abraxaslogs | ( open & closed ) july catch-all

Entry tags:

( open & closed ) july catch-all

Who: aerith & you
When: throughout july
Where: solvunn, the horizon
What: catch-all for the month
Warnings: will update if applicable

( open and closed starters in the comments. if you'd like a custom starter or want to do something specific, please feel free to hit me up with a PM and we can go from there! )

Threaded | Flat

( there's a comfort in being out in the sprawling fields that make up the farmland of the secondary settlement--there's a sense of feeling at home among them, tending to those places where she knows her help is wanted, offering a free set of hands when able. tending to the crops and the animals is work that she can be proud of, something akin to the tedious labor of starting out her gardens back home: planting one seed will surely lead to planting another, and eventually, even if it doesn't always feel that way, things will expand and grow. her new talent is put to good use here, too: with magic to encourage the crops to grow, even just a little, she can coax the most stubborn plants to at least poke their heads out of the dirt for more sunlight.

of course, this also means tending to weeds, bugs, digging holes and getting dirty--it's one such afternoon of diligent weed-yanking, something that can feel almost like a game as she crouches along the rows of crops, walking carefully from foot to foot in order to pounce on little snippets of weeds crackling their way through the surface of the dirt. her hands clamp down on a handful, and--

--there's an immediate screeching, wailing sort of sound, piercing the calm of the afternoon around her, and startling her back. her hands let go of the plant; it continues to scream, and surprised, flat on her backside, aerith really has no idea what to do. )

Can you--can you--hush! ( there's an impatient sort of laugh, as she leans forward, sitting on her folded legs now, instead of crouching. ) What do you want...!

( if the shrieking weed has caught someone else's attention, too, maybe they'll know how to help. )

( it isn't really something necessary so much as it's something almost fun. after all, isn't it easier to just think a change into existence? close her eyes, press her hands together, and wish for something new? another row of flowers, perhaps, or a rickety old table inside the cottage, the sort that her and her mother used to sit at for tea--

or perhaps that's it, really: memories are too hard to escape, and doing something like this at least ensures that her little section of horizon isn't an entire replica of her abode back home in the slums, keeps memories from making her think back, longingly, to her place there, and the people there. there are flowers, of course, and trees, a small lake that sits nearly identical to where it might back home, but the house? the house is different, a small, cobbled-together thing that looks worse for wear than even her shoddy house back in midgar.

this house, though, is in need of a new coat of paint--and while it might be fun to dream it into existence, there's something to be said for hard work. and escapism.

so maybe you took a wrong turn somewhere, maybe you've met her before, maybe you're looking for an escape too: either way, you'll find aerith perched on her toes at one side of a rickety house up a stone path, a bucket of paint at her ankles and a large, oversized brush in one hand, carefully lining in some sort of drawing on the side of the house. not exactly professional, but hey, at least she's friendly--and will light up at any sight of company. )

( redecorating isn't really a hobby of hers, although it would seem to be something that's been on her mind lately, or something that she's used to escape it--practicing on her own area of horizon is one thing, but inviting herself over to someone else's, to leave some sort of changes there? she imagines that will take a little more effort, a little more focus and dedication. there's a look of determination on her face, certainly, as she finds her way to where gideon's place begins, and it's not like she's come empty-handed, either: a bottle of amorphous white wine is grasped between her hands, the neck of the bottle clutched against her chest upon her approach.

and really, it's like gideon said, isn't it? there's not much to look at here, yet, which is precisely the opposite feeling she has about the other--gideon is a breath of fresh air in a world that at times feels like it's trying its best to choke her under the weight of it. then again, the better way to look at it would be to see it like a canvas: there's so much opportunity here, so many different directions to go. an exciting venture, if nothing else.

her hands shift the wine to one arm, and then, playfully, she lifts her free hand to knock at the air--her lips curl up, a playful grin, as she leans forward, pretending as though she's peering through some sort of peephole, when there's nothing keeping her and gideon apart except space. )

Hellooo~ooo? Anyone home?

( there could be something ominous about the request to meet, or it could simply be the passing of time: it's been a while since they saw each other, after all, a while since the flowers in geralt's hair and quiet wondering; a part of her wants to ask how long they lasted, if he diligently worked each braid apart, or simply tore the stems from the strands, wants to know what it's like where he's staying now or if things have been strange there, too. but it feels as though she should do her best to be patient: it feels as though there may be some other purpose for all this, something that she should sit and listen to, first. plenty of time for questions later.

it's a strange feeling, inviting someone to this place, as though the expectation of being a good host, in other instances, becomes something alarmingly simple here. what more would it take than just the blink of her eyes or a bit of concentration? still, as far as her thoughts go, there is some culling that needs to be done--the small field of flowers here, grown up around a rickety house that's half-painted, the windows shuttered, has gotten out of control; the grass is tall, the weeds are growing, and the flowers need pruning, a task that she's taken to doing diligently with her hands, instead of anything else.

it's where geralt will find her, it seems--tucked onto her legs in the grass, idly peeling back the petals of a particular lily to see if she's also somehow called ladybugs and other little insects into this place, too. )

Oh! ( there's one arm, shot up into the air, as though he might actually miss the sight of her in this place. ) Over here!

( with a smile, she looks back to the task in her hands, lips pressed together; even without looking at him, it's easy to sense where he moves, and how. )

Do you like tea? I forget if I asked that.

Threaded | Flat

OPEN: SOLVUNN

OPEN: THE HORIZON

CLOSED: GIDEON

CLOSED: GERALT