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| Oh, The Weather Outside Is Frightful...; Open, visit Shell for funsies! | |
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| Topic Started: Jan 10 2018, 04:26 PM (71 Views) | |
| Shell | Jan 10 2018, 04:26 PM Post #1 |
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From Theon Greyjoy to Reek in under 3 seconds
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((OOC: I apologize for the long set-up, wanted to kind of show how they were all doing c; Have fun! Or crash it, if you want, the ball's in your court LOL)) ...but Shell's home, now fully functioning and decorated, was warm and delightful. From the outside it appeared as beckoning as any other house in the city during the cold winter evening, the windows warmly lit with lamps on both floors and the fireplace on the lower. From the outside, the suite itself was narrow: next to Phaedrus's home, it looked even more so, but it was sturdy wood and stone and possessed only a different sort of charm, something enduring and steadfast that felt as though it would certainly survive another arboreal apocalypse, or at least a good typhoon. A stone fence circled it with a gate between her property and her friend's, and one between her yard and the street; both were eternally open, and atop one of the heavy, pillar-like posts at the street gate sat a stocky, frowny-faced orange cat, not seeming to notice the cold beneath his calloused paws or the faint dusting of snow over his scarred ears and head. Every so often some lonely figure would shamble by the orange cat to the front door and knock, the door opening usually very quickly; a few words would be exchanged, and a bowl and roll of bread would pass from her hands to theirs, and they would go back out a little lighter of step -- every so often, one would come inside for a little while then leave similarly, but all went off with a bowl and bread. Being old and very good at cooking had gratifying perks. As the last of daylight faded, three more figures, less hunched and less shuffly, passed the orange cat together: the first two stopped and ducked their heads, the cat giving them a good hard headbump each; the third raised a fist and held it out, receiving a headbump to their gloved knuckles. "'Sup Charlie, looking good today." Charlie the cat miaowed loudly as they passed, then continued his vigil, slow-blinking with fondness. The first figure knocked on the door, and the third spoke again: "Balls, it's cold." "Dumb Morrimian," Said the first, "You're fine and you'd stay fine even if you were naked." "Darling," The second figure crooned with barely-concealed mirth, "You're Morrimian too." "Well we know what that means," The third spoke, their voice loud and harsh in the snow-silent air, "Sara and me both have to get naked and sit out here in the snow and see who cops out first." "It'll be me," Said Sara with begrudging honesty, "Because I'm shy." The other two laughed long and loud at this, and the door opened. Shell, her hair down and dressed as casually as any of them had ever seen in a sweater and long, shapeless skirt, beamed with a smile as the warm air from inside poured out over them. "Surprise, motherfucker!" Nakara threw her arms into the air with a grin, and Shell laughed. "I knew you were coming, but thanks motherfucker!" She replied, hugging each of them in turn as they entered -- Sara threw her hood off and gave a warm, full-body hug, her cheeks pink and her eyes twinkling merrily with the joy of her favorite season; Ylsa leaned heavily but happily on her cane, offering her a kiss and an apology for not having visited sooner; Nakara grabbed her with both arms and lifted her off the ground, each squeezing the other until their spines cracked, contesting to see, perhaps, who could break whose bones first. Past their ankles streaked Bughunter, eagerly exploring her second-favorite house in Madrid. At last the taller woman set the short one down and shut the door behind her. Sara, having quickly ditched her scarf and coat and boots, helped Ylsa with hers, and Shell watched them with fond interest: it looked as though Sara had fully embraced the role of a servitor, a role which seemed to finally give her something in return, with Ylsa being as motherly and nurturing as she was. Nakara kicked her boots off and set them by the fire, whipping off her outerwear then pausing. The urge to continue undressing was powerful. She resisted purely by the grace of Ylsa's presence -- stripping in front of her would be like stripping in front of her mom -- and sat down on a couch like it was her own, gazing around at how Shell had winterized her plant-filled house. Everything was much the same as it had been before, with shelves taking up every empty space on the walls, bordered by tasteful paintings of pretty places and temples that Shell had painted herself, decorative masks, scarves and tapestries fragrant with sandalwood incense; books lined the shelves mostly, but also upon every shelf and hanging from every available real estate on the ceiling were lush, verdant, colorful little plants: plants in jars, in pots, in buckets, in dishes and tea pots and glass globes, on tables and placemats and doilies Nakara was pretty sure Phaedrus had knitted. A fire blazed in the hearth, pipes carrying heat up through the second floor of the house, allowing the yet more plants up there to thrive as well. The chill of winter couldn't touch the season of warmth in here. She smiled: for a Dead girl walking, Shell sure loved Life. "Where's my husband?" She demanded in mock moodiness after hanging up her jacket, peering around the warm, stuffed furniture and tables and stools and stands. "He'll be around once he hears you yelling," Shell reassured her with a smile. "I've got stew on if anybody wants some!" "Oh, I'll have some, please," Ylsa took her up. Sara thought about it for a moment. "Maybe in a little bit, thanks, Shell! Need help with kitchen stuff?" "Wait wait wait wait wait," Nakara held her hand up, halting everyone mid-step. She grinned severely at Shell and made another, encouraging gesture. Shell blinked slowly. "...what?" "Do the shit!" She gestured again, more wildly this time. "I know you went up that mountain with a reason, and you've been smiling an awful lot lately according to rumor." Ylsa and Sara both turned curious eyes upon their pale hostess, who smiled with a little pride, and adopted an easy, open stance. Nakara cast her gaze around the woman with some new trepidation: there was an awful lot of stuff to knock over... ...she smiled and sat down, and sat back, and waited for the show. Shell moved her arms a little in a graceful sweeping motion, and a lick of smoke from the cone of incense hanging above the sitting area floated downward to them and danced a little with Shell's clearly experimental hand-motions. "It's air, darling," Ylsa offered gently, "Don't try and control it, try to work *with* it." "I think I'm getting it," Shell slowed down a little, and moved the wisp around the room with a triumphant laugh. "There we go, got something!" "It's like the ghost of a slug!" Sara chimed in gleefully; then the wisp poofed out and dissipated into the air. "Oh, maybe it was more of a nudibranch..." "Nah," Shell shrugged easily. "That's about the best I can do right now, it is pretty early in the game." "Not bad," Nakara did her best at being encouraging. "I can do this though!" The martial artist cupped her hands and thrust them towards a candle, puffing out the flame -- and knocking over the plant in its jar beside it. "Oh, shit!!" There was laughter as she frantically tried to save the plant and set it right, then an undercurrent of chirping meows joined them and Nakara's attention snapped to. "There's my husband!" She grinned as a tiny, very unsteady cat tried to jump up into her lap, fell, and climbed back to its feet, rocking precariously. "Come on, buddy, you can do it! I've seen you do it!" The wobbly cat jumped again and made his mark, immediately rolling over in Nakara's lap and wriggling beneath her tickling fingers and merciless tummy kisses. Sara stared as this spectacle continued for a few moments, ending with the imposing Morrimian woman bundling the tiny wobbly cat in her arms like it was her pride and joy. "I love this guy," She said with a grin, and Sara couldn't help but smile. Ylsa craned her head and, sitting on the couch whose back was to the window, was in the perfect position to spy through the curtains. "Are we expecting anyone else?" "There might be someone else looking for supper, I'll see," Shell stumbled away from her salvaged plant and saw to the door, opening it with a smile. |
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