It takes a village, or something

Emelle

Ingram: He is a typical Human and an overall slim individual. Standing just over six feet, he poses a moderately relaxed, overall clean look. His countenance is paled, drawn with two calm, mahogany eyes that rest above a commonplace nose, and his narrowed face ends in a wide mouth with a long jaw. Relatively unmanaged, his hair is cut to medium length, thick, brown, and usually only managed with a hand and a splash of water. His complexion is absent of any tan, and he generally holds himself with a relaxed or lazy demeanor. A half-severed ear on the left side of his head distracts from the general picture of his countenance, and a deep, slender scar travels from the top of his hand to the palm.

(worn on a finger) : a polished gold wedding band

(covering the torso) : an elegant black dress shirt

(covering the torso) : a regal black vest

(over the torso) : a black, tailed coat with crimson trim

(worn on the legs) : a pair of black tuxedo trousers

(worn on the feet) : a pair of black leather swordsman's boots

Emelle: She is a typical Yeleni. Her visible eye, the left, is a pale jade green; its counterpart is covered by the scarf she wears wrapped several times around her head. The small nose and thin, pinkish lips that make up the rest of her countenance are finely sculpted but somewhat unremarkable, lending her little natural expression. Even kept back by the scarf, her thick, chestnut-colored hair falls well past her waist in a wavy mass interspersed with braids and dreadlocks, their lengths heavily laden with various objects: feathers, flowers, beads, charms, and keys, among other things. Protruding prominently from her head is a pair of large, tapered ears, each with a pointed tip that curls back at the apex. Sun-darkened skin describes her upper body, but her legs are ungulate, covered in brown fur and terminating in cloven hooves. Just a shade above an average height, she possesses a willowy frame with an adequate amount of muscle.

(on her left ring finger) : a polished gold wedding band

(wound around her head, covering one eye) : a long, white silk scarf

(worn loosely) : an earthen-hued kimono

(slung over a shoulder) : a tribal pack of honey-colored leather

Upstairs lounge room.

Cosy and warm, this room is well heated by the stone fireplace that has been built into the western wall. Plenty of strange pictures have been placed on the walls, including some artist impressions from the Arionic Tournaments and the Midnight Carnival. The floor has been made from timber for easy cleaning, with a large rug sitting in front of the fire should someone choose to sit down in front of the flames. To the east, a large window views out over the garden below, and in the distance is a beautiful view of the Beryl Sea. In the corner, a stairway leads back down the main room of the pub. A stone fireplace has been built into the wall. A large red couch has been placed here. Emelle Tenor is sitting on the couch playing an artful Salurian lute.

You see a single exit leading down.

Ingram comes up the stairs waving his hand, making a face. He stops a few feet in with a smirk and points at Emelle. "Finally found a lute?"

Whatever "music" Emelle had been making dies away as she sees Ingram. "Hesher made it. It is beautiful, even more than Lin's," she gushes in a rare show of effusiveness, holding an artful Salurian lute out for him to see.

Ingram's boots thump on the floorboards as he crosses over to Emelle in a few long strides, crouching down to sweep his eyes over the instrument. His teeth flash and he lifts his head enough to peer up at her, saying, "It's pretty damn gorgeous. Fitting." He stands back up and pockets a hand, the opposite resting in the small of his back. "What're you playing?" he asks.

A luminous violet moth flutters in towards Emelle, gliding over her as it drops a letter into her hands before flapping away once more.

Emelle pulls the lute into her lap and leans over it to press a kiss to Ingram's forehead. "I don't know," she admits. "A thing. It has been some time since I have played anything at all, I am out of practice." Leaning back against the red cushions, she tilts her head, examining his face with a detached sort of smile. The incoming letter lands on the lute with a quiet thump, and she looks down at it. "He wants us to help him with something," she mentions as she picks up the paper. "Hesher."

In a wide circle around his face, Ingram waves his hand, lipping silently to remind, "Hungover."

"Tea?" Emelle asks again, distractedly; she's rubbing the letter between her fingers with an odd expression on her face.

Emelle opens a sheet of paper with charcoal-smeared edges.

Ingram smirks again and shakes his head, glancing between his knees at his folded hands. He sniffs deeply and gives his face a shake before rising up. "Off we go, then," he says, holding out a hand.

Emelle purses her lips as her eye skims over the letter. Then she folds it back up and tugs a tribal pack of honey-colored leather into her lap, deposits the charcoal-smeared paper into one of its pockets, carefully slides the body of an artful Salurian lute into the bag and closes the top, the instrument's bone neck sticking out. Shifting the pack back onto her shoulder with one hand, she takes Ingram's with the other and stands.

Ingram says, "I assume he's where we last saw him."

(Congregation): Emelle says, "Where should we meet you?"

(Congregation): Sir Hesher says, "Oh, hey, you ready, then?"

(Congregation): Ingram says, "Thoroughly."

(Congregation): Emelle says, "Aye."

Emelle smirks at Ingram.

Emelle gives Ingram a peck on the cheek.

Ingram drinks from a battered iron cup of a toxically pink "Bleeder" cocktail..

Ingram wrinkles his nose and sniffs.

(Congregation): Sir Hesher says, "Welp. I'm at the temple, having my lunch. I didn't expect you to be so johnny-on-the-spot."

(Congregation): Ingram says, "She's punctual."

(Congregation): Emelle says, "When it comes to him, it is better not to have expectations."

  

Ingram stares implacably at Emelle.

Innocently, Emelle asks Ingram, "What?"

Ingram says, "Lead the way, my sainted, angelic wife."

Emelle rolls her eye at Ingram, still smirking.

[traveling]

An octagonal room of contorted art.

The eight equal sides of this room, as well as its floor, are carved from pale granite; though its shape is simple, the light that fills it is dim, and a vast quantity of murals and paintings blot out the underlying stone. Vines and moss have pushed through the floor to form a strange undergrowth, dampening any sound made in the room and rendering footsteps silent. At the room's center, a spiraling stone staircase winds upward, its steps adjoined to a central, vine-encrusted pillar of granite. Above, there is only darkness, broken by occasional, glimmering points of light; it is difficult to see where the stairs lead. A mural of a garden has been scrawled onto the wall, points of bright yellow showing amid tangles of greenery. Sir Hesher is here, eating from a small box.

A slablike man of density and presence. Sir Hesher's eyes are an intense pale grey, sunken deeply beneath the mesa of his brow. His hair is long, brown and wavy, his beard brushing the plane of his chest. The etchings across his cuir boulli are ornate and tribal, with influences from the Rajamalan language. For defense, the knight keeps a longspear at his disposal, along with a kite shield, painted with religious symbology: a clawed hand clutching a moth.

His mouth stuffed with shrimp and rice, Sir Hesher says, "Mffgh, huwwo. One siggund."

Sir Hesher beats against his chest as he forces himself to swallow.

Ingram tries to restrain his smile as he looks off to the left while scratching at his eyebrow.

Sir Hesher stands up.

Emelle clears her own throat and gives Ingram a side-eye.

Sir Hesher says, "Well, now I look like a right bastard. I should have bought more."

Waving a hand back and forth, Ingram mumbles about a loss of appetite.

Emelle just smiles at Hesher, politely. Too politely.

Sir Hesher stares back at Emelle. If he is unnerved, he makes a point of not showing it. "Alright. Now, I know that the two of you outrank me. If I give orders, even if I ask nicely," he says, eyeing Ingram significantly, "Are we going to have issues?"

"I--.." Ingram blinks and tilts his head, bouncing a shoulder. "Actually assumed you outranked us, but uh..." His voice drops to barely audible, adding, "That's nice to know." Then it picks back up to standard and he says, "No issues."

"I'm not deformed," Sir Hesher points out, matter-of-factly. "Nonetheless, I am afforded a task I do not understand, but one we are to carry out."

Nodding, Emelle gives Ingram's hand a squeeze. "Then we will," she says simply.

What appears to be raucous construction sounds out from outside.

Emelle blinks.

Ingram glances over his shoulder before looking to Sir Hesher, eyebrow lifted.

Sir Hesher's brow drops. "Niuri's tits, apparently I am the only one who felt like taking his time today. Well, we better get started."

Silent lakeshore before the great monolith.

The bright sun shines down, blanketing you with its life-giving warmth. The dark pines give way to the looming height of a great, blank monolith. Carved as if from a single piece of granite, it bears an octagonal shape, eight equal sides facing outward onto the forest and rising upward to a top far above even the tallest trees of the forest. The Morgun is quiet and still here, the natural sounds of the forest dropping away into something close to silence. The shimmering waters of the lake lap against the shore invitingly. Winch, a filthy Pixie reveler is here, hammering boards into other boards. Guthrim, the reveler is here, moving tools and goods about the area. Sir Hesher is here. A comprehensive variety of tools is littered about the site.

You see exits leading south, northwest, and in (open stone door).

Guthrim, a reveler waves. "Heya!"

Guthrim is enshrouded in a number of rags and overcoats, so numerous and tattered that it is difficult to make out the shape of his body beneath; what can be seen, however, lends itself thoroughly to ambiguity. His dark hair is worn long and bound back into a thick, unruly braid, sweeping back from a face that speaks to mixed ancestry. High, jutting cheekbones suggest trollish heritage, while the dapples on his forehead and neck speak to kelki descent. Smears of dark blush cover his cheeks, and a long dress hangs down to his knees, a floral pattern faintly visible beneath the grime that cakes the garment.

Winch, a filthy Pixie reveler pauses to wipe sweat from its face. "Hi!"

Dirty and ragged, as if fresh from the depths of the forest, this Pixie reveler's gender is indiscernible; it stands just under four and a half feet tall, its hair worn in a multitude of long braids. Adorned with bits and pieces of bone, in imitation of jewelry, its grimy skin is covered with scars and brands. In spite of its apparently miserable condition, the creature projects an air of glee and passion, the scent of myrrh hanging in the air around it.

"Lads," Sir Hesher greets, wandering toward a pile of wooden planks.

Ingram lazily strolls out behind Emelle, pocketing his hands and glancing between the two new faces. He briefly pulls a hand from his pants to wave before it returns. "Gentleman," he says, faintly unsure in tone.

Emelle's eye shifts between Guthrim and Winch and that polite smile makes a reappearance as she bows her head. "Hello."

Hoyst, a filthy Pixie reveler arrives last, with a miniature bucket of nails dangling from its little hands. "Sorry I'm late!"

With a small smile, Ingram turns to give Hoyst, a filthy Pixie reveler a tiny wave hello.

Sir Hesher waves Hoyst over, then beckons to Ingram and Emelle. "No, no, nonsense. We hardly have a deadline. Friends, you all know Ingram and Emelle."

Guthrim and the pixies stare blankly at the two of them.

"Myrrhbrains," Sir Hesher mutters. Speaking slowly, he clarifies: "From the Order."

"Ohhh! Order! Heya!" "Hiii!" "Good to meet you!" Guthrim, a reveler and the pixies all speak in near-unison.

Ingram murmurs to Emelle, "Have we ever seen any of them ever?"

Inappropriately, Emelle snorts, amusement pulling her lips into a smirk that looks much more at home on her face than the polite smile ever manages to. She gives Ingram a minute shake of her head, then glances back at the triad with a faint lift of her eyebrow. "Aye, ah, a pleasure..."

Caught a little off-balance, Ingram's head does an odd nod to the left before he pushes through a few false-starts to reply, "Ditto."

Winch, a filthy Pixie reveler says, "But I make the stew! All time! Right over there!"

Winch, a filthy Pixie reveler points south.

You glance towards the south.

The edge of a ragtag tent village.

The bright sun shines down, blanketing you with its life-giving warmth. A patchwork tent stands here, hanging between two tree trunks. A rusty iron cauldron sits here, suspended above a low fire.  The side of the monolith rises to the northeast, a flat granite expanse.

You see a single exit leading north.

Guthrim, a reveler says, "I've been standin' outside the whole time. Maybe we're not the myrrhbrains, beardman!"

Sir Hesher seems inclined to agree, if the way he side-eyes Ingram and Emelle is any indication.

Ingram gives Emelle a somewhat worried look before bringing his eyes back to Winch, a filthy Pixie reveler and offering, "And a wonderful stew it is."

Ingram clears his throat.

Ingram says to Sir Hesher, "Hesher?"

Emelle turns over her shoulder, following Winch's indication. Unlike Ingram, she doesn't bother to hide her confusion, instead focusing on something she does know. "Aye, I have seen you here," she mentions to Guthrim offhandedly.

Sir Hesher beckons everyone over, and, once the wee folk have formed a rough circle, begins to speak. Other Pixies have come out of the woodwork, joining in, listening. "Do you remember the days of liberation, when Milady the Artist, the Dreamer, rescued you from your Impish masters?"

This earns a bit of high-pitched murmuring from what has now become a crowd.

Ingram links an arm with Emelle in silence, eyes darting between Sir Hesher and the rest gathered, brow wrinkled in a light, curious, and amused expression.

A hard-working Pixie reveler settles down in a corner to sleep.

Keeping hold of Ingram's arm, Emelle edges closer to Sir Hesher. She looks mildly uncomfortable for some reason, though it might escape notice of anyone who doesn't know her well.

Sir Hesher keeps his eyes on the two order members as he speaks, a patient expression - truly, his only expression - writ on his face. "That's right, wee ones. She gave you a home. She did this because She loves you. It is decreed that you will no longer live in tents. This is the task I was given."

Emelle

Winch, a filthy Pixie reveler says, "But we like our tents!"

Hoyst, a filthy Pixie reveler says, "Even though it gets really, really cold."

Winch, a filthy Pixie reveler says, "True. And drafty."

A hard-working Pixie reveler says something in phrases of gentle trills.

"Sometimes there are bears," Guthrim, a reveler translates for the Pixie.

Ingram makes a face and glances from speaker to speaker.

Frowning, Emelle says, "I dislike bears."

Ingram says, "Who doesn't.. Massive, mean bastards with way too muc--."

Ingram shuts himself up and shakes his head, staring up.

A hard-working Pixie reveler settles down in a corner to sleep.

A hard-working Pixie reveler settles down in a corner to sleep

"Right, then. I think it's decided." Without further ado, Sir Hesher lifts up a two-by-four and goes for a hammer. He gives his instructions to everyone present. "Little ones, a few of you are going on carry dut-- oh hell."

A hard-working Pixie reveler slowly wakens, looking fit and refreshed.

Emelle shifts her weight forward and looks over at Sir Hesher with a querying expression.

Rolling his eyes, Sir Hesher says, "Right. Well. Apparently it's naptime. Mister and Miss Tenor, have either of you ever made a ah... house?"

"Yes," Ingram answers solidly, proudly.

This seemed to vastly exceed the mental image Sir Hesher probably had of Ingram. His eyebrows rise considerably. "Well! Great. We have no real outline or plan here, but I'd like to instill a little organization here. If one of you can plan out a few plots by the lake, we'll start clearing the land."

Ingram murmurs to Emelle, "Birdhouse, but same principle, logistics."

Speaking up, Ingram gives a sharp nod and says, "Of course."

Hesher isn't the only one surprised by this answer, apparently. Emelle eyes Ingram with appreciation -- for about two seconds. The expression completely dissolves when he murmurs to her, but she does keep a straight face.

Winch, a filthy Pixie reveler goes back to making frames, dutifully nailing boards together into squares.

Loudly enough for everyone to hear, Emelle says to Ingram, "You will have to teach me."

"Easy stuff," Ingram replies. "We'll have them flying in and out of their homes in no time."

A hard-working Pixie reveler slowly wakens, looking fit and refreshed.

A hard-working Pixie reveler slowly wakens, looking fit and refreshed.

"To be clear... the little ones might do with a wee box, but eventually we're going to get up some real homes, here. This is going to be a bit of a project, so let's not rush ourselves and get exhausted," Sir Hesher says. He trudges off with his boards, setting them aside in a stack, as he scopes the shore, rubbing at his beard.

Ingram claps his hands together once, adopting a confident and more overtly masculine manner as he strolls up to Sir Hesher's side.

Ingram says to Sir Hesher, "About how many houses?"

Emelle turns toward the lakeshore, her eye wandering along it as she thinks. "We could fix the small ones to the trees," she considers, arching a brow at Ingram. She seems ready to ask another question, but he seems to have taken it right out of her mouth.

Sir Hesher has taken up a shovel, and begins plotting out a large rectangle by stabbing into the dirt. "About... thirty, I'm thinking."

Hoyst, a filthy Pixie reveler flies from tree to tree, carrying a hammer just its size, and pounds nails from time to time, marking out spaces.

Ingram gives Sir Hesher a stare before grimacing to himself and turning, stepping back to some of the pixies. "Hey!" he shouts, squinting. "Any of you married, or buddy-buddy, or just want to not live alone in the event that desperate anxiety in the face of time spent by yourself might surface unpleasant thoughts to commit you towards acts of terrible violence and depravity?!"

Sir Hesher sighs roughly, holding his shovel at arm's length as he squares his jaw. "Mister Tenor, do you possess an understanding of the living and mating habits of Pixies?"

Giving Ingram a look, Emelle purses her lips and sidesteps him on her way over to Sir Hesher. She picks up a board of her own and uses it to begin marking out a square for a plot while ignoring her husband. By all appearances, anyway.

Ingram's hands throw out a bit before bouncing back against his hips as he turns at the waist, lowering his voice to answer, "Obviously not, I guess. Why?"

Numerous pixies stop what they're doing and make goggled faces at Ingram. Most of them giggle, and none of them seem to understand him at all.

Sir Hesher says to Ingram, "It's complicated. And I had to study it just to get this job. Now for these folk... yes, each and every one of them is going to need a house. And that's not taking into account the other faefolken, the newer converts, either of you, me..."

Sir Hesher continues making his list, naming such exciting items as 'godhouse' and 'loom', while scanning the woods pensively, as if just figuring out where it's all going to go.

As he moves back towards the two, Ingram crouches to grab a board and falls in line, moving to a spot that's an equitable distance from either of their plots to make his own. "I built a house. A beautiful house that hung near the backyard fountain. I didn't plan a village," he mutters.

Casually calling over her shoulder, Emelle says to Ingram, "Maybe She heard you when you were talking about starting your own city."

Ingram tells Emelle, "It wasn't one of pixie people."

Emelle tells Ingram, "There is some expression about beggars I can never remember…"

Ingram tells Emelle, "Oh don't even start."

Emelle tells Ingram, "I love you."

Sir Hesher makes a sort of noiseless laugh, shaking his head to himself, and then goes back to his work, pounding his shovel into the dirt to make a grid.

Ingram grunts in response to Emelle, continuing his work, eyes to the ground.

Meanwhile, Guthrim, a reveler busies himself making rope, deftly braiding together fibers. Already a stack of his work sits by his side. "Hey, lady!" He calls, waving cheerfully at Emelle, "Could you help me?"

Ingram gives Guthrim, a reveler a glance in habit before bringing his attention back to Sir Hesher. "Hey, I have two questions," he says, grinning.

Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Emelle straightens and looks Guthrim's way. "Aye?" she calls back, resting the wooden slat against her shoulder as she makes her way over.

"Go ahead, Mister Tenor, I'm listening," Sir Hesher says, continuing his work.

Holding up an index finger, Ingram asks, "Can I call you 'Hesh', and.." He lifts the middle finger. "What's the meanest, biggest thing you've killed?"

Guthrim, a reveler points to a wooden crate next to him, where he has made the job easier by preparing long cords of hemp fiber beforehand. "Easiest thing in the world! Just look," he says, then makes a pair of braids in quick succession with three of the fibrous cords.

This proves sufficient to get Sir Hesher to stop again, and this time, he stares at Ingram levelly, resting an elbow on the handle of his shovel. "You may not; and a commanding officer of the Dreikathi, in that order."

"Oh, aye, I can do that," Emelle replies with a subdued smile. She leans her board against the crate, then kneels next to it, taking out some cords and deftly weaving them together into tight, symmetrical braids. Oddly, she doesn't even look at her hands -- she's watching Ingram with a faint lift of her eyebrow.

Ingram cocks his head, face neutral, bordering on blank before he simply and only asks, "... Seriously?"

Ingram asks, "Were you alone?"

Sir Hesher shrugs one shoulder, shutting his eyes for a second. "Yeah, I guess I was. I shouldn't have been, was the point. But I made the most of it. Do I get to ask why I'm getting the interrogation?"

Ingram wrinkles his mouth and lifts his brow, staring off to the right. "Juuuust curious," he answers, before turning back to his duties.

Guthrim, a reveler is delighted to have someone so skilled to work with, boggling at Emelle's braidwork. "Wow! I gotta start over!" he exclaims, and does just that, starting into the task of unraveling his pre-made ropes.

"Eh. Alright. You had the same look I used to give my officers. What about you, Mister Tenor? What's the... hrrgh..." Sir Hesher pauses for a moment as his shovel fails to give, then realizes he is hitting a rock, and makes his mark a few inches further down the line. "Biggest... 'baddest' thing you've put down?"

"Oh--" Emelle pauses to look over at Guthrim, studying his braids. "Years of practice. I could not tell you how, though...I can't watch myself do them, it is confusing." She smiles vaguely at the reveler; she's woven another braid in the course of the conversation and knotted it at both ends.

"Whynaut?" Guthrim, a reveler asks in a huff, fighting down a sneeze or a belch or who knows what. Peering closely at the first of Emelle's ropes, he tries to emulate the braid, using four strands instead of three, and going about it methodically. He's pretty good, but his craft is nowhere near as tight or neat as Emelle's.

Ingram puffs a sigh past his lips and chucks his board aside, giving it a look. As he moves back to go snatch a shovel of his own, he shrugs a bit and says, "I've never done any single, one entity that'd warrant a gasp or shocked expression from someone. Only things I could remark as skilled is the few odd folks I managed to down, or hang up, that I really had no reason being able to. Or the swarms I did in a war I participated waaaay back when between..." He stops almost midstep and squints up at the sky. "Between, uh.. f***in'.."

You say, "Probably Spinesreach and Enorian."

You say, "Way-way back."

With no grace or subtlety, Ingram segues into the question, "What about Sir Hesh?"

Halfway through a braid, Emelle looks down at her hands; her fingers cease immediately, and she frowns at the rope. If she's put off by bodily functions, she doesn't show it. "I learned to do them by touch," she answers simply, shrugging at Guthrim. As soon as she looks back to him and chances a mild smile, she begins to braid again, but more slowly.

Sir Hesher has finished a long rectangle, maybe the size of your typical bathroom, or the span of a very large bed. Without pausing, he moves down to the next spot and starts the process over. "Not happening." Stab after stab after stab, he gets one side of the next housing plot marked. "She told me you were a Syssin, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You'll forgive my old 'knightly' ways if I'm not particularly pleased to hear it."

"Guthrim, a reveler nods encouragingly, and watches Emelle, able to follow along better in light of her slower pace. The second time around, his rope looks quite strong, a smart little piece, and he gives a subdued 'hah' at it. "I see your friend's getting what we call the Hesher Treatment," he says, in an apologetic tone.

A chuckle lightly rises from Ingram's mouth as he glances over to Sir Hesher. "Don't think too much about it. Lord Severn wasn't awful, had good policies, and I appreciated their methods of 'work smart, not hard'. But the.. theology, the inherent lifestyle of it that permeates every action and whatnot…shed that awhile ago. As well as my adoration of the people." His work isn't as adequate as Sir Hesher's, the shape less rectangular or square than it is bordering on trapezoidal. "And I've always liked knights."

"S'alright, I'm not giving you a hard time. I've been more the kind of fellow to throw a man a sword and let him fight for his life. It makes it more fun to cut them down like dogs." Sir Hesher wanders toward Ingram's plot, picking up a few of his boards on the way. "We'll start with these two, actually, just so we have something to work with as a reference point. Here." Handing two of the planks to Ingram, the former knight lays them along where he marked.

Emelle pauses again to appraise Guthrim's work. It doesn't seem to satisfy her to look at it, though; she leans over and reaches out to run the rope between her fingers. "Aye," she intones approvingly. Picking up the pieces she's finished, she tosses them into a pile next to the crate and begins again. "What is that?" she asks Guthrim belatedly, slanting Hesher and Ingram a glance.

"I guess I just got more joy out of a job efficiently well done," Ingram murmurs. He sniffs sharply and steps back as Sir Hesher approaches, nodding while he rubs at his brow with the back of his hand. During the pause, he glances over to Emelle, tossing her a lopsided smile with a tiny wave.

Guthrim, a reveler beams, flashing a set of misshapen teeth beneath his hood of rags. "Thanks, lady. And naw, he's just a hardass is all. Winch tried his damnedest to get him to smile but the best we got was a laugh. Might've been a cough. Mama seems to like 'em, though. Made him Her priest a bit before you guys started showing up."

"Did She?" Emelle asks, catching Ingram's gaze briefly before her attention shifts back to Guthrim. A smile that starts complete empties quickly; she is a woman of simultaneously subdued and mercurial expressions. "We-- I-- have habits of getting lost." Her lips twitch. "As She does." Shifting her weight uncomfortably, she resettles on the ground with her legs curled haphazardly beside her. "What else happened while we were away?" she asks the reveler curiously, watching him with interest as she braids.

"Aww, all kinds'a stuff," Guthrim, a reveler says. Then thinks about it. "I think. Maybe. You know I don't remember too good? They say it's on account of the drugs."

Guthrim, a reveler proves this in the way he holds his rope limply, having forgotten it altogether.

Emelle smiles suddenly at Guthrim, a chuckle bubbling under her breath, and then she's looking through him, her gaze distant while her hands continue to work.

Ingram continues staring at the pair with the ropes, shaking his head with a light smirk. He turns back to the house before rolling a shoulder and moving to grab some boards to complete the quasi-rectangle. Laying them down as he returns, crouched and two-handing it, he glances up at Sir Hesher a moment before looking back down.

"Mmm, good," Sir Hesher mutters, then heads over to Winch. Hesher: "Got something for me?" Winch: "Yep yep!" Hesher: "Can I have it?" Winch: "What?" Hesher: "Give me one of your frames, Winch." This goes on tediously, until eventually Hesher returns with several planks nailed into a doorframe, short enough that you would have to crawl through it. "So we'll rough out the house's shape first, then get this attached and then... you know. Work at it as it comes. Feel the house, not build the house."

"I think we're good!" Guthrim, a reveler cries animatedly, hurling himself up from the ground. "And just in time! Got plenny o' spots marked." He indicates the trees, almost all of which sport a nail, one of which he hangs a piece of rope from. "So let's keep these here so we don't lose track... then we get to make little houses!"

Nodding, Emelle gets to her hooves, one hand giving her kimono a quick shake to scatter the dirt from it before she collects a handful of finished braids. She follows Guthrim over to the trees and starts hanging up her own ropes, carefully making sure each one is secure before she moves on to the next -- she's a slow worker, but fastidious.

Ingram opens his mouth to argue before he stops himself and stares forward. After a moment, he just shrugs an eyebrow and cuts a hand up through the air, agreeing. "That actually sounds good," he remarks and rises up to his feet. "Do these things need to follow code? I know Delos has an office that officiates and regulates this stuff. 'Safety of the public and individuals of it' or something stupid." He backpedals a bit to go back for a hammer and some nails, other odds and ends in tools, some entirely irrelevant which may hint towards an earlier exaggeration.

Emelle

"Mister Tenor, we're building houses for Pixies at the behest of Milady of Dreams," Sir Hesher remarks. He already has small boards cut into wedges, which he uses, with judicious appliation of hammer and nails, to affix the corner pieces to one another, then sets in a vertical board at that spot, creating the first corner of a skeletal wall. "We could not possibly be approved!"

Emelle chuckles to herself as she hangs the last of her ropes; apparently she is in some way eavesdropping on the conversation passing between Hesher and Ingram, despite all appearances. "Now?" she vaguely inquires as she strides over to meet Guthrim.

Guthrim, a reveler skitters around like he's greased and jumped up on cohosh extract, hanging rope after rope after rope. Whether by him or Emelle, every tree sports a tiny nail and a short rope, a decent marker and presumably the method by which houses will... hang? "Well! Now we just gotta do what they're doing, only uh... smaller. Winch is helping with that. He's really good at banging wood against other wood!"

Winch, a filthy Pixie reveler, and Hoyst, the other reveler, both raise their saws and hammers in unison. Between them, they have made perhaps a dozen box frames, already a house, just lacking walls, a ceiling, and a floor.

Ingram watches Sir Hesher work, a thinly-convincing expression of understanding overtaking his features. He sniffs once and glances up, around, then back to the beginnings of the framework. Hefting the hammer up, he takes a step closer before stopping, returning to his previous spot, ankles together. "Uhhherrmm, so with the.." He trails off and scratches at his neck.

Nodding rapidly, Ingram follows up a bit more confidently, "Yeah, I'll just finagle the whatsit into the thingamabobber here.." He crouches, puts a few nails in his lips, one between his fingers, and begins adding some "reinforcement" to a few boards.

"Fine," Emelle nods as she makes her way over to where Winch and Hoyst are working. With a tepid smile, she asks them, "Would you show me? I have never built a thing." No shame in ignorance here.

All work pauses for a moment. Guthrim smiles blithely at Emelle, while Sir Hesher glances at Ingram, considerably less amused. "I know. Your birdhouses. I heard you, you know. Look, it's quite easy..." The former knight demonstrates the principle of affixing perpendicular wood. He nails one of the angled corner joints to the 'floor', then stands up a vertical board and nails the other end of the joint to it, making a 'wall'. "Do this four times, and we have a wall. Then four more, and we have a ceiling."

"Certainly, miss," Guthrim, a reveler chimes, taking one of the Pixies' frames. It could be a large birdhouse, really. There are much thinner 'boards', made of interleaving scales of tree bark, glued together with a filler of straw and dried mud. He nails up two sides in the space of about two minutes, then grinning, gestures for Emelle to do the same. The pixies go back to their work, one making more frames, the other making bigger doorframes for the larger houses.

Ingram clears his throat, standing up to continue his observance, and proceeds to follow suit in silence. He eschews most degrees of levity and dicking about as he endeavors to construct the house as best he's able, aligned with the instructions given and shown. It's far from flawless and might result in a late-onset structural integrity issue here and there, but progress does occur.

Ingram says to Sir Hesher, "It was a damn pretty birdhouse. Every blue jay and robin in the neighborhood loved it.. and there was always.."

Ingram gradually trails off back into silence.

Emelle watches Guthrim carefully from start to finish, then attempts to imitate his work, smearing some of the mud concoction on pieces of bark and sticking them together. It's a rough approximation of size and shape, and she takes longer to do it, but she does manage to finish the other two walls. The thing may not withstand a strong storm, but it'll do. Hopefully.

Sir Hesher does careful, precise work, but in the end, the means really outdo the ends. The ceiling frame is put on with considerably less care, as he mumbles something about 'thirty houses'. The end product is a much larger version of the boxes Emelle and Guthrim are playing with. "Always what, sir?" he asks, setting up the doorframe he procured earlier. In much the same method, he nails it to the 'floor', so now the box almost looks like the primitive sketch of a house.

Ingram mutters, "Pretty birds in it."

Ingram steps back with a final slam of his hammer, scanning about the house with a squint before looking over to Sir Hesher as he brings about the entryway.

Guthrim, a reveler finishes one Pixie house, with all six sides covered. He literally punches a hole in the front, then carefully chips away the bark there, so that the burst entrance looks more careful and deliberate. Using his finger, he does the same here and there to make windows. Then, he pushes in straw to make a floor. These materials are all available in profusion, but hardly seem adequate for building a village of the scope Hesher intended.

Pausing, Emelle looks up and locates Ingram with her eye, shooting him the ghost of a smirk before she returns to imitating Guthrim. She sets her first completed house aside, then gathers up what she needs to start on another; this is obviously more of a challenge for her than the braiding, but she applies herself with twice the resolve.

Using the sweat from his forehead, Ingram brushes his hair back with a hand, slicking it to his neck before sighing. "Well, hard part's over," he encourages at Sir Hesher, cracking a beaming smile. "On this one," he adds. As he walks around the house in a circle to scan for any missed spots or irregularities, he gives Emelle and the other pixies another glance, then looks to the homes they've built. It prompts a pause, and he glances back to the house before him. Then theirs. Back to his.

Sir Hesher has already worked up a sweat, and without even pausing to admire Ingram's and his handiwork, makes for the second plot, starting the process over. "Well, well, well. I wonder if the two of you shouldn't trade work? Miss Tenor makes quite a lovely birdhouse, it seems." Uttering a gruff sort of cough-laugh, he continues. "Now that we've seen the general process... you see it's all elbow grease, done in a flash. We've another bunch of revelers coming, soon, from other parts of the world, so ideally we can make shifts of this."

"Little pixies are more handy than they look!" Guthrim, a reveler enthuses, fixing a hook to his Pixie-house, then testing how it hangs from the rope. Surprisingly, it holds. He takes it back down and sets it in the grass. "They're pretty good, so long as we give 'em something to start with. These little houses won't last, but they'll do all the hard fancy reinforcing stuff."

Ingram gives a gradual nod of his head. "Shifts, that's.. lovely invention, that," he says, dragging his tongue over his teeth. He strolls up to a corner beam of the house he worked on. He leans back to glance over at Sir Hesher before he snags a small knife from under his vest and brings a hand up to carve in "I.M.T".

"Mm...good," Emelle absently enthuses as she frowns down at her latest work. There's something off about it; maybe it's wanting in the application of mud, as the walls are leaning to one side. She carefully pushes them upright and holds them in place with the obvious intention of holding them there until the paste dries.

Ingram tells Emelle, "We're so good at this. Let's become carpenters."

Emelle tells Ingram, "You look purposeful with a hammer in your hand, even if it is obvious you do not know what you're doing with it."

Ingram tells Emelle, “I totally know what I'm doing with it.”

Emelle tells Ingram, "Of course you do, love."

Ingram strolls over to the new venture Sir Hesher works on, tossing Emelle a playful glare as he does so.

Emelle pointedly ignores Ingram, but the smirk on her face gives her away.

Sir Hesher watches Ingram curiously, and then chuckles, clapping him on the back. "Good man. Pride in your work." Following suit, he produces his sidearm, and scratches "A.D.H." into the beginnings of the next house. "At any rate, the two of you can take a break whenever you like! I confess, this display here was to show a thing or two to..." Cutting short, he thrusts a finger in the direction of the woods.

Mostly hidden behind the trees, a large massing of people, hidden beneath cloaks, rags, or other layered, makeshift garments, catch sight of the knight pointing them out, and scurry away.

Ingram stops full-on midstep this time, hands dropping to his sides as he watches the congregation disperse. He glances back at Sir Hesher and asks, "The new revelers?"

Slowly lifting her head, Emelle turns over her shoulder to catch sight of the retreating entourage. She blinks, then looks to Hesher also, curiously.

"Sort of," Guthrim, a reveler says, fielding the question. "They're a bunch o' we--".

"The faefolken," Sir Hesher says. "And very shy, I'm afraid. They won't be seen until they're ready to be seen."

"Imagine that'll be when we've finished all this?" Ingram asks as he spins, hands out to motion towards the houses and plots.

Emelle sets her second house aside and gives it a dubious look before she moves to stand next to Ingram, linking her hands behind her back.

"Oh, they're going to help," Sir Hesher says, making sure to say it firmly, loudly, and toward the forest. Then he sighs. "But I -suppose- they won't begin until those of us taller than a deer are gone from the site. I really should be more used to this sort of unprofessionalism."

Ingram glances from the woods to Sir Hesher to Emelle and finally back to the woods again. He coughs lightly, once, and simply says, "Drinks, then?"

Shrugging her outside shoulder, Emelle looks from Ingram to Sir Hesher, deferring.

"I'll abstain," Sir Hesher says, wiping a thick layer of sweat from his brow, "But kind of you to offer. I'm going to finish this one, and take a much-needed break. Why don't we reconvene later, when the weather is a bit more agreeable?"

Guthrim, a reveler mutters something about laziness, having finished a third Pixie-house, going over it, checking the details.

Ingram gives a solemn nod and turns to Emelle, holding out a hand before looking past her to give Sir Hesher a goodbye tilt of his head.

Almost as an afterthought, Ingram looks to Winch, a filthy Pixie reveler, Guthrim, a reveler, and Hoyst, a filthy Pixie reveler to say, "It was nice meeting you."

"We will be back," Emelle promises the group at large, offering a brief smile to Guthrim and a nod to Hesher before she takes Ingram's hand. "Take care."

Winch, a filthy Pixie reveler says, "Have fun, scrubbies!"

Hoyst, a filthy Pixie reveler waves. "Buh-bye!"

Emelle

(omgwtf formatting)

Moirean

That was super cute and a cool look into the more unique little details of Omei. It was also a nice glimpse into Ingram and Emelle and the dynamic they share - it's a really lovely one. I remember a log you two shared ages back when Emelle was preggers (I hope I'm remembering right!). There was pie. I remember thinking then that you two seemed like a really lovely couple, and this just reinforces it - very natural and fluid interaction, play off each other well, you two seem like a really nice team. Thanks for sharing!

Emelle

(It was Carson, actually, but that was a long time ago!)

Moirean

Oops ignore me then >_>