Not rain, but paint

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4/19/99

You say "Cha'trez, are you still building?" into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and says "Sort of. I'm finishing up on the painting." in Tarrant's voice.

You say "Would you like assistance, perhaps?" into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and announces "Sure! I'm easy to find, biggest tree in the park, the bright colored building." in Tarrant's voice.

You say "I am sure I will be unable to miss it. I'll be out in a moment." into the communit.

[Travelspam to the park deleted.]

Hill Overlooking the Quarter

As may be implied, this hill overlooks the Java Quarter. As it's a fairly long hill, somewhat steep in places, it may be accessed by any number of stairways and ramps and paths worn in the grass.

The plateau atop the hill seems to have been preserved as some sort of public park, as trees abound, flowers are meticulously planted in neat and fussy arrangements, and cobblestone-free walkways lead to several different areas. In one, a particularly flat area has been paved for various forms of skating, and is much in use. In another, tables with checkerboard tops have been bolted to the ground--so they won't go for a walk, of course. Along the center of the plateau, surrounded by another of those fussy flower-arrangements, a long reflecting pool holds the reversed-image of the Complex. Of course, as several families of ducks have taken up residence in said pool, the image is often distorted, but isn't that the way it should be? On the opposite side of the pool from the skating area, a brightly-colored playground beckons to children of all ages, shapes, and sizes. At the end of the pool, facing the Complex, is a massive sculpture. And, as the makers of the park realize that children have needs that sometimes strike suddenly, restrooms and water fountains are available at the far end of the plateau.

To set your room doing, try 'I'm <doing>'. +view is available.

Contents:

Corian, at the top of the hill.

Obvious Exits:

Java Quarter

You walk here from the Java Quarter.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

-= Viewable Objects =-

Playground

Treehouse

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Near the playground is a particularly massive old tree. It probably pre-dates human colonization of this planet, and is unlikely to be budged for any reason. Built within its sturdy branches is a sprawling 'treehouse', ruggedly built and painted in a whirl of bright colors. A railed porch surrounds the complicated structure, easily large enough to hold a dozen playing children. The treehouse itself is a little smaller and cozier, set back into a corner of the porch. A ladder of hammered boards leads up into the tree, slightly tilted for the ease of smaller children.

From the treehouse, Tarrant waves cheerfully, calling down, covered with paint, "Heya'."

Corian's brows lift as she regards the treehouse, but she smiles brightly when she spots you. "Goodness, you two were very busy today. It looks wonderful, Tarrant."

From the treehouse, Tarrant settles several small paintbrushes aside to lie flopped down on the edge of the deck, grinning over the side. "Gardner had a power nailer. That helped a lot. Most of the time has just been me sitting up here getting paint on myself."

Corian moves over to the ladder. "It sounds like fun," she says, with a laugh. "The younglings are going to love this."

You climb the board ladder up to the treehouse.

Wildy Painted Treehouse

This is not merely a treehouse, but a labor of love by a connoisseur of such constructions. The massive porch is made of a criss-crossing lattice of such boards, close enough to be entirely safe, but enough of a space so that water does not collect, and so that the realization of height is not spoiled. The railing is built of spaced balustrades and a sturdy caprail painted in a wealth of dizzying colors and patterns. The small house itself is set back against the tree itself, and is a schizophrenic pattern of chaos. One side is painted in metallics akin to a spaceship, another in variegated paisleys. The third and forth sides are done to look like an ancient sailing ship and a jungle's greenery. The roof is yet another platform with another railing, and form it the view of the park is tremendous. Inside the house it is cozy, with low benches near the walls and large round windows. The floor is solid, and the walls painted with an ocean vista hilighted by mountains in the background. It is a small cozy space in the expansive tree.

Contents:

Tarrant

Obvious exits:

Ladder Down

Tarrant sits up as you climb up, and is, as advertised, covered in several dozen shades of paint. Little cups of said paint are scattered about as well as a host of tiny brushes. He scots some of these back so you'll have room to come up. "I hope so. This's been a lot of fun."

Corian's brows lift even more. "You really weren't kidding when you said you'd spent a lot of time painting. This is gorgeous--though we might want to warn those species with color-sensitive vision," she adds, tone lightly jesting. "It really is wonderful."

Tarrant ducks his head sheepishly at the color-sensitive comment, snagging the paint he was working with and the brush again. He sets at working on the balustrades again, making his newest spindle a series of tiger stripes in orange and white. "I'm glad you like it. I really went a bit overboard with the colors, but they're fun."

Corian moves to rest a hand lightly on your arm, looking a bit apologetic in response to the sheepish look. "Is there anything I can do?" she inquires. "I am not a bad hand with a paintbrush, though I could hardly do anything especially fancy."

Tarrant grins, gesturing lightly to the remaining unpainted spindles. "Snag some paint if you like, do whatever appeals to you. None of this is really -fancy-, it's just startling, so it looks like it. And I cheat." He tugs a paint pen from his pocket, grinning, "See, watch..." He traces the outline of the completed portion of orange and white striping in black, making it bolder. "See, it looks more...well there, and it covers up mistakes in the lines."

Corian takes up bright blue and purple paints with a smile. "It looks more fun that way," she observes, as she moves to one of the aforementioned unpainted spindles. "The young Sectassians will love it."

Tarrant settles the paint pen, as well as several others in myriad shades, on the decking. He reaches up to up the luminesence on the small light hung in the branches overhead. "I hope so..." And he sounds decidedly hopeful about that in fact. "I have had a great deal of fun building it. Or painting it rather. Gardner finished off the railing and all while I got started painting the inside. I've gotten less and less ambitious as I've gotten further out." He grins a bit sheepishly at that, finishing off the basic stripes and sitting back to let them dry a bit as he takes up a dry brush, getting just a hint of black on it.

Corian offers, as she starts to paint stylized waves around her chosen spindle, "Ximena would be thrilled to bring her brood for a test-play, if you like, I'm sure. Or she'd be just as glad to loan me a few younglings. Goodness knows she could use the help, what with the new little one on the way and all."

Tarrant starts drybrushing the black onto the spindle, adding the semblance of fur to the stripes. "That sounds like a marvelous idea to me. It was, after all, made to be enjoyed." He looks sheepish, "Or rather making it was enjoyable, anything else is icing on the cake. And neither of us fell out of the tree."

Corian nods at that, looking over with a smile. "That's excellent. I do much prefer you in the proper number of pieces, after all." She turns her attention back to the pain, brows furrowing lightly in concentration, then adds, "And it's wonderful that you enjoyed this, of course."

Tarrant finishes off the newest spindle and then moves down to the next, "It has given me a great deal of time to think, certainly." He regards the available paint, "How was your day?"

Corian says amiably, adding hints of gray froth to her waves, "Thinking can be good, yes--well, depending on the topic of thought. And my day was rather longer than I'd like, but it started out so nicely that it couldn't be that bad. And I lunched with Clara, which was pleasant. I finished a few translations, had a few meetings, that sort of thing."

Tarrant snags a couple of paint pens instead of a new paint color, beginning a series of curlicued lines and shapes all running together in a single wending line across the white primed spindle. Random stars and twists appear, as well as in wending cursive, in Milian, 'I love Corian'. Yes, he's a sick and sad soul. "Well the meetings and evil are over now, thankfully. You can just relax. Lunch with Clara is good." He pauses, tongue stuck out to the side as he leans to do the opposite side of the spindle. "Did anything get decided about your new employment?"

Corian shakes her head, with a quiet sigh. "Not yet, nothing was decided. But perhaps tomorrow--though that is unlikely. They are diplomats. They must manufacture their tape and their red dye, all in their own time." She peers over at your spindle, then muffles a quiet laugh. "Ah, cha'trez, it is good that so few people speak your language." Shaking her head, expression amused, she starts to paint the next spindle closer to you bright red.

Tarrant continues the long line, grinning, "I could put it in Standard as well, but I don't think in the language most of the time I'm afraid." He takes the second pen, adding small stars and circles in the gaps of the line. "Diplomats are goofy. Oh I know we need them, but still."

Corian waves her be-redded paintbrush at you in amused mock-threat. "Milian is quite enough, cha'trez," she says, her laughter bubbling through, despite her attempt at sternness. "And some of them are goofy, yes--those are rather entertaining, in fact." After a brief pause, she adds, "If you like, we could speak in Milian. I am not as proficient in it as I am in some, but the practice would be helpful, I am certain."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Tarrant shakes his head as he scoops up the sunshine yellow and moves to a fresh spindle. "That's okay, really. I'm probably more comfortable with Standard than you are with Milian, the latter is a bit obscure, and the former something I shall have to break down and learn to think in one day." Quickly painting the whole spindle yellow he goes rummaging for paint spattered contact paper. "Though I truly appreciate the offer."

Corian adds careful white stripes to her red spindle, a barber's pole. "Oh, you are welcome, cha'trez," she replies, with a smile. "It is a puzzle for me, still, your language, but it is still enjoyable for all that." Pausing to get a missed spot, she adds, "Or perhaps it is because of its puzzling nature that I enjoy it, or because it reminds me of you."

Tarrant starts cutting stars from the contact paper, using a pair of scissors from the deck. He grins fondly at you before turning to his cutting. "It's a mess of a language, a compilation of mixed up craziness, but it's comfortable. Like a quilt."

Corian nods to that, returning your smile--though she takes the precaution of turning away before the sweetness starts to attract bugs. You know, the dangers of being in love and outside. "I am not so comfortable with it, but, yes, the quilt analogy is a good one. There are some things that are very easy to say in your language.

Tarrant nods to that in mock seriousness as he begins peeling and applying the stars. "Yeah, like, 'Teeeeeeery! Get your hind end in this house this -instant-.'" That last is of course in Milian.

Corian dissolves into quiet laughter at that. She takes the precaution of taking her brush away from its spindle, though she ends up getting a smudge of green paint along one cheek. "Ah, is that what you were called when you were young?"

Tarrant shifts over, reaching up gently to try and wipe the paint from your face, smiling gently. "Yeah. Or rather I still am if I call home. I stopped referring to myself as such in school, when there were a number of Terry-age types."

Corian blinks at the paint-wiping gesture, murmuring, "Did I get some on me?" She regards you for a moment, then, expression thoughtful. "Terry," she murmurs, rolling the name over on her tongue. "Hmm. It seems like almost too ordinary a name for you, though I suppose it suits."

Tarrant nods, showing his green smeared fingers before he wipes them on his clothes. Well, now we see how he got this colorful. Taking up a cup of blue paint he completely paints over his yellow spindle and the contact paper stars. "It was better than 'Rant' which I got a lot as well, at least in the military."

Corian nods her approval of the contact paper technique, then chuckles quietly. "Goodness, yes, Terry is much better. As is Wilkes, for that matter. See, that name suits you, I think." She pushes her hair out of her eyes, careful to keep from getting more paint there.

"Yeah, well the military's odd." Careful of the edges, Tarrant peels back the stars as soon as he has the paint on evenly, so they paint does not have a chance to dry and hence peel badly. "I went by Wilkes once," he says quietly, eyes on his work so that he does not smudge. "The same place I lived in a treehouse for a while. The local language was not so hot on T's."

Corian moves on to the next spindle, with only one more blank one between it and your most recent one. "Was it difficult for you?" she inquires. "Growing accustomed to a different name? I did that once, on a planet where they could not pronounce my name, but it was not quite so extreme a change."

"Nah, not really. I've been by so many names in my time, I'm as used to answering to one thing as the next. Besides, it is my name, just not the one most folks use." Tarrant finishes peeling off the stars, grinning absently at the results. "Besides, it's one I find rather ironic. Hence the picture of Ford's Theater."

Corian chuckles very quietly. "It is rather ironic, yes," she murmurs, carefully painting multicolor spiralling stripes on her final spindle. "Ah... the stars, those turned out quite well. Xalin will like them."

"If you simply wait around long enough, history will repeat itself." Tarrant shifts down to the final spindle, rummaging back for a paper plate with a host of colors and several small brushes. Slowly he sets about roughing in a sketch. "I hope so. Kids need to be kids. Not to have to be tiny adults because they live in the Complex."

Corian shakes her head at that. "I do not think Xalin is a tiny adult." She shakes her head, looking a bit amused. "He finally tracked me down today. He was most put-out that he hadn't seen me in so long, poor baby."

Tarrant smiles at you, before turning back to his spindle, "Aww, poor kid. Still, he did find you at last."

Corian nods to that, her amused smile holding a trace of guilt. "He did, yes, and set up residence in my lap until his mother came to take him home. It certainly made work interesting--but he was good company, at least."

Tarrant switches between the host of brushes, painting in a branching willow, bringing the tiny shisping limbs up onto the caprail even. "Still, I'm sure you made his day." He grins, "It'd make -my- day to spend that long in your lap."

Corian ducks her head over her stripe-painting, perhaps to hide that blush. "Mm. When one is three years old, one fits somewhat better in a lap."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Tarrant laughs softly, adding in more layers of green and brown and blues and whites, a sky behind the tree. "I think that's something of an understatement love. I think I have outgrown my lap days, although to hear my mother, I have not."

Corian finishes off her last stripe and tucks away the brushes that she used. "Well, I believe there are those mothers who will always believe that. My father is the same way." She moves closer to peer at your work. "That's lovely, cha'trez."

"Hey, I'm not going to object. Although I'm not gonna sit in her lap, despite the comments I'll always be her child." Tarrant now begins adding details. "Thanks, once again nothing really fancy, but I like painting things."

Corian laughs quietly at the lap-comment. She leans against one arm, watching you paint. "It is quite a lot better than I could ever manage," she observes, a smile crossing her face. Looking around the treehouse, she adds, "The children really are going to -love- this--and they will hardly be the only ones."

Adding a last detail to the slender willow, Tarrant shifts back to regard his work. "Gardner and I loved building it. It is hoped that others will get as much enjoyment from it as we did."

Corian rests a hand lightly against your shoulder, her cheek tucked against your arm. "I am sure that others will. I know that I do, for sure. And I am glad that the two of you enjoyed yourselves. I certainly did not think you would be finished so soon."

Tarrant shifts a bit closer to provide a better support, although he comments, "You're going to end up colorful leaning against me." He nods, "We didn't have much choice really. It was either get it done or have it drag out."

Corian murmurs something about you being a colorful person, with a quiet laugh. She doesn't move away, though. "That makes sense, of course, especially with Gardner's schedule."

Tarrant shifts the arm around you, hoping he's mostly dry. "Yeah, it's a bit more constrained, and he wants to save his hours off for kid emergencies and such. I can understand that, I'm just grateful he took the day as it is."

Corian nods to that, nestling a bit closer to you. "He likely enjoyed himself very much, though--taking time for oneself, after all, is a good thing to do." With a glance about the treehouse, she inquires, "Do you have much more to do?"

Tarrant shakes his head, "Just to scoop this stuff up, toss the paper plates and cups and throw the brushes in the bucket so I can get them cleaned up at home later. It's done."

Corian smiles up at you. "That's not much at all," she says. "This is really amazing, that you finished it all in... what, under twelve hours? I think that should set a record somewhere."

Tarrant shakes his head slightly, chuckling, "Not really. The railings and floor sections were pre-fab, as well as the wall siding and roof. We just put it all together and painted."

Corian shakes her head. "Still, that in itself was rather a lot for just the two of you." She shifts away from you with a quiet sigh. "I'll help clean up, if you like?"

Tarrant shifts back from the railing a bit, going for a trash bag and a bucket. "If you don't mind? It's not much. Everything's junk except the brushes, which I'd rather save."

Corian nods to that, gathering up paper plates and such. She gets a few more streaks of paint on her hands, of course, but that's just festive. "Of course, cha'trez. It is very little to do, and I would be glad to help."

Tarrant scoops up several pie tins and paper plates and plastic cups, all with paint, tucking them into the bag. The bucket, which smells faintly of orange, gets the brushes. "Still, it's late. And you've had a long day."

"But I'm with you," Corian replies, flickering a warm smile to you as she disposes of her own refuse. "I would rather stay awake to be with you. Besides, if I help, that means that the work will be completed more quickly."

Tarrant ties off the bag, checking the ground below before tossing it down. Straightening he stands back to regard the finished treehouse, bucket in hand. "Well...it's festive certainly."

Corian nods as she moves to your side. "It's perfect," she says, with a smile. "I almost think that I am on Sectas--except that I never was able to venture into one of their treehouses, only to see them from the ground."

Tarrant grins at that particular bit of praise before glancing at his watch, "Shall we head home perhaps? The hour is awfully late..."

Corian, with another nod, says, "It is, yes--and I need to get in to work in the morning, tomorrow, rather than the afternoon. So we should probably head back, yes."

Tarrant steps back down to the ladder, bucket in hand, clambering down one handed. As he reaches the ground he steps to one side, but remaining close. "It's been a day."

Tarrant climbs down the ladder to the ground.

Tarrant has left.

From the ground, Tarrant climbs down the board ladder from the treehouse.

From the ground, Tarrant has arrived.

You climb down the board ladder to the ground.

Hill Overlooking the Quarter

As may be implied, this hill overlooks the Java Quarter. As it's a fairly long hill, somewhat steep in places, it may be accessed by any number of stairways and ramps and paths worn in the grass.

To set your room doing, try 'I'm <doing>'. +view is available.

Contents:

Corian, at the top of the hill.

Tarrant, at the top of the hill.

Obvious Exits:

Java Quarter

You walk here from the Wildy Painted Treehouse.

Corian nods as she makes her way lightly down the ladder. "It certainly has," she replies, and her smile is tired, but fond.

Tarrant snags the bag, depositing in a dumpster. With the bucket in one hand he offers you his other. "Sleep, you most assuredly need sleep."

Corian takes your hand, falling into step with you. "Yes, I do, but you do as well, after spending all day working on the treehouse."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Tarrant heads down the Complex-ward path, "I have to admit I wouldn't mind a shower and a long stint in bed."

[Travelspam to stais deleted.]

Tarrant pauses halfway up the first flight of stairs, regarding you questioningly, suddenly realzing he isn't sure where he's headed.

Corian had been trailing along next to you, rather lemming-like. At your pause, she blinks, returning your questioning look with a brief smile. "I am likely going right to bed," she says slowly. "If you would like to come up as well..." Her voice trails off, a bit hesitant.

Tarrant looks rather decidedly saddned, but gestures with a splattered arm. "As much as I'd love to, I don't guess I'd best. I'd make a mess."

Corian drops her gaze, really trying not to look like a puppy whose frisbee has been swiped. "I will see you tomorrow, then?" she inquires, looking up with a smile.

"I'd hate to make you stay up while I got cleaned up...You need the sleep." Tarrant would far rather stay with you however it seems. "Yeah," he agrees sadly.

Corian inquires, with a wistful smile, "It will not take you -too- long to clean up, would it?" She peers at the hand that you haven't stolen. It's festively decorated. "After all, I will have to do the same, albeit to a lesser extent."

Tarrant shakes his head, "Not too long. Most of this is just on my clothes, which I can simply change. The rest'll scrub off in jig time. I could go de-colorfy myself and then meet you at your home?"

Corian brightens at that. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, cha'trez. I will await you there."

Tarrant nods to that, offering a brief bow. "I'll see you then." And with that he ducks through the secind floor door.

Tarrant walks towards the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.

Tarrant has left.
[Travelspam home deleted.]

Someone's knocking on the door. Maybe it's Tarrant. (If you like, you can 'reply <words>'.)

Corian calls, "Come in."

Tarrant enters from the Elevator Lounge.

Tarrant has arrived.

Corian is curled up on the couch, very nearly asleep. She offers you a drowsy smile. "You are much less colorful," she murmurs.

Tarrant pads in, literally. He's left his boots behind, and is barefoot. He grins, nodding as he steps over to offer you a hand up. "A hot shower'll cure that. Although I had to spray my boots with cleaner and leave them to sit a while. My love, you need some sleep though."

Corian gets slowly to her feet, taking your hand. "I need some sleep," she echoes. "And so do you. Sleep would be very good, let's go find the kind bed, yes?"

"Shouldn't be too hard. Unless it's gone off to hide somewhere." Tarrant smiles rather sleepily, nodding, although he leaves it to you to lead the way, still shy of the situation.

Corian half-chants, "I can't remember where I put the bed." She doesn't continue, though--that would involve saying the word 'ain't', which Corian is incapable of doing. She does, in fact, lead the way. "Ah, there it is. It has not yet sprouted legs, which is very lucky for us."

"I ain't moved it since seventy-one." Tarrant is entirely capable of saying ain't. It's probably a Milian thing that ain't is good. "No, see cause if it had I really would think the Baba Yaga jokes would run out quickly."

Corian finally releases your hand to climb under the covers, nodding her agreement to that with a quiet chuckle. "They would," she murmurs, all but asleep. "Should've known you'd heard the band from the Fruvous. They're excellent."

Tarrant climbs into the bed as well, perhaps a bit closer than he was the night before. "Just once," he explains. "Hard song to forget. I liked the bit about spending the whole night floating around. Feel like that now, everything's so wonderful it floats."

Corian curls up facing you once more, still in the same place as last night. Eyes sinking closed, she murmurs, "I think that song is part of the recording that Riley gave me. We can listen to it--but not now, perhaps tomorrow. After we have slept." She forces her eyes open long enough to smile at you. "Dream sweetly, cha'trez. This is indeed wonderful."

"Tommorrow, after work and meetings, and other such evil. Being together..." Tarrant's taken to rambling a bit, obviously well beyond tired himself. "So wonderful indeed, so perfectly wonderful. May your dreams find you, and tread but lightly in their nightlong dance."

Corian's eyes sink closed, but her smile remains. "Tomorrow," she murmurs softly. "Yes, tomorrow." And with that, apparently, she is asleep. Maybe it's somehow conditioned in her to fall asleep quickly when she's in bed.

Well, that's what beds are for after all. Tarrant is asleep shortly thereafter, with one hand half reached across the intervening bedspace, entirely unconsciously, reaching towards you.

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