october 2019. welcome to the void.

[modblob]

Who: Everyone in Anchor.
What: Fourth Introductory Mingle
When: The Month of October 2019
Where: Around and outside the city.
Warnings: Please add any warnings in the subject lines.

Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.

Click here to read what characters will experience when arriving in Anchor.

a. sini express delivery service.

There's something odd rolling through Anchor. Whether they wake with it next to their beds or find it sitting neatly in some corridor as if placed there just for them, characters will start finding items that are distinct and unique enough that they have to belong to someone. But where are they coming from? And whose are they?

The easiest way to find out is probably to walk around with the item held high yelling "Does this belong to you?" but that's not a good way to cover a lot of ground.

Don't worry, though! There's someone (something?) to help you. Chiming in periodically from communicators or intercoms across Anchor comes a voice that might sound a little familiar to anyone who made it as far as that spaceship wreckage in the wasteland. Softly laughing and humming, this some-one-thing will cheerfully coax characters in the right direction, giving tips and offering little clues to anyone who might be confused about whose item they have.

Characters struggling with identifying whose item they got might hear a helpful voice whispering out of their device as they move around the city - "Warmer, waaaaarmer...oh no! COLD!" They might hear a laughing voice coming out of a nearby speaker, giving tips or riddles about the person the item belongs to - "Her eyes are grey!" or "What kind of spider is sweet as pie?" Sometimes, it'll just be amused giggling at the efforts of those trying to find their object's owner. That bubbly voice is everywhere, encouraging residents to solve the riddle because "It'll be wooooorth it. Pinky swear!"

And no matter what, it can't be turned off or muted, and it doesn't respond to any direct attempts to communicate in return.

b. flu season.

No one probably takes special notice, at first. It's a sniffle here, a cough or chill there. 'Tis the season in some universe, after all, and even the advanced decontamination process isn't completely flawless. But what starts as a tickle in the throat gets a little worse over the span of a week, or in some cases a lot worse.

Whether laid up for a few days or longer, afflicted characters can expect to feel a few consistent symptoms. Dizziness, lightheadedness, chills and fever, coughing and sneezing (that kind of sneezing that comes in annoyingly long bursts and makes you feel like you've shot your brain out of your nose).

Oh, and hallucinations. Mild ones! Nothing to write home about! (If you even could, anyway.) Hallucinations are the last stage of this mild interuniversal flu, an annoyance more than anything...

And it leaves some people immune, and some people even more susceptible to what might follow.

c. harvestival festival.

Something good is happening in the agricultural sector. Weird, right?

But lo, the whole place has started to bloom seemingly overnight. Tiny fruits become noticeable, then large. Edible vegetation is flourishing, and you can tell which vegetation is edible thanks to the flocks, gangs, and small herds of creatures that have emerged from the still-wild depths of the sector. None of these creatures are aggressive except as a means to protect themselves when scared. Unused to strangers as they are, they'll probably let you get pretty close! Which means you could hunt them, I guess, or try to lasso and bring home some critters to the farm and fenced areas.

The food varies wildly. From electric pink berries the size of a pinkie to giant purple melons nestled in beds of vines. The tastes are as exotic and strange as the fruits themselves. A few people might even recognize some kinds of fruit from home. The root vegetables, squash, and edible vegetation is as colorful as the fruit, though a little more weirdly shaped. Why does that carrot-seeming thing look like a coiled spring? Who knows? You can't judge its life.

The culinarily inclined can take harvested goods to the kitchen areas and start experimenting, but beware! Even plants that look like they could be from Earth or other areas that the residents of Anchor know probably taste a little weirder or more intense than normal. Your best bet for a good recipe is to taste a little bit of everything before you get started. The spicy, the melony, the crunchy, salty, and sweet. There are no available records of what any of these things are, so you'll have to make it up as you go! The only consistent thing across all the agricultural sector's bounty is that NONE of it is poisonous. And none of it will get you high, Klaus and Kabal, so don't get your hopes up.

Navigation.

Comments

[braidmage]

[ Reynir's head is throbbing again, and so he doesn't talk, doesn't argue, when Onni tells him what to do. In fact, he's grateful. Onni picks the clothes, puts them in his hands, tells him to put them on. He's already starting that process before Onni is out the door, stripping off his clothes with a dull, plodding determination. He is normally a tidy person, but he leaves his worn clothes where they fall on the floor, pulling on Onni's sleeping clothes. He has to pull the drawstring on the pants quite a bit, enough that they scrunch a little at the waist, to tie them tight enough that they don't fall off. The big shirt is huge on him, but soft and nice-smelling.

There's a pause, after Onni's knock and question, before Reynir realizes he's asking if he's finished changing. He calls out: ]

Yeah.

[ And then flops down, crawling his way under the sheet and blanket, Onni's heavy cloak draped over the top. He peers up at Onni coming in the door, not much more visible of him than his eyes and forehead and hair, as he burrows down into the bed. His voice is a little muffled, his eyes still hazy as he says: ]

You don't- have to do that, Onni.

[scowlish]

[Reynir is quiet and acquiescent and starts stripping before Onni has even left the room, moving with a sort of determined, absent misery that worries Onni a little. Of course, he's inclined to worry even at the best of times, but there's something about seeing Reynir in this kind of state, particularly, that's a little unnerving. Onni is used to him being energetic and outspoken and stubborn - this is so unlike him it's a little worrying. Still, Onni knows it isn't the Rash. It isn't that nightmare, because that nightmare doesn't start like this, with these symptoms. It's always the rash first. Reynir is just sick, he's not infected, he's not going to die, and he's not going to give Onni anything but a cold.

He repeats that to himself a few times.

So he goes back into the room after he refills the bowl and once Reynir says it's fine to come in, he does, watches as the younger man crawls into the bed and pulls the sheet and blanket and Onni's cloak over himself. Onni puts the bowl of cool water down on the floor next to the bed and drags a chair over, settling down and picking up the bowl to place it in his lap. A moment later, Reynir looks up at him with fever-bright eyes and says he doesn't have to do this.]

I know.

[It's a simple acknowledgement of fact. He knows he doesn't have to take care of Reynir, or anyone else for that matter. But it's what he's going to do. Lifting the cloth out of the water, he squeezes it out, and then leans in, raking back Reynir's hair at the front so he can press the cloth against his damp, too-hot skin.]

[braidmage]

[ The cloth feels wonderfully cool against his skin, and it isn't until just that moment that Reynir even realizes how sweaty and warm and shaky he really is. He tugs the blankets down to his collarbones, arms still tucked underneath, looking up at Onni, only closing his eyes when the cloth is close to his face.

There is something so... patient, and caring, in the way he moves. It makes Reynir's throat feel tight with an emotion he doesn't even know the name for. Onni knows he doesn't need to do this and he knows Reynir can take care of himself and he is still sitting there, washing his face, pushing his hair off his forehead.

Very softly, Reynir says: ]

Thank you.

[ And then he closes his eyes, just lets himself enjoy, for a moment, the feeling of being tended to, of being looked out for. Kitty, too, seems to be aware that something is up. She slinks into the room, rubbing her face against Onni's shins a few times before hopping up onto the bed, settling on Reynir's legs and beginning to knead the blanket just below the bottom hem of Onni's cloak, purring aggressively. ]

You've got competition.

[ Reynir cracks open an eye to see how Onni responds to his joke. And sees, behind him, something move. A ghost, a shadow, reaching for him. ]

Onni-!

[ He sits bolt upright, jostling an unamused Kitty, who sinks her claws in but doesn't move. Reynir's eyes are round with fear, his voice coming out a sharp cry of warning - but a moment later, that shadow is gone. The ghost is gone. Had it ever been there? He could've sworn he saw it. ]

Where...? There was- I thought I saw-

[scowlish]

[Onni can tell that the cool cloth is doing its job when Reynir slides down the blankets he'd wrapped himself up in and looks up at him, obviously enjoying the coolness of the cloth. So he dips it again, squeezes it out, and carefully continues to wash Reynir's face, pressing the cool cloth against his cheeks and jaw and neck, dipping it over and over to make sure it's as cool as it can be when he does it.]

Mhm.

[It's his only real response to Reynir's thanks, as he carefully cools Reynir's throat, presses a thumb lightly against the soft space under his jaw to see if the glands there are swollen. He's about to ask if it hurts there when Kitty jumps up onto the bed and starts kneading at the blanket over Reynir's knees, just under the edge of Onni's cloak. With his free hand, he reaches out and scratches behind her ears, his mouth curving up into a slight smile as her purring gets a bit louder.]

Well, I think I can work with her, we have our own methods-

[The sentence cuts off, though, when Reynir calls his name, alarmed, sits upright and looks somewhere behind Onni, his face a portrait of fear. Before he can even think about it, Onni is moving, dropping the bowl of water from his lap, standing and turning, putting himself between Reynir and whatever danger is there, eyes averted but cautiously observant, his hands up in front of him, a runo on the tip of his tongue.

But there's nothing there.

He can't sense anything, no spirit or beast or troll or monster, not even one of the benign, glitching ones that are sad but not dangerous, the ones that are everywhere in this place. Finally, he lifts his gaze and looks at the spot Reynir had been staring at, even as the younger man speaks in a confused voice, saying that what he thought was there wasn't anymore. Cautiously, Onni steps backward and sits down on the edge of the bed, near Reynir's hips, looking at the spot he'd seen something.]

What did you see? I don't sense anything there, but we're different types of mage, and there's a chance you saw something I can't.

[braidmage]

It was- it was...

[ Reynir chews at his lower lip, eyes round and too bright, cheeks flushed dark as he searches the room for signs of anything off. He's not sitting quite still; there's a slight sway to his posture that makes it clear his balance isn't the best at the moment.

His voice is confused, almost childish: ]

I don't know. I- don't sense anything now, I just- I thought something was behind you.

[ He shuts his eyes, swaying a little more noticeably, lightheaded enough that he stops speaking for a moment. A bead of water from where Onni had been dabbing at his forehead trickles down his temple.

It doesn't make sense... ]

I'm not sure- but- I think... there wasn't ever anything I could see that Lalli couldn't... not while we were awake, anyway...

[ A thought occurs to him, then, and Reynir opens his eyes, looking up at Onni, trusting and disoriented. Quietly, he asks: ]

Am I awake?

[scowlish]

[Onni's heart is still pounding in his chest as he looks at the spot where Reynir had thought he saw something. But there's nothing there, barely even a shadow, and Onni is on highest alert, his senses honed sharp by adrenaline, but he can't sense anything at all.

What he does sense is the way Reynir is swaying slightly as he sits there, looking around the room in a wide-eyed flush-faced fever haze, obviously disoriented. When he speaks, his voice is confused, a little muddled, almost like a child's, and when he closes his eyes he sways more, Onni watches a bead of water slide down the side of his face. He makes a decision and shifts, catching an arm around Reynir's narrow shoulders and helping support his weight so he can lie down again.]

Rest. Use your other senses instead of your eyes, maybe that will help some.

[When Reynir says that he didn't think there was anything he could see that Lalli (and therefore a Finnish mage of any talent) couldn't, except while they were dreaming. Onni makes a soft 'mhm' of acknowledgement, and is about to speak again when Reynir's eyes slide open and he looks up at him with that sick, raw, vulnerable expression on his face, and asks if he's awake.

Onni blinks a couple of times, and shifts his feet, feels cool water soak into one of his socks, but manages to keep a straight face and not react to the sensation of it squelching up between his toes.]

Yes, you're awake. In my room, under my cloak. And I'm here.

[Sighing slightly, he reaches up to brush back some of Reynir's hair again, from where it's stuck against his wet temple.]

But you should sleep. Will you feel safe enough if I go long enough to get more water?

[braidmage]

[ Reynir doesn't want Onni to go. His heart is beating so fast, and the fear is a physical, chemical thing in him, in his bloodstream. But there are no ghosts that he can see, nothing threatening him. And so he lets Onni help him lay down and gives a small nod, to say it's okay for Onni to leave. Reynir had only just noticed the water spilled on the floor.

What a mess he is making, here.

He closes his eyes, pulling the covers up to his nose once again, telling himself over and over again that he'd been imagining things, that it was a trick of the light, that there are no ghosts.

But as he slips between the thinnest of sleeps and wakefulness, he is restless and fitful. The fever is at its worst, now, and he slips between the dreamscape and the bed in Onni's room, back and forth, a few seconds walking across the water and then twisting in the too-hot sheets, back and forth, disorienting and far from restful.

When Onni is back in the room he mumbles: ]

Sorry I made you spill.

[scowlish]

[It's obvious from the look on Reynir's face and the way he's moving that he doesn't want Onni to leave, that he's still reeling with panic. Onni knows that feeling, the feeling of panic that's like a living thing in his body, an electric spark in his nerves. But the younger man lies down anyhow and nods to say he can go.

Onni decides to be quick, moves as quickly as he can into the washroom to refill the bowl with cool water, put another clean cloth into the bowl, and gather up a couple of towels to clean up the spilled water with. He's back in the room after only a few moments, and Reynir is squirming in the bed, his face flushed and shiny with sweat, hair sticking to it again already, falling in and out of sleep.

Onni throws the towels over the water on the floor and slips his socks off before settling on the edge of the bed again. When Reynir apologizes for making him spill, he makes a little noise in his throat and shakes his head.]

Don't apologize.

[For all that the words are a little harsh, they're said quite gently, and he squeezes out the cool cloth again, folding it into a little rectangle and sweeping back Reynir's bangs so he can rest it against his forehead. Lifting the edge of the blanket, he can feel the wave of heat coming from underneath, and carefully slides one of them off, leaving Reynir under a lighter blanket and Onni's fur cloak.]

Is that warm enough?

[When Reynir nods, he settles a little further onto the bed and wets another cloth, carefully dabbing it over Reynir's cheeks and jaw, watching as the Icelander slips in and out of sleep, obviously in discomfort, and Onni starts humming in his throat. It seems to settle Reynir a little, so a few moments later he starts to sing softly, just an old Finnish lullaby his mother had sung to him and Tuuri when they were children and sick.]

[braidmage]

[ Reynir can't remember the last time anyone did anything like this for him - taking care of him like this, cleaning up after him, soothing him, singing to him. His fitful tossing and turning grows gradually less, and less, and even though he is still hovering between wakefulness and sleep, it is a more tranquil suspension than it had been.

The fever and the exhaustion remove what little verbal inhibitions he had had, and Reynir murmurs: ]

That's pretty. You sing really pretty.

[ He is settled, now, curled up in the bedsheets. But he moves, just a little, curling towards Onni, like he wants to be closer to him, to his voice and presence. It's not a conscious choice. Something in him just turns towards Onni, is drawn in his direction. He gets close enough that he is curled neatly around where Onni is perched at the edge of the bed, pressing against him from underneath the blankets, eyes shut, face finally growing calmer as he slips into a deeper sleep.

Reynir makes his way to Onni's area; he's not exactly at full strength even in the dream, and he knows it is a safe place to spend his time, that Onni keeps it protected with all kinds of magic he still barely understands. Of course, none of those things keep him out, but they discourage.... other visitors.

He is there when Onni appears; Reynir has curled up using his fylgja as a makeshift pillow, in the roots of one of the big trees he often finds Onni by. When there is movement, Reynir looks up, a little bleary even in the dream, and sees: ]

Onni?

[scowlish]

[The only real acknowledgement of the compliment that Onni makes is a soft hum in his throat, his eyes still down on Reynir. It is, he imagines, something that the younger man would be embarrassed about later on, when he's not feverish, and so he doesn't make much of a big deal about it, counts it as part of Reynir's difficult mental state. After Reynir settles some, Onni shifts a little further onto the bed to get comfortable, even as Reynir's body shifts slowly but surely to curl up around and against him, pressing himself against Onni's hip and lower back, his knees folded so he's curled almost entirely around where Onni is sitting.

It seems to be working well enough to keep Reynir comfortable, so Onni keeps singing, his voice low and soft as he does, until Reynir truly settles and finally slips into a real sleep, the kind that will help him to heal. It's only then that Onni crosses his arms against his belly and lets his head drift forward, his chin against his chest, and gets some rest himself. It only takes a half hour or so before he's waking up in the dream realm, in the form of an owl in an attempt to conserve energy, to let himself heal.

And it only takes a few moments for him to realize that Reynir is here, curled up in the roots of his favourite perching tree, with his head pressed against that little sheep dog he comes in with sometimes. His Icelandic version of a luonto, Onni thinks. It's probably for the best - Onni's dream haven is one of the safest places Reynir could be in his current state, and he doesn't begrudge him that safety. Drifting over to the tree on silent wings, he settles on a low branch nearby and fluffs his feathers up, lets his head sink into them, blinks slowly and then closes his eyes to drift there, half asleep.

When Reynir opens his eyes and looks up at him, says his name in a bleary sort of voice, Onni opens one eye.]

Yes?

[braidmage]

[ Reynir flashes a grin up at him - a smile that is sleepy and bright and almost automatic the moment he hears Onni's voice. Like being delighted by Onni's presence is a reflex, as prompt and unavoidable as a knee-jerk. He smiles up at that owl who is not an owl but his friend, who is taking care of him and who put him in bed and sang to him. ]

I promise I won't pet you this time.

[ Sleepily, he giggles and adds: ]

Unless you want petted, of course.

[ He's just joking! Making fun of himself for that mistake ages ago! Just a joke. Except that there's something at the edges of it, in his tone, that makes it clear he's maybe being a little bit serious, too. ]

You were lying when we were awake, weren't you? You're a lot sicker than you were pretending to be, you just didn't want me to know it. That's why you're like that here.

[ Now, though, he will know when he wakes up. And he might not be in a state to physically take care of Onni, but he can at least try to coax him into not straining himself too much. ]

[scowlish]

[When he sees Reynir smile up at him, looking sleepy and bright and happy, Onni's feathers fluff up a little more and he swivels his head, looking away from that too-bright grin for a moment. When Reynir promises not to pet him this time unless he wants to be petted, Onni makes a little huff and shakes his feathers out, still fluffed out around the ruff of his neck.]

Mm. Don't do it like last time.

[And while Reynir is joking with just a hint of seriousness, Onni isn't saying yes or no directly. He gives himself another little shake, and then swivels his head back toward Reynir, watching as he shifts a little, looks up at Onni with that little dog shifting in its sleep near where Reynir was lying before.

Even in owl form, he's feeling a little under the weather, his body sore and tired, and he's glad that he chose the owl form instead of his usual form, to rest.]

I wasn't lying. I'm less sick than you are. I'm like this so I don't get worse.

[A slow blink, and he tilts his head a little, still fluffed up.]

[braidmage]

[ Reynir rolls over and then pushes himself up and onto his feet. He doesn't feel entirely well, but in the dream it is merely a consciousness of having less energy. Normally, in dreams, his energy feels boundless. He feels stronger than he does anywhere else. And he is still much stronger here. But he stands with his shoulder against the tree trunk, on a level with Onni as he asks, a little joking, a little serious: ]

Are you saying it's okay, but to pet you better this time?

[ He hadn't said don't do it at all, after all. And is it so different from what Onni had done for him when he was lying in bed? If it will provide any kind of comfort for Onni while he's resting and healing in this form, of course Reynir will do it. ]

You have a really nice singing voice.

[ A little part of him still can't believe Onni had sung him to sleep. The gesture is so selfless, so thoughtful - so sweet. Onni is always surprising him. Always trying to see so stoic and tough, and always revealing himself to be kind and gentle underneath it. ]

Less sick than I am can still mean more sick than you were pretending. Why do you do that? Why do you pretend to be okay?

[ He does not mention - and doesn't think he needs to - the way Onni had hid away when he needed to cry or all the other times he has tried to cover up anything upsetting him. ]

[scowlish]

[It's easy to see that Reynir doesn't have as much energy as he usually does, even in the dream realm. Usually, Reynir bounces around like he's on springs, like an excited child. It's obvious he's much better here than he is in person, but he still moves slowly, leans against the tree trunk instead of standing fully on his own.

Apparently, though, he still has the energy to make jokes.

Instead of answering, Onni just makes a little huffing noise and puffs his feathers up more to hold the heat in his body, looking away from Reynir. Again, it's not a yes or a no, but he finds himself thinking about how nice it would feel to have his feathers pet, and makes a soft 'mm' noise at the thought.]

I suppose. It's just my voice.

[It comes out sounding a little prickly, mostly because Onni tends to brush off compliments as unnecessary and this is no exception. He's about to change the subject when Reynir does it for him, challenging him on being more sick than he was pretending to be, and asking him why he pretends to be okay. Onni's head swivels back toward Reynir and he blinks at him slowly, trying to work out what it is Reynir wants from him in this situation. What Reynir wants him to say.

Honestly, Onni simply isn't used to being challenged on that sort of thing. Lalli and Tuuri had never bothered, just taken him at his word, and no one else had been close enough to try.]

I felt too warm and sick to my stomach, tired, a headache. Nothing I can't endure easily enough. And...I don't pretend to be okay. I am okay.

[He gives Reynir an annoyed sort of expression, shifts a little on the branch by shuffling his talons against the smooth bark, and leans down to preen at an itchy spot just under his wing.]

And I don't mention it when I'm feeling bad because there's just no point. I'll need to keep working and doing things anyway.

[The way he says it is completely matter-of-fact, without any self-pity.]

[braidmage]

[ Reynir, fortunately, is utterly immune to prickliness, and tenaciously friendly. So, when Onni merely puffs up his feathers again but does not say, in no uncertain terms, not to pet him, he moves closer. Pulls off his gloves. He reaches up slowly, sure that if Onni wants to hop away, he will be able to, without trouble or expending too much energy. When Onni does not move, Reynir sinks his fingers into those warm feathers, gently scratching the crown of his head. The layer of downy underfeathers are warm and Reynir is gentle with them, observing Onni's movements and being careful of areas that might be sensitive.

It's really no different, he tell himself, than his mother helping him to comb his hair, or Onni washing his face for him when he was feverish. Definitely, absolutely no different. ]

Yeah. And it's a nice voice.

[ So a little of that stubbornness is left in him, despite the illness and lack of overall vigor. He scratches at the feathers just around Onni's beak, a spot that seems to him like it might get itchy and be difficult to reach with just his talons. Owls are like cats, that way - they can groom most parts of their bodies with their beaks, but faces are a challenge. ]

You're honestly expecting me to believe you never fake it? Seriously. I don't buy that.

[ Reynir doesn't know why is makes him sad, exactly, hearing Onni talk like this. Maybe because he understands now that Onni has been acting as a parent for a decade, that he's just completely used to not asking for help or letting himself slow down even if he feels bad. ]

There is a point, though. Maybe not when I've got a bad fever like today, but sometimes I can keep working and doing things so you can rest. I can help. It's not pointless, when you need something, to tell me. If we support each other as a team, we'll be stronger. Right?

[scowlish]

[It's impossible not to feel a little defeated by his own inability to clearly say no - it betrays his desire to have Reynir pet him, something he's explicitly not wanted in the past. True, the situation is different, he knows Reynir better now, he's feeling pretty awful and it would be comforting, but Onni isn't one to accept comfort, he isn't one to ask for it. Most people leave him be when he doesn't say no, but also doesn't say yes.

Reynir doesn't. Instead he pulls off his gloves and reaches up to carefully dig his fingers into Onni's feathers, at the crown of his head, between the tufts at the top of his head, gently scratching and rubbing with the tips of his fingers and his blunt nails. It feels good, and Onni makes a slow, slow blink before his eyes sink closed and he fluffs up just a bit more. Reynir's fingers keep scritching over his head and then the feathers around his beak, a spot that was already itchy and in need of preening. In spite of himself, he makes a little owlish noise of contentment at the sensation.]

Of course I do, sometimes. Everyone does.

[His voice is a little hazy as he says it - Reynir's petting and scratching is making him feel sleepy.]

I probably fake it less than you think I do, though. Usually I am okay.

[When Reynir goes on to say that, maybe not today when he's sick, but that sometimes he can do things so Onni can rest, that he can help, that it isn't pointless because Reynir will be on a team with him, he opens one eye and looks at the redhead. Frankly, it's not something he's heard from anyone before, he's never had the option of a person who will help and do things so he can rest. Usually, he just goes until he can't and then sleeps too late the next day.]

I'll keep it in mind, I suppose.

[It comes out gruff, mostly because Onni is feeling a little strange about it.]

[braidmage]

Good. Keep it in mind plenty.

[ Then, because he can see how much Onni is relaxing, he keeps scritching away at him and speaks, steady and even, to make sure he gets his point across as clearly and thoroughly as he can. ]

You're not used to asking for help, and I'm not used to being asked. But I think we could both stand a little practice.

[ His fingers are warm and attentive, finding a few places where those downy feathers are mussed and smoothing them out. Seeing the big, angry-faced owl looking so blissed out and sleepy is, to say the least, a treat. ]

People have been underestimating me my whole life. Sheltering me and treating me like a baby, just because I'm not immune. I mean - my parents lied most of my life and told me it was still illegal for me to go anywhere. But I can take care of myself. I'm reliable. I've found a way out of plenty of tough situations - okay, a few tough situations. I can be helpful. I just... need people to actually believe that and give me a chance to be.

[ This isn't just about Onni and how he is used to handling things on his own and Reynir wants him aware of that. He has a stake in this, too. ]

[scowlish]

[It's a little difficult to protest or do anything but listen when Reynir keeps scritching at his head - near his ear tufts, around the edges of his beak, by the puffed-up feathers at his neck. It's soothing and it's making him sleepy, blinking slowly as he shifts just slightly on the branch to try to keep himself awake and follow the thread of what Reynir is saying.

It makes sense, when Reynir puts it that way. He's seen how Reynir is treated at his home, like a helpless child, sheltered and misled to keep him at home. It stings a little, still, to hear the Icelander talk about his home like this, about how he'd been sheltered and treated like a baby and held back. It makes him wonder if Tuuri had ever talked about him like this, like he was her jailer.

He tries to put that out of his mind, and understand what Reynir is saying, opening an eye and peering over at the redhead. After a moment, he huffs out a breath, his eyes sinking shut.]

Fine. I'll remember that and try to give you a chance. If I think I need help.

[Not likely, he thinks. But he will keep it in mind.]

[braidmage]

[ Reynir makes a tiny, delicate snorting noise, the sort that seems to imply: I'll believe it when I see it.

But he isn't going to press the issue further, because he can tell that this owl version of Onni is becoming more and more relaxed. Maybe it is harder for him to hide it, in this form. Reynir can feel him leaning into the touch, see those big eyes of his slowly closing in drowsy pleasure. There's something really rewarding, about that. It's nice to be able to make Onni feel good.

If Onni really is in this form to rest and keep himself from getting worse, the least Reynir can do is ensure he's as comfortable as possible while they are asleep. That's the reason he keeps on petting him. And, well. The feeling of those downy feathers, warm from being close to Onni's skin, is a really nice one. Reynir tilts his head so it is resting against the firm trunk of the tree and keeps moving his fingers through Onni's feathers, an aimless, gentle progress, moving in little looping patterns going nowhere in particular. He suspects Onni will be happiest not talking about this, so he doesn't say aloud how nice it is or how soft his feathers are. He just sighs contentedly, and keeps doing it. ]