#if you can get Slane to smile like this you must be some kind of god

[whitecrownsblackthrones-archived]

Who Made Me A Princess updated again & OH MAN.

[feywildrp]

The scene between Marigold and Slane, with @andmarigolds

There was an anticipatory thrum throughout Slane's body as he wiped down the counter of Maynooth. He entertained visions from his imagination as he considered how the egg hunt must be going. Soon enough, he thought. Soon enough, perhaps a fey would come through the doors of his establishment, a new age sort of store with a variety of wares. Soon enough, there would be true contact. A lure. A bridge. Closer than he'd gotten sending stakeouts to the slot machines. Someone who would talk to him—because he had something to say.

The part of Marigold that was fiercely competitive had driven her to a manic sort of need to find out what the clues in these eggs meant. Her typical uncertainty replaced by fervor to win, to find this information before anyone else did, had her moving without thinking as she sought out the building. She'd heard of Clann Nuadha, of course—what fey hadn't, even a demifey?—but what they were doing, and why they were scattering clues about for fey to find, was a new development. She'd been the one to find the invitation, and who's to say they didn't plan it that way? Whoever they were, they were reaching out—and she, of all the fey, was here to speak with them.

She didn't recognize the man standing behind the counter of the shop—despite his generally unremarkable appearance, he had a hungry look in his eye that she thought she recognized. The shop itself was the kind she'd never frequent normally, so it wasn't surprising that she'd never noticed it before on her trips through midtown.  Witch things—not really her style. With a confidence she didn't fully feel, Mari approached the man at the table and placed the slips of paper that served as her clues on the counter.

Slane didn't pay the new customer too much mind at first; a very pretty young woman entered, but this was New York, and it had many pretty women in it, and many of them fancied themselves connoisseurs of the occult, so there wasn't too much to raise a brow at. That is, until she beelined straight for the counter and put the slip of paper from the final egg in front of him, forgoing all of the shelves filled with tarot cards and candles and the like.  "An bhfuil tú ar cheann acu?" he asked in modern Irish, not yet wanting to get his hopes up. After all, a human could have found it... and then he would have a very different conversation. Slane was indeed somewhat unremarkable, save for the strange, lightweight gauntlet he wore on his right hand—but it could almost be mistaken for an occult fad, something one might see at Hot Topic if one didn't know what one might be looking at.

Translation: Are you one of them?

It was irritating, standing in a room of kitschy occultware and staring at a middle-aged man speaking to her in a tongue that seemed foreign against his lips, and sacrilegious in this place. He had no idea who she was--and she refused to acknowledge that what she felt was disappointment. She would show him what she was, then. Marigold smiled broadly, pulling every drop of Seelie blood she contained into this moment, and glamoured her eyes into a sparkling violet shifting with black, sharpening her canines just a little for dramatic effect, and answered in the same tongue, "Yes."

There were a lot of emotions that seemed to filter across the young woman's face, none of which he could readily place. His heart skipped a small beat when he saw her eyes shift to violet and back again, accented by the addition of fangs. And yet, this wasn't his first fey interaction. The calls numbered few, but they were more than this. "D'fhéadfaí é sin a dhéanamh le cosmaidí," he replied, not wanting to be taken for a fool, and not willing to speak English and show her any disrespect if she were the authentic thing. "D'fhoghlaim mé níos mó a iarraidh. Ar mhaith leat urram a thabhairt domsa?"

Translation: That could be done with cosmetics... I have learned to ask for more. Would you please honor me?

At least he respected her enough to say please. Marigold's smile did not falter--she learned forward onto the counter, her weight on its polished surface, marring it with fingers that became toes as she shifted form and sat on his counter, primly fluffed, violet eyes again but on the face of a Maine Coon.

Slane's eyes went a bit wide at that point; that was, indeed, of all the callings, the only time he'd seen a shapeshift—or what he thought perhaps might be one. He stepped out briefly from behind the counter to see if she was hiding below his vision or had played one or some such other trick on him, but that didn't seem to be the case. Tentatively, he reached out his hand and very gently petted the cat—he almost didn't dare, but he had to be sure—but first, he said, "Maith liomsa," very softly, and then withdrew his hand quickly so as to not overstep. It seemed proof enough. "Tá mé Slane, ceannaire na Clann Nuadha. Cé a bhfuil an-áthas orm labhairt leis?"

Translation: Forgive me. I am Slane, leader of Clann Nuadha. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?

She suppressed the urge to bite him when he reached toward her, mollified slightly by his reverence. As soon as he'd confirmed the reality of his sight, she stepped back and shifted again, keeping the canines but relaxing her stance. Clann Nuadha—confirmation. Marigold answered, in English, tired of hearing his tongue form the words of her people: "I am Marigold, daughter of the king. Why did you call me here?"

As soon as she had shifted back into a woman, Slane quickly and quietly went to put the Closed sign on their door and locking it before returning to the counter with the fey. Not to lock her in, of course—it was locked from the inside—but to prohibit any unwanted intrusions. His heart was beating fast despite his composure; it threatened to nearly give out when she said who she was. "A direct daughter of Nuadha?" he said, his voice cracking somewhere in between in disbelief and he inclined his body in something close to a bow. In all of his many years, he'd never been so close to—all of it. What luck. His best laid plans were coming to life. "Princess Marigold, if you would allow me to serve you, I have some information you might find valuable regarding what I heard was an unfortunate passing of one of your kin a few months back. I was hoping we could open up the lines of communication between our people."

She could feel, growing inside her, an echo of the expression on his face. Yearning, a deep desire that gnawed at your insides, like an addiction to a drug you'd never tasted. Princess. It was a title she'd only heard inside her mind before, imagined and never real, and it sounded perfect even in a voice that didn't deserve to speak her name. It didn't matter what he thought Nuadha meant, or what he thought her role was—he hadn't asked her court, his eyes skipped over her ring without noticing its pattern—he just revered her, and that was all she needed. "We would appreciate hearing what you have to tell us."

She would appreciate it! The fey could appreciate it! This could really open things up for the Clann and a small warmth swelled in his chest that tasted like pride. The smile on his face widened, and then fell slightly, because he realized his unintended hand in what had occurred. "Your highness, please forgive me; I had no idea what the sale would lead to, you understand, and we've banned the user from purchasing from us ever since." With a heavy heart and an equally heavy pause, Slane forced himself to continue, knowing he earned the scrutiny. "Maynooth has a dark web presence for some of our more elusive materials. Some such of these... are coffin nails. They are a rarity that some patrons require for protection charms and hexes, you see—not uncommon to request, but hard to come by in authenticity. That being said, we were out of stock for a time, and when they came back into stock, one user bought the whole bulk of them. I can provide you with the IP address, but it's almost certainly a redirect. The username was Vorondil161, in case that is a lead that might be useful to you."

The hairs on the back of her neck raised on instinct—this information was real, or at least relevant. She hadn’t expected that. And it sounded like a solid lead. Mari hadn’t been privy to the information in the investigation thus far, but this—this was her chance to prove herself. “Thank you, Slane,” she answered, her smile soft and warm, inviting, nearly glowing. Her canines remained sharp but her eyes were soft. “We recognize your service to the Nuadha. I will share your information with the king.”

Slane beamed at her, genuine reverence in his eyes, feeling like a dog that had been told he was a good boy, after waiting his whole life to hear that affirmation. "You are most welcome, your highness. It is my honor and my duty to be of service to you and your kin. We will continue to fight for you and serve you so that you may rule this world as well as your own." He stepped out again from behind the counter, this time to re-open the front door so she might be free to leave. "Please... don't be a stranger," he said in a cordial tone, but there was definitely the slightest hint of desperation to it—the feeling of how hard it is to let go of what you so much want to cling to, but know better than to do so. "Actually—if you would let me honor you before you go—I think I have a small gift, I'd been working on it." Before she could answer either way, he went to retrieve it, so she could see and decide for herself.

As tempted as she was to stay and bask in his glowing worship, Marigold knew when to exit gracefully and leave the best impression. Even though he was clearly unlocking the door to allow her to leave, she did not move yet, eyes cast about the shop to gather as much information as she could to bring back to the Seelie. If his information about Eurya's death was correct, it was possible some of these trinkets were closer to fey magics than she had originally suspected. Marigold would have been pleased to receive any sort of gift from the man—Slane—as it was only expected for someone of her stature. She supposed she was lucky he was offering something tangible, and not an offering of the more ritualistic sense. His understanding of fey culture seemed primitive at best. 

Still, the light caught on the stones of the tiara he held out to her, sparkling and glittering like a dream she'd had long ago. He called her Princess and offered her a crown. If the death of one of her kind did not weigh heavily on her mind, she would likely have suspected this moment not to be real, but a grand hallucination from her childhood. The tiara was more than a little opulent, to be sure, but it had an energy to it that called to her. He knew her importance; even if he had not known it would be her answering his call, he knew to whom he spoke. Marigold managed to keep her composure while accepting the gift: a calm, demure, lilting, "It is pleasing—we will accept it. Your dedication to the Nuadha sets an example for all your kind." Mari took the tiara with careful fingers, maintaining her lofty air of a true Seelie princess. "We will be in touch, Slane." A sharp smile, incline of her head that implied a nod, and Marigold turned to exit the shop, mind buzzing.