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Lacernella Rubra

Mother Gaia's Home for the Lost.

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In Dougton, there was once an orphanage. It was capable of housing 24 children - quite the feat for a single headmistress. It was a gorgeous home with an inviting layout. 

Spoiler
On 8/8/2012 at 2:24 PM, Rounini said:

The first floor contains a set of common living spaces-- all of which house a homey, but humble, decor--; a foyer; a living room, complete with seating and a hearth; a study, walls lined with books and its center peppered with a dozen or so schooldesks of varying size; a decently sized kitchen that can hold two busy cooks, as well as their messes; and a large dining room centered around a table built to accomodate the full population of the house (and maybe a couple guests). Wooden floors, white walls, and windows that allow plenty of natural light in during the day serve as a theme found in every room.

The second floor can be reached via the foyer's staircase. At the top of the stairs, in the entrance to the upper hall, a door to the Matron's personal room lies. Given its central location, the room can be reached within a minute from almost any point in the orphanage. Along either side of the hall are bedrooms, divided into two rooms of six beds, and three rooms of four. Each metal-framed bed is lined perpendicular to the wall, leaving a path in the middle of the room, and enough space between the beds for two small bedside tables. A lamp rests upon every alternate table. At the foot of each bed, a chest for personal belongings.

 


Though it's headmistress had long ago disappeared, and various schemes had been planned behind it's walls, it had finally been given hope once more. Rebirth through the war, an opportunity to help. Those children displaced by the current civil war are most welcomed, with open (though slightly green) arms. The orphanage runs off of self-sustainability, a small farmyard behind the house, and lanterns to light their way. Children who come to this place are taught all the basic skills, as well as how to defend themselves to some minor degree. This is to hope that they will never become victims to tyranny, or will choose to stand against what they know is wrong. A strong sense of moral Justice is offered to those willing to learn it. 

For the moment, the orphanage only houses 3 children. All of them from Blairville, and consisting of one boy and two young girls. The young man, Peter(age 12), has taken it upon himself to be a protector of sorts for Lucy (age 8 ) and Ruby (Age 6). While scared and distrustful, they have come to think of the orphanage as a second home where they will be protected and safe. Dhizzandra watches over them with pleased determination. The Dryad is simply happy to have a place to belong in this world - and she is pleased to help others, as well. 

Children

13

Adults

18

Completion of necessary buildings

10%

Important threads/children acquisition: Home of the Brave. 

Children currently available for adoption: 

Blairville children: 

 Peter – Age 12 – Blonde and amber eyed. He is a cautious, but brave young man who dislikes bullying.

 Lucy – Age 8 – Shy and slow to trust, a little bit bossy, as well. Lucy is definitely a kid who requires patience.

 Ruby – Age 6. Sweet and all too trusting, she’s got a sweet tooth like no other, however.

Izral Children: 

 

Susan – Age 14 – An older, jaded girl who was rescued by Jericho from a brothel in Izral. She doesn’t have much hope for the world, but she’s learning that not everyone is bad.

Brinley – Age 8 – Young and cheerful, she takes joy in simple things.

Jessica – Age 6 – Another young and cheerful child. She likes butterflies and flowers, but we aren’t into the flavor red this week.

William – age 4. – This young boy loves to run in mud puddles and play with worms, as young boys tend to do.

Caitlyn – Age 2 – Often influenced by William regarding bugs and mud. She particularly dislikes nap-time.

Derrick – Age 10 – Idolizes Peter and wants to protect the others from ever being treated poorly again. He’s often defensive on first meetings.

Jonathan – Age 1 – Babbles with attitude. Hates diapers.

Andromeda – Age 6 months – Sleeps a lot, when not screaming.

Daniella – Age 10 – Sullen and moody, prone to dramatics.

Kendra – Age 12 – Preteen. No more need be said.

 

 

Edited by Lacernella Rubra

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Two weeks has passed since the opening of the orphanage, and Dhizzandra was overwhelmed to find twenty-eight people sent to her with only a note from Jericho. He had apparently cleaned up a brothel of ill repute, and had sent the people to a ‘safe’ location. Well, Dhizzandra has never been one to turn away from either a challenge or those in need. She welcomes them in with open arms, though a few of them are wary of her outward appearance. To placate them, she takes on a temporary appearance of a human, though the growing flowers in her vibrant sunset hair would attest differently.

So, all twenty eight of them settled in, somehow, in rooms not meant for sleeping. Desks were moved, books were moved, and blankets were shared. Some of the younger children managed to crowd into a single bed, though there were complaints the next morning about sleeping positions. Dhizzandra happily gave up the Matron’s room to accommodate her newest guests, the large-ish bed able to accommodate a few more. Blankets were thin, however. Fortunately, the building seemed to keep warm through the night, though Dhizzandra would never fully divulge the reasonings why. She simply inferred that it must have been an enchantment set by the previous owners.

Once full and lazy, the rules were laid out. They were simple, if you stayed, you helped. Whether it be teaching the children, or helping add to the building that would eventually house them all before they found their way out into the world to provide themselves with purpose. It seemed, many of them found this preferable to their prior living conditions, and had little qualm with it.

For now, however, there were steps to recovery.

Avery, one of the younger women with the group (though barely more than a child) seemed most eager to be helpful.

“Are you sure I can’t help put the kids to bed?” She asks, and Dhizzandra offers her a gentle smile.

“If you wish, I will not turn down the help. In the morning, we can make pancakes with jam.” The dryad offers, tucking an errant strand behind the young woman’s ear. The hesitant pleasure that lights in Avery’s eyes is more than enough reward.

 

 

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“Is that a real hand?” A young girl, quizzical.

“Is that a — what does that even mean?”

“I dunno, kid, seemed real clear to me. Isseither real’er’fake, right?” Older, spiteful; this from the teen leaning against the doorframe. “Ain’tcha gonna answer nothing?”

“Did you just call me kid? Either way, fake hands don’t even exis — ”

“Nuh-huh! Don’t you know, they invented fake hands, made of wood and stuff?” Piped up a boy who’d outgrown the baby blue clothes he wore.

“It’s unfair for the people who don’t have hands.” Another, who hadn’t.

“Oh don’t be stupid, William. Everyone’s got hands.” The girl who hadn’t turned her head to look spat from beside the fireplace.

“That plain isn’t true.” Another girl, hands cocked on her hips.

“What?!” The whole damn gallery.

“No, really.” Authoritatively: “My ol’ ma used to tell me that in the old days when they caught liars, they would cut off their hands and paint them real bright hot red and stitch them back on, so you always knew who was a real filthy pants-on-fire lyin’ skunk.”

“Hey. Miss Dizzy said no cussin’,” a boy complained.

“Shove off, Derrick.”

“Is it true, Kendra?”

“How’s I supposed to know? Ma ain’t around for me to ask, is she?”

“Well,” observed the oldest boy. “We got the mister here, don’t we?”

“I already said it’s a real hand.

A snort. “Ever considered he might be lying?”

“Well, mister, are you lying?”

“I have better things to do with my time than lie to kids.”

“Sure you do.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say. If you take a real close look, you’ll notice that it’s not wood. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of wood, isn’t it? Very fleshy, isn’t it?”

“Looks mighty red to me, Peter.”

“But he’s right, it ain’t wood.”

“Well, what do you reckon?”

“I don’t know, you come here and take a closer —”

Sudden chaos. The boy shoots out of his chair. “SUSAN LOOK OUT —” “The banana peel —!”

“Huh? Wha-AHH — ” The girl flies. The pot hits the ground with a wet gong. Footsteps; the oldest boy catches her in both arms. They look at each other for a little. He then sets her down shyly.

 “—I was gonna EAT that stew later, Susan!” Fire-place girl whines.

“Who — WHO left that banana peel there?” Red and fuming; the former, perhaps not for the same reasons as the latter.

A guilty raising of a hand.

“Derrick, I am going to strangle you — “

Speaking of hands, the oldest boy regards the stew pensively. After a little thought, he bends down and, with the tip of the bread knife clutched in his hand, tries to fish a rather large piece of thing out of the milky mess.

“…Sorry about that. I believe you, I think. But I guess you wish it was fake now, huh?” He holds the limp, sticky thing out with two fingers, wrinkling his nose. “Here’s your hand if you want it back.”

Hawke stares up blankly from the floor beneath the chair, where the suspicious children have had him tied for the better part of half an hour. His left hand splatters, palm-down, onto his face.

He sighs.

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