ORIGIN - water cooler talk

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Aethril came and went, and Pollen continued to work, getting used to her strange body. She could reliably walk on her back legs, but if she needed to run, it was faster on all four of them, and she could grab things very well. She even got a watering can, bestowed by Aethril! She was happy, doing her job, and frequently meandered about the gardens while making sure to cut away diseased bits and make sure each plant got plenty of water.

Granted, she was still messing up here and there, but she was learning. It was the thought that counted. And, nothing came for her, and the deer seemed to be quite nice, so she continued on, cleaning up the garden and making things look nice. She was doing everything a good Gardener should!

She'd often dozed on fainting couches or other soft places she could find in the Palace, when it came to rest. There was a lot to discover, and she loved wandering, finding out where she could and couldn't go. It was so easy to get lost. One place, though, stuck out in her mind- a small, mini-garden, inside the Palace! All the pots, and the water, and the trees! There was a particular bonsai plant that made her think of Aethril- its leaves were silvery if you turned them right, and it was the biggest one. Subtly, she'd placed a tiny succulent near it, imagining it to be her in her child-like way.

By this point, her markings had begun to faintly come in, and she'd picked something with stripes like the ones she'd had on her wrists. Were they going to get darker? She admired herself every day in the reflecting pools, watching how she grew and prettying herself up. Her mane was growing, but it wasn't long enough for plants to grow in it, not yet. How long would that get? Curled about her were still vines of honeysuckle, and she loved it, using her own body as her own personal garden.

Here now, she was tending to the plants in the courtyard. She had a small basket where she had clippings, and the watering can was in her other hand, gently spraying a little bit of water into the fancy porcelain pots of the area. "I bet you guys were thirsty, huh?" she squeaked out, humming a small tune as her tail wagged. She'd been here some time, but she'd just now started on her work, eager to get to business after admiring the pretty plants all around.

She loved being a Gardener.

@Obieth

She did not rush this.

It was one of the first times Aethril had granted her the freedom to roam, a little; not too far, and she was to return by the time the Valkhand's tea with Isra was done. That was enough. The gardens had captivated her on the way in. The fragrant floral scents she had first detected clinging to blue skin and gilded cloth in Draco had swept toward her full force, borne on fresh warm winds. She enjoyed Cepheus already--she preferred the darkness, by far. Bright was difficult to see in. Cepheus was dim, voidlit and shadowed, and well-suited to her vision. She crept along in silence, paws stepping lightly in the earth against the white palace walls.

For a time she paused, drinking in each sense. Her gaze travelled over the glistening pools in the distance, the arch-necked white birds, the shivering petals on the trees. She enjoyed particularly the scents--the fetid, fertile pond-water smell, the light touch of flowers, the warm spice of Nedies' cooking. For her ears, there was the interplay of birdsong; the quiet gurgle of the water, and... something else, she noted, rather close by. One ear twitched, and she turned, but an attempt to identify it failed. It was a rustling, and the unfamiliar sound of the watering can spraying, and then a squeak and quiet voice.

Predator's instincts flared at once, and she made for the voice, picking her way in soft-footed quiet along the fertile dirt. She wove in and out of the flowers and the ivy, and slunk through a patch of long grass, before noting movement up ahead.

Obieth dropped down, into a half-crouch, and crept forward; she did not speak up, just yet, but instead observed.

What was this creature--this stranger?--and what was it that it was doing? What was the thing it carried, and what was the sound it was making?

She chose to watch, for the moment, and learn; perhaps it might spot her, though she lay in the long grass for now, as stealthy as she could be. If she were lucky, she would have time to make her own assessments before engaging, one way or another.

@Pollen

Pollen, despite living in the Palace now, was rather unaware of its staff. She'd seen them in passing, yes, but she'd never really stopped to talk, almost always rushing off to go do this or that, only offering a slight 'hello!' to whoever she ran by.

And so, she didn't really expect someone to stop and watch her instead, only going about her business. Perhaps there was a noise, a movement- but Pollen, not having known the dangers of the world, had not understood that yet. It was probably another deer who'd come inside to help ensure this garden was good, too, and so she paid it no mind, continuing on.

The water can was empty. Pollen frowned as she shook the last few drops from it, feeling the empty weight hand from one paw. "Dang it," she muttered under her breath, her motion stopping as she looked down at the can.

Normally, she refilled it in the river. Would the ponds here do? Amber eyes rolled over to regard the nice ponds, debates running through her mind. She should just go back out and get more water, right? She shouldn't disturb the ponds. She'd have to refill them, and it'd be a whole effort, and she'd have to get a bucket, and-

Pollen closed her eyes, sighing out through her nose. Drawing herself up, she looked up at the inner wall of the courtyard and hummed out again, a single note of thought. She'll stay here for a little bit. Actually, she had a small idea- why doesn't she work on that magic, again? Aethril said something about her magic being good for gardening... Glancing around, she looked for something, a potted plant or something that hadn't budded yet. Ah, there- an iris, of some sort, and Pollen tittered as she made her way towards it, her paws forward and out to it.

A breath in, a breath out, and she tried to coax the bud open. It listened- slowly, slowly it showed its face-

And it began to age past that. Had she used too much magic? Panic fluttered in her heart as she froze, watching it shrivel up into itself and curl in sadly. "Oh-" her voice came, small and helpless. "Oh, no..." A step forward, and she cradled the dying flower in one paw, a sad note hummed out. "I'm so sorry..."

She watched it. There was no saving it now- she'd have to remember to replant something in this pot. Gently, she curled both paws into the dirt and extracted the poor thing, shaking out the dirt from its dead roots and placing it into the basket beside her. "I'll find you a new plant, okay?" she cooed to the pot. A few pats at its dirt, and she clapped out the dirt from between her digits, shaking it into the basket to keep everything clean.

@Obieth

What followed was a stage play, acted out purely for Obieth, as if designed just to treat her every sense. Not just the visual--the soft green fur, the last few drops of water sparking with Voidlight as they fell, the grace of the little creature's movements; and not just the sound of Pollen's pitiful murmurs. It was philosophy, heart, that touched her.

Slowly it played out, inevitably: the glance around, almost distraught (what had happened?), the reaching for a flower, the sudden withering. Obieth could not know what had happened, but she reached her magic out nonetheless, to taste of the creature's emotion. The twist of helplessness, the devastation of passing a point of no return--the snuffing out of a little life that could never, ever be returned--it held her utterly rapt. Corrupted mind connected, then: weak link established, and she tasted of it. Of the quiet horror, the sadness, the panic. The misery of the loss.

It was tragic, yes; but it was beautiful, unique and rich, and Obieth savored it.

She pushed up, straightening, sleek limbs carrying her the rest of the way across soft earth to approach Pollen more directly. Her magic trickled away; she didn't bother to maintain it. There was no need. She was--for now--sated. What a wonderful display, she thought to herself. A small little glimpse into a quiet, tiny tragedy that no one else would ever know about.

Obieth could not have quite said why she was approaching. To thank Pollen-? No, she didn't intend to do that; the creature hadn't meant to put itself and its failure on display. But the gardener--and her situation--was interesting, and so she drew closer. Eyes trailed over her form, examining her, but as she drew up close her gaze dropped to the flower in its basket. Or, what had been a flower. Wilted, now; dying, or dead.

"You did not mean to do that," she observed aloud, contemplating it, as she came to a stop. "It was a beautiful thing. It still is," she added. Her eyes trailed over the wilted leaves, flaring with dim light as she studied it--then lifted to Pollen herself.

"What was supposed to happen?"

Her question--despite the rich huskiness of her voice--was innocent. No mockery laced her words. She hadn't glimpsed Pollen's true intention, past somehow helping the plant, and failing; and her curiosity now drew words forth in a tumble. Behind her, her ridged tail flicked; she was content, aware of her surroundings, and confident. Obieth glanced around, mostly indifferent, though still fascinated by the stranger and her work. "Why are you out here? What is it that you do?"

performing one (1) magic w/ permission

@Pollen

She had no point of reference for Obieth's gentle prying, and she would find Pollen's mind easy to read- much of her thoughts, her quite, desperate despairs, were held on her sleeve, held in the faint frown on her muzzle and half-lidded, mourning eyes. She had to replace the plant, definitely. Shoving down whatever emotions she had, she went back to work, reaching over the pot and curling in a little divot. Maybe she could take one plant from outside the garden, and put it in here?

In any case, she hadn't truly noticed Obieth's approach until her voice was nearly next to Pollen. Another quiet, mouse-like squeak leapt from her as she jumped in place, surprise on her face. "Oh!" came the quiet acknowledgement, and the placed one paw on her chest and breathed out slowly. What a spooky person! Shaking herself out, she followed Obieth's gaze to her basket, leaning in next to her.

"Ahh-" one paw reached in, pulling the flower halfway back up, "no. I wanted to try to make it bloom. Miss Aethril wants me to practice my magic, until we find an Overseer, so I'm taking care of the gardens here." Her voice was quiet. It was a near whisper, almost- reverent, maybe? Or, perhaps, it was just the natural speaking tone of her calm mood. Slowly, she placed the flower back in place, as if it were a breathing, thinking being that had passed away.

"This has never happened before, though. I think-- I put too much into it." She sighed, kneeling down to her basket and putting her hands on her knees. "I was trying to water the flowers, though." And she pointed to the watering can left on a stone bench. "But, I ran out of water, and I didn't want to use the ponds. I don't know if the deer would like that- they seemed grumpy when I messed up."

If grumpy was: hard stares and driving her out of that section of the garden. She was making good work, she thought, with trying to befriend them, but it was certainly a hard task. But! She was rambling, a little- and she shook her head, leaning back up and regaining some of that chipper energy.

"I'm Pollen-Rose. Miss Aethril gave me Amber Eighteen, as my number, and I'm a Gardener. Do you live in the Palace, too?" She looked over Obieth briefly- sleek, feline like, and- somewhat like Miss Aethril herself? Well, a lot of people were like her Hand. Maybe it was sort of the gentle words, the way she called the flower 'beautiful'- and it still was, the poor thing- that made her make the connection.

Besides, most people who lived in the palace knew Aethril, right? It's not like she'd met many other people, besides that.

@Obieth (+1 corruption! baby gorl...)

The initial squeak said prey, but Obieth was sated, and this creature was not--not to her, and not now--prey. She observed instead with contented gaze, drinking in each gesture, each word, even the soft tone with which Pollen spoke.

There was something so... domestic, so absurdly soft and warm and wholesome, about Pollen-Rose. Obieth found that she enjoyed it. It was such a strange, polar opposite from Draco and its dark menace, the heartbeat thud in voidlight and the constant wheezing groan of moving rock. This was... industrious, pastel. Pollen's world-view was so small--and that was not a bad thing, in Obieth's mind, merely... different--that the life of a single flower had perhaps changed the course of her day. No warnings, here, of Hand and authority, of disrespect and titles. Life or death had been shrunk to a few withering petals.

It was beautiful, really.

But Pollen's words, themselves, did not go unnoticed, despite Obieth's savoring of the concepts behind them. "I am Miss Aethril's guardian," she murmured in response (for a moment, revelling in the throatiness of her own voice). But it was a passing remark, and as Pollen-Rose moved to explain her work with the flowers, Obieth's gaze dutifully dropped to regard them once again.

The mention of water put her a little on edge; her near-drowning in her chrysalis had left her with some dislike of it. She made a note to think about that more later; for now she focused on Pollen. Amber-Eighteen. "Why do you need a... number?" Obieth asked, a brief purr of words. Her gaze cut across Pegasus, critical; she was seeking more of them, more creatures like this Pollen-Rose. In her mind, there must--if this one was 'eighteen'--be at least seventeen more of them, scurrying about the grounds, tending to the flowers.

Perhaps accidentally killing them.

The final comment drew her gaze back to Pollen. "Do I live in the Palace..?" She considered, remembered. Aethril had placed her there, explained the rules, given her a place to sleep, even. Attuned her to the secret room. "Yes," she answered, and then--looking Pollen up and down--hummed in thought, for a moment. "I live there now. This--is what you do? A... Gardener? -Why?" she asked, and for a moment her eyes squinted a little, a softness to them.

She knew but a touch of the answer, but she wanted to hear it from the Gardener herself. She wanted to hear of Pollen's love of flowers, perhaps; to savor the stranger's obvious enthusiasm. She didn't mention the dead flower, now, or the failure. It no longer interested her, for the time being. She wanted more than that; she wanted to learn Pollen's heart.

It seemed to Obieth that it would be very pretty.

@Pollen

Another soft "oh!" came from Pollen when Obieth mentioned Aethril. They were partners, then! Or-- they both worked for her, but, they were totally different jobs... Were they partners, then? More like... different jobs in the same company? That sort of made sense as Pollen thought, rolling it around in her mind.

Her gaze dropped to the basket as she tucked her knees in closer, her tail wagging softly behind her. She liked this being, she was coming to realize- and not just because they were connected through Aethril. They were so different from Pollen- dark, somber, serious, and yet curious and gentle like her, graceful and serene. What kind of flower would she be? Something black, perhaps... A dark violet- no, those are too bright.

Her number... "I don't know!" she spoke, her inflection raising a little back into a childish interest. Not really shameful- more just stating the facts, really. "It might change, because we don't know how many ambers there are. But, mine has roses in it!" She twisted around, holding her twiggy tail and leaning over, her other hand wiping away the smooth surface. Small flecks of leaves laid suspended, forever, and two bulbs of rose just barely crossed in the center. Red peeked out from the tight confines of their green, and Pollen tapped a nail over it. "It's why I called myself Rose. She said I can keep calling myself Pollen too."

Numbers were weird, she would admit. Why did she need one? Did Aethril have one, or this being? She let go of her tail when Obieth continued, however, her paws coming back to her thighs as she settled back into the conversation. It was cool to meet someone who lived here! Maybe they'd see more of each other, if Aethril stuck around?

This, though, this was definitely what she did. "Yup!" She gave an enthusiastic nod to that. "I like flowers! They're pretty, and they aren't mean- well, if you touch their thorns, they can hurt- but they don't do it on purpose. They're gentle and pretty and very nice." She nodded again, as if that solidified her judgement, a warm smile creeping up her muzzle. "Sometimes, they can't take care of themselves, so they need help. Like, the plants in the pots like this, they wouldn't get water if I didn't use the can, and they'd get too thirsty and die. Or, they might have bad soil, and they get too hungry. Or, sometimes, they don't know when to stop growing..." She rose up a hand and turned it in a sort of 'etcetera and etcetera' gesture.

"But, I like to do it, because it's my job! Miss Aethril said I could be very good at it someday, so I want to try and learn, so I can impress my Overseer too."

If she got one... When was she supposed to get one? She paused, glancing down to the basket, shuffling in place. "What about you? Do you like guarding? Why do you have to guard Miss Aethril- she's not in trouble, is she?" The only trouble she could imagine was, perhaps, someone being mad- no sense of self preservation had come up in her yet, and she had no idea that there could be violence outside of the Palace walls. That was just unheard of!

But, then again, Pollen didn't hear much about outside of them... Her fur rose, just slightly, in worry. Was Miss Aethril in trouble?! She hoped not!

@Obieth

Pollen talked--a lot--and while it was what Obieth had wanted, she found her attention swiftly wandering. Not from Pollen herself; on the contrary, it was the body language and tone of voice that she allowed to sweep her away. The way Pollen's tone rose higher. The way she turned, to show her tail, her stone; glinting amber, flower buds gleaming within, trapped for an eternity of unliving beauty. How... wistful, Obieth thought, though perhaps that word wasn't quite right.

She considered it. Language was still coming to her.

Mostly, it was Pollen's enthusiasm that gripped her. Each twitch and word, each movement of her face or change in her tone, delighted Obieth. It wasn't empathy, or adoration for the person--only an admiration, an appreciation, of her unique existence. This energy, this excitement, this passion for what she did. She was knowledgeable, too, it seemed.

Her death, she thought, would be beautiful. Like the flower's: a beautiful tragedy. She harbored no ill will toward Pollen; it was simple aesthetic consideration. Something precious, something beautiful, snuffed out forever--like the flower itself had been--was somehow more poignant in its loss.

When at last Pollen's words had tapered off--with questions to Obieth, though the Valkhound didn't find those of much interest (how could she be interesting to herself, after all?)--there was a long silence. Obieth merely considered, head tilting a tad. Her ears had flicked forward, interested, at the mention of thorns--and she spoke of this first, no louder than she had to be to be heard. "Thorns-? May I see those?"

She stepped forward, as if looking for them even now. But she remembered her manners, too, and in a perfunctory way, she answered Pollen-Rose's questions in turn.

"I do not know if I... like, guarding, yet." There was a pause after the word 'like,' a consideration as to whether she did or not. "I have not been... at it? Long enough to know." And again, the mental question: were those the right words? "I do not know if she is in trouble." Answers empty of emotion, indifferent; they didn't interest her.

The faint rise of Pollen's fur, however, did--past Obieth's searching for these 'thorns.' She studied her, but didn't know what it meant; could find no reason for it. So she didn't comment, although she wondered.

It occurred to her, too, that while many of her senses had been indulged by this garden, by Pollen herself, there was one that remained untouched. Taste. "Do you ever... eat, the flowers?" she asked at length, thoughtful.

She wondered what they would taste like.

@Pollen

Pollen perked up for a second. Thorns! She could try those- no, actually it may be best to find them. "Ahh- let me think..." She glanced around the courtyard, her ears twitching up just slightly as her yellow eyes roamed the place. Hmm... Most flowers in here weren't as bad as the ones in the gardens, she figured, but she hadn't truly explored these plants yet. Perhaps-- no...

The succulent? Yes! And she could show this being the other plant, the Aethril-bonsai, and maybe find out what kind of plant she'd like, too.

She turned her gaze back to Obieth when her words continued. "You seem good at it, I think. You're very nice- that's a good thing for a guard to be- but I didn't even hear you come up! That's very good." Her hands clasped together and she grinned, briefly- a missing tooth, lost from simply being young, created a sort of gap-tooth smile. "Miss Aethril is very nice, too. I don't think she'd get in a lot of trouble."

She'd swept up and patted her knees free from dirt when Obieth's next question came. "Umm- sometimes! Honeysuckle smell really sweet, but I found out- here, watch..." She twisted her left arm about, hand drifting over the flowers curling there, and plucked out a particularly large, yellow, tube-like flower. "You kinda gotta pinch juuust right- it's hard with even with hands, though, so you might have to find a different way?- but, soon..."

She pinched the base of the flower and pulled it out, extracting the thin stamen and a bead of nectar. Carefully, she extended it out to Obieth. "Taste it! It's really sweet." It was totally dwarfed by Obieth's face, and Pollen marvelled at this, her eyes wide and her mouth parted just slightly.

After all was said and done, she'd moved on to walk past the Valkhound, her attention to a sort of bonsai tree nestled neat a bench. Her own addition- a little green succulent, tinged with red fringes- was sat on the corner of this bench, and she twisted around to sit next to it. "This has thorns! They're very sharp though, so don't touch them too hard." Gentle hands plucked the clay pot from its resting place and moved it to Pollen's lap. One gentle digit stroked down the smooth, inner side of the plant, watching how it bent ever so gently at the pressure. Its sides were like talons- if she knew any better, she might liken it to some form of tiny aloe vera.

"These ones aren't easy to eat. I usually eat the fish, in the river, but sometimes you can find special flowers like the honeysuckle. I've seen the big orange person cook plants, too, that aren't flowers! I want to try to grow some." She nodded to herself. Yes, this was something she was going to do.

And so, she shimmied in place, placing her paws around the base of the pot and offering the succulent out to Obieth. What would she think? Did she like thorns? She seemed very sharp, and like she'd like them. Maybe she should be a thorny plant! Did succulents come in black?

Oof, too many questions. Pollen blinked somewhat, before resorting to glance once down to the plant then back up to Obieth, a smile curling up her cheeks.

"So, what do you think?"

@Obieth

Obieth's silence accompanied Pollen's tour of two plants. Twitching whiskers and flicking ears, and eyes trailing along with Pollen as she went, were the signs of her attention. She was not sure why Pollen thought she was nice, or why being nice was part of being a good guard, but she didn't mention it. Instead, she tucked that little nugget away into the small collection (now overflowing, likely to be half-forgotten) of things she didn't quite know what to do with yet. Things she might--or might not--think on later.

With the honeysuckle's nectar offered toward her, Obieth leaned in. Nostrils flared, and her teal eyes studied Pollen for a beat, as if wary of some trap. Then she turned her full attention to the tiny bloom, and its little pieces.

It smelled sweet, and she was not built to consume sweet. She was created predator, to hunt, to shear and swallow flesh, to lap at blood. This smelled wrong, for her, but in the interests of indulging in what was perhaps a one-of-a-kind learning experience, she took a little taste. Tip of tongue darted out--black, and barbed--and touched to the honeysuckle; back it drew with its little drops, and she tasted it. That tongue reflexively lashed back out over lips and whiskers as she considered.

...No; it wasn't for her. "It is sweet," was all she said, but her tone was flat; she was neither displeased or overjoyed with the fact, merely observing it. While most things--even unpleasant--tickled her senses, this one (like Pollen's mention of kindness) she didn't quite know what to do with.

But she padded along behind the stranger, this Gardener, tail flicking. And now a new plant was offered up. Green and red-tinted, spined, and that certainly looked more like it.

She hesitated as Pollen held it out, unsure if she was meant to taste this one, too. Obieth didn't know enough of plants to say. One mental shrug later, she'd decided that this could be another one-of-a-kind chance, no matter how minor and how inevitably repulsive. Lips prickled back, and with a quick movement (as if to get it over with) she tried to nip a piece of aloe off.

Her first impression was exactly true to Pollen's description: spines. Thorns. Spiky bits that poked at the rough roof of her mouth, and her black gums. Velveteen face contorted, shifting as though small constrictors twisted her muscles, as she chewed--it was that or spit it out, and "spit it out" had not occurred to her.

So for a long, perhaps awkward moment, Obieth chewed--and then swallowed--the spiny succulent chunk.

It, too, did not taste good. It did not taste like food at all.

'So, what do you think'--a question asked perhaps just before she'd decided to take a taste test--was met with lip-smacking grimaces as she considered. "It does not taste good," she answered, at last, and came quickly to two realizations. First, this was one of few things she could find little aesthetic pleasure in and second, that in and of itself was unique, and interesting! A new experience, really: something purely disgusting.

With this abrupt newfound appreciation she reached her nose out to the wounded plant, sniffing at it; hollowed ears swept forward.

"I like it. I like its spines," she added, pleased with this part of it, at least. Curiosity laced a final addition: "Where do you get them? All of them," as clarification--where and how was a creature like Pollen collecting all these plants?

@Pollen

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