[kumon can take the archway into shale's garden, but it doesn't seem that shale is there at the moment? the garden is as nice as ever, but empty and still.
...after a few minutes, the door to the cottage in the distance opens. shale pokes their head out and waves.]
Hey, Kumon. Do you want to come in? It's a little messy.
[shale lets him into the cottage. the simple wooden front door leads to a hallway where kumon can see a spiral staircase heading up, but there's also a doorway that shale beckons him through.
the cottage is very old-fashioned, fairly small and extremely cluttered. everything is made of wood and appears handmade and old, like something sturdy that has stood the test of time, but is a little lovingly worn. the only lighting in here is the gentle glow of candles, the fire in the hearth, and a lantern set out on the table, but there are cozy looking rounded windows with cheerful shutters that let in a crack of light and allow a peek out into the misty green garden space outside.
the particular room shale beckons him into looks like an eating area. there's a simple round wooden table and seven mismatched wooden chairs clustered around it, with seven place settings. (two addition chairs are in the corner near the hearth in case they come to be needed). a vase containing fresh cut lilies and painted with little butterflies and beetles sits in the middle of the table. in the corner, there's a small hearth fireplace giving off warmth, while a pot of something sits on the fire. it smells like something delicious is cooking. he can see a doorway that might lead into something like an old-fashioned kitchen.
despite these cozy vibes, there's something desperately cluttered but also impersonal about the place. the entire cottage he can make out is coated in dust. there are a lot of cobwebs, too, but he doesn't see spiders. there are some places where there are cracks in the floor and walls and little plants or an assortment of mushrooms are poking through. a beetle (jewel green) skitters here and there. there are old teacups left out in random places, with rings of tea still in the bottom of them, and stacks of various items like bowls, containers of dried herbs, and gardening tools just left out haphazardly, gathering dust, forgotten. it altogether has the feeling of a place no one has actually lived in for a very long time, or a place that was one full of people and abruptly abandoned. the only indication it hasn't been abandoned are the large footprints occasionally tracked through the dust, mostly moving between the hearth and the hallway, as well as the fact that the food cooking clearly hasn't spoiled and the lilies on the table are fresh.
the walls are covered with shelves containing cute, handmade looking knick knacks and plateware. the plateware - cups, dishes, bowls, utensils, kettles - is all a mismatch of various cute colors and patterns, but no piece seems to go with any other piece. a lot of them are chipped or cracked. the knick knacks include wooden, painted figurines of an azure dragon curled around itself, a graceful little rose colored fox baring its teeth, a playful golden shiba inu, a mouse in a school uniform, a crow with its feathers puffed up, and an cautious orange weasel, but there's actually a lot of space on the shelf for more figurines, and impressions in the dust that many more suck knick knacks once existed there. on the walls there are many hoops and frames that one would expect might contain things like embroidery or art projects or pictures of loved ones. instead, they all depict various species of butterfly, sometimes in embroidery, sometimes in paint, and sometimes just as a sketch.
[It's such a strange collection of feelings inside of this one house. A house like this feels like it should be really personal and properly lived in. But what he's seeing isn't really matching up with what he's expecting, though he does take a moment to look at the painted figurines. They don't match but maybe these were things that we gifts at one point?]
Gotchaaaa-?! There's so many of these guys around.
[Let's be bubbled.
He'll put a hand to it and the bubble turns a gentle sunshine color, as a memory (until 4:46) begins to play.
You're running a fever and until now you were stressed about the play, but Muku, your cousin speaks, and you're just... grateful to him. Acting isn't the same as baseball. There's no winners or losers, they can fail and that's okay too. As long as somebody is smiling at the end of the performance, then he's done his job properly.
It's so... strange to think of it like this. You've never even considered that failing was okay, even though your body makes you fail all the time, whenever you think something is important. You want to make them happy, everybody you know, and everybody who watches you perform.
He's so, so lucky to have them in his life. Even Banri, even if he does bully Juza far too much.]
[bubble time. it may be a little invasive, but it's sweet to see kumon's friends like this. and a little bit sad, to see the normal life he was living before coming here, just worrying about making people happy. it's nice to spend time around people like that, who make you feel better about yourself, and it feels maybe like something important has been lost.]
[shale gives the impression of a smile in return, but then there's a return bubble that floats gently by, before taking on an amber hue.
You step not so much into a memory but into a place, but a place so deeply filled with love and memory that every stone and leaf of it bubbles with familiarity. A feeling of peace, of home, of nature. You are outside to it, and you tend to it. You walk through what is both a verdant garden and an ancient graveyard, caring for the plants that grow here, checking the growth of plants on the plots surrounding you. Harvesting, gardening, thinking.
Here is what you see:
Behind you is what may at first look to be a stone cottage, but it is something older, something that comes to a steeple at the top. It’s a temple, made of stone, old and ancient. Vines crawl across its exterior, grow out of the cracks, and a layer of moss and lichen colors the stone a deep green. The open windows of the temple are overgrown with vines as well, and the wide wooden door at the front looks cracked and warped with its own layer of green and pink moss. Surrounding the temple are rows and rows of gravestones. Most are so old that no names can be read on the stone, though others are newer, fresher. The graveyard looks well tended, but not manicured. There are plants growing everywhere, wild, from the earth of the graves. Vegetables, fruits, lush vegetation and flowers, mushrooms and fungi. All well cared for, springing from the gravesoil.
Aside from the ring of gravestones, this “garden” is more swamp like. It’s temperate and bordering on humid, lush with vegetation. Flowers of many different varieties and meant for many different climates grow freely here, almost as though protected by some magic. It is dark here, due to the many, many overgrown trees that surround this place, the canopy overhead projecting shadows interspersed with sunlight. There are a few crystal clear pools of water, one steaming with heat and another welling up from a spring, deep blue and cold looking. There are smaller pools, as well, and bits of bog where the soft greens and browns of compost fall into green, thick, algae covered water.
But outside this immediate area of lush, beautiful vegetation, about a dozen yards away, rings of iron fencing surround the grove. There are two concentric rings of fencing, the furthest one about fifty yards from the stone temple. It is immediately clear why these rings exist, because past the fencing, dark and twisted bramble and razor like gray-purple thorn vines are encroaching, overtaking the grove. The outermost fence has been entirely covered in these vines, overtaken, now part of a twisted forest that exudes the energy of death and decay. The inner fence has been partially overtaken as well, purple vines wrapped around it in places, bringing down parts of the fence, gnarled branches reaching over from dying trees.
When you look upon this forest, you feel a deep sense of despair, fear, and revulsion at the dead forest. You love nature, you even love the decay that rots and dissolves what is old and dead and from that rot grows something new. But what’s happening to the forest beyond the fence is not that type of decay. It is a death that exists outside the natural order of death, death from which nothing will recover or grow, the feeling of curse and blight, magic that warps. It feels wrong, and it is growing closer and closer each season, overtaking this grove that you love.
You are here with your sister, or the sort of pinkish greenish blur of wild, bright energy that you believe to be your sister, though how distinct she is in this memory comes and goes. You get an impression now and then, pink hair streaked with color, a wide smile, a mischievous laugh.
It's only the two of you now. How long has it been now since you'd built the second fence, and four other pairs of hands joined along with both of you? At least a few dozen seasons now. The grief you feel towards the parts of the grove you lost to the forest mingle with the grief at the thought of your older sister's stubbornness, how mad your brother always made you. Your aunt's wise advice, dad's cooking, the sound of mom's voice... The blighted forest has long overgrown what you built together, and you and your younger sister and now working on a third fence, an inner ring that will perhaps protect your little patch of earth a dozen seasons longer. It's taken you many, many days not just to put it up but to infuse it with the magic it needs to protect the grove, and it's still only halfway done.
Meanwhile, this morning, you find some of the bramble that's crossed the second fence trailing out like a grasping hand, reaching for the nearest little patch of gravestones. You find your sister near the patch, clearing the bramble, a seriousness to her posture and to the expression you can make out.
"C..." You know she's addressing you, but it's faint somehow. You don't remember. "Look."
Her voice reflects the dismay you feel when you see how the little burst of zinnias that grow from the fresh plot out here have gone black, started to wilt. It shouldn't be this close. You have a sacred duty to protect the dead who have been brought here to be cared for and honored in your temple.
"Only this much," you reassure her, softly. "Once the fence is done, it'll hold off. Long enough for help."
Help should be on its way. Help was sent for a while ago. Too long ago. The last one to leave - dad - how long ago even was it? None of you know exactly what this garden needs to save it, so you were expecting goodbye to last a while. But none of them have ever returned, and on dark days, you can't help but think that they must have all...
You shrug off the thought, notice she's trying to get your attention. "I had the dream again," she says, a little hesitant. "The zinnias were in it. I think maybe it's time, C..."
No. The thought is strong enough, if unpleasant, to shake you out of those other more distant fears. You remember every time one of them left. First your mother and your aunt, a formidable pair together, so very long ago now that you were still adolescent, knowing that you children would be safe here together. A little after the second fence went up, your sister left, always the fiercest of all of you, brave and tough enough to take it alone. Your brother had wanted to go then, before her, and it had been an argument, and then when she didn't return he barely waited a full four seasons before he was insisting it was his turn. You don't know if you even believe he waited to be called to it. Dad did wait, maybe longer than he was supposed to, even, but the second fence started to fail and it was time.
The next should be you by age but by temperament...everyone's always known you are the one who is supposed to stay. The best caretaker, a good gardener, good at talking to the ones who come here to bury their dead. A homebody, never inclined to leave. Your little sister has always had dreams of seeing the world. She'd never abandon you, she may be a pain but she's too good-hearted for that, but you know she's stayed only for your sake, so you won't be left alone. The calling each member of your family has felt, to venture out into the world to find a cure for the blighted forest and save your home, seems to have skipped over you and gone to her instead.
You were raised with a strong faith and a belief in listening for signs and guidance and you know the dreams matter, but even so...
"Yeah," you have to agree, because it's your responsibility to agree. "I'll be okay. You're doing..." you hesitate, but make yourself continue. "You're doing the right thing."
You look at her, and you can see for a moment a more distinct image. Her face, like yours, with the gentle animal nose and floppy ears, pink hair and gray skin, kind and open. You try not to resent the relief she feels, and try not to think about how badly you're going to miss her bright smile.
The memory fades, and Shale is quiet before saying to themself: ]
[Of course the bubbles are everywhere... It feels a little intrusive to watch people's memories. Or in this case, locations, but these things happen when it comes to the prism.
This is... was? Shale's home, isn't it? And memories of their family as well.
That feeling... of wanting your family to stay and knowing that they won't. That it's better for them to leave, but part of you wishing they wouldn't. He knows that. Not nearly for something so serious as trying to save home. Juza was the one who tried to get you to accept it.]
w3, tuesday
...after a few minutes, the door to the cottage in the distance opens. shale pokes their head out and waves.]
Hey, Kumon. Do you want to come in? It's a little messy.
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[Whoa, he remembers a few weeks ago he was told to stay outside, and he couldn't even see anything through the windows.
He'll run over.]
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[shale lets him into the cottage. the simple wooden front door leads to a hallway where kumon can see a spiral staircase heading up, but there's also a doorway that shale beckons him through.
the cottage is very old-fashioned, fairly small and extremely cluttered. everything is made of wood and appears handmade and old, like something sturdy that has stood the test of time, but is a little lovingly worn. the only lighting in here is the gentle glow of candles, the fire in the hearth, and a lantern set out on the table, but there are cozy looking rounded windows with cheerful shutters that let in a crack of light and allow a peek out into the misty green garden space outside.
the particular room shale beckons him into looks like an eating area. there's a simple round wooden table and seven mismatched wooden chairs clustered around it, with seven place settings. (two addition chairs are in the corner near the hearth in case they come to be needed). a vase containing fresh cut lilies and painted with little butterflies and beetles sits in the middle of the table. in the corner, there's a small hearth fireplace giving off warmth, while a pot of something sits on the fire. it smells like something delicious is cooking. he can see a doorway that might lead into something like an old-fashioned kitchen.
despite these cozy vibes, there's something desperately cluttered but also impersonal about the place. the entire cottage he can make out is coated in dust. there are a lot of cobwebs, too, but he doesn't see spiders. there are some places where there are cracks in the floor and walls and little plants or an assortment of mushrooms are poking through. a beetle (jewel green) skitters here and there. there are old teacups left out in random places, with rings of tea still in the bottom of them, and stacks of various items like bowls, containers of dried herbs, and gardening tools just left out haphazardly, gathering dust, forgotten. it altogether has the feeling of a place no one has actually lived in for a very long time, or a place that was one full of people and abruptly abandoned. the only indication it hasn't been abandoned are the large footprints occasionally tracked through the dust, mostly moving between the hearth and the hallway, as well as the fact that the food cooking clearly hasn't spoiled and the lilies on the table are fresh.
the walls are covered with shelves containing cute, handmade looking knick knacks and plateware. the plateware - cups, dishes, bowls, utensils, kettles - is all a mismatch of various cute colors and patterns, but no piece seems to go with any other piece. a lot of them are chipped or cracked. the knick knacks include wooden, painted figurines of an azure dragon curled around itself, a graceful little rose colored fox baring its teeth, a playful golden shiba inu, a mouse in a school uniform, a crow with its feathers puffed up, and an cautious orange weasel, but there's actually a lot of space on the shelf for more figurines, and impressions in the dust that many more suck knick knacks once existed there. on the walls there are many hoops and frames that one would expect might contain things like embroidery or art projects or pictures of loved ones. instead, they all depict various species of butterfly, sometimes in embroidery, sometimes in paint, and sometimes just as a sketch.
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Do you spend a lot of time indoors?
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[so it makes sense how much dust there is, maybe.]
I prefer gardening.
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[though there's a little sadness to that, too. maybe they do, but...]
Well, I shouldn't let it get so dusty in this place.
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Do you want some help cleaning?
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I wouldn't mind someone to help with a bit of tidying up.
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[cute. anyway, cleaning. they point to some of the cobwebs and dust.]
I'll get a broom and maybe we can sort of clear this up.
[but there are also bubbles floating about, if you would like to memshare instead]
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[Let's be bubbled.
He'll put a hand to it and the bubble turns a gentle sunshine color, as a memory (until 4:46) begins to play.
You're running a fever and until now you were stressed about the play, but Muku, your cousin speaks, and you're just... grateful to him. Acting isn't the same as baseball. There's no winners or losers, they can fail and that's okay too. As long as somebody is smiling at the end of the performance, then he's done his job properly.
It's so... strange to think of it like this. You've never even considered that failing was okay, even though your body makes you fail all the time, whenever you think something is important. You want to make them happy, everybody you know, and everybody who watches you perform.
He's so, so lucky to have them in his life. Even Banri, even if he does bully Juza far too much.]
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...They seem like a nice group of people.
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[That's Summer troupe. A gentle warmth, a summer's day, friendship that you can rely on, no matter how else things are going.
His smile is soft and reminiscent.]
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[shale gives the impression of a smile in return, but then there's a return bubble that floats gently by, before taking on an amber hue.
The memory fades, and Shale is quiet before saying to themself: ]
Clarabelle.
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This is... was? Shale's home, isn't it? And memories of their family as well.
That feeling... of wanting your family to stay and knowing that they won't. That it's better for them to leave, but part of you wishing they wouldn't. He knows that. Not nearly for something so serious as trying to save home. Juza was the one who tried to get you to accept it.]
... Clarabelle?
[Shale's name? Or their sister's name?]
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[they nod, slowly, seeming a little lost, kind of dazed.]
That's my sister.
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[He'll reach out to hold their hand.]
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Yeah. I'm okay. Remembering is hard sometimes.
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Do you... want to talk about them?
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[a sigh, and they think about kumon's question. and...]
Yeah. Maybe a little. I can't remember so much, but talking isn't bad.
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