faithlikeaseed: cw for graphic eye injury further down the page (blind - chipmunk grin)
Myrobalan Shivana ([personal profile] faithlikeaseed) wrote in [community profile] middaeg2020-03-07 11:22 pm

[OPEN/CATCH-ALL] merrily merrily,

Who: Myr & OPEN!
When: waves hands vaguely at the month
Where: variously Dorch & Aefenglom
What: some very domestic activities for a faun & eventual catch-all prompts in comments
Warnings: rated B for being COVERED IN BEES


At the Chimera's behest (Dorchacht, early in the month)
i.
"D'you think it needs more bay leaf?"

Having heard that Caren was seeking new pastries to offer Dorchacht's enigmatic black Dragon, Myr's elected to make a go at expanding his own culinary talents. Libum and savillum were the easiest sweet treats he knew, and even if he didn't exactly remember the recipe from last time he'd made either (under Vandelin's watchful eye), they couldn't be that hard to reconstruct, could they? Soft sweet cheese, flour, honey, bay leaves, mix them up and pat them into cakes and bake them, what could go wrong?

A lot of things, it turns out. Starting with them falling apart because he'd used the wrong sort of cheese, and ending Maker only knows where because he hasn't given up on perfecting the things yet. His Bonded and dearest friends have all been lavished with cakes of varying degrees of success; and now he's brought the whole enterprise to Caren's house in Dorchacht to distribute as snacks to all and sundry in hopes of feedback.

So go on, take one. And let him know whether he's put in enough bay leaves this time. (Or, if the idea of a dessert with bay leaves is too alarming, there's another plate of cakes studded with poppyseeds he's been reserving. Not like he'd see if someone snuck one...)

ii.
Myr's time at the Sweet Chimera house isn't all or mostly spent on giving away extra cheesecake; he's here to teach, too. The Coven's recent burst of gardening classes is an inspiration, though it's not potion ingredients he'd teach people to grow--it's food.

Little urban gardens, from his father's in the alienage to the vegetable beds in Hasmal Circle that fell to Myr's care after the uprising, have saved Myr more than once from starving. He's every intention of passing that gift on to as many who'll learn it.

Today he's got a handful of curious Monsters and two starveling humans in attendance as he demonstrates how to pot up zucchini seedlings. The pots he's using are almost comically large for the little plants--something he explains, cheerily: "Don't leave these near anything you don't want covered in vines and marrows. They'll take over your house if you give them an inch."

He's always quick and eager to invite newcomers in, ears swiveling to track the sounds of footsteps or breathing, a bright smile on his face. "Want a pot of your own to take home? They might overrun everything you love but you can't starve with one around."

Oh, for a bee's experience, of clovers and of noon! (Aefenglom, post full-moon)
i.
After another exhausting adventure beneath the full moons, there's nothing so much Myr would like to do as collapse in his own bed a few hours (maybe with company) and then spend the rest of the day working his garden.

He does not even get to his front door before his plans are derailed. By, of all things, one of his beehive's scouts come floating around the cottage on the freshening breeze. Seeing a likely place to stop, she lands on the knuckles of Myr's staff-hand--

And he stops dead in his tracks, ears up and tail flagging with alarm. "Who's there?" he asks, for surely someone snuck up on him, someone with a very small voice who wants to tell him all about flowers and the weather and her pollen harvest...

Oh. Oh.

His staff clatters to the ground. He sits down heavily right there in the street outside the cottage he shares with Caster and Archer, cradling the bee like she's a precious gem. (Which she is.) "I can hear you," he says wonderingly, not caring who might overhear him talking to an insect. "Maker's breath-- After all this time, I can hear you."

He might just cry from the joy--and relief--of finally having magic again.

ii.
If the thoughts of one bee are a treasure, talking to his whole hive is a dragon's hoard, a superabundance of gifts. He'd already loved them--why else struggle as he had to keep them?--and they trusted him, so it's no surprise they're instant friends as soon as they can understand each other.

What's a little more surprising--for outsiders, anyway--is how at least a third of the hive decides to sit on him while they commune and he experiments delightedly with his newfound plant magic. He'd been quick to shed his shirt to give the bees more places to crawl that wouldn't catch them in a fold of fabric--what reason now has he got to fear stings?--though they're mostly festooning his antlers to avoid too much jostling as he works. It makes for a uniquely pastoral sight: A muscular Faun, stripped to his waist, up to his elbows in dirt and covered in bees as he encourages blossoming bee-balm to spring up through the soil.

The bees had requested it, after all. And there was plenty of room in the front garden to grow more.

(OOC: If none of these suit or we've discussed other plans, hit me up via PM or Discord--Plagueheart#0051--and I can add a prompt! Myr is also on the Hungry Grass and Strae quests for the month.)
spaghettimonster: (YOU CAN TELL ME WHATEVER IS ON YOUR MIND)

At the Chimera's behest II

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2020-03-08 07:26 am (UTC)(link)
Teaching at the Sweet Chimera house is a rewarding experience as it is. But realizing that quite a few others are teaching here, holding classes about all manner of life skills... It's an opportunity he can't refuse. Sure, there's workshops a-plenty in Aefenglom. He'll attend more, sooner or later. But most of those seem to reflect the business holding them, like a sales pitch.

These classes, though, they're taught from the heart. From the passion of the teacher. As is quickly apparent, as Myr begins leading the group through the potting and tending of these zucchini sprouts.

"I didn't know food was so... expansionist," Papyrus comments slowly, peering in at the little sprout. "Farmers have really difficult jobs."
spaghettimonster: (DRAMATIC SWOON)

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2020-03-11 07:18 am (UTC)(link)
Papyrus looks a little baffled each time Myr mentions 'marrows' in the context of plants. That word has a slightly different meaning for a skeleton. Like as a component of skeletal humor about getting to chores to-marrow.

But he follows well enough that it's a word for one of these plants, and not some very roundabout pun, and only makes faces once or twice.

For the most part, he nods and follows along with the explanation and demonstration, patting down his own dirt with a gloved hand. His claws poke out of it, but it's more for keeping dirt from getting in his joints than covering his paw-hands outright.

"Oh no!!!" Papyrus cries obligingly at the warning. Then, more suspiciously, "what happens if they go to seed."
spaghettimonster: (OH NO!)

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2020-03-16 03:25 am (UTC)(link)
"Oh my god!" Papyrus cries out. Asked and answered.

But whatever he'd expected Myr to say, following such a dire warning, it wasn't a plant doing its darnedest to eat a building.

Plants in the underground don't get so territorial, with the minimal sunlight. Even the worst culprits - the golden flowers, with their sticky seeds - spread through the underground on patches of soil. There's vines here and there on walls in the ruins, but not consuming the place, even after years and years.

"Six months... Were they made with plant magic?? Should we put warning signs near these???"

Come to think of it, hadn't some hedges grown up overnight, for a full moon once?
spaghettimonster: (SWEAT)

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2020-03-25 05:27 am (UTC)(link)
That he is. And there's something to that smile that reminds Papyrus of his brother, a certain shit-eating, messing with you quality.

But one of the challenges about talking about magic from other worlds is, even if he does suspect there's some exaggeration happening here... Papyrus can't just dismiss it. Maybe it's true. Different worlds are strange like that!

"Marrows are fearsome," he concludes, with a shudder that rattles a little - if muffled by fur and clothing - again. "Let's never let the Cwyld get any, or we're really doomed! I'll make signs."

Papyrus considers a second, then specifies, "with, uh, carved letters. For reading by touch?" He has absolutely no idea if the translation magic extends that far.
spaghettimonster: arrt-jim-lad (HMMM.)

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2020-04-07 06:18 am (UTC)(link)
At least they're in agreement that, however much the threat of marrows has been exaggerated for humor's sake, the Cwyld would make them no joke at all.

Though Papyrus will pass on the warning to other people, like Mikasa, even if he does find out it's a joke.

"Hmmm.... I'll have to think of some designs. And carve them. And bring them to you for testing...?" It wouldn't do to make more than one design only for it to turn out Myr can't read any of them. Sure, carved letters would be visible for people looking at them too, but still.

"But signs that talk are good too. Maybe, just, something quieter than shouting," Papyrus concludes, in his own slightly-louder than necessary voice. "For now! I better learn more about the dangers of these plants."
spaghettimonster: (SKELETONS AND FLOWERS)

[personal profile] spaghettimonster 2020-04-18 05:03 pm (UTC)(link)
He nods along, agreeing to the sign. This is how the world ends. Not with a bang, but with an abundance of plants blotting out the sun. The least they could do is put up warning signs, and test that they're reasonably accessible.

"Flesh is so prickable, huh...? I don't envy it." Papyrus considers one of his own hands, currently gloved for the sake of not getting dirt in his joints. "But, even bone can get pricked, if the thorns are strong enough. I'll keep some thick gardening gloves on me."