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There's a stunning purple-skinned, red-static-haired woman sitting in a chair tipped on its two back legs, her booted feet up on the table in front of her. A glass of some exotic sprite cocktail sits beside said feet.

One could say she looks relaxed, except that it's hard to apply the word "relaxed" to anyone who's engaged in polishing the blade of a naked katana.

Sword aside, she's generally pretty friendly. Come say hello?

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"Yer gonna fall over ef yew kip yer chair tipped halfway over like thet," Wilbur says cheerily. "Jest sew yer aware, yew know."

Mouse has to run that warning through her head a second time in order to parse meaning out of the accent. Perhaps it serves her right: some people have the same problem with her accent.

"If I fall over, sugar, I know how t'roll back on t'my feet," she says.

"Awlright, then." Wilbur sits down in the chair opposite. "Dun't think I've met yew befer. Name's Wilbur Whateley. An' yew ur?"

The purple lady finishes polishing her katana, lifts her legs off the table and, though the chair falls back onto its front feet with a clunk when she does so, she smoothly transfers her feet to the floor. With one, she kicks up her katana scabbard, catches it in one hand, and sheathes her sword in it with the other. "Mouse," she says, with a grin that's friendly in spite of her too-long canine teeth.

He grins back. "Nice sword yew gawt thar."

A tentacles slithers out from under the hem of his coat. It brushes against the scabbard, then taps Mouse's knee.

"Kin I look?" Wilbur adds.

It's a good thing Mouse is more securely seated now, or she would have fallen over. As it is, she jumps in her seat. She's less perturbed by the tentacle (hey, this is Milliways, there are all kinds here) than the fact that she didn't notice it before it touched her.

"Whoa, fella. Don't surprise a gal like that. It's a good way ta lose a...well, somethin'," she admonishes him.

After all, she is carrying a very sharp object and knows how to use it.

Wilbur chuckles. "Wal said, wal said."

The tentacle wraps around the sword hilt, seemingly fascinated.

Mouse's hand moves quickly toward the hilt: at the last half-second, she manages to divert the urge to slap Wilbur's tentacle and instead puts the palm of her hand on the swords pommel, holding it firmly in the scabbard. (She doesn't know how strong Wilbur's tentacles are, but Mouse herself is surprisingly strong.)

"Now wait a nano," she says, a warning growl in her voice. "I don't let jest anyone handle m'katana."

She's also got a shorter wakizashi strapped to one boot: Wilbur could still lose 'something' if he gets too touchy-feely.

"Ain't you ever learned manners? Don't go touchin' people's stuff without permission. 'Specially weapons."

This statement is somewhat ironic, coming as it does from a recovering professional thief.

The tentacle unwraps gently. Another one pokes out. This one peels open, revealing teeth, then closes up again.

Wilbur smiles at her. "Thet's awlright, naw harm done.

"They react ter whatever I'm thinkin' about, sew dun't git tew annoyed with me."

Okay, that thing with the teeth was a little freaky.

Mouse thinks she should take Wilbur's explanation with a grain of salt, but she'll take it, for now. However, she scoots back from the table a bit, the better to see any sneaky tentacles before they reach her.

"That ain't exactly reassurin'," she says. If Wilbur's tentacles act on certain thoughts she can't guarantee that she won't lose her temper (and Wilbur, as a result, may lose the offending tentacle, along with other bits and pieces).

"I kin control them ef I really have ter--dun't wanna hurt no'un ef I git startled. Et jest takes a lawt o' energy."

Mouse nods warily. "Can ya tell if yer tentacles are...gettin' up t'antics? 'Cuz in that case it might be a good idea t'say somethin' about it th' first time they misbehave an' before folks get upset."

"I kin tell, ayuh. Thar part o' me, after awll.

"But I'm still nawt used ter bein' able tew tell people about them. An' I never know what ter say, an' . . ."

He seems very childlike for a moment.

"Et's jest hard."

Her time spent in Mainframe has given Mouse something of a soft spot. Spam it.

"Hey, sugar," she says gently, "Havin' tentacles or tusks or whatever ain't such a big deal 'round here, s'long as ya try not t'do any harm with 'em."

"Ayuh, but I'm nawt used ter thet. Although they certainly seem tew have embraced the concept."

Wilbur chuckles. "I'll tell yew why I gawt them ef yew'll tell my why yer purple."

Mouse shrugs. Being purple isn't a big deal to her, so she doesn't mind telling. "I'm a computer sprite, sugar. We come in more colors 'n' the usual human pinks, whites an' browns."

"Dunno about computers, but I think I git what yer sayin'." Wilbur sighs. "My Father es en Outer Gawd."

(OOC: Has Mouse heard anything about the Mythos yet?)

"Hm." Explaining computers to those who don't know about them is problematic, especially for sprites. How does a fish explain the water it lives in, after all? Fortunately, Mouse has done some historical research that helps. "Y'know a mechanical adding machine? A computer's kinda like that. 'Cept it uses microscopic circuitry, an' electricity an' magnetism t'transmit an' store information. A lot of information, like a whole library's worth. It can do some pretty incredible things. Folks like me actually live inside computers. We're kinda...well, just a byproduct of them doin' their thing.

"I gotta say, I don't know what'n Outer God is, sugar."

[OOC: Mouse may have encountered it in a Game somewhere, but would not have any extensive knowledge. By the way, if you would like to talk, message miss_yt on LJ talk.]

"Fascinatin'." Wilbur grins.

"The Outer Gawds ur Entities o' destruction an' madness thet live beyond the borders o' reality es people know et. Tew look upawn Them es tew gew insane, an' Thar voices are painful ter human ears. They ur nawt evil, but they dun't notice little thin's like enhabited worlds. They could destroy en entire universe an' never even notice.

"I am o' Thar blood, an' es such I have the potential tew become es they ur, en time."

Mouse gives this some consideration. "So how's the kid of some bein' that don't notice humans end up livin' with humans, anyway?"

"My gran'father was a mad sorcerer. He Called my Father an' my Father sent a bit o' Himself tew my mother.

"Dunno why Gran'father wanted a horrific alien entity fer a son-en-law, but he was nuts, sew . . ."

Mouse is just diplomatic enough not to remark on the misfortune of Wilbur's mother.

"So yer Grandad was crazy an' you hafta take the rap for it," Mouse concludes. "Ain't no justice."

"Nawt much, naw." He chuckles ruefully. "O' course, I was mostly raised by him, sew I didn't really realize thet he was crazy until I gawt here an' started ter notice thet most people aren't interested en causin' the Apocalypse an' such.

"Until then I was tryin' ter cause the end o' the world en hope thet et would make Father an' Gran'father happy."

"Huh. Yer grandpa sounds like some computer viruses I've had th' misfortune a' knowing." Realizing that Wilbur may not understand what she means by 'computer viruses,' Mouse amends, "Computer viruses are kinda like sprites, except they're made to eat, destroy or try t'dominate everythin'."

"Ayuh." Wilbur sighs. "Et's a good thin' I'm Bound, en a way, ur I'd probably be tryin' still. Fifteen years o' bein' tol' thet yew job en life es ter destroy the world dun't jest gew away."

Yes, Wilbur is fifteen. He may be close to nine feet tall, with a thick beard, but he's fifteen.

"Yeah, it ain't easy. Hexadecimal made good, but she was kinda random, so it weren't easy fer her. Hex was...is...a virus, by the way. She got deleted back home, but she's still around here." It's a Milliways thing. "If a chaos virus c'n make herself one'a the good guys, I'm guessin' there's hope fer you too."

"Thank yew, Mouse." Wilbur smiles shyly.

"Hey, it's all right. We've all been on th'wrong side 'a th'line one time or 'nother."

"Most people dun't feel thet way, I'm afeerd. Tew salf-rightious."

"If I ever had any self-righteousness, darlin', it got shot off or somethin' a long time ago."

Wilbur chuckles. "Wal thet's good, I suppose."

Mouse nods. "Means I got a sense a'perspective. That ain't always as comfy as bein' smug, sugar, but I get a lot more use outta it."

"Ayuh."

He grins. "Be careful with thet. Tew much kin drive yew mad. Et's a cullosul universe out thar, after awll."

Wilbur, of course, has never been effected by that. He thinks differently from, well, just about everyone.

"Universe I live in is diff'rent from yers, sugar," Mouse points out. "'Course we got our own big bad uglies, an' when we go up against 'em it don't help t'think how bad our odds are." Like with the whole Daemon business.

"Thet's the same kind o' thin', I suppose. Perspective ain't good when yer outnumbered."

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