❝ MAKING MY OWN ROAD OUT OF GRAVEL AND SOME WINE; IF I HAVE TO FALL THEN IT WON'T BE IN YOUR LINE—I'M A BLACK SHEEP ❞

After three long days, Vandal finally finds it; she remembers having built it from nothing but scratch, adding more and more until it extended past one tree canopy and onto another, forming a network of bridges linking several smaller huts to a larger middle one. She remembers having offered each empty room to whoever needed a place to stay—some of her nieces had even chosen to move in with her, customizing their rooms to their liking until it was a place that they could call their own, and the black beast had found some joy in that, in having her family so close and giving them a space where they felt the most at home.

The sprawling treehouse is still perfectly intact, although she admits that it's also completely overgrown. Some of the steps spiraling around one of the massive trunks have fallen off, and she can count four shutters that must have fallen off the windows during her absence. The rest, however, are still standing, and she clicks her tongue thoughtfully at the idea of reviving her little abode.

With a look of determination dancing on her face, Vandal summons a burst of wind to catch underneath her outstretched wings, carrying her higher and higher until she can easily step onto the porch of the main hut; the front door is ajar, just as she had left it, and she tries not to focus on the scratch marks disappearing into the seams as she pulls it open. "Oh baby," she can't help but murmur, eyeing the dust-laden interior, the overthrown tables, the splashes of faded gold in the corners; she remembers exactly what happened, what would have caused such a mess, but she frantically swallows down the memory in fear that she'll remember too much.

She wanders over, sifts through the wrecked furniture, and uncovers a small, leatherbound journal lodged between the floorboards. She takes it gingerly between her talons, before turning around and throwing it straight out of the window—she doesn't see where it falls, but she thinks it'll be better that way.

"Damn it all to hell," she grumbles under her breath, recoiling when she feels something warm trace the line of her cheek. Lifting a talon, she rubs it over the side of her face furiously, trying to make the tear go away, but it keeps falling anyway as she turns in a circle to look at the forgotten walls, the crooked paintings, the old treasure chest she knows to be empty. In the far corner, she sees two doors, their plaques collecting rust: Aita's and Cleo's, she remembers, two more of her nieces who had moved in, but have undoubtedly disappeared during her absence.

She closes her eyes and hopes she can still hear the ghost of their voices echoing down the halls, but all is quiet, and she realizes she can't quite remember what they sound like anymore.

Taking a deep, trembling breath, Vandal tests a smile on her face and keeps it there, pushing the last of the tear tracks away. She makes her way back to the doorway and looks out at the horizon; she'll start cleaning the treehouse soon, but for the moment she chooses to appreciate that not all things have disappeared from her life. Her home still stands, and she will rebuild again.

ooc. grammar? sentence structure? lol what are those?

❝ MAKING MY OWN ROAD OUT OF GRAVEL AND SOME WINE; IF I HAVE TO FALL THEN IT WON'T BE IN YOUR LINE—I'M A BLACK SHEEP ❞

Vandal hears the yelp of pain first, wincing in guilt when she scrambles to the edge of the porch and peers down, all the way down to the jungle floor; her eyes land on Idyllfields and she smiles embarrassedly at having been caught littering. "Ah, m'sorry for that," she calls out to the other Typhooner. "I didn't even see you down there! Could you..." She stops, thinks, would she really ask the other to dispose of the journal on her behalf, instead of doing it on her own?

No. It has to be something she does, even when it doesn't seem to have worked the first time. Maybe she should just go ahead and burn it. "Could you bring that up here? There should be some, ah, some spiral stairs to the third tree trunk to your right. Jus' mind the gaps? Or I could go down there if you want."

Her rambling tapers off when she notices Starlightbrigade on the porch, showing interest in the structures looming behind them. A small smile curls on the black beast's face as she looks over her shoulder, stares at the main treehouse herself with pride. "Yeah, I made these a year ago, though I did have a bit of help from the others. It's... it's a..." She stops then, sucks her teeth as she tries to determine how best to describe the wooden megastructure now that the people who have made it a home have mostly died or disappeared into the tides of history. It's a husk, really, but she doesn't think that's what Starry would like to hear. "It's a place to stay if you've got nowhere to go. You pick a hut, yeah? Any hut you want, and it's yours, and you can do whatever you want with it, and your hut is connected to other huts that belong to other people, and that way you never feel lonely."

She hadn't meant to say the last part, but when she realizes she did, she snaps her jaws shut and recoils a little, looking a little stunned herself. "That was... extra," she murmurs under her breath. "Forget that last part, okay? It's just a place to chill in, nothing special."