[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/adb01259-53a5-4c37-8dd0-07d9259d9823.png[/img] [b]Beta.[/b][/center] [colour=blanchedalmond]“Fuck off,”[/colour] said Chopstick Eyes, waving her arms briefly around her head before wrapping them back around her skinny chest, shivering despite the weight of her bright green sukajan. The wintersprites didn’t let up, and they crowded closely around the shimmery fabric, fighting for space on her bomber hat and perching in neat rows on her chopstick eyes. [colour=blanchedalmond]“FUCK OFF!”[/colour] she yelled, waving more arms. The sprites dispersed, momentarily, frightened of being torn by the vigorous motion, but a few brave souls came back, borne on the winds of love. Chopstick really regretted building that hundred-yard-tall blueice sculpture of herself. The sprites had their own sculptures to attend to, though, and in time their numbers diminished enough that they were less of a problem. It was in this relatively unbothered state that Chopstick started to notice the unicellular plants that dusted the surface of the ice in a fine rain, and the sculptures of ice that the buoyant winter-spirits would never have naturally found a model for, being rather unable to submerge. Levitating plankton, sculptures of narwhals. Chopstick was more than willing to accept that she wasn’t the spiciest mi goreng in the supermarket, but she had a good idea she knew what was up. It wasn’t long before a flotilla of flying squid passed close enough to prove her right. Chopstick Eyes was riding her very own levitating orca by the end of the hour. It was Azura’s work, for certain, and Ashalla’s. They must have collaborated hard on such a sea. Chopstick let the orca take her where it would, playing with one of the last remaining winter-spirits. It was curious, given the connection, that the sprites and the algae were driven by entirely different modes of photosynthesis. Chopstick dusted the spirit with patterns in green, gold and red plankton, then set it off back to the ice. Perhaps the coloured lineage would stick around and make some use of the symbiosis; perhaps its newfound requirement for trace salts would be its end. She didn’t know. She was just taking her mind off the fact that Li’Kalla was nowhere to be found. The blue, fresh waters she had smelled from miles away were here, dark dots marking the melt ponds where the ice was warmest. But no rain. The water here was just an emergent phenomenon, void of intent. Later she would have to voyage south again. Until then, she could at least examine the source of that endless, lilting melody waving down from above. She flew on. [hr] [center][b]Alpha.[/b][/center] The rain belted, sliding off broad leaves and strengthening the roots upon which Chopstick stood. Her saw rasped back and forwards, the noise deadened by the sound of the endless tropical streams flowing down off her hair in hot rivers. She’d given up on clothes a while ago; fashion was one thing, but even raincoats were just extra weight. Bangles and jewellery would do her just fine. [colour=wheat][i]Never again.[/i][/colour] She’d made a mistake; she’d lapsed and been burned for it. The wood was piled up in huge stacks and she carted it off to the build site by hand. No, nothing good had come of it. She’d find some other way to ameliorate her bad reflexes. Sleep wasn’t the answer. She began to nail the planks together, the ring of her hammer the only sound penetrating the rain. Liv huddled up beside a forest-lantern in a small shelter, moodily looking on. Memories of the Bazaar’s construction were vivid, though working in the Galbarian elements was far more difficult. She had gloves to help her, this time, but she used none of them. Alone. She would do this alone. The longer she worked, the longer she had to think about what she could do next. And it held back the memories of the night she’d woken up. Bang, bang bang, went the hammer. She’d cleared an enormous space for this project, and already it felt far too small. A tap on the shoulder. [colour=wheat]“What?”[/colour] The glove pointed. A visitor. Chopstick reluctantly put down her hammer. Liv crooned. [colour=olivedrab][i]Strangers coming o’er the strait. A new thing for this bird. Come now, goddess. We’ll be late. Your call has been answered.[/i][/colour] [colour=wheat][i]Well, time for lunch,[/i][/colour] she thought, flexing her wiry shoulders. She stroked Liv’s head and took her on shoulder. [colour=wheat][i]Wonder who it is?[/i][/colour] [hider=Summary] Betasticks discovers that ice sculptures are a form of mating display, and encounters the polar tonnikala. She crosses a winter-spirit with some phytoplankton to make a more colourful winter-spirit, then hears the Verse from somewhere in the Blue, and sets off to investigate. Alphasticks changes her mind about sleeping again after the invention of nightmares, and decides to distract herself from the bad vibes by commencing work on a huge structure somewhere in the Feasting Forest. She takes a break to go have tea with Vrog. The two make climate-appropriate fashion choices. No points spent. [b]Chopstick Eyes | Butterwort in Midsummer 13 Might (Native) 8 Might (Age of Lords) Markets | Knives Kites (5/5) Lanterns (2/5) Cuisine (4/5)[/b] [/hider]