#debukefarmhold

"Clem, come look... if I just... we can TRIPLE the power..."

Clem is gaping at her as "Tripple the power? We just need it to work..."

Oh Clem, no vision! no understanding of the possibilities!

A snort. "Why settle for it just barely working?"

"You gotta aim higher!"

Glamour breaks loose in spurts, not the streams like off mountain sides, nor arctic cold breezes of it now... this glamour spurts like oil, sparks like wires...the smell of ozone not from some storm of nature, but the tempest of mechanical GENIUS!

"You do you, Mara..." Clem says "But I think you're about to..."

"About to fix this? Hells yeah..." She swears as she's shocked again, switching another wire... but then a kick and VROOM. "HA!"

"Look at that, like some roaring tiger instead of a broken-down tabby..."

And the Dream dance goes wild... as some materials seem to form out of thin air at her will, and some of the tools fly to her hands...

Clem calls back to the rest of the farm "Everyone else get back... tthis ain't typical!"

Mara finds herself working - tools where and when she needs them, a set of welder's dark goggles forming when she goes to.. when did she get that torch? Who knows, what matters is the WORK.

This isn't just a tractor, it's a beast - it could race Dale Earnhardt and WIN! She knows it!

Clem uses her own cantrips to try to raise a barrier to shield the farm from fall out, only to find her attempt to create steel hard corn stalks... has instead come up as chimerical steel rods....

She jacks up the tires... realigns the pistons... things that should be impossible...

Despite Clem's warnings, others will and do come out to at least see. This isn't right? Where's the dreams of nordic mountains and woods? Of ancient bridges and walls to stand vigil on? Where is the oneness with the earth?

Where her hands touch, chrom and hot-rod-red spread... no sad rust-marred blue now...

Clem looks irritated and shaikes the artificial hump in her voile loose. "Mara, I don't think you're a troll honey!" As if bracing one for a shock. SHe might get tuned out though. SHe's not nearly as interesting as what's shaping before Mara's hands and eyes.

"You don't.. what? One second, let me finish..."

The storm of steam and metal and paint and sparks ripples in waves. She thinks she hears her mom and dad call out. But 'five minutes' is a refrain she's used to giving ..she's a teenager.

Yes... Old Nutty is no more... instead, is a souped-up tractor in flashy colors with far too many exhaust pipes and an exposed engine.

Mara steps back, grinning... her teeth sharp and pointed, not like a wolf.. more like a shark...

And she has never felt more alive in her LIFE!

The Dream dance done, the chrystias having spewed all sorts of (For the farm) very odd chimera around... the center please is the new tractor

"My baby's a nocker???" Her mother calls out. This time, Mara hears it

"Look at that! Isn't she... what, ma?" Mara turns, looking. Her hair has stayed on end, shifted from blonde to pure white. Red spirals embellish her white-and-pink face. She pulls the dark goggles up to sit on her forehead.

Her mother is a true troll, blue and big and ..well, you know, Trollish. Currently she's wearing work boots, overalls, and a very very stunned expression throwing down her gardening gloves and racing towards Mara. Her father is kinian, but his blood is strong, and signs of his trollness are clear. "Mara, that is you right?" He asks

Clem says "It's her."

"Of furkin' course it's me. Who else would it be? Dad, look! I made it better!"

"Ohhhh..." She pauses, and uses her sleeve to buff at an imperceptible smudge.

"Yes, Mara you did but... you might want to take a look at yourself and less at the tractor." He says/ Mara can barely look at her new creation before her mom scoops her up protectively "Oh Mara, I never.. oh my. I mean.. do you feel okay?"

Troll moms are SO protective

"Maaaaa, I'm fine! My headache's gone..."

Hair check, eye check, spun around, good lord is mom trying to check her teeth?

"Ma! Relax! C'mon, look at Nutty! I bet she'll hit a hundred, easy!"

Clem says "Caroline, your daughter is fine, she's just... a nocker"

Mara's jeans and plaids have transformed themselves, too - a polyglot of prints, bright colors, brass buttons, far too many pockets, and a sturdy leather apron to go with her welding goggles...

"You know I prayed for her to pop, " Her dad says, "But this I do not understand."

The second repeat gives her pause. "A nocker?"

Caroline sets her daughter down a bit embarrassed, "Sorry, hon it's just you're... yes, a nocker."

She looks at her hands - not blue, and not her own, either - gnarled, dextrous, clever things...

"...hunh. How bout that."

"wonder which side of the family it's from?" another DeBuke, second cousin, says to another.

Meanwhile, a childling holds up some boots with springs "Can I have these? "

A clock work cat stretches tick tick tick

"Oh.. huh... furkin'..."

"Every dream dance has some fall out," Clem says "Mind you, this is..atypical for us"

"No dreck! I'm not a troll!"

"Well, it's not from MY side of the family" Her mother says as some of the DeBukes who were not married into the clan look her way then she adds "I don't think"

"But... ma, hey, I'm kithain like you!" She grins.