nexus_crossings | A Snowflake in the Desert

A Snowflake in the Desert

There’s a young man hanging around the Plaza with two owl-griffins perched on his shoulders. Paul Atreides isn’t particularly used to snow, but he doesn’t seem that bothered by it either, wearing a coat to keep out the cold and holding a small bag of meaty chunks. Occasionally he tosses one to the griffins, who eagerly snatch it.

He’s careful only to bring out animals who have tolerance for the winter - Paul himself can adjust to it, but it took him a little time and he is still learning things about the season. Not so much serious things, since this winter doesn’t seem to be so serious. He’s more interested in the ways people entertain themselves. Oh, he knows about snowball fights and Yule goats, but his hunger for knowledge is never easily satisfied.

Paul rubs one of his griffin friends under the chin and rewards it with a piece of meat, then turns to anyone who approaches him. “Tell me, what is your favorite thing to do during this time of the year?”

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"The same I do every other time of year. Sit in my trashcan and do nothing."

Oscar wasn't exactly exhibiting any Christmas spirit because he was a grouch. Sort of a Sesame Street version of the Grinch. Merry Trashmas, buddy.

"Uh, nice big---whatever those things are. They're not like any birds I've seen before."

Big Bird didn't look like that.

Paul gives a short shrug. It figures the season wasn’t for everyone. And if the stranger was comfortable in his trash can, Paul gets it.

He tosses a piece of meat to the other owl-griffin so it wouldn’t feel left out. Paul tries not to show favorites with his various animal companions, though the griffins are better in the cold weather than some others.

The griffin on Paul’s right shoulder scratches itself.

“They’re my friends. We live together, and they find food for me in the Wilds.”

Oscar didn't celebrate anything unless there was a day on the calendar that said "Trash Day" or something like that.

"I don't have many of those since I like to keep myself inside my trashcan."

That's a lie, Oscar. You have Nexus friends here now as well as back home on Sesame Street. Such a grouch you are.

"The Wilds? That the name of your street?"

"Make a small freighter-load of cookies, and then spend the rest of the Dawning Festival trying to find folks to eat them." Blaze is in her winter gear, which is to say her regular armor but with a knitted panda hat tugged carefully over her antennae. Either her crochet has improved or some kind soul has finally given her matching woollen covers for the antennae themselves. Maybe Ghost, who's sporting his own unicorn hat as he floats beside her, the stays tied neatly under his shell.

"Speaking of which, Happy Dawning to you!" Blaze nods to their human friend, putting her hands on her hips as she studies the birds. "And your friends too. What species are they?"

Paul is grateful that he met Blaze and Ghost - he is still somewhat wary of thinking-machines overall given his universe’s history, but those two are his friends, and it’s led him to question his prejudices. He gives a warm chuckle. It’s impossible to go wrong with cookies, something Paul knows himself. “You look good in the winter gear,” he says with a warm smile, and it’s true. The panda and unicorn hats are endearing. Paul himself isn’t dressed up outside of his coat.

“Happy Dawning to you as well,” Paul tells them, and one of the owl-griffins purrs. “Owl-griffins from a world I don’t know. I adopted them from a raptor named Princess. They’re trained to help me hunt in the Wilds and deliver messages. They like neck scratches, or you can feed them.”

"Gifts from an old friend of ours." Blaze reaches up to touch the woollen hat with a chuckle, though she sounds a little quieter for a moment. Ghost's light dims slightly, but he does a little twirl in his hat all the same, knitted ears flopping slightly.

"Blaze is working on a matching set for our team-mates."

His Guardian snorts and shakes her head at him, but the bird-critters have her attention. "Owl-griffins, huh? Sounds like something out of an old story book. You're, uh, sure they don't mind a stranger petting them?"

“That’s a very fine gift,” Paul says, admiring the handcrafting. It’s a skill that transcends worlds. “They must be a good friend. I don’t know much about your world, but I already know it’s very different from the Imperium where I was born.”

To begin with, Exos would have been strictly forbidden under post-Butlerian Jihad laws.

“They won’t mind. They can see that I trust you.” Paul offers Blaze the bag of meat bits. “If you want to win them over, this is a good way to do it. They’re friendly, but a little extra convincing always helps.”

"He was," Blaze says simply, making sure the knitwear is tugged securely down before she leans over to scoop up a few bits of meat, nodding at his comments. She and Ghost still have a lot to learn about his world in turn, but it sounds unfriendly even by the standards of a Guardian living on post-Collapse Earth.

"All right, then." It's not as though she has to worry about her fingers getting nipped. But she's always a bit hesitant interacting with small animals. And large animals, to be honest. Cautiously, she offers up one of the meaty chunks to the owl-griffin on his left shoulder, trying to mimic the way she glimpsed Paul doing it. "Here you go, little friend..."

Paul nods in understanding. "The knife I carry with me was a gift. Kind of." It's visible sheathed at his side, ready for use at a moment's notice if necessary. "Crysknives are special in the culture they come from - they're made from the teeth of Arrakis sandworms. There are rules dictating how they're to be given and used."

The owl-griffin makes a curious noise, then neatly takes the offered piece of meat from Blaze's hand. It gives a friendly churr in response, rubbing into her hand. "I think he likes you," says Paul. "You already met Python, but this isn't really the kind of weather that would be best for her. Go ahead, it'll be all right, give him a pat on the head."

Blaze has already glanced at the knife previously, noting its length and position at his side: now her gaze flits right back to it for a second.

"Those must be some teeth. How big do those worms get?" she asks, attention back on the owl-griffin she's feeding. Her eyes glow brighter when it deftly swipes the meat from her grasp, and she chuckles with surprise at the friendly head-bunting.

"You're a pretty friendly little guy, aren't you?" Urged on by Paul, she crooks her fingers and carefully pats the little bird-critter's head. The insides of her gauntlets are lined with mesh rather than plate: tough, but flexible and warm to the touch, gentler on delicate feathers than her touch might be otherwise.

Paul keeps his crysknife visible and at a position where he can easily grab it if need be, though he's never had to draw it here. The odd organic look makes it clear it's not a normal knife.

"Around 400 meters long, though there are rumors and reports of larger sandworms in the deep desert. They have many more teeth where that came from, though you can't take a tooth from a live sandworm for obvious reasons." He smiles as his owl-griffin accepts the piece of meat from Blaze.

"See? Nothing to be worried about. He's tame, and I told him you're a friend. Food goes a long way to help earn someone's trust. That goes for animals as much as people, if not more." Paul makes an imitation churring sound and rubs the underside of the owl-griffin's head. "I have a small menagerie where I live in the urban area."

"There's quite a long list, actually," Loki says. "I'm running behind. We won't have the Mari Lwyd ready until Twelfth Night at this rate."

"Who are your feathery friends?"

"Mari Lwd?" Paul perks up, excited. "I don't know that tradition, if you could tell me about it. I could see if I can help..."

In response to the question, Paul pats the bird on his left shoulder. "They're owl-griffins I adopted from Princess - a dinosaur who lives in the Wilds. She was offering them to people who would care for them. I'm still deciding on names."

"She's a Welsh tradition. It means 'Grey Mare'. They take the skull of a horse and create a sort of puppet with it, which they carry from house to house, singing and asking to be let in. The occupants of the house are meant to argue back that they can't come in, and it goes back and forth in a sort of contest. Generally the Mare wins, and comes inside for drinks and general wreaking havoc."

"You know how I feel about chaos. It's a tradition that's dear to my heart for a number of reasons."

"Hello, lovely," he coos softly to the griffin. "Best be careful with them around my home. I've got a whole colony of tressym in the eaves and the trees. I'm not sure who would win in a one-on-one fight but I'd rather not find out."

"I'm certainly on board," says Paul with a sly expression. "If you need assistance, I can help carry the puppet and have a good enough singing voice. And you and I are of one mind regarding chaos. A little harmless fun never hurt anybody, and I think it's something the children might enjoy as well." He likes the general concept, not to mention the troublemaking and drinks.

Besides, Paul will never pass up an opportunity to encourage mischief.

"That's a good idea," Paul replies. "I haven't met your tressym, but it keeps my hands full enough managing my own animals. They had to be told that my mouse is not prey, for example, though I keep the owl-griffins fed enough that it only had to be once."

"In the past couple years I've worked the puppet invisible from beneath the shroud. It does wonders for alarming people who try to peek. But you can certainly come along and sing with us, the children would love it."

He's quiet for a moment, then adds: "The Mari Lwyd is a creature of the season. She exists to remind the safe and comfortable and living about the outcast and vicious. They who seem corrupt have put on holiness. They who seem holy have put on corruption. A lot of Winter celebrations do that, turn the tables utterly on their heads."

"It used to be the custom, on Midgard, for humans of the lower classes to go caroling at the door of their noble betters and demand gifts. Fruit, drink, coins, whatever they could get. And the nobles hated it, but if you buck that kind of tradition once a year, eventually you get a full scale rebellion. Mari Lwyd is a reminder not to get too comfortable. And I am very comfortable with my life right now, which means I need her more than ever."

"In this kinda weather? Stay the hell home."

The answer comes from several feet above Paul's head. Jake is bundled up in winter clothing made to fit a Na'vi, a purchase he'd made several years ago in parts of the Nexus tailored for his size, which seems to be serving him well. Despite this, however, going back to wearing boots is weirdly uncomfortable just in principle, and he looks decidedly grouchy over having his ears pinned under a knit hat. His tail is left free, and lashes a little both out of irritation at the cold and trying to keep it warm.

"You and I have that in common. Not being used to cold weather." A polite nod in greeting, and an offered hand. "My name is Paul-Muad'Dib Atreides."

Paul has never encountered a person like this - he's more familiar with nonhuman aliens than he would be in his home universe, thanks to his repeated visits to the Nexus, but he can't help but be intrigued. "I live on a desert world, so this is a far cry from where I'm used to. Before that, my birth world was temperate, with vast seas and deep jungles." He guesses this person came from somewhere similar, hence their mutual discomfort in the winter climate.

"Jake Sully." He shakes the offered hand carefully, his gloved hands completely engulfing Paul's. "I live in a forest that's a hell of a lot warmer than here. Place called Pandora. I wasn't born there either."

He looks around at the snowy landscape, frowning a little. "Somethin' special about this time of year for you?"

“There are forests on the planet where I was born,” Paul says. “I’ve been in them. They could be dangerous, but when I was there most of the danger actually came from other people. Not to say there weren’t dangerous wildlife.”

He shakes his head. “Not to my culture, actually, either my birth culture or my adopted one. But I know it’s important to many others.”

"Plenty dangerous in my forest, plants and animals alike. 'specially if you don't know what you're doing," Jake adds, and laughs a little at his own private joke.

"So, what, you looking to pick up something new? Only thing I cared about in winter back on Earth was whether the sidewalks were clear enough I wasn't gonna get my wheels stuck going to the bar."

"That's true for my forests, too. On one visit I almost got poisoned, and on another I was almost killed by territorial snake-creatures. Both times I would have died without outside help."

Paul tilts his head. "Where I come from, humans left Earth long ago, and it's a wild planet now. It's still on our charts and its location is known, but very few go there. I've never been, even to visit. My homeworld is called Caladan."

"I got chased by a palulukan my first day in the jungle," Jake shares with a fanged grin. "I got away from that on my own, but I got stupidly lost. If it wasn't for Neytiri pulling my ass out of the fire, I would've lost my avatar that same night."

The thought of Earth being wild and abandoned is unfathomable to Jake, and he blinks those big golden eyes, peering down at Paul. "Wha -really? You all must've gotten offworld earlier than we did. Even if there was somewhere else to go, evacuating the planet would take more resources than they've got."

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A Snowflake in the Desert

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