While Vantas says his goodbyes to Aradia, you straighten up the library. As with any space you occupy for more than a day, it has become cluttered with books, articles of clothing, and a sundry of other items you regularly use.
You’ve finally gotten the hang of knitting with your claws. You may have made Eridan a scarf. You fold it and set it on the bed, now made, and set to penning your letter.
In the digital age one does not get much use from ink and parchment; it is inefficient, and standard communication is carried out via phones or some other electronic messaging platform. But you are fond of the scratching of a pen against paper, the smell of ink and the simple magic of calling forth language with elegant, smooth lines. Your journal remains a leather-bound book, and you derive great pleasure from writing in it.
It makes it that much easier to be snooped upon, of course, but you risk it for that little indulgence.
Thank you for your hospitality. Even though I dropped in entirely unannounced you didn’t kick up (much of) a fuss. You permitted me to dwell in your hive, amongst your friends, and even took the appearance of my moirail in stride.
At the risk of being sentimental, I will tell you that it has been balm on a hurt I had not known myself to possess.
Should I decide to visit again, I will at least give you fair warning.
You place the note atop the folded scarf, slip the rest of your things into your sylladex, and abscond with your moirail.
When the harsh Alternian sun sets, you venture outside. The rain has washed the hive clean, the bodies of your fallen foes presumably set to rest by the Cackler. You have brought your Thorns with you. Though smaller and less efficient than Roslin’s Spines, they are yours, and that is a crucial difference.
You stand on a rocky outcropping on one side of the small island, watching the waves lap against the shore. The water is dark and welcoming, but you will not be swimming yet.
The Professor emerges from the ocean, pulling himself onto the rocks. He wheezes at you, adjusting his monocle before crawling up your legs, middle, and finally perching himself round your shoulders.
Shards of glass protrude from the sand. Bottles of all colors, shapes, and sizes; broken and whole, ground to slivers beneath frustrated heels now littering the shore.
You reach for them with your Thorns, sifting through innumerable grains of sand with power as dark as the surrounding waves. Piece by piece they are lifted, glittering beneath the light of the twin moons. As you reach further, you feel a tension knotting at the base of your skull. It blooms into an ache when the beach is entirely awash in the purple glow of your magic, a thin line of sweat trickling down your brow.
You hardly felt it in the Medium, but here there is a toll to be paid for such power. It will be easier to bear with time and practice. You have been neglecting the latter, the former of course passes of its own accord.
Grasping the shards with one Thorn, you draw them close with another. You draw your hand back as though you were cinching something tight, bottles and broken pieces clustering into a glittering, jagged whole encased in a sphere of shadowy energy.
You move the pile off to one side, setting it down as gently as you can. The pieces chime as gravity again asserts itself over them, and you drop your hands to your sides, the telltale darkness of your magic fading to nothing. Your temples are now beaded with sweat, though the process took perhaps ten minutes.
You seat yourself on the rocks, the Professor oozing into your lap. Content with that exercise, you stare into the surf, letting your mind go as blank as it can with Roslin occupying a portion of it.
aww comon guys, he brought his own pillow and everyfin.
And considering leaving the hive to acquire bagels though I very much doubt I will embark on the venture.
You have until the end of this next level to express interest in some of the Dark Brew or I shall just make a cup for myself.
The silence of the hive is broken by one long, high, mournful note.
Rose has managed to breed two Past Misdreavus eggs within a single batch- and she can only keep one.
r0se has weird music
I would suggest dancing but the room has rather taken up with the fort.
What if I suggested building a pillow fort.
You wake feeling a great deal better than you did when you set yourself down (atop Vantas again) to sleep. You have had adequate rest two days running now, and this has made you realize how very important such a thing is to ones mental health.
Roslin’s hissing even seems quieter.
You feel so much better that you take a brief trip off world to purchase breakfast for the household (hivehold?). You return, triumphant, having procured platters of sausages, bacon, hash browns, scrambled eggs, pancakes, and a small fruit salad from some diner in Astoria. You realize you forgot orange juice and then decide you don’t care.
You place your stacks of human food upon the table, fix a sampler for yourself and your moirail, and return to the library. You trust the smell of food will wake the others and draw them to the kitchen while it is still hot. If not, too bad for them.
Which one of you ate the last of the bacon and chicken pizza.
We need to have words.
Pizza has arrived. You will find the boxes in Eridan’s kitchen.
I am ordering pizza. I will take requests.
You are the best undead pillow, it’s you.
Good thing too or this might have gotten uncomfortable at some point. You are kind of bored though, but you make the best of it. That’s what a handheld comm device is for after all.
You’ve woken up in within the past fifteen minutes or so but show no sign of moving. Instead, you blog on your i-shades while occasionally peering at Vantas’ handheld like the nosy creature you are.