THE COMFORTS OF HOME, (o)

[katniss]

He could hear the dull chirping of the cicadas and he could feel the warmth of the soon to come summer settle into the afternoon. He didn't dislike it, but it was getting almost unbearable the longer that he stayed there. Waiting for someone to come walking along or maybe for once, they would need him to do something for them. A thin, paper fan fluttered, the man trying hard to make a wind for himself. It would have been nice if there was some kind of breeze going, but he supposed that exercising his magic to make a wind would have ended horribly. He didn't want to ruin his hair either. It looked fairly decent today.

The edges of his hair curled in the humidity, Katniss stretching his legs out against the thin fabric of the hammock that he had stretched out across wooden poles. It swung gently, his legs crossing just slightly as he made himself comfortable. His eyes traveled, idly following his clothes as it went into the soapy tub and came out soaked and washed before floating away onto a string for his clothes to dry on. Maybe he shouldn't have used it for such purposes either. Such magic was wasted on him, he thought. Not that he was going to just accept not having it. It would have been unpleasant to have to do things on his own.

He yawned, swinging high above the ground. The magician thinking nothing of it as he remained there. He wondered if anyone would even wander to this neck of the woods. Most people tried to keep from getting too deep. Mostly in fear of being lost or getting lost for that matter. The edges of his lips tilted downwards at the notion. What a terribly lonely life he had chosen for himself. Perhaps he should have moved into the town with the others. But he'd never get time alone with the beauty of silence, would he? The townspeople were all colorful characters though, he could say that much.

The edges of his dress fluttered, the thin material running against his legs as he continued to fan himself before a breeze finally came and swept the object away from his hand. He supposed he wouldn't really care if not for the fact that he was on the roof of his household and that the breeze had not continued in cooling him off. He sat up, leaning downwards slightly. Not the slightest bit phased by the wavering poles or the shifting fabric of the hammock.

Damn it. It was too far down for him to make a wind and bring it up. And he was kind of comfortable where he was so he didn't exactly want to have to jump down and get it himself. Maybe someone would come by for the first time in a century. Not. He supposed he'd have to go and get it himself then. He moved, standing up on the material before jumping off of the suspended hammock. His hands pushed down the fabric of his skirt, not wanting to let anyone see exactly what was underneath after all.

Katniss landed on the ground, suspended just gently before his bare feet hit the grass. He moved, bending down slightly to pick up his fan off of the ground before he looked up. Oh? Well, who was this? He fanned himself gently, merely blinking. His eyes disinterested though his mind was otherwise convinced. "Hello," He began, trying to alert the other to his presence. "Have you come for something? Or are you just passing through?"

[/div]

[venice]

[atrb=valign, top] Venice hums a spurious melody underneath her breath as she meanders along the pathway, careful not to step on pebbles or twigs that will upset the worn soles of her shoes, but otherwise somewhat carelessly, considering she doesn’t go into the Quercus Woods often and has never decided to travel this deeply into the trees. The air, though, is kind, a gentle breeze rustling the green leaves on the oaks and whispering past the shells of her ears, twining with her hair. The sun leaves glowing, dotted patterns on the forest floor, and the birds are chirping sweetly around her, other animals telling their own stories over their ruckus. It leaves Venice thinking that, if she was to get lost in the woods, it would be a very nice day to do so -- and that’s why, she’s sure, that she continues without a care in the world, enjoying the serenity of it. Sepalum in its entirety is a very peaceful place, to Venice. The districts are small and the people are lively, all interesting in their own ways, and the weather is usually modest, rarely demanding attention with fits. The woods, however, are even more tranquil; in all the times Venice has been here, she has always felt soothed and untroubled, completely free to do what she sees fit. Venice, of course, is this way no matter where she goes -- her lackadaisical attitude, which is somehow as charming as it is aggravating, makes an appearance in everything she does -- but she feels better in the forest, for some reason, more at ease with nature and the earth. The path dwindles as Venice meanders along, eventually forking and disappearing underneath the brush. Venice ponders for a moment of which direction she should take, and eventually decides to go left, carefully walking over overgrown roots as the walk becomes uneven. Venice is aware, after walking a few more minutes and having to take careful turns to get around fallen trees and bushes she can’t walk over without thorns catching her clothes, she might have a bit of trouble finding her way back. This, unsurprisingly, does not slow her down; if nothing else, Venice is braver than she lets on, a part of her craving adventure and new experiences, things she can tell stories about. She’s only wandering for a handful of moments longer when she catches something from the corner of her eye. Doing a double-take, she discovers that it’s a house, tucked between the trees and partially hidden to the eye. For a moment, Venice debates whether or not she should inspect it -- it may be private, after all, and clearly the owner doesn’t want too many visitors -- but her curiosity rears its head and she finds herself passing the bracket of trees to get to the home, letting out a surprised “Oh!” when a figure seemingly drops from the sky onto the ground next to a far wall. The figure -- a female, judging by the petite figure and billowing dress -- bends to pick something up from the ground, and Venice chances a few steps closer, maybe to say hello. The person speaks first, however, apparently assuming Venice hadn’t seen her. “Oh, no, I was just passing through,” Venice responds, offering the stranger a smile. She reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, rolling on her heels. “Is this your home? It’s in the loveliest place,” Venice goes on kindly, “it’s so quiet out here. It must be calming.” Venice smiles at the woman, then, coming even closer and holding out a delicate hand for her to shake, “I’m Venice. I know you probably weren't expecting company, but I hope you’ll invite me to have lunch. I’m a little hungry,” she says. word count: 627 tags: katniss notes: whew! (i'm sorry about venice; she really has no qualms about anything, haha.) template made by oxymoron! of back to neverland

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