to carry a blessing | house-hunting

[devland]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 60%; min-height: 8px; font-family: arial; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 25px"]Like Paola, Devland felt a strange restlessness settle into his bones since his arrival to the Typhoon. He had lived with a large group most of his life, but the two months he spent in self-isolation strangely altered him. Then again, perhaps it was just because the Typhoon was different from where he had lived previously, but that wasn't exactly true either. He doubted he would ever uncover the true reasons behind those swirling feelings because he pushed them away. He refused to wallow in those dark moods. Instead, he focused all his brainpower on cataloging native insects and reptiles, curing Paola's (and his own) boredom, trying to annoy Roan, hoping he could hear Georgia play the handpan again, and sticking his nose in everyone else's lives (like Seapaw's family reunion and Eulia's failed attempt at cooking).

Today, he sat on the jungle floor, eyes trained on a chirping cicada. One of his many journals was sprawled out in front of him, and he haphazardly took notes on the bug's coloring and its call. Though he was usually so absorbed by his work, the scent of Paola did snatch his attention. It took only moments to hear her voice, and when he turned to look back to the cicada, it flew away. Giving a little huff, Devland closed his journal, tossed it in his bag, and trotted towards Paola after throwing the bag over his right shoulder. He ignored the way his still-healing wound protested the weight.

Half-lidded eyes watched the female closely. He tilted his head as she climbed up, up, up, and confusion painted his features. It took longer than he would have liked to admit to realize Paola was crawling her way into a tree house. He rolled his shoulders. Not one to be left behind, the havana scurried after his friend. The climb took more effort than he would have liked, and he stood on the deck, huffing. Trying to ignore the exhaustion and soreness that tugged at him, he let his gaze float around the cabin.

"Maybe the V means vacuus," he suggested, running a paw along the dust-coated floor, unable to help himself from outlining the cicada he'd been watching moments ago. "Latin for vacant, I think." He stepped closer to Paola at her question, purposefully bumping into her. He studied everything around them carefully. "It doesn't seem like anyone's been here in a while, Paola... What if there are ghosts?" He feigned fright, pressing closer to his friend before falling away with a laugh.