[By Thimble and Needle] Nevernever

The rush of questions, moving through the occupants of Chinatown, had Henley on a bit of a high as he led Blaze through the Fae underworld. The Whistler was a pain in the ass to find, he explained to Blaze, and it was important that they showed a little respect to the Hob who was in the know. It wasn't like basic Hobs; a creature like this had a Name, which meant it was For Real. Dangerous? To them, perhaps, perhaps not - but it was important to be the right balance of direct and respectful.

Too much respect, and the Hob would think it had you by the balls. Too little, and it might not even want to talk. Baby bear it. Just right.

Henley gave the little creature a nod as he came through the door first, watching as it went through the fruits. The offer was met with a polite smile, but a bit of frost came through as he simultaneously clocked the intention to try to lock them into something early on.

"No, that won't be necessary."

He kept his sunglasses on, glancing at Blaze before returning his attention to the faerie.

"As I don't want to do the Whistler the discourtesy of surprise, tell them that Henley of Outback and Blaze here seeking parley with respect to items of significant emotional value being stolen from people. The problem has begun to draw attention. I'd like accurate information. Why they benefit from helping us is because this problem's continued spread will more than likely lead to increased regulation from Sir Bastille. I intend to stop it."

Outback. The Motley mattered here and now because Gavin Graves mattered to these creatures. As one of the people who enabled them to even be here with the Trod re-opening, it didn't hurt to toss his name around.

The Pixie was a small creature with big feelings. Many hobs would be offended, perhaps angry at the refusal of Hospitality. But, instead, when Henley refused, the Pixie was more disappointed. Not with its Guests, but in its performance as a host. Its face turned pale, and its wings seemed to shiver as if it had failed at a most basic task.





Its bright eyes darted between Henly and Blaze for a moment as it took in Henly's instructions. Blaze helped sell how serious this situation was. Then, inspired by a new way to prove its worth, the Flower Pixie puffed.

"Of course, of course!" It chirped before fluttering up into the air and whizzing off to inform the Whistler of the guest's arrival and intent.


For a moment, the room was silent, leaving a moment of peace for Henly and Blaze to prepare for the hollow host to arrive. The silence, however, was fleeting, broken by a distant tune. The whistling floated into the room. It was remote, not so much in space but time; the sound felt like the conjuring of the memory of a song played upon a penny pipe. The music itself seemed to shift, echoing memorable tunes or beats, but off, the rhythm just twisted, or the melody too high or too low of an occative. It bled from one song to another in a dreamlike manner. It took the two lost a moment the pinpoint its location before realizing the sound drizzled down from the rafters above.

Their eyes tracked up to notice a movement of shadow, coiling its way down the rafters and the far wall. It was a heap of matted, shaggy fur, or perhaps lichen and moss-grown into a thick coat. It did not crawl its way with hand or hoof, but more its form undulated and slithered like a mishappen cataipliar.

With a light thump, its form landed on the far side of the table before uncoiling upward, a soft hissing as its soft mantle rubbed against the wooden floor.

The Whistler produced its head, some blend of goat and giant vole, with piercing crystal eyes. In a comprehensive display of greeting, two large knotted and carved hands undulated from its mass. A myriad of smaller faces and mouths pressed their way from its carpeted body as it began to speak.

"Welcome. Henly of Outback, and Blaze. Most welcome in my home."


Each mouth, in turn, hit a singular note, giving its voice a strange disorienting chorus.

"Information is what you seek is it? I do not venture into your world. You seek a thief?

"Ah yes, yes."

The whistler form seemed to step, crawl? Forward to the desk, pushing aside some of the crates of knick-knacks and oddities.

"We wouldn't want that, not good for me, not good for you."

The Whistler's mouths opened into a chorus of notes. The familiar fluttering of wings answers as the petite Pixie appears. The Whistler's knotted wood-like hand reached out, presenting a small perch, where the Pixie takes a seat crossing its legs.

" I may have information. But I can not give it without cost. Everything has a cost, don't they?"

The many smiles of the Hobgoblin seemed to mimic the cheeky smile of Henly.

"Even failure" suddenly, the Hobs hand-twisted and snapped shut with alarming speed. There was a shocked squeak which was silenced by a sickening wet snap of tiny bones. The Whistler tossed the broken Pixie into a mouth in a single motion, licking its finger clean.

"Now, I see you bring things to trade...may I see?"

The whistler paused, its form twisting to Blaze at the question.

"Yes, Failure," it echoes in response. Its array of mouths broke into smiles again. A singular one still wet with the insides of the fairy.

"Would you not agree that it too comes with a cost? Perhaps a value of its own? All things do. Give, take, and trade. It's up to us to decide their value is it not?"

Henly was well skilled in the art of Goblin haggling. The Whistler was a worthy match for the Nymph, seeming to take pleasure in the back and forth. Blaze was a strong presence, reminding the Whistler to stay on track, not distract, or ensure boundaries were not crossed. The Hobgoblin moved through the wears offered by the lost. Its knotted fingers were prying and hovering over each momento in turn with discerning grace. Finally, its mouths began their whistling, each echoing the other.

Finally, a bargain was struck. The Whistler lets out a satisfied singular note.



"Yes, this is satisfactory," the hob said, turning to the side, pushing aside some knick-knacks, finding what looks to be a gourd, and pouring itself viscus red drink.

"The goods in question have not made it to the market. Otherwise, they would be in my collection." They gesture about the cluttered hollow.

The mass of moss and mouths undulated back, as it took a long sip from its goblet.

"You seek a predator, a trap hunter that targets the unexpecting and wanderers of the Hedge. It favors the young and humans if it can. I have heard that with bridging the market and the hold. Alongside the weakening of your wards, this Goblin has grown bold with its hunting. Turning towards your world. Some have given this creature the name, The Au Pair. "



The Whistler picks up one of the momentos, running it through its hands, its dark eyes admiring it with inhuman curiosity.

" It's...collection, however, has never been for mementos and bobbles. Why it gathers these, I don't know. Nor has it ever had such...assistance before. I Know that the Au Pair has no love for Father Time and his ever-flowing ever corroding sands. Time is not welcome within its lair. The lair I question is deep in the hedge, off the roads, not easy or for that matter safe to find”

Some say that hobgoblins are nightmares of humanity given form, and looking at the Whistler Blaze would be inclined to agree. The creature looked and behaved like it could've been spawned by the mind of someone who fell asleep after watching The Godfather on dodgy sushi.

But fuck, at least they're getting somewhere.

"Anything else you can tell us about the Au Pair? What kind of backup it has, what it can do?" It's not impossible that, like Henley said, Summer will be tasked with burning the hob down, but the Torrent would still like to throw some intel their way if possible "You know, it's just occurred to me that if the break-ins are done on the Au Pair's orders, then the mementos might be connected to the rivalry with Time. They embody  the idea that not all things pass, and be considered weapons or talismans of some kind."

That wasn't really a question, but Blaze tried not to make it look like she's just musing. Perhaps it'll lead to a sudden revelation if not in her mind, then in others.

"The name relates to its proclivity to collect mortal youths. " The whistler tapped the table thoughtfully as Henly pressed for further information.

"I do not know its location. However, I could ascertain such details for a price. All I ask is a meeting with Bastille, with your word of recommendation, of course. Or should that be too much to ask-"

Their form turned towards a blaze. " A little debt from you would do nicely."

Blazes statement about time caused the Whistler to let out a chorused note.

"Ah, perhaps. It is a curious theory, though why pick a fight in your enemy's domain? " The whistler shuttered at the idea.