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Gaeta accidentally acquired a new pet last night.

Granted, he's not really thinking of the bird as a pet yet. Tame as it seems, he has the feeling it'd do better back out on the grounds than cooped up with him in his room. He doesn't know what it eats or how to care for it. He doesn't even know what the frak it is.

Which accounts for the sizeable stack of bird guides and encyclopedias on a coffee table near the fireplace. Gaeta's stretched out along one of the couches; in the space below his right knee, the bird dozes, its comically large beak tucked under a (just as comically) tiny wing. If he remembers right, the outside was modeled on some place called "Scotland." A Field Guide to the Birds of Britain and Europe seems like a good place to start, then.

(Gaeta doesn't know that he's aiming about thirteen thousand miles too high and four hundred years too late.)

[ooc: and the mun is off to bed, but this post is open until it scrolls!]

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"You're not a Talking Animal, are you? I keep hoping to meet one but haven't yet. You'll have to forgive me, I miss Zazu. I shall just have to ask your human more about you,"

He offers the bird his hand to investigate. Today he's been in the woods around the Lamppost trying to retrace a historian's footsteps. That's why there's a small and rather battered book in his scarf pocket.

Gaeta suppresses a smile at that. The dodo leans closer, peering at Tumnus' hand -- does it hold treats? Will it pet him? -- then gives it a tiny nudge with its beak.

"I'm...afraid I don't know very much about it," he admits, closing his book. "It sort of followed me home yesterday."

Tumnus starts to pet the dodo as he looks at Felix with a small frown as he notices his missing leg. Those sorts of injuries were never common in the Witch's time, she preferred the bloodlessness of making her enemies to stone.

Then focuses once more on petting the bird, "I don't believe I've seen a chick that looks quite like this one before."

"Neither have I," he says. Hitching up one shoulder in a tiny shrug, "I thought if I looked through some guides on local birds, I might find something, but...no luck so far."

The bird's eyes drift closed again, and it makes a deep, fluttering noise that sounds like a cross between a purr and a pigeon's coo.

"Milliways does bring in many creatures, perhaps this chick is from another world. Do you know its name yet?"

That's a reassuring sound and Tumnus continues the petting.

He shakes his head. "No collar, no tags, no anything."

A beat.

Drier, "And I don't speak giant bird."

"It would be easier if they were a Talking Animal but I've never met one here. At least as they are in my world. What is your name, my dear? We don't want to give you the wrong one,"

This is addressed to the dodo.

"Plock," answers the dodo.

Gaeta snorts a tiny laugh. "It always says that."

"Plock-plock-plock."

"Its a good sound. Clear like the clopping of my hooves,"

He clicks a hoof against the floor.

Like the clopping of his what now? Gaeta's eyebrows rise an inch, and he shifts just enough to peer over the couch's side and catch sight of the --

"Oh." A bit weakly.

Yup, those are hooves.

"I'm a Faun of Narnia by the name of Tumnus,"

After one more pet to the dodo, he carefully offers Felix his hand, this habit is still odd to him.

The dodo shoots Tumnus' hand a plaintive look. Aww. Come back, hand.

"I'm -- " For a second, Gaeta's caught by an uncertainty so sharp it feels like a point dug beneath his ribs. Just as carefully, he clasps Tumnus' hand. "Felix Gaeta. Um...human. From Picon, originally."

He died with his pins and tags on; technically, he was still a lieutenant of the Colonial Fleet. But he has no godsdamn idea if he ought to use that rank anymore.

"Picon, is that a country or a city?" He can never tell here.

"A planet, actually." A bit quieter. "It's...not around anymore."

He shrugs again.

"This is where I live now."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you have any name ideas?"

Talking about the bird is probably a nicer conversation and he reaches his hand out once more to start petting.

He's deeply grateful for the change in topic; some of that flickers across his face before he looks down at the bird.

"I'm not sure." Thoughtful. "All I can come up with is...I don't know. Things like 'Beaker.'"

What? Seriously, that beak is huge.

Tumnus is a diplomat and he has his own topics that he avoids.

He smiles at the name, "It could be a good name. Names are complicated."

"Do you have any suggestions?"

Taking pity on the bird, he reaches down to give it a pat. And thus -- according to said bird -- all was once more right in the world.

"Perhaps a name that is of Milliways though I don't know where one would look to find such a name."

He nods, thinking that over.

Lightly, "I guess I could always call it 'hey, you' until I find something that fits."

"That's not terribly polite to it."

"I know," he says, quicker now. "I was joking."

Mostly.

Tumnus nods and continues petting,

"Were you looking for a friend? If you found each other then a name about that would be appropriate."

"I wasn't looking, but..."

Something in the way his voice shifts catches the dodo's attention. Trying not to break too much contact with Tumnus, it glances over, letting out a small, concerned plock.

Quieter: "Last night was pretty rough. It kept me company through the whole thing."

"Then find a name that means friend as that would be true from how you're being watched over."