tell me what you want me to say.

[swords]

⸢OPEN PROMPT POST.⸥ leave a comment with a prompt (a picture, a lyric - whatever you like) and character of mine you wish to tag in the subject line and watch the magic happen. *note: if you leave the subject line blank, basically that gives me free reign to tag you with whoever i want. so. that's also fun.

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( t h e P I E D p i p e r )

[attempt]

[fluter]

A final twirl of his flute between his fingers and Nicholas drops it unceremoniously into his pocket - a makeshift sheath for the weapon it's become. The fact that this wasn't carried out with malice or by request changes nothing - though a return to his former 'good' deeds is a welcome change of pace. Nostalgic, even, by the twinge above his ribcage.

The children are in Neverland now; he's seen to it himself, though he was back through the whirlpool before he could ensure that Peter got to them before the pirates. He rocks forward on his feet, once more acclimating himself to the feel of the solid ground and soft grass before he turns on his heel and marches forward and -

Peers at her. Whether she was with the original group, he can't remember, but a child of the village, alone in these surrounding? Or lack thereof?

"Did I forget you?" Nicholas asks, and it comes out as more of a mutter. His hand reaches into his pocket again, fingertips on the pipe immediately.

[attempt]

Her story starts the way most sad stories do: with a family oblivious to the evils of the wide world, living in a quaint little house at the edge of the wood. And like most sad stories, there was a knock at the door one evening, on a night without stars and a terrible storm shivering it way through the forest. What happened in the quaint little house on that dark and stormy night, no one knows for certain. No one except her, the daughter they'd squirreled away beneath the floorboards in a last bid of desperation; her and the ones that had gone knock, knock on the door. (There are things that live in the woods, they say. Things that should never be allowed in out of the rain.)

She'd been young then but she's older now — not yet a woman, though her face holds the suggestion of a woman's beauty. Nicholas peers at her and she stares back with pale eyes, the color of lightning. When he reaches into his pocket, she lifts a hand to halt him.

"I'm not lost," the girl tells him (meaning, I'm not one of the others). Parentless she may be, she does not not wander; no, the girl has purpose. It's there, in those storm grey eyes. "I know exactly where I'm meant to be.

"They say people come to you when they have thing that needs doing." The girl blinks then quirks her head, bird-like. "Is it true?"

[fluter]

There's a look of surprise and how did you find me? is what he wants to ask; he isn't used to being caught off guard, snuck up on. Was she waiting there for him to return? He's used to messages - even before the witch and the wrong child and the disappearance of his own family. Even before his questionable bargains and the banishment of innocuous people by his own hand, he remembers letters, people banging on his door at night in desperation. Pleas and promises and of course he agrees.

"Depends," he says with a shrug. His hand does not move from the flute in his pocket, as though that will grant him some security, keep him with the upper hand in the deal sure to follow. His eyes narrow before darting around her, in spite of himself. A strange line of business requires him to be wary; surely she'd understand. But there's no one else, asserting their isolation even out in the open like this.

"What is it that you need done?"

[attempt]

She is used to the Piper's look of surprise; it's one she's seen many times over the years, cloudy with concern on the faces of strangers. Whenever they learn of her business, they often tell her she's looking for trouble, that she's asking after very bad men, but Hansi is not dissuaded, not even by the most convincing argument. For years now, she has looked and asked and followed, making her way as both pauper and princess as circumstance has passed her from house to field to alleyway. It makes for a sad, disjointed existence but she does not complain and no longer cries. (She's older now and there is nothing for it. Vengeance isn't a reward won by tears.)

"I'm looking for a band of men. They travel together and do very bad things." Hansi's tone is straight-forward, almost detached, though something glimmers brightly in her eyes. "Years ago they took something from me. I'm looking to return the favor."

Rumor has it that the man with the flute understands this sort of loss, that he once had something very precious stolen from him in the night. She's convinced: despite his caution, he must help her — otherwise turn his back on that great loss and the source of his grief.

[fluter]

And understand, he does. Nicholas nods as he replays the words and stares the girl down.

"How old are you?" he asks. It's genuine curiosity mixed with something else. Not so much shock as the reality of what she's asking. She's sought him out knowing - because of his assumed profession, whether it's forest pests or angry ogres or begrudged humans he locks away in other realms. But she's young. The idea of a girl - and a girl she is, in his eyes - hiring him for such a task is one that chills him. She should still be learning, frolicking, even; having as few cares as possible. Certainly not enough to want to see men suffer.

But a job is a job, that much Nicholas knows. And time that he can fill is time that he can't use to stalk out a witch and send her past oblivion, time he can't use to track down what's lost, jumping from world to world and searching until he's nothing more than dust.

"So you want them gone?" he asks. He lifts the flute from his pocket and once again spins it in his hand. An inconspicuous wooden thing, even he can't tell the magic that compels others to follow its melody. "I'm not a thief, you know."

[attempt]

"Yes, you are," the girl says without barely a blink, her face craning towards his, her gaze darting back and forth (again, like a bird) between the wooden flute in his hands and that unsettled look in his eyes. "To kill a something, to make it gone — that's like stealing, only it's a person instead of a watch or a bit of coin. That's taking a life and putting it where it's not meant to be." In the ground, in the sky, in the world that not theirs. "You make it so that it can never go back."

(Yes, as far as the girl can tell, the Pied Piper is a thief through and through.)

Not that there is any judgment in the way she says any of these things. If anything, they seem to endear her to him, seem to make a part of her open up and blossom modestly like a late-blooming flower, the way a girl her age should. Although Hansi's last hope was lost with her family, she's still capable of a sentiment that follows a similar outline — good or bad, coming or going, vengeance is still something to look forward to.

Eventually she straightens, tries to make herself look taller. The girl is certainly tall already, possessed of a swan-like neck and spindly arms; but she's capable of a higher grace, when she's so inclined. Tipping her chin proudly, she declares: "Fifteen. Going on sixteen, if I make it to winter."

[fluter]

He chuckles. That's all it is - not a scoff, not a noise of disbelief. "Who told you I kill them?" A shake of his head before, "They were mistaken." But Nicholas knows it's as good as the truth. No matter where they end up when he's through with them, they aren't in this world anymore. Therefore, by logic, and by anyone's guess, they no longer exist. In a sense, he supposes it could be stealing. Stealing the life they knew away. Stealing their home and giving them a new place to peace together. It's a stretch, Nicholas thinks, but it's one that Nicholas is willing to reach for in all intents and purposes.

"And make it you shall, without those men to bother you." It's as good as a confirmation, an agreement to take the job. The Piper thinks nothing of it, actively forcing any negative thought from his mind - any thought that this could be more than he bargained for. The ideas are louder and brighter than usual, but he's grown used to ignoring them, to shoving them into silence. Locking them up and purposely losing the key. But he slouches in spite of it, in contrast to her higher stance. They don't match in height, of course, but the droop of his shoulders puts them that much closer.

"I'll need names," he says simply. "If not descriptions. Those help." Nicholas chooses not to pry more into the situation - at least, not right away. Among her first words were ones of self-assurance; perhaps he should stop any pity and start believing.

[attempt]

Hansi's mouth purses slightly in dissatisfaction when the Piper laughs. He's not being cruel, or even unkind, but even the most worldweary child remains a child underneath all of their grief, their sudden maturity acting both as shield and succor to small, still-beating heart beneath. Girlish insecurity makes Hansi's posture temporarily tense (she will not wilt, she tells herself, and so she stiffens instead) and for a brief moment Hansi seems to be more her actual age (an orphan, a bitter one, asking a stranger to make bad men get gone).

She's stil half-frowning when she goes rummaging through her satchel. What else she has in there is anyone's guess but it's the entirety of her life, bundled up and carried on her back. The loss of family makes other things — material things — seem insignificant and small in their loss. And so Hansi had taught herself how to make do with very little — though arguably she has nothing, nothing except her vengeance. After a good dig she finally withdraws a little notebook, its pages tattered and worn, some threatening to fall out from where they've come loose from the binding. Inside is page after page of drawing, the first primitive and frightening (the drawings of a child), the later developed and more mature but menacing nevertheless. If the Piper flips through the pages, he'll find five faces altogether, the fifth little more than silhouette and shadow (the most terrible of the lot, with a kerchief drawn over his face; the leader of this menacing gang).

"No names yet," she tells him, her eyes darting between her own work and the Piper's eyes in an attempt to gage his reaction. "Some people don't like talking death and dark deeds with girls. But you, they'll talk to. The names won't be hard."

[fluter]

"You don't know them, then?" he asks. A hesitant hand, an arch of an eyebrow. Certainly, they're still able to be found. If they're out there in this realm he can find them, through enchantments and charms and whatever else is necessary. It's only the fact that names are simpler, at times more direct. Names call less attention than magic, Nicholas has found, and the less obvious he is in his work, perhaps the better.

Not that it stops the interested from finding him, but they're the ones who truly need things done. It's better that way, for the client and for Nicholas' peace of mind.

Carefully, he thumbs through the pages given to him by the girl, only observing. Looking as the drawings become more distinctive, features sharper, but not commenting until the very end and he says, "How long've you been looking for these men?"

Years ago, she'd said, but their senses of time must be different, as Nicholas has had more time to grow accustomed to the years passing. Shorter and shorter they seem, while to the girl in front of him, they must feel like ages. The drawings answer more of his question the more he considers it, but he prefers to deal in definites as often as he can.

He closes the notebook and holds it delicately, appraising it and her all at once. It's unclear whether or not he's meant to take it with him, or whether he should brand them to his memory to give her back her belonging.