Freehold of Minuit

Chantelle had dreamed of apples. She was walking through an orchard, the trees were as tall skyscrapers, their spindly branches scratching at the clouds and tearing them apart. The sky was dark, a sick and bloated pumpkin moon hung low on the horizon, staining the tattered clouds orange. The trees were laden fruit, brilliant red apples, shiny as candy. Reaching up, she found she could pluck at them, her long fingers caressing the perfect surface, but as she grasped the apple, it turned to blood, splattering her feathers. Suddenly, the other apples began to split open, raining blood and golden coins until everything was sticky and red and copper was all she could smell.

She knew the price for the gift of apples. As the night fell, she approached the orchards with some trepidation. In her purse was a paring knife from her kitchen, a lilac-coloured porcelain blade, brutally sharp. She walked amongst the trees until she couldn't see the road, taking out the knife. She took a moment to steady herself, holding out her left arm. The egret winced as the blade cut into her flesh, blood fell on her feathers, eerie echoes of her nightmare. She slashed again, fast and deep, more blood flowing.

Taking a tissue out of her purse, she wiped the blade and slipped the cover back on, putting it away. It was awkward to work one handed, but she had brought first aid supplies, enough to see her safely home at least. She carefully positioned Steristrips along the wounds, bringing the edges neatly together, wiping away the worst of the blood with moist towelettes. She gathered the tissues and packaging, putting them into a plastic bag, and putting the bag into her purse. Folding her wing, she concealed the blood and injuries against her body, slinging her purse on her shoulder again and making her way home.


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(( Scar - Missy Higgins ))

Chantelle takes 2L damage.
[D3 EE] Stem the Blood (Intelligence 2, Medicine 2): 4d10o10h8 2

She feels an overwhelming feeling of peace wash over her and the uneasy feeling that something is hovering just over her shoulder.

“Thank you for the gift,” she told the Presence, assuming it to be the Apple King, revelling in his offerings.

There is a rustle in the trees.

As she hurries from the orchard she passes the rotting remnants of a songbird with butterflies nesting on it.

Jack had followed her, but had taken a separate path after entering the orchard. This seemed like something that should be done alone, that should be personal.

He admired the trees. Apple was a beautiful wood, but it could be difficult to carve. He found a large tree and sat at its roots. Taking out his knife, he looked it over. It was made for cutting into wood, but he never thought he'd intentionally use it on himself.

If blood needed to be spilt, however, Jack would spill his own. The blade sliced into his arm easier than he expected and his blood dripped down into the soil.

- - -
2 Lethal taken

The soil soaked up the blood, a rustle through the leaves and the smell of rot for a moment before there is silence.

"It's a fair exchange." He said quietly. "They were very good apples. These are very fine trees."

He was still bleeding as he stood. A handkerchief was used to stem the flow, but there would be more blood dripping to the ground as he made his way to the entrance.

The Apple King, neither Changeling nor Fae, but something else entirely, wasn’t the only presence in the orchard, and Chantelle spotted the unmistakable form of the little wooden elf coming out of the trees at the same time she did, a short distance away. Only loud enough for him and the Wyrd to hear, she called out, “T’Jack?”

"Evening, Chantelle." he called out as he approached. His eyes spied her bandages. "So, it's done?"

“Oh, T’Jack,” the egret crooned sadly when she saw the wound, still bleeding, “come, mon petite, le’ me ‘ave a loo’ at you.”