcting Gembound and their penchant for shortening its name; so much so, perhaps, that it narratively shortened itself to Alpha. Its Overseer referred to it by gem or full designation, as did the others. The second half existed, really, as a distinction of creation-order and between Hemlocke's two garnets.

In any case, the orthoclase didn't leap up from its haunches in another snarling fury — nor did it find the tangible interest to ask after a name (nothing so small or fuzzy would have a designation.) But, it was more descriptive to have a name other than bird-shape.

It ground out quietly, "you did not give me your name." Another observational statement, delivered in dry monotone — and not particularly interested in a quip in return.

The little bird fluttered down, then vanished past the shelf, calling out from a break in the stone — "say I did find it. What then?" Were she not preoccupied with searching, she might've noted and analyzed the shift of weight from any number of forearms to another, the flush of quills; but, she had only the moment's pause of consideration and a cleanly-cut answer: "then, I'll take it."

Alpha didn't sit still for long — it fidgeted with its claws for a few beats, puffing and smoothing its mane… and quickly graduated to standing and pacing, investigating features along the opposite wall. It didn't notice the shard waved in the air, only its descent startlingly close to its head. The orthoclase (unsurprisingly) tensed, biting down any startled noise as acidic eyes analyzed and gauged the threat to be absolutely minimal.

A piece of rubble, was all that was.

It swept aside the vesuvianite shard with a low hiss, "that's useless," and sulked forwards. "I'll look on my own." Any misgivings or caution about magical prowess were tossed out the window as it broke into a sprint towards the wall beneath Damask. Each footfall sprang back like hydraulics, momentum sending it on a series of leaping bounds. It at last careened towards the rocks proper, soaring a good twenty or so feet into the air and landing above and slightly to the left of the ledge she was on.

Hooked claws scrabbed at the mosses for handholds, latching onto cracks and aberrations in the stone underneath. It looked... incredibly awkward on the relatively narrow shelves, standing somewhat vertical with each foot on a different bit of rock. It adjusted some, edging sideways so its limbs were actually tucked underneath itself, balancing with astonishing steadiness on the shelf its upper half was on.

All that done, facing Damask — if she hadn't vanished at the sight — it intoned mildly (despite its racing heartbeat from the sudden, explosive movement), "there's nothing up here." Acidic eyes narrowed, if only to shift so one of its elbows wasn't digging into its undersides.

@Damask

@Orthoclase-Alpha !

the shard landed with a clatter. now, what're they going to do about that: start, squint, growl? ah! two out of three, and a swipe for good measure. the frond of damask's tailtip thumped a slow rhythm. that word useless felt sort of callous, given that the stones had likely once belonged to someone — (and that they're ... kind of cool ...) — but, well, yeah. fair enough. sparing a quick glance over her shoulder, she nudged the rest mercifully back into their crevice. this done, she traced alpha's approach, a quiet scoff withheld in her mouth. look on their own? how exactly did they intend to —

oh. her eyes opened wide. that's how. three bounces in, and the accipiter coiled up like a spring: chest low, knees bent, sails pointed at the ready, a crouch so tense that her getaway would take nothing more than a touch of the trigger. how is that possible? there's no way that's possible, there is gravity at play here, it's got to be magic — hold it, hold it, don't break now, watch that trajectory; remember, they said they were only looking, it's not worthwhile to hurt you, you're just a little nobody — hold it! and with a final cinematic leap, takeoff. somehow the colossus clung lizard-like to the wall, and she craned her neck to watch as they shuffled into a rough approximation of stability. very rough. too much weight, too many limbs. for now? sure, they'll stick, but they're not going anywhere fast.

at last she dove from her perch, only to wheel around and onto a higher ledge, level with — no, slightly above alpha's head. in short order, she'd settled: still poised, but looser now, boldly so. from here, damask regarded them, putting on the finest poker face she could. even with some ten feet between them, the sight of that skull had her instincts screaming. she reasoned against her hackling crest, the shiver of wings ready to fly; her perch sat well out of reach, without solid footholds on the line from alpha to herself. no need to worry. not now, not yet. but ...

"there's nothing up here."

she opened her mouth, then closed it, torn a dozen ways apart. let's take inventory, shall we? you didn't introduce yourself; you're acting like you hardly care; and frankly, even if this legendary jewelry does exist — which is looking less and less likely by the minute — chances are, they won't let you touch it. so what are you doing?

here's what.

"no," damask conceded, swallowing another quip. as she continued, she gestured up, down, left, right, far across to the opposite wall. "but you're looking at a fraction of the tunnel — uncomfortably, inefficiently, and incompletely. you can check the rest yourself, if you like. alternatively, you can be smart and accept my help." here, her voice softened: not the flatline of an overqualified detective, but the gentle, earnest inflection of a stranger who'd taken the time to stop for another. she lowered her muzzle, raised her brows. "your thing, your choice, so: have you got this on lock, or may i stay and make a suggestion?"

with her encouragement, the winds around them blew just a little harder. loose pebbles skimmed around alpha's feet; a cool breeze hissed at their quills, face, the gaps in their armor, then slid past to ruffle damask's feathers. just to drive it home. she cocked her head, expectant. what's it going to be?

It hadn't expected — but wasn't surprised — by the little bird's swooping away and fluttering onto a relatively inaccessible shelf. Toxic eyes quickly assessed that distance, measuring the shortness of it yet finding that it was long enough to prevent arm's reach; not that Alpha held an interest in grasping and attacking, yet. Prior magic would break its fall for a short while longer, but it did not intend on showcasing its frankly embarrassing lack of agility. There was feline blood somewhere in its lineage, but it did not often land on its feet (and, if asked about it, it'd bare those massive incisors and sink them into an arm for suggesting it had a weakness not yet accounted for.)

Searching stopped, and its gaze settled on Damask… though that might be difficult to discern due to a lack of any true head movement; just a slight tilt down and up.

"You're looking at a fraction of the tunnel — uncomfortably, inefficiently, and incompletely… alternatively, you can be smart and accept my help."

Hooked talons gnawed at the stone beneath it, wholly unrelated to the breeze picking up so far from the ground. A gob of poisonous-looking spittle dripped from its lower jaw as it bristled. "You think that I'm stupid," it hissed lowly, hackles rising even while its body didn't.

After a heady pause, the orthoclase rocked up slightly, tested the waters with a slight lean over the ledge — and promptly shuddered back at the cloying feeling of one's stomach dropping in gravity. Its voice dropped into a low bellow to compensate for the distance it couldn't close, the magic it was unwilling to chance failure with, "that I'm simple and incapable."

Alpha narrowed its eyes, toxic points rattling just as loud as its now-inarticulate growling. It was tense enough to break at a touch, crouching with its knuckles going purple. But, it neither leapt towards or away — simply postured until something happened. An attack, an escape, anything. Its best bet at range was magic, but that would incite a duel it couldn't hope to win were this creature hiding prodigious magical prowess. Moving up here had effectively removed its mobility — shit.

The orthoclase did not move with this realization, remaining solid and unflinching.

@Damask

@Orthoclase-Alpha !

oh, that's a big, fat rope of a nerve you just hit. — look at those quills, teeth, the works! you've got 'em frothing at the mouth, pulling out all the stops, ready for the kill! — very well done, kid!

damask was officially in danger. "you think i'm stupid," the colossus hissed, and silver eyes opened wide in shock. (— that word —) all she'd said was be smart. (— that word —) she hadn't meant it like that, as an insult; singular decisions didn't equate to overall intelligence, after all, and she'd just wanted to help, persuade them into listening to her, and — that word.

think you're the genius, huh? you already knew how touchy they are, and you let something like that slip? real clumsy mistake. bet it hurts. bet you can't stand it. you squirming now ... stupid?

hey. don't flinch. don't do it. too late. well! at least it looked like you had a legit reason to. the colossus roared, growled, and tension thickened between them, palpable enough to slash in her claws. alpha tested the distance, and she almost, almost cracked under the pressure of the threat ... but she was still safe. clearly they had some grasp of magic; they could've engaged at range. she peered at them, sweeping an analytical edge over her distress, her uncertainty. looking like that, they didn't need magic. it wasn't their forté, and they had no way of knowing whether it was hers. she still had a measure of control. as alpha swung back into place, damask shook her head no. the gesture was firm and decisive, not too quick, but her mind was running at a mile a minute. come on, keep up. why did they react so aggressively? pride, maybe? could it be that simple? wrong answer. too easy. chop-chop, now. she bit her lip and looked down at her feet. you can't fix if you don't know what's broken, so: how do you find out? you picking up what you've gotta put down? she inhaled through her nose. yeah. there it is.

and there it wasn't. the spell was too slippery, her head too much a mess; she clutched at her stone, stirred it with air, and it gave her nothing. damask let out a huff of frustration. guess you'll have to go acoustic, then. tick, tock. what do you see? what does it mean? and most importantly, what will make it better? that's the ticket. don't screw it up.

another intake of breath — sharper now, bridging the gap between preceding seconds and those that came next. she didn't raise her voice to be heard above alpha's rumbling; if they wanted to listen, they would. "so far, you've seen the value in finding a magical artifact, exercised the creativity to draw it, and employed inventive methods to search for it. you don't trust me, but you know the risks too well to come at me. you're careful, succinct, imaginative," — (rattle rattle rattle, not too much feeling, straight to the point) — "and you're not stupid. i don't know who told you otherwise, but they've got you wrong."

hm. interesting tactic. so, who told you otherwise? have they got you wrong? what's your counterargument?

blink, swallow, blink. she cut the pause short, abiding no reply. "if it's anywhere, it's in polaris. let's look there." the bird of prey turned towards the tunnel's glowing mouth, wings beginning to part from her sides — but her eyes didn't leave the radioactive quartet searing through.

No, went the head with eyes blown wide, flinching with every right she had to be absolutely terrified.

It was not something to be trifled with and talked down. The orthoclase did not truly believe itself to be above anything but the common rabble in these Caves: those that did not serve the Masters, those that hadn't brute-force nailed their dominance into its carapace and left marks and sore spots to be remembered. In the group of the former, it was up to hierarchy — and in the latter? It respected them and stayed well-away. This one? Tiny, coated with feathers and nimble? Alpha did not know, and that uncertainty fuelled its seesawing between posturing and attempting to determine when a fight would not end in its victory (or even be worthwhile, as small and flighty as this creature was.)

In that beat of consideration and flitting through various conclusions, it continued to gnash its teeth, flare up its quills, crowd that space between them. It pushed for the unfortunate — if only for its blandness — end of simply scaring the monochromatic avian off. Searching alone would be far less…

Toxic eyes and their massive seat shifted at the motion of a wing ebbing towards her chest. They then initiated a full scan up and down Damask, keyed in for misdirection and finding none, and continuing that rumbling, bassy growl. Her first words went unheard, muzzle opening and closing with the resultant sound being drowned. Every other note was caught, and even fewer were actually parsed further than being aberrations in its own noisemaking.

It didn't have any tangible want to string what it heard into concepts with discernible context; but, the subconscious had an interesting way of grabbing one's throat and stealing the air from their lungs. Eyelids receding slightly, the din of its throat quieted

"... but you know the risks too well to come at me … careful, succinct, imaginative … and you're not stupid. I don't know who told you otherwise, but they've got you wrong."

The stone beneath its claws creaked slightly, but the orthoclase remained startlingly still otherwise, breaths hissing into its nose and whistling out between its teeth but all sound dead in its thoughts. Effectively stunned into silence, Damask plowed on and over it, directing conversation to "Polaris." Eye contact remained unbroken, even as it uttered that. It unravelled and started back into motion in stages: mane prickling, the beds going slack and receding; shoulders not being quite so bunched; head falling into the more comfortable, aligned-with-its-spine position; and, finally, it broke eye contact, shifting in place and angling down towards the fairly distant floor.

With a brief test — a short jump down that nearly sent it careening to the far side of the tunnel — Alpha launched itself from the rock shelf with far too much confidence for a multiton animal falling twenty feet to have, landing in a smooth crouch (if one didn't mind the hooked claws gripping deep ruts into the soil to avoid the bounce.) Shaking itself, quills prickling and eyes narrowed into a suspicious glare, Alpha arranged itself to face the glimmering light not so far from either of them.

To Polaris, apparently.

exit
@Damask

@Orthoclase-Alpha !

alpha's growl rolled into a thunderous rhythm between them, and for that first sentence, damask's words were so thoroughly drowned as to melt on her tongue. it was all she could do to press on. they don't care about you and your hypotheses on their IQ, give up now, it isn't worth it — except then, they went quiet. and as far as she could tell: they listened.

they made no effort to interject as she took the wheel and spun the subject around. all according to plan; the move was strategic, meant to excuse them from concocting a response to ... (what was it, exactly? some kind of confession, all sappy and mushy and sugary-sweet?) ... all of that. at last she brought her case to a close. here, she expected resistance, further posturing, somewhere between a reluctant yes or an adamantine no — but what she got was an immediate response. just one word.

"polaris."

away went the bristling quills and the tension in their shoulders. damask watched in awestruck silence as alpha turned, jumped, and somehow landed with perfect grace on all six feet. they broke eye contact. threw it away, like it was nothing. sooner than i did. the colossus looked to the tunnel's glowing mouth, now: ready to go.

total fascination centered her gaze, built beyond the point of repression. it should've been fear, plain and simple terror, magnetic repulsion, and yet it — ... wasn't. they didn't leave. beat. they're taking my advice and they want me to stay. beat. is it still about the link? does that really matter? they've paid more attention to me than to anything else. and a biting thought in reproof: it's certainly not about that for you. it never was, and you know it. notes upon notes etched themselves out in her skull, underlined, question marked, struck through and rewritten. most souls were elemental, uncomplicated, easily understood; auré was soft, eythan was rough, giggle was blunt, and so on. this one? no. alpha was a challenge. guarded, armored, impossible to approach — unless she went sideways. feral strays didn't tame by the teeth.

she considered the being beneath her a split-second longer, head quirked, one brow raised — and then, without a word, flew from her perch and into the light. the heart of the caves.

exit to polaris; continued in clouds made of ambien