I don't wish to evade the world | OTA

[unsheathedfromreality]

Who: Illarion, Ives, and anyone else sucked into the chaos vortex
What: A yurtwarming party + memories and misadventures (in comments)
When: Whenever
Where: Wherever
Shakira: Shakira

Content Warnings: Will warn per prompt!

November had been a cruel month for all Trench, mired in corruption and sacrifice; December had opened no better with its piercing chill and Sleepers pit one against the other by an ancient and echoing folly. Darkbloods in particular had been afflicted with the compounding feeling of control slipping through their fingers, and even Illarion--whose dead heart was beyond most emotions (so he thought)--couldn't escape the sense that everything was about to go horribly, irrevocably wrong if he didn't rein it in.

So he'd vanished into Trenchwood to get control of his life existence and somehow ended up building a couple of yurts with Ives. Funny, how that worked out.

Forever my home (OTA-ish, with Ives, early January, Trenchwood)
With the start of the year and the advent of the Egg Moon, life (and undeath) is suddenly looking a lot more positive. Once they'd finished their house-building, Illarion noted (and Ives agreed) that there were certain forms to be upheld: They should invite other Sleepers over to visit. Invitations trickled out over Omni and Omen to people they know, informing them of a new Lamp location and offering an opportunity for food, camaraderie, and conversation away from the heated and busy confines of the Snake Den.

The square for their odd little village of two (sometimes three) is where all the action's at, for any who come looking in response to the invitation. The fire pit is the center of attention: Large enough to contain a bonfire, lined with hand-laid stone, and often host to a simmering stewpot with food enough to share. Several logs surround it at a comfortable distance from the heat, allowing ease and conversation. Ives' yurt stands nearby, just large enough to give the Giant a sheltered place to sleep, and a small covered well with attendant pail offers fresh water. The Lamp, and its Lamp Friends (decorated with ribbon for the season), are opposite the fire from the yurt and a little ways into the trees. Discreet incense burners ring the clearing in a faint pall of smoke, with scents of pine and wet moss that pleasantly smooth Trenchwood's harsher odors--and more importantly, keep the beasts away.

A path leads away from the fire, off toward the distant mirror of the Salt Lake, permanently red this month thanks to Moon Presence's... presence. Sleepers with very sharp eyes might make out the mounded shadow of another yurt in that direction.

One or both of the Giant and the shrike might be found hanging around the place if expecting guests. Ives may be tending to a fine vegetable stew, attending to various little maintenance tasks, or simply sitting at his ease by the fire. He's also acquired a pan flute at some point and is looking for any excuse to play it. Illarion's often keeping incense lit, mending gear and cleaning weapons, or when he's in the mood--and that's often, this month--holding forth in story or song to anyone around to listen.

((OOC: Let us know if you want one furry, the other, or both on your tag in!))

Comments

Forever Home - Hope it's not too late! - Ives, Illarion or both! Just let me know if I should wait.

[hammerbearer]

"Why this place needs to make even the aetherytes disturbing, I will never understand."

Someone is sternly addressing the Lamp Friend. One of the...er charming creatures must have appeared to respond (or at least look up) for the someone also chides.

"Don't give me that look!"

Gaia knows these aren't aetherytes. And she knows the creepy... well, whatever the creatures around the Lamps might be, they're 'good'. This doesn't stop her from projecting her nervousness on them a bit because traveling to a new place. A new place in the Trenchwood. The teen has her hands on her hips and is looking sternly at the nearest of the endearing entities.

Then she crosses her arms defensively. "Nevermind. Thanks... I guess." Gaia has also projected a little personality onto the creatures. And with personality comes reluctantly given gratitude for the safe transit. With that she steels herself and looks around.

Some who know her origins might be surprised about how well the rich girl from Eulmore adapted to her circumstances in the last month. Winter is a bitter time to arrive, on top of the horrors, the dangers and the urges the blood gives. People who know her might not be surprised that she's managed to maintain a piece of herself through it all and not just break down. From scavenging items from boats to bartering and the handouts given when she first been hauled from the bitter cold waters, a look has been assembled.

It's a far cry from fashion but she worked with what she had. The robe has become an outer wear to warmer layers. Sturdy pants and thigh-high, water-proofed boots, protective leather gloves. Her raven locks have been firmly braided into a french-style single braid. And if a person is really astute, it's clear she's wearing light makeup. A compromise to the environment and conservation; the cosmetics she arrived with are only going to last so long and nothing she's found here has compared. Sigh.

But back to the moment! In which Gaia realizes this is not a public location, so to speak, but possibly one's private home. One's private home in the middle of the Trenchwood. Someone- she hasn't noticed the larger yurt in the distance- that might not like to be intruded upon by a stranger. After that short look around, she's ready to turn back to the lamp and find another and more public destination to start her explorations for the day from before the scent of something cooking reaches her nostrils.

Gaia's stomach audibly growls. She's managed to find food but there's still days where it's not been a lot. Perhaps she should stay. Barter for a bowl. Hunger wars with cautionary tales.

"Hello? Anyone home?" There's a stranger approaching the fire and stew which... may or may not be currently simmering without an attendant. Not that she's going to touch it! Or steal! That would be idiocy. But it would explain why she calls out in search of someone.

gleefully bodyslams this!! like so hard i accidentally post the comment way early, oops.

[unsheathedfromreality]

There's someone out there arguing with the Lamp Friends.

That gets Illarion's attention from the jump, where the shrike's off relighting incense for the day. As the newcomer sounds like she's neither in distress nor hassling his little buddies, he doesn't set down his chore to intercept her...but he does keep a sharp ear out to monitor the situation.

By the time the other Sleeper's made her way to the fire and stewpot, he does break away from what he's doing, carrying a bowl of fragrant ashes with him as he heads for the fire himself. "There is one home, as it happens. You are here for the food, perhaps?"

He did hear that growling stomach. And even if he hadn't, he knows a teenager from a mile away, and there's few enough of those that would turn down a free meal when it's offered.

Whups!

[hammerbearer]

That someone means no harm to the Lamp Friends. And if you're good at recognizing emotions in tone, it's going to be clear that there's a good dose of nerves behind the 'argument' and certainly no malice.

When approached by Illarion, Gaia focuses immediately on the newcomer. She seems a little surprised. "An elf?" ...And perhaps a little doubtful of her first impression. "...Maybe not. Sorry," she continues. Something about the figure is making her a bit uneasy but she can't quite put her finger on it. Still, there is the matter of food.

"I'd been exploring the lamp network," Gaia explains, her gaze drifting to the simmering pot and the smells coming from it. "So I wouldn't say I came for the food or even know where this place is exactly. But I was hoping to barter for a meal if you'd be willing to part with a serving."

She's not here for charity, thank you very much! Handouts are one of the things that still prick at her pride as a (former) rich girl.

[unsheathedfromreality]

"An elf," he affirms, actually seeming to brighten for the recognition. Sure, the odds are good that her elves are not his sort of elves, since he doesn't look at all like most of his sort of elves anymore--but knowing there's elves of some sort, somewhere, is always gladdening. "No need for apologies."

He listens to the rest of her explanation, shaking the ashes he's carrying out into the fire, well away from where the pot's hanging. "It happens that we are offering food to all comers, stumbled upon us or not. But if you are more comfortable with a barter..."

The terms of that barter will be left hanging a moment, as he sets aside his empty bowl, takes a clean one from the stack by the pot, and ladles out a generous serving of Ives' stew. It's vegetable-rich and thickened by hours of simmering. "I would hear your name, and a story from your world, in return. This is fair?"

He offers the bowl out.

[hammerbearer]

There's definitely a difference in an elf (or elezen depending on which world you're from) she knows and Illarion's type. One that had been pretty obvious at a second glance and a large reason for her apology, uneasiness aside.

Which brings them around to the matter of food and barter; the bowl held out and Gaia trying to weigh the risk vs benefit. When her stomach growls again at getting a good waft of the meal it's clear internal negotiations over how much caution is needed are rapidly deteriorating.

"That's it? Alright." Any wariness over such an easy barter you hear in her voice is almost certainly token. Hungry teenager is hungry.

"I'll start with my name first and the story after I eat, if that's alright with you?" Consider her name collateral? She reaches for the bowl before hesitating as if thinking maybe she should actually get confirmation on that caveat before taking the offering. "My name's Gaia."

[unsheathedfromreality]

Truly, Illarion knows teenagers. It's universally true across Nephele's species that the creatures could, and would, eat like they're starving at any opportunity.

So he tries not to smile more at the sound of her stomach growling, as she weighs the barter she's being offered and does exactly what he expected.

"More than. Please--eat. An empty belly does not always improve a story, despite what they are saying."

Truly, as much as he'd like to hear a new story, the barter's for her benefit. If she only gives him her name and dashes off after eating, it's no injury for him. In fact, once she's got her bowl in-hand: "Take your time. If you need another bowl, you may feel free. I will be nearby when you are ready with your story."

He'll potter around their little village while she eats, attending to whatever chores are needed. Never out of earshot, but hardly watching her like a hawk, either.

[hammerbearer]

"Alright." Once the deal's settled, Gaia seems just fine with accepting it at face value. Or more accurately deciding that she wouldn't feel like she owes any more than her name and a story.

She finds a place to settle with the bowl and dig into the stew. At first she tries for restraint; being brought up in Eulmore gives her an instinct for table manners and maybe some of that token caution effort has made her think she should eat slowly.

One... two spoonfuls. And she breaks again. While her manners don't devolve into a barbarian level of bowl drinking, she's definitely taking the soup in with gusto. Compliments to the chef.

There's a sigh of peace as the warmth of a filling meal sinks into Gaia, staving off the bitterly cold weather (which had been getting through despite the layers of her clothing). The fire is also helping.

She has been watching Illarion working around the... yard? Village? By this time her surroundings are becoming more interesting too and maybe she's seen the second yurt in the distance. Or at least the suggestion there's more than one person here. Hmm.

She seems to have gauged Illarion as, if not friendly, then at least neutral. Bartering is okay. Prying into their private life, maybe not so much.

"Would you mind if I took the second bowl with me?" As hungry as she is and would prefer to have had seconds right then and there, she's learned early that having something for another meal later is more beneficial than a full belly now.

As an example of what she means, a gourd is pulled out of her pack. Hollowed and made proof against leakage, with a tight lid, it would be perfect as a makeshift thermos. Well, if it could keep temperatures. For this, it's good for storage. Filling it would be a little more than a bowl's worth but she doesn't appear to have designs to take advantage of this.

[unsheathedfromreality]

Even without the cozy little campground Ives and Illarion have made for themselves, there in the woods, the Giant's cooking alone would be a draw. It's little surprise to Illarion whenever someone would rather eat than talk--nor is it much of one that their latest guest would rather have her second helping later.

Or, well, given teenagers, maybe it's a little bit of a surprise, but a pleasant one, that she's already learned that much of prudence while in Trench. "I would not mind," he answers her, from where he's checking the contents of a drying rack. "Nor would I mind trading you more food, if you are in need for later.

"You have not been missing meals, have you?" It's the echo of a fatherly instinct, to ensure those around him are well-fed.