picknicking

[dark_light]

There's something unutterably pleasant about landing in a bit of woods in the middle of Nowhere, Manitoba, removing a sandwich and an apple from her backpack and having a picnic before she's ready to move on. She could eat in midair, but it makes it too likely that she'll drop something and find it unrecoverable.

Path's on her knee, and her cloudpine is propped up against the tree next to her.

Comments

[dark_light]

"I can't think of any daemons named exactly that off the top of my head, but it sounds about right to me," says Path.

[prodigal_miser]

"Then in that case - how does the name sound to you?" he asks of his kagu.

She snickers, a little. They're in a good mood, for now. It helps that she knows the reasoning behind the name. "It's agreeable."

"Oh good, I was fond of it," says Adarin, and then the newly named Vernaia goes and pokes him for cuddles. He accepts, amused. "In that case, Path, Isabella - I would like to properly introduce my daemon. Vernaia."

"Or, more likely, just Vern," says the daemon.

"That too."

[dark_light]

"Monosyllable nicknames are pretty common," agrees Path.

Isabella looks over her shoulder to smile at them. (Path's head stays pointing in exactly the same direction as the rest of his body follows her head-turn.) "It's cute."

[prodigal_miser]

"We were trying to fit the naming scheme," informs Vern. "I'm glad we could follow it!"

Adarin smiles back at Isabella. "Thanks. Is your shin- er, slightly dented new alethiometer saying anything interesting?"

[dark_light]

"I think it has told me that cobalt is blue; if there's any more interesting meaning embedded in this utterance I haven't uncovered it. I guess when they talk to themselves they don't always uncover particularly interesting secrets."

[prodigal_miser]

Adarin cracks up.

"I'll get to drafting the spell for the other half of the rock set," he manages, after he recovers. "I just need a few days in order to cast it. It shouldn't be a problem, most of what will work for the first spell will work for the second."

[dark_light]

"Awesome."

[prodigal_miser]

"Any other requests while I'm not doing anything and willing to take them? You mentioned you had protections of your own a while ago, I'd like to do something for you to earn them," he says, brightly. "Some of them might be pointless with my magic's protections, but I'm paranoid."

He hopes she can gather why, from the explanation earlier.

[dark_light]

"I can look up how one goes about laying protections on a mortal - as which you probably count - and you can owe me until I think of something."

[prodigal_miser]

"I am certainly mortal, but er - I have a longer expected lifespan than most," he says. "I don't mind owing you. Magic favors only, please? I make a terrible maid."

While he doesn't expect Isabella to be the type to try and weasel him into a corner with 'owing her a favor,' he continues to be paranoid. He likes her, certainly, but it will take more than just that to break his habits.

[dark_light]

"I have no interest in turning you into a maid, especially considering how usefully magic you are. How long are you expected to live?"

[prodigal_miser]

"Thank you very much," he says, with a smile. "I'd have to wear the appropriate outfit and I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to pull it off. Age wise - it varies, a little. Four-hundred to six-hundred years, or so? Maybe longer, if I was particularly lucky."

[dark_light]

"Not bad. Witches usually get to be about that old before keeling over of boredom. Which I am not planning to do."

[prodigal_miser]

"Thank you. But - beg pardon? Witches die out of boredom?"

[dark_light]

"Or loneliness. We can live indefinitely - we don't age past young adulthood, we just sort of accumulate patina. But the timing is always suspicious if we die not-of-violence. Somebody's favorite husband dies and his wife follows. Somebody completes their project of visiting every single country once, and then lasts about a week after. Somebody's clan gets wiped out in a war and she's the lone survivor and she sets up the pyre and then dies after she lights it up. Somebody finishes her epic poem, gets her niece to write it down, and doesn't wake up again after she goes to bed that night."

[prodigal_miser]

"That is truly unfortunate, but convenient, in a way? From your description, if you pick a project that will take a millennium then you're set for at least a very long time," he says. "Loneliness I can understand, but boredom? No. There's too much work to be done."

[dark_light]

"Heaps and heaps! I do not expect to die of boredom, and hope to have immortality figured out for at least the people I most want to keep with the help of this alethiometer and its shiny accessories."

[prodigal_miser]

"Yes, you mentioned that," replies Adarin, with a grin. "I approve of and support this goal. Admittedly I wasn't looking forward to the obvious results of living a long life where everyone else doesn't."

[dark_light]

"Few centuries very abnormal lifespan in New Kystle?"

[prodigal_miser]

"Somewhat," he says, nodding a little. "My mother would have lived over a thousand years if she hadn't died. I inherited longevity from her. Most of the others - if they have any magic in them at all they'd get anywhere from three hundred years to a hundred, depending on how far down they are in the generation levels. Anyone without - normal lifespan, sixty to eighty if they're healthy."

[dark_light]

"Even humans often live longer than that here. Dying at sixty is dying young."

[prodigal_miser]

"... Ah. Well. I'm trying to improve living conditions. It's sort of working, but it's slow progress."

[dark_light]

"What've you been working on?"

[prodigal_miser]

He ticks off his fingers as he goes down the list. "Having proper buildings made, with adequate light, structural integrity, and living space. Access to multiple kinds of food to help with dietary integrity. Fixing health issues from living in an unfamiliar plane - the chamomile is one of those. Organizing standards of healing so some idiot doesn't think putting pieces of a dead animal in someone is okay. Trying to keep the nobility from levying huge amounts of taxes and taxing their people into oblivion while still trying to keep enough money floating around them so they don't throw a fit that involves lightning-bolts, and of course trying to pay for all of this..."

He pauses. "I live a busy life. This is a vacation."

[dark_light]

"...Some dead animal parts actually work, incidentally. Pig heart valves, off the top of my head, I don't know if there are any others."