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

[prodigal_miser]

"I am worried about the safety of the potatoes. Their continued health means a lot to me," he says. "That's all. Really."

He is a hilariously terrible liar.

[dark_light]

"I'm enthralled by this ice cube. Forget I said anything," sighs Isabella.

[prodigal_miser]

Adarin winces. "Er. Sorry. I hope I didn't insult you, or - something?"

[dark_light]

"It is... rumored impossible, in practice just ludicrously difficult, to insult a witch," shrugs Isabella. "I am not insulted."

[prodigal_miser]

"Good. Had to make sure," he says, smiling a bit.

Cooking, cooking, slice, slice, slice, turn on stove, more food preparations, curiously investigate array of availably spices and pick out ones that seem appropriate.

[dark_light]

Path goes on fanning his witch. She sprawls and supervises and ices her neck.

[prodigal_miser]

Adarin's jacket comes off, and his hair goes up into a ponytail due to heat. Then, back to cooking. He can indeed cook! He seems to be making a stir-fry of some kind. It smells delicious.

[dark_light]

"That smells delicious," reports Isabella.

[prodigal_miser]

He grins. "Thank you! I try. I'm proud that I haven't burned anything down when working with foreign technology."

Soon enough, it's done. The stir-fry finds its new home is now on three plates, and one of those is offered to Isabella.

[dark_light]

She sends Path to tell Metis that there's food, and starts in on her own plate. "Tastes good, too."

Halfway through (when Path has returned from this errand), she says:

"When are you planning to separate? If you're still planning to."

[prodigal_miser]

Compliments earn her another smile from Adarin. "It's not dish-soap delight, but I did my best," he teases, getting started on his own food.

Happy eating, nom nom. Vern gets some, too, because she is his daemon and that seems like the appropriate thing to do in this situation.

Vern makes a sad sound when Isabella brings up separating. It earns her a soothing pet. Adarin replies, "I'm not sure. We... Still need to, but honestly I'm not much looking forward to it, now. It's nice to have her just around."

[dark_light]

"She'll still be around after," Path points out. "Separation isn't like intercision."

[prodigal_miser]

"It's still not nice to think about," Vern says softly. "Before it was obvious, but now it's all confused and sad."

Adarin tilts his head. "Hmm... Explain intercision? It sounds very definitively bad, but didn't translate."

[dark_light]

"I'll sit with you if you want," Path tells her.

Isabella is the one who answers Adarin: "It's... Possibly entirely mythical; the sort of thing you hear about obscure poorly-understood tribes doing to manufacture slaves or religious sacrifices or whatever. But in theory it'd be not just stretching but actually cutting the person-daemon bond. The daemon would still exist but wouldn't be part of the person anymore."

(Path stops fanning her; she picks him up and holds him close to her chest.)

[prodigal_miser]

"I'd like that, thank you," agrees Vern.

When he gets the explanation, he winces, and picks up his daemon to deposit onto his lap and pet, soothingly.

Softly, Adarin says, "That sounds - barbaric is the best word. Inhumane, too. Just from - being here for a few days, I'm going to have to give an emphatic no."

[dark_light]

"Yeah. It's not something you actually have to worry about," Isabella reassures him.

[prodigal_miser]

"Good," he says, smiling a little. "I've grown fond of my magic talking bird and I'd rather we didn't... Have that. Ever."

Pet, pet. Then, food. Nom nom.

[dark_light]

Isabella nods.

Food. Owlsnuggling.

[prodigal_miser]

Kagupetting, then Adarin's finished with his food.

"It's not dark enough to see the light effect from goddess's magic, is it. I'll have to wait," he says, after a peek to a window.

"Aren't you trying to be more patient?" asks Vern.

"Trying, not necessarily succeeding."

[dark_light]

Metis swings into the kitchen. "Oh, he cooks, too. How long are you going to be around? Indefinitely? Did she claim you at daggerpoint?"

Isabella chokes slightly on a bit of potato.

[prodigal_miser]

For a few seconds, Adarin's very confused. He just kind of peers at Metis, questioningly, trying to figure out what she's talking about.

Then he realizes and coughs, a bit. Second time he's caught off guard by witches, today. His odds aren't in his favor.

"Uh. I'm likely to be around for around a week or so, with occasional visits in the future," he begins delicately. "But no, no - 'claiming at daggerpoint' or anything. I'm not really - I wouldn't like getting forced to, anyway? I'd just leave and that would be that."

[dark_light]

"Well, she's no champion daggerwielder," says Metis, collecting her plate, "so perhaps, perhaps." Off she goes.

"I am," says Isabella, "sorry about that."

[prodigal_miser]

"It's hardly your fault," points out Adarin. "I was just confused until I realized what she'd meant. I thought that sort of thing was on the decline...?"

[dark_light]

"Metis is a lot older than I am. There's... adjustment to do."

[prodigal_miser]

"Ahhh, I see."

He snickers. "It was rather funny, though. Did she want the answer to be yes so I would cook?"