Waiting [Sheloe & Skreel]

If not for the lack of other sculptures adorning the parapets of Lillegard Castle, the lone gargoyle could appear quite convincing. At a distance, one could easily overlook the fact it was not being made of stone. Sometimes, it was an useful disguise, but right now Sheloe wasn't trying to hide. There was no need to. She simply chose to perch on the edge of the roof for the view. Sitting and waiting in the doctor's office for somebody who would slice their finger instead of the bread was quite boring in itself; from here, she could stare peacefully at the expansive courtyard, watching the people that occasionally appeared, all the while keeping an eye on the infirmary through the window.

It was a good place.

The figures she could see moving around appeared so tiny... so insignificant. She wished everybody had an opportunity to see it.

The courtyard; a serene, scenic location. It is undeniably a good place. From its expansive landscape, to the hulking form of the estranged juniper tree, there's simply no better place to relax. The picturesque, quiescent atmosphere couldn't possibly be disturbed-...

That is, until a lone, frantic figure makes its prompt arrival.

To Sheloe, the bedraggled varrus might seem little more than an erratic blip on her radar. However, down below, it's a considerably different story; Skreel appears lost. Lost may be a dire, dire understatement; every synonym listed beneath 'dumbfounded' would currently apply to the creature's confusing, and frustrating, situation. Feathers bristled, eyes widened and beak parted, the newcomer haphazardly staggers across the courtyard, squinting uncertainly into each and every window or door he passes.

Why is he here!? Skreel scoffs, offering any passing students an increasingly wide berth and a series of intelligible, although colourful, screeches- just for good measure. He needs answers. While common sense dictates that he should stop and probe someone relentlessly for answers, his irritated, internal monologue seems to take unwarranted precedence. Is this Lillegard? Where did stilts-with-wings bugger off to? Who are these-... People? Wh-

The varrus haplessly gazes skywards, a keening vocalisation escaping his beak. Sheloe's gargoyle-esque form remains entirely unnoticed; he's arguably as observant as the very bench he's stood before. With another disgruntled note of dismay, Skreel dejectedly slumps into the chair's embrace, a hand soon reaching up to massage his aching temples.

This'll be a long, long day.

The people going in, out, and about the Castle were indeed but insects from her current point of view, but, well, insects didn't usually screech. So, when one did, her attention was grabbed, and she craned her neck forward to squint at the distant figure. Was it... furry?

Perhaps, being a winged baboon, she had little right to be perplexed at other such wonders of the good world, but the truth was that she simply had been blessed with little opportunity to see them. Now, however, there would be more of them, and perhaps she should just be patient... Glancing back to the corridor to the infirmary, she stepped in place nervously. Surely, nobody would come to serious harm just as she chose to abandon her post for but a moment? Her hand sought out her necklace, buried in the thick fur on her chest, and clasped it tightly. It would be alright.

Taking a deep breath, she took a leap and jumped off. Wings spread to catch the wind, angling parallel to the direction she was going. They hardly moved as she more fell than flew, rushing through the air and gathering speed, aiming towards the bench. Just as it would seem she wouldn't have enough room to brake and avoid crashing, she flapped her wings once and just stopped in place, all the momentum simply vanishing into thin air.

Quickly, she raised her arms with fingers splayed in a widely-recognized gesture of having no ill intent. "Do not be alarmed, my good friend, I come in peace, yes." As she spoke, she greedily drank up the creature's appearance with her eyes. It was a bird! A bird of prey of some sort, it seemed; it was vaguely familiar in some way, but Sheloe couldn't quite pinpoint it. "May I have the pleasure of making your acquaintance? It would be quite an honor."

Skreel gingerly leans into the bench's wooden embrace, his frown almost appearing proportionate to his levels of discomfort. The varrus adopts a multitude of different postures, from a haphazard cross-legged slouch to a position that's almost comparable to planking.

Unsuccessful, he begrudgingly casts his sanguine eyes skywards-- and soon catches sight of a blip; a distant form that's drawing closer, and closer still. He watches in apt fascination, his mind making figurative, clunking sounds as its rusted engine struggles to pierce together the unusual sight. It's coming towards him-... And it's certainly not stopping.

Pure, unrestrained instinct kicks in- well before his body has time to adjust. Whilst his brain's letting out a cacophony of shrill cries to escape, his limbs would much, much rather remain relaxed upon the bench. The bedraggled varrus practically lobs himself backwards, his slender arms and legs entangled around the bench's metallic frame in a manner of protest. He unceremoniously manages a few meters, the chair itself being unwillingly dragged along in his wake; its demeanour akin to a surly customer with an enthusiastic salesman.

Luckily, Sheloe stops-- just in time to witness the tattered shreds of his dignity thrust upon the highest precipice. Skreel wrestles himself free from the grip of the disgruntled chair, his motions harbouring all the grace of an estranged walrus. He lets out a juddering, incoherent gargle in response to the creature's subsequent words; 'Don't be alarmed'.

A bit too late for that now.

The varrus begrudgingly flattens out his mud-smothered tabard, remaining eerily silent as his eyes scour every inch of Sheloe's body. The look's neither amorous nor fearful; it's plain, unadulterated confusion. The primate's almost human features throw his train of thought entirely askew.

Eventually, he manages to reply, his words blunt-- though uncertain.

"... What th'eck are you meant to be?"

It seemed that her reassurances as to her harmlessness had come too late -- and gone unnoticed, the bird-person already in the midst of a panic attack. Sheloe wrung out her hands, flapping her wings to hover mid-air. Well, that was not exactly the reaction she'd been hoping for. As he fixed his attire all the while examining her with those scrutinizing eyes, she found herself self-consciously smoothing a hand over her loincloth as well. Not that it mattered at all -- it looked horrible no matter what she did with it.

Anyway.

The first thing out of her mouth was a nervous squeak as her voice refused to cooperate. She cleared her throat and spread her arms helplessly. "I'm... meant to be... small? Small and hurt-less, yes, no reason to be rolling on the ground and dodging, I do not bite or claw or even cuss in too bad of ways... Sorry for startling... not meant."