Curate, connect, and discover
"Listen fast," says Ling to the still dazed minotaur, "The kids are alive, there's one witch coming, and the second's getting the third. I've infily'ed their coven and ya're brainwashed. Play along."
Sheriff Honeycrisp has several questions. Unfortunately for him, Zingiber footsteps were slowly growing louder. He lies back into the junk pile, feigning unconsciousness.
"Water for the lady." Zingiber presents a chalice to Ling as if it contained wine or nectar.
"Thanks, mate." Ling chugs it immediately.
"Ready to see my work?" Zingiber sways with glee. "My latest I call Marrow Radiance."
"Can ya make him do stuff?" Ling puts the empty cup down.
"Oh," says Zingiber, deflating, "Like what?"
"I was just wondering if ya knew mind s***e."
"That's Gudrun's thing."
"So, she had him blame someone in town, then?"
Zingiber giggles, "Sort of. She let him just pick someone who'd fit."
"Really now." Ling resists the negative urges rising in the back of her mind. 'Think of the kids, Ling,' she thinks to herself.
"Sheriff, walk to the main room," Zingiber commands, "Any ideas, Dr.?"
Honeycrisp rises and stumbles his way out, quietly grumbling all the while.
As the ladies follow him, Ling asks, "I thought coven's shared magic. Are ya all studying extra things?"
"Yeah, the coven stuff is mostly utility: reshaping land, portals, material conversion."
"Sounds like your boss wants a construction crew," says Ling, carefully navigating the misshaped hall, "Any idea why?"
Zingiber shrugs. It wasn't going to be that easy.
"Can ya make the sheriff do cartwheels?"
"Yeah, but why?" asks Zingiber, "I can do soooo much worse."
"Gotta start small, mate," says Ling as they enter the main room again. "If ya do your big evil s***e now, how do ya top it?"
"Point taken," sings Zingiber, "Alright, moo-man, do s-"
"Zinj, I need to talk to ya," says Gudrun, standing by another door. She scowls at Ling. "In private." She looks to the sheriff. "Watch the doctor," she commands.
"Sure, what's up?" Zingiber dances across the room and follows her coven-mate into the darkness.
"Cartwheels, really?" angrily whispers Honeycrisp.
"Ya want her to pull your skeleton out your a**e?" whispers back Ling, "That one's a loon."
"All you b***hes are loons," says Honeycrisp, "Chaotic w***es the lot of you."
"Ya got a f**king problem, mate?"
"Yeah, c**ts like you!" shouts the sheriff.
"Of course, they do, b*****d," shouts back Ling, "They wouldn't hate ya if ya'd stop being a sack of s***e!"
"You diseased s**t!" Honeycrisp steps forward, his figure towering Ling. "Just here to bang the kidnappers."
"B****y f**kwit!" Ling stands as tall as can, glaring into his eyes. "Just mad ya've been saved by a woman; ya hate us so much."
"You barely count as a woman, p***y-sucking lizard."
"Says the cuckold farm animal!"
"What is this language?" asks Ioana, who had slipped into the room unseen.
"Wow," mutters the diminutive deputy behind her.
The shady little lady suddenly grew twice as large. Her outfit pulls apart as she returns to her natural size, exposing scaly limbs and belly. The dark cloak is barely a cape now. The gex licks her own eyes. "G'day, mate," she says, "This do?"
Dr. Ling puts her claw on the fake lycan, whose image fades away, leaving only a blonde gnome guardswoman behind.
"Sorry for wearing your daughter's face, Ma'am," says Tanglepork, "But we had to make sure the trail was safe."
"Why wouldn't it be?" Ioana squints her eyes.
"Chil-"
"Claims of a strange svelte man lurking out here," says Ling, "Leaving messages about."
"Oh, him," says Ioana, opening her door wide, thus allowing to see her fully. An elderly lycan, her fur is greying in numerous places. She is clad in a thick pastel floral-print nightgown. "Come in, dears."
They do.
The old cabin is decorated in many old furs, hunting trophies, and small bookcases. It is divided into three rooms a simple kitchen, a comfy bedroom, and the main room with a rocking chair and a stool by a fireplace.
The elderly lycan sits in the rocking chair as Ling closes the door behind her. "Come, sit," she says.
Tanglepork sits on the stool, while Ling manifests a bone chair.
"Now, what's this about that night creeper?" asks Ioana, "What has he done?"
"We're not certain yet," says Tanglepork, "But we suspect him of the kidnapping, or worse, of several children."
"Ya wouldn't have seen any kids of late, right?" asks Ling.
"No, only my little Loomy," says Ioana, rocking, "Last week exactly."
"How long has Note-boy been out here?" asks Ling.
"And what's he look like?" asks Tanglepork.
"Less than a week," says Ioana, "He's a tall elvenoid — twice an elf, in fact — in a fancy suit, like from the old cities, but his face: it's wrong." She rubs her paws on her face. "He looks like you- er, like whoever is looking at him."
Ling leans to the side and asks, "So ya've spoken to someone who's seen him too?"
Ioana face droops. "Y-yes, a few neighbors."
"Can you tell us where these neighbors live?" asks Tanglepork, "The woods are pre~tty~ big."
"Of course, I can, dears," says Ioana, eyeing them with a sigh, "But it's so lonely being so far out here. Could you stay a while longer?"
J: Mum, tell me you didn't. L: Does it really surprise ya...
The duo took a moment to admire the tranquil pond. The sun and clouds reflect clearly on the slow water.
"So, that's a 'no' on the silver?" asks Loomy to the pond.
"Doesn't matter," says Bacon, "We should keep on."
So they do.
"No idea what you're talking about," says Bacon, glancing about the forest, "What kind of forest is this anyway?"
"Uh, cedar, i think," says Loomy, looking about for what prompted that question, "What about it?"
"It's nice, isn't it?" asks Bacon, face still hidden, "Trees are nice; I need to spend more time with them My favorite is cherry. What's yours?"
A: I'm fond of the candelabra spurge. D: Palm trees are cool, too.
"I don't.. have one...?" says Loomy, "Who does? How old are you?"
"Are you really asking me that question?" Bacon's voice strains against an unwanted emotion.
The bugs chirping and birds calling echoed over the silent valley between them. It would be another half hour before either would speak again. There were no encounters, no odd sights, nor clues of any kind.
"How far away does this woman live?" asks Bacon, "We have to be close, right?"
"Yeah, right over this next hill," says Loomy, "Wish she lived closer."
As the two top the hill, Bacon sees the old cabin. And if the old woman who lives here doesn't know anything, then this, the only remaining straw to grasp, is a dead end.
J: Mum, we know this woman did something. L: But ya don't know exactly what yet.
Loomy knocks on the door and something inside shuffles, muffled within.
As the door creaks open, an elderly voice beyond calls out, "Is that you, dear Luminița?" An eye peeks through the slowly widening gap. "You look like Loomy," says the old wolf, "But you don't smell like Loomy."
"Your granddaughter couldn't make it this week," says not-Loomy, "I can explain if you let us in."
"Ya must be Ioana," says the mysterious person formerly known as Bacon, "Nice to meet ya."
"Who are you? Where is she?" asks Ioana, words sliding toward a growl "Take off that disguise."