A Dialogue
IC date: Autumn 12, 1007
OOC date: October 2, 2012
PCs: Blackbird, Snowfield
NPCs:
GM:

In the time it's taken Snowfield to march back to her abandoned cottage just within the borders of the Wintersong Forest she has mostly dried out from her impromptu dip. Whatever water is still left in her coat is starting to turn to frost and flake away. She hasn't said a word to Blackbird since leaving town. The stallion is simply carried overhead, just behind her enough that he can't see her face.

And Blackbird, by now, is just hanging there, watching the scenery go by. He's probably said enough in the last few days; best not to initiate conversation with the cranky witch unless necessary. So he cranes his neck, and looks around as things go by, frowning and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The door of the cottage is opened without fanfare. Snowfield walks in to the house that hasn't seen a pony in it in months, depositing the stallion on the floor and moving over to the stove to light it. Once his eyes adjust to the light the impromptu houseguest will see that the room — indeed, the entire cottage — is incredibly sparsely decorated. There are no pictures on the wall. No rugs on the floor. Not even a sofa or table for entertaining guests. The room is utterly bare, save for the stove in the corner and some lonely cupboards nearby it. There is also a thin layer of dust on the floor, undoubtedly caused by the whole 'being uninhabited thing'

The unicorn, having lit the stove in the frigid cottage, turns to look at Blackbird. Her expression is for the moment unreadable. "Start talking," she says plainly.

Blackbird looks about the cottage with a frown. Can't say he's surprised, but it's no less disheartening a sight. When he's suddenly addressed, though, he blinks. "…Pleasant weather we're having today?" he hazards.

"Don't be daft," Snowfield says. "Tell me everything you know about me and how you found out. The only ponies who could have possibly known are long dead save for the Watcher, who I trust would not speak of the subject without my permission." She takes a few steps towards the taller stallion, her face still betraying no emotion. Her piercing, ice blue eyes seem to bear the weight of hundreds of years upon them as they stare into Blackbird's soul.

"Oh. That. Well…" Blackbird rubs his mane with one hoof, and sits down. For whatever reason, he feels awkwardly tall, right about now… "We came to the cave to save Salty and you were dead. You'd bled yourself dry. The Bone Mistress showed up to take you, and we bargained for your life back as best we could. She told us you'd used up all your time, and that you should've been dead centuries ago, but… Salty gave you a year off her life." And he seems irritated by that, too.

Snowfield's expression remains neutral as she hears Blackbird out. When he finishes the story she turns her head slightly, looking at the ground a few feet to the earth pony's right and continues thinking. "So… I died again, was it? I didn't think I had made that much potion. It certainly wasn't my intention to sacrifice my life for that drunken hag of a mayor." She glances back towards Blackbird, though her face remains averted. "And the Bone Mistress told you that, did she?"

"Yep." Blackbird frowns, and then grimaces. "I was going to use the potion we made on you instead of her. You're the better choice. But the Bone Mistress offered another option." Also one that would work, but y'know. Whatever. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're back."

Snowfield seems unmoved by Blackbird's gladitude. "So… it was Poison Joke, then. Hah. Hah hah. That's some joke, isn't it?" She finally turns her full attention to the stallion. Her lips waver as if they cannot decide whether to smile or frown. "I must admit, I never expected such an event to come to pass."

"Well… I suppose that's a pretty reasonable assumption and all. The Bone Mistress said you'd depleted the…magic, or whatever it was I guess? So you were out of your suspended life cycle. Maybe you'll grow up normally now?" Shrug!

"With a year?" Snowfield asks incredulously. "How much do you think I could possibly grow?" She takes another step towards Blackbird. "Much as I appreciate your attempts to spot a silver lining, I'm finding it difficult to be enthused by trading in functional immortality for certain death." Her voice turns saccharine as she continues, "Oh, thank you, Salty! Letting me know when my life is going to end is the best birthday gift anypony could have given me!" The unicorn turns around and stomps back to the stove to poke roughly at the smouldering wood within it.

Blackbird grimaces. "Rumble and I were going to give you more time than that but Bone Mistress said we couldn't do that. So. Only Drunken Idiot could do it and she thought a year was okay." Snort. Still, he looks around a little for a moment. "Anything I can do for you, Snowfield?"

Snowfield snorts as she pokes the stove again, causing a log to fall and sending a wave of sparks floating lazily into the air. "I don't suppose you and Rusty managed to get that time machine working, did you?" she asks.

"Time…what?" Blackbird blinks for a moment… then pauses and laughs. "Oh! God, no that was stupid. It was a thought that maybe we could reverse the timestream for individuals to grow them back up again… Very stupid. Sorry. But I do have a lot of, uh… Research on the topic." Cough.

"How disappointing," Snowfield responds. "In that case, you can take me to a nice bar in town and help me get completely trough-walloped." The words are spoken with complete sincerety, which is a little unsettling. "I imagine it will be a new experience and I'll need somepony to walk me home by the time I am done."

"By all means." Blackbird pushes to his hooves and nods toward the door. "Let's get you totally trough-walloped. I get the feeling you'll need it. Afterward, there's a spot on my couch for your inebriatedness."

"I appreciate it, Blackbird," Snowfield says as she closes the hatch of the stove and walks out the door. "You always know exactly what to say."

"News to me," Blackbird chuckles, as he trots after.