merryeccentricities | Hello, There's Been An Error

Combeferre puts his hand on Joly's shoulder. "I do know what you mean. And that can't have been pleasant, no. A man striking out, unthinking, with no real goal, and no sense of who he truly wishes to hit--"

He shakes his head. "It was kind of you to offer to help him with the computer. And kinder still to keep trying to speak with him, when he was behaving so."

Joly's frown deepens. "I'm not sure kind is the term. But -- well, I believe what I told him. There's an opportunity for us all to speak here, in ways we might not have in Paris."

He smiles and puts a hand over Combeferre's. "And he was right in one regard, at least-- I am happy, here, with my friends, whatever he says or does. He can hardly do anything to me; it would be ridiculous to refuse to speak with him."

"Not so ridiculous, my dear Joly: you might easily deem it not worth your effort. As most of us would do. But you see it as an opportunity, and I greatly admire you for it, whether it's due to kindness or wisdom or something else entirely." He squeezes Joly's shoulder.

Joly laughs. "I'm sure Monsieur Javert wouldd say 'something else' and maybe he wouldn't be wrong." The thought doesn't bother him.

He picks up Tarsal, who's decided he doesn't want to be walking anymore, and lets the cat climb onto the top of his backpack. "Do you see any indication that we're going..well, any way at all? Shall we just keep walking straight?"

"We may as well."

They walk across the flagstones, in a warm sort of quiet. Tarsal purrs, nestled in the folds at the top of Joly's backpack. Other than that, there is no sound.

Perhaps it should be eerie, but it isn't. It's perfectly comfortable.

They walk. Combeferre isn't sure for how long. And then an oval of space before them begins to sparkle, with glints of gold and purple.

He touches Joly's arm, and points at the oval.

The gold and the purple get brighter, stronger, and suddenly there's a flash, and then...

...a sphinx.

A sphinx, with shimmering coppery fur, and a man's head, with dark skin, as dark as Joly's or darker still, and thick hair of a deep bronze color. Its eyes are dark--not black, not brown, somewhere between purple and blue. It does not blink.

"Greetings, trespassers," says the sphinx.

Not the most welcoming start. Combeferre glances at Joly, and steps just slightly in front of him.

(The barricade is still very fresh in Combeferre's mind. He is protective, if not actually any more physically capable of fighting off a Sphinx than Joly).

"Greetings," Combeferre returns, carefully keeping his voice even. "We do not wish to trespass. We are simply looking for our friends, who are lost."

"You are trespassing nonetheless," says the sphinx. "But answer my questions, and I may let you pass."

Combeferre is, somehow, shocked. This is exactly what sphinxes are supposed to do, of course, but it's still very strange to see one doing it.

"Very well, ask your question, monsieur."

He half expects the riddle from Oedipus Rex, but it's nothing like that at all.

The sphinx clears its throat, and portentously declaims: "What goes into the water red, and comes out black?"

Joly thinks. He opens his mouth. He thinks again. He rubs the end of his nose.

"Well, what's the temperature of the water? Are we assuming a pure solution or is there a catalyst?"

The sphinx's hackles rise. He opens his mouth, revealing pointed and pristine-white teeth, but he's not baring his teeth at them.

He looks...confused.

Oh, well done, Joly. Combeferre conceals a grin.

"Answer the riddle," the sphinx says finally, looking stern.

"We can't, unless we know what the riddle truly is," says Combeferre. He shakes his head, looking disappointed. "Did you craft this riddle? Or was it given you by another?"

The Sphinx gives him a sour look. "It's a riddle. It's traditional."

Joly tugs Meta back as she wanders toward the Sphinx's large paw. "Well, then what's the tradition? Who taught you? Do you meet other sphinxes and share riddles often?"

Combeferre catches the look the sphinx gives Meta.

It's...not entirely hostile. Combeferre takes this as an encouraging sign.

The sphinx looks dubious. "It's tradition," he says. "It is the law, taught to us as children, by our mothers and fathers if we are lucky, by--it does not matter." The sphinx frowns. "We do not share riddles. We pose the riddles we are given."

Combeferre raises an eyebrow. "Why not change the riddle, then? It must have been invented by someone. Perhaps you could make your own riddle."

The sphinx's frown grows deeper.

"Or you could answer ours," Combeferre adds. "If there were a well-dressed, curly-haired man, and a bald man in an old coat with holes, both men prone to witticisms that verge on the improper, and if those men were somewhere in this Labyrinth, where would they be?"

"It's our traditional riddle," Combeferre says, as the sphinx continues to look annoyed and confused.

Edited 2015-01-28 01:38 (UTC)

The Sphinx growls. "That is not a riddle."

Joly shrugs and crouches down. "Well what is a riddle, then? Explain what you want and maybe we can give you a proper riddle." He takes off his backpack. "Would you like a sandwich?-- That's not a riddle, but I want a sandwich now, and I brought extras."

"A riddle is a traditional test of mental agility," says the sphinx.

Combeferre nods. "Yes, and locating our friends would test your mental agility, would it not?"

He takes a sandwich from Joly and sniffs at it. Ham and cheese. "Do have a sandwich," he adds politely, handing it to the sphinx.

The sphinx regards it dubiously.

"Hospitality is an important tradition, is it not?" Combeferre says, when the sphinx hesitates just a moment too long.

The sphinx gives Combeferre a glare, and then opens his mouth, leans forwards, and takes the sandwich in his teeth.

Joly hands Combeferre a replacement sandwich, gets one for himself, and sits cross-legged, thinking. "You define a riddle as a traditional test of wits. Does that mean the form or the precise content? If it's the precise content, surely you'll run out of riddles in time, and then what? Surely you have some interaction besides asking people riddles." The Sphinx seems to have its mouth full, so Joly continues on. "And if it's the form, than perhaps we can re-word our question for you. Would you like an apple? I seem to have apples. Er, that was also not a riddle."

Sitting down is possibly not the wisest move. It impedes running away, should that become necessary.

But it commits them to friendliness in a very open and public way: sitting down, they pose no threat. (If they did even standing up, of course. Combeferre has no illusions about his own martial prowess with no weapons involved, and Joly is no better).

Combeferre sits down beside Joly.

The sphinx, meanwhile, chews and swallows, looking meditative. "I thank you," he says. "I will try an apple."

Combeferre hands him an apple, which the sphinx methodically eats, spitting out the core.

"I can use the same riddle more than once," says the sphinx, once done eating. "However..." He frowns. "I cannot honestly answer your question. I do not know if it is the form or the content that must be traditional."

Combeferre nods, seriously. "Must a riddle be verbal? Is it possible that Nature herself may pose a riddle?"

He and Joly both do love Nature's riddles, after all.

Edited 2015-01-28 03:37 (UTC)

The Sphinx is not so quick to answer as before, and does not sound as certain. "There...must be a question that can be shared. Written, or verbal, or obvious somehow. Something specific."

Joly leans back on one arm and nods. "Yes, and sometimes all you have is the question, so it's important to find the right one. Well. Does it have to be a question? I mean, I've heard some puns that took some unraveling,even though they weren't questions. Is it just a sort of mystery, then?"

The sphinx frowns again, clearly uncertain, but not angry. At least, Combeferre doesn't think so. Meta is climbing its fur, and the sphinx does not seem to mind at all.

In fact, the sphinx emits a sound that sounds suspiciously like a purr.

"I suppose it can be called a mystery," the sphinx says cautiously.

Combeferre nods, willing himself not to pounce and push too hard, willing himself to be patient.

It's difficult. Patience is not his strong suit.

"A mystery, posed to you in words..." He makes himself sound musing, rather than like an attorney seizing on a weak spot. "Do I have it right?"

The Sphinx shuffles in an almost embarrassed way. "There's more to it than that." It sounds nearly unsure.

Joly nods confidently, though. "Yes, of course. The words have to be part of the question, a sort of way puzzle on their own. It's why "do you want an apple" isn't a riddle. Unless the apple is, is some other sort of thing. Like that." He considers.

"So if I asked our question as 'An eagle and a cat fell into a lake, do you know which way they swam' would you be able to answer that?"

It's not the best riddle. Joly's never been the first of their number with wordplay. But maybe it's enough?

Meta is nuzzling at the sphinx's neck. Perhaps that's why the sphinx softens, and says, "I would not."

There's a pause, and a purr from Meta, before the sphinx goes on. "I...I...I consider your question about the riddles to be a riddle in itself. One that I cannot answer. I will therefore let you pass."

"Thank you," says Combeferre, rising and bowing.

A hole opens in the air. It sounds like nonsense, but that's the only way Combeferre can describe it.

Glancing at Joly, Combeferre walks through.

Joly stands up and bows, conveniently gathering up the cats as he does so. "Thank you very much. You're welcome to come with us if you want--? Well, perhaps we shall meet again another time. I'll bring more sandwiches!"

He would love to look more closely at the hole in the air, but he can't risk being stuck on the wrong side. He follows Combeferre through; and then it's gone, not closed but simply not there.

They're in a more wooded, wild-looking place. There are rustling noises in the undergrowth. But there's also a half-paved path ahead.

Combeferre should probably have looked more closely at the hole in the air, and thinks of this immediately after he steps through.

Alas, it has vanished.

He takes a step onto the path when the rustling noise turns into a whooshing noise, and suddenly he's been hit hard in the stomach. It's so sudden that he's not even consciously aware of the impact, just the sensation of being winded, and the realization that he's doubled over, and then the pain. It's not much pain, but it's there.

"What was that?" he manages to get out, when he gets his breath back.

Joly sees only a flash of color and then Combeferre doubled over. But the cats are fluffing up, arching their backs and drawing in closer to him. He reaches a hand out to Combeferre while looking around the woods.
"Are you all right? Did you see--oh!"

Another shape makes a quick dash at them, swerving when Meta leaps at it with claws. And while Joly's watching that, something THUMPS into the back of his legs, nearly knocking him over.

Combeferre pounces.

Well, that makes it sound more athletic than the reality. What he actually does is fall over with purpose, onto the thing that has attacked the back of Joly's legs.

Combeferre tackles the thing--the soft, silky, squishy, ferociously struggling thing--to the ground.

He pins it down by its four corners so that it can only twitch vigorously instead of hurling about. Once it's no longer a blur of motion, he can examine it properly, and see what it is.

"...a pillow?"

Joly, still barely standing, gapes. "A-- why? How? Does it even-- is it an automaton,is it some sort of animAAAUGHmmph!!"

The last is in reply to a sudden barrage of pillows, leaping from the woods directly at his head and shoulders. He guards his face with his arms, and tries to step away, and trips over Combeferre; and then he is being knocked over and smothered.

Combeferre wants to help Joly, but he doesn't want to let his imprisoned pillow fly free.

Tucking the pillow firmly (and with some difficulty) under his arm, he seizes Joly's dropped walking stick and thrusts it into the cloud of pillows battering at Joly.

He brandishes it this way and that. The pillows react in confusion--not confusion, Combeferre thinks sternly to himself, they're pillows. Some keep at Joly, but others simply fly away from the stick. A few hardy souls--pillows--launch a counterattack upon Combeferre.

"Joly," Combeferre shouts, "shall we run?"

There's no time for a clever answer. Joly makes a slightly strangled noise of agreement and stumbles up to his feet, collecting the cats.

Run to... he spots a sort of general trail leading to an narrow arch of trees and tilts his chin. "That way?"

If he sounds a bit stunned and out of breath, it's only because he is.

They run.

The pillows follow. Combeferre turns every so often and whacks them back with his stick.

"A softer version of computers, perhaps?" He pants the question at Joly as they run along the trail, through the arch of trees.

They run several steps before Combeferre realizes they're somewhere else entirely.

He looks around. It's a city. It's...almost Paris?

But there are large balloon-like things in the air? Powered by gas, evidently. They look somewhat like hot air balloons, but more more advanced; somewhat like airplanes, but less sleek.

Combeferre looks at Joly. "Euh...?"

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