you are more than warm belief

Harper

Harper has not set foot in Stormbreak since before the war, and admittedly little has changed aside from the uh...elevation thing. Destruction had happened of course, but Stormbreak has always been the most technologically advanced of the cities - coincidentally why he's here now, actually.

Puddles form in many places, but in the winter it's more common to find snow and ice over rain, and even then it's often absorbed by the earth, and old cobblestone didn't provide enough surface area for them. Stormbreak's streets are finely made, much closer to the modern ones Harper had grown up with, and whenever the ice melts it collects in the plaza. Now, what melts ice? Sunlight. Conveniently exactly the combination Harper needs.

Safrin had told him he could capture the sunlight in the puddle however he desired, and as a rather artistic man (and maybe the last living art guild member?) he has stationed himself outside a cafe with his art supplies, capturing the image of the sunlight in the puddle with his paints. He intends to bottle a small vial of it dipped straight into the sunlight's reflection as well, but for now, the peace of sitting and painting after a year of work and recovering from the war is a balm Harper hadn't expected.

I am water - soft enough to offer life
tough enough to drown it away

Lena

and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm

Mittens was a handful.

If Lena had ever believed she’d wind up with a snowball with a mind of its own for a companion, after all the creatures she’d ever tended to, she probably would’ve laughed. For now, she huffed and gasped after the wild cretin as it raced down the streets of the plaza, basket swinging in her grasp as she strived to keep up with it.

She’d have to start running on the daily.

Which meant she didn’t see the snowball find its next victim until it was too late, and the companion lobbed a round of its elemental fixtures straight at the man with his art supplies, careening in equal measure until it reformed nearby. “So sorry!” Lena shouted in haste, uncertain whether the little beast landed upon its target or not, but seeing as how she’d already apologized to several today, it didn’t hurt to begin the regrets immediately.

that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm

Harper

Though the streets are far from empty, the time of day ensures the bustle is at a minimum, leaving Harper - and his puddle - to their peace. As such the sound of running is quite the disruption compared to the background noise, and Harper's mind is far too well-trained to ignore such input. Not that it helps him much, because a sentient snowball is a little hard to predict. He manages to just barely save the main portion of his art piece with a jerked forearm that rises in instinctive defense upon seeing an incoming projectile, but all it leaves him is bewildered and a little damp. And being shouted at by a vaguely familiar voice.

Lifting his head and brushing snow off his paper swiftly lest it sink in and creep towards the paints, Harper gives a genial grin. "No worries, though - why did you throw a snowball at me?" It's spoken in a bemused, but distinctly humored tone. The woman's voice nags at him, but they'd last met each other as birds, so while she is quite pretty her face is otherwise not noteworthy or recognizable.

I am water - soft enough to offer life
tough enough to drown it away

Lena

and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm

Lena couldn’t help her grimace as Mittens found its target with potent accuracy (again), pondering how she was going to find the means and measures to control the little demon. The round of apologies started again, “Oh gods, I’m so sorry,” when she noted she vaguely recognized the man’s voice, but couldn’t pinpoint how or why; perhaps once a passerby maneuvering through the Celestine.

Explanations seemed all the more ridiculous the more she said them, especially as Mittens reformed, with an extraordinarily smug look on its stony features. “Um, it wasn’t me. It’s my companion.” From there, the snowball twirled in midair, defiant and unruly, moving to hover over her shoulder, as if it was a guard (for nothing and no reason at all). Her eyes flickered, worried and hesitant, over to the artwork. “Was anything ruined?”

that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm

Harper

Hoping another assault is not incoming, Harper brushes the last remnants of water off his paper with a chuckle and a wave of his hand that absolves the woman of any guilt even before she explains that it wasn't an act of malice - but one of mischief it seems. As the snowball reforms before his eyes, Harper snorts an inelegant laugh. First Melita's pumpkin, now this? "What do you have against art, little ball?" he chortles, breezing past the strangeness of talking to an icy sphere.

"No, no, minimal damage at most, and it'll dry. Care to take a look and give any critiques though?" It seems nice to offer, and hopefully will distract the woman from her worries if he gives her something constructive to do. But maybe that's just the teacher in him. "I'm Harper, by the way." He extends a hand as he says it, simultaneously shifting his painting into better view for her to peruse.

I am water - soft enough to offer life
tough enough to drown it away

Lena

and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm

Mittens made a face. It might’ve been difficult to parse or gauge, based on its stony fixtures and not much else, but Lena could feel the remnants of mischief and menace rampaging through, and she sighed while it seemed to gear up for another round. Snagging it within her palm, she pondered tying a scarf around its neck and utilizing it as some sort of leash.

Relieved the artwork hadn’t been damaged beyond some water drops, she peered back at the depictions. “It still looks quite lovely. Were you simply inspired by the surroundings?” Her eyes flickered over the image, never quite artistic, but willing to strive in her own right. When his hand moved out though, in a semblance of introductions, she stepped back, extending her own (the one not occupied by a wayward snowball). “Lena.”

that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm

Harper

Harper has to bite his lip to - badly - hold in a laugh as the woman snatches her companion out of the air with little fanfare (or, seemingly, patience). As she leans over for a better look, Harper shuffles the painting on his lap to allow her to peruse it better. She is far from critical despite his invitation to be though he's unsure if that's because he's truly talented or she is merely too nice to do it. "Safrin tasked me with capturing sunlight in various areas. I'm collecting pieces of each sunlit substance, but I wanted to do it with art too." No harm in going above and beyond, right?

As their hands meet, Harper shakes hers gently. He can't help it, she seems the delicate sort. But his brain - trained for pattern recognition and memorization years ago - can't help but light up at the sound of her name, making him hold onto her hand too long as he half-stands in excitement. "Oh! Lena! From the skyboat!" Chortling, he drops her hand and sheepishly shifts a few crow feathers in his hair to spur her memory. "I looked a bit different last we met."

I am water - soft enough to offer life
tough enough to drown it away

Lena

and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm

While Mittens grumbled and growled in its makeshift expression, yearning to barrel out of her palms, Lena ignored it entirely for the sake of heralds and descriptions. Safrin tasking a follower to capture sunlight sounded like a phenomenal quest, and her grin turned all the brighter for it. Eyes ran rampant over the canvas again. “Imaginative and original.” She would’ve just snagged at a puddle; but perhaps creative minds differed.

Though any and all emotions and significance thereafter receded for the sheer shock value of the next semblances – recognition dawning in new parallels of light, mouth rounding in surprise. “Oh! The crow!” She had to laugh then, a light, little melodious thing drifting along stone; memories of a hapless bird trapped amidst the skyboat’s roping. “Glad to see you’re not stuck there again, and that we could meet in person.”

that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm

Harper

Hearing the equivalent of snow-growling is strange to say the least, much less the visual interpretation of frustration on an otherwise featureless...thing. Harper loves it. His cheeks warm into a pink hue at Lena's easy compliment, and darken only further at her recognition. It hadn't exactly been a flattering scenario she'd found him in after all. While Harper has little to no shame, embarrassment is a far different beast.

"Not the best first impression, though you left a great one yourself," he compliments warmly, never afraid to throw himself under the proverbial bus. "I'm just about done with my painting - I just need to collect some of that puddle water like a weirdo, but maybe you can join me for a drink?" They'd had so little time to talk the first time they'd met that it seems only fair to rectify that now. He gestures loosely to the empty chair opposite the little cafe table he'd been working at, his own previous drink a solitary, empty soldier on its surface.

I am water - soft enough to offer life
tough enough to drown it away

Lena

and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm

Unfortunately denied its release, Mittens gave an earnest pout – stones rounding into something very toddler-esque. Not feeding into the impending tantrum, Lena’s smile softened at Harper’s embarrassment, never seeking to harass or harm another, even if the joking had been light. “Thank you,” she laughed. “As long as you don’t repeat the experience, I suppose,” though, she had to admit, she knew quite a few animals who would’ve dived headlong into the same, repetitive dissonance.

Arching her brow at the necessity of collecting puddle water, she chose not to delve too deeply into it; tasks were tasks, and heralds had their reasons. Instead, she nodded, obliging and courteous. “Sure,” before looking back at the wet conditions. “Do you want any help?”

that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm

Harper

Harper can't help but grin at the outrageous face Mittens makes, though it immediately turns sheepish at Lena's gentle teasing. Probably the most gentle he has ever faced; she's a strange marshmallow type of person. He loves it. "I can't promise the crow-brain won't make me want to nest again, but I can promise not to shift into a bird when I'm already on a skyboat." Winking, he sets his painting aside to retrieve his vial, waving away her offer.

"Don't worry about it! If you want, go tell the barista what you'd like and have them add it to my order while I do this. I'll just take another of what I already ordered. Divide and conquer!" With a jaunty salute, Harper turns and strides out to the puddle, kneeling down shamelessly to dip the vial in the puddle directly where the sunlight reflects in it. Of course, once it's retrieved it looks like normal puddle water, but he corks it confidently just the same. Tucking it away lest Mittens try to destroy that piece too, Harper returns and sits down to wait for Lena to return with the drinks, adding a few final touches while the paint is still wet.

I am water - soft enough to offer life
tough enough to drown it away

Lena

and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm

“There is that, at least,” and she grinned, shaking her head idlely at the nature of crows or people shifting into rope nests. With her offer waved away, she could only adhere to the other task at hand, nodding. “Be back in a moment then,” and dragging Mittens with her, went to place their orders with the barista.

Though the Caretaker absolutely watched from the line and counter, pondering over puddles and vials with an arched brow, before finally committing to something overly warm and sweet. Returning, she handed Harper his drink of choice, and then settled in across from him, obliging the moment with a treat for Mittens, who hadn’t threatened any other customer. Letting her own beverage cool before she aimed to consume it, she pondered over other potentials and experiences. “Do you have to collect things elsewhere?”

that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm

Harper

Tucking his supplies away the moment she returns to give his focus utterly, Harper smiles brightly, grateful for the drink even if it is on his own tab. "Thank you. What did you get?" Curiously attempting to eye what's in her cup with no degree of measurable success. Though it's strange to see a snowball consume a treat, Harper is glad to be privy to the oddity of it all. It inspires him anew to perhaps find a companion of his own; life is quite hard with a young son to take care of on his own, even with Edmund's immeasurably helpful aid.

"I have to capture sunlight in a mirror, a block of ice, and a puddle of water. I've got two of the three, now I just have to get the ice!" He is planning on flying out directly from Stormbreak. While tempting to return home to Edmund and Jude, it would only make the journey longer to have to account for all the skyboat flights.

I am water - soft enough to offer life
tough enough to drown it away

Lena

and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm

“A Chai, though I did ask for extra cinnamon.” And they’d obliged in tremendous amounts, given the overt taste now lingering along her tongue after a hearty sip. Mittens seemed to enjoy its treat with loud crunching (she didn’t try to figure out how it had teeth), and then she offered up a plate of biscuits she’d snagged too, on whims and favors, placing it in the middle of the small table.

Listening to the list of tasks was an intriguing thing; capturing sunlight in a mirror, in ice, in puddles. “Ah, will you be journeying to Halo then?” Given that he’d be able to acquire the element year-round in those aspects.

that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm