Halfl’In, Half Out, All Gone-Beets & Marto-DT RP-02/10/2022
Oct 6, 2022 11:59:37 GMT
Velania Kalugina, Derthaad, and 2 more like this
Post by Beets The Beetle (Feenix) on Oct 6, 2022 11:59:37 GMT
Netflix Tagged this RP as: Harsh truths and Unhappy Birthdays
Co-written and Harsh Truths collaborated with the wonderful Marto Copperkettle
Beet’s thoughts flitted in time with her wings as she made her way towards the quaint village of New Hillburrow.
She’d gotten rather lost on her first flight to deliver an important if slightly belated package for her friend. Getting pointed back the right direction by some friendly farmers who were rather warm towards her despite her ‘pest-like’ resemblance, and also being side-tracked by being of a buggin’nature, that had actually turned out to be a much better present than the one she’d originally brought with her, had all resulted in her well-timed near sunset arrival.
Presents really can mean more when they truly come from the heart — or cocoon in that case.
Worry, excitement, and a lot of other feelings fluttered around in her belly just like that butterfly, as she swept her way over the last of the golden grassy hills and into the full view of New Hillburrow spreading out before her.
It was a quiet village the last time she was here but today, not so much. It was Highharvestide, meaning those farmers that she had spoken to a couple weeks ago were all bustling around the homely village with their crops, preparing for some kind of celebration. There were cornucopia’s everywhere, overflowing with vegetables and fruits of the season, pumpkins bright and plump things, and streamers connecting the buildings. That’s what made her land on the southside just over the bridge, more than anything else. She realised if she wanted to be able to find her friend, she’d have to walk through the hustle and bustle.
There was a baker shouting for his assistant to make sure the bread didn’t burn, and would you check on the pies by the window? The squirrels have been getting bolder lately and we cannot afford to have them steal anymore of the pecan pies! There was another woman, draped in all manner of fabric and string, directing a crew of three youths who were helping decorate the main street with those streamers. Just a little to the left dear, no your other left, yes, and higher so the wind can catch it just- yes perfect. She spoke softly but was clearly heard over the sound of a band warming up further in.
Beets was in awe at the hive of colourful activity. With the sweet and savoury smells of the pies and breads baking and airing, made her own ‘inner squirrel’ chitter hungrily with temptation.
It looked as if a real party was to be happening in the village, though not that she had ever attended one at her own village back home. No, there always has been a more humble yet loving affair arranged by Pa and Gramps for a personal reason this time of year.
“Oy, you. Fairy. What’cha doin’? Come to help?”
The voice came from an apron wearing man stepping out of the tavern closest to the river, a big knife tucked safely into his belt. He was carrying a huge keg but had stopped when he spoke to Beets, giving her a curious look.
“Oh um, guess I can! You want me to carry that for ya Mister?” she offered in response, flitting over to him, arms held ready.
“If you think you can- Oh. Wow. Yeah. You got that good,” the halfling chef says gruffly, an impressed glint to his eye. “Take it over there.” He points. “Someone will direct you. Just don’t drop it, alright?” he tells Beets with a stern look.
Beets hefted the barrel into her arms. She was instinctively ready to flutter her wings up, but, being so readily accepted by the townsfolk, she decided to just keep a low profile and walk it. Besides, her wings were a bit tired from her flight.
“You’ve got the Rooftop Beetles guarantee sir!” she said with a wink to the halfling as she followed his gesture.
Despite wanting to keep a low profile it seemed that carrying the casket of lager did get attention. By the time she had taken five steps, Beets was being helped by two halflings and a gnome who ensured no rambunctious children ran across her path to unintentionally trip her up. Once she was in the centre of the village a gnome with leaves woven into his hair told Beets and her entourage to clear a space so as to put the huge keg down beside the large table just outside the Community Hall.
“Well done!” the gnome says to Beets, clapping her on the shoulder. “Oh wow, you’ve got some muscle on ya! Say, have I seen ya around here before speakin’ to the ‘Prince’?”
“Heh, thanks! I try to work out when I can-…D-did you say Prince?” Beets replied, stopping mid-sentence.
The gnome gives a chuckle. “You know who I’m talkin’ about. Handsome strapping young lad, blonde hair, big beautiful blue eyes, knows his way around wood if you know what I mean.” He gives Beets a teasing elbow and a wink.
“Y-you mean bugging Marto?!” Beets replies, her nose and ears turning crimson as she flits up in surprise. Her wing beats are jittery causing her to wobble slightly as she lowers back down to the ground. “Marto’s a- But if Merla is a… Oh bug,” she says to her, as she connects the dots in her mind.
There’s a hearty laugh in response to Beets’ reaction. “So you do know him! Great. Is he why you’re here?”
“Ur yes… uh… no… Maybe!” She already had so much to talk to Marto about. Let alone royal etiquette and fancy manners that Lolli had told her about from one of her books.
“Best make sure you’re sure before you go see him, ne? I think he’s doing some prep work over by the flower fields. That way,” the gnome says, pointing to the east.
“Uhm sure…” said Beets, making her way slightly awkwardly at first on foot. Flittering up just in time, she avoids becoming entangled in a trail of streamers that had become tightly wrapped around two halfling boys by their rather overenthusiastic friend.
With a final glance back, she continues making her way towards the flower fields, feeling the eyes of the gnome watching her as she went.
She quickly forgets about him though as sprawling out below her is a series of gently rolling hills that have the most beautiful flowers Beets has ever seen this side of the Feywild. Though there is something rather odd about the colours that she cannot quite put her finger on, she doesn’t let that distract her from searching for the person she is looking for.
Nestled in the middle of the flower field is a large bell tent of purple and blue, ribbons of green lightly dancing in the wind. She sees a big blue firbolg with white fluffy hair, mud stained cropped pants and flower tattooed arms carrying a large pot of some kind of strange purple flower not too dissimilar to those found on Evenbloom Hill. But before she can call out to this woman to ask a question she goes inside the tent.
“I say, are you a fairy?”
The rather posh sounding voice comes from just below her. Beets looks down, but all she sees is an unassuming bush right in the middle of the flower field.
And it’s looking right up at her.
“We’ll I’ve seen much flittin’stranger things than a talking bush recently,” she mutters to herself. Holding herself in a hover, she addresses the friendly shrub. “That’s right, and are you a bush?”
“I am, my good lady. But not just any bush, I am a jasper bush and so is my name!” Jasper responds, one branchy arm adjusting a monocle. “Forgive my assumption my dear but you seem to be looking for something. Perhaps I could help you?”
Beets can’t help but grin at the bush’s response. “Um well yes Jasper I am now you mention it! Seen any princes about?”
“Princes? Hmm, no cannot say I have, my dear. Are you in search of one to save? Or one to kiss perhaps?”
“Kiss?” Beets’ wings jittered. She just managed to catch herself from suddenly plummeting, flying now right in front of the well mannered bush. “Is that like… a custom or something? Or are you saying I look like a frog?” she quizzed, remembering one of gramps’ stories. The true cause of her sudden-drop leaving her red cheeked and tousled haired.
“Oh! My dear, you do not look like a frog. Anyone who has said so is just being mean, and you really shouldn’t listen to such people anyway,” Jasper says, his branches ruffling. “I was more wondering if you were on an important quest since you mentioned trying to find a prince.”
“Well, not that I ever thought of him as one… Uh! Not saying he doesn’t look like one!! He’s very buggin’handsome!!!”
There is an awkward silence after that during which a gentle breeze ruffles their hair and foliage respectfully.
“His name’s Marto,” Beets winces out embarrassedly.
“Ah, young master Marto! Yes, I know him well. He helped rebuild BB’s house after the dragon attacks,” Jasper says, gesturing to the one and a half storey wooden home. “I saw him over by the Feythorn this morning. If he’s not in the village he must still be there.”
“Marto’s a master? How many flittin’titles does he have?!” Beets murmured to herself, giving Jasper a little practice airborne curtsy, before flitting her way towards the growing tree line.
It doesn’t take Beets long to find him. The sound of metal cutting through wood rings clear amongst the trees meaning she hears him before she sees him.
The light filters through the trees to cast the little clearing Marto is in into the perfect golden haven. He lifts his adamantine axe up and brings it down onto a large square of wood, cutting it precisely and perfectly in half. A pile as tall as the halfling is stacked neatly beside him, which Marto carefully adds the latest two new pieces to. Resting his axe down, he takes a handkerchief from a pocket in his trousers and wipes his brow.
Beets watches him from between the trees. With the light falling on his golden hair, picking out his chiselled yet humble frame he really did appear princely.
Reaching down, Marto picks up a waterskin, uncorks it and takes a deep drink, exhaling a sigh when he finally comes up for air. Turning to look at the pile of wood still to be cut, he mutters something under his breath Beets can’t quite hear, before picking up his axe again.
Beets flits forward from her watching spot, the dappled light overhead dancing off her jet black hair, the autumnal colours of her new coat and simple dress blending with the canopy overhead. As Marto moves to take position to begin his lumber work again, she gives a little cough.
“Hello Ma-… Urg your maj..Your Martogesty…”
“Beets,” Marto says, surprised. “Hey, how are- Wait. What did you just say?”
Beets does her best attempt at a curtsy with her short skirt, managing not to catch herself on the uneven forest floor. Being Lolli’s occasional dress model has given her some practice at it.
“I said it’s good to see you again your shortness- I-I mean, your Marto’ness-Ohhh-flit!” She sighs with a curse, eyes flicking back up towards the halfling.
Marto chuckles and shakes his head, muttering breath, “I told them not to call me that…” He looks at Beets and sighs, a mix of confusion and amusement to his smile. “Lemme guess, the people in the village called me a prince, didn’t they?”
“Yeah… I mean… Are you?” A bit more of Beets’ far less formal nature is flowing back with her words as she comes up from her curtsy.
“No, I’m not,” he says firmly but kindly.
Resting his axe down again, Marto leans on the handle stretching a little. “I get why they think it though — brother to a fey queen and all. But I don’t have any standing in the fey courts like Merla does. I’m not even a knight. I’m just a guy who knows how to use an axe.” He pats the wooden handle under his hand.
“Ugh thank flit!” The last of Beets’ formal manner dropping off instantly like change of clothes. “The last thing I need is worry about regal formalities,” she says with theatrical pompous air. “Though, I’ve kinda probably failed on all fronts there when I threw that boot at Shoelorian…” She watches Martos’s puzzled face in response to that. “Oooh, right, I haven’t told you about that party!” She adds with a guilty grin. “Whoops!”
“Anyway! That’s not what I came here to talk to you about!” She ploughs on blindly, walking up to the pile chopped logs. “Do you need some help with this first? Seems to be a real party being prepped over there!” Giving a nod back towards the village.
“Hold on, back up a second, Beets. Who in the realms is Shoelorian? Was this a fey you met at that masquerade-” Beets sees the moment the penny drops and Marto’s face drains of colour. “You mean Ulorian, the River King, don’t you.” It’s not a question.
Marto moves with precise and careful accuracy as he places his axe to the side. “Beets…” he starts, coming up to her, his expression deceptively neutral. “What did you do?”
“Well…” Beets holds a fixed grin as her eyes roll skyward, as she recalls the events of the party. “Might have thrown a boot at his head. But we rescuing Glade’s friend Leo — really nice girl — and besides, it’s buggin’nothing compared to what Pippa and the others did to him!”
If a halfling could look more sick than he already does, that is Marto as he listens to Beets’ flippant tale. “What did the others do? And what possessed you to throw a shoe at an Archfey?”
“WELL…” Beets continues, not immediately noticing Marto’s rapidly paling complexion. “They kinda… glued his mouth shut. I… I had a really bad time at that party.” Her expression downcast as she looks away almost ashamedly. “I wasn’t myself.”
There is no response from Marto, just a silence that stretches out a little too long. A whirlwind of emotions plays across his face until Beets glances back at him at which point he has turned away. One hand on his hip, the other caught in his hair, Marto is muttering to himself under his breath, the sounds unmistakably distressed.
Then he stops. “When you say you weren’t yourself were you charmed? Did someone make you do it?”
“Um… More… that I let myself be ashamed of who I was. Who I am.” She bites her lip, realising the tension in the air now.
There is a heavy sigh from the halfling. Then more muttering. Finally Marto turns back to her.
“Do you ever think before you act, Beets? Do you ever consider the consequences of your choices? That what you do affects those around you?” He shakes his head, eyes locked on hers. “I know the world can be a mean place, that you were bullied by the fey in your village. But I also thought you were smart enough to know when to stop before taking things too far.” He opens his arms wide as if encompassing the whole world. “There are a lot of really powerful people out there and if you go around pissing them off then I-” His arms drop to his sides. “-I can’t help you.” Marto says it so softly, so gently, it’s like a knife to her heart.
Beets gives a small yet audible wince at his words. Her beetle feet make very soft sounds on the odd scattering of early fallen leaves that pattern the undergrowth as she turns away from him, her arms nervously reflexing to embrace each other. “You’re really not gonna like what I’ve got to tell you now then,” she says, her voice small and sad.
It was already going badly and I hadn’t even gotten to the actual reason for my visit, she thought.
After a beat she hears, “What is it?”
“Bogar came back. He came to talk to me.” When Marto doesn’t respond she continues. “He actually came back a couple weeks ago. But then he buggered off for a bit. ’Till the other night, he told me to go to the mountains to get some answers. About him. About. Me.”
The wind rustles the leaves in the trees a bit as Beets contemplates how to get her words out. The halfling keeps his silence, waiting for her to get to the part he supposedly won’t like.
“I went with Lolli and Derth and an old wizard named Archie. We travelled to the Sunset Spines. Ended up in the desert. Worked our way through a really flittin’annoying temple.” Her voice picks up at that before dipping again. “We met a s-sphinx. He said- he said he knew my momma. And… Owh… There’s so buggin’much.”
Marto lets out a sigh. “Why don’t you sit down, Beets. Tell me as much as you can, or as much as you want, and I’ll listen until you stop talking.”
Beets turns with big sad eyes lost deep in thought, but nods and slowly lowers herself to the ground, her dark armour-like beetle legs sticking out in contrast from her soft bright colourful dress. Marto sits down on the stump he had been chopping the wood on, resting his elbows on his knees and threading his hands together.
“I’m cursed Marto. Or at least… I-my mother was. She was an adventurer. She went into a temple. Somehow got cursed. A big, horrible… plague curse. One that would attract insects.” She reflexively moves her hand away resting on her lap from her leg as the light glints off the carapace. “She tried to get rid of it, but by the time she did, it was too late. The curse was part of her. She…” Beets takes a shuddering, steadying breath. “She died. And left behind three things. Baby me. Bogar… and something else. Zitharis, the sphinx, said that Bogar and me, we’re part of the same being. If one of us dies… So does the other. But- I learnt my Momma’s name… Malsira Sunwater. Dert says it’s a halfling name. So, that’s nice at least. Right?” Beets looks up, her emerald eyes shimmering behind walls of tears, a clenched toothed smile on her face as she looks up at her friend.
“Do you know who cursed your Ma? Or where you could go to find out who did?” he asks softly.
Beets shook her head. “I don’t think he knew. Bogar might, but he’s not spoke to me again since.”
Marto studies her face for a moment before nodding. Then, “What is the ‘something else’ your Ma left behind when she passed?”
“Both Zitharis and Bogar- They said ‘It’s complex’. But I think,” she takes a moment to wipe a stray tear from her eye. “I think it’s what tried to attack you.”
He frowns. “You mean that time after we come back from Sigil? I thought that was Bogar.”
“That jerk was Bogar! Least I think so. I mean the first time. When you came to my room, to check up on me.” Her long ears redden slightly.
“But not the most recent time when we were outside the Fort?” he asks, seemingly not noticing her reddened ears.
“No… But- Owh why does it have to be so flittin’complicated!?” She cries, thumping her clenched fists into the earth around her.
Marto sits back at the sudden outburst, hands raised up as if in warding. Slowly, they lower back down as the halfling looks over his friend. “Perhaps it’s not as complicated as you think it is. Perhaps you’re thinkin’ yourself in circles…” She looks up at him and he shrugs, looking away with a slight flush to his cheeks. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
He seems to focus on something in the trees but rather than seeing Marto is thinking. “If you don’t know who cursed your Ma but you know the nature of the curse perhaps the next step is finding someone proficient in the arcane. It may be a fey curse, or it may be some other kind. But my suggestion would be to start with asking a fey.” He looks down at her. “Though that bridge may be a treacherous one,” he adds with a meaningful look.
“I really don’t understand buggin’magic or fey politics,” She admits with an accepting sheepish sigh.
“Really? I had no idea,” Marto says in a slightly exasperated teasing tone. Then he laughs, continuing in a gentler way, “Even I don’t fully grasp everything though, so you’re not alone. But, Beets, it’s up to you how much you let your ignorance dictate your actions. You’re not a child. You can learn and grow.”
Marto’s advice echoes the parting words of the sphinx in her mind. “If you want your peers to take you more seriously, you should reconsider your use of language.”
“Marto. The way I talk. Does it bug yo-…Does it bother you?”
He notices the conscious change in word choice and begins to wonder if there’s a hidden question behind the one Beets is asking.
“No, it doesn’t,” Marto says, but he is frowning slightly. There’s always been something though, hasn’t there? A worry about how reckless she is, blind to things that seem fairly obvious, even to him. Perhaps it’s the difference in their upbringing? No, even that’s not right. His mind races, trying to find the right words but he soon realises no matter how he says it, his words are going to be hard for her to hear.
“It’s not your word choices that bother me. How you say ‘buggin’ this or ‘flittin’ that — I think it’s cute. It’s you. Even Lolli says, ‘Oh my gumdrop,’ and it somehow encompasess who she is whilst expressing her feelings. What bothers me…” Her verdant eyes shine with tears and Marto suddenly finds he wants to turn away. But he holds firm.
“What bothers me is how you don’t seem to think. Earlier you tried to play off pranking an Archfey as amusing banter but, Beets, my sister fought the River King in an honour duel and one of her closest friends died. He fucking died. Sure, he was brought back but he was at least fighting for something. He had a purpose, a reason to go up against King Ulorian. But you- You thought taking out your frustrations on an Archfey was a good idea because of how you allowed others to make you feel. I just-” He stands up. “I don’t get it! Why do you even care about what people like that think of you when you have people like Lolli, Kavel, Derthaad, Gerhard, and me who love and support you? Who are you trying to impress? What are you trying to prove?”
“I- I didn’t mean- I’m not trying to…” Beets’ voice cracks with emotion as the words dissolve in her mouth. And then, like the shattering feeling in her chest all those months ago, it all comes out. All her thoughts, worries and emotions. All of it bursts out of her.
“Because I’m scared, okay?!” she yells, flitting up into the air, moving as she speaks, tears spilling from her eyes like the words from her mouth. “No- Petrified! Out of my mind with worry! That on any day, at any time, someone will see me! Someone will point at me! Someone will yell at me saying, ‘Hey look! There’s a big horrible monster! Let’s kill it!’
“I’m a monster Marto, and there’s no good trying to deny it! I’M A FUCKING MONSTER! I chopped off a guy’s head with my monster fucking mandibles and drank his fucking blood, from his fucking neck! That could’ve been you! That could’ve been Lolli! That could have been any one of our friends!
“You think I don’t have a reason? You think I don’t think about what I do? I fought a whole fucking swarm of murderous beetles that attacked my village. A village of people that hated me and shunned me all my life just cause I didn’t look ‘normal’ in their eyes! I saved them, Marto! I saved a whole heck of a lot of those judgemental bastards! And what did they do in return? They chased me! Chased out of my home, waving knives and pitchforks and cries of locking me up, of killing me outright on their tongues! And the one person I wanted to save. The one person I actually had reason to care about, and who actually cared about me- He died!
“MY PA DIED MARTO! And soon after- Gramps left me too! The two people who had actually loved me, cared about me, treated me freaking normally for most of my life! GONE!
“And now I get confirmation from a freakin’ Sph- Sph- FREAKIN BIRD LION DRAGON THING! That it was all MY FAULT! That I’m the reason why Pa died! That I’m the reason Gramps left me! That I’m the reason I can never meet my mother. That I could easily slaughter each and everyone one of my friends, just by being around them.
“So you ask why I act the way I do Marto? You ask who I’m trying to impress. No one. I’m just trying to survive. Trying to desperately hold together the few good things that somehow I’ve actually been fortunate enough to stumble across. Things. People. Who make me feel normal. But not normal Marto! I’m not normal! And I never will be!”
Beets turns, and drops back to the ground with a slam that causes a few of the chopped logs to roll off Marto’s tidy wood pile, and even a fresh flurry of leaves to fall from the fall canopy overhead.
The sounds of the forest slowly filter back into the little clearing, accompanying the soft sniffles of the fairy after her outburst. It had been building for years and finally the pressure pot couldn’t contain it anymore. In a way, it was good. But everything she said worried Marto even more because at the end of it all-
“You’re not surviving though, Beets. You’re letting your fear control you into giving up on yourself before you’ve even tried.” Marto shakes his head. It is clear his energy is spent from this conversation. He’s tired and there’s still so much more to do — more wood to chop, a bonfire to build, more crops to reap for and many other things to do in the village for the Highharvesttide celebrations. His hands lift up before falling back down to his side in a gesture that encompasses all of this and more. “If you truly have been thinkin’ about what you’ve done you’d try to fix it, or change it, or stop it. Not continue to make excuses that result in foolish and reckless choices.”
He goes over to the fallen wood and begins to put them into a wheelbarrow Beets had not seen hidden behind the large pile.
“When you’re ready to do something about your curse, come find me. Otherwise… I don’t have the emotional space to keep picking you up anymore.”
Marto’s last words feel like a punch to Beets’ gut. She is almost spent herself from her outpour of emotion. Some of the most most painful moments in her life finally aired to someone. Someone she thought would actually care. But Marto hadn’t even acknowledged what she was feeling. To her, it felt like he was treating her like a child. No wonder he didn’t…
“FINE THEN!” she snapped back, not turning from where she sat. “Some friend you are! Sorry I’m not like the pretty, well-mannered, problemless, all round just ‘perfect’ little fairies you’ve read about in those books of yours!”
Marto doesn’t stop, just keeps piling in more wood. He doesn’t even say anything to her outburst, which almost hurts Beets more than his sharp words to her.
When he’s put in as much wood as he can, Marto picks up the handles of the wheelbarrow and begins to push it down the little dirt path that will lead back to the village. He remains silent as he departs.
Beets waits, listening to the sound of the barrow as it grows fainter and fainter. And then it’s finally gone, leaving her alone in the silence of the woods.
“Happy birthday to me,” she says, oh so quietly.
Co-written and Harsh Truths collaborated with the wonderful Marto Copperkettle
Beet’s thoughts flitted in time with her wings as she made her way towards the quaint village of New Hillburrow.
She’d gotten rather lost on her first flight to deliver an important if slightly belated package for her friend. Getting pointed back the right direction by some friendly farmers who were rather warm towards her despite her ‘pest-like’ resemblance, and also being side-tracked by being of a buggin’nature, that had actually turned out to be a much better present than the one she’d originally brought with her, had all resulted in her well-timed near sunset arrival.
Presents really can mean more when they truly come from the heart — or cocoon in that case.
Worry, excitement, and a lot of other feelings fluttered around in her belly just like that butterfly, as she swept her way over the last of the golden grassy hills and into the full view of New Hillburrow spreading out before her.
It was a quiet village the last time she was here but today, not so much. It was Highharvestide, meaning those farmers that she had spoken to a couple weeks ago were all bustling around the homely village with their crops, preparing for some kind of celebration. There were cornucopia’s everywhere, overflowing with vegetables and fruits of the season, pumpkins bright and plump things, and streamers connecting the buildings. That’s what made her land on the southside just over the bridge, more than anything else. She realised if she wanted to be able to find her friend, she’d have to walk through the hustle and bustle.
There was a baker shouting for his assistant to make sure the bread didn’t burn, and would you check on the pies by the window? The squirrels have been getting bolder lately and we cannot afford to have them steal anymore of the pecan pies! There was another woman, draped in all manner of fabric and string, directing a crew of three youths who were helping decorate the main street with those streamers. Just a little to the left dear, no your other left, yes, and higher so the wind can catch it just- yes perfect. She spoke softly but was clearly heard over the sound of a band warming up further in.
Beets was in awe at the hive of colourful activity. With the sweet and savoury smells of the pies and breads baking and airing, made her own ‘inner squirrel’ chitter hungrily with temptation.
It looked as if a real party was to be happening in the village, though not that she had ever attended one at her own village back home. No, there always has been a more humble yet loving affair arranged by Pa and Gramps for a personal reason this time of year.
“Oy, you. Fairy. What’cha doin’? Come to help?”
The voice came from an apron wearing man stepping out of the tavern closest to the river, a big knife tucked safely into his belt. He was carrying a huge keg but had stopped when he spoke to Beets, giving her a curious look.
“Oh um, guess I can! You want me to carry that for ya Mister?” she offered in response, flitting over to him, arms held ready.
“If you think you can- Oh. Wow. Yeah. You got that good,” the halfling chef says gruffly, an impressed glint to his eye. “Take it over there.” He points. “Someone will direct you. Just don’t drop it, alright?” he tells Beets with a stern look.
Beets hefted the barrel into her arms. She was instinctively ready to flutter her wings up, but, being so readily accepted by the townsfolk, she decided to just keep a low profile and walk it. Besides, her wings were a bit tired from her flight.
“You’ve got the Rooftop Beetles guarantee sir!” she said with a wink to the halfling as she followed his gesture.
Despite wanting to keep a low profile it seemed that carrying the casket of lager did get attention. By the time she had taken five steps, Beets was being helped by two halflings and a gnome who ensured no rambunctious children ran across her path to unintentionally trip her up. Once she was in the centre of the village a gnome with leaves woven into his hair told Beets and her entourage to clear a space so as to put the huge keg down beside the large table just outside the Community Hall.
“Well done!” the gnome says to Beets, clapping her on the shoulder. “Oh wow, you’ve got some muscle on ya! Say, have I seen ya around here before speakin’ to the ‘Prince’?”
“Heh, thanks! I try to work out when I can-…D-did you say Prince?” Beets replied, stopping mid-sentence.
The gnome gives a chuckle. “You know who I’m talkin’ about. Handsome strapping young lad, blonde hair, big beautiful blue eyes, knows his way around wood if you know what I mean.” He gives Beets a teasing elbow and a wink.
“Y-you mean bugging Marto?!” Beets replies, her nose and ears turning crimson as she flits up in surprise. Her wing beats are jittery causing her to wobble slightly as she lowers back down to the ground. “Marto’s a- But if Merla is a… Oh bug,” she says to her, as she connects the dots in her mind.
There’s a hearty laugh in response to Beets’ reaction. “So you do know him! Great. Is he why you’re here?”
“Ur yes… uh… no… Maybe!” She already had so much to talk to Marto about. Let alone royal etiquette and fancy manners that Lolli had told her about from one of her books.
“Best make sure you’re sure before you go see him, ne? I think he’s doing some prep work over by the flower fields. That way,” the gnome says, pointing to the east.
“Uhm sure…” said Beets, making her way slightly awkwardly at first on foot. Flittering up just in time, she avoids becoming entangled in a trail of streamers that had become tightly wrapped around two halfling boys by their rather overenthusiastic friend.
With a final glance back, she continues making her way towards the flower fields, feeling the eyes of the gnome watching her as she went.
She quickly forgets about him though as sprawling out below her is a series of gently rolling hills that have the most beautiful flowers Beets has ever seen this side of the Feywild. Though there is something rather odd about the colours that she cannot quite put her finger on, she doesn’t let that distract her from searching for the person she is looking for.
Nestled in the middle of the flower field is a large bell tent of purple and blue, ribbons of green lightly dancing in the wind. She sees a big blue firbolg with white fluffy hair, mud stained cropped pants and flower tattooed arms carrying a large pot of some kind of strange purple flower not too dissimilar to those found on Evenbloom Hill. But before she can call out to this woman to ask a question she goes inside the tent.
“I say, are you a fairy?”
The rather posh sounding voice comes from just below her. Beets looks down, but all she sees is an unassuming bush right in the middle of the flower field.
And it’s looking right up at her.
“We’ll I’ve seen much flittin’stranger things than a talking bush recently,” she mutters to herself. Holding herself in a hover, she addresses the friendly shrub. “That’s right, and are you a bush?”
“I am, my good lady. But not just any bush, I am a jasper bush and so is my name!” Jasper responds, one branchy arm adjusting a monocle. “Forgive my assumption my dear but you seem to be looking for something. Perhaps I could help you?”
Beets can’t help but grin at the bush’s response. “Um well yes Jasper I am now you mention it! Seen any princes about?”
“Princes? Hmm, no cannot say I have, my dear. Are you in search of one to save? Or one to kiss perhaps?”
“Kiss?” Beets’ wings jittered. She just managed to catch herself from suddenly plummeting, flying now right in front of the well mannered bush. “Is that like… a custom or something? Or are you saying I look like a frog?” she quizzed, remembering one of gramps’ stories. The true cause of her sudden-drop leaving her red cheeked and tousled haired.
“Oh! My dear, you do not look like a frog. Anyone who has said so is just being mean, and you really shouldn’t listen to such people anyway,” Jasper says, his branches ruffling. “I was more wondering if you were on an important quest since you mentioned trying to find a prince.”
“Well, not that I ever thought of him as one… Uh! Not saying he doesn’t look like one!! He’s very buggin’handsome!!!”
There is an awkward silence after that during which a gentle breeze ruffles their hair and foliage respectfully.
“His name’s Marto,” Beets winces out embarrassedly.
“Ah, young master Marto! Yes, I know him well. He helped rebuild BB’s house after the dragon attacks,” Jasper says, gesturing to the one and a half storey wooden home. “I saw him over by the Feythorn this morning. If he’s not in the village he must still be there.”
“Marto’s a master? How many flittin’titles does he have?!” Beets murmured to herself, giving Jasper a little practice airborne curtsy, before flitting her way towards the growing tree line.
It doesn’t take Beets long to find him. The sound of metal cutting through wood rings clear amongst the trees meaning she hears him before she sees him.
The light filters through the trees to cast the little clearing Marto is in into the perfect golden haven. He lifts his adamantine axe up and brings it down onto a large square of wood, cutting it precisely and perfectly in half. A pile as tall as the halfling is stacked neatly beside him, which Marto carefully adds the latest two new pieces to. Resting his axe down, he takes a handkerchief from a pocket in his trousers and wipes his brow.
Beets watches him from between the trees. With the light falling on his golden hair, picking out his chiselled yet humble frame he really did appear princely.
Reaching down, Marto picks up a waterskin, uncorks it and takes a deep drink, exhaling a sigh when he finally comes up for air. Turning to look at the pile of wood still to be cut, he mutters something under his breath Beets can’t quite hear, before picking up his axe again.
Beets flits forward from her watching spot, the dappled light overhead dancing off her jet black hair, the autumnal colours of her new coat and simple dress blending with the canopy overhead. As Marto moves to take position to begin his lumber work again, she gives a little cough.
“Hello Ma-… Urg your maj..Your Martogesty…”
“Beets,” Marto says, surprised. “Hey, how are- Wait. What did you just say?”
Beets does her best attempt at a curtsy with her short skirt, managing not to catch herself on the uneven forest floor. Being Lolli’s occasional dress model has given her some practice at it.
“I said it’s good to see you again your shortness- I-I mean, your Marto’ness-Ohhh-flit!” She sighs with a curse, eyes flicking back up towards the halfling.
Marto chuckles and shakes his head, muttering breath, “I told them not to call me that…” He looks at Beets and sighs, a mix of confusion and amusement to his smile. “Lemme guess, the people in the village called me a prince, didn’t they?”
“Yeah… I mean… Are you?” A bit more of Beets’ far less formal nature is flowing back with her words as she comes up from her curtsy.
“No, I’m not,” he says firmly but kindly.
Resting his axe down again, Marto leans on the handle stretching a little. “I get why they think it though — brother to a fey queen and all. But I don’t have any standing in the fey courts like Merla does. I’m not even a knight. I’m just a guy who knows how to use an axe.” He pats the wooden handle under his hand.
“Ugh thank flit!” The last of Beets’ formal manner dropping off instantly like change of clothes. “The last thing I need is worry about regal formalities,” she says with theatrical pompous air. “Though, I’ve kinda probably failed on all fronts there when I threw that boot at Shoelorian…” She watches Martos’s puzzled face in response to that. “Oooh, right, I haven’t told you about that party!” She adds with a guilty grin. “Whoops!”
“Anyway! That’s not what I came here to talk to you about!” She ploughs on blindly, walking up to the pile chopped logs. “Do you need some help with this first? Seems to be a real party being prepped over there!” Giving a nod back towards the village.
“Hold on, back up a second, Beets. Who in the realms is Shoelorian? Was this a fey you met at that masquerade-” Beets sees the moment the penny drops and Marto’s face drains of colour. “You mean Ulorian, the River King, don’t you.” It’s not a question.
Marto moves with precise and careful accuracy as he places his axe to the side. “Beets…” he starts, coming up to her, his expression deceptively neutral. “What did you do?”
“Well…” Beets holds a fixed grin as her eyes roll skyward, as she recalls the events of the party. “Might have thrown a boot at his head. But we rescuing Glade’s friend Leo — really nice girl — and besides, it’s buggin’nothing compared to what Pippa and the others did to him!”
If a halfling could look more sick than he already does, that is Marto as he listens to Beets’ flippant tale. “What did the others do? And what possessed you to throw a shoe at an Archfey?”
“WELL…” Beets continues, not immediately noticing Marto’s rapidly paling complexion. “They kinda… glued his mouth shut. I… I had a really bad time at that party.” Her expression downcast as she looks away almost ashamedly. “I wasn’t myself.”
There is no response from Marto, just a silence that stretches out a little too long. A whirlwind of emotions plays across his face until Beets glances back at him at which point he has turned away. One hand on his hip, the other caught in his hair, Marto is muttering to himself under his breath, the sounds unmistakably distressed.
Then he stops. “When you say you weren’t yourself were you charmed? Did someone make you do it?”
“Um… More… that I let myself be ashamed of who I was. Who I am.” She bites her lip, realising the tension in the air now.
There is a heavy sigh from the halfling. Then more muttering. Finally Marto turns back to her.
“Do you ever think before you act, Beets? Do you ever consider the consequences of your choices? That what you do affects those around you?” He shakes his head, eyes locked on hers. “I know the world can be a mean place, that you were bullied by the fey in your village. But I also thought you were smart enough to know when to stop before taking things too far.” He opens his arms wide as if encompassing the whole world. “There are a lot of really powerful people out there and if you go around pissing them off then I-” His arms drop to his sides. “-I can’t help you.” Marto says it so softly, so gently, it’s like a knife to her heart.
Beets gives a small yet audible wince at his words. Her beetle feet make very soft sounds on the odd scattering of early fallen leaves that pattern the undergrowth as she turns away from him, her arms nervously reflexing to embrace each other. “You’re really not gonna like what I’ve got to tell you now then,” she says, her voice small and sad.
It was already going badly and I hadn’t even gotten to the actual reason for my visit, she thought.
After a beat she hears, “What is it?”
“Bogar came back. He came to talk to me.” When Marto doesn’t respond she continues. “He actually came back a couple weeks ago. But then he buggered off for a bit. ’Till the other night, he told me to go to the mountains to get some answers. About him. About. Me.”
The wind rustles the leaves in the trees a bit as Beets contemplates how to get her words out. The halfling keeps his silence, waiting for her to get to the part he supposedly won’t like.
“I went with Lolli and Derth and an old wizard named Archie. We travelled to the Sunset Spines. Ended up in the desert. Worked our way through a really flittin’annoying temple.” Her voice picks up at that before dipping again. “We met a s-sphinx. He said- he said he knew my momma. And… Owh… There’s so buggin’much.”
Marto lets out a sigh. “Why don’t you sit down, Beets. Tell me as much as you can, or as much as you want, and I’ll listen until you stop talking.”
Beets turns with big sad eyes lost deep in thought, but nods and slowly lowers herself to the ground, her dark armour-like beetle legs sticking out in contrast from her soft bright colourful dress. Marto sits down on the stump he had been chopping the wood on, resting his elbows on his knees and threading his hands together.
“I’m cursed Marto. Or at least… I-my mother was. She was an adventurer. She went into a temple. Somehow got cursed. A big, horrible… plague curse. One that would attract insects.” She reflexively moves her hand away resting on her lap from her leg as the light glints off the carapace. “She tried to get rid of it, but by the time she did, it was too late. The curse was part of her. She…” Beets takes a shuddering, steadying breath. “She died. And left behind three things. Baby me. Bogar… and something else. Zitharis, the sphinx, said that Bogar and me, we’re part of the same being. If one of us dies… So does the other. But- I learnt my Momma’s name… Malsira Sunwater. Dert says it’s a halfling name. So, that’s nice at least. Right?” Beets looks up, her emerald eyes shimmering behind walls of tears, a clenched toothed smile on her face as she looks up at her friend.
“Do you know who cursed your Ma? Or where you could go to find out who did?” he asks softly.
Beets shook her head. “I don’t think he knew. Bogar might, but he’s not spoke to me again since.”
Marto studies her face for a moment before nodding. Then, “What is the ‘something else’ your Ma left behind when she passed?”
“Both Zitharis and Bogar- They said ‘It’s complex’. But I think,” she takes a moment to wipe a stray tear from her eye. “I think it’s what tried to attack you.”
He frowns. “You mean that time after we come back from Sigil? I thought that was Bogar.”
“That jerk was Bogar! Least I think so. I mean the first time. When you came to my room, to check up on me.” Her long ears redden slightly.
“But not the most recent time when we were outside the Fort?” he asks, seemingly not noticing her reddened ears.
“No… But- Owh why does it have to be so flittin’complicated!?” She cries, thumping her clenched fists into the earth around her.
Marto sits back at the sudden outburst, hands raised up as if in warding. Slowly, they lower back down as the halfling looks over his friend. “Perhaps it’s not as complicated as you think it is. Perhaps you’re thinkin’ yourself in circles…” She looks up at him and he shrugs, looking away with a slight flush to his cheeks. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
He seems to focus on something in the trees but rather than seeing Marto is thinking. “If you don’t know who cursed your Ma but you know the nature of the curse perhaps the next step is finding someone proficient in the arcane. It may be a fey curse, or it may be some other kind. But my suggestion would be to start with asking a fey.” He looks down at her. “Though that bridge may be a treacherous one,” he adds with a meaningful look.
“I really don’t understand buggin’magic or fey politics,” She admits with an accepting sheepish sigh.
“Really? I had no idea,” Marto says in a slightly exasperated teasing tone. Then he laughs, continuing in a gentler way, “Even I don’t fully grasp everything though, so you’re not alone. But, Beets, it’s up to you how much you let your ignorance dictate your actions. You’re not a child. You can learn and grow.”
Marto’s advice echoes the parting words of the sphinx in her mind. “If you want your peers to take you more seriously, you should reconsider your use of language.”
“Marto. The way I talk. Does it bug yo-…Does it bother you?”
He notices the conscious change in word choice and begins to wonder if there’s a hidden question behind the one Beets is asking.
“No, it doesn’t,” Marto says, but he is frowning slightly. There’s always been something though, hasn’t there? A worry about how reckless she is, blind to things that seem fairly obvious, even to him. Perhaps it’s the difference in their upbringing? No, even that’s not right. His mind races, trying to find the right words but he soon realises no matter how he says it, his words are going to be hard for her to hear.
“It’s not your word choices that bother me. How you say ‘buggin’ this or ‘flittin’ that — I think it’s cute. It’s you. Even Lolli says, ‘Oh my gumdrop,’ and it somehow encompasess who she is whilst expressing her feelings. What bothers me…” Her verdant eyes shine with tears and Marto suddenly finds he wants to turn away. But he holds firm.
“What bothers me is how you don’t seem to think. Earlier you tried to play off pranking an Archfey as amusing banter but, Beets, my sister fought the River King in an honour duel and one of her closest friends died. He fucking died. Sure, he was brought back but he was at least fighting for something. He had a purpose, a reason to go up against King Ulorian. But you- You thought taking out your frustrations on an Archfey was a good idea because of how you allowed others to make you feel. I just-” He stands up. “I don’t get it! Why do you even care about what people like that think of you when you have people like Lolli, Kavel, Derthaad, Gerhard, and me who love and support you? Who are you trying to impress? What are you trying to prove?”
“I- I didn’t mean- I’m not trying to…” Beets’ voice cracks with emotion as the words dissolve in her mouth. And then, like the shattering feeling in her chest all those months ago, it all comes out. All her thoughts, worries and emotions. All of it bursts out of her.
“Because I’m scared, okay?!” she yells, flitting up into the air, moving as she speaks, tears spilling from her eyes like the words from her mouth. “No- Petrified! Out of my mind with worry! That on any day, at any time, someone will see me! Someone will point at me! Someone will yell at me saying, ‘Hey look! There’s a big horrible monster! Let’s kill it!’
“I’m a monster Marto, and there’s no good trying to deny it! I’M A FUCKING MONSTER! I chopped off a guy’s head with my monster fucking mandibles and drank his fucking blood, from his fucking neck! That could’ve been you! That could’ve been Lolli! That could have been any one of our friends!
“You think I don’t have a reason? You think I don’t think about what I do? I fought a whole fucking swarm of murderous beetles that attacked my village. A village of people that hated me and shunned me all my life just cause I didn’t look ‘normal’ in their eyes! I saved them, Marto! I saved a whole heck of a lot of those judgemental bastards! And what did they do in return? They chased me! Chased out of my home, waving knives and pitchforks and cries of locking me up, of killing me outright on their tongues! And the one person I wanted to save. The one person I actually had reason to care about, and who actually cared about me- He died!
“MY PA DIED MARTO! And soon after- Gramps left me too! The two people who had actually loved me, cared about me, treated me freaking normally for most of my life! GONE!
“And now I get confirmation from a freakin’ Sph- Sph- FREAKIN BIRD LION DRAGON THING! That it was all MY FAULT! That I’m the reason why Pa died! That I’m the reason Gramps left me! That I’m the reason I can never meet my mother. That I could easily slaughter each and everyone one of my friends, just by being around them.
“So you ask why I act the way I do Marto? You ask who I’m trying to impress. No one. I’m just trying to survive. Trying to desperately hold together the few good things that somehow I’ve actually been fortunate enough to stumble across. Things. People. Who make me feel normal. But not normal Marto! I’m not normal! And I never will be!”
Beets turns, and drops back to the ground with a slam that causes a few of the chopped logs to roll off Marto’s tidy wood pile, and even a fresh flurry of leaves to fall from the fall canopy overhead.
The sounds of the forest slowly filter back into the little clearing, accompanying the soft sniffles of the fairy after her outburst. It had been building for years and finally the pressure pot couldn’t contain it anymore. In a way, it was good. But everything she said worried Marto even more because at the end of it all-
“You’re not surviving though, Beets. You’re letting your fear control you into giving up on yourself before you’ve even tried.” Marto shakes his head. It is clear his energy is spent from this conversation. He’s tired and there’s still so much more to do — more wood to chop, a bonfire to build, more crops to reap for and many other things to do in the village for the Highharvesttide celebrations. His hands lift up before falling back down to his side in a gesture that encompasses all of this and more. “If you truly have been thinkin’ about what you’ve done you’d try to fix it, or change it, or stop it. Not continue to make excuses that result in foolish and reckless choices.”
He goes over to the fallen wood and begins to put them into a wheelbarrow Beets had not seen hidden behind the large pile.
“When you’re ready to do something about your curse, come find me. Otherwise… I don’t have the emotional space to keep picking you up anymore.”
Marto’s last words feel like a punch to Beets’ gut. She is almost spent herself from her outpour of emotion. Some of the most most painful moments in her life finally aired to someone. Someone she thought would actually care. But Marto hadn’t even acknowledged what she was feeling. To her, it felt like he was treating her like a child. No wonder he didn’t…
“FINE THEN!” she snapped back, not turning from where she sat. “Some friend you are! Sorry I’m not like the pretty, well-mannered, problemless, all round just ‘perfect’ little fairies you’ve read about in those books of yours!”
Marto doesn’t stop, just keeps piling in more wood. He doesn’t even say anything to her outburst, which almost hurts Beets more than his sharp words to her.
When he’s put in as much wood as he can, Marto picks up the handles of the wheelbarrow and begins to push it down the little dirt path that will lead back to the village. He remains silent as he departs.
Beets waits, listening to the sound of the barrow as it grows fainter and fainter. And then it’s finally gone, leaving her alone in the silence of the woods.
“Happy birthday to me,” she says, oh so quietly.