Preparations

by **Phobius** on March 11th, 2015, 2:20 am

"Wren! Hey, Wren!"

Phobius shouted as loudly as he could while he ran, waving his arms around to help capture the attention of a familiar friend he had just spotted. Out of all of the people that the boy had met over the course of a few seasons, Wren seemed to be the only one who knew a lot of things about birds. And he had a falcon. Phobius couldn't help but think that he'd make a great Avora, if he happened to have been born in Wind Reach. And with how smart he was, he was bound to know a few things about falconry; tips and tricks, at the very least, that would help them put on an enjoyable show at the party.

If he didn't, well...that would be okay. Phobius still planned on inviting him; the theater was big enough to hold lots of people.

The man, who looked as though he was just coming back from a walk, slowed to a stop when he heard his name being called. Then he looked around, confused, until his eyes settled upon the boy. "Well hey there, lad!" he called back, a broad smile growing on his face as he raised up one of his arms. Celia, who'd taken up a perch on his left shoulder, agitatedly flapped her wings with the movement.

"Did you go and hunt?" Phobius asked as brought himself to a stop, looking up and down the man's body to see if he could spot a quiver of arrows or a sheathed knife, of sorts. If he'd been out in the woods that flanked the city, he probably hadn't gone without a weapon. That was how hunting worked, wasn't it...? Unless, of course, you could make your own weapons out of whatever things you found out there. Or traps. Hunters made traps all the time, didn't they?

"Nope. I was just out getting some fresh air," he replied, turning his head a little so that he could smile at his falcon. "Celia needed to strech 'er wings, so I figured there'd be no harm in taking a walk. S'been a slow day for business, lad. So, what've yer been up to? And how's your wee one?"

"My bird? She's good. Happy, too. I still dunno what to name her, but...I'll think up something soon. Oh! And my birthday's coming!"

Wren crossed his arms, his eyebrows raising in surprise. "Ya don't say?"

"Yeah! A friend's helping me plan my party, and we ran around all day doing stuff. There's food and music, and a guy who juggles—d'you know falconry stuff, Wren?"

"Falconry stuff...? What fer?"

"Well," the boy began, sounding a bit hesitant as he tried to figure out how he'd say what he wanted to. "Me and Kuvarakh talked to a fortune-teller lady, and she said I'm gonna perform at the party...and I kinda know stuff about falconry, but it was a long time ago when I practiced, so I thought that if I find someone else to help..."

"Ah...I think I'm understandin', lad. You want me to help you put on a show?"

"I can pay you," Phobius said, suddenly sounding as though he was worried that the man wouldn't want to. As if to show him that he was being serious, he went digging into his pocket and pulled out Kuvarakh's coin purse, opening it up so that he could count up what was left. And then, to his surprise, Wren started to laugh; it was a hearty laugh, too, like the kind that he'd always heard from jolly, big-bellied people, despite the fact that the man was pretty skinny.

"'Pay', huh? How's about this, then, lad," he said once he'd calmed down, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'll help ye' out at this party. But my services don't come cheap, and since you've offered some coin, I'll settle for the low, reasonable price of...nothing."

"...what?"

He laughed, again, and Phobius, unsure of whether or not there was some joke that he was missing, could only stare at him in confusion.

"Do ye' have any idea of who yer speaking to? I been trainin' with falcons since I was a wee boy livin' in Denval; started when I was younger than ye'. Aye, my da and I would spend bells outside working with the birds. He had a real talent for it, too, so there was no way that I could ever get better than him...but Priskil knows that I tried my best," Wren said, his smile softening. "We trained and trained, and I learned how to earn the birds' trust. That's the key to falconry, it is, lad. Trusting your bird and letting your bird trust you. Anyway, before long I'd become a skilled falconer...ye' won't find one better on this side of Kalea! Well, yer kin in Wind Reach have got me beat, but I've gotten a real bond with the creatures. Celia here knows; we've been together fer years!"

Sparing an arm, he reached up and scratched the bird on the head.

"What I'm saying, lad, is that you've come to th' right person fer the job. You n' me'll put on a show that none of yer friends will forget! Hell, we can go over some basic stuff before then to get ye' ready."

"Really?" the boy said, his eyes lighting up.

"Of course! It's fer yer birthday, after all. And put that money o' yours away," he said, pushing his hand away from the coin purse. "That's yours to hold onto, lad. I'm workin' fer free; we're friends, aren't we?"

"Y-yeah, yeah! We are! Thanks so much, Wren! I don't—"

"Hey, hey. Yer birthday, remember? All I need is the date, time, and dress code."

At this, Phobius tilted his head in question. "Dress code...?"

"Y'know, what kinds of things I should be wearing. What kind of party are ye' wantin' it to be? A fancy one, or a casual one? I mean, ye' wouldn't catch me dead wearin' what I am, now, but...do ye' understand?"

In all honesty, he did and he didn't. Phobius admittedly hadn't given much thought to what he'd want people to dress like. Clothes were personal things, so he guessed that he'd been thinking that everyone would wear what they felt like wearing; it wouldn't bother him, either way. But with how Wren was explaining it, a "dress code" sounded like it was important. Furrowing his brows a bit, he tried to come up with something. Fancy clothes look nice...but sometimes they're really expensive, and I wouldn't want people going to spend a bunch of mizas on new outfits. I know I'll wear my special shirt; does that count as something fancy? It looks really nice, but...huh...

After a few ticks of silence, the boy said, "You can wear something nice. It doesn't have to be fancy, but...well, nice. And it's on the 22nd, at the Crooked Playhouse, uhh...around when the sun's setting."

"Sounds like a good time. Celia's invited, too, right?"

"Yup!"

"Great! Then it's settled. And let's say you and me meet...five days from now, so we can get started on our routine? The earlier, the better; ye' haven't practiced in a while, ye' said, so yer brain needs a few refresher courses."

Phobius nodded, Kuvarakh's little bag of mizas lightly trembling in his hand as he did. With their deal made, then, he said goodbye to the hunter and his falcon-friend, stuffing the coin purse back into his pocket as he turned to leave. A place, some music, a juggler, food...and now a falconer to help him with his act. All of that, and he still had over a hundred mizas left. The alchemist would be happy with him.

Unable to fight down the urge, the boy began to skip along the sidewalk, overcome with happiness and triumph. He'd really done it! Now all that was left was making invitations; Kuvarakh would take care of his stuff, and he'd handled everything that he needed to. It'd all seemed so daunting, at first, but now Phobius was feeling as though he'd stressed over nothing; planning a party wasn't as hard as he'd been expecting it to be.

All of a sudden, a voice seemed to speak out to him.

"I call to thee, young sir. Yes, you; with the blazing hair. Might I have a moment of your time...?"

"This is speech in Nari."

This is thought.

by **Phobius** on March 11th, 2015, 8:32 am

The boy stopped and looked around, curious. And after a few ticks of scanning the twisting streets and alleyways, his eyes fell upon a single figure that was standing a few feet away from him, beneath something akin to a tent. For a moment, Phobius couldn't do much else but stand there and stare at them, not knowing what he should do, next. Say hello? Keep walking? No, that would be rude...he was fairly certain that they had been trying to talk to him. There wasn't really anyone else around to be talked to.

Apparently able to sense his hesitance, the figure beckoned him forward with a few waves of his hand. It's me, alright, Phobius mused as he started to walk over, his fingers idly tapping on his pockets. It wasn't until he was closer that he was able to take a good, long look at them and inwardly gape.

The man (or woman, it was kind of impossible to tell) was dressed in all purple; purple pants, shiny purple shoes...and a purple tailcoat with a lighter purple shirt underneath it, along with an incredibly poofy, fluffy thing that was probably supposed to be a scarf. Then there were their gloves, which were white, and a half-cape that was draped across their shoulders, sporting that same shade of purple on the outside while the inside was a shiny-looking gold. What amazed the boy the most, however, wasn't their obvious affinity for purple things. It was the mask that they wore, half-silver and half-gold with intricate, tiny paintings of purple leaves that danced around the eyes and nose. Coils of fabric sprouted from the top and bottom of it—almost like hair—boasting the same purple and gold, and small bells dangled from the tips. Where the person's mouth would have been sat a pair of unmoving, black lips that were neither frowning nor smiling; they reminded Phobius of Fabel's, in a way.

Overall, the person kind of looked like a magician. Fascinated, Phobius couldn't help but stare at them for a little while longer, his eyes never leaving the mask. There were holes for the eyes, but it was surprisingly hard to figure out what color theirs were; purple would make the most sense.

"I see you've taken quite the liking to my guise," they said, gesturing toward their hidden face with a bit of flair. "It's an impressive piece of work, is it not?"

The boy nodded. "Really impressive. Do you wear it all the time...?"

"Indeed I do. Although my willful concealment is often brought into question by others, I enjoy this mask. Further more, it is a product of my own handiwork."

"So...you made it all on your own?"

"Right you are, young sir," they remarked, jabbing a finger at him. Then they took a step to the side and waved an arm, revealing a whole array of masks that lined the back of the tent. They came in all colors, shapes, and sizes, some vaguely resembling animals while others were covered from forehead to chin in feathers. Phobius marveled at the collection, getting a bit closer so that he could see more.

"From time to time I'll craft a few. Call it a hobby, if you must; I do say that it's good for calming one's nerves," they explained. "And so I've decided to try and make a living out of it. Loathe as I am to part with my masterpieces, they can sell for a pretty coin, given the right buyer; clever, well-to-do souls, such as yourself. Might thou be interested in making a purchase...?"

Phobius turned to look at the masked figure, blinking in surprise. The things that they'd made were pretty—it was still hard to believe that they had made them all by hand—but he wasn't sure if it'd be a good idea or not to buy one. Kuvarakh had trusted him with money, and that money was to be spent on party-relevant things, only. By the end of the day, it still belonged to the alchemist; Phobius would return to him what was left when he saw him, again, and didn't want to run around all willy-nilly wasting it on unimportant stuff.

With a frown, the boy said, "I'm sorry, Mister, but...I don't think I can. I'm only s'posed to be spending mizas on the party..."

"A party, you say? What kind of party?"

"It's a birthday party. For me, 'cause my birthday's gonna be soon."

Possibly smiling beneath the mask, the Purple Man (as Phobius' mind had decided on calling him) clasped his gloved hands together. "Oh, a coming of age ceremony! How splendid! Tell me, young sir, how many years have you, now?"

"19."

"Ah...a ripe age. Here you stand, on the cusp of adulthood...a time of change is before you, young sir. I take it that you've already decided upon some entertainment for your little gathering?"

"Yup! There's gonna be people playing music, and a juggler and—"

He paused when they suddenly snickered; it was an odd sound, like a bird that was chirping and hiccuping all at once, and they held a couple of fingers in front of their false lips as if to stifle the noise. "I apologize. Really, I do. Your choices simply tickle me," they said when they'd stopped. "Come now...a juggler? Quite a low-brow form of showmanship, if I do say so myself."

"Huh...?"

"What I mean, young sir, is that you can do better. Much, much better. After all, you're in the City of Illusions. Ionu's kingdom. Grandness and wonder lurk around every corner, in every alley...the resources that you have at your disposal are infinite! Take, for example, myself."

The Purple Man then promptly held out one of their hands, the palm facing upward. With the other they covered it, and removed it a few ticks later to reveal a lone dove. Phobius nearly jumped with surprise, his jaw hanging in pure amazement.

"Woooow!! How'd you do that?!"

"That, unfortunately, is something I cannot disclose. Though I can say that it barely touches upon my true arsenal of abilities. I'm a performer, you see; an artist who can craft and amaze, all at once. I warp the many realms as I please, twisting and weaving to create unrivaled works of art," they said, waving their hands colorfully around. And then they leaned forward a little, as if to confide in the boy about something personal. Phobius squinted, but he found that he still couldn't tell what color their eyes were. "Believe me when I say that I am the finest entertainment that you could ever procure. I'm no stranger to shows, nor smaller, more casual affairs...may I ask where this party of yours is being held?"

"The Crooked Playhouse. It's a big theater."

"Yes, yes, wonderful! You've an audience and a stage...now all you need is your actor. I will gladly fill that role, if you allow me to."

Blinking at them, Phobius was quiet as he thought the offer over. He'd already taken care of all of the things that he'd been assigned, along with the food...but you could never have enough entertainment, could you? More things meant that his friends would have more fun, and more fun was always good. Besides, what other person would ask to help out with a party? The Purple Man seemed so excited about it, too...Phobius would feel bad if he turned him away. And he had more than enough mizas left, so there really wasn't any excuse to say no.

"Sure!" the boy finally said, a smile growing on his face. "If you can do more of that stuff, I know everyone'll love it! The party's on the 22nd, when the sun sets...is a hundred mizas good?"

"How truly generous of you, young sir. But since this is for a special occasion, I'll do you a kindness and give you a discount; fifty mizas is all I will ask for my services."

Compared to everything else, that was pretty cheap. Happy to have saved money, Phobius paid them and watched as the coins were neatly pocketed.

"Now that I think of it," they continued as the last miza vanished into the purple coat. "It only seems fitting that I should gift you something. An early present for your nineteenth journey around Syna."

"Present? That's...really nice, but you don't have—"

The Purple man turned around and lazily waved a hand at the boy. "Oh no no no, I absolutely insist. Celebrations of this magnitude are far and few in-between, and since it is a grand occasion, I shall reward you with a grand gift."

At that, they pulled a mask off of their wall and held it out to Phobius.

"It's a doggie!" the boy exclaimed, eagerly taking it in his hands and starting to run his fingers over the gold trimming.

"A fox, to be precise. They are creatures known for their intellect. Out of all of my work, it seemed to speak the most to me, just now, insisting that it be the one I give to you."

"Really?"

"Certainly. A true artist communicates with his or her work, and is able to listen to their requests. I'm not one to intentionally disappoint. Look, it even matches your hair!"

It was true; the two colors were practically the same. Eager to try it on to see how it felt, Phobius started to lift the mask up to his face, only to be stopped.

"Ah! I suppose I should mention my sole condition to you. I will allow you to keep this gift, if and only if you promise me that you won't wear it until your party."

"Why?"

"Well, that's what the mask is for, is it not?"

"But...if nobody else has one, I'll look kinda silly..."

"Then how about you make it a masquerade party?"

Phobius blinked at them. "Mas-kehr-aid...? What's that?"

"Why, only the most glorious of all themed parties. Everyone will have to wear their own mask; that way, you won't feel like the odd one out."

He tried to envision everyone in masks, and found that it made him giggle. A "masquerade" party wasn't something he'd ever heard of, before, but it sounded like it would be a lot of fun. Like a game, of sorts, complete with costumes for everyone's faces. "Okay! I'll do that, then!" Phobius said, smiling down at his gift as the Purple Man gave him a pat on the head.

"Excellent decision, young sir. Now, you run along and take care of the rest of your business. I shall see you again, soon. Oh...and don't forget about your promise, alright? Tempting as it may be, I'm entrusting you with one of my many prized creations. It's only fair that you treat it appropriately."

Phobius nodded vigorously, showing that he understood. A promise was important, and he wasn't one to break them; the mask could sit on his dresser back at the inn until the party, right next to his baby bird. Speaking of the inn...now was probably a good time to head back. With a wave and many thank you's, the boy left the Purple Man's tent and made his way to the inn, the mask clutched in one hand.

Miss Georgia asked how things went once he'd returned, and he gave her a quick run-down of the day's events. Kind and eager as she was to help the boy out, she gave him some blank pieces of paper and colored inks to write with. Phobius sat right down in the lobby and started on the invitations, writing slowly and carefully so that the letters would be as neat as they possibly could. After a few bells he'd made enough, and despite how generally far away the party was Phobius couldn't let himself wait to send them out. The last oranges and reds of the sky had faded when he left the inn, again; imbued the energy that came from a day full of success, the boy traipsed up and down Alvadas' streets as he tracked down the homes of his friends, slipping his invitations under their doors.

You're invieted to Phobius's Birthday Party!
At the Crooked Playhaus, On the 22nd, When the Sun Sets
Food, Music, and More Fun Stuff!
P.s. It's a Maskeraid Party, So Bring a Mask!

"This is speech in Nari."

This is thought.

by **Fable** on March 30th, 2015, 10:05 pm

Grade Awarded!

Skills

Lores

Not

Loot

➢ An ornate mask in the likeness of a red haired fox
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