Bansheeism ((Open))

[T-Bone]

In the treetops, a flock of birds did what birds do best. They sang incessantly. It was beautiful to the ears of most beasts, particularly to those of frilly females frivolously fetching flowers to put in their fur and to those of writers who think alliteration actually adds to the quality of a paragraph. But the birds didn't care. They simply continued chirping and flapping their wings superfluously.

Then, a horrible screeching sound rent the air, and all the pretty birds flew away with a start. Down below stood a young otter holding a drum. He opened his mouth and released yet another screech that should have set fire to any ear in a three-mile radius. The banshee was presently standing in front of Redwall Abbey's northern gate. There, he awaited his brother.

A head popped up from behind the ramparts. Skidd Streamdog shielded his eyes from the sun, but could not get a clear view of the face. He certainly hoped that the head belonged to Shad. Only Shad appreciated true bansheeism.

[Cross]

Cross was enjoying a nice stroll along the ramparts, taking the opportunity to have some alone time. It wasn't that he didn't like company, he had just been around too many beasts for too many days. He wasn't quite used to it, yet, even though he'd been staying at Redwall for over six weeks. (Half of those weeks, he'd been unconscious, so they didn't count.)

He was a loner by heart; long years of traveling on his own had done that to him. But he still made the effort to connect with others. He was admitting to himself to be completely smitten with the pretty ottermaid named Freya, and his adoptive little brother Koa was rarely seen away from his side. Today, he'd found some time to himself, and he was doing a lot of thinking.

Unfortunately, a crazed wail broke the calm of the lovely fall day, dispelling Cross's thoughts like the birds that were flapping frantically out of the trees. Lucky them. They could find another roost away from the awful din. Cross grimaced as yet another screech rent the air, grinding on his keen hearing. Good gods, what on earth was that?!

He noticed a young otter at the north wall, leaning over the wall top expectantly. Walking up, Cross nodded a hello and looked down. Who was that second otter down there with the drum? He'd been told the names of some of the Otter Crew members (thanks to Thorsten Galedeep), but he couldn't tell if this otter was one of them.

Was he trying to get somebeast's attention? "Excuse me, but what is going on?" Cross asked the younger otter next to him. This was all quite confusing, but this otter seemed to know what was happening.

[T-Bone]

Skidd frowned. That wasn't Shad. That was some other otter. Skidd smiled. Oh well, new friend!

"Excuse me, but what is going on?"

Skidd shifted the drum he was holding to his left paw momentarily so that he could wave at the other otter with his right. "Hey, did ye know the drum shakes when I do that? Lissen--" He took hold of the drum and, again, set to brain-murdering caterwauling.

He stopped. "See? It-- Well, I guess ye can't see. But it's really quite interesting!"

There came rapid footsteps from behind Cross. Shad nearly fell off the ramparts. "Skidd!" he shouted a bit too loudly. "I knew it was you!"

"Wot did ye think o' my scream?"

"It was perfect! I could hear from all the way in the cellars!"

"Really?"

"Well, no, but it was loud." Shad turned to Cross briefly. "Ye don't suppose we could let 'im in?"

"It's my bansheeism, Shad!" shouted Skidd, beaming. "Lissen!" Another screech.

Shad turned back to his younger brother. "That's fantastic!" He turned back to Cross and, having already forgotten what he had just said, asked, "Ye don't suppose we could let 'im in?" He paused for a moment. . . Hadn't he asked that already?


((I don't know how Cross is gonna react to this. XD))

[Cross]

Cross was utterly confused as the two otters bantered back and forth about . . . bansheeism. So, that screech was done on purpose? Whatever for? All it sounded like it was going to do was make their throats sore. Cross was preparing to leave (and possibly find that quieter corner down in the cellars), when the otter next to him spoke up again.

"Ye don't suppose we could let 'im in?" he repeated. Oh, yes, Cross had heard him the first time, but he knew the wicker gates were easy enough to open. He turned to the otter on the ramparts, his ears still ringing slightly.

"I suppose we could," he murmured in reply, praying for the screeching to end soon. Now would be preferable. Finding some stairs that led back down to the grounds, Cross took them slowly, his torso having become sore from walking so much lately.

But it was frustrating him that he couldn't remember these otters' names. Thorsten had said something about the taller one in the blue tunic. What was it? It started with an S, right? It was a short name . . . Oh, well. The two river otters probably didn't even know his name, unless they'd heard the story.

Once the wicker gate was open, Cross was able to get a better look at the otter outside. Bracing himself for another horrid shriek, the big sea otter stepped aside to allow the younger otter in. He rubbed his sore middle, glad his waist sash hid his new scars from view.

Might as well get their names up front, too, since he couldn't remember what Thorsten had said. "I am Cross," he greeted. "What are your names?"

[T-Bone]

"I am Cross," he greeted. "What are your names?"

Rather than shriek again -- Skidd's throat was a bit tired from that -- the younger otter dropped the drum he was holding, held out a paw, and proudly announced, "I'm Skidd Streamdog!" He gestured to his brother. "This is my colleague, Galileo Puddington."

Shad chuckled and held out his own paw in turn. "Shad Streamdog. Unfortunate brother o' this mess of an otter." For once, Shad really didn't feel like being quite so silly today. It was a bit past midday, and he was presently feeling more sleepy than anything else. Of course, he still had plenty of energy, and he had been waiting on his brother's arrival all day, but regarding his hyperactivity, Shad was just feeling a bit. . . average. "Wot's yore name, Mista Crossony'back?"

Now, Shad knew plenty about this one-- just not his name. This was the otter who'd been attacked by a falcon, ended up in the infirmary for ages, and clearly had a death wish, what with all the trying to court the daughter of the Thorsten Galedeep.

One does not simply walk into Mordor. . .

---

((Improper use of an extra-Redwall reference? Yes. Perfect analogy? Absolutely. ;D))

[Cross]

"I'm Skidd Streamdog!" He gestured to his brother. "This is my colleague, Galileo Puddington."

"Shad Streamdog. Unfortunate brother o' this mess of an otter." . . . "Wot's yore name, Mista Crossony'back?"

Cross shook both their paws in turn, glad to have not received another shriek in reply. He closed the gate as Skidd entered the grounds and tried introducing himself again. Perhaps he should go about it differently from now on. Whenever he said, 'I am Cross,' beasts tended to think he was describing his mood, not offering his name. He was rarely ever cross when meeting somebeast new.

"My name is Cross," he replied simply. "For the very mark you saw on my back. It is a pleasure to meet you both." Sort of. Minus the blood-curdling yelling. Still, Cross liked meeting all these river otters. Even though they seemed less serious than the sea otters he'd grown up with, they were nice to be around.

Again he wondered how much Shad knew about him. The story had gotten around the abbey quickly, so it was probably safe to assume the river otter had heard. It wasn't like Cross was going to brag about it, but he didn't exactly like repeating himself. He'd already told the story thrice to the Dibbuns, anyway. And he knew Koa had spread the word long before Cross had even regained consciousness.

((Um, yeah, not much to go on, sorry. I got stuck.))