Creative Corner

Being bored isn't his strong suit. He prefers to be at claw, doing something with his nimble talons, like tinkering. Or perhaps attempting to unlock a keyhole with his fingers. One will always find him with obvious evidence that he was up to something, but when they ask, he answers with:


"What are you talking about?"

Curiosity for his whereabouts only deepen. They wonder what he does, where he goes, why he's so busy. It's unsurprising to them, however. The guy is purely crazy, filled with what he calls "Energy for ideas", what his clanmates call "Optional destruction." Does he care though? No. The guy is too unphased at this point to be offended by their ridiculous nicknames of his hobbies and actions, just giving them a savage grin and a snicker before heading off.

Jeez, where's he off to now?

I miss him so dearly. . .

You can hear it, can't you? If you get close enough to their lab, you can hear the soft tune being whistled quietly, sometimes being hummed even softer. It was the song her brother had taught her when they were younger, before they were separated. She couldn't forget it, but she never wanted to either.
One of her remnants of him.
Her memory is excellent, able to remember practically anything. She could recraft all the solutions she learned purely from it, so long as she was given the ingredients. Oriole can recall deep into her mind's past, and while useful, all good things have their counterparts.

I want to find him.

Moments of her history flash in her eyes, from a bright, cheerful, yellow Pearlcatcher, to a disappointed, resent-filled, neon-bright Pearlcatcher, and just mere blurrs of another older drake, unable to peice together his appearence, to her surprise. The distained expression her mother made everytime they passed each other had been imprinted into her skull; the warming sight of her mother-like aunt embedded into her head; the comforting aura of her brother before they were separated, his gentle song easing her bashful and anxious spirit.

I wish he were here with us, with me.

She's always found comfort in the lab, around noxious fumes, constantly watching for changes, taking delicate notes. Still a student, her affectionate aunt remains as her teacher, passionately educating the younger drake for years. It's something she always looks forward to, though she prefers to be taught in the calmer ways, unlike the contracted ideas and work her mother and aunt had done.

I'll find you Canary.
One day.

The seas pull me in like fishers and their catches.

She sighed, huffing away the salted air around her as she gazed over the starboard side. Losing herself in her thoughts, she carefully draped her sleeve from under her claw, making sure not to crinkle it. All her tasks were done for the day. She could relax for a while, listening to the gentle waves caressing the side of their ship. Sunset approached the horizon as her mind wandered, thinking of moments earlier from that day.
Had to ask Zhinu about the current path; Spoke to Glassglow about the status of the artillery. . .
The Guardian jerked in surprise when someone slumped themself next to her, puffing a tired breath. She smiled.
"You sound tired."
The Bogsneak nodded. "Just got back from talkn' to Kokorebi. I swear, every conversation I have with him always ends too annoying for me to continue."
The Guardian chuckled. "You know how he can be, Nana."
Nana crossed her arms. "Yes, and he does too. He knows he shouldn't be askin' me stupid things."
"Well, they're not stupid if he asks. He just wanted to know."
"Wanted to know my thought on basically losing half our artillery?? Absolutely not!"
"He really asked that?"
"Eh, he said somethin' about using up a large portion to line the ship, putting cannons and stuff in those windows."
"That doesn't sound so bad."
"Seems like a waste of time to me, Perlemoen. I need them to be at attention when most needed. I don't need to lug giant, iron cannons up the stairs and such. They're better off on the deck."

Perlemoen is never surprised whenever the Bogsneak sounded like that. Nana was her best friend, though she tended to be. . .rash with decisions. It seemed to her that the Bogsneak didn't think it through all the way. Logically, it could work, but they wouldn't need to use half of them. The Guardian instantly starts thinking of ways ideas could work out, then slowly advises them to her friend, being careful not to tip her opinion too much.

". . .Well, maybe we shouldn't use half of them-"
"THAT'S WHAT I"M SAYING! Just use none of them!"
"Or, we could use just a few. We don't have to use too many."
"Why would we use any?"
"Others wouldn't see them coming, since they're below eyesight. They'd be unexpectedly attacked when they least expect it." She smiled at her bright idea.
Nana went quiet, considering the thought. ". . .That's why you're might right-hand man, er, woman or whatever. That's not so bad. Hopefully you can explain that to Kokorebi later tonight." She sighed.
"He had a good idea. He was in the right direction."

Perlemoen appreciates everyone's ideas, but she always finds herself needing to rearticulate them so Nana would understand what they really mean. Wording is key to speaking, especially with the picky Bogsneak. Organization works great with the Guardian, which could explain why she's great with explanations, though a few of her fellows would disagree. Sometimes natural charm is all it takes.