It's simple, relaxing work, especially with the recipe right there for you to follow. Or, well, with the recipe right there for moral support, anyway.
You're checking the rice when you feel something delicate brush against your wrist, and with it split second of something like longing—
...Oh. It's another wild rose, just barely opening on its thorny branch. It's not doing anything beyond, well, being there (and seemingly full of some sort of emotion?), but it certainly did grow ridiculously fast while you were cooking.
once he's done he's getting a bowl of curry and rice along with some utensils, carrying it all back to the common room, and just kind of setting it down close to the rose bushes]
There ya go. Feel free to grab more from the kitchen if you want.
The flowers just bob a bit in the air, but you feel like you can fully recognize them, now: Wild Rose, Key of Something Different.
Caring about "difference" at all, though... that's the sort of thing you can only feel if your difference matters; if it is part of the story of you finding your place in the world. And isn't that something precious? Realizing that having a place you belong is something you could want? Something you could have, if only you reached for it?
There's a sharp crack of breaking glass overhead, and you see another branch of briars overflow out the window.
scars reveal history | scars are proof of survival | scars stay with you | scars come from wounds
You reach within yourself, and Scars are there, and you perform a Miracle. You feel her in it, as you do—Hellfire, and the world as she sees it. A fragile place, idea far more than substance, but so beautiful.
The place on your skin where the scar had been is fertile soil, and the flowers sprout rapidly: thin stems that grow lush as they burst from your skin and twine around your hand or arm or leg. They bloom quickly too: miniature purple aconite and pink and white lotus.
The roses all briefly straighten to attention, at that, and for a moment you realize they're looking at you–or the spirits of them are, anyway—blinking curiously.
Oh! Hey everyone, listen! I don't know... I mean, we're growing because of her, right? Pay attention!! He said what he said! That's true, that's true, that's true. I guess we gotta!
Welcome to talking to the spiritual equivalent of a bunch of flowers with googly eyes on. They're doing their best.
—And indeed, the roses... recede? They're still growing, but some of them die back, no longer as much in the way of the furniture, and certainly breaking no windows. Those that remain seem to be coming most prominently from the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Re: CHANCEL BAD END=DEAD END
well
emiya curry it is]
Re: CHANCEL BAD END=DEAD END
You're checking the rice when you feel something delicate brush against your wrist, and with it split second of something like longing—
...Oh. It's another wild rose, just barely opening on its thorny branch. It's not doing anything beyond, well, being there (and seemingly full of some sort of emotion?), but it certainly did grow ridiculously fast while you were cooking.
Re: CHANCEL BAD END=DEAD END
Re: CHANCEL BAD END=DEAD END
Re: CHANCEL BAD END=DEAD END
[he'll finish cooking up the curry, but keeping an eye out for any new growths]
Re: CHANCEL BAD END=DEAD END
Damn you're good at curry.
Re: CHANCEL BAD END=DEAD END
once he's done he's getting a bowl of curry and rice along with some utensils, carrying it all back to the common room, and just kind of setting it down close to the rose bushes]
There ya go. Feel free to grab more from the kitchen if you want.
Re: CHANCEL BAD END=DEAD END
Caring about "difference" at all, though... that's the sort of thing you can only feel if your difference matters; if it is part of the story of you finding your place in the world. And isn't that something precious? Realizing that having a place you belong is something you could want? Something you could have, if only you reached for it?
There's a sharp crack of breaking glass overhead, and you see another branch of briars overflow out the window.
Re: CHANCEL BAD END=DEAD END
maybe encouraging this isn't necessarily a good idea?
so he's going to use a scar to give the roses a command:]
Stop breaking stuff around here.
1/2 (cw: plant horror)
You reach within yourself, and Scars are there, and you perform a Miracle. You feel her in it, as you do—Hellfire, and the world as she sees it. A fragile place, idea far more than substance, but so beautiful.
The place on your skin where the scar had been is fertile soil, and the flowers sprout rapidly: thin stems that grow lush as they burst from your skin and twine around your hand or arm or leg. They bloom quickly too: miniature purple aconite and pink and white lotus.
Re: CHANCEL BAD END=DEAD END
Oh! Hey everyone, listen!
I don't know... I mean, we're growing because of her, right?
Pay attention!! He said what he said!
That's true, that's true, that's true. I guess we gotta!
Welcome to talking to the spiritual equivalent of a bunch of flowers with googly eyes on. They're doing their best.
—And indeed, the roses... recede? They're still growing, but some of them die back, no longer as much in the way of the furniture, and certainly breaking no windows. Those that remain seem to be coming most prominently from the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
Re: CHANCEL BAD END=DEAD END
also there's flowers with googly eyes on. huh
giving the roses a somewhat hesitant thumbs up before heading into the hallway]
Re: CHANCEL BAD END=DEAD END
Bye! Bye!
Do your best!
We'll work hard at not messing up!
Okay bye!
...Anyway. There sure are a lot of doors here.