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

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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?

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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."

When she looks up at him, there’s a faint pause in the time it takes him to respond. Those cat-like eyes still perplex him. But… otherwise she seems very human and not like a warrior at all. She’s too young and inquisitive. And she would not be so wary if he wasn’t a potential threat to her. The fact that she’s guarded is a good sign.

Her attention to the condition of his workspace improves his regard further. Housework is fast becoming one of his least favorite aspects of life here. He’ll take any help he can get on that front.

“I keep the wood outside on the porch. You can choose a suitable one from there.” He’s curious to see what her qualifications are for these pens.

She might, once she's calmed down from her eagerness and all the things she's seen and learned in such a short time, realize that she hasn't been hiding her features as strictly as she's used to. It won't be a nice revelation, knowing she's getting comfortable, but it has its pros as well. Of all the things that could endanger her here, her race isn't one of them.

So she doesn't notice the pause, assuming he's just thinking. Her attention is soon on the twigs gathered outside and she heads for them now. As for qualifications, he'll learn that she's lenient. There wasn't much to choose from while she was on the run and she worked with what she had. She'll do the same here, and honestly isn't expecting to come across bad material when they're in a forest of all places.

"I wonder if I can just—" A bit of effort and she breaks one of them in the middle. It's still big (though her hands are especially small), but that's the way it should be when you plan to shave them down. She smiles and returns indoors to sit at the space cleared for her, and then slowly unsheathes her dagger. She'd been scolded numerous times by Liam not to use it for sculpting and the like, but he isn't here now so there. She's always careful not to ruin the blade.

"Do you want to sit?" She looks up at Orcelito curiously. He can observe while standing, of course, but she asks anyway.

He follows her to observe, though the choice of wood is nothing exceptional. He would have offered to break it apart, but he sees now that she prefers to do things herself. (How nice it must be, to have such an ability to be independent.) He pushes away the thought and his mind wonders in the opposite direction: isn’t she young to be so self-sufficient? Is this how the lives of common people are?

He fetches another chair for himself – amused at being asked if he wants to sit down in his own home, and bemused at the lack of servants to ask and answer that question. He’s still getting used to acting on his own power.

There is a stir of fear at the sound of a weapon being drawn – but he makes himself relax. (I invited her into my home because I believed she won’t hurt me. I still believe that.) He sits across from her to watch carefully as her fingers go through the motions of carving. Ever get a feeling and not know why? Maybe his intuition is improving. Or maybe he is still naive. But he needs her if he wants to write, and for that, he will overlook things like cat eyes and a dagger.

Such things like the relationship between host and guest are beyond her, so she simply watches him sit down with a content look in her eyes before giving her full attention to the carving. She doesn't even notice that something might be wrong once she drew her dagger.

The process ends up being less 'tell' and more 'show' after all, but Riona is aware enough to go through it slowly so Orcelito can see what she's doing and how she's doing it. Shaving down the wood into a slender pen-like shape is an easy task and it's done within minutes. Crude it may be, but she's made a proper nib so that it may be dipped into whatever will serve as a replacement for ink.

Since Orcelito offered earlier, she tries her hand at improving the feathers he'd found next. This is where she struggles, as the sharpening of quills is too delicate a process for her bulky dagger to handle. She succeeds only after several attempts and huffs proudly as she holds out the newly fashioned quill to inspect.

"There! I knew I'd get it." Yes, after all those grumbles under her breath and insults thrown at the uncooperative feathers.

The carving down of the piece of wood is no mystery to him. But the nib – ah! – that was the troublesome part! He watches closely and with open fascination. It all seems so simple once you know what to do! And, crude though it looks, it’s the best thing he’s seen all day and he congratulates her heartily.

Then comes the hard part.

Her work with the feathers confirms his suspicions – they don’t have the right tools for this. If only he had a smaller knife with him: a slim dagger, a letter opener, something! (That’s what he should’ve grabbed off his desk before he got whisked away – the letter opener!) Maybe they could borrow something? He’s considering it, and looking for another trimmed feather to hand her, when the fine points of the nib finally come together – no cracking or bending this time, just a clean point.

He stares in surprise for a moment. And then he does something he doesn’t do often. He breaks into a smile. A genuine one that’s neither required nor controlled. And when he smiles for real, it’s noticeable, as his whole demeanor brightens.

He claps his hands together. “You did it! It is possible!” He looks around, then pushes a light slab of wood and a bowl of mahogany-colored dye towards her. “Go on, test it. It’s not paper or parchment, but let’s try anyway.”

She can't help a small smile at the blatant display of congratulations for what's easy work to her. Liam never was very interested. It's been a while since she's been praised like that, certainly not since she was much younger with more childlike accomplishments. And never by anyone her own age because she's rarely met anyone her age. It's a nice feeling.

That smile widens to match Orcelito's like it's contagious, because yes, it's obvious even to her that his happiness is genuine. She thought he might be upset she wasted so many of his feathers, but that doesn't seem to be the case. She's very relieved and even prouder of her success now.

Her dagger is sheathed by the time he presents her with the wood and dye, and she looks over the materials curiously before he makes their purpose known. Oh!

"Ah, oh— All right." She's a little nervous. These damn quills better work or she swears to the dragon god—

She dips the quill carefully into the dye and pauses over the wood before pressing the tip to it. What should she write? She supposes her name will do. He did say it was just a test. So that's what she does, drawing the curves of the letters with a steady hand. It feels amazing to be able to write decently again, though she'll leave determining the quality of the dye and quill up to him.

It’s the first time he’s watched someone besides himself write in this place. As she picks up and fills the quill, he wonders what her writing will look like, and more importantly, if it will be in a language he can read. (Wouldn’t it be disappointing to go through all this work and no one can read each other’s writing?)

He watches closely as the first lines develop. He can’t tell what she’s writing… at first. But as the word ends, he’s able to refocus, and suddenly he understands that it’s her name.

Peculiar, that. But a very good thing!

The ink is thin and running a bit and the color needs to be darker. The nib may only last a week before it has to be re-trimmed. But he’ll work on those things later. He’s kept her here quite a while and he doesn’t want to bore her with further details. “How does it feel to write with? I know it’s large for a quill, but I’m not sure we can make them any smaller.”

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

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