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abraxaslogs2022-05-15 07:34 pm
lackingtalent) wrote in abraxaslogs2022-05-15 07:34 pmEntry tags:
lackingtalent) wrote in abraxaslogs2022-05-15 07:34 pm
open; childminding
He's hardly a storyteller. But he's hardly a childminder either. After the more boisterous of the children have tired, after they have returned from their adventures on the cusp of his field of vision and settled with eyes just as tired as the more introverted souls that had contented themselves with remaining close to him, one seems appropriate. Was he to be any good at this sort of thing, of course.
And so...]
There once was a world that was vast, untamed, and undiscovered. A world where all were like your parents- seeking to improve it for those who would come after them. Of the people on this world, there was a woman who dearly loved avians. Yet the world was untamed, unworked, and quite frankly, unlivable- so like all others, she was not permitted to venture outside the gates of the outpost of which she lived and worked for prolonged periods of time. Thus, she took pleasure in creation. She created several concepts that would one day serve to improve the world, one of which was a small female bird, whose feathers were the hue of jade. Having taken well to the researcher, the bird was always found in her presence, either perching on the researcher's shoulders or flying around by her side- which calmed the researcher's heart most greatly.
As the researcher's work dictated, she left the outpost one day in order to inspect some recent terraforming efforts. Like always, the little bird was upon the researcher's shoulder, resting her wings. It was then at that moment, that a viper moved silently toward the pair and struck- seeking to consume the tiny bird. The researcher, who had barely noticed the attack, nudged off the viper with her arm. However. In place of the small bird being eaten, the researcher was bitten. The researcher then immediately collapsed. She would have gone unnoticed, were it not for the small bird which flew all the way back to the outpost, and alerted the researcher's fellows. Thus, the researcher was brought back and brought to a place of healing.
Despite her fellows' best efforts, the researcher became paler and paler as the hours passed. In all truth, she was unable to be helped. The world was still so new, you see- and the type of viper, let alone the venom, was virtually unknown to them. The little bird peered in through the window. Upon seeing the healers shake their heads in dismay, she flew to one of the very many birdhouses throughout the outpost, seeking the wisdom of the other birds.
"...At the highest point, between the clouds and the stars," a rather knowledgable harpuiai told her, "blows the wind Vuychap. This special wind is said to be able to cure any malady, but, again, this is only a story."
The small bird immediately tore off unto the night sky. Only a single thought raced through her mind as she glided through the skies, I must save her. And she kept that thought with her as she flew on and on, surprised by the passage of time leading to her becoming utterly engulfed by the dawn. Peering downwards, she could see the beautiful sea that surrounded her familiar home. Flapping one wing after another, she became gradually more tired, and in her exhaustion, she felt as heavy as lead. Even breathing became a painful ordeal. Re-strengthening her resolve, she again continued to flutter her wings, flying upwards.
At the end of the second day, the small bird continued to fly until she reached a place higher than any cloud. The wind was bracing. And oh, it was cold. She had reached a realm of the pure, absolute sky. Yet the wind did not feel special. Just cold.
Despair consumed her.
Why have I flown to such a place? While that sense of doubt flitted across her mind, all of the strength of her body left her. She was not only drained of her physical strength but also her own willpower to continue on what she perceived to be a fruitless journey. She felt herself falling at terrifying speeds; closing her eyes, for she knew what was happening.
In the instant, before her body would be smashed against the ocean, the bird was about to give up on everything. Yet the face of the researcher who she adored so dearly flashed in her mind. That face... was the first face she had ever seen. What she remembered next was the happiness of the idyllic days she spent with the researcher, marred by the startling image of her body plagued by the high fever caused by the venom's poison.
I must save her. With strength previously unknown to even herself, the bird began to beat her wings again as hard as she could. Somehow, all of her strength had returned to her.
She realized that the way upward was much easier now. For her wings had grown much larger, and her form now strongly resembled a human's. Magick had come to her now, and she understood that it mattered not that the wind of Vuychap never existed, for she could create it. After descending to the room where the researcher slept, the bird flapped her wings slowly- healing the researcher from the effects of the deadly poison. And as easily as that, the researcher's life was saved.
However, she felt pain within her heart. In her current form, she could never return to her place on the researcher's shoulder- much less be anything but a failed concept. At the moment that the researcher opened her eyes, the bird nodded sadly and flew into the dawn sky. As her wings beat slowly, guiding her into the middle of the ocean once again, tears filled the bird's eyes. Coupled with the pain of a life of loneliness before she was a strong feeling of relief that the researcher she cherished was going to be well once more.
The bird peered down towards the vast expanse of the ocean, and while she lost her focus, images of the researcher's smiling face and of the improvements they would live to make upon the world filled her mind with sweet and silent warmth. She vowed to help in her own way and thus guided every bird on their flights throughout the world- until that world would end.
[Quite a story, most certainly. And dare he says, one that isn't all that terrible having been made up on the fly. And it appears to have done its work. The majority of the first settlement's children lie underneath the tree he has seen fit to press his back up against, and there is very little to be done except to wait. And wait he does.
...Until he hears footsteps. He lifts his head to examine the passerby as they indeed, pass by, his voice good-natured.]
I do hope you are here to take over. It's a wonder I haven't lost any yet.
[He's being playful, of course. He may not be an accomplished childminder, but should any of the settlement's children in his care choose to wander, he would know.]
open; farm investigations
But it is as the seasons change within Solvunn, the end of winter giving way to the procession of spring and the beginnings of summer forming in longer evenings, brighter mornings, that something begins to strike him as somewhat odd.
It is the land itself.
While alive, in his time, in his culture and with his purpose, he had been far from a researcher. Far from anyone that created anything new, actually- and the furthest thing imaginable from anyone accomplished enough to study the land.
Yet even then, things about this star are strange to him. Growing cycles, in particular. Perhaps, if anyone were to wander by a certain field on a certain day, they may be witness to Hythodaeus, looking dumbstruck, at a particular elderly farmer.]
280 days? If I were to start growing these, I would be required to wait that long?
[The old man confirms. And then something else follows- a comment about being lucky to see the seeds of which Hythlodaeus is enquiring about sprout at all. Shortly, he erupts into (good-natured, as is the way of those from Solvunn) laughter. Some comment about the gods most certainly follows, and Hythlodaeus is very clearly stunned.
And left with his hand to his chin, his gaze contemplative as his eyes are fixed upon the soil of the farmer's field.
Offer your thoughts, inquire, or not. The choice is yours.]
open; a shift at the drunken lamb
Yet a few months into his tenure at the establishment (and indeed, the blessing of the inn's mascot ewe shown by a particular nibble at the edge of his robe as he had been asked) and he was to work behind the bar on odd days as well. Not at nights- when they were most busy. Only during the summer, when the skies were lighter, earlier, for longer- and when the usual barstaff found their attentions torn between the lamb and their fields.
He had accepted, of course. For he found himself intrigued by the little shack with the thatch roof, where all of the citizens of the first settlement liked to spend the evenings exchanging information. It was civilization- an important building, yet so different to all of the important buildings of his time and his star. It was not stuffy, for one. There were no bureaucrats shuffling about, no Words rushing here there and everywhere mid-task on behalf of their mentors.
No petitions. No applications. Queues, yes. But not for audiences or for documentation. Instead, for mead.
It is as he's washing a small number of glasses in the sink his mind moves toward the comparison, the question of what exactly anyone underneath him at the bureau of the architect would even think were they to see him here, now.
...He cannot help but laugh.
No doubt alarming the person who has come to the edge of the bar.]
Oh, my apologies. [A faint smile. More reserved. Yet he cannot control the glint of amusement in his already glowing eyes.] No doubt I looked quite mad for a moment there.
open; communal cooking
Yet there were a few things that Hythlodaeus was not familiar with. Like the areas between the houses which were designed in circular fashion. With roof coverings, yet with open sides- each hosting a series of large brick ovens, flat surfaces, and places to store equipment.
It was only a few days into his stay that he had discovered the true purpose of these areas. They were communal cooking spots. Where members of a number of families could gather, catch up with each other, exchange words and ingredients, and provide for their families together.
It was quite a lovely idea, truth be told.
He had lingered a few times. His needs, of course, were taken care of. His pay from the drunken lamb had ensured both he and Emet-Selch were fed, and well at that- much less their own magicks could easily provide for their needs should it even come to it.
So it is not for his need that he tends to linger.
More interest. More curiosity- for he had never learned to cook. His world, of course, his ability and his power had meant that the science behind preparing ingredients for consumption had never really been needed.
But he is curious.
And he must confess, the smells that drift from one of these very spots- quite a way away from where he and Emet-Selch live, in a cottage as remote as what Solvunn permits- is rather entrancing.
Surely lingering and observing for a short spell would not be something deemed untoward?]
no subject
Who knew farms had so much damn work put into them?
But between hauling the wheelbarrow into town to grab a new bushel of hay, he pauses, ears perked, for the guy looking over the kids today. Huh. He only means to listen out of curiousity of what could have the kids looking so enraptured, but he ends up staying til the end. He sets the barrow down, leaning against it.
Not bad. Not bad at all. He's got a nice voice, hooks to keep the kids's interest. But it's heavy. Plenty of stories are, but --]
New to it, huh? Well, kids are kids. Keep 'em entertained and it's easy enough. [Said to put it real simply, but when it came down to it, it's the truth. A few of the kids were now getting up to flap their arms like wings, arguing over who would be the jade bird.] Hell of a story to tell them, though. "Until the world ended?" Usually you don't wanna finish them on such a downer.
no subject
Another summoned, perhaps?
Yes. That would make sense. It would explain the soul within his sights- something that, to him, dances at the very edges of the man before him. It is not that those native to Abraxas lack souls. Most certainly not. Yet compared to the summoned, distinctly lacking in terms of vibrancy.
And the man that stops what is no doubt heavy, difficult work to speak to him?
Oh, that is a vibrant soul. There's something else, too. Something nigh imperceptible to most- to him a glimmer. Something quite interesting for the fact he, with all the souls he has observed, has not quite seen anything like that, and therefore, does not know quite how to identify it.
An unknown curiosity it is then. And Nero appears to be two for two thusfar. For he's rather fond of curiosities, as well.
He smiles, lowering his eyes to smooth his robe from errant plucked grass and the beginnings of a wildflower chain in order to stand. And as he does...]
Is that so? Well. I daresay I've traumatized them. Irrevocably.
[A small joke, for his voice is indeed playful. The children do not seem traumatized. Not even in the slightest. Some of the gentler sorts are indeed, as Nero has perceived, imitating the beautiful little bird. Some of the rowdier ones are in the act of imitating the snake and preparing to pounce the children showing off their imagined plumage.
Hythlodaeus flicks his eyes to Nero, again, quite playfully, before he moves his gaze to the little group again and leans down to address them, his hands resting upon his knees.]
Do you think our new friend can provide a better ending?
[The children, or at least those that recall Nero from his own (no doubt, fantastic) efforts in looking after them, would then respond to the affirmative. Enthusiastically, and yes. Loudly.]
Oh my. It would appear you are well-regarded.
no subject
He's totally relaxed.]
Yeah, you think you're in the safe zone now. Just check them next time an eclipse rolls around and then they've totally convinced themselves the world's ending between dinner and bedtime.
[Hell, one time Kyle told Kyrie he was pretty sure he was gonna die because he'd seen a bird hit their window. He's still not sure where that thought came from. Nero only sneaked a few horror movies a month. Maybe.
He gives a semi-flustered laugh, scratching the back of his head.] Come on, man, you guys know I'm working! Maeve'll kill me if one of the cows so much as moos one too many times. [The kids laugh -- there's definitely a hint of on-going tales of the Adventures of Cows in the sound.] I dunno, most of my stories have, like, fights and shit. [The kids makes a more secretive noise at the slip of a curse.] Feels kinda weird messing with your story. Unless your jade bird can already transform into a spaceship.
no subject
Nero is not to know, of course not- but it was not just the children that had thought that the eclipse signaled the end. But. Some things are not for first meetings. And certainly not for company that seems pleasant- much less those around them. So. He glances at Nero, noting the way of which he speaks to the children.
A joke is exchanged. Something to do with cows, apparently- nothing he feels he knows enough about to comment on, something he is too out of the loop to question, but it appears to go down well with the children. Some laugh, loudly. Some make a sound that sounds like a long 'ooh', suggesting that indeed, this Maeve's wrath was something terrible. It almost certainly seems that they're familiar with each other. And on both sides- it would appear that there is no small amount of affection. Even in the tone of one child that states, obstinately, that Nero's not allowed to curse. ]
That would truly be something unique!
[His smile then turns somewhat apologetic. For alas- no. No transforming mech birds here. (At least not yet.) But he does have an idea...]
Would you mind if I and these ones walked with you the rest of the way? I imagine it is likely past time we returned...
[A small sound follows. Small voices making small complaints at the prospect of abandoning the rolling fields and open space that makes up the outskirts of the settlement.]
...And, [Perhaps he is pandering to his audience. Or perhaps he intended to ask something else of the man before him.] perhaps you would be inclined to play a small game with me as we go. I shall start another story. Then, you shall provide a segment. Then I shall, and then you. And so on, until we are at your destination... or our collaborative effort is at an end.
[A lot to ask, most certainly. And perhaps untoward of him to ask in earshot of the children, who appear to be elated at the prospect- some clambering onto the back of the wagon Nero was pulling already.]
no subject
Mostly because it's the way of kids. Whatever is forbidden is alluring or funny. One or the other. Or both.
Though he's surprised by the offer, after a second of deliberation, he shakes his head.] Sure, if you want to. You guys never get sick of getting on my nerves anyway, huh?
[He gives a rub into a kid's hair which is real close to a noogie; a blonde boy named Arne whose mother Nero knows from her purchases of the farm's cheeses. She bakes a mean cheesebread with them, sprinkled all over the top, and Arne's definitely tried sneaking into the wheelbarrow more than once, as if Nero wouldn't notice the weight. (Okay, to be fair, he hardly does.)
The offer's not bad. Get his work done, entertain the kids. Nero picks the wheelbarrow up with one arm and doesn't seem to be weighed down at all by several children inside of it.] Like a round robin? Yeah, why not? Not promising nothing won't turn into a spaceship, though.
[What? They're cool.]