summer love — vf ambassador

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  • The month since he'd last visited had flown by fast — so fast that he'd hardly even realized that it had been so long. Autopilot had been too busy to care recently, between all the injuries, joiners, battles, religious discoveries, and general chaos that seemed to accompany life in the Flights. Either way, he knows he has to keep up with his ambassadorial duties between it all, so the wiry feline readied himself for the short journey. ...That all said, he'd just given the Solaris healers some jungle herbs at the recent medic alliance gathering, which left Autopilot at a loss as to what he ought to include as a gift. Scrounging up more books from the ruins seemed like a cop-out, and the discovery of the shrine was still too new for him to steal any pillows to give away without anyone taking notice. He'd even considered just throwing in some of his own personal favorite items, but he wasn't sure that the Solarians would appreciate having random pebbles, coins, buttons, and prey-bones in the same way he treasured them. So the tom was stumped — that was, of course, until he'd remembered his new job as a Guardian Dove. In the end, Autopilot made a special trip to the aviary to pick up some eggs of varying sizes, shapes, and colors. He'd thanked the mother birds for their kind donations, set up some soft bedding, added a few arrows as for good measure, and then set off, sure to hold the basket with extra care than usual.


    He always forgets how hot the desert is. It's harsh and all-consuming, threatening to pull the moisture from his tongue with each breath, for the taste in the air is coarse and rough and dry and so utterly unlike the jungle. Autopilot doesn't realize how accustomed to the Flights he is until he arrives here and feels so sickeningly out of his element, so exposed and vulnerable in the vast stretch of wasteland sands. At least it renders the border near-impossible to miss; rolling fields of bountiful fauna fade into sun-baked soil and he sets his basket down gingerly, bracing himself against the late-spring gusts of air as his gaze scans the horizon. Autopilot shifts, uncomfortable, and then comes to seat himself with hesitance. He's more familiar with the desert-dwellers than he was the last time he set paw in this land, and still he hopes that the Kingdom will arrive swiftly, if only so that his eggs won't boil in their shells beneath the unforgiving sun.

    running up that hill

    The post was edited 1 time, last by autopilot ().

  • ✧ // PEOPLE NEVER FADE

    Helier had a rather positive opinion on ambassadors, thus far -- I mean, to be fair, his first encounter with them had reassured the serval of his brother's safety, and it looks this one had brought .. eggs. What sort of eggs, Helier couldn't be sure. Regardless, eggs were very cool indeed, and also, the idea of groups bringing things to contribute and talk to each other was cool, wasn't it?

    "Hello," Helier chirrs as he trots over, smiling charmingly at the other. He can't recognize the scent of the group quite yet -- Helier did, at least, know of what groups there were in theory. Just .. couldn't recognize who this was, but was happy to welcome them generically until he got more information. "Thanks for visiting -- is the basket for us?" Ah, professionalism. Just as sickening to act as as childishness. Helier knew no peace, he didn't even know what he was doing. And why this person had brought eggs, for that matter. Oh dear.

    I THINK I FOUND MY PLACE

    IN THE STARS

  • ☾☾☾」― elowen had recently arrived and now autopilot once again. thankfully, he could pick up the slack in the areas where helier was in the dark apart when it came to alliances. he had encountered autopilot before and they were alright in his book. "hello autopilot, nice to see you again," meowed jaymoon softly as he came to stand besides the serval. he looked at the basket -- arrows and eggs catching his attention. he was excited to nab the arrows, but was in the dark as to what the eggs were for. he wanted to ask if they were a meal but considering volary's theme it might have been insensitive for him to ask such a question.


  • Autopilot watches the serval trot over, a far-off dot on the horizon that grows larger and larger like a star shooting across arid sands until suddenly the Solarian is standing directly before him. The ivory-furred feline instinctively rises to his paws to offer the other a dip of his head. There's still a disquiet that lingers just beneath his skin, an ever-present sense of danger that accompanies the sight of an unfamiliar figure no matter how friendly Helier's greeting. He hesitates until he spots Jaymoon, the one desert-dweller he's encountered a couple times now, and Autopilot allows himself to relax slightly. "Hello," he returns the first address, politely reserved and yet less stiff as his gaze flickers back to the white feline, recognition a relieved glitter in his moon-yellow eyes, "Oh, good to see you too, Jaymoon."


    The former has mentioned his accompanying gifts, and with the words Autopilot glances down at it. "Yeah. I brought some eggs." For a split second after he appears almost half-pained, realizing that his statement should already be obvious — the Solarians aren't blind as far as he can tell, of course he has eggs — but he gives a little shake of his head and expression clears once more as he nudges the basket their away. "We usually keep ours and raise them as companions, but, uh..." he gives a shrug, as if to imply that they're free to do as they please with them. The Flights have no quarrel with eating respectfully-harvested eggs such as these, and besides — what is he, the egg police? He'll understand if no one here is particularly interested in having the responsibility of raising a bird thrust upon them (Autopilot himself isn't even ready for that, and he's belonged to the Flights for nearly two months) and instead just wish to make a nice meal of them. The tom gives a flick of an ear, unsure of what else to say. It's not as if the Flights and Solaris rarely see one another — the super alliance has ensured that the clans have stayed in close contact recently. Delivering gifts is little more than an occasional formality to reinforce those bonds; it's just that Autopilot isn't exactly the most adept diplomat for the job. "I, erm, trust the Kingdom is well?" the Guardian Dove asks hopefully with a shuffle of his paws.

  • ☾☾☾」― autopilot's brief comment about the eggs sounded slightly like they were more made for a meal rather than a sharing of their culture, which the feline could also understand. he didn't expect anybody outside of volary flights to be as interested in raising the creatures, but he still couldn't take his mind out off of the subject.


    "y-yeah... nothing much happened yet. i guess it's a bit of a good thing," he spoke nervously, eyes briefly looking down at his own paws before looking up to the basket of eggs. "s-so are those eggs... you know... able to hatch...? i-if someone tries...?"