Much as he loathes to admit it, Opie has what one might describe as a problem. This is, of course, the most devastating thing to happen to him in recent memory-- problems, after all, require the exertion of energy to fix them, which certainly isn't an ideal situation. He would, quite frankly, much rather sleep through the day, until the annoyance passes on its own, but he's tried that. Repeatedly. And it's become increasingly, unfortunately clear that he has to actually put in the work and solve this issue personally.

I'm sick of eating plants! Opie's soul despairs.

It's not like he doesn't still like them. He had nibbled on some sort of leaf on the way over here, in fact. There is, as far as he's concerned, very little he can't actually eat-- he's swallowed more things than spat out so far, at least. But it's only because plants are pathetically easy. Fruit, and vegetables, and fungi-- which might not be plants at all, actually, but they certainly sit still while he hunts them. Which is generally preferable to putting in any sort of real effort, except for right now.

If Opie eats another dainty flower, he might just scream.

But meat is harder. Sure, Pride had made it look easy-- magically picking up a rat and smashing it against some rocks, all without twitching a muscle or breaking a sweat. But Opie, apparently, can't do that. He's tried. He's asked the forces of physics as politely as he possibly can, and he's threatened the very fabric of reality with his rage when that didn't work. Eventually, he'd been forced to reach the bitter conclusion that the universe simply hated him and wanted him to suffer.

What he can do, though, is... throw things? Somehow-- he's not quite sure how it works, really, but he knows it does. It's some sort of energy that snaps and bites, just like him. That's what tossed the pieces of his chrysalis around, at least, and he knows he can do it again. If he practices. If he wants it enough, wants it more than the plane of physical existence wants to function normally.

Nose scrunching in concentration, Opie locates his first target: an ugly chunk of metal that happens to be in his way. This thing, he decides, must weigh at least as much as the rat did. Maybe more. It he can make it move with his energy, than there's no reason he can't hunt another rodent for himself, he rationalizes. That just made sense. It's not like how he smashes it to death makes much of a difference, does it? Of course not.

Mind made up, Opie attempts to tap into the same anger and willpower that had worked before-- and then lets it build to the point of explosion. His stomach electing to growl at the exact moment he releases all his pent up frustration is, of course, some ironic sort of happenstance.

The moment he lets go, there's a muffled crack!;

and the dumb thing erupts away from him, into a wall, where it shatters;

as does some dirt and debris that happens to be laying near it. Opie snuffles, blinks.

And then sees his success in the test subject's complete destruction. "HA!" he shrieks, triumphant, and then waddles over to investigate the thing's sad, broken remains. What he sees fills him with a childish, sadistic glee. "No more stupid plants today!"

Tomorrow, maybe. But not today.

Rarely, she left the Palace.

If you were to actually ask her why, she'd tell you that it's quite simple: this Nest is in some state. It is dirty, and rotten, and going outside of the Palace only reminded her further of how she was trapped here unable to leave-- how Dhracia seemed all too happy to leave her to rot with it, and it smelled on top of it all.

And while that was true, it paled in comparision to the real reason she never left: rebels.

They could be anywhere, hiding away, biding their time before breaking out again. She had nightmares of them breaking into the Palace, scaling the walls like little black ants, and burning away what little loved ones she had left. It had been five thousand years since and still it shook her so badly that she had to ask Isra to patrol with her whenever she awoke.

Tamulus and Jupiter had done so much damage. The Nest still hadn't recovered. She had to get the Masters working again, before the Creators returned-- so there she was, click, click, clicking through Tunnel J wracking her mind for where Artio could possibly be, when something shattered.

She stopped.

She looked.

An Earth animal, she thought-- and something softened.

Small-- just a baby, perhaps --and fuzzy and grey with little pink paws. What was it called? Not a rodent but certainly something similar. She knew these creatures more for living on the backs of their mothers when they were this young: not squealing about plants and flinging rocks.

Click, click, click, swathes of glittering cloth pooling like inky water, she stepped near to join it in its investigation of what had broken. Remains of the Rebellion, probably-- or perhaps what remains Raheerah had spat out after cannibalizing everything in his path.

Her gaze drifted, from the cataclysm of junk, to the opossum. "Do it again," she hissed-- a simple order, Chaos itself pricking the corners of her lips into a thin smile.

Business could wait, for now.

@Opie

This, Opie resolves, is not going to become a-- a thing. He is not going to be interrupted every time he attempts to fling stones inside this cave for the rest of his miserable, currently meat-deprived existence. He absolutely refuses to even acknowledge the possibility of it, because that is the kind of thought that one should never, ever put any kind of energy into.

His stomach twists and snarls. He gives it an appropriately offended look; it's impeding his ability to muster up enough righteous indignation about this whole thing. Life is utterly terrible, and joy is dismally fleeting. He should turn and leave, really. Leave this tunnel, this quadrant, this entire thought experiment behind. Go forward, in search of truth. Of spiritual satisfaction. Of a deeper and more meaningful purpose.

His belly growls unhappily. "Shut up," Opie mutters at it, baleful.

He gives the intruder a narrow-eyed, speculative look. They're not at all like Pride-- that much is obvious. Two legs, instead of four, and they don't have enough hair, or the same voice, or any antlers; as far as he can tell, anyway. Though, he reflects sourly, the both of them seem to like bossing him around. And bothering him while he's trying to assert his dominance over the laws of physics.

Opie considers, briefly, if he should throw the rocks again. The fact that she told him to immediately makes him not want to do it. But then, letting her stop him from carrying on with his business was letting her win, wasn't it? It's a conundrum, and he gives himself a moment to scratch it over.

"I will," he decides eventually. "But not because you told me to. I'm doing it 'cause it's fun and I want to."

Proud of himself for reaching the obviously correct conclusion, it doesn't take him long to find another hunk of metal to dispel across the tunnel-- which flings itself seemingly without much protest. Huh. Opie blinks, looking a little thrilled; it seemed that this type of thing became easier the more one did it. Who would have even thought?

He turns his head back towards her. Says, "happy, now?" in his best attempt at a deadpan. Tries, and promptly fails, to snuff out the spark of mirth in his expression-- apparently, he really had done it because he thought it was fun, and found it difficult to stay annoyed in the face of complete and total vindication.

@Aethril

"It doesn't matter why you are doing it," Aethril said, matter-of-factly. "What matters is that you did it after I told you to. I have won." She bit this final word; a cat catching a mouse in its jaws, smug underneath all that thrumming power coursing through her veins.

Happy? Perhaps. Though asserting this knowledge over the opossum had certainly been her priority, the note that its stomach was growling did not escape her. What did they eat? ... they were like swine, weren't they: anything and everything?

Click, click, click, she stepped away with three careful steps and looked around with flicking ears. Somewhere above her, in a ledge, a nest. In that nest--

A flash, and then thunder. Purple-black, light-but-not, fingers reaching from Aethril's proximity and arcing high above her head. The cry of the Hallowed Caller above was drowned out by the roar the void-lightning brought with it, booming throughout the tunnel for several long, long seconds.

The air was thick with corruption, staticky and humid like a bog. The raucous spell was followed with the softest crunch of the black bird falling from the ledge in front of her, unmoving and smoking.

To Opie, it may have looked as if she had simply summoned a fried raven-adjadcent in front of her, if he had not been paying attention.

Aethril's leg spilled from her skirt in a delicate sweep, shoe planting against the Caller's back, and pushing it towards the marsupial. Here came another order, short and simple: "Eat."

@Opie

The nerve. The audacity. The unmitigated gall! Opie's jaw drops at the strange creature; stunned that she would dare argue with the perfection of his carefully chosen retort; and then just walk away from him."Hey!" he splutters, puffing up in righteous indignation-- what will fall next out of his mouth can only be soul crushing, he's sure.

And then she breaks the sky, deafening his rant in a cursed miasma of thunder and lightning.

Opie's responding shriek reaches frequencies usually only emitted by complex, scientific instruments. It's actually somewhat impressive.

The atmosphere eventually shuts up, and he tosses her a look of pure, untainted loathing. First she interrupts his critically important business; then she orders him around; and now she's forcing him to make the most difficult choice of his short life-- eat, or claim victory?

His frustration could devour entire galaxies.

"No. I want something better, and I can do it by myself," he seethes, flashing his teeth at her. They're pathetically tiny but numerous, and one is far more powerful than the rest. He demonstrates by lashing out with his small well of irritable, bristling energy-- throwing the smoldering corpse back at the vague direction her feet, the most scathing insult he can muster. Ha! Redeemed and avenged!

Having utterly annihilated her with the sheer beauty and power of his argument, Opie snuffles and begins to waddle further down the tunnel with great dignity.

@Aethril

Eyes drifted to the smoking bird.

Funny, she had decided to assess the situation as. But stupid.

She kicked it aside. "There is very little better than food given to you by someone else," Aethril said, and she should know. "But, have it your way." With this, the Hallowed Caller was alight with vile, violet flame-- smoking and charring away. Inedible, to most.

A click, and a scraaapeee of her shoe and the Valkhand was following the parading possum down the tunnel at a vague distance, arms folded across her embroidered chest. Yes, she did have other things to be doing other than tormenting some random Gembound-- and yes, those other things would continue to wait.

"Opossums are not hunters," she said. "You're scavengers-- pests, where I come from. You eat scraps found from other people's junk and skitter about in the dark, lest something else try to eat you." They also didn't speak, where she came from, but that was another matter.

Aethril licked her teeth, pale eyes following the fluffy shape. "A whole bird to yourself. You could not do better than that. But you are welcome to try to prove me wrong."

Entertainment at its finest, she supposed.

@Opie

Ha! Now who's won!

Opie's so pleased with himself he practically floats.

Until her words give him pause; literally; he stops himself mid-waggle to consider them. He isn't actually sure if the words pest or scavenger are insults or not, and thus warrant his completely justifiable outrage. They sound like it, he decides after a moment of deep thought. And her voice is annoying. And she's annoying, so he's absolutely correct to give her a glare that could melt entire icecaps, anyway.

"That's nice. Maybe you should go back there and stay forever," he says meanly, baring his tiny teeth in a parody of a smile.

Opie: 2. Stupid thing: 1.

He continues walking with an indignant huff, ears laying flat. A whole bird-- she thinks he couldn't do that? Catch a whole... something by himself? He could! And it would be better that a dumb burned thing made of feathers, anyway! "Watch me," Opie goads, cluelessly taking the bait.

It takes another few minutes of walking down the tunnel before his nose stumbles onto something. Ugh. Hadn't Pride told him to be quiet when he'd caught him that rat? She probably scared all the meat away earlier, like an idiot, and now it's up to Opie to find it again-- and when he does, he actually almost misses it completely; faint, subtle, irritating. But definitely there.

He scrunches his snout in thought, trying to remember exactly what Pride had done afterwards. Get very serious and look around, he thinks.

There! A flash of something; fur, perhaps, or a tail; and the slight skittering of tiny paws. Whether by instinct or rote, Opie stops dead, waiting for the opportune moment to lash out.

@Aethril

"Hand..."

His voice came soft, unaware of any tension between the two. He, unlike Opie, was stepping softly; and he, cautious, had his eyes trained on Aethril. It wasn't exactly deference, but there was certainly respect there.

Respect for who she was. For--like it or not--what she could do.

And he had a discussion at hand.

"Aethril," he corrected himself, to her preference. "Not to-..." ruby eyes flicked to Opie "-interrupt; but when you have a moment, might I ask a bit of your time? It is about Hydra," Astraea clarified.

Then he dipped his head, and moved away.

She would come when she was ready.

@Aethril

She stopped, clicking coming to a pause.

When Kethri had antagonized her, there had been a moment of consideration about what to do with her: Cain had tried appealing for her life, and still the owl died. Over what? Antagonizing her allies and a Valkhand at a meeting? Kethri had, at least, not conjured a very targetted insult. She was just stupid.

But this one. Oh, this one was clever. Had he gathered, somehow, that she wanted to go home? That she was trapped in a stinking, sinking pit? Had the Natural Order simply made this one just to taunt her? Granted, she had asked for it, but something still had to be done. Punishment had to be dealt out.

When Astraea spoke, Aethril was deciding which way to tear Opie asunder. The Chaos was like rising bile in her throat, threatening to spill out onto the cave floor-- if it weren't for magic she would have simply bashed him against the wall with her bare hands until he stopped moving. Perhaps it was some form of luck that the Master had been nearby.

She hadn't heard him coming. The Valkhand spun and felt something catch her throat; fury that melded into grief in a matter of half a second as she saw him. Grief, at least, was something she could stifle away and unbottle at a later time: preferably, in a hot bath. With Akane rubbing her shoulders.

"Of course," Aethril said with a thin smile, because everything was fine don't worry about it. "I had been meaning to speak with yourself and Tenzin, too..."

She had much bigger concerns than an oppossum, after all-- but there was another little pause just before she stepped towards Astraea.

Crack. The ground split open in front of Opie; closer towards the rats, unveilling a pit that ran all the way down to violet crystals below. It caught nothing in it, but that was not the point: the point was the terrified squeal of a cave mouse that came afterwards, and the scuffling of little paws as Opie's lunch promptly evacuated the scene.

I win, Aethril sneered as she click, click, clicked after the Master.

;;exit aethril

Oh, come on! Again? In the same day? Really? This one even looked like Pride. Dirtier and admittedly much uglier, but the resemblance was otherwise uncanny. He talked like them, too-- with unnecessarily long words that probably weighed as much as a planet. So solemn, so serious. And there was no banana in sight, either. Ugh.

Opie resigns himself to a lifetime full of gratuitously unfair misery.

He's about to assert his rights as a living, sentient opossum and pipe up, (you are interrupting, actually, I have an argument to win, go away), but then the insufferable she-beast ignores him and walks away with the not-Pride-- she ignores him and walks away!

The incensed wails torn from his throat are utterly untranslatable.

A sudden, roaring crack! manages to both split the earth in two ahead of him, and startle Opie out of his incomprehensible ranting. He skitters back, assuming its a targeted assault on his person-- from the annoying creature pretending he doesn't exist, which is both unnecessary and incorrect. He flashes his teeth at her retreating back. "Ha! You missed, stupid!" he barks, the insult echoing satisfyingly off the cave walls.

What happens next is proof of the universe's unreasonable hatred of him:

the mouse runs away.

Opie's strangled curses follow him all the way back to Orion-- his hopes, his dreams, his future tragically, ruthlessly murdered in their prime.

exit, pursued by a dark emotional miasma