Greenthumb

Saraqael · 12-24-2010, 09:55 PM

OOC: Preferably, this is for an Inferni member who can show Saraqael around the green house. Smile

Night has just fallen and she is settling into the mansion. (Word count: 425.)

IC:
The door of the mansion was surprisingly reasonably sized. However, Saraqael was so small it likely would have crushed her if it cared to fall. Judging by the rest of the red-brick house's massive carapace, she had expected the front barrier to be heavy and impossibly large, suited for withstanding the rigors of war. Kaena had left quite the impression on her but she had somewhat expected to be taken aback. Her parents, loving and concerned, tried their best to prepare her to live in a world where wolves dominated space, laws, and prey. The gray lady with her gruff command, draped in a garment of scars and tatters, was likely the result of such bias. She wondered as she pushed into the belly of the coyotes' haven if her time would come to be marred by hatred, by the unquenchable desire of another to score her flesh until she cried out in pain. Vividly, the coy watched her lifeblood freely escaping to the earth, hurrying back where all living things must return. Hand clenched on the handle, the door shut with a muffled thud. In the cool shadow of the mansion, the pale creature shuddered at her conjured image and willed it away.

Two eyes peered into the dim lobby. They glowed green in the lack of light, weird, iridescent night lights. A gently musty smell swirled in her nose, a scent she associated with books and learning. Because she always favored her left, Saraqael veered immediately towards the new, smaller door in that direction. This time, the threshold fell closed without hesitation and she instinctively fled to the uppermost corner. Each door in the hallway had been sealed. She detected neither light nor coy musk in the west wing. Staring down the corridor, irrationally convinced some monster was going to rush her, she got the third and final door open with a whoosh. Dust whirled, little motes rushing forth like stallions fresh out of the gate. Saraqael was eager to be rid of her heavy pack. After setting down the skull and jawbone on the floor near the door, the first thing she did was untie every strap and stash it at the far edge of her quarters, mindful of the fragile glass containers inside.

That done, the petite, ghostly youth turned wonderingly in the open, human space. It had high ceilings, hard wood floors that made her claws clack incessantly, a wardrobe, a writing space, and a bed. She wanted none of that – all she hungered for was the green house.

Clover Love Lykoi · 01-03-2011, 01:43 PM

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Hope you don't mind if I toss Clover in here. Since she's responsible for many of the plants already in the greenhouse, I figured it would be a good opportunity for her. Big Grin SSWM: 1058

Though they had been collected in the library of the University in Halifax with the intention to be given as gifts, the small stack of books now lay discarded by the bed frame in the small room of the mansion that Clover had claimed as hers shortly after becoming a member of the coyote clan. She had traveled to Dahlia de Mai’s borders shortly after collecting the novels, but to her dismay, the young Dahlian male had not been around for her to give them away. In fact, the one who had come to greet her along the scent marked borders had not seen the male in quite some time. She had wondered if perhaps he even lived there and recognized himself as part of the pack at all. Clover had been unsuccessful at finding him outside of Dahlian’s borders, but she had been far closer to him that she could have ever imagined that night when she had come across the wintery white colored wolf near the Halcyon Mountain; the one with the startlingly icy blue eyes who lived in a pack newly established.

And now, they had become hers – become part of the collection of bobbles Clover has accumulated over time. All of her things had been relocated from the small shack out along the Drifter Bay, and had now found a new home in the mansion’s bedroom. Things here were much different – the atmosphere, in particular – but she had come to grow accustom to it.

Clover had settled herself onto the bed, sprawled on her stomach while her hind feet dangled in the air above her back. Propped up on her elbows, she had one of the gift books cracked open in front of her. It was the old mint colored book; the one with the golden script that had intrigued her so upon its discovery in the library. Despite its plain appearance (for its book jacket has been long lost) she had clung to it because of that pretty font and the name it spelled out: Lolita. That evening she had worked her way through the first couple of chapters listed in Part One of the novel. Many things were difficult for her to understand, as these words held to meaning to her. She did not understand all of the locations or contraptions that were mentioned, but she pushed through the sea of words nonetheless. From context, she was able to solve many of the mysteries and in truth, she was intrigued enough to keep reading. It wasn’t until the light had grown so low that she could no longer read the words, that Clover finally shut the mint dusted cover of the book, dog earring one of the pages so she knew just where she had left off.

Though the girl had a few candles burning, the light was not enough to let her continue reading in comfort. Her eyes had already begun to strain at picking out the black print from the yellowed pages. She let Lolita fall to the floor alongside the other books, before rolling onto her back and staring up at the ceiling of her bedroom. It was late in the night now, but she could not possibly sleep just yet. In truth, she craved the company of another. She thought back once more to the night with Attila, before pushing herself up from the bed into a sitting position. A hand absentmindedly raked through her burnt ochre hair, freeing it of any tangles that may have worked their way in. When she was satisfied with that, her slender fingers worked to adjust her rings just so. Sighing to herself, she pushed herself up from the bed and wandered to her bedroom door. She was sure many of the souls who decided to live in the mansion would be sleeping, so she assured herself she’d tiptoe across the creaky floorboards.

She shut her door gently behind her, before wandering down the corridor. There wasn’t much to see in the dim light, and the mansion was relatively quite aside from the groans it made from age. With no destination mind, really, the girl wandered slowly through the first floor, making her way from the west wing and into the center wing. Casting her pale yellow gaze down the hall to see nothing of interest, the girl made her way into the kitchen where she didn’t often spend much time aside from passing through to get to one of her favorite destinations. With nothing else in mind to do, she decided that was where she would head, and made her way to the rear door that would lead Clover into the cool air of that wintery December night.

The door closed behind her with a dull click, and the young coyote made her way quickly from the mansion and over towards the greenhouse. She quickly let herself inside, as she had done many times before. Here she had many of her plants growing, though some had died on the trek over from Drifter Bay. Though Clover had tried to remain vigilant and keep all of her plants growing strong, some had just not had the strength or will to survive the transplanting. However, the plants that had made the journey seemed to be the ones of most importance anyhow. Though she had started working on growing various herbs and things for Inferni’s medical supplies, her biggest accomplishment was the large supply of cannabis plants that were growing strong. She spent much of her free time tending to them, not wanting anything to go awry and destroy all of her hard work. After all, her grandmother looked to her for her medical marijuana. If not for Clover’s cultivated plants, Kaena would have had more difficulty moving in the morning that she did now. The weed had helped the stiffness and pain her joints seemed to hold in her old age. Clover was merely happy she could help her.

She moved through the rows of plants, before she came along the one spot where she often sat. Drawing up the stool, Clover took a seat and cracked open the pages of her plant guide. With the sky relatively clear of cloud cover that night, the moonlight radiated down through the glass and provided just enough illumination for Clover to read through her notes.

Saraqael · 01-03-2011, 04:28 PM

OOC: Thank you so much for responding! Big Grin

I've been eying Sage's sisters. Tongue

Word Count: 1039.

IC:
Though she relished in the safety of four walls and the confinement of a human dwelling, it was making her claustrophobic. A more likely culprit than the room was her anxiety from moving away from her family. It clenched her tiny bird chest and clawed at her breath to make it ragged. The creature fought to regain control but it was difficult - now she was utterly alone with no one to check her sanity. Kaena had greeted her but then left to attend to other business. She was sure whatever it had been was something that she would have been unable to grasp or would find no interest in, having no real attachments to Inferni. Her membership was barely an hour old. While it seemed the rugged matron had warmed to her the tiniest bit, the amazon was still prickly, mistrustful, and how could she be blamed? Saraqael was a stranger, a liar, a spy, an imp and a faerie. Fearful and desperate, she had managed to find a home by Kaena's grace, but had yet to carve out a niche. Wariness suffused her when she realized how terrifying that sounded, and loneliness followed, but not for any person. She longed to be near plants because they asked nothing of her, never argued, and only desired her care. They were quiet friends who gave back when she needed them to by producing their leaves, fruits, or other substances for her consumption. Saraqael always had a beautiful relationship with them.

Just as she had entered the mansion, so she fled it in a cautious rush, crouched and flighty like a spooked sparrow. Ducking out of the house, she turned right. Without warning, the gravel of the driveway shocked her senses to intensity. It felt rough, dry, and gave her good traction yet was somehow slippery, falling over itself like water. It slid into the webbing at her toes and caught there. It felt good to be touched in a place she had never been before and she took a moment to revel in it, digging her feet into the crunching, rasping pebbles, feeling them scrape and flow over her skin and fur until she was satisfied and walked toward a snowy path, snapping her feet at the ankles and wiggling her toes with each step to force bits of rock to rocket out of the crevices she had intentionally lodged them in. The pads of her petite digits felt parched, as though her leathery flesh longed for a cool drink after an expedition in a desert. The dewy lick of melting flakes served just fine and the physical wetness was relieving.

The coyote slunk in the darkness but moonlight illuminated her tiny form, a celestial spotlight shining on a small and ghostly thief. Her fur was so pristinely white that it glowed softly along with the glittering snow. Such ethereal light died and turned dark around her face and limbs, black socks running up her forearms and calves to stop inches short of the joints. Her tail, too, had its tip cut off, or so it would seem to a lazy eye staring at her the shadows, and a crescent had been carved straight through her bony chest. On her back, two soft V's, like trailing streams of migratory birds, laced her in silver, the widely parted ends of the first beginning at the crease where her neck met her shoulders and coming to a point between her shoulder blades while the other began there and trailed nearly to the base of her tail. True to her skittish nature, she slipped suspiciously around the corner of the mansion, making a second right.

The greenhouse loomed, glistening as though its glass walls were really cubes of water limned by pewter frames. They looked clear and well-kept, and she roved over it from a distance, seeking for a shattered or missing pane, or even extensive moss growth, but pleasantly found none. More than anything it was a sign that people were working there, tending to the winter-susceptible life in its center as well as to the oversize container that housed it. Indeed, it looked green inside, her bi-colored eyes determining so even without the helping illumination of the day. Some of the plants were probably asleep for the coming season but others perhaps remained awake, tender leaflets stretching out for water and leaning up to graze the sky in anticipation for the return of the sun the next morning.

The instant Saraqael opened the door she knew she was not alone. Smoke, a human perfume, floated invisibly into her nostrils and she identified burning cannabis. Only one foot disturbed the doorway – all the had to do was take it out, but then what? Skulk back to her room to succumb to the prison of her over-active mind? No. Tonight it was better to brave accidental company than resign herself to such an awful, self-harming fate. She huffed her warm breath into the last remnants of winter-chilled air and closed the door to block out the cool, both feet firmly inside. The temperature, even at night, was higher than outside, she noticed. Inhaling and neglecting the strong odor of weed, the air was thick with humidity which was good for the delicate creatures, especially in winter.

Realizing there was no sense in hiding, especially since she had made unmistakable noises at the door, she moved to find the other. It was not hard because, despite the rows of plants, the smoke was thickest in one area. Saraqael moved there, her tiny body hidden by the sharp lines of leaves and the curling lashes of vines. Turning a corner, a woman came into view, small, but still managing to dwarf the pallid female with her leggy, tawny glory. Orangey-gold locks looked beach-tousled and eyes of buttercup were sweet. She looked like she smelled of sand and love with her fringed shorts and copious beads, her gardening book open and in hand. The only thing disrupting her cheerful innocence was a smattering of blood on the muzzle, but no one was perfect. The small Optime approached, pushing her green and blue bang to one side. Her meek voice burst the silence. “Hello.”

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