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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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Claudia came in with an aim of trying to corral what notes she has on the goddamn theme song incident; considering it was kinda sorta accidentally her fault, she feels a need to get this report done up as soon as she can. So she might as well take advantage of the time differential, especially now that it's not extra noisy.
(She really needs to figure out why it followed Joshua home, but not her.)
Buuuuut the bird's a little distracting. "Dude, is that a dodo?"

"A what?"

Gaeta looks up. So does the dodo, untucking its head to blink sleepily in Claudia's direction.

"A dodo. They're extinct in my world, but I guess this place is full of surprises."
Kinda cool, really.

"Oh -- "

He glances down at the bird, then back up to Claudia. Some of the bewilderment clears away.

"That's what it's called?"

"I think so. Looks like the drawings I've seen, anyway."
And then she catches sight of the book he's got. "...I don't think that one's going to help you out very much. Don't remember where they were native to but it definitely wasn't Scotland."

"Yeah, and, uh." Rueful, as he shuts the book (though instinct makes him keep his index finger tucked inside). "As far as I know, this is a recent field guide. So if it's extinct..."

It's kind of fitting, mutter the darker thoughts before Gaeta can push them aside.

The dodo, looking more awake now, cocks its head as it continues to study the new person.

"Nnnnot necessarily extinct on every world that can get here," Claudia says. "This guy seems pretty used to humans, at the very least. It's possible that if you ask for the right thing, you can get some info on how to take care of him. Her. Thing. If he's not already someone's pet."
How do you even tell male and female dodos apart, anyway?

There's a late snow in Narnia and Tumnus is brushing it off of his wool scarf as he approaches the fire.

When he sees the chick at Gaeta's leg, he smiles and kneels down, "Hello, little one. I don't believe I've seen a bird like you before. Where are you from?"

"Good point," he mumbles.

(He should have thought of that point.)

New Person, the dodo has concluded, does not seem to want to attack its new nestmate. Satisfied, it nudges Gaeta's good leg in reassurance, lets out a tiny plock, and tucks its beak back under one wing. That coaxes a tiny smile out of Gaeta; he reaches down to briefly settle his hand on its head.

"I didn't see any sort of collar on it. Or, ah, one of those ankle bands they use to track birds."

The bird cracks open one eye. "Plock?" it asks, sleepily.

Gaeta looks up, too -- and blinks, startled, at the horns poking out from the top of the other man's head.

(Give him another second, and he might actually notice the legs, too.)

"Either way, he seems to like you." Claudia's not so much in the business of attacking people. (You know, unless they're between her and bagging an Artifact. Even then, Teslas only; she'll leave the action-heroism to everyone else.)
"You want me to--" She points a thumb over her shoulder, toward the Bar. "See if there's a book?"
She's slightly more mobile, after all, and this is a question that might be better off not relayed through the rats.

A little surprised, "Oh -- sure. If you don't mind?"

At the last, he sounds a bit like he's expecting her to go, actually, yeah, I do mind, forget I said anything.

"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.

"Not at all. BRB." Part of it is she figures she needs to rack up some Good Citizen points around here, after inadvertently bringing on the latest weird. But mostly, why make him get up?

A few minutes later, she returns - with a book, amazingly enough. "Turns out asking if there was something that covered the care and feeding of dodos actually worked," she says, handing it over. "Maybe he's domesticated after all."

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."

Andrew's rounding the edge of the couch with a plate of fried paradoxes and a root beer, and he very nearly drops both doing a double-take at the bird.

(No, he doesn't recognize it on sight, it's just ... very large and incongruous.)

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."

"...Huh."

He accepts the book: A Complete Owner's Guide to a Well-Behaved Dodo, reads the title, and his smile grows a touch. "Look at that. Guess they are a big thing somewhere. Thank you," he adds as he turns his attention back to Claudia.

"Not a problem. It does kinda make sense - I mean, humanity's usual answers to new animals are 'can I eat it?' and 'can I train it?' Guess wherever this guy's from, they took door number two."
She thinks she read once that dodo meat tasted horrible... and yet.

"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.

Gaeta's too absorbed in the book to notice. In fact, it's the dodo who moves first: reacting to some distant noise, it opens its eyes and glances over. Sheer coincidence lands that look squarely on Andrew.

Which means that's where Gaeta's attention goes when he finally looks up, too.

"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.

"Hi," he says, recovering. "Is that --"

Second doubletake in as many minutes.

"Gaeta?"

The smile goes wry.

"I'm guessing that means they chose door number one in your world?"

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

A beat.

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

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