🍁🎑🦋 Bug Eater Farm: Autumn Catch-all 🦋🎑🍁

[pactmarshal]

🍂 WHO: Kaspar and/or Trahearne, and you!
🍂 WHAT: Joint catch-all for two good tall boys
🍂 WHEN: Throughout autumn
🍂 WHERE: Here, there, everywhere
🍂 WARNINGS: To be added in headers!

[ details and toplevels in comments below ]

Comments

🍁🎑🦋 farm upgrade tracking 🦋🎑🍁

[pactmarshal]

🦋 spring/summer summary 🦋

[pactmarshal]

upgrades
- house restored!
- farming tools upgraded
- barn restored
- restore stable
- more furniture
- kitchen upgrade
- kitchen tools
- make your house a home
- quality of soil increased
- coop restored
- HOUSE EXPANDED!

plants
- 3 cabbage 🌸
- 2 strawberries 🌸
- 1 turnip 🌸
- 1 watermelon ☀️
- 1 pineapple ☀️
- 2 spinach 🍁
- 1 carrot 🍁
- 1 yam 🍁
- 4 morel 🌸
- 4 common white 🌸
- 7 matsutake 🌸
- 1 common white mushroom 🌸
- 1 shimeji ☀️
- 1 common brown mushroom ☀️
- 1 portobello 🍁
- 1 enoki 🍁
- 4 tulips 🌸
- 2 hyacinth 🌸
- 5 forget-me-not 🌸
- 2 daffodil 🌸
- 1 primrose 🌸
- 1 sunflower ☀️
- 1 lily ☀️
- 4 lilacs 🍁
- 2 chrysanthemums 🍁
- 1 petunia 🍁
- 2 grape starters ☀️
- 6 tea starters ☀️
- 2 coffee trees
- 1 apple tree
- 1 pomegranate tree
- 1 orange tree
- 1 cherry tree

animals
- 2 horses (Gealá, only her mane/tail are mostly white; Dwynwen)
- dog (Delle)
- cat (Phantom)
- 1 sheep
- 4 chickens
- 2 goat
- 1 cow

items
- elephant teapot
- 40lb wheel of cheese
- 2 kaomoji cups
- 5 vegetable shaped bath bombs
- 100 googly eyes in various sizes
- waterproof reusable tissues
- endlessly burning flambe
- set of 2 toilet-shaped shot glasses
- propeller hat
- stretch Hogan (in the likeness of the Goddess)
- dunce cap
- a candle that smells like gnomes
- 3 buff fairy contracts
- 1 diva fairy contract
- a sword
- a special gift for a special someone
+ 2 bottles of lube
+ 1 bottle of aphrodisiacs

Kaspar's side of the room:
- two worms on a string, a small oak keepsake box
- fluffy sleep mask
+ 5 bottles of lube

🎑 farm ic inbox 🎑

[pactmarshal]

[ Leave a message! ]

🍁 for kaspar

[pactmarshal]

[ After realizing just how badly Trahearne messed up at the auction, he finds himself wandering away from town and to the beach.

There, he thinks, he can find some peace of mind, with the drone of the water lapping up against the sands. He thinks the swaying of the wind can soothe his frayed nerves and conscience, and that he'll find some time alone to think while everyone else is preoccupied.

Instead, he only finds what Otegine had said to him play over and over in his mind.

"It didn't matter what intention the writer had - the applicant had themselves exposed to the town in a way they had no say or control over."
"Why are you putting him on this pedestal to justify your feelings for him, anyway?"
"It seems to me you're just making things a lot harder for yourself."
"Hesitation can be a trait that hurts a lot of people, just as much as recklessness or impatience."
"Just try to hear what he has to say."

Like a broken recording, the questions churn in his mind, tearing at his heartache just as he thinks he's found himself answers. He wishes he could go back in time and undo all of that. To talk him out of his choice to sign him up--he sees now that it isn't just a fun little activity. Even though he had no reason to believe it had to be any more serious than the spring dance or Hot or Not. The goddess, it seems, is serious about her intent to get them to marry.

What if--?

Unanswered questions, scenarios and futures that may never come to pass meld like noise into the sound of the waves as he watches dusk veil the sky, the sun dip beneath the horizon. He unfolds himself onto the soft, pristine sand and falls into a shallow, uneasy sleep.

And so Trahearne does not return home that night--it's the second time that month. He awakens to curious gulls pecking in the sand around him as the sky lightens in dawn. The guilt, his upset, the questions weigh on him like a dull ache, keeping him pinned to the ground for moments longer than he'd like.

It's only once his glow is gone and he feels the rays of morning tickling his skin that he gets up and decides to go home (home--funny, that. He isn't sure when he's started to consider the little house in the forest with Kaspar his home). There is farming to do, after all. His gait is slow and weighted, his face haggard and distressed. Perhaps one who has not spent much time around a sylvari would not notice the subtle changes in his complexion, but Kaspar most certainly would.

He pushes the door open; not long after he sees his own tuxedo cat trot out from his bedroom, yellow eyes wide and curious and--this is just his imagination--concerned. Without warning, the critter leaps up, and Trahearne effortlessly catches in him in his arms. ]

Hello, Phantom. [ His voice cracks, having not used it for over half a day. ] Is Kaspar home?

[bluminescence]

[ Delle notices Trahearne's arrival before Kaspar does. A distant bark from the stable echoes out into the crisp autumn air. Muffled neighing follows, with the scraping of hooves, leather boots and doors closing close behind.

His footsteps trail Delle's back to their home. He looks tired in the doorframe, hair unstyled and pushed back like he does for farmwork. Everything for the day is already completed, noticeably more than he can usually manage at a time without wandering off or going for a ride. His only pause was for the sunrise of a new season. Cleared fields, prepared for seeds, growth, life, and to bury his uncertainties in something productive.

For once, he had genuinely worried over his roommate's return. The events of the auction, where Kaspar was in no better position to assist, and more concerningly the surreal turning of leaves around the island; new hues, new piles already beginning to crunch beneath his feet. Alone, paused to rest his hand on bark, he'd had no one to ask if they were sick or dying. Yet, the animals seemed at peace with the change of their world, so Kaspar had eventually wandered home. To an empty house. One he'd felt more at home in than any other in such a long time.

Trahearne's face when Kaspar enters brings the concern for him rushing back, Kaspar's gaze falling over him. Stepping out of his boots, leaving his gloves and coat beside the door, Kaspar keeps his eyes on his roommate as he approaches him. His brow starts to knit the closer he gets.

Before his friend, flushed and hot off from physical work, Kaspar's expression softens as he tried to catch his gaze. But the words do not come. Kaspar opens his arms without knowing which of them might feel more comforted by an embrace.

Returned or rebuffed, his voice is quiet, slightly hoarse. ]

... breakfast?

[pactmarshal]

[ Trahearne turns when he hears the door opening, as though on cue. Phantom might not have answered his question, but the circumstances of the world around him do instead. Tension evaporates from his shoulders when he sees Kaspar, and a little guilt tugs at him knowing the disheveled appearance means he's been hard at work farming. That was what he was supposed to be doing. And what had he done instead?

Wordlessly, his arms shift, and Phantom jumps down to find another place to rest. Trahearne steps forward to take the offer for a hug, at once glad and relieved that Kaspar can understand him with little to no words, or prompting.

He doesn't know if Kaspar had seen Syrlya's anger towards him at the auction, but he feels like his housemate is a safe third party for him to speak with regardless.

There are other things that need addressing, though. More specifically, that he had not eaten since lunch the day before. ]

I would like that.

[bluminescence]

[ Kaspar envelopes him in his usual warmth, holding for a long moment. Until his own hunger claws at him, loosening his grip and sliding his hands to seek the sides of his neck; soothing circles of his thumb and an expression that says more to understanding than Kaspar thinks he could ever give voice to. He lingers a moment more in comfort, then turns away towards the kitchen.

Pancakes. Whatever Trahearne chooses must often. Easier to make, now that Kaspar has largely figured out the new changes to the landscape of their kitchen. If not by design then by his own trials and errors. If his roommate follows, Kaspar will not leave him without a bowl to stir. ]

[pactmarshal]

[ The comforting gesture is enough--Trahearne's expression eases considerably, and though he does not smile, the gratitude is evident on his face nonetheless. Gratitude that he lives with someone so understanding, so patient.

He is not one to miss out helping with breakfast, though. He follows close behind into their refurbished kitchen, takes whatever task Kaspar gives him, and goes about it with a practiced hand.

And after a moment of quiet concentration, Trahearne finally speaks up. ]

Did you remain until the end of the auction?

🍁 for syrlya | fall 7

[pactmarshal]

[ The week after the auction has felt excruciatingly long. The sharp pangs guilt, the disappointment in himself, the doubts that tore at him ease over the days that follow, helped by letting his thoughts roam freely as he works the earth, the words Otegine, Kaspar, Ori, Mishka impart unto him. Trahearne thinks the shock that came with the aftermath would have dulled anyway, but it is with their help that it is actively made better. That all of that negativity is soon turned into conviction, the firm determination to make things better, and even hope.

But more than anything, he misses Syrlya.

The night before is sleepless, the pit of his stomach filled with butterflies and a needless whir of thoughts. He makes it a point to do his daily farm chores in the morning in an effort to calm himself and maintain a sense of normalcy. He makes an effort to make sure he's presentable generally presentable, that he did not look as though he'd been digging around in the dirt before coming by (which he was). After several nervous paces around the house, glancing anxiously at the clock, he finally gathers the courage to step beyond the boundary of his own farm and venture towards the rural part of the island. Towards Syrlya's farm.

So many times has he played out this conversation in his head; some phrases lodge in his mind and play over and over like a mantra. But as he steps among the grasses, as the waning heat from the sun shines above him, and as the winds gently graze his skin, he wonders if he'll need any of it at all. He knows his own penchant for overthinking. And he trusts Syrlya. Their bond is deeper, stronger than this. He doesn't need speeches with him, does he? This doesn't have to be a scripted exchange. They simply have to talk. And he knows, whatever this turns out to be, they will be better for it.

Regardless of how much he thinks he's ready on the walk over, he finds himself frozen for a moment as he stands before the front door to Syrlya's farm. The arm cradling the bouquet grips tighter, and he takes a moment to calm himself. Why is he so nervous about this?

Though it feels like an eternity, it doesn't take much time for him to reach up and give a firm knock on the door. Perhaps a little louder than he intended. ]

[chronosynthesis]

[For Syrlya, the week is just one thing after another that by the time it finally ends, he feels as though it's been the longest 24 hours of his life. Has it really been a week by now? He's lost so much time to actually collect their latest harvest and do tasks for a new one, nevermind the deal with these mystery chocolates.

He's just about to leave to start picking the crops of the garden, basket over his arm when he hears the door knock. Loudly. Hm, is this urgent?]

Coming! [He really hopes it's not another disaster. He hurries across the room and pulls open the door to--] Oh! Trahearne.

[He had almost (almost) forgotten about his prior irritation in everything else, so at first he just looks surprised.] Hello.

[pactmarshal]

[ There's a flutter of nerves as the door moves—someone is home, at least. And despite himself, despite the idle wondering if Syrlya is still angry with him, despite the composure he himself was hoping to maintain, Trahearne's mouth pulls into a smile when he sees it's Syrlya who answers. ]

Hello, Commander. [ His name—his name. He winces internally. ]

I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time. [ He adjusts his hold on the flowers, not to make them more obvious. It's an awkward position to hold for such a long time. ] I believe I owe you a talk.

[chronosynthesis]

[The shifting of the flowers still, ultimately, makes them more obvious, and Syrlya's brows raise as he sees them. He didn't take Trahearne to just walk around needlessly with a bouquet, so is that...]

Oh--well, then, come in. [He steps out of the way to pull the door open completely for him. He discards the basket to the ground.] I wasn't about to do anything urgent.

[pactmarshal]

[ Trahearne duly steps in when given the room, eyes darting around the house out of habit as he strides towards the dining table. His way of seeing how Syrlya and Otegine were doing on their upgrades. Always a worrier.

But he makes no comment; he only stands by the chair, not bothering to take a seat, to turn around and wait for Syrlya. His eyes dart down to the basket, then back up. ]

My business with you today is twofold, but it shouldn't take up too much of your time.

[ He was clearly about to do something, urgent or not. ]

LETTERS OF APPRECIATION

[pactmarshal]

SYRLYA

[pactmarshal]

[ belated here ]

KASPAR

[pactmarshal]

[ One morning, when Kaspar awakens, he will find a stack of freshly made pancakes, topped with blueberries, drizzled generously with maple syrup and a dollop of butter sitting at his place on the table. In front of it is a folded piece of paper, "Kaspar" written on the front in writing that is obviously Trahearne's. Tucked inside is a bracelet, handmade and woven with the stems of flowers Trahearne used to find pressed into his books, and soft strips of leather, decorated with unpainted wooden beads. The note reads: ]

Lilting is the melody on the warm summer breeze
An embrace, powerful,
protective and comforting.
As the stars weave roads in the night sky
flowers reflect their image upon the earth
leading us home.

Thank you for everything that you are.
- Trahearne

MISHKA

[pactmarshal]

[ One early autumn morning, Mishka will find an envelope through his door addressed to him in fine, neat writing. Inside is a handmade woven cord for his hair, neatly coiled, along with a paper that reads the following: ]

Cracks in dry earth sprawl
lines meandering
to consume
and spread the unknown,
the blight, the hopelessness
of oblivion.
Yet from the depths
new life roots and reaches and grows
as blossoms red.

I am glad I met you. Thank you for understanding me.
- Trahearne

ORIPHI

[pactmarshal]

[ One day, after Trahearne leaves the flower shop after a day of crafts, she'll find neatly placed on her counter a small bouquet of asters, along with an envelope addressed to Ori in neat writing. Inside it contains a friendship bracelet, sneakily made without her knowing, and a paper that reads: ]

Bathed in sunlight,
rivers of starlight,
the grove flourishes and thrives
full of colors, full of life
ever inviting
ever blossoming
ever comforting.

You are a dear friend to me. I will always cherish your companionship.
- Trahearne

OTEGINE

[pactmarshal]

[ Thanks to Syrlya's help, Otegine will find a little something for him on their kitchen table. There is a small handmade and handpainted felt flower, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, attached to a short and simple cord, just long enough to loop around something. Beside it is an envelope, addressed to Otegine in fine, neat handwriting. Inside is a paper that reads: ]

So aches the sapling's branches
as he unfurls, reaches, in search
of drive, of purpose, of his place.
So do his petals shed
in his anguish, his loss.
But with care and joy
he finds his own will
to forge onward.

Thank you for taking care of Syrlya. May the Pale Tree bless you.
- Trahearne

KAEYA

[pactmarshal]

[ Kaeya will one day find at his home a small box containing a handmade wine stopper. Accompanying it is an envelope addressed to him, his name written on the front in neat handwriting. Inside is a piece of paper that reads: ]

Azure seas under noon sun
glimmer, reflect
as diamonds.
On the breeze is the scent,
the promise of adventure,
of beginnings.

Thank you for being my friend.
- Trahearne

ADELIS

[pactmarshal]

[ One fine autumn afternoon, Adelis will find through his door a small envelope addressed to him with fine, neat handwriting. In it, he will find a handmade woven cord for his hair, neatly coiled, along with a paper that reads the following: ]

In deep thickets
sprawls the bramble;
under shadow,
hidden.
But under brilliant rays of gold
it thrives
all the same.

Thank you for being there for Syrlya where I cannot.
- Trahearne

🍁 for kaspar

[pactmarshal]

[ It's pie day!

Trahearne bursts through the front door, basket full of apples slung over his arm, Delle trotting in after him. It might be cloudy outside, but the way the sylvari beams may as well make it sunny. ]

I've picked plenty, perhaps more than we need. [ He sets down the basket on the counter. ] Are we ready?

[bluminescence]

[ Kaspar is in a good mood, noticeable only in the subtle levity in his posture as he looks up at his roommate's entrance. His own love life has not been a topic of discussion, though today is more than just a distraction from it.

He clicks his tongue, Delle's ears swiveling to him. Casually, he tosses a piece of meat her way. Gifted from where he has the remaining meat pies, leftover ingredients, and varied empty crusts set out already. Delle snaps up her reward for accompanying Trahearne.

With his sleeves rolled up, his hair pinned back, and his apron is partly decorated in flour, Kaspar has been busy while Trahearne was out. Their counter is neat chaos, with measured cups of brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and lemon set out and waiting Kaspar's whims. Yet the kitchen smells of game pies already baking in the oven and filling the lightly sweet air with more savory spices.

Kaspar peers into the basket before he nods and takes it to wash them off in the sink. ]

We should, cut them.

[pactmarshal]

[ Without another word, Trahearne begins to gather things needed to cut the apples, pulling out the cutting board, the correct knives, a bowl for the cut apples. There is synergy between them, having baked pancakes together for so long. Why can't that extend to pies?

He understands where he's meant to go, and neatly lays out all his things, before turning to Kaspar with a smile and a deep inhale. ]

Are they almost done already? They smell incredible.

[bluminescence]

[ It certainly extends to pies. Though much of Kaspar's skill comes from tweaking recipes and techniques on his own. Not that Tra hasn't noticed that by now, probably. There is little Kaspar intentionally hides from him anymore. Unintentionally, it comes naturally.

Pies, for Steinbeck, Bar, and his own whims. He nods from the sink and adds-- ]

First batch is.

[ By the time Kaspar has the apples ready, he wordlessly brings them over. With a glance towards his farm mate, he shows him how he'd like them peeled if he hasn't seen before and leaves them to him while he squats to peek in the oven. ]