karma's a relaxing thought, aren't you envious that for you it's not?
Team Pool (Flora, Sohalia, Mateo)
Flora twirls a curl around her finger, eyeing the yawning emptiness of the pool. "Sunjata-as-sprinkler would be good, but boujie is better," she decides, wiggling her fingers with a grin. "Let me handle the water, you two handle the vibes." She shoos Soh and Mateo toward the little bar tucked beside the patio, where bottles wait to be arranged and bright glassware gleams in the sunlight. "Mixers, umbrellas, inflatable flamingo army—make it happen. I want this place to look like a Torchline paradise by the time I’m done channeling."
Turning back to the pool, she exhales slowly and reaches for Frey’s tether, a little thrill sparking at the decadence of it. Asking a herald to fill a pool from the healing fountain? Over the top. Deliciously so. She lifts her arms in a theatrical arc, bracelets catching the light as she channels, asking the nature Frey to draw those waters here.
Team Perimeter (Niki, Remi, Sunjata, Ronin)
At first, things look easy: crates lifted, checked, and ferried across the threshold. Then they hit that one. It’s enormous—half again as wide as the doorframe, bulky and unwieldy no matter which way it’s tilted. It’s going to take all three demigods together to wrangle it inside without either smashing the crate, the door, or both.
Team Supplies (Danta, Asta)
The crate they drag into the hallway is heavier than it should be for just knobs, and the moment the lid creaks open, the problem makes itself known. Inside isn’t a neat assortment of thrifted antiques—it’s a jumble of mismatched doorknobs, all tarnished metal and cracked porcelain, clattering against each other like teeth.
And they’re loud.
The knobs mutter the second the crate is opened, voices low and mean, a chorus of insults that rise and fall in unison. “Clumsy hands.” “Pathetic grip.” “Ugly face.” “You’ll never get us straight.” The whispers needle into the air, every knob seeming to take its turn at a different insult.
So now the choice is theirs—try to install these cursed knobs and decide which rooms deserve to mutter every time someone opens the door, or stash them somewhere else entirely? If the knobs aren't used, new ones will have to be sourced!
Flora twirls a curl around her finger, eyeing the yawning emptiness of the pool. "Sunjata-as-sprinkler would be good, but boujie is better," she decides, wiggling her fingers with a grin. "Let me handle the water, you two handle the vibes." She shoos Soh and Mateo toward the little bar tucked beside the patio, where bottles wait to be arranged and bright glassware gleams in the sunlight. "Mixers, umbrellas, inflatable flamingo army—make it happen. I want this place to look like a Torchline paradise by the time I’m done channeling."
Turning back to the pool, she exhales slowly and reaches for Frey’s tether, a little thrill sparking at the decadence of it. Asking a herald to fill a pool from the healing fountain? Over the top. Deliciously so. She lifts her arms in a theatrical arc, bracelets catching the light as she channels, asking the nature Frey to draw those waters here.
Team Perimeter (Niki, Remi, Sunjata, Ronin)
At first, things look easy: crates lifted, checked, and ferried across the threshold. Then they hit that one. It’s enormous—half again as wide as the doorframe, bulky and unwieldy no matter which way it’s tilted. It’s going to take all three demigods together to wrangle it inside without either smashing the crate, the door, or both.
Team Supplies (Danta, Asta)
The crate they drag into the hallway is heavier than it should be for just knobs, and the moment the lid creaks open, the problem makes itself known. Inside isn’t a neat assortment of thrifted antiques—it’s a jumble of mismatched doorknobs, all tarnished metal and cracked porcelain, clattering against each other like teeth.
And they’re loud.
The knobs mutter the second the crate is opened, voices low and mean, a chorus of insults that rise and fall in unison. “Clumsy hands.” “Pathetic grip.” “Ugly face.” “You’ll never get us straight.” The whispers needle into the air, every knob seeming to take its turn at a different insult.
So now the choice is theirs—try to install these cursed knobs and decide which rooms deserve to mutter every time someone opens the door, or stash them somewhere else entirely? If the knobs aren't used, new ones will have to be sourced!
