sixthiterationlogs | under the stars i'm alone among strangers

WHO: Taako
WHERE: Around 6I
WHEN: First two weeks of September
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None anticipated, will add if needed

Taako's not settled in. That would suggest he has some intention of relaxing and staying here. But he has finished hurling himself into all the obvious corners at high speed in hopes of finding a simple solution. Time to let those bruises fade and test his surroundings more carefully. And to find a place to actually live, so empty houses feature heavily in his prowling. He climbs a lot of trees in the hopes that the vantage point will make things clearer somehow. And to keep out of the way. He doesn't trust any of these people any more than he does their cute little prison.

Not particularly concerned with social graces--it's not like he ever has been--he sticks his head in wherever seems fair, poking around the inn and any other buildings that look public, accosts hapless passers by with "what's your story" or the occasional blunter "how've you tried to get out so far?"

And sometimes he does have to go have Taako time. He's found a fiddly little fishing setup. It's been a while since he fished, but he's pretty good at it, and it's always been a good way to sneak in a nap while ostensibly being productive. Naps happen a lot more now that he actually needs to sleep. Being a human sucks, and he's awful at judging how tired this stupid body is. (He's also walked into a few walls and trees when he forgets he can't see in the dark.)

Less relaxing but just as reassuring, he also takes up refreshing his very rusty swordsmanship. He hasn't needed it for years and he was never actually good. Just competent. When he has a sword, the other person is more likely to get hurt than Taako is, but the other options are just much better when there's not a horrible arcane dampening field over everything. The missing magic is vast and terrible and impossible to contemplate, hobbling Taako himself and potentially keeping any rescue attempts away. But he's dealt with that periodically, being out of spell slots and components, being up against it. The difference is he's...

He's alone again. The problem manifests consciously as no Magnus, but he's got lots of people he's hidden behind over the years. Even Sazed was... Well, he doesn't do so great without backup. That's just facts. Taako with a shortsword-sized stick versus a tree is a periodically amusing sight. He does more or less know what he's doing, approaches the combat like a saber fighter. He's graceful, if much too showy and not flexible enough in his stances, not a lot of strength behind any of the blows. The tree can take it.

He circulates a lot. Even for the Valley, it might be a bit odd to get used to the sight of the tiny man with three feet of braid dangling behind him, magenta scrubs somewhat inexpertly altered into a wrap skirt and an off-the-shoulder, half-length top. The fabric is crap and he's not used to sewing he can't assist with magic, but he doesn't hate the color and it's better than nothing. He may be stuck as a human with no hair products, but it'd be worse not to try. He's not giving an inch, here.

Threaded | Flat

Considering the recent threat of illness, number of people getting by with the bath at the inn, and the sheer inconvenience of leaving his house for a wash, Jude's decided to deal with the loss of his least-favorite piece of furniture. Jax had helped him clear out the crushed tub weeks back, and he'd swept the place clean, made the fallen beam part of his paper-making setup, and just--lived without it, for awhile.

It's time to scout a new one, get it unhooked, and see what he can trade Jax for the grunt work of getting it to his house. With that in mind, he hasn't scouted very far, just going down to the path until he found something empty, enough damage on the back end of the house that he can't be said to be ruining something nice.

Even if someone falls for the facade, a back porch under a tree and no tub might take the shine off.

He's got his hands rubbed raw, now tied up in rags to help him twist the bolts around the pipes. If this were a normal place, normal rules and a way out, all the copper in these houses would be a great thing to strip. The way things are though, better to let a tub be a tub, and a pipe be a pipe. He's just popped the line to the faucet off the line into the floor, an inch moved where he shoved it free, when he hears someone in the main rooms.

Pocketing the bolts for later, he picks up the short pipe, no longer than his forearm, and leans out the bathroom door to investigate. "Can I help you," he says, relaxing the pipe at his side when he finds the--person--in magenta sizing up the dining room like some HGTV afternoon decorator.

Baze has been quietly watching the attempt at attacking a tree thoughtfully for a few minutes, now. In an attempt at maybe being helpful for once, he finally offers a suggestion, betraying his presence: "Turn your feet so the right one faces front and the left one to the side. It will give you better support to thrust."

empty house

At the Practice Tree