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You extend your hand. “I noticed you’re new here. What’s your name?”

Clark’s introducing her around.  “This is my good friend, Diana, she’s in from out of town.”

Clark stops a few feet away and squints at you worriedly from behind those ridiculous glasses you’re 99% sure he doesn’t actually need, and asks tentatively, “Everything all right?”

You ignore him in favor of staring at the inky dark numerals hovering over the beaming fool gesticulating some fantastic yacht story for a gaggle of secretaries and minor columnists.

“Meadowalker.”

“…”

One of its main features about it is that it could run stupidly fast, like, a solid 100 MPH (at least thats my best guess from a dream) but more impressively or eerily is that it could go from 100 to 0 almost immediately, stopping in a stance where it stood up straight and at attention

I assume this is for artists so sure thing

I imagine that this dog is very tall and sleek (like a good five feet tall), with a sickly pale (with just a hint of light blue hue). Its eyes are a pure empty (yet still piercing somehow) white. Along its front half across the back and its legs are pale green sets of stripes, almost like racing stripes.

As for how the ghostly “back legs” worked, they looked sort of like this

with his physical form slowly transitioning into an pale blue ectoplasm, and there were amorphous hints of what could have possibly once been legs. Despite completely missing his back half, the posture seen here is still its regular posture, standing straight up, as if a soldier at attention.

SO TRUE BOOZOI

The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and the kind of question she tried to avoid.

Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.

“You a cop?”

The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”

A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.

Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”

A nod.

“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”

A nod.

“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”

A tiny, miserable nod.

“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’

“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”

Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.

The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.

“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”

The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.

This measure should only be used in extreme circumstances, as its consequences are, despite impressive effectiveness, destructive and highly unpredictable.

If, however, the crew’s life and wellbeing are in danger, then the captain should turn to the “human” and clearly speak the following words:

“This is it. We will die here. There is no way out of this.”

The “human” will immediately direct their attention to their captain. Their answer should approximately be: “There’s always a way”, or “I’ll find something.”

It is crucial, then, that the captain performs the next sentence with as much condescension as can be mustered. They must look at the “human”, and say:

“What can a weak human like you even do?”

Immediately, distance must be brought between the remaining crew and the “human”. The protocol, if successfully initiated, will begin with a show of the “human’s” teeth in something called a “grin”, and the protocol words:

In this post, a faerie is asking for ‘your’ name. The way he is wording it, however, and the accompanying beckoning motion, makes it seem as though he is asking for you to physically hand your name over. Which, because of how some faeries operate, he is.

In this instance, saying your name aloud to the fae would be literally giving your name over to him, the exact consequences of which are left up to the imagination–usually, a fae even knowing your name gives it some measure of power over you, but giving something your name would likely let it completely take over your life.