ORIGIN

The good news was that Vivilene remembered this place. The warm dark felt like a deep sleep, like being bundled up in the blankets her father would leave out for her. It was the feeling of security, of contentedness, of drifting lazily in and out of slumber. It was a feeling she wasn't very accustomed to-- which, in that of itself, as ever for Vivilene --was vaguely anxiety-inducing.

Which led to the bad news. She had no idea where she actually was.

The last thing Vivilene could remember was being at home, in Eridanus. She crept out of Attikias's camp carefully without waking up him or her siblings to check on her garden, neatly hidden away in an alcove on the wall closest to camp, shrouded in ferns and lichen. She talked to them (as much as she could, which was not much at all) and made sure to water them and sit with them, so that they wouldn't get lonely.

After that? Unclear. She could have quietly drifted off, but she knew this wasn't just sleep. Her limbs were curled up underneath her belly (the second one) and her arms were folded in front of her other belly (the first one). If she moved even just slightly she could feel the walls of moonstone encasing her, smooth and warm to the touch.

How long had it even been? How long had it been the first time? How did she get out?

Flashing back to her hatching-- a stressful situation involving crying, a lot of yelling, and some flailing --Vivilene soon came to the conclusion that she didn't actually want to know. It made her a little sick to the gut with fear, no matter the comfort that her family gave her nowadays. If it were still nowadays. Difficult to tell, when you're in a gemstone shell.

Still, it couldn't be that hard, and it wasn't like Vivilene was in a hurry or anything. In a gentle movement, she stretched her legs out and kicked as hard as she could. Sharp pain shot up her hind legs and she recoiled-- but the deafening CRACK told her, at least, that she'd been successful.

The moonstone chrysalis shuddered, rocking the ferns. The light streaking in through the foliage burned the hybrid's eyes when she pushed out of it, sending sloughs of pretty, blue-white rock onto the moss bed below. Her legs shook-- had standing been this difficult before? --as she stepped out, soaked in whatever had been inside.

She coughed, shook herself like a dog, and took a quiet glance over her garden. It seemed to be thriving still, at least-- lilacs and little white petals of chamomile seemed quite happy-- aside from the ones that had been partially smushed by the moonstone.

When Vivilene moved, she realised the shawl was wet. Yuck, she screwed up her face as she slung the wet fabric off her shoulders, shaking it, and then gently draping it over a fern to dry. Hopefully dry. It'd dry, right?

The hybrid bit her lip, hands folding nervously in front of her. She wanted to go back in there as soon as she was out. The chilled air felt strange on her pelt and her legs were sore from stretching out-- or maybe they were sore from hitting solid rock.

Vivilene passed her little garden a glance before she shifted towards it and began the process of quietly removing the slabs of white stone from the flowers and carefully setting them aside, next to the shattered half-chrysalis settled next to them.

The poor chamomile flowers were bent. Even after removing all the stones they didn't look very okay-- Vivilene spent a moment gently trying to push them upright again, only for them to droop back down. Poor things... Maybe if she offered them some water they'd perk back up again. She'd have to try and ask someone for advice either way-- she was fretting for their wellbeing.

Vivilene felt guilty. It was, after all, her fault for breaking out right next to her garden, very carelessly. She didn't want them to die, even if she could just make more. The chamomile was sp"AH!"

The deertaur leapt a few inches into the air with shock as, with a chirp, a second hybrid leapt into the alcove. There was-- as always --initial fear and uncertainty, the kind that made Vivilene's long legs shake and her hands fidget in front of her.

It washed away fairly quickly. This hybrid was tiny, fluffy-- she mistook it for a little Lesser before it started talking --and, quite clearly, not much of a threat. Not like that had ever stopped her from trying to help or make friends before, of course. Annie wasn't very much like Alpha, who might have taken the cake as Most Terrifying Thing She'd Ever Seen.

A few beats passed before Vivilene was slowly lowering herself down, quiet but curious. "Um," she offered, and this was about the best she could muster. Communication was always a mild issue for Vivilene-- the magic she used, also, was unpredictable. There was a gentle worry that after just waking up, it wouldn't even work.

With a deep breath, she tried anyway. With her gemstone glittering white-blue, Vivilene's tail flicked and her eyes lowered to concentrate.

She could feel it-- like trying to find a word edging on the tip of your tongue --but it soon left before she could grasp it. Uh oh, her brow creased a little. As much as she could try to think of this little-- Annie, as a flower, the words to reply with just wouldn't form out of her mouth.

So, instead, with a gentle half-smile, Annie was offered a little shard of moonstone from the shattered chrysalis behind her, held out with a padded hand.

Vivilene watched carefully. At least Annie didn't seem very offended that she hadn't spoken back to her yet, though she was-- well, definitely up to something.

The hybrid leaned over, quizzically, to watch Annie take some vines and wrap it around the moonstone. She knew this sort of crafting from her father, Attikias, who did it quite regularly. Maybe it's just best to leave her to it, she decided quietly, leaning back to return to trying to gently lift the broken flowers back to their previous state.

It wasn't until Annie spoke again that Vivilene's head swiveled back over to look at her. A gift-- she wasn't very good at recieving gifts. She was never entirely sure what to say (as usual) or how to act or what to do when you recieve one. Maybe if she could just--

And there it was. A gentle spark deep in her gut, grasped and harnessed and soon--

"You don't have to," rang in Annie's head, the voice gentle and breezy, a whisper but not quite. "It's okay. I'm Vivilene?" At least this much was clarification-- a response. Even if it might have been largely unsettling, what with her speaking without using her mouth, Vivilene's magic was gently noninvasive, for a spell that implanted words into one's head.

Still, she seemed content upon her efforts. "Do you know how to fix broken flowers?" The hybrid asked shortly after, gesturing gently to the sad chamomile.

"Um," Vivilene murmured aloud as she shifted, keeping the spell going. "Magic," she was soon responding with. "I can't talk like the others can. I have to cast spells. It's-- well, it... it doesn't always work, so sometimes it's a little hard."
She tried not to sound very down about it. To her, it was the way things were, even if she did envy the way people could just open their mouths and say any old thing. She'd even heard of people regretting the things they'd say out loud. She wanted to feel that regret, the ability to say anything to your heart's content and doing it enough that you can want to take it all back.

The hybrid watched Annie put a little twig nest to one of the flowers, leaning over. "That makes sense," she went on quietly, nudging the chamomile a bit. It didn't seem-- exactly stable, but maybe she could fix that. "Do you-- huh?"

And then Annie was off.

Okay, she thought to herself, spell fading for now. She had some things to do, regardless, and in the short barely-few minutes she had gathered some thin rope twine and more twigs and was in the middle of some form of Impromptu Plant Surgery, carefully lining up twigs to stems and carefully tying them together.

Never tight enough to crush the stem further, but enough to make sure the chamomile flowers would stay upright and, hopefully, recover. She didn't want to think about them dying and she certainly didn't want to ask her father about what to do when they did die.

Her tail flicked as Annie came back into the clearing and presented her with a speckled rock. Vivilene blinked carefully as she took it into her leathery palm, studying it carefully for a moment. Vivilene was unsure if she had any actual use for the rock-- but she did know someone who could certainly use a friend. Or someones.

The rock was placed into the flowerbed, carefully, avoiding crushing any more plants. She pat it a little, carefully, and nodded to Annie. "They need company while they heal," she offered gently. "I think they'll be good friends."

As much as rocks and flowers could be, at least.

Vivilene nodded just a little bit, tucking away the idea that everyone-- even plants --generally needed more than one friend as not to become too reliant on one person. That sort of thing was, after all, a lot of information to process for someone, especially a tiny stranger you've just met.

Annie was also talking a lot.

The hybrid watched, only really half-processing the words she was saying with a few well-placed nods and blinks. The statement that friends not counting as friends when they're your siblings struck her, however. She was friends with her siblings-- Hunter, she felt closest to, but she still loved Astéri and Volta and Angela. Even Attikias and Pride were family, and they were her friends.

She shifted. She took a breath. "I have four," she went on after a moment, her eyes half-lidded to quietly focus on casting. "They're all my friends. It counts. I don't think it shouldn't? I don't know why it wouldn't count." People were people, no matter who concieved them, right?

"What about your-- your parents?" Vivilene asked gently. "Your grandparents? Are you friends with them?"
There was a long pause.

"Vivilene," she repeated. Was-- was it a difficult name? Viv-ee-leen didn't seem very complex to her, but she definitely had a biased view of it, considering she had been hearing it all her life. "Um-- Viv is fine...? It's what Hunter calls me."