ph_logs | April Showers Bring Strange Flowers [OTA and one closed]

Who: "Theodor Gorlash," the butterflies, and you!
What: Getting to know the island and its inhabitants, finding oneself in the more literal sense
When: April general
Where: Downtown general/Paradesium
Warnings: To be listed in individual threads, likely to contain heavy discussions of various mental health topics

Strange Signals For a Small Desert Town [Closed, for Cecil]

In the middle of the night, that strange voice makes its way into Cecil's head yet again. That's quite rude of it, considering that at this time, more people are trying to sleep than not. There's an appropriate hour and an inappropriate hour for psychic communications!

Find... her. Find... her. The scion-to-be carries the spores. Find... me. Find... me. The worm waits alone. Dark. Strange.

A Fiddle of Sinews, a Flute of Bone [OTA, Empty Pockets]

He hasn't an instrument of his own, but Theodor wonders if perhaps he might find one on loan in the lovely little place where music wafts out like the alluring smell of freshly-baked bread. In the manner of a hungry stray cat, he makes his way though the door and settles in a corner (not in a chair, just a corner, sitting in a manner that is oddly feline and rather ill-befitting the frame of an old man). He scans the place with yellow, lamplike eyes, taking everything in.

A List of Things, Strings, Wings [OTA, Northwest Hollow]

After managing to scrounge up a bit of paper and charcoal, Theodor has settled in the quieter parts of Northwest Hollow, and is attempting to sketch the flowers and butterflies of the area. He's quite good at capturing their likenesses, however, the edges of his drawings seem to have a tendency to melt into faces, bearing exaggerated expressions of laughter, terror, and sorrow. It's probably intentional.

If anyone walks by, he's going to look up and acknowledge them, while his hand will keep scratching out designs independently. One of the aforementioned butterflies will keep its eyes on the page, as it perches on his shoulder.

Hum Dum Dee Dum, Hum Dum Dee Dum, Time For Something Sweet [OTA, Oak and Iron]

Speaking of the smell of baking bread, he's gotten quite hungry, and it suddenly occurs to him that he can't remember the last time he had a nice cup of tea or a strawberry tart. He makes his way to the Oak and Iron, and sits down at the first open spot that's just a little too close to someone else's seat to make ignoring conversation entirely feasible.

"So tell me... what's a good blend of tea around here, in your opinion? I imagine it's hard to find Greenmote Gunpowder around here."

Wildcard: PM me on Discord (redheadednimbus) if you have other ideas!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

"I like the mint tea, but that's technically a tisane," Chris responds, with a glance to this new person. "I didn't know one could drink gunpowder. Or is that just a flashy name?"

"I think the name comes from the grains, if I'm not much mistaken. They're shaped a bit like pellets of gunpowder, not that you see that sort of thing very often, where I come from."

"Hmm... hang on..."

Chris flags down one of the servers, who greets them as 'Freeman', and asks if she has heard of gunpowder tea. Theodor will have an opportunity to explain the pellet-like look, or Chris will do so... to which the serving girl brightens and says,

"Oh, you mean pearl tea! Yes, we have that. Would you like me to bring you some?"

Theodor visibly brightens.

"Oh, you do have it! Yes, I'd love a cup, thank you!" He does a happy little wiggle.

The server comes back with a filled cup of tea, as well as a small tin of the loose leaves and a teapot of hot water. "In case you want to make yourself another cup, sir."

Chris comments, "A few of the locals have an orangery going, and a lot of citrus fruits are in season. I recommend the lemon tart, but they also have an orange upside down cake. To go with your tea."

The work doesn't stop just because Tarantulas has an infant -- in fact it can't if he wants to keep Dawn fed and comfortable, with all the enrichment she needs to develop properly. After taking two weeks off from work, he resumes selling radios and other small electronics from his shopping, and making the occasional housecall for installation purposes. Sometimes he leaves Dawn with Ryja during these visits, but more often he takes her along with him, in her cloth sling strapped to his chest. Some part of him simply cannot stand to be apart from her, as if it still remembers when her soul was a piece of his...

Or maybe it's simply paranoia that one of the enemies he made in her creation will try to take her from him. Hard to be sure, honestly!

But it's on one of those occasions that he spots Theodor again and makes a detour to check in, Dawn held fast to his chest. When the man looks up Tarantulas smiles him, glancing between his face and the butterfly as he says, "Well, hello there. Still pulling yourself together, I see."

"A tart, you say? A lemon tart! Oh, that sounds scrumptious! But... hmm, responsibilities, responsibilities. I can't go into debt over a slice of pastry. Or I could, but it's not something I'm terribly keen on dealing with."

"Well, you know, it's a process. Who's this, then?" He actually stops drawing as the butterfly is now also looking at Dawn, its wings shifting in hue from purple to gold with an iridescent shimmer.

"If you haven't found a job yet, you should have been given food vouchers to use here at the Oak and Iron," Chris points out in a mild tone. "But I'm not averse to buying food for a friend. My name is Chris Freeman, and you are..?"

"Oh, I was wondering what all of those were! Glad I didn't get rid of them." He chuckles.

"Theodor Gorlash is the name I've got. Not sure who's got my name at the moment. Probably someone who's usually called Theodor Gorlash."

[[ OOC: Hmmm... the site said my comment didn't post, then I come here and it did! Odd. Anyway! ]]

"Would you like me to call you Theodor, or is there something else you prefer?"

The specificity over names, who claims them, so on... it all sounds a bit like a faerie tale... the sort that gets bloody, not the sort that's been cleaned up and sanitized. All the same, Chris isn't going to be rude about it. After all, they have their own preferences when it comes to address.

"Best to just call me Theodor! Wouldn't want to accidentally take someone else's name, an make this matter all the more confusing!" There definitely is something about this man that has the vibes of a faerie tale, though it's utterly impossible to define.

"Can you wait til the morning?" In his bed, Cecil turns over, moving his pillow to over his ears, the question half-whined out in the brattiest tone of voice ever. Oh, he knows he's susceptible to outside influence, but does it have to come when he's trying to sleep?

The pillow does nothing to drown out the inconsiderate thunder.

The day is too bright. The words, the words are now, when we are dreaming, and the daylight cannot claw and peck at us in the earth.

"Mrrrrrgh. You get to explain to my boyfriend why I got no sleep tonight." He climbs out of bed, pulls on a pair of pants and a shirt, and grumbles his way outside. His home is near town hall and the clocktower, on the north part of the town.

Boyyyyyyfriend? Boyfriend… Pieces! Pieces pieces pieces. Muse. Warmth. Flesh. Boyfriend.

The voice is now crooning somewhat distractedly.

"His name is Gerry. He's had to deal with weird, and he's had to deal with tough, and it's made him hard, but not so hard he can't laugh. He's honest about who he is and what he wants, and even when things I say scare or worry him, he's not scared of or worried about me. I think he thinks I'm better, somehow, because I didn't get hard. I think he doesn't realize that I got fake, instead."

Clearly this is what the voice was asking for.

Fake. All fake. Doesn’t matter. Real, fake, waking, dream, doesn’t matter. Loved until he was worn down to ragged scraps. Took the pieces and made them new. Pieces. Pieces. Boyyyyyyyfriends~ 💛 💜

Yes, those emojis are somehow audible.

"No, 🖤. He's a goth." Cecil tuts, then spins around in a circle and starts walking in a quasi-random direction, trying to find whoever's woken him up for late night gossip.

Pieces is ❤️ 🖤. The Worm feels 💜 💛.

Okay, the voice has momentarily completely forgotten about giving directions but also seems a little more coherent. For what it’s worth, the signal seems to get stronger in the direction of the entrance to Paradesium.

"Are you really asking me, unarmed and unprepared, to make a night hike all the way out there?"

Through the woods and all, toward the cave...he's not certain of his odds of making it out there alive.

Unarmed? Noooo. Bring arms. Bring lots of arms. We have not grown enough of them.

But we need to speak. We need to speak, where the air does not thin us. We can wait, but we are impatient.

She is patient. The scion-to-be is patient.

"Damn you to a desert hell, whoever you are. I'll try to come tomorrow night. But give me time to make my preparations."

...

We will wait.

The rumble fizzles out, with an odd lingering aftertaste of poutiness.

"'This matter'?" Chris repeats, and would you look at that, they are certainly confused. "I don't follow."

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April Showers Bring Strange Flowers [OTA and one closed]

Time For Something Sweet

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