driftfleet | (no subject)

Who: Fingon, OPEN aside from certain prompts.
Broadcast: Fleetwide for one prompt, N/A for the rest.
Action: Huntress and Iskaliut.
When: Throughout this week.

Open: Huntress' Kitchen, accidental broadcast available.
For a couple weeks Fingon had a strange feeling that something was different, but as he hadn't figured out what it was, he'd done his best to ignore it and go about his business, cooking, sewing, visiting with family and new friends. It started with a wish that he had fresh water to work with in his cooking, and suddenly he stared down at his hands, filling with cold water. He jumped back with a gasp and numbly watched the water splash to the floor as he kept backing away, memories of harsh ice threatening to drag him down.

{ooc: Anyone who comes to the kitchen for this will find Fingon huddled in a corner, shivering. :3}

Open: Fingon's room.
Even when Fingon wasn't out and about, he tended to keep the door of his room open for visitors to just peek their head in and say hello. The only times he would close it were when he planned to sing or play the stringed instrument his cousin Maglor had helped him get, to avoid disturbing anyone trying to rest.

Closed: Finwë.
Fingon's grandfather would always be a source of comfort, warmth, and love, and he was extremely grateful to have him near. He often came by just to visit, generally bringing some new project with him to work and show for approval and any suggestions for adjustments. He knocked on his grandfather's door, rocking back and forth on his heels as he hummed a soft little tune. "Grandfather? It's Findekáno, may I enter?"

He liked just being another grandson. Just being himself.

Open: Iskaliut: Various locations.
When he wasn't on his assigned ship, Fingon liked exploring the Iskaliut. The garden was a breath of fresher air, easier to rest in than the planet that threatened to keep all Elves there. He also loved sampling the various food stuffs on offer, nibbling on the sweets in particular and trading recipes with anyone willing.

But also the Elf liked finding a seat by a viewport and just looking out at the stars, content to enjoy the quiet before he'd return to his current home.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Finwe had been meditating, letting his mind rest, when he heard his grandson at the door. He smiled as he heard the little tune, it made him happy that Fingon was so cheerful still.

"Come in, Fingon," he called out as he opened his eyes, looking towards the door.

Fingon bounced at the welcome and immediately came in, softly closing the door behind him before going to give his grandfather a hug. Today was just a day to visit and talk. Perhaps meditate together, if he could get away with it.

"Do you well?" He peeked up at Finwë hopefully.

"I'm fine," he assured him as he caught up Fingon in his arms, giving his grandson an affectionate kiss on his head.

"And what about you? Have you been well? Still looking after your cousins?" He knew the answer already, though, Fingon was almost entirely selfless.

A soft hum and sigh of contentment and Fingon snuggled into his grandfather's arms. "I'm glad." Finwë deserved rest, just as the rest of them did.

"Always, as much as I can!" Especially Maedhros and Maglor. "Have you seen Maitimo's new hand?"

"Yes, I have! He seems to be doing well and adjusting," he said affectionately, wrapping an arm around his grandson to let Fingon snuggle close. "Have you been cooking today?"

Like calls to like, or so the saying goes, and Mikleo's always been called by his element. It doesn't work so well on the ships most of the time, due to the unnatural aspect of the water on board - it flows and is purified through technology, not the life cycle of the environment around it - but that only serves to make other sources of water stand out. That's why, while he passes by the kitchen, he gets a feel for it- the chilly, fresh element brought forth from nothing, the moisture in the air where none existed a moment ago. He's drawn to it immediately, curious.

He doesn't yet know how strong the elf's resonance may be, so he remains near the entrance, calling out cautiously, "Are you all right?"

Fingon smiled, clearly happy. "I'm happy for him, and glad that people helped him." Grandpa snuggles were the best.

"I was. Have you eaten today?"

"I haven't. Do you want to get some food with me?" he asked, he would take any chance to spend some time with his precious grandson while he could.

"Are there any of those little meat cakes you made the other day left?"

Fingon heard an unfamiliar voice and turned slowly towards it, arms firmly wrapped around him. There was a slippery quality to the stranger's voice, but he didn't feel hostility.

"Y...Yes." A blink, and he shook his head, forcing himself to breathe deep and tried to settle. He remained pale, but he tried to smile. He sensed more than saw the other. "I was not expecting... I do not even know what happened!"

Fingon stepped back, reaching for his grandfather's hand to tug him along. "Of course! There should be a few cakes left, I like how they turned out." And they were easy to take along and nibble on later.

"How have the cookies I brought you for your sessions been received?" He hoped he helped Finwë with his duties even a little.

Finwe laughed as he let Fingon lead him along. "I have always been in awe by what you can do in the kitchen, Fingon," he said with admiration.

"Everyone who tries your cookies loves them, of course."

Fingon grinned, happily leading the way to the kitchen. He flushed with delight. "I like experimenting! It's fun." And made people happy, which was very important to him.

"I'm glad!" Cookies deserved to be enjoyed.

"What else have you made lately?" he asked as they entered the kitchen. He took a deep breath, smiling contently. He had many fond memories sitting in the kitchen with his family, Indis passing out honey cakes to the children while Arafinwe and Nolofinwe pretended they weren't sneaking some as well.

Mikleo tilted his head, trying to meet the elf's gaze; a lack of eye contact generally meant limited resonance, that he was seen but not heard. Because of that, he kept his distance for the moment, not approaching to avoid startling the crewmate further.

"Have you never summoned water before?" Best to focus on the issue for now, ponder the natural resonance of elves later. His curiosity about the water hadn't faded in the slightest.

Rey was drawn to the garden too; she had a soft spot for green places after spending so many years in barren desert. She carried a sort of practice lightsaber and her staff, of course, finding an open place where she could practice amongst the foliage. First, she used the staff, wielding it as if it was merely an extension of her arm. Then she switched to the practice saber, moving it in much the same way as her staff - trying out defensive positions as well as offensive positions.

Such was her focus that she did not see Fingon. She turned on her heel and seamlessly switched between weapons, calling her staff to her through the Force. Her breathing was heavy, but her expression was...triumphant. Satisfied.

Maglor has been looking for a place where he can play no matter the hour, and the Iskaluit has many rooms.

Fingon will hear him, before he sees him.

"In western lands beneath the Sun
the flowers may rise in Spring,
the trees may bud, the waters run,
the merry finches sing.
Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night
and swaying beeches bear
the Elven-stars as jewels white
amid their branching hair
Though here at journey's end I lie
in darkness buried deep,
beyond all towers strong and high,
beyond all mountains steep,
above all shadows rides the Sun
and Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
nor bid the Stars farewell."

It hadn't taken Kaidan long, once he'd been assigned to a ship, to get to exploring whatever other parts of it he could reach. For now, that mostly meant the Iskaulit. On first impression, he isn't sure he likes it. The strangely organic flow to the halls reminded him just a little too much of a Reaper, and the presence of gardens and shops didn't quite stop him from checking the corners of his vision, every so often, for movements.

The Reapers, however, did not have windows. It's that one touch that eases his slight tension. He spots Fingon silhouetted against one such sea of black and approaches, joining the elf in gazing out at it all.

"It's really something, isn't it? The view. I never quite get tired of looking at it," he said, quietly solemn.

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kitchen;

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Iskaliut

Music jam session time? Iskaluit

Iskaulit