thehometree | Scavenger hunt! Well, at least the scavenging part...

Entry tags:

Scavenger hunt! Well, at least the scavenging part...

| characters | Kit and Orcelito, plus anybody else who wants help out
| date/time | 4-19/ early afternoon
| location | Around the base of the tree
| rating | G
| summary |Kit is poking around on the ground for something that can be made into/used as a weapon, or anything else that might be useful. Want to join her?

Kit wandered around through the grass near the tree's roots, trying to see if she could find anything useful. Especially something that could be useful as a weapon. A long thorn, maybe or a rock that could be shaped to have a nice edge. So far, she wasn't having much luck.

She might go farther out from the roots later if she didn't find anything, but she wanted to wait until the breeze died down a bit. That big, pink flower smelled funny, even from here, and she wasn't eager to go near it if she didn't have to. Besides, she'd heard some people had been having strange effects from it, and wasn't eager to find out whether or not cats were immune.

So for now, she stuck close to the roots, climbing over them or ducking under them where appropriate, as well as looking for any minor nooks, knotholes, or niches that might be accessible in the side of the tree proper. After all, who knew where she might find something interesting?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Administrator...?" The pronunciation is more thick on her tongue. She can't even begin to guess what it could mean, though clearly it has something to do with books. If all you need is a collection of them, would that make her an administrator as well? Who knows. She straightens up from her confusion to answer the question now, which she does rather simply.

"Of course I do."

Never mind that she isn't aware most people in her world actually can't do either—reading and writing were such basic components of her childhood that she can't imagine any other way to live.

"But I don't have any books with me. Or quills or ink. I could carve a tool out of one of those twigs, though."

Of course? That answer puzzles him. He knows nothing of her culture, but on his world, she’d have to be the daughter of a land owner or wealthy merchant at least to be reading at such a young age. And he wouldn’t have guessed that just by looking at her or hearing her speak.

“A tool for writing? Of what sort?” Considering his failure thus far to make anything other than a paintbrush, he’s very interested.

"Just a pen. Like a quill without the feathers. Or a very thin arrowhead. It isn't a proper tool but you don't need coin to buy it. I'll make one but they're useless without something to write in." And she doesn't know how to make ink or what could make a suitable substitute.

“That would be great. All you need is wood? You don’t need a feather?” Because, you know, he has enough feathers stashed in his house to re-feather a bird.

“I haven’t made paper yet. But we could try it on a leaf or smooth piece of wood.” He thinks about this a moment. “Could you show me how to make one, and then we can test it with the dyes I’ve made?”

"No, you don't need feathers." She pauses. "Well I suppose if you really wanted one, you could stick it on with something."

Somewhere, proper quill pens are wilting from the disrespect. In any case, she's a bit surprised at the request and stares at him as she considers it. She hadn't expected to go teaching him how to make a pen, but rather just give it to him and move on. This is a particularly new circumstance for her.

"Um." She has to think about it, honestly. She's not much of a teacher, so it would truly be more of a 'show' and very little 'tell.' "I...could. If you'd like. Where are you dyes?"

Orcelito watches her with a smile, waiting patiently. He knows it’s asking a bit much, but in his experience, most children do enjoy the show-and-tell process of teaching (or at least, his sister does – his brother was and still is a different story entirely.)

“Thank you, Riona. It will help tremendously.” He says, and his tone conveys that he truly means it. He’s been struggling to carve feather shafts for days – this could save weeks of trial and error.

Orcelito steps aside and tilts his head back to look up – way up – at the tree who’s shadow they are standing in. Then he raises his free hand to point at a structure jutting off the tree, a few feet (it feels like miles) above them. “That’s the porch of my house. I have the dyes in the kitchen.” He looks back at her. She seems to be a sensible girl (always a good thing), so he realizes she might turn him down, but he offers, “You can come in and see if you like.” And if she doesn’t think him trustworthy, that’ll be fine too.

While all she has is a short nod in reply, his genuine tone doesn't go unnoticed. Carving a pen or two shouldn't be too much trouble and certainly has little chance of leading into danger...though she supposes they could be used as weapons if one was desperate.

She shakes her head to clear those thoughts for now and looks up when Orcelito does. It takes her little time to pinpoint what he's pointing to. 'Porch' had been unfamiliar to her until now—now she knows that those extensions are called, though their purpose still alludes her.

"Oh. Um..." The offer makes her look back at him with a slightly surprised expression, and then she falls quiet again to consider it. This really isn't the best of ideas, but she really wants to see those dyes...

"...All right. Sure. Do you, uh—" What were they called again? "—have roommates?"

A good precautionary question. He shakes his head. “No. I just arrived here last week. I barely know anyone here.”

It has occurred to him that he should be sharing those empty rooms. (Though he never understood before now what a privilege it is to have a place of one’s own. His palace always had rooms to spare after all.) He’s seen people who need a place to stay and he does feel badly for them but… He can’t risk putting his life on the line by letting strangers in. He no longer has guards to protect him. And it’s still imperative that he stays alive, whatever sacrifices to the community that may require.

The life of common people is so… harsh. But perhaps being a prince is too, because his life and his country’s life are almost simultaneous.

He banishes the rest of that thought. Time to focus on the matter at hand. In his formal manner, with a clear yet mild voice, he says, “I realize we’ve just met. For what my word of honor is worth, I promise my home is safe to you, Miss Riona. I’m looking to make allies, not enemies.”

((OOC: If you want to use the CR they’re building to apply as a roommate in the future, let me know. They’re both wary characters, but I think it could work if you are interested!))

Oh, he's the same as her—spirited away to an unknown forest against his will (presumably) and trapped here with dozens of strangers. Some have been here longer, it seems, but there have been quite a few new arrivals.

Orcelito words don't startle her. In fact, he's on the right track. He understands that it shouldn't be second nature to trust others, especially in circumstances like these. One needs to be cautious until more information comes to light. While they differ in that she isn't actively searching out allies, she won't turn away a prospect. If anything goes wrong, she has her dagger and she has Ninna. It's okay. It should be okay.

"That's smart. Staying alone." She approaches him now, assuming he'll lead her up to his tree home. "But if you really want allies, I hope you can make them."

Her words bring a smile to his lips – not the warm smile from before, but a knowing one that is almost a smirk. Because she understands, and because they’re speaking the same language in a sense. And that last line… was that a challenge?

“Obtaining allies in unusual circumstances is a specialty of mine.” He says in a tone that suggests it is something like a secret joke. (And to him, it is.) Though she approaches, he steps back, and it becomes apparent why when he snaps his wings open. Before they merely resembled a heavy cloak; now they’re grand against his petite figure and the air displacement can be felt clearly. But he takes off without stirring up too much dust, and he’s able to carry the extra weight of the twigs without losing speed.

Landing on the porch is a little rough; he gets there before her and hovers close enough to grab the roof and pull himself under it, and then there’s a second of furious fluttering (as moths tend to do in tight spaces) as he drops the results of his scavenger hunt over a railing and climbs in after it. Ungraceful, but effective. Hopefully she manages better.

She doesn't catch the smile, too busy fishing out her own gem from her burlap sack. For a second she thinks she left it back where she sleeps at night, but it's here. She does however notice his tone and looks up at him with mild curiosity. What a strange thing to call a specialty, though instead of commenting on that, she's struck silent by his wings. They look remarkably similar to hers, but more importantly she hadn't even realized they were wings at all. They're very nice, nonetheless.

Reluctantly, she grasps her blue gem in her hands and brandishes her extra appendages to follow Orcelito. A part of her hoped they could just climb the tree, but she supposes not everyone here is fond of that mode of transportation. Oh well. Flying is difficult and she manages just as well as Orcelito, if not even more ungracefully, but what matters is that she lands on her feet and wastes no time in ridding herself of her wings.

She takes a look around now.

"Ah, this is the floor with the crystals. I like this floor." They remind her of ice structures, not to mention they're beautiful.

On landing, Orcelito reaches into the cuff of his left sleeve and seems to make an adjustment – to a bracelet or cuff perhaps. His wings vanish in an instant and he breathes deeply as though happy to be free of them. Without them, he looks slighter; the coat he wears is tailored to fit and he looks young for his age.

He steps aside to give her room to land (it is a small porch.) He’s surprised to see her wings have tails similar to his own; he hasn’t seen that design much around here. The sheen is curious too. It reminds him of glass, like a window in a cathedral. Or a skylight.

“I like it, too. It’s a fairly ordinary crystal, but it makes a nice decoration. Some of it is in the house too.” He gestures to the windows – they appear to be slices of clear and sky-blue quartz. He opens the door for her and steps aside. “Please, after you.”

The open kitchen and dining looks much like it does in the other homes; simple in design and all in wood. The odd thing about this space is it’s filled with natural materials – feathers leaning against the walls, flower petals and leaves stacked on the dining table, a bucket full of water and wood chips pushed into a corner, and so on. But on the stone slab that acts as a kitchen counter is a line-up of cups and bowls, each with a different color of liquid steeping inside with its’ source of dye – pieces of nuts or berries. Beside them is a damp paintbrush made of fur and a white feather half-painted in shades of pink and brown. Everything is neatly laid out and organized.

These were ordinary to him? He's lucky. If someone had made a crystal structure like in Dragua, they'd be killed in moments on suspicion on having ice magic and being a dragonblood. She can't count the times she was scolded for making her own variations of ice arrangements even in secret. The thought is a bit dispiriting, but she pushes it aside. She looks toward the windows and manages a soft but brief smile at the sight.

"Yes, it's nice."

And now her expression is back to her usual one of caution, as she pauses a moment at the invitation. She doesn't recognize the respect in telling her to go in first, but she eventually goes. Despite herself, she can't help but survey the room with wonder in her eyes. This looks like nothing like the few other rooms she saw. Each little decoration or enhancement is so curious, and some very pretty—she goes first for the wooden chips in the corner, crouching down to pick one up with interest. What could these be for?

"There's so much in here..." She puts the chip back and stands, going for the flowers on the table next. They get another faint smile out of her as she brushes her fingertips gently across the leaves. "I saw these outside the other day. It looked they'd been picked. So this is where they went."

Orcelito doesn’t usually invite others to see his hobbies and crafting spaces; generally, his non-work creativity is something shared only with his siblings. So it’s a little… uncomfortable at first to have someone he just met examining his projects, and he watches her closely.

But then he remembers that he has nothing to hide. She doesn’t know who he is, and even if she did, it might not mean anything to her. So he relaxes and stands back, enjoying her changes of expression as she looks around.

“I try not to take too much – the plants need to recover afterwards.” He approaches the table and draws out a lilac-colored petal from the pile – it’s taller than they are. “Most of the petals are soft and surprisingly strong. It’s strange, since when I was home… still normal size I mean, they were so delicate.” He used to make flower crowns with his little sister, so he’s handled flowers lots of times. Back then, he had to be extra gentle not to tear them. Now, he has to cut the leaves and petals from the plants and roll them up like a thick cloak to carry. It’s… really another world here.

She steps aside so that the petal can stand comfortably between them. While Riona is rather small to begin with, it's still surreal how much a single petal towers over them. She marvels at it in her quiet way, though her attention is soon back on Orcelito when he speaks.

"Find the right ones and you could make medicines. But most of them aren't very useful. Just pretty. What are you going to do with all these?" She asks the question as she gestures to the table. Just one petal should be enough to serve a purpose, whatever it could be, but he has so many gathered along with their leaves.

“I would like to harvest herbs when they start blooming. But I don’t know many by sight, and I’m not trained in preserving or using them.” His smile falters, a hint of frustration showing for an instant. The topic of herbs is not a good one to bring up with him right now. He recovers quickly though.

“I was testing some of the dyes on the petals. I also wanted to see if I could preserve any, or use them with the wood pulp.” He nods at the bucket of wet wood chips she was examining earlier. “And they have a nice scent while they are fresh.” Which reminds him of that garden he wants to build someday; being reminded of your dreams is important, especially in these troubling times.

She opens her mouth to say something but ultimately decides against it. She thought she might offer to help him identify the flowers and plants she's already familiar with, as few as they are, but she's already helping with the pens, and that's enough. So instead she simply tilts her head inquisitively when she notices Orcelito's expression this time. That was a strange moment to frown and she's curious, but other things interest her more right now.

"Ah, the dyes." That's right, she saw those earlier. After looking back the wood chips, she approaches the bowls filled with color and once again marvels at the sight. She's never seen anything like this before.

"You did this all by yourself? Incredible..."

Orcelito follows her to the counter. His smile deepens at the compliment. He won’t admit that a week ago he wasn’t sure how dyes were made. He’d never asked. But then he came here and needed something to write with. And he thought about those teas he’d gotten so used to drinking - how they were just water mixed with leaves or fruit, but they could have such strong colors. And then, with a bit of guesswork and experimenting, everything came together.

In other words, he was smart and got lucky. Again.

“I’d like to thicken and darken them so they can be used more like ink.” He knows syrup can be used to thicken drinks, and charcoal can be used to darken. Aside from that, he’s unsure where to begin. “Ideally, we should be able to write with precision without the color fading or bleeding.”

Luck or not, something like this is beyond her own capabilities so she admires Orcelito for managing to do this much in the short time they've been here. If left up to her, she would have tried using mud or something equally useless to write.

"How do we do that? What do you need?" When she asks, it's clear in her voice that she's more interested now. If she hadn't already agreed to help with creating writing tools, this would have clinched it. A child's curiosity is an easy thing to incite.

And he is more than willing to benefit from that curiosity! “First we should start with your pen design. We need to test these with something other than a brush.” He starts clearing a workspace. “I also want to see if your carving technique can be adapted to make a quill.” He picks up a small feather (still the length of his forearm) with a clear shaft that’s been neatly trimmed. “I’ve tried to craft one myself, but I haven’t succeeded yet.”

“Then you can help me find things we can use to improve the dyes. I have a few ideas. But we’ll have to try them out one at a time.” Of course, the trial and error process will go faster and be more enjoyable with company. But he’ll let her figure that out.

With so much to get done, she might even forget this person is a stranger and she should be wary of him. That can still happen afterwards, of course. Probably will. But for now she listens intently, nodding along to show she understands and then speaks when he finishes.

"May I see?" She refers to the quill he's picked up, as she reaches her hand out but not too far. How long has it been since she's seen or held one at all, handmade or no? "I can try. Making quills, I mean. I don't think they'll look very nice, though." Being functional is the most important part, of course, like her wooden pens, but if he's looking for something visually appealing as well, he won't find it with her. She hopes, briefly, that doesn't bother him.

“That’s quite all right.” Much as Orcelito appreciates aesthetics, he knows he’s not going to get them right now. If the quill can hold enough ink to get out more than one word, he’ll be thrilled. He holds the end of the feather out to her so their hands won’t come into contact. Caution is a state of mind that he appreciates. “I have more trimmed if you need them. So don’t worry if the first one doesn’t turn out.”

She takes it and twirls it in her fingers to get a better look at it before answering him.

"No, I want to try to get it right on the first try. I don't want to waste them. ... But I probably will. I've never made my own quill before. Someone else did it for me. I'll do a better job with the twigs." She looks up at Orcelito before continuing. He went ahead and cleared a space, but...

"... Can I really make them here? I'll be fine outside. All I need is a place to sit."

“You can carve one of the twigs first if you like and then try a feather. Once I know how you make them, I may be able to help.” He tells her gently. There’s no reason to hurry; this is one of the few times he can take a project at his own pace and he intends to do so. “Which would be easiest to show me first?”

“You’re free to work where you feel comfortable. If outside on the porch or inside the Tree is better, we can move.” And since she’s teaching him, he’ll allow her to choose.

She listens and contemplates her options. She did promise to show him how to make the wooden pens, but she had simply assumed they would be doing it elsewhere, not in a place as private as his home. But if Orcelito doesn't have an issue with it, she supposes it's fine. Unless he's planning something else...no, probably not. Look at this place. He's just as curious a person as she is. He can't be that bad. She just has to remember what she told herself earlier, that she has a weapon and Ninna for protection.

The quill is laid back on the cleared space. She notices his tone and thinks again.

"The twigs, then. And, um." She pauses as she looks back up at him, expression just a bit reserved. "Here is fine. You already cleaned it. Ah, but it's going to get dirty again. I'll clean up afterward." It's only right. "Let's sit here so you can watch. And I need to break one of those twigs first."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject