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]

"You are welcome to do so if that amuses you."

[prodigal_miser]

He clears his throat, then says in a very unconvincing, wooden tone, "I did a good job!"

Pause. "Hm. Maybe I'm not very good at it, after all."

[dark_light]

Path snickers from where he's sitting on Isabella's head.

Isabella is busy trying to work out the grammar of the most recent alethiometer utterance. At least the rock separates the utterances for her.

[prodigal_miser]

Adarin grins, just a little at Path's laughter. Then he goes and plops down on his sleeping mat. His kagu follows, and hops up next to him. He pets her, a faint smile on his face. Today was a good day.

Absently, he says to his daemon, "I still need to name you. Any ideas?"

She shakes her head.

"Ah, well. I'll think of something, I'm sure," he shrugs.

[dark_light]

"Do you want a baby name book? We could stop at a bookshop on the way to getting you your chamomile," asks Path.

[prodigal_miser]

"I think," says the kagu, "That we would be far too embarrassed to buy one of those."

Her person snickers. "Not to mention if I brought it home it would start an entire fuss and people would start taking bets on who I impregnated. Also- hey, magic talking bird," he says, with obvious affection. "I thought you were supposed to be on my side?"

She giggles, a little. "I just said I wouldn't give away your secrets."

"Oh, heavens," says Adarin. "Yes, you're definitely my daemon. Only something part of me would get to that level of scrutiny for your words."

Absolutely none of this conversation is said with any heat. Look, they're bonding!

[dark_light]

"You don't have to buy a baby name book to just flip through it in the store," Pathalan points out.

[prodigal_miser]

"True," replies Adarin, lightly. "But I would still be quite embarrassed. Besides, it's more fun to try and think of something myself."

[dark_light]

"Fair enough."

[prodigal_miser]

They fall into a comfortable silence, for a little while. Pet, pet, pet. This is broken up a little by the daemon scooting up to whisper in his ear, but it lapses into absent pets and more silence. They're thinking of proper names for her.

A little while later, Adarin asks, "Is Vernaia a 'daemony' name?"

[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."