"... Whaddya think, Gran?"
The baby behemoth unwillingly looked up from his rather comfortable spot on the sheep-pattern rug that was the staple of Chachanji's bedroom, chewing idly on the piece of antelope jerky that had been given to him not long before. The aforementioned Lalafell was sitting on his little Tonberry-themed couch, eyes on a strange bottle that he held betwixt his stout little fingers. Its contents were somewhat obscured by the smoky amber glass, leaving little more than its label to discern its contents.
~GIGAS JUICE - Be as big as a Gigas!~
It had been an impromptu purchase suns ago. After a stop by the Quicksand had quietly hurt the little Lalafell's pride. A meal interrupted by a - of course rather large - Highlander turning to him and asking if he wasn't a bit too young to be there. Such seemed to oft be the case: time and time again he was dismissed as being "too young" or mistaken as a child. Even Virara, one of his closest friends, frequently poked fun - in her own deadpan way - at his height... and he didn't even want to think about his brother's steadfast belief that he was still too young to be the family heir.
He had kept it hidden well enough, talking to the man at some length before his interests turned to another Highlander - one who had tried to pretty little Chachan up like a doll not half a moon prior. The Doman had slipped away then, a smile hiding the new nettling added to the pile, as he escaped to Pearl Lane and the markets beyond. And it was there that he ran into the strange man, draped in an almost haphazard assortments of cloth that hid all but his deeply sun-kissed head with its short fuzz of ebony hair.
As merchants oft do, he immediately latched onto the quelled depression within the Lalafell. Chachanji had been cautious at first, checking for crimson earrings - he had been nearly poisoned once before by the rogues who bore such accessories - before even deigning to speak to the man. The figure, whose ears were overfull of hoops of metal with no spot of ruby to be found, apparently took the teenager's concern for trepidation and continued his spiel. And, perhaps finding appeal in venting to someone, Chachanji has spoke his worries.
To be a little taller, more recognizable for the young adult he was. And the man, in a flurry of jingling jewelry and colorful cloth, had presented him the bottle he now held. Chachanji had been uncertain, worried, as he oft was with matters of medicine. That is when the man said it to him, lips curled into a toothy smile:
"'Twould take a man to take a bitter medicine, no?"
Perhaps it was that little barb, perhaps it had been all the other pokes at his height and supposed childishness. Whatever the reason, Chachanji had given the man his coin and shoved the bottle into a pouch. Then he had gone to attend the Grindstone and forgotten all about it while cheering on for his friend Tiroro. He only rediscovered it upon returning home, feeling quite foolish indeed for falling for the man's words and leaving it on his bookshelf.
The Lalafell held it now, having just returned from Gridania and the festival of fortune. Next to him were the fortunes he had received, and his thoughts on what had been done and said flitting through his head. Again he had been deemed too young - this time to have "getting lucky" explained to him in the context of Nathan's grandiose presentation - and had even reacted a bit overmuch when Jancis offered a "handkerchief" for him to avoid sitting on the damp forest ground. This was followed by a performance on seeking one's dreams, and Jancis' suggestion to seek other, smaller ones beyond his old standby of "protecting his friends."
He had countered with seeking to be equal to his father's skill in smithing, but a little nagging thought brought back that childish little wish of his. One of the fortunes had told him to stop hiding and tell "her" how he felt, a confusing thing indeed. Had it been a moon or so prior, he would've assumed this mention the nebulous certainty of his relationship with the delightful Aya Foxheart. However, that had be resolved rather handily, so he had been left with the fortune as a mere curiosity.
Another told him to hold fast to his dreams, and the Miqo'te woman who had presented to him had stated it was an important thing indeed. Again, he had assumed it in context of his usual dreams - protecting his friends and others, either by his own hand or through his craft. However, as he started at the bottle again, he had to wonder. Jancis had been one of the few there who had stood by his adulthood - perhaps he should have told her of this strange insecurity of his? Or perhaps spoke of that childish dream to be taller to her instead of improving his craft.
He made a face - he hated medicine. Leanne had chased him around Coralhaus when he caught a cold with a bottle and spoon. But again the sun-kissed man's words crept into his head, goading him on. Along with other suggestions - taking it with something sweet, for example. He still had Tiroro's picnic basket - which had a thermos of the mix of fruit juices and sweetwater Aya had coined as a "Champion Chachan" - from the cut-short date they had out at the Bazaar. A little bit of fun interrupted by a flung fireball.
He had managed to block some of it, but Tiroro had still lost her bow in the attack and suffered burns on her back. Burns that took far longer to treat due to new procedures being instituted at her Free Company. The little worrywart's thoughts turned fanciful: if he had been taller, he could've covered the gap faster; taken more of the hit. He was a smith, he could - and did - handle a few burns. He looked to Gran again for guidance, and the purple porker just gave a succinct snort before going back to gnawing on his jerky.
Hold tight to your dreams.
Seek out smaller dreams to fulfill.
Prove that he was an adult.
A man takes bitter medicine.
The cork came off with an audible pop that caught Gran's attention, his little ears standing and swiveling at attention. From the vial came an odd smell, of grease and oil, that caused both pet and owner to recoil a bit. Steeling himself, however, Chachanji poured it into the thermos and swished it about. He hesitated for only a moment afterward before draining the contents, and then made a face afterward. The suns-old juice tasted more tart than fruity, and he could still make out a rubbery flavor that he assumed was the "Gigas Juice."
He immediately felt worrisome - what if it didn't work? What if it just made him sick? What if folks found out and laughed at him for having such a childish concern? His cheeks burned at the thought, before a refreshing thought blew through his mind - a song he had echoed earlier that day, along with memories of rainbows. The lyrics spilled from his lips, even as he sought to quell his concerns.
"And I'm doin' jus' fine... 'm always landin' on me feet. In th' nick'a time 'n by th' skin'a me teeth... I ain't gonna stress 'cuz th' worst ain't happ'n'd yet..."
He bobbed back and forth as he hummed more of the song. And thought on the positives - even if it did nothing, at least he tried. And if he got sick from this impulse purchase, he had friends who'd help him. The tension drained from him and he yawned, stretching his little arms into the air. He rubbed at a cheek as he tucked the thermos away into the basket and made his way to his bed.
And as he fell into slumber, he left the fortunes from the event sitting on the couch in a neat little stack. A fortune that told him to hold fast to his dreams. A fortune to speak up about his feelings. And a third fortune that had confused him just as much then and slipped his mind in his wild romp through a strange tangent of thoughts now.
To be wary of tricks.
The baby behemoth unwillingly looked up from his rather comfortable spot on the sheep-pattern rug that was the staple of Chachanji's bedroom, chewing idly on the piece of antelope jerky that had been given to him not long before. The aforementioned Lalafell was sitting on his little Tonberry-themed couch, eyes on a strange bottle that he held betwixt his stout little fingers. Its contents were somewhat obscured by the smoky amber glass, leaving little more than its label to discern its contents.
~GIGAS JUICE - Be as big as a Gigas!~
It had been an impromptu purchase suns ago. After a stop by the Quicksand had quietly hurt the little Lalafell's pride. A meal interrupted by a - of course rather large - Highlander turning to him and asking if he wasn't a bit too young to be there. Such seemed to oft be the case: time and time again he was dismissed as being "too young" or mistaken as a child. Even Virara, one of his closest friends, frequently poked fun - in her own deadpan way - at his height... and he didn't even want to think about his brother's steadfast belief that he was still too young to be the family heir.
He had kept it hidden well enough, talking to the man at some length before his interests turned to another Highlander - one who had tried to pretty little Chachan up like a doll not half a moon prior. The Doman had slipped away then, a smile hiding the new nettling added to the pile, as he escaped to Pearl Lane and the markets beyond. And it was there that he ran into the strange man, draped in an almost haphazard assortments of cloth that hid all but his deeply sun-kissed head with its short fuzz of ebony hair.
As merchants oft do, he immediately latched onto the quelled depression within the Lalafell. Chachanji had been cautious at first, checking for crimson earrings - he had been nearly poisoned once before by the rogues who bore such accessories - before even deigning to speak to the man. The figure, whose ears were overfull of hoops of metal with no spot of ruby to be found, apparently took the teenager's concern for trepidation and continued his spiel. And, perhaps finding appeal in venting to someone, Chachanji has spoke his worries.
To be a little taller, more recognizable for the young adult he was. And the man, in a flurry of jingling jewelry and colorful cloth, had presented him the bottle he now held. Chachanji had been uncertain, worried, as he oft was with matters of medicine. That is when the man said it to him, lips curled into a toothy smile:
"'Twould take a man to take a bitter medicine, no?"
Perhaps it was that little barb, perhaps it had been all the other pokes at his height and supposed childishness. Whatever the reason, Chachanji had given the man his coin and shoved the bottle into a pouch. Then he had gone to attend the Grindstone and forgotten all about it while cheering on for his friend Tiroro. He only rediscovered it upon returning home, feeling quite foolish indeed for falling for the man's words and leaving it on his bookshelf.
The Lalafell held it now, having just returned from Gridania and the festival of fortune. Next to him were the fortunes he had received, and his thoughts on what had been done and said flitting through his head. Again he had been deemed too young - this time to have "getting lucky" explained to him in the context of Nathan's grandiose presentation - and had even reacted a bit overmuch when Jancis offered a "handkerchief" for him to avoid sitting on the damp forest ground. This was followed by a performance on seeking one's dreams, and Jancis' suggestion to seek other, smaller ones beyond his old standby of "protecting his friends."
He had countered with seeking to be equal to his father's skill in smithing, but a little nagging thought brought back that childish little wish of his. One of the fortunes had told him to stop hiding and tell "her" how he felt, a confusing thing indeed. Had it been a moon or so prior, he would've assumed this mention the nebulous certainty of his relationship with the delightful Aya Foxheart. However, that had be resolved rather handily, so he had been left with the fortune as a mere curiosity.
Another told him to hold fast to his dreams, and the Miqo'te woman who had presented to him had stated it was an important thing indeed. Again, he had assumed it in context of his usual dreams - protecting his friends and others, either by his own hand or through his craft. However, as he started at the bottle again, he had to wonder. Jancis had been one of the few there who had stood by his adulthood - perhaps he should have told her of this strange insecurity of his? Or perhaps spoke of that childish dream to be taller to her instead of improving his craft.
He made a face - he hated medicine. Leanne had chased him around Coralhaus when he caught a cold with a bottle and spoon. But again the sun-kissed man's words crept into his head, goading him on. Along with other suggestions - taking it with something sweet, for example. He still had Tiroro's picnic basket - which had a thermos of the mix of fruit juices and sweetwater Aya had coined as a "Champion Chachan" - from the cut-short date they had out at the Bazaar. A little bit of fun interrupted by a flung fireball.
He had managed to block some of it, but Tiroro had still lost her bow in the attack and suffered burns on her back. Burns that took far longer to treat due to new procedures being instituted at her Free Company. The little worrywart's thoughts turned fanciful: if he had been taller, he could've covered the gap faster; taken more of the hit. He was a smith, he could - and did - handle a few burns. He looked to Gran again for guidance, and the purple porker just gave a succinct snort before going back to gnawing on his jerky.
Hold tight to your dreams.
Seek out smaller dreams to fulfill.
Prove that he was an adult.
A man takes bitter medicine.
The cork came off with an audible pop that caught Gran's attention, his little ears standing and swiveling at attention. From the vial came an odd smell, of grease and oil, that caused both pet and owner to recoil a bit. Steeling himself, however, Chachanji poured it into the thermos and swished it about. He hesitated for only a moment afterward before draining the contents, and then made a face afterward. The suns-old juice tasted more tart than fruity, and he could still make out a rubbery flavor that he assumed was the "Gigas Juice."
He immediately felt worrisome - what if it didn't work? What if it just made him sick? What if folks found out and laughed at him for having such a childish concern? His cheeks burned at the thought, before a refreshing thought blew through his mind - a song he had echoed earlier that day, along with memories of rainbows. The lyrics spilled from his lips, even as he sought to quell his concerns.
"And I'm doin' jus' fine... 'm always landin' on me feet. In th' nick'a time 'n by th' skin'a me teeth... I ain't gonna stress 'cuz th' worst ain't happ'n'd yet..."
He bobbed back and forth as he hummed more of the song. And thought on the positives - even if it did nothing, at least he tried. And if he got sick from this impulse purchase, he had friends who'd help him. The tension drained from him and he yawned, stretching his little arms into the air. He rubbed at a cheek as he tucked the thermos away into the basket and made his way to his bed.
And as he fell into slumber, he left the fortunes from the event sitting on the couch in a neat little stack. A fortune that told him to hold fast to his dreams. A fortune to speak up about his feelings. And a third fortune that had confused him just as much then and slipped his mind in his wild romp through a strange tangent of thoughts now.
To be wary of tricks.
~