( whatever entity behind this place has already committed the most capital offense that getian could consider sustaining in his long life: it has taken the wind and sky away from him, and these imitations that the resort manages on the upper levels might be convincing to many—like those that throng the shorelines of the simulated beach—but they can’t be convincing to him. this last of the miemeng birds has spent the majority of his long life in seclusion, and those many years spent in seclusion were for the most part spent in personal reflection and the exploration of music and song. this is to such an extent that it is essentially the lens through which getian understands the world. there is a rhythm, beat, and melody to the world, be it the thrumming and pulse of the planet’s molten blood moving sluggishly beneath its crust, the slow melodic movements of the wind as it travels across the land, the breathing of the ocean, and the brisk accompaniment of every living creature under heaven. it took him less than ten minutes after awakening in this place to realize that the music here is all wrong, and it’s not just the cacophony that blares over the loudspeakers on the shoreline. the heartbeat of this resort is a strange, alien, rotten thing. he doesn’t know what he’s going to do here, cut off from the freedom of the sky and the music of the wind. he hasn’t managed to think that far yet, still moving through a culture shock just as strong as the one he had received when he had joined vertin and her many allies in the wilderness stored inside her suitcase.
he does know one thing, though. even if it slowly, he will continue the change that he began when he left his mountain to enter the human world—he will no longer be a silent observer to the misfortunes of others. it’s hard to break an old habit, and especially one reinforced by hundreds of years, but it’s made slightly easier when he recalls the headstrong bravery of his newly-made friends, strangers to his land, and a young half-lushu who had risked herself to deliver the wishes of a whole town. in comparison to their strives, it’s not so hard to pluck a stranger out of the air, shaping the dead wind beneath his broad wings to take them once more over the pelagic shelf and back toward dry land. getian breathes a sigh of relief that the human heeds his instructions. he does not struggle and fight, and so the miemeng does not drop him back into the abyss. )
Do your best to relax. ( even if he’s saved him from toppling into the unknown, he’s still concerned about his wellbeing. he once again feels the absence of his bone wand. he is not skilled with healing arcane skills, but at least with his wand he might feel he could do something. the next best option is, ) I will put you down shortly.
( it does take some time to get back to shore, but certainly not as much by air as it had taken by sea. getian overshoots the beach, wary of the crowds and noise; he lowers in altitude in the gardens a short distance away, where there are fewer prying eyes and agape mouths. his wings pound the air as he hovers for a moment, doing his best to deposit baptiste as gently and carefully on the ground as he can. there’s a further beating of wings before he settles down a short distance away on a low stone wall, wings folding as his talons grasp into the masonry. getian wears the same thin robe all of the newcomers had woken up in, though he has also apparently stolen a very brightly-colored beach towel to wear over his head, spilling down onto his shoulders.
he stands up a little from his perch to lean over, mismatched eyes inspecting the stranger, assessing his health. worry and uncertainty creases his brow. ) Should I find a healer? ( you know, assuming he’s conscious enough to make a reply… )
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he does know one thing, though. even if it slowly, he will continue the change that he began when he left his mountain to enter the human world—he will no longer be a silent observer to the misfortunes of others. it’s hard to break an old habit, and especially one reinforced by hundreds of years, but it’s made slightly easier when he recalls the headstrong bravery of his newly-made friends, strangers to his land, and a young half-lushu who had risked herself to deliver the wishes of a whole town. in comparison to their strives, it’s not so hard to pluck a stranger out of the air, shaping the dead wind beneath his broad wings to take them once more over the pelagic shelf and back toward dry land. getian breathes a sigh of relief that the human heeds his instructions. he does not struggle and fight, and so the miemeng does not drop him back into the abyss. )
Do your best to relax. ( even if he’s saved him from toppling into the unknown, he’s still concerned about his wellbeing. he once again feels the absence of his bone wand. he is not skilled with healing arcane skills, but at least with his wand he might feel he could do something. the next best option is, ) I will put you down shortly.
( it does take some time to get back to shore, but certainly not as much by air as it had taken by sea. getian overshoots the beach, wary of the crowds and noise; he lowers in altitude in the gardens a short distance away, where there are fewer prying eyes and agape mouths. his wings pound the air as he hovers for a moment, doing his best to deposit baptiste as gently and carefully on the ground as he can. there’s a further beating of wings before he settles down a short distance away on a low stone wall, wings folding as his talons grasp into the masonry. getian wears the same thin robe all of the newcomers had woken up in, though he has also apparently stolen a very brightly-colored beach towel to wear over his head, spilling down onto his shoulders.
he stands up a little from his perch to lean over, mismatched eyes inspecting the stranger, assessing his health. worry and uncertainty creases his brow. ) Should I find a healer? ( you know, assuming he’s conscious enough to make a reply… )