Quest 269
[The amount of open space in the Warehouse is something of a double-edged sword. On one hand, it can make an individual seem terribly lonely, dwarfed by its size and engulfed in its surroundings; Rosella knows that feeling all too well, from the months she spent alone in the Warehouse after Sam's departure. The ticking (but no, there's no ticking anymore, and that's a problem in itself, isn't it?) seems so much louder in such an empty space, harder to ignore with no companionship or chatter to help muffle its incessant rhythm. Those were golden days, the ones where she'd never known a City without Sam. And now it's the first of May, and in another month she'll have been without him for a whole year's time. The Warehouse will always seem empty without him, no matter how many people live in it. And whether that was really so, or simply her own feelings coloring her recollection, she's not sure.
But on the other hand, the open space in the Warehouse can be a wonderful thing when one wants to be alone, as she does today. There was enough empty room to learn to Rollerblade in here, once upon a time, and a few failed attempts at learning to skateboard, besides. Valor once appeared in here and climbed the stairs in search of her on Christmas. They've held parties here to celebrate all sorts of occasions, and set up safe havens here in times of crisis. There's room for just about anything, if one only cares to find it.
She wants the space this time, because she wants to be alone.
There's too much to think about, too many concerns, too many worries weighing on her shoulders. It's May, and if this May is anything like the others she's seen, then the days are only going to get worse before they get better. This will be another month of enduring, now that the brief respite is over. And she can't face it like this, not with so many things bearing down on her already. Not when it's the first May she's facing without two of the people she always relied on most.
I can't let it frighten me, she thinks, as she turns her magic wand over in her hand. It's cool and sleek against her palm, and no longer feels as strange and unfamiliar as it did when she first acquired it. She'd surrendered a memory of Sam for it. He'd want her to put it to good use. She thinks, I can do this.
Of course she's scared. But she's been scared before, and this isn't the time to let that stop her. Too many choices were decided by her fear--but there have also been too many decided by recklessness. Rushing off to the graveyard got Peter killed on her behalf. Venturing out to search for Rumplestiltskin nearly resulted in her own death. Investigating what lay beyond the fallen barrier had almost proved disastrous. It's too easy to swing between the two, she knows. It's too easy to overcompensate for one with too much of the other.
She breathes in. She breathes out.
She can see the sigil in her mind's eye, as clearly as if it had been drawn there by some unseen artist's careful hand, but she doesn't try to focus on it yet. Not yet. She'd agonized over it for weeks, trying everything she could think of to make it work for her, and nothing had succeeded--and yet she'd cast the spell when she'd least expected it, without knowing how at all. She doesn't focus on the sigil, the icon, but it's there. She knows it like she knows her own reflection.
Her mind drifts to thoughts of stone steps in a mountain, up and up and up into the very clouds themselves. She'd thought she would die that day, a horrible demise of fang and fire. Of course she'd been scared. But somehow her steps had carried her there, one foot in front of the other. Somehow, she'd gone on.
Of course she's scared. Scared of working this magic, scared of the times she's tried it and failed. Scared of finding it beyond her reach, of being less than the brother she's still only barely met. Scared of this month and what it might bring, scared of facing it without two of the people she's always needed most. Scared of losing any more to gateways that opened in the air, scared of the day when she'll find herself completely alone again. Scared of dancing on a puppeteer's strings, of being rendered helpless in the face of circumstances she can't prevent or change. So many fears, all interconnected, all preyed on by the City that thrives on misery. How much has she given it herself, in the years that have passed?
I can't do everything, she thinks, a difficult admission to bear. But I can do this.
They're still with her in her memories. No matter how long they've been gone, they'll always be with her in that. Just like the tiger is in her memory now, the lines of the icon, the snarl of the drawn muzzle. The tiger was calm. Confident. It knew it was the master of its own domain. The tiger had reasons to fear, enemies to fight, threats to face. And yet it wasn't scared. She can see it in her mind's eye, as perfect as ever, as clearly as if it were on a page in front of her.
She is calm. Confident.
I can do this.
She draws a breath, lets it out, and she is acutely aware of the feel of the wand in her hand as her mind snaps, now!
And something clicks.
The floor feels strange, felt through paws that would be more comfortable in dirt and grass. It's different this time, working this indoors instead of outside, and there are different things to smell, different sensations to explore. She hears more acutely than she could before; she sees movement in corners she'd previously ignored. She curls her muzzle back in a snarl and flexes her diamond claws and thinks, I did this.
And then it breaks, and is gone, and she is a girl again, slowly rising to her feet with her wand still in hand, feet set in a wide stance to help keep herself steady against any quivering.
I did it, she thinks, feeling a rush of elation beginning to creep at the corners of her mind, giddy and rising and fluttering in her stomach. I did it, I did it, I did it, and I'll do it again and again. I can do this. I did this. It's mine.
It's a good feeling. Good enough to let the sudden twinge of pain in her back go unnoticed.]
~
[Private || Hackable by Friends]
That's one thing managed, at least. Now for all the rest.
[/Private]
[Accidental Video Post]
[The video opens on the Warehouse kitchen as viewed from the countertop, slightly obscured by the edge of a cookbook; a short distance away, busily assembling ingredients near a yellow mixing bowl, is Rosella. She's got her hair braided back as usual, keeping her hair off her face, and there's a bit of flour smudged along her cheek and dusted on her dress.]
Let's see...butter, sugar, eggs, flour, milk, vanilla--oh, and the lemon, of course, mustn't forget that--
[Any baking-inclined viewers in the audience might note the ingredients in question are all for baking something distinctly lemon-flavored. A cake, perhaps?
Any baking-inclined viewers that were around two Mays ago might have a very good idea why she's chosen to bake a lemon cake on this particular occasion.]
That's half a cup of butter, one and a quarter of white sugar...
[But then she stops, rolling her shoulders uncomfortably for a minute. She shrugs it off, resumes stirring, but then stops again and reaches behind her, frowning as she presses her hand against the apparently offending place on her back.]
Sugar...yes, that's right, and five minutes mixing them together.
[She begins to put the ingredients together, finding a spoon and stirring them a bit, before stopping and rolling her shoulders again--as the video ends.]
[OOC: With May comes lemon cakes! Because really, it's just a standard precaution by now, for a month when Adrastus is most likely to come to call. The game is afoot! Preparations are being made! And Rosella's old wound from the Ides of March last year is beginning to twinge up. The first part is a solo log for reference purposes; the rest is open to Network. ♥]
But on the other hand, the open space in the Warehouse can be a wonderful thing when one wants to be alone, as she does today. There was enough empty room to learn to Rollerblade in here, once upon a time, and a few failed attempts at learning to skateboard, besides. Valor once appeared in here and climbed the stairs in search of her on Christmas. They've held parties here to celebrate all sorts of occasions, and set up safe havens here in times of crisis. There's room for just about anything, if one only cares to find it.
She wants the space this time, because she wants to be alone.
There's too much to think about, too many concerns, too many worries weighing on her shoulders. It's May, and if this May is anything like the others she's seen, then the days are only going to get worse before they get better. This will be another month of enduring, now that the brief respite is over. And she can't face it like this, not with so many things bearing down on her already. Not when it's the first May she's facing without two of the people she always relied on most.
I can't let it frighten me, she thinks, as she turns her magic wand over in her hand. It's cool and sleek against her palm, and no longer feels as strange and unfamiliar as it did when she first acquired it. She'd surrendered a memory of Sam for it. He'd want her to put it to good use. She thinks, I can do this.
Of course she's scared. But she's been scared before, and this isn't the time to let that stop her. Too many choices were decided by her fear--but there have also been too many decided by recklessness. Rushing off to the graveyard got Peter killed on her behalf. Venturing out to search for Rumplestiltskin nearly resulted in her own death. Investigating what lay beyond the fallen barrier had almost proved disastrous. It's too easy to swing between the two, she knows. It's too easy to overcompensate for one with too much of the other.
She breathes in. She breathes out.
She can see the sigil in her mind's eye, as clearly as if it had been drawn there by some unseen artist's careful hand, but she doesn't try to focus on it yet. Not yet. She'd agonized over it for weeks, trying everything she could think of to make it work for her, and nothing had succeeded--and yet she'd cast the spell when she'd least expected it, without knowing how at all. She doesn't focus on the sigil, the icon, but it's there. She knows it like she knows her own reflection.
Her mind drifts to thoughts of stone steps in a mountain, up and up and up into the very clouds themselves. She'd thought she would die that day, a horrible demise of fang and fire. Of course she'd been scared. But somehow her steps had carried her there, one foot in front of the other. Somehow, she'd gone on.
Of course she's scared. Scared of working this magic, scared of the times she's tried it and failed. Scared of finding it beyond her reach, of being less than the brother she's still only barely met. Scared of this month and what it might bring, scared of facing it without two of the people she's always needed most. Scared of losing any more to gateways that opened in the air, scared of the day when she'll find herself completely alone again. Scared of dancing on a puppeteer's strings, of being rendered helpless in the face of circumstances she can't prevent or change. So many fears, all interconnected, all preyed on by the City that thrives on misery. How much has she given it herself, in the years that have passed?
I can't do everything, she thinks, a difficult admission to bear. But I can do this.
They're still with her in her memories. No matter how long they've been gone, they'll always be with her in that. Just like the tiger is in her memory now, the lines of the icon, the snarl of the drawn muzzle. The tiger was calm. Confident. It knew it was the master of its own domain. The tiger had reasons to fear, enemies to fight, threats to face. And yet it wasn't scared. She can see it in her mind's eye, as perfect as ever, as clearly as if it were on a page in front of her.
She is calm. Confident.
I can do this.
She draws a breath, lets it out, and she is acutely aware of the feel of the wand in her hand as her mind snaps, now!
And something clicks.
The floor feels strange, felt through paws that would be more comfortable in dirt and grass. It's different this time, working this indoors instead of outside, and there are different things to smell, different sensations to explore. She hears more acutely than she could before; she sees movement in corners she'd previously ignored. She curls her muzzle back in a snarl and flexes her diamond claws and thinks, I did this.
And then it breaks, and is gone, and she is a girl again, slowly rising to her feet with her wand still in hand, feet set in a wide stance to help keep herself steady against any quivering.
I did it, she thinks, feeling a rush of elation beginning to creep at the corners of her mind, giddy and rising and fluttering in her stomach. I did it, I did it, I did it, and I'll do it again and again. I can do this. I did this. It's mine.
It's a good feeling. Good enough to let the sudden twinge of pain in her back go unnoticed.]
~
[Private || Hackable by Friends]
That's one thing managed, at least. Now for all the rest.
[/Private]
[Accidental Video Post]
[The video opens on the Warehouse kitchen as viewed from the countertop, slightly obscured by the edge of a cookbook; a short distance away, busily assembling ingredients near a yellow mixing bowl, is Rosella. She's got her hair braided back as usual, keeping her hair off her face, and there's a bit of flour smudged along her cheek and dusted on her dress.]
Let's see...butter, sugar, eggs, flour, milk, vanilla--oh, and the lemon, of course, mustn't forget that--
[Any baking-inclined viewers in the audience might note the ingredients in question are all for baking something distinctly lemon-flavored. A cake, perhaps?
Any baking-inclined viewers that were around two Mays ago might have a very good idea why she's chosen to bake a lemon cake on this particular occasion.]
That's half a cup of butter, one and a quarter of white sugar...
[But then she stops, rolling her shoulders uncomfortably for a minute. She shrugs it off, resumes stirring, but then stops again and reaches behind her, frowning as she presses her hand against the apparently offending place on her back.]
Sugar...yes, that's right, and five minutes mixing them together.
[She begins to put the ingredients together, finding a spoon and stirring them a bit, before stopping and rolling her shoulders again--as the video ends.]
[OOC: With May comes lemon cakes! Because really, it's just a standard precaution by now, for a month when Adrastus is most likely to come to call. The game is afoot! Preparations are being made! And Rosella's old wound from the Ides of March last year is beginning to twinge up. The first part is a solo log for reference purposes; the rest is open to Network. ♥]