[eltonn]

Storkatten Name: Wicke
Born Magic Type & Level: Plant Lv1
MP Allotted to Born Magic: 20
Second Magic Type; [ Locked ]
MP Allotted to Second Magic:
Third Magic Type; [ Locked]
MP Allotted to Third Magic:

MP Total: 40
First Experience With Natural Magic
Wicke's Den
her laugh
2045 words of angst

[eltonn]

Name a time you witnessed this magic at work in the natural world. 622 words

It wasn't magic, persay. That's not what they would call it, at least. Wicke would call their first experience with floral magycks ... something else. Painful, maybe. They had seen plants grow many a time, but this one was...different. It curled up the trunk of the fig tree like a grotesque, murderous hug. At first, they had thought the vine growing outside of their den was beautiful. Small white flowers with vibrant pink centers added a pop of color to the otherwise, in Wicke's opinion, rather bland browns and greens of their den. As the days turned into weeks, Wicke began to notice that the fig felt ill.

They weren't sure how they knew, but seeing the poor tree brought a wave of nausea to mind that they hadn't experienced before. It was too late before they realized that the fig had been crying out to them for help. By the time that Wicke had figured out that the beautiful vine was killing their fig tree, there was little that they could have done. The fig was already so weak from its nutrients being sapped, and the vine was in full bloom.

That was the first time that they felt floral magyck attempt to contact them without Wicke reaching out first. It was a simple cry for help. One that they let go unheeded. It was just another block of guilt onto the weight that they already dragged around.

It was a warm morning when Wicke sat outside of their den, staring at the killer that entwined their beloved fig. Something bubbled in their stomach - a feeling that they hadn't felt in a long time. Not since they left their last colony. It was rage. Boiling, resentful rage towards the vine and its beautiful flowers and its parasitic lifestyle. It reminded them of themself. A wicked vine, murdering something beloved by a wicked Wicke. Maybe it was what they deserved, after everything they had done. But the fig did not. The fig had done nothing wrong, and Wicke had betrayed it. Wicke let it die.

With a yowl of outrage, Wicke stood up, their pelt bristling as the vine was violently torn off the shell of what used to be a fig tree. The noise was something that they had never heard before, and never wanted to hear again. The sickening crack of small roots that had bored into the ash's bark...and the scream from the vine. It was alive, after all. Wicke could hear it.

They had never thought to ask it why.

It took the derooted vine a few days to die, laying uselessly on the ground next to the fig that it had leeched off of for so long. Every few hours, that sickening feeling would return to Wicke's mind, but tainted with...something else. They weren't sure what. Pity? No. A plea for pity. Wicke did not grant it.

They didn't bury the vine, instead allowing it to decompose and add to the leaf mold that was often kicked around outside of their den. A fittingly disrespectful resting place, as Wicke rationalized to themself. They curled their lip in distaste at the remains of the vine whenever they entered or exited their den. The natural cycles of the world was beautiful, but sometimes it begged to be hated.

-

That was moons before they found the Lotus Eaters. They should move on. Wicke turned over in their den, their eyes focusing on the gently snoring form of Agnes laying next to them. They had been absolved for their crime against the natural world's magycks. It hadn't been wrong of them to kill the vine. They didn't do anything wrong. The universe had forgiven them. So why did they still feel guilty?

[eltonn]

Describe your nest/bed/room. 760 words

Wicke was loafed just outside of the pile of stones that they had been calling their home for the past few days. The clearing wasn't too active at the moment, but they could see Azuki sipping from the Lotus Pool a few feet away. The two Springs were chasing each other around near their dens while Constituent Marideth watched over them, and Yellow Moderator Agnes was out hunting with a few other Constituents. It was quiet here, outside of the joyful shrieks of the Springs and the soft lapping from Azuki. That, and the birdcalls out in the trees. The finches that made nests in their twisted barrier chirped at each other while they looked for choice twigs. It wasn't as quiet as it could be, but it was a peaceful type of noise. The kind of noise that you could zone out for hours listening to, falling into a meditative doze.

The Moderator's den itself was made of tumbled stones that had fallen just right to allow a little cavern to open up on the inside. Whether it was natural or a wayward Earth storkie had put it together years ago, no one in the colony was sure. There were a few gaps between stones on the roof, and when it rained, water tended to drip inside. To counteract the dampness, Wicke and Agnes had spent a grueling few hours dragging branches from the forest to cover them in a thick layer of pine needles. Eventually, it was watertight enough that the rain wasn't too much of a bother. Of course, by the time they had finished, the two of them were soaked to the bone, so it wasn't much help during that first storm. Curling tightly together didn't dry the pair of them quicker, but Wicke couldn't help but feel warmed by the satisfaction that they had solved that small problem. If the two of them could solve that, then together, they could solve anything.

It was big enough for roughly five storkies to curl up tightly with each other- four if they wanted the space to be comfortable. For now, the two Moderators that used it could spread out as much as they wanted and still never touch. The ground was filled with the same soft, silty sand that made up the rest of the camp, making it comfortable (albeit a bit messy) to lay on. Early mornings were often spent doing their best to clean the silt out of their (Or Agnes') coat. After hearing Wicke complain one too many times about how their fur felt prickly inside the den, Agnes suggested bringing in a layer of leaves for Wicke to rest on. It proved to help somewhat, and thus about a third of the den had a coating of leaves covering the ground. It made the den smell like the forest - moist and growing and decomposing and alive. It was a comforting scent, and for the first few hours of the day, Wicke could often catch traces of it on their and Agnes' pelts.

Sharing a den wasn't something that they had been used to. Wicke had lived alone for so long that they almost forgot how comforting it was to fall asleep listening to another cat's breathing, or to be able to curl up close when the nightmares got too much. The gentle whispers in the night if they woke up whimpering. The humorous banter when the sun shone through the entrance. It made the den feel more like a home than anywhere they had ever lived before. Agnes made the den feel like home. Without her, it would be little more than a dirty pile of rocks that Wicke had managed to squeeze inside. With Agnes, it was ... something that Wicke felt safe being vulnerable in.

Wicke sniffed once as they contemplated their den, then stood and stretched, allowing their spine to pop as they did so. Perhaps... they should do something for Agnes in return. The calico had mentioned how she enjoyed the scent of honeysuckle. While Wicke didn't particularly like vines, it wouldn't be too difficult to take a cutting and plant it on the inner wall of the den, allowing it to climb in and out of the stones. They could already imagine the sweet floral scent merging with the current earthy one. It was fitting. They waved their tail to Azuki to alert him that they were heading out, and then began their hunt for the small flowers. It was the least they could do for Agnes.

[eltonn]

laughter [836 words]

Wicke could clearly remember the first time that they had heard Agnes laugh. The two of them had been born in the same colony, a city with rigid rules and even more rigid hearts. They never spoke of it these days. Wicke didn’t know what things that Agnes had decided to turn forbidden when she spoke with the Administrator, and they never asked. They didn’t want to know. After all, they had marked them as forbidden for themself- so to ask would be taboo no matter what Agnes had chosen. There were…small things they had spoken of. Mutual friends mentioned rarely in passing, a swear from their homeland, a shared yearning for the song nights that they would spend hours at.

Funnily enough, though they had lived together all their lives, the two storkies didn’t know each other well until the incident occurred. After that, they spent a lot of time together. They had always known the other existed, but never tried to start conversations or get to know them. They were just another face in the crowd. The idea that fate had been forcing their little statuettes together was amusing to Wicke. Never paying attention to her was probably why they had never seen Agnes laugh until that time.

The two of them had been traveling together for quite some time. The winter chill had set in soon after their exodus, and despite their initial distaste for each other, they banded together during that time. They both knew that it would be a death sentence not to. The winters up north easily could kill a storkie on their own, and huddling for warmth was the best chance of survival they had.

The first days were rough. Huddled in their snow-den, the two of them had been hungry, irritable, and cramped. Worst of all was the boredom. Their frosty breath and body heat provided little entertainment in their icy tomb. Wicke wasn’t sure how many feet of snow had encased them in that hole in the ground, but it was enough that re-digging the air hole took a lot more time than expected. By the time the storm had stopped, Agnes and Wicke had had ample time to swap stories and realize how similar they were. After that initial bonding, the two became fast friends.

It happened when they had first fully emerged from the hole. There had already been a few inches of snow on the ground when they started digging, so the pair had little idea of the lay of the land underneath. Wicke had exited first - they were more curious and excitable in those days - and seconds after they called to Agnes that the storm had stopped, the calico’s fluffy head emerged behind them.

The two spent a few moments in silence, taking time to appreciate the crispness of the fresh air after slogging through the stale air they had become used to. Once their lungs felt suitably clean again, Wicke took a tentative step forward. When the ground held solid, they took a second. At that, their pride got the better of them, and Wicke began to walk ahead.

Nearly immediately, they plunged into a soft snowdrift with a yelp. They fell far enough that only their ears poked up above the snowline. “Wicke? Are you hurt?” Agnes’ concerned mew sounded from where she had been standing at the den entrance.

Wicke huffed in annoyance and began to dig at the walls formed around them to create a ramp so they could hop out. “I’m cold!” Wicke complained. “My whiskers are going to fall off.” They had been saying that for days now. Anges took it to mean that Wicke was fine.

It took a bit of effort before they emerged again, twitching their whiskers with satisfaction at the feat. Agnes took one look at their face and the defiant look in their eyes and began to laugh. It was much clearer than Wicke had expected it to be, and infectious. Wicke couldn’t help but giggle in response as they asked what was so funny.

“The snow on your head- It may just be the hunger talking, but it really does look like you’ve got a mouse perched there, just watching us flounder around like spring salmon!” Agnes says once her chuckling calms, only for it to quickly start back up again.

Wicke smirked, then quickly began to bat at the snow on their head. “Well, then I’m gonna catch it, and we’ll have ourselves a feast!” They succeeded in knocking the snow off as well as making Agnes laugh again.

It was a welcome sound after everything the pair had been through.

Now, as Wicke weaved the honeysuckle vines into the cracks in their den wall, they couldn’t help but wonder if Agnes had known then where they would be now. Maybe it was a knowing laugh, looking forward to the pillars that they would become for each other. Could she have known? Wicke thought that maybe she did.