Theea
Yla
to love life, to love it —
Flora’s voice drifts soft and bright as she strings the windchimes, explaining that Vai taught her how to make them. My heart swells, sharp and aching in the best way, because I’ve never had that kind of shared kinship with anyone before—and Flora, from the very beginning, has wrapped me in warmth and made me family. “My mom taught me,” I say, almost reverent, reaching out to touch the bottom of one of the shells. It sways, and the sound rises, clear and soft, like the ocean itself breathing. “She said she learned from Vai. It’s a good way to keep honoring her.”
And then Damien volunteers me—again. I blink at him, then through the open door where the ruined couch slumps like a dying whale. “Me?” I look at myself, petite and wiry, no real strength to boast of. Still… if he’s sure, then I’ll muscle up.
I glance to my uncles and offer a grateful grin. “Thanks for the paintings.” I don’t miss the way Ronin looks at them, nostalgia written plain across his face. I smile to myself—I don’t need to explain who painted them. They know. These three are all that survived the years of salt and storms breaking into this place, and it feels right they’re in his hands.
Inside, I lead Damien and Caly both, reaching out to squeeze her hand with a laugh. “Thanks for helping, and sorry it’s such a mess. I didn’t realize there’d been a whole family of raccoons squatting in here.” I point out which cupboard is which, remembering somehow from childhood, like muscle memory.
I stride toward the couch, leaning both hands on its arm and peering at it like it’s a foe we’re about to fight. “Alright, what’s the plan? Didn’t think you’d ask me to help with this one,” I admit with a smirk. “I’ll do my best to lift though.” I bend, grip, and haul—and gods, I do manage to get one side up, but the effort burns hot down my arms. I set it back down with a thud. ”Yeah! Totally got this.”
The couch proves stubborn, ruined fabric catching on the floorboards as if even in death it doesn’t want to leave. But betweenDamien ’s steady heft and Theea’s stubborn streak, the bulky thing is finally wrestled out the door. It thuds into the sand nearby the firepit with a groan of wood and springs, a final protest before it’s abandoned to be broken down and burned later.
In the kitchen, Calypso makes quick work of restoring order. The crates and sacks Theea had brought are unpacked one by one, every jar, tin, and bundle finding its place on clean shelves. She wipes down the counters with practiced efficiency, her touch warm and deliberate as she arranges the space not just practically, but with a splash of personality—small touches here and there to make it look like a home again rather than a ransacked shack.
On the porch, Flora and Spice work in easy tandem. She strings shells and seaglass high enough to chime but not to tangle, placing each set of windchimes with care. The salt air tugs through them as she ties the last knot, the soft clattering ringing like laughter across the beach. When she steps back, curls wild in the sea breeze, the porch is already alive with song.
Ronin and Remi, for their part, make quick and careful work of hanging the paintings. The stormy sea finds its rightful place in the living room, the forest hangs where Theea’s bedroom will be, and the strange skyline settles into the entryway, each frame straightened and secured. Sunlight spills across the colors, faded but defiant, breathing life back into walls long stripped bare.
Together, their efforts transform the house piece by piece, every corner touched by care, memory, and laughter—each addition turning the once-abandoned place into something undeniably whole again.
Round 6:
TLDR:
Everyone was successful! Though Theea had a Time, and definitely threatened Damien not to laugh. She tries her best.
Time to report back to Theea by the fire with your success and for some hot cider if you want it!
And then Damien volunteers me—again. I blink at him, then through the open door where the ruined couch slumps like a dying whale. “Me?” I look at myself, petite and wiry, no real strength to boast of. Still… if he’s sure, then I’ll muscle up.
I glance to my uncles and offer a grateful grin. “Thanks for the paintings.” I don’t miss the way Ronin looks at them, nostalgia written plain across his face. I smile to myself—I don’t need to explain who painted them. They know. These three are all that survived the years of salt and storms breaking into this place, and it feels right they’re in his hands.
Inside, I lead Damien and Caly both, reaching out to squeeze her hand with a laugh. “Thanks for helping, and sorry it’s such a mess. I didn’t realize there’d been a whole family of raccoons squatting in here.” I point out which cupboard is which, remembering somehow from childhood, like muscle memory.
I stride toward the couch, leaning both hands on its arm and peering at it like it’s a foe we’re about to fight. “Alright, what’s the plan? Didn’t think you’d ask me to help with this one,” I admit with a smirk. “I’ll do my best to lift though.” I bend, grip, and haul—and gods, I do manage to get one side up, but the effort burns hot down my arms. I set it back down with a thud. ”Yeah! Totally got this.”
The couch proves stubborn, ruined fabric catching on the floorboards as if even in death it doesn’t want to leave. But between
In the kitchen, Calypso makes quick work of restoring order. The crates and sacks Theea had brought are unpacked one by one, every jar, tin, and bundle finding its place on clean shelves. She wipes down the counters with practiced efficiency, her touch warm and deliberate as she arranges the space not just practically, but with a splash of personality—small touches here and there to make it look like a home again rather than a ransacked shack.
On the porch, Flora and Spice work in easy tandem. She strings shells and seaglass high enough to chime but not to tangle, placing each set of windchimes with care. The salt air tugs through them as she ties the last knot, the soft clattering ringing like laughter across the beach. When she steps back, curls wild in the sea breeze, the porch is already alive with song.
Ronin and Remi, for their part, make quick and careful work of hanging the paintings. The stormy sea finds its rightful place in the living room, the forest hangs where Theea’s bedroom will be, and the strange skyline settles into the entryway, each frame straightened and secured. Sunlight spills across the colors, faded but defiant, breathing life back into walls long stripped bare.
Together, their efforts transform the house piece by piece, every corner touched by care, memory, and laughter—each addition turning the once-abandoned place into something undeniably whole again.
Round 6:
TLDR:
Everyone was successful! Though Theea had a Time, and definitely threatened Damien not to laugh. She tries her best.
Time to report back to Theea by the fire with your success and for some hot cider if you want it!
— even when you have no stomach for it
