"Roots of Friendship"

Cast: Seed (Deme) & Cabaletto (Iron)

TLDR: Seed went to the beach, where Cabaletto in his shifted bird form was busy catching his lunch. They begin to converse in Pallo about his pot therewithin he sleeps, much to the bird's surprise. Seed unsuccessfully tries to explain the Florkana sensation of "tasting" soil in which he's rooted. They next speak of war and how history is often only one perspective: the victors. Before heading off to the inn, Seed tries to correct Cabaletto's old Pallo. Cabaletto is left in confusion with his explanation, yet again.

Support Points Earned: 2

[8:47 PM] LadyDeme: The inn had not been very accomodating about this. It was always sad, leaving ports like Niciri that could be a little understanding of his... needs. Seed sighed and stepped off of a small dock, overlooking a rocky harbor. There was a thin stretch of beach, the sand a dull golden brown as the water frothed it back and forth. The beach was barely a strip before it met up with the rocky ground, but as far as Seed could tell, it was the spot in the city best able to give him what he wanted. In the Florkana's arms was a large clay pot, sturdily glazed and decorated with a green gloss -- it was about the circumference of Seed's arms, and likely carried a few gallons. People who'd watched Seed's pack during the trip would note it was exactly the shape of his baggage, more or less: a large ring. Seed carried it flat against himself, and in the hands that clasped about its middle was a large trowel. He set the pot itself down with a satisfied humph as it scraped onto the sandy beach and he knelt beside it when he reached the place where the sand ended and dirt began. It was messy work he planned to do, and so his long, draping sleeveless top was removed, and draped on a stone, leaving him only in a loose pair of pants. His body was neither the texture of his arms (which were somewhat rough and gnarled), nor his face (smooth and pale), but rather glossy, and a smooth, deep brown. It stretched long and lean towards the sky as he flexed himself: he'd picked a beautiful day for it, crisp and clear blue above. "Well," he said. His voice was only so loud compared to the roar of the sea. His knees hit the brownish sand, shifting down into them as his rootlike feet momentarily relaxed. The ground felt uneasy and salty underneath him, and he sighed over the topic to himself. "Let's get to work."(edited)

[9:11 PM] IronPegasus | Apple Spice Time: Further down the stretch of sand, a particularly large, white form gleamed in the sunlight. It was a Heron, standing nearly 8 feet tall at the top of his crested head, presently knee-deep in the waves. He was hunched over the water and staying perfectly still as he waited for something to swim by. The wait was not a long one. With a swift jab of his neck, the Heron plunged his head under the water and came up with a silver fish flapping in his beak. He seemed to contemplate something while the fish struggled in vain. Then, it was down the hatch - fins, scales, and all - in one smooth gulp. It was at this point that the unusually large avian took note of the wooden figure plodding his way onto the beach with a large pot grasped in his arms. Cabaletto watched with interest as Seed set up his pot in the sand and removed his garment. What is that fellow up to?

[9:45 PM] LadyDeme: What he was up to was digging, it seems: with a little practiced care, Seed was sifting out the sand from the...merely sandy soil. With each little trowel-full, he deposited into the large pot. On the whole, the Florkana looked slightly unhappy, with sagging shoulders and a faint sigh. The soil here was not a satisfying affair, but he kept at it. After a little while, in an effort to boost his mood, he began to hum something to himself, mingling it with the steady rhythm of the grey-frothed sea. The steady sound of his trowel chunking into the dirt and coming away with a biteful, like a sort of hungry beast The ground was soft and resettled slowly, trickling in as the water might with small, droplet-like clods. Here on the edge, few grasses grew, so he at least didn't disrupt much as he dug his hole.

November 1, 2017

[1:29 AM] IronPegasus | Apple Spice Time: He's playing on the beach like a hatchling? What is he going to do, build a castle? The Heron's interest in the bizarre actions of the tree-man deepened as Seed's hole in the sand did likewise. I think I'll get a closer look. He stalked slowly up the beach with one yellow eye fixed on Seed and the other idly watching the water in case a fish chanced by. He was supposed to be catching lunch after all! His approach was nearly silent, even though the waves slapped against his gray knees, and, despite his leisurely speed, Cabaletto's long strides ate up the distance between the two rapidly. Presently he was positioned not a stone's throw away from the Florkana's excavation site. "(Hello,)" he croaked in greeting. He didn't expect the man to understand Pallo, but it was still polite to make oneself known.(edited)

[11:04 AM] LadyDeme: Seed turned his head at the sound of the greeting, jolting from his thoughts at the sound of his voice, and a little bit more, though not very, surprised to see quite such a large bird hanging nearby. However, given their locale -- and, for that matter, his choice of approach -- Seed considered there to be few options as to who this looming bird might have been. "(Good afternoon, Cabaletto,)" He answered, in unhalting Pallo. In this, his education had made up for the sort of lapses in his upbringing -- so he'd learned languages hand-in-hand, with zeal and so with solid fluency. He'd put his sociable face back on in an instant, complete with its more firmed-up posture and its congenial, unspecific smile. He shielded his eyes from the sun, leaving a small streak of dirt across his forehead while he watched the lofty bird. "(Are you out enjoying the sea? The weather's fine.)"(edited)

November 2, 2017

[1:05 AM] IronPegasus | Apple Spice Time: Cabaletto looked surprised in his own birdish way. His gray feet did a small splashing backpedal in the surf. It was but a tiny shift in his overall stance, but a noticeable one none the less. His neck feathers slicked down flat, making him appear smaller. He regained his composure after a moment. ("I didst not expect thee to know the ancient language, good sir. Verily, thou art a man of knowledge.)" His works clicked through his beak. "(The sea is most fine this afternoon. I wast enjoying a bit of fishing for mine lunch when I spotted thee digging a most peculiar hole. Bid me, what art thou doing with that pot?)"

November 3, 2017

[12:30 PM] LadyDeme: Seed chuckled at the heron's surprise -- so he'd gotten it at once, had he? The amusement in his eyes receeded like a tide going out when the bird settled, letting the conversation drift away from that little turnabout without comment. "(Ah, thank you. I'm not sure I think of it as extraordinarily knowledgable a thing to know, but it certainly is handy. Of course, I also suppose I'm not much of a man, so I'll take 'of knowledge,' then.)" After all... It was just meeting the sort of standards for Florkana -- even if it had been a struggle for him at the time. That had been the fault of fate, irrelevant to the situation. That said... It wasn't as if all Florkana were raised in bilingual neighborhoods, either. He gestured to his pot and patted down a layer of dirt in it, shifting a shovel-full of dark, sandy soil with a pof, pof, a sort of solid patting noise. "(I'm preparing my pot for while we're staying here, since it seems like there's nothing more suitable in the inn...Ah.)" He blinked, and realized that, on the whole, the Heron might not quite have understood it. He gestured to his feet, which for the moment were an almost wickerlike bundle of root ball, shaped like feet in accordance with his wishes. Their skin was noticably different, a pale color without the brown, glossy layer of thin bark that covered most of Seed's body -- not even the lighter bark of his more delicate features. "(Allow me to explain. When a Florkana 'sleeps,' they don't use a bed. Rather, we still our minds, and let our roots absorb nutrients from the soil. So it's impossible for me to sleep in an inn room like these ones... So when I'm travelling or staying in places like this, I bring my pot with me, so I can both enjoy my room and get some rest at the end of the day.)"(edited)

November 5, 2017

[9:08 PM] IronPegasus | Apple Spice Time: The Heron's white head tilted to the side, much like that of a confused dog, so a yellow eye could get a clearer look at Seed's pot. "(Thou art going to sleep in that thing? How curious.)" He strode up onto the dark sand and delivered a sharp rap to the side of the container with his beak. The fired clay produced a dull ting in response. "(I didst not know that Florkana rested in such a pecular manner. It strikes me as inconvenient when one is on the road. Not only does one need to procure soil each night, but is it not cumbersome to carry?)"

[9:25 PM] LadyDeme: "(It's not very cumbersome: I put the remainder of my baggage inside it, and simply carry that on my back; it only needs new soil between places to stay, though depending on where we are in the world, I might have an easier time in a courtyard, or given soil.)" Seed explained, patting it so it gave a hollow thud. On examination, that seemed to be the normal shape of his luggage: his clothes and belongings could be folded up and protected inside of it fairly easily. "(If I'm truly on the road, it can actually be very convenient -- if I'm not worried about my luggage getting wet or stolen, it's easier to simply put down my feet and call it a night -- it's very comfortable to me.)" Seed explained.He patted the soil he'd added to the pot so far, to get a little more in: this wouldn't hold nutrients terribly well, if he had his guess. There was a long moment before he spoke again, as his expression softened. The voice he presented had the weight of old memories, sinking deeper and deeper into his chest. "(There have been times I couldn't afford a room at night... Or anything else, either; in times like those, I was happy to know how little I needed to survive. Just the ground beneath my feet and the water from above. The pot, a room -- they're just luxuries, so putting in a little extra work for them is fine.)"(edited)

November 6, 2017

[1:15 AM] IronPegasus | Apple Spice Time: "(When thee put it that way, it doesn't sound sound so inconvenient after all. Whilst thine pot is mayhap a bit unconventional, tis not much larger than a bedroll and tent like I carry. However, I find it difficult to believe that one of thy stature can fit though. Verily thine roots can extend further than the walls of this pot? I wouldst think this size more suited to a sapling.)" Cabaletto lifted up one sandy gray foot, held it over the pot's opening, and considered it for a moment, as if to measure if he himself would fit. His slender toes extended far past the glazed walls. I still don't see how he can find this comfortable. It seems cramped to me. Surely putting down root outdoors would be preferable to confining himself like a houseplant. "(We have that in common then. All I need to be comfortable in the night is mine own back. Mine feathers keep mine beak warm as I sleep.)" To demonstrate , the Heron straightened to his full height and folded one foot up into his chest. The white feathers of his breast effortlessly swallowed up his gray toes until no trace remained. He twisted his long neck around and rested his head on his back between his wings. With a few puffs of his feathers, his beak too was hidden from view. Cabaletto gave a contented sigh like that of someone slipping into a bed at the end of a long day.(edited)

[2:15 PM] LadyDeme: Was that.... An objective case acting as the subject? Was that what he heard? Seed involunatrily winced; the somewhat archaic, theatrical pallo that the heron spoke didn't throw Seed off -- he'd been educated on classics -- but using it poorly made him wonder if he should say something. Until the feeling passed, he bit his tongue so as to not upset the bird. The grammatically incorrect bird. "(They can, but they can also go deep instead of wide... It fits rather comfortably; your feet are bigger than mine, after all.)" It was true: Seed's root-balls were, at lesast like this, the size of human feet. Nontheless, he stood up to prove his point, placing one foot into the pot that was wider than the circle of his arms. His foot had a decent amount of room, enough probably for the two feet to stand a steady distance apart if he wanted to. Its shape deformed slightly, becoming less footlike and more like a branching spideweb, as it sank into the pot. Seed bloomed a bit more quickly, tasting the soil. Seed made a puckered face, as his senses were hit with the acidic tang of the sandy soil -- it was not quite a taste, but explaining it to a nonflorkana was one of the great challenges of his career. It was rather the way one smelled something with their mouth, or the feeling of something cold or metalic against one's teeth -- a feeling that contained something like flavor, a warmth or a cool or a sharpness or a pleasantness seeping up through his roots, which drank it up regardless. "(That must be comfortable. Frankly, what's worst is trying to find decent-quality soil... Not all 'local flavors' are alike.)"

November 8, 2017

[11:56 PM] IronPegasus | Apple Spice Time: Cabaletto watched in curiousity as Seed planted himself inside the pot, grimacing as he did so. He had brought his head up once more to observe, but kept his foot safely stashed in his stomach feathers, looking quite content and puffy. "(Does it pain thee to plant thyself?)" he inquired. "(Or art thou merely reacting to that 'local flavor'? Thy face was not a pleasant one.)" He made a strange grating noise from his throat that, after a moment of listening, you could recognize as bird laughter.

November 11, 2017

[10:34 AM] LadyDeme: "(The latter. Sandy soil is a little more sharper -- err, more acidic -- than I like it, even if the water retention is better. It's like...)" He paused and considered his comparisons thoughtfully. A salad he'd had recently came to mind, though the two experiences had been very different -- if taste had as its sort of cousin scent, then the closest sense to the flavor of earth was touch. He nodded decisively. "(When a dish has too much lime juice with nothing to support it, and its flavor becomes thin and sharp, or when you touch something unexpectedly cold. But in a city, it's hard to get soil freely. If I go walking, I might see if there's any city gardens willing to sell me something a little more fully-flavored, but it will do in the meanwhile.)" When Seed stepped out of his pot, he made sure to tap the bottoms of his roots against the edge, so the soil that clung to his bare feet fell to the inside of the pot. He shook his head fondly and sighed. "(Florakana travellers are rare enough that accomodation for us is a rare and particular thing, especially in areas more stricken like this. You get used to it.)"(edited)

November 13, 2017

[12:14 AM] IronPegasus | Apple Spice Time: When you touch something unexpectedly cold? He considered the sensation: the way it sent sharp pangs through his fingers, the slight stickiness of his skin as it adhered to the surface, the shivers that ran up his spine and over the top of his scalp. But none of those things induced the kind of face Seed had made as he had settled into the pot, so he was left feeling like he had failed to grasp the concept. As for limes, Cabaletto had tasted them but twice in his life, neither time recently, and the taste of them was not recalled easily. "(I hadst not considered it, but thee speaketh truely. The streets here art paved with stone, not dirt. Tis hardly a place for a tree to find a place to rest.)" He tried to sound sympathetic to the Florkana's cause, even though he was still a bit confused by the flavor-of-soil concept. ("Mayhap we shalt find ourselves in a place more friendly to thine kind eventually? Our journey hast only just begun, I think. Verily, we shalt visit many more places on our way to uncover this mystery!)"(edited)

[3:43 PM] LadyDeme: Seeing the look in Cabaletto's round birdy eye gave Seed a moment of pause; he didn't think he'd quite managed to convey the idea; he'd forcused perhaps too long on the sharpness of it all? It wasn't a stabbing feeling, it was just... Perhaps... Seed's lips thinned together as he fretted about it. "(One hopes; though I don't think of Retatti as our last stop, it would be nice if this could be resolved quickly... Um, would you mind if I give explaining it a better shot sometime.)" Seed asked it very gently, like he was afraid of bothering the heron by asking. He returned to his digging, laying down the last bit of dirt he'd really thought he needed. "(I suppose the pot's about ready for the night.)"(edited)

November 16, 2017

[12:14 AM] IronPegasus | Apple Spice Time: "(What glory shalt we gain if this is resolved quickly? Nay! I hope that our quest is the stuff of legends!)" The Heron had an excited gleam in his eye. "(I want to be written in history as one of those who saved Laqueos from villainy. But I digress. Thou may explain thine sleeping habits again if thee wish.)" He cast one keen eye's gaze over the dirt-filled vessel. "(Verily tis full. Will thee carry it up to a room in the inn now? Or will thou sleep here, on the beach?)"

November 17, 2017

[12:48 AM] LadyDeme: "(If I was going to sleep on the beach, I wouldn't have needed to bother with the pot -- though that does sound like a fine idea, for a night when the weather is good.)" Seed explained with a cheerful laugh. He lifted it up, his weaker arm slipping slightly from his grip, and so until he steadied himself, his knee rose to meet the base of the pot. The afternoon light bounced off the slick glaze; the green of the moss on his arm rubbed with the glossier and more deliberate green, throwing the sharp difference of texture into relief. His fingers met each other across the pot, and he had it -- a little relief ran down his posture, which deflated just a little further, into a a sigh that pulled at the shadows around his eyes. "(...I'd much rather be a part of happier legends, ones not written in people's blood; For a time, the good we do will be praised, I have no doubt -- and so, too, the lives of people will be carried away, as if they were worth losing; as they were less irreplacable -- as if their blood was less fluid, their bodies less a part of the earth, their stories less full of family, or love, or...)"

[12:48 AM] LadyDeme: The words of the man he'd tried to talk down stung at him, and he fell briefly silent. Who was he, to scoff at remembering history -- he could only chase shadows, only assume. Still, he'd wished he'd lived in a time where the only thing he'd be remembered for was his own work, which could have brought people smiles and tears. Perhaps that would be a penance he deserved, if he lived: the things he valued forgotten, and the things he hated remained. Or perhaps it would be swiftly resolved and forgotten, all of it. He sighed, and shook his head. Stupid, you were meant to speak of something more...pleasant. He gave you a chance. When he turned to walk down the beach, he motioned for the Heron to follow. His shadow was long across the water, fragmenting on the edges where the light let through his branches like lace; it hugged the edges of the sea froth tight and low, as his voice did, for the time, sinking in amid the waves. "(I'm sorry. Thank you. At first, it's only a feeling -- not sleeping, I mean, that's a whole different matter; I think it might be more like the way other peoples sleep, Just the texture of dirt, of grit, or sand, rubbing across my -- it is hot, or cold, dense or loose, soft or scratchy, dry or wet. It sinks in, this flavor of the soil; I taste it through my roots. Sandy soil like this is almost always a bit too much for my taste, I can't help but pucker up like a fool,)"(edited)

[12:48 AM] LadyDeme: Seed laughed. It didn't sound quite right, but he couldn't keep thinking about what he had been, either. When he kept going, it came to sound for the moment more sincere. "(It is, as I said, sharp: it's not very full, or soft, or wrong. Less extremely, even an acidic soil can be a bright and pleasant tang, like having a single harpstring plucked, leaving a note running through the air. This acidic, and it runs through me like a sour note, too shrill, too high. Not painful, not harmful, but not to my tastes. I prefer a lower note, a rounder feeling, like something you can hold in your mouth a time and experience it more fully. I know Florkana, though, who'd say I like too a full, too rich a weight to my soil, and perhaps it is so. Does that explain it any better?)"

November 21, 2017

[9:16 AM] IronPegasus | Apple Spice Time: Cabaletto considered the tree-man's words for a quiet moment. I had not really considered that before. Those slain in the field of battle are rarely sung about. Nay, it is only the victors that we write into the pages of history. He composed his response carefully. "(Whilst fallen lives are oft unsung, why dost that mean that they had any less value? Stories art told from one perspective regardless of topic. The tale of a man's death is his own unique one, not just a backdrop for greater legends. Still, there art many such stories and they lack the vigor to transcend time.)" He hoped that his explanation would ease Seed's nerves; he seemed a bit overwhelmed by internal turmoil at the topic. When the Florkana set off down the beach with a gesture to follow, the Heron kept pace with long, slow strides in the surf. His thin toes left deep indentations in the sand that rapidly flattened as they were filled by the motion of the waves. Strands of green sea kelp swirled around his ankles and, in one annoying instance, latched on like a banner in the wind. The second explanation of soil flavor, though more detailed, was still a very foreign concept to the Laguz, but he thought that perhaps he understood it a bit better. At least, he hoped he did, because another explanation would probably do little to illuminate the topic more. "(Thine explanation is much appreciated. It sounds like an acidic taste is mayhap like a chill breeze ruffling mine feathers on an autumn day: sharp and shocking, but not wholly unpleasant. Tis a sensation that causes one's eyes to go wide for but a moment before the warmth settles back in.)" Cabaletto felt like he was spouting nonsense with that description, but if he was lucky it would resonate with the tree-man.

[6:33 PM] LadyDeme: "(That... is rather my point,)" Seed said with a sigh -- the heron's words were a reflection of his own, after all, and could offer him no consolation: but they missed the tragedy of it all. "(There is nothing less valuable in their stories, or their lives, and even soft-hearted saps like me would rebuke the man who claimed otherwise: but all the same, there is glory given and revelry held in the victor's, and nothing at all to acknowledge not even the stories, but the lives, not tales but reality, of people killed to make it so. A story untold is a bird without wings, or a tree without branches, and a life lost is a life lost, inevitable enough that stories and the earth make all the consolation there is. So... I can't really say that this is where I'd like to make my mark on history, the mark on history that I'd like to be recalled for. I suppose for others, it might seem more a glory worth having; what we are doing is certainly worth something. I can't judge them for it. We do what we need to: I wouldn't be here if I thought otherwise, but...)" Seed's branches drooped slightly, what was normally something of a crown about his head lowering as if to cover his face for a moment; they were not the easiest parts of him to move, and so it might just have been the flare for the dramatic -- but he didn't want the face he wore beneath to be seen. Until he had a clear enough head to shrug, and smile it off, and lift the veil of flowers from over his eyes. He turned back to the docks, and towards the direction of their little backwoods inn. "(Quite so. Thank you for listening. I can get a little...A little, oh, I don't know, tired, when it comes to trying to talk about myself, and not having the right words for it. And...To those concerns, as well. It was probably too dark a subject, I'm sorry. I don't think I'm used to quite that much strife. I guess I'd rather be remembered for the pretty words I assemble from the sidelines; it's what I'm best at.)"(edited)

November 25, 2017

[1:35 PM] IronPegasus | Apple Spice Time: A lump of indignance rose up in Cabaletto's throat, but he did not give it voice. The Florkana was right in that thousands of lives lost on the battlefield went generally unnoticed, but did he really expect them to all be recognized separately? The songs of heroes were filled with statistics of the men slain in battle; was that not recognition enough? After all, what is one man's life - ended or not - but a footnote in the life of another? The Heron himself would not consider the sellers at the market worthy of mention in his own tale, yet he spent more time discussing with them than it would take to run a man through with a sword. Nay, the tree-man expected too much, it seemed. "(Peace, friend.)" One yellow eye looked into Seed's own. "(Let us not alloweth such dark topics to cloud our discussion longer. I can see the effect on thine countenance as plain as the beak on mine face.)" Besides, I can only see an argument ahead if we continue this. "(Doth thee desire to return to yond inn?)"

[3:54 PM] LadyDeme: "(Am I so transparent?)" Seed chuckled, with a certain and self-deprecating humor. So it was; opague when he wished to be seen, transparent when he wished to be hidden. He might have agreed, if he'd been asked, that he expected too much: he generally thought he did. But since the thought wasn't voiced, he put his face back together, and could walk along and put that aside for the moment. "(I didn't mean to make such a mess of things; you have my permission always to shut me up, when I get too worked up in my own thoughts. And yes, that rather is where I'm heading now, so I can drop this off until I'm ready for it. Will you return to your hunting?)" He had a sense that the 'friend' was just, well, a bit of flair: like the grammar, but he was grateful for it all the same as he walked, smiling faintly down into the soil of the pot.(edited)

November 28, 2017

[12:06 AM] IronPegasus | Apple Spice Time: "(Thine branches bend over thine face as if beset by a strong wind. The flowers might hide some of thy expression but, verily, the gesture is just as telling.)" The Laguz looked, perhaps, a bit pleased with his detective work - even if Seed's expression had hardly made it difficult to tell - and carried his head just a touch higher. "(I think I shalt stay and catch a few more fish. The song of the waves is weaving a beautiful melody with the rumbles of mine gizzard. Who am I to deny such beautiful music? Don't let mine lunch hold thee back from thine quest; I am certain we shalt have a chance to talk again soon.)"

[8:22 PM] LadyDeme: He noticed it again. The Heron had his pronoun forms backwards in a significant way, and it was something he thought would sound better if he said something. He probably sould. "(Ah, that was rhetorical... Though, if you'll forgive me for saying before I go... That theatrical, old-fashioned form of Pallo really flows better when someone uses the correct forms for their pronouns, like not going from an 'ne' ending on your possessive pronouns when they come before a consonant, and having that form when it comes before a vowel. So 'thy face,' but 'thine expression,' that sort of thing, as the grammar intends. I hope that helps; I'm sure you'll get it.)" He added this cheerfully, sure he was giving advice here; he had an old love of the classics, and so spent a lot of time delving into forms of both languages that didn't survive to the modern era. Pallo was, while an old language, one still spoken by people born in the present day, as Millo was. He hefted up his pot a little higher and trotted off, stopped to give the Heron a little wave as he went. "(Good luck! I hope we can speak again soon.") And then he climbed back up to the docks, and was gone.

[11:05 PM] IronPegasus | Apple Spice Time: He remained silent for the duration of the educational tangent, but croaked out as the Florkana disappeared: "(Goodbye, Seed.)" Cabaletto was left standing on the sand, alone and feeling rather perplexed. What in Laqueos is a pronoun? ==END RP==(edited)