thechanged | Looks like we've got ourselves a Good Samaritan--whatever that is

As it turned out, he didn't have any more idea what to do with himself on the fourth day since that strange dream-memory than he had had on the first. He wanted to know more about himself, about that woman in his dream...but most of all, what was meant by that promise. But none of those he'd spoken to yet recognized the word 'hero' from their own dreams--even the silver-haired Fairest that had been with him upon awakening, whose dream had also involved protection as a theme, had not heard of such a concept.

Attempting to ask every single inhabitant of the house what their dream had been about seemed like an impossible task, however, and short of that he was a bit at a loss of how to chase after his answers. But he wouldn't just sit around and do nothing, either, so he found himself just...wandering from area to area. One thing he'd found over the course of his first days aware that he could remember was that there was a certain...fulfillment, in helping others, easing the sharpest edges of the uncertainty that came with trying to sort through the murky haze that was his own mind. It was simple and natural, something that made sense when very little else did: helping people was important...and it made him happy.

Until he could figure out his dream, find just who he was...he could content himself with this much, perhaps.

[ooc: Feel free to run into him anywhere! He's just sort of wandering aimlessly, attempting to be helpful, though he's certainly not averse to casual chit-chat. :'D Only thing of note is that the palm of his left hand is burned, shoddily wrapped in a torn strip of a sheet from the master bedroom.]

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The hearth is sitting on the steps towards the very bottom of the Grand Hall. It's dim down there, hidden away from the glorious stained glass of the upper levels, and lit by the light of dozens of candles instead. Of course, the ones surrounding the hearth are burning so much brighter than the ones up above - it's like he's asking them to be brighter, from one fire to another, and the flames that surround him are simply responding to their kindred.

He has a length of thick, red cloth pulled across his lap, which he is cutting at with a small knife he has in his hand. He seems frustrated and a bit uncertain about what he's doing - he seems to be trying to cut holes into the fabric along the edges, but it's difficult to do without causing more damage than is needed.

At some point in his wandering, he finds his way to the bottom of the Grand Hall. The brightened candles aren't really of interest, and he'd likely have moved on if not for a familiar face catching his eye.

"Heeeey, it's you!"

He raises his uninjured hand in a wave, quickly making his way over and grinning brightly at the hearth boy.

"You got out, that's great."

He looks sort of startled to have an encounter with this guy again, as if the previous one had been restricted to a very specific circumstance in his mind. He pulls the blanket he's trying to cut up against his chest, quickly trying to cover himself with it. Not that the other man hadn't seen it all before, but...well, this is different.

"I was let out," he clarifies, not sounding nearly as enthusiastic about it as the tiger is.

The tiger doesn't actually find that odd, not visibly reacting to the hearth trying to cover up or even getting any closer. Finding something to cover himself with in this form has been nagging at the back of his mind, too, but he's been trying to ignore the feeling of discomfort from not having clothes in favor of convenience--it'd just restrict his range of motion, wouldn't it?

He settles down on the steps a few feet from the hearth, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Naa, that's even better, right? Guess Mason's in a better mood now, or something."

He has mixed feeling about this guy apparently deciding that he's going to stick around. He's about as pointedly non offensive as a person can be, in his experience, but something about that almost makes talking to him worse.

"He didn't say why," he says after a moment. He brings the knife down to the cloth again, jabbing at it awkwardly. "I've been trying to stay out of sight, since then."

With limited success, obviously.

"Maybe he's too proud to admit he overreacted, or something."

Not that he knows why the hearth boy was imprisoned inside his own fireplace, but after all, Mason had shoved that dragon guy in a closet just for telling him to prove he was really in charge--which, admittedly, likely wasn't a good idea while you were inside the grumpy living house, but still not anything terrible.

He peers over at the blanket, tilting his head in curiosity as the boy stabs it over and over.

"Hey, what're you doing with that thing?"

"...I don't think it was overreacting," he says, after a few moments, with no explanation as to why. He does seem fairly somber about it, and moves into his next comment without much hesitation.

"I'm...trying to stitch the sides closed." He's hesitating over whether it's worth getting into it, but tiger man doesn't seem like he's leaving. "But there's no thread thin enough for the needles I have. So I need holes large enough for this."

He lifts a length of what seems like some kind of curtain chord, complete with tassels.

There's a vague shrug on his end. It doesn't really matter why Mason let him out as long as he is, and he's okay, and he's not really as invested in arguing that point as when he'd insisted no one deserved to die.

When the hearth boy explains, he looks between the cord and the fabric, and offers a grin.

"I think I've got a more convenient way to do it." He doesn't move from his spot, but does raise up a clawed hand, the light of the candle reflecting off the pointy nails.

Oh. Well...that does seem like a much better option than putting a straight blade through it. He seems very hesitant to actually hand over the fabric, though.

But if he could just get on with wearing this like he wants to...

He holds it out, tentatively. And then he uses his own claw to point at the places he wants punctured, already marked with something dark on the fabric.

"These places. Be careful with it."

He's content to wait for the hearth's decision, and he is in fact careful with the fabric as he takes it in hand. He lengthens his nails just slightly before puncturing the fabric four at a time. It comes out pretty well, too, though the last couple holes are just a bit uneven from accidentally applying a little too much pressure.

"That work?"

He takes it back, and looks it over carefully, seemingly sizing up the holes to see if the rope will go through. After a moment he nods, and stands up, draping the fabric over his shoulders the way he's been intending to wear it. It looks like a cross between a cape and a toga.

"I think so," he says, and starts trying to pull the chord through it like an oversized thread. He's quiet for a while, as he works. It takes him a bit to even acknowledge the tiger again.

"Thank you," he says, quietly.

Looks like we've got ourselves a Good Samaritan--whatever that is | Day 4 [ Open ]

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