House Of Parliament [OPEN]

Sorrel We’ve been dreaming but who can deny, It’s the best way of living, Between the truth and the lie. It had been nearly two weeks since finding herself in this strange, new world, but Sorrel was finally beginning to think that maybe she could one day feel at home. After being led to civilisation (barely) with Adam’s help (again, barely), she’d managed to find shelter in what looked like it had once been a pleasant little cottage. Dilapidated but not beyond repair, and the presence of a house nearby covered in flowery murals had seemed like an auspicious sign. She’d crept in and been pleasantly surprised to find it retained a small, dusty bed and apparently functional fireplace; slept like the dead, and felt radiantly alive by morning. Much as she preferred to avoid it, she knew when tidying and a bit of manual labour needed to be done. So she...did her best. Cleared what dirt and rubble she could, tried to make it look merely ‘lived-in’ rather than ‘decrepit’. And after a few days of work it was livable. A space in which one could breathe without succumbing to a hacking, coughing fit. Sorrel even found a few twisty, curling flowers growing through cracks in what had presumably been a kitchen, and cut them, placed them in a small pot for colour. Petals pretty and delicate, and most certainly likely to be useful for her studies of this world’s flora. Inspection revealed lots of these little things, as well as what were presumably weeds, threading themselves throughout and around the cottage. They peppered the stone front of the building, rose in a spray towards the window. Sorrel missed flowers. Her flowers. Flowers she knew, could use and bend to her needs. Here, in this strange place, flowers were a stranger. A strange something to be puzzled out. So when she woke, slid like a root into the crack of morning, she set to work. She made her way outside, where the early light was right for inspection, and pressed her face close to the petals across the stone. After a time, she drew a stick of charcoal from her skirts pocket, and began sketching shakily in the pressed parchment of her herb book. The book and her pouch of vials were all that had followed her through to Caido, and she wanted to set about refilling them as soon as possible. Add new knowledge to what was no longer relevant here. So, she drew the pretty flowers that kept creeping into the cracks of her new home. Considered the possibilities of their uses based on what similarity they bore - if any - to the flowers of her old world. Maybe good for pain in the joints, she mused, drawing one twisting stem, then another. Or maybe merely purgative. Anything that doesn't have another medical use usually is. The street around her faded into nothing as she worked and in the silence, and despite the absence of anyone, the feeling she was home seemed to only grow. Absorbed in her task, and comfortably blind to the world around her, Sorrel drew.