(open) and these thoughts are in my head

[abhorrently]

Who: Fever & open
What: Settling into the town in varied ways.
When: Second half of March/early part of April.
Where: Varied locations - see prompts.
Warning(s): Likely intrusive murder thoughts, others to be added should they arise.


work - town hall.
The newest clerk at Town Hall is a woman with a scar on her face and an eagerness to learn the system. Soon enough, she's figured things out, as if she'd been working there for months instead of the short time it really has been. Things flow easily, aided by both the strange item she'd retrieved from that one shop and what seems to be an innate understanding. But then again, if one can negotiate tactics midbattle, a job with paperwork and filing is practically nothing. So, if you need something, she's likely the one to dispense the forms or take them, working through the level of administration that all the new arrivals warranted.

Of course, it's not always business, and at the right time, someone might catch her at break, a novel from the library at hand and a dictionary close by as she needs to look up words. Some concepts and items are as of yet unknown to her, but she believes firmly with a bit of study, it can all be sorted.

training - "fight club."

When she joins the ranks of those sparring, talking her way into a day when the militia and the Enforcers are doing their training, it's really to satisfy her own desires for combat no matter what she tells them. Sure, she can go out in search of monsters, but that requires a companion and planning. This is more freeform, and fighting against someone else here lets her look at their capabilities. No magic to start with - best to be fair to all involved - and instead, Fever relies on a sturdier branch. Peter's not done with the staff yet, so this is the closest she can get. She fights with a clear joy in her movements, happy to test herself against anyone until either her opponent yields or someone outside calls the match.

That said, there are moments of downtime, where one has to catch their breath and drink water, where she's just leaning against the side observing or lightly applauding at the end of one spar. Catching a fighter's eye, they're offered an amused but restrained smile, and win, lose, or neither, it's clear something impressed her.

They're still never getting her to sign up with the Enforcers, though.

festival green - picnic.

Though she shies from the doll making, Fever can't deny the appeal of being able to picnic on the green, and waits until the event is over and dealt with before she takes her inspiration and heads outdoors. It's not perhaps the most ideal weather for it - clouds, the wind - but it's not so bad as to keep her from it. So here she is, with a simple lunch that's been ferried over and a blanket to sit on, trying to think about if she's ever done this before. Had reason to, really. But a passerby will interrupt her thoughts, and she'll raise her hand to get their attention.

"Does it seem like rain to you?"

Of course, there's enough room on the blanket for two, if you're feeling particularly sociable or are eyeing a free snack. Or, it can start to do as much as lightly rain, and she's not budging from where she is, considering it still fine weather.

wildcard.

Different idea? Throw it at me, I'm wide open for other scenarios. Will match the format of any tag-ins. Opt out post.

Comments

[blindwatchersees]

... to trust herself to know what needs doing.

And that is why her visitor is a caterpillar and nothing more. Simplicity is what she needs right now. Not the splendor of a god or the mischief of a jester, but the space to simply be and grow. To feel out her life, her place, her words.

Once the little creature has eaten all that it can, it burrows into the remaining plant matter to sleep.

[abhorrently]

When it comes time to actually leave for work, she bids the caterpillar a soft see you later, feeling it weird to just depart with none of it. Throughout work, she occasionally thinks on it, wondering again where it might have come from. Wondering what it's trying to tell her.

So when she gets back, she has the urge to announce she's returned - silly, she tells herself, but she goes to her room anyway. Would it still be there, happy among the plants?

[blindwatchersees]

The little creature is back to munching. It’s actually quite impressive how much such a small insect can pack away; the volume of plant matter has noticeably diminished. There do seem to be certain plants it prefers, too.

[abhorrently]

"Guess I didn't realize how much you needed to eat..."

She'll have to feed it very regularly until what happens is to happen, whether it just gets bigger or makes it to butterflyhood. There's a glimmer of excitement in her at the possibility - at getting to firsthand watch the growth and change until it comes out in the world.

[blindwatchersees]

It plods away from the plants and rears up in her direction. It seems to be trying to get a better look at her.

[abhorrently]

"Hey now, I said I'd be back later."

Drawing near to it, she crouches some near the caterpillar so she can look at it closer, fondness in her voice. No one else is there. Why not dote on it?

"I'm right here. When I have to go away, I'll tell you, all right? Like when I have to go get you more food, or go to work, or I've decided to step out."

[blindwatchersees]

It inches closer, then rears up again. Its eyespots make it look like it's laughing while it's sitting up like this, though it looks almost somber when it's low to the ground.

[abhorrently]

Very, very gently, she raises a finger to touch it. Is this what having a pet is like?

"...You came to me, so I'll keep you safe. Until you grow and change and gain your wings."

Until it doesn't need her shelter anymore.

[blindwatchersees]

Its skin feels strange and soft. It moves to climb onto her finger, with some uncertainty in its movements.

[abhorrently]

"It's okay. I won't let you fall."

Lifting it gently, she brings it closer to her body, where it could crawl on her shoulder if wished. Otherwise, they can just stay close.

"Come on. I'll show you the rest of the place and not just this room."

It can come on a tour of the rest of the rooms - the little spaces where she dwells. Hall, kitchen, living room with a brief detour to her personal altar, then out onto the balcony so it can get the full experience.

[blindwatchersees]

The caterpillar seems to prefer her hand, specifically whichever part is the highest. When her hand is flat, it favors the warmth of her palm.

It doesn't give any indication that it's getting anything out of the tour, but it definitely has at least some interest in its surroundings.

[abhorrently]

She finds a happiness in nurturing it over the days to come. Plants for it to eat, a clean environment to be in, sometimes just putting it in her hand on a nice day and taking it on the balcony - she's no insect expert, but she wants it to have some fresh air. A trip to Ava's, at one point, where they can marvel over life growing and changing and what they lacked before. The rains are beginning to fall, spring turning more and more, and she waits for the spike of hateful agony that will come into her, demand she injure the little beast.

Perhaps it is too small for the urges to notice. The worst thing she'll think is that she could eat it, bright as beetles and shades of sweets it is, but that would mean she was alone in the apartment, and there's no telling what might happen to her, anyway. The last time she ate strange bugs...

Regardless, it is safe, and it can grow, and she watches its progress with eager eyes. It exists, and she asks nothing else of it.

[blindwatchersees]

And it grows quickly, fat and happy and healthy. Clearly what Fever's doing for it seems to be correct.

However, a day comes when it suddenly loses interest in the plants she brings, but it still seems hungry. That night, Fever's dreams are intruded upon by a vision of purple, fragrant mushrooms, surrounded by the recognizable features of Paradesium.

[abhorrently]

It's lucky she's still accustomed to psychic worms in her head, else this would be highly unsettling. But she can take a hint, can take transit to where she needs to and embark on a long and steady hike. It'll take all of her next free day, but it's worth it to find the mushrooms, gathering enough to hopefully tide the little one over for a while. It does have an appetite...

Getting back home, she unwraps the mushrooms, laying one near the caterpillar to see what happens.

"This what you wanted?"

[blindwatchersees]

The caterpillar does an energetic little wiggle, clearly enticed by the smell of the fruiting fungus. It immediately begins to munch.

Once it has eaten its fill, something seems visibly different about it. Its color has changed, the iridescence gone and the color somewhat faded.

[abhorrently]

"Listen..."

The worry is clear in her voice, looking it over. That shouldn't happen, it wasn't mentioned in the few books she'd peeked in to get knowledge of how to care for it (neither was the species, come to think of it) so this? This is alarming.

"Don't tell me you're not feeling good."

Gods. What if it's been poisoned? After all this time?

[blindwatchersees]

It gives another little wiggle, seeming sort of tired. It wiggle-wiggles its way up a nearby stick without any sort of balance problems, though.

[abhorrently]

She watches it, not interfering. Maybe, in the end, it just needs a nap.

[blindwatchersees]

It climbs, and climbs, and climbs. And then it hangs over the edge of the stick, creeping closer and closer to a point where it looks like it might fall off.

But instead, it seems to stick itself to the stick, and flips full upside down!

[abhorrently]

Oh! This had been mentioned! If it's in that pose, it means that it's going to the next stage!

She stays where she is, eyes fixed on the creature. She wants to witness and observe, if it's going to shed its skin.

[blindwatchersees]

To call them "convulsions" would be overdramatic. The tiny twitches and shakes and slow processions on the spot are so very gentle, so very gradual, for such a dramatic act as coming uncoupled from ones own skin. It's beautiful, and it's powerful, and it's eerie.

The resulting casing is remarkable, looking for all the world like turquoise stone, dotted with little beads of gold... or is that amber?

[abhorrently]

It's magnetic, and she doesn't look away for a moment. In the end, there's the chrysalis, and Fever peers at it from all angles. Now, it's a matter of waiting. Of patience, until it has developed and grown enough. She checks on it every day, every morning and evening, still in her bedroom as it is.

Golden amber, like the blood she remembers. She'll wait, as she has been.

[blindwatchersees]

And finally, the day comes.

When it emerges, its wings seem small, but it becomes apparent quite quickly that they will fan out as they dry. The pattern on them is curious, almost reminiscent of a face, but abstract enough that it looks equally like it's laughing and snarling. The scales are as iridescent as the worm was, though rather than being blue-green, the butterfly's wings shimmer in a spectrum of lemon-lime.

[abhorrently]

It's one of the most beautiful creatures she's ever beheld. Delicate, lovely, and apart from one stray tendril of urge to crush it in her fist, utterly enchanting. But she leaves it alone, lets it dry as it's newly adjusting to the world. Calls Ava, to let her know it was hatched. And basks in the joy like new grass rising up in her. They did it.

"You did it. You made it all the way."

She'll have to let it go, she knows - now that it can fly free, it should be able to - but she wants to bask in its company for just a little more time

[blindwatchersees]

Who’s to know if a butterfly understands the magnitude of what is has to go through to be? To a human or an elf or something in between, the transformation is something utterly unfathomable, a state of being that is entirely alien to anything they might experience. Is it a death and a rebirth? Does the caterpillar fear? Does the caterpillar dread? Does the butterfly look back on its old life? If it does, does it care? Does it even think about things not in the moment?

In a world of so many questions and rules and mysteries, perhaps the butterfly simply is, and if so, perhaps it is fortunate for that.

At the very least, the philosophy of being a butterfly doesn’t trouble its little brain. What does trouble it is an appetite. After a while of drying off, it goes looking for nectar in the remnants of the flowers Fever had brought for the caterpillar, a lifetime ago.