applesaucedream | Between the Roots and Branches [Open to All]

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Don't worry, dreamers of Manhattan. There will be no humiliating episodes of sudden-onset-clumsiness tonight - at least, nothing more severe than what you might experience naturally. Your physical and mental faculties will be left perfectly intact. What a treat! And what luck, because if you do lose your footing, it's a long way down to the forest floor.

But hey, who wants to be on the boring old ground when there are so many wonderful treehouses to explore? There are dozens of them spread throughout the surrounding forest, connected by a series of bridges and catwalks (some, admittedly, a bit more stable than others). It's easy to forget - or fail to notice - that there really is no easy or conventional way down to the ground when you're surrounded by such splendor.

The houses' styles range from charming and rustic to modern and sleek, with many falling somewhere in between. There are viewing platforms for bird-watching or simply taking in the scenery (trees, mostly, though if you venture high enough, you'll be treated the sight of the forest canopy stretched across a valley far below). But the insides of the treehouses are comfortably furnished to varying degrees as well, so there's no need to immerse yourself in nature if you'd really rather not. Some are complete houses in their own right, with all the amenities of a Manhattan apartment and then some.

Go for a climb, or kick back and relax. The only enemies you'll find here are other dreamers... and, potentially, gravity.

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Far up in the trees, darting easily from bough to bough on cloven feet, is a thing with wicked horns and glowing eyes.

The great big trees are a bit like Brackenwood, but too small and too strange. The houses are curious things and curiouser still are their odd person-sized occupants. They're like nothing Bitey's ever seen. No fur. No horns. No claws.

Not that it matters. He doesn't care. He's just found the nearest misfortunate who's been left all on his own, and now it's time to have a little fun.

In a few blinks of a few eyes he's shot to the forest floor and back again, and begins pelting the creature with acorns.

Peter catches movement out of the corner of his eye, but by the time he turns to look at it the brown streak is gone, moved off downward somewhere he can't see so quickly that he doubts he ever even really saw it to begin with. He stands clinging to the tree trunk with both arms, his own breathing loud in his ears as he keeps scanning the forest for --

Something fast and too close and --

"Ow!" Peter flinches from the first acorn to strike. "Really? Fucking -- OW!"

Yeah, that's a lot more than one pebble. Swearing up a storm, Peter lifts an arm to ineffectually fend off the assault as he inches his way around the platform to hide behind the meager tree trunk. "FUCKING STOP, JESUS!"

Bitey sniggers. This is fun! The little beast is making loud shriek-y noises and waving its arms around and it's not even running.

He leaps neatly from his aiming point to the tree branches right above the thing's head, watching it with a wide, fangy grin. Then it unloads its entire stockpile of ammunition and watches the acorns cascade down in a great rattling wave.

Oh Jesus what is it?

Peter gapes at the thing perched above him, wide eyes taking in the weird goat legs, the darkly furred face, the horns, the entirely too many teeth. He's half expecting it to leap down and -- what, bite him? -- and when it merely drops a crapton of acorns on his head it would be a relief if it didn't hurt so much...and threaten to shake his grip on the tree.

"FUCK YOU!" he squawks, ducking his head, shutting his eyes, and wrapping both arms tight around the trunk as acorns bounce painfully off his head and shoulders.

He drops onto the rattley little platform next to it and watches it struggle and toss and shriek, one hand on the trunk in case he needs to make a speedy exit into the branches.

It is a noisy talky thing, isn't it?

Little glowing eyes watch it in suspicious curiosity, ready to flee should it make any hostile movements.

Well, he's not shrieking now. As a matter of fact, once he hears those hooves clatter on the platform and looks up to see it right next to him, Peter goes very, very still and very, very quiet. He stares back at it, hardly even daring to breathe. Up close it isn't any more recognizable than it was at a distance, its face apparently just a mass of hair with glowing eyes topped by two horns. He gets the impression it's some kind of satyr, but he's not about to look down to confirm what he thinks he saw.

Slowly, very slowly, he leans away from it, never letting go of the tree.

He's spooked it. It's scared of him. Bitey's in the habit of skittering at the first sign of being fought back at, but it's all still and edging away from him, wide-eyed terrified.

He makes some jolty movements, as if he's about to run and dart any minute. Seeing how it'll twitch. Seeing if it'll bolt.

Peter does twitch in sympathy with each of the too-sharp movements, instincts telling him to bolt but human (and let's face it, tipsy) limitations preventing him. The only escape is that board ladder, and he knows that even if he can make it down without falling, he can't move as fast as this thing, can't stop it shoving him off the platform while he's trying to find handholds and footholds.

He bares his teeth at it like a cornered rat. "Fuck you!" he snaps, panic lacing his voice. He's pretty sure it's going to kill him and there isn't anything he can do about it. He stamps a foot on the boards, then preemptively flinches away from the attack he's sure it will incite.

The explosive voice just sends him rocketing, shooting upward and sending branches, twigs, leaves, and bark raining down. It's too much like a roar. Bitey knows what creatures do when they're roaring and angry. They try to catch him and chase him.

But he can't resist kicking a nice, thick branch free from its trunk to send it crashing down after.

Holy shit look at that thing move --

He doesn't know if it's coming back, but he's not going to pass up his chance to get out of here. Peter shuffles as quickly as he can toward the board ladder only to be clocked on the shoulder by a falling branch. "Fucker!" he spits, looking up -- but it's not coming back down, not that he can see, and he makes his decision and starts the perilous climb down toward the rope bridge.

He's not risking more roars or the chance that it's stronger than it looks, but he's had his fun anyway. Off Bitey goes careening over the treetops in his great big bounds, sailing off to the sounds of wicked laughter.

Between the Roots and Branches [Open to All]

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