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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“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.”

"It isn't bad at all. I like it. And the size is fine, as long as we can use it." She speaks as she holds out the quill for him to take, and perhaps test it for himself. Her standards are rather low, though. She's just happy she has something to write with. Now if they could just find some books, she might actually dislike this place a little less. She's quiet now, just for a few seconds before looking up at him. Her smile is gone and her reservedness replacing it.

"I, uh...apologize for ruining so many of your feathers. But I've got a handle on it now." She promises to herself to take what she learned today and remember it for the future. Quill-making will be easily conquered!

Orcelito accepts the quill, re-fills it, and sets it to the tablet. He’s immediately distracted by the drag of the woodgrain against his strokes. Though his hand movements are practiced and smooth, the pen refuses to cooperate and blots or misses as it pleases. (He is accustomed to finely tipped metal nibs on his quills – and it shows.) The end result is his elaborate – if rough – signature beneath her own. And it’s not perfect, but it’s enough. He looks at it with something like contrite acceptance.

“I assure you, it’s not a problem. Had you not broken them, I likely would have.” And he has already broken about ten times that number. The good news is that he now has a fairly comfy featherbed to sleep on.

“Your efforts today are greatly appreciated, Miss Riona.” And he means it. “Once I have completed more writing materials, it would be a pleasure to share some with you. I assume you’ll be interested in writing in the future?”

Riona doesn't bother him while he's writing, instead curiously looking on from the side to observe. What a fancy signature...maybe overly so because she can barely read it and only assumes it's a signature since she wrote her own name first. She recognizes the 'O's at the front and end at least.

"Oh...all right then." She accepts and nods to his assurances, feeling a little better about her failures. She got it right in the end and that's what counts.

'Miss'? Not the first strange addition she's heard to her name and probably won't be the last. It doesn't seem like he means any ill intent, so she continues speaking, even perking up a bit now.

"Absolutely. I'd given up on it since—" 'Since she left home' she nearly says, but is quick to catch herself. "—since coming here... I'm actually more interested in finding some books, but I don't think that's going to be possible."

He notes the slight stumble in her words but offers no reaction. He’s faltered too, and witnessed others doing the same. It’s hard to talk about before. He wonders why. He has his own reasons, as he struggles between wanting to return and wanting to stay. It’s a tender subject at best.

“I’ve been looking for books too. I wonder if there might be an archive higher in the Tree… or perhaps a book will appear in the shop.

“In the meantime, we’ll have the ability to write our own.” He smiles again. “There are so many things happening here. Everyone has so many stories to tell from so many different worlds. We may create our own library in time. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” Yes, he’s a dreamer. But he has the freedom to dream again and he intends to exercise that right.

"The shop? It might be ten times bigger than us like everything else in there." Such a mysterious place, having so many items just out in the open like that. Even food! But a book, no matter how large, would definitely be welcomed by her. So she adds in, tone a bit optimistic: "But I hope so too."

Now she falls silent as he speaks and watches him closely. He said he wasn't an author but he seems so excited to be able to write. So is she, of course, but she would rather read than write. It isn't a bad thing to see in another person, though. It makes her wish for things to go well for him.

"Yeah..." She smiles a little. "But I don't know how to make books. Do you? Wouldn't we need to bind them together?"

Orcelito pauses to think back to… well, home. He can picture the freshly-bound manuscripts that kept crossing his desk. They smelled of glue and ink, had leather covers, and appeared sewn together with thread. “I’ve never bound a book before… but we could sew the papers together with string easily enough.” Covers might not be possible right away. But as long as they kept the books within the Tree and protected in a dry environment, it should be fine.

But fine for how long? He’s talking about building an archive. Does that mean he believes that they’ll be here long enough to create such a repository? Suddenly, Orcelito doesn’t want to think about it anymore.

“Ah, I’ve kept you a while.” He glances out the windows. “I have to collect more wood before sunset. And I imagine you’ll want to return to your own house.” Come to think of it, where does she live? He’s not sure it’s appropriate to ask…

Living here—it's something she's thought of numerous times since her arrival. She would agree that it's best not to dwell on it too long for their own sakes. Besides, even if it does suggest that they could be here long enough to enjoy it, a library isn't a bad thought.

"We'll need string first. I'll keep an eye out of it in the shop." She'll leave the sewing part to him. Sewing never interested her as a child, but ever since leaving home and seeing that even Liam could do it with his thick fingers, she's wondered if it's a skill she should have. One day, perhaps.

She follows his eyes and looks out the window herself. All that carving passed a lot of time, didn't it? It's the question that returns her attention to Orcelito, and she pauses a moment before answering.

"Oh, ah—" She's been trying to keep herself scarce in the woods. It's only been a few days, after all. But she's spent this much time with him and has agreed to help him in the future already...

"I'm staying outside." There, she said it. Like she's told herself numerous times already, it should be fine. "I can help. I prefer it when it's dark, anyway." Not to mention her eyesight is better than most, or so others at home have claimed. Picking out pieces of wood in the darkness will be an easy feat.

"... Or I can leave." She did just barge in on him outdoors, so perhaps he'd rather be alone now. She would certainly understand that, and her casual tone suggests as much.

“Outside?” He stares at her, uncomprehending. At first he wonders if she’s just staying inside the Tree but not in a house. That he could understand, for there are others camping in corners of the halls. But she meant outside. “Is that wise?” Clearly not, but he wants her to answer that for herself. “There are many dangers here. Will you be all right?”

He looks genuinely concerned. To him, she is just a girl with a single dagger to aid in her defense. And if she was wary of him (and he’s barely a head taller than her and not even armed), what must it be like out there in the dark?

“N-no, it’s fine, I would appreciate the help.” He replies promptly, as though dismissing an interruption. He’s still preoccupied with her previous statement. “Hasn’t anyone offered you a place to stay? There are rooms in other houses available.”

She expected a more suspicious reaction, frankly, so his concern (or confusion, or even both) comes as a surprise. It takes her a second to respond, and first she addresses his acceptance of her offer.

"All right." A nod, and now— "Yes, I'm fine. It's more comfortable, and..." And there's less people to worry about, with most of them staying inside the giant tree. Animals, no matter how large, are far easier to deal with than a human. She's learned that the hard way and will have to unlearn it with just as much difficulty. She may have had a bed to sleep in for most of her life and sometimes she misses it, but she's gotten used to the dirt and leaves, perhaps too easily.

"And it's cooler out there." A good enough substitute for her true reasons, and not a lie either. "I know some homes are still vacant, but the others can have them. I don't think I could be as fortunate as you and have one all to myself." And even then there would still be neighbors to worry about. She'd rather not.

She tilts her head a bit as she watches him. "You don't have to worry about it. I'm sleeping well."

Comfortable? Outside? He still stares at her, baffled. Surely she jests – no, she’s quite serious. But that’s inconceivable (to someone who has slept in a warm room on a featherbed every day of his life). Either she has a very different definition of comfort than he does, or she’s trying to distract from the real issue.

Then she confirms his second suspicion. Aha. That he can understand. Yes, the outside would seem safer in comparison to being unconscious in a house with three complete strangers. He blocks off the doors before he goes to sleep and he still feels nervous.

His expression relaxes as the confusion evaporates. “Yes. I understand.” She probably does sleep better – he won’t deny that now. But he does wonder what she’ll do if something happens that makes it too dangerous to stay outside. This place is precarious, after all.

“Well,” he stands up, “Shall we go back outside, then?”

She stares right back, gaze unflinching but brow raised at the silence as she wonders what he's thinking about so strongly. Hopefully nothing bad now that she's went and revealed she sleeps outside the tree. But they've gotten on well enough so far, so likely not. Probably.

Seeing him relax is a sign that things are okay, and her own shoulders relax as she nods again. She's glad he does understand and won't ask further questions, because there are important things to do now. In the end, he's not such a terrible person.

Earlier she made good on her promise to clean up, so she gives a little 'mm-hmm' and even a small smile in reply before following him. Making wooden pens—not something she expected to do here, but carving never fails to entertain her and it will help pass the time while they remain stuck in this place. Even if no one wants them, she'll just keep the ones she made for herself, as reminders of her accomplishments. She can always show Liam when (if) she returns home.

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

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