#odyssey

“I'm just learning. Got passed over, fair nuff, but gotta have a trade none the less.”

Thistle also notices… nothing, she's too busy looking at shelves of additives. There's some volcanic looking rock here that may work… not too far off from ochre!

“I love the sea and all, but maybe I love the dirt too much, eh? Digging and searching and finding, and making.”

She digs her hand into a bucket of wet slip, enjoying the squelch as it slides through her fingers.

"Sucks. Can't imagine negotiating this whole deal as... lottery, or choice, or status? Gotta be really rough." She shakes her head. "Don't think there's a way to make it fair. Hey, is this ochre?"

"Clay's easy to love, though. Even when it's being a fractious, uncooperative jerk."

“Aluminum, phosphorus, potassium, lots of iron, warm, mind you…”

“No lottery. The skin-soul chooses, is the only fair way around. Less they don't get a chance. Not saying there aren't politics, and suggestions, and a touch of fate.”

"Volcanoes." A GRIN. "If you wanna talk alchemy, right?"

“I'm taking a correspondence course for inorganic chem, our schools here only go up so far, wi?”

"I guess? I'll admit, the whole thing seems strange and exotic to me. With us, it's also seems like fate - my nocker soul inserted itself at some nebulous point before birth. Luck."

“Luck maybe, fate maybe. You have kin?”

"My grandmother was - is? - was a nocker!"

"She came to my saining, and they enchanted her - right? And it woke her up."

"But as I understand, after a certain age, it just... won't stick?" She frowns. "That sucks, too. I didn't miss this before I chrysalized, sure, but I don't look forward to forgetting it."

“Fate come, come again. Tides always return.”

"How's the chem course? Bet it's fascinating. Chemistry is like magic - don't get why some folks act like it's banal. How are reactions ever banal?"

“You around long enough, I take you in the cone, wi? Stinks, but worth a look.”

"There any nockers here? There's the Judge, but I've not seen, dunno, any eshu or anything else..."

"Mm. bet sulphur would work with Grog, too. Though you might get some epic farts, if he's as much 'pug' as the name implies."

“Judge, he kin of the islands. And ain’t no one trying to kick out an Obeah snake man.” Says with solemn certainty.

"Yeah. Sluagh kind of give me the heebie-jeebies, even the kids."

"Maybe especially the kids?"

“It happen, not often tough. Redfin blood run too thick.”

"Like the troll farm!"

“What's that?”

"In Iowa, there's a whole troll clan..." And she shares what she knows about the DeBukes.

Meanwhile, she is prepping the orange rock for Grog!

He sits and pants, leaving a little puddle of slip. Not really out of place in here. Meanwhile, Dayana shows Thistle her chemistry texts- she's studying ahead, college level things.

Seamus has stuck around, lingering. Keeping an eye on Thistle, maybe.

"You ever think about going to school off the island?"

"This &^%$& is advanced stuff, bet you'd be brilliant."

“But mi fambly, mo mhuintir- they here. My family, my island, my volcano too.” Fondly.

“I am kin, not fin- if I leave, I'll start to forget.”

"Right. Is the internet good enough for some online classes in the mix? It's 2022!"

“It's difficult, because of the veil-“ Dayana starts, and Seamus answers for her, “no. Only phone service.”

"Oh." Glum.

Seamus gets a glare from Dayana, and sheepishly he offers, “Some of the port cities get satellite. It's slow, but it connects. But up near the mountains, the signal gets blocked. It's… because of the Hold. They must block satellites from seeing what lies within, and it's a two way street. Nothing comes in, nothing goes out.”

"And nobody leaves, and nobody comes in..."

"And nothing changes."

Seamus straightens his back, stiffening a little. Dayana avoids her eyes.

Grog? Grog hops up with his front paws and starts licking at the powder in the mortar that Thistle was grinding.

"Ha! See!? Just gotta process the dye right! Good boy, Grog!"

He consumes an entire bucket of scrap laced with ochre powder, and belches noisily. Thistle thinks she can hear wiring and gurgling from the belly of the beast.

“Well I’ll be.” Dayana admits. “You know a thing or two about a thing or two.”

"Like I said, I'm a potter." A frustrated huff after she says it. "Which sucks."

“Why?” Dayana asks. “Despite what some may think, there is no shame in being a maker instead of a do-er.”

"Because of the skill challenge. I had this idea come to me, right? Wham, all in my head, what I could make to show... I... but it's clay. And sure, active work time? It'd be tight, but I could sculpt it and glaze it in a day. But it's clay. So - humidity, you'd need seven, maybe ten days for it to dry bone-hard before you could bisque fire. And then another twelve hours, minimum, after it comes out the kiln before you could add the glaze... and then, again, more waiting before the final fire. Right?"

Dayana looks puzzled. “Can't you just use magic?”

Seamus fidgets a bit.

"I don't see how my magic... I don't think I know the right magic? I've heard the sidhe can mess with time..."

“Maybe I'm just a kin who never felt magic worked on my own.. except creating something from dirt and mud, which is magical itself. But it seems that there should be a way. Call on the dreams of earth and fire?”

The teenager Selkie sticks his hands in his pockets.

"A kiln IS magic. Making is magic, don't furkin' doubt that a second. Turning mud into a pot, or using a stick and string to make a blanket."