[open] apples and quinces, lemons and oranges

[nedofpies]

Who: Ned, open to all
What: Here be species-swap logs involving Ned the unlikely fertility god.
Where: Anywhere (preferably outdoors).
When: Duration of the event (58 - 61); put date in header, please.
Warnings: Blood, kidnapping, creepiness and general Ned-terrorizing? [will add more as necessary]

Ned wanders the town barefoot, leaving a path of fruit and flowers and vegetation behind him. There are daffodils and bluebells, hyacinths and crocuses, irises of all colors, primroses and poppies and periwinkle in profusion. When he stops to sit quietly under a tree, by the edge of the woods, the vines spread out from his body like paint creeping through water. They slowly wind their way up the trees, or else sprawl across the ground, swelling with strawberries and blackberries, grapes and kiwis, passionfuit and cherries.

He doesn't understand why it is happening, but from the sound of the messages over the communicator, everyone has been going through some strange changes. As far as Ned's concerned, being some kind of plant conjurer is better than some options.

Since he can't think of much else to do with his time, Ned lounges in the dappled shade and makes bouquets. All he needs to do is rake his hands through the soil and a few minutes later, up come the snapdragons, up come the cala lilies. He finds that, if he focuses on a particular kind of flower as he does it, sometimes it is mixed amongst the others. As he sits the hydrangeas are bubbling up around him, shielding him from view.

Ned isn't worried about resting in the woods, despite all the dire warnings he's heard in his short time here. He is at the very edge, just in the shade of the first few trees; the lions and tigers and bears can't possibly have any objections. So he lounges in his cozy bower, hazy, half-awake (he hadn't exactly slept well, the previous night), weaving crowns of camellias and garlands of gladiolus.

Comments

[recognize_an_opportunity]

His outstretched hand that's still touching Charlie's skin is beginning to burn badly enough that he can feel the pain even through his concentration on remaining calm, but he's not moving his hand, not until Charlie stops shouting and blowing smoke and hissing, not until Ned is out of the room and River is gone with him, not until he's absolutely certain that everyone is done with this confrontation.

At River's words, he turns to her and nods firmly. "We accept," he says, careful not to say that Charlie accepts on his own because, really, there's no way he would -- and Charlie doesn't like being spoken for. But the two of them together? Yes, they can certainly agree to those terms. Maybe other shiny things will distract Charlie's attention enough that he doesn't go after Ned again. Meyer can hope. He understands where River's coming from, understands what it means to protect family -- or those one considers family -- in this way. He wouldn't have done any different, had the roles been reversed.

There's only the slightest evidence of pain on his face as he speaks again, his tight grip on Charlie not loosening at all even as his tone remains almost conversational. "I think that's settled, then. A fair outcome for all of us." All there remains left to see is whether Charlie agrees or not; and whether he does or doesn't is almost a moot point: Ned won't be his victim.

[dowhatisays]

Charlie pushes against Meyer's hands again, but it's feebler this time. Now that Meyer's stepped in, the part of his brain that isn't consumed with lust and fury is screaming at him, telling him to let it go because there's no way he's winning this. But all the same - his heart arches to see his thing leaving. Don't they know how much he needs this?

It's too much confusion in one brain and he snarls again, but Meyer will feel is skin getting just a little cooler.

"Get the fuck out."

[enchangement]

River is not one to be told twice, not today; when Ned took her hand the transformation hinted at began in full, bark sloughing and changing in favor of new skin, the burn mark on her arm filling with moss until it, too, fell off, exposing a healing scar.

A squeeze to Ned's hand and they're off, running through the hallway until they reach the door outside and River starts to laugh, true and loud, leading the way back to Ned's bower.

"Found you," she teases; and clearly, not a moment too late.