( that's the thing, about peter nureyev. you never seen him until it's too late, and by the time he makes his presence known, he's gone too fast for you to fully comprehend who -- or what -- he is. a flash of starlight black in the trees, plucking the crimson soldiers off one by one by one. it's not an effective war tactic, really, but he's not actively trying to fight them. he has no interest in war or fighting. the black shadow of the trees makes his way further to the city, instead, stealing lives for where their numbers are more sparse, and where peter can just

disappear, as it is.

at the edge of the forest, he finally settles on two feet, hands buried deep in the pockets of a well fitted jacket, a black bird on his shoulder cooing peacefully. he walks in opposition to all the people going off to war, equally contrary to all the wounded being shuffled off back into the city, people bleeding or screaming. peter just walks, sliding in between the clusters of people interrupting his flow. )

( he's not suited for war, he fully accepts this. in place of battle armor or finely blacksmithed weapons, peter has a tailored dress following the soft points of his body, and a single knife he swings around his hand, graceful and thoughtless, while he thinks quietly and so himself. he's only just arrived to the temple, but the peaceful charm is quick to run dry on him. he pokes his fingers around eventually, bored with all the disabled tech, but pleased enough to find the chronological cartographer still lit up with energy.

it doesn't take long to find his name, peter nureyev, sitting towards the bottom of the list. ( it takes equally as long for him to see juno steel on there, somewhere. )

that'll be a problem. potentially.

feel free to find him tapping around the screen, somewhat obviously trying to find someway to edit and change the contents of this hard drive -- although for what purpose, it's difficult to say. )

( more leisurely in the temple now, peter is seated on some console, the magpie daemon JUNOD cuddled sweetly in the palm of his hand. elegant fingers stroke over the back of its head, lightly patting its soft feathers. unbeknownst to him, the daemon starts documenting his words. )

You know, I do think a single magpie is meant to represent sorrow. You know, the old rhyme? How does it go ... ( he chuckles. ) Two for joy. Three for girl and four for boy. Five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told.

( unconsciously, he becomes aware of how much he has in common with magpies, although it takes number seven to really sell him on it. he sighs. )

Eight for a wish, nine for a kiss, and ten for a bird whom you must not miss.

★
DAEMON: JUNOD

You know, I do think a single magpie is meant to represent sorrow. You know, the old rhyme? How does it go ... Two for joy. Three for girl and four for boy. Five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told.

Eight for a wish, nine for a kiss, and ten for a bird whom you must not miss.