[D4 LN Once Upon a Troubadour, CLOSED]

[Marcus Kendall]

He reached for the glass, his large claw brushing against her digits. The beast shivered, not much, but clearly enough for Chantelle to see. The beast raised his glass into a toast. "Cheers." He could not speak French, and only understood the most common words. Luckily, some gestures were universal. Smirking happily, the ever-greedy beast moved his snout close to the glass, sniffling it. "Mhmhm. Good stuff. Thank you." He raised his eyes to meet her gaze once more before proceeding to pour half of the glass' contents into his maw, showing no sign of discomfort. "Tasty." The large tongue sneaked out of his mouth, moving over his lips to ensure that not a single drop of the water of life was lost.

[Chantelle Rossette]

“Good,” she crooned, dipping her beak and drinking, tiny bubbles clung to the dark grey surface of her beak, popping with almost inaudible fizzing as she withdrew. “It’ a bi’ crowd’ ba’ at my place? non?” Chantelle looked about them, Marcus’ broad shoulders took up a lot of room in the cramped space, “why don’ we go somewhere wit a lil more space?”

[Marcus Kendall]

"Yeah." Marcus nodded in agreement. "Nothing wrong with that. Lots of folks don't have homes. Poor Jack and Tiffany have no-where and no-when to go back to. You are being kind to let them stay." For reasons that were not entirely clear to Chantelle, Marcus didn't include himself to the list. "You have somewhere in mind?" Which, in many ways, was a moot question.

[Chantelle Rossette]

Chantelle stroked his cheek, “mon loulou, if my apar’men’ coul’ ‘old one more person witout burstin’ at de seams, you’d be stayin’ dere too.” It was unclear if she assumed that Marcus would automatically accept the offer of staying with this motley of stray Changelings, or if she meant that she’d make the offer irresistible, through pleading or persistence. Brushing past the beast—which was her only option given the space— Chantelle placed her hand on the doorknob of the wardrobe. The hinges were clearly visible on the left side, the door was designed to swing towards them, but the handle was also on the left.

Turning the knob, Chantelle pushed the door.

Behind was a simple, one room... apartment? It looked somewhat like a log cabin, but a log cabin for people too wealthy to rough it for ten whole minutes, apart from the matchbox size, that is. It was small and cosy, but modernly appointed. A bed stood in the far corner, a little kitchenette directly ahead of them.

[Marcus Kendall]

He leaned into her touch, hunger and desire flashing in his eyes, the tones of dark chocolate and plum filling the room. "I would want to, but I have my place. The other two need the space more badly." Marcus explained his reasoning, standing up to follow her. As he dwarfed her, his snout hung by her shoulder as she opened the door, his breath warm on her feathers, his scent surrounding her. This was not the scent of desire, but that of the beast itself, of summer nights and blood on the ground. "Fancy..." he murmured, his lips brushing against her neck as he spoke.

[Chantelle Rossette]

Despite herself, Chantelle murmured softly as she felt his hot breath, his lips, ruffling her soft feathers. “Wha’ we waitin’ for den?” She swept through the door, turning, her hand reaching for his to pull him across the portal. The light was different in the room beyond. For one, it was light. There were windows to this room, and a soft green moonlight beamed in, soothing and eerie. The space was clean and tidy, but there was something Marcus had never seen: knick-knacks, baubles, trinkets, bibelots, tchotchkes. Whatever word you gave them, this was apparently where she kept them, for there were none in her apartment or dressing room.

Not to say that there were a lot. A stuffed dog sat on the bed next to the pillows, and at the foot of the bed was a plush duck-platypus made from long pale yellow fur. A collection of photographs sat on a shelf, showing Chantelle with her friends and parents, there was one of her in a graduation cap and gown. A vase contained flowers made from glass.

[Marcus Kendall]

Marcus followed, glancing around as he did so. She could sense his hesitation, his... uncertainty. "Neat." his voice was still low, even if he sounded tense. Chantelle could hear in inhaling, sniffling as he tasted this new 'room'. "You sleep here sometimes?"

[Chantelle Rossette]

The egret radiated calm, taking her mobile out of the pocket in her dress, she plugged it into the cord coiled neatly on the kitchen bench. “Dere,” she smiled at Marcus, “whe’ it plug’ in, I ca’ ge’ calls an’ messages fro’, mais, from de oder place.” Worried that being in the Hedge was making the beast anxious, she clasped her hands and let him acclimate himself. “Ow abou’ some music?” she nervously moved to a small stereo system and poked at the buttons until quiet music filled the room.

[Marcus Kendall]

"Oh really?" he sounded a little surprised, though that sensation was soon overtaken by other, more primal emotions. "Music's fine." The beast stood in the center of the room, little hunched over as if that brought him security. His tail laid flat against the ground, though the feathers had flared out to observe the surroundings. "Or you could scritch me." he offered, with a slight smirk on his snout.

[Chantelle Rossette]

Laughing, Chantelle grabbed a chair and pulled it towards him, “come ‘ere, mon loulou,” she had missed his drift, but she was keen to put him at ease, and if a little ‘grooming’, for want of a better word, made him comfortable, or at least distracted him, then she was more than happy to do so.