#rosenqueue

Magenta hair is spiked in every direction, singed at the edges, greasy from a lack of care. Similarly coloured eyes dance with the light of flames, even as they stare past the metal figure in front of them, choosing to focus on the lens of their glasses, glimmering with the footage of their workshop. It’s...clearly visible, now that they know what they’re looking for. Here, and further on, and...the next day on the tape as well... a small figure, shifting in and out of the shadows. Stealing their things. Paper clips. Cuff links. Small figures.

Flint Fevre’s fingers continue to heat the metal between their fingertips, rolling it into a thin metal tube as they turn it into the body of a pen. The footage plays over, over and over, through the days, the weeks- spotting of the figure as they attempt to determine how they’re doing this. They’ll set up smaller cameras in more fitting positions to catch this...little thief clad in black.

Amber curls dance around his face, the ocarina in his hands emitting a beautiful, hollow melody. Typically he might channel a cheery, lighthearted song through the instrument for the pleasure of others, to keep them upbeat, to help them through the low times. Today, he’s alone. Alone in the woods, on the roof of his van with his dog in the back. Today, he plays for himself.

He shuts his eyes as the wind tousles his hair, allowing the haunting tune to travel through the branches, through the tree tops. Carried by the breeze.

A vibration that sways those same trees, that bounces the van ever so slightly on it’s tires. Then...nothing. He stops, lowering the instrument into his lap. “...Callie...?” Did you hear that?” Another, and this time something...is visible, through the trees. A figure, looming way, way, way above him. His gaze trails up until he’s looking at a pair of silver eyes that are staring right back at him, shifting from the mercurial hue to a crystalline blue.

Micah stumbles to his feet atop the van, staring up at the...the man? The...giant? Man. He’ll go with man. His lips part as if to speak and in the next moment there are fingers wrapped around him, a rather undignified squeak slipping from his lips. “Whoa! A warning before being picked up would be nice!" He hisses as he’s cupped in what he assumes is a giant hand. He’s...face to face, now. With those stunning eyes, icy but somehow warm. His chest aches, eyes burning as his voice shakes with the attempt of levity.

The giant looks at him for only a moment and then, in a slightly loud attempt at a whisper, simply says “I’m sorry, I-” his gaze flicks to the van just in time for a significant sized branch to fall from the tree above onto the roof of the vehicle. It...might not seem large from this height but as mossy eyes examine the trunk, Micah’s...certain it would have crushed him. Confusion battles with understanding on his features as he slowly turns back to the man holding him, as he’s...set on the ground beside his van.

Life as a giant was never easy. That much was obvious. Humans fear them, tell horror stories of murderous, blood thirsty giants who steal children or cattle- anything they can tell that gains them attention, or some money.

Most people these days don’t believe they even exist, which...is a good thing, for the most part. It makes it more likely for the humans to dismiss loud noises as wild animals, or enormous footsteps as tremors. They hardly even have to try to stay hidden nowadays, the humans practically do it for them.

Which is what makes it so much more difficult to understand how he possibly found himself in this position.

The sun was only just starting to come up, the golden rays dancing across his eyelids as they rose through the trees, coaxing the redhead to wake. He did wake, eventually, with an enormous stretch and a yawn of proportionate size. A stretch of his neck, one hand coming up to massage out the stiffness, and finally he’s ready to face the day. He rolls his shoulders, allowing the tension to fade somewhat as he does, pushing himself into a seated position.

It’s then that he spots her. The girl. A young woman with bright red hair, staring at him from the edge of the clearing with wide, disbelieving eyes. She blinks, and he follows suit. Ah....how...does one convince someone they don’t exist, exactly...?

He watches her muscles tense and raises a hand, shaking his head as he finally speaks. “No don’t- don’t run. We’ve only just met but I think we can all agree that I’m nicer than most of the stories about giants, right? So let’s just...just wait, we’ll...you don’t have to run. It’s okay, promise. I won’t hurt you.”

His words and voice are genuine, eyes pleading as she stares back into them, and for a moment, just a moment, he thinks she’ll run. Tell the whole city, that he’s single handedly shared the existence of his kind with all of humanity.

She looks at him with those wide, terrified eyes and he looks right back at her, his own emerald irises swimming with fear. An eternity seems to pass between them. Wind whistles through the leaves, making the trees seem to whisper around the two, frozen in time, waiting for something. Anything.