ginger_firebird

Dawn

With noon still hours away, Mantis is bustling between his kitchen and the outdoors. He hasn’t changed out of his usual blend of dark colors, nor has he even paid much mind to styling his half-shaved hair.  Francour and Yaga bustle about with him, helping to move smaller things like jars of jam or bundles of flowers. Mantis himself holds a pie and is trailed by no small number of pastries and foods ranging from loafs of bread to bunches of grapes and giant platters. The trio bustle towards an open space in the large garden next to the house, surrounded by patches of vegetables and trellises full of fruits. Tables have been set up, chairs arranged, tablecloths laid out and weighed into place.

He sets down yet another pie and takes items from his animal companions as they catch up to him. Yaga leaps up and flies to his shoulders, rubbing against Mantis’s head as he settles down like a scarf. Francour, however, gets picked up directly and settles in the tall man’s arms easily. They turn as a pile to see the growing feast and Mantis gives Francour a good squeeze. The meowstic trills happily and nuzzles his face into Mantis’s shoulder.

"I know. I’m trying to have a good mood about today.” Francour chirps and further nuzzles his head against Mantis’s chin. “This is a day for remembering. The cake can come later.”

Day

At the party itself, Mantis sits like a king of flowers. Orange marigolds are scattered all over the place, whether as bouquets on tables or petals plucked and tossed about. There are, of course, a few pumpkins, some cursory fruits like pomegranate seeds and such to balance out the starch of the breads and pies and cake. In particular, one table is laden a bit heavier with sweets. A tall chocolate cake covered in dark brown frosting and flakes is surrounded by candles and marigold petals. Next to it, quite conspicuously, is a smaller chocolate cake with the name “Ben” carefully written upon it in red frosting. Beneath the name are the words “EAT ME” in smaller, more delicate looking letters.

In all, Mantis proud of his handwork. His own cake is safe, Ben will hopefully be averted from the course of eating the whole of everything, and there’s enough vitamins from various fruit-based deserts that someone will walk away freed from the dangers of scurvy. His own clothes have been traded in for a pale white outfit so far removed from his usual that even he feels a bit odd wearing it. A scarf is draped over his head, smoothing out his hair under a kind of veil. A white cloth mask covers the upper half of a his face, including most of his nose. The sleeves of his shirt trail out past his wrists and are embroidered on the edges with red flowers. Similarly, the hems of his pants are decorated with their own red flowers.

As guests arrive, Mantis will greet them with a small smile. “I appreciate you joining in on this occasion.”

Dusk

With the party in force, Mantis comes back to the man table with his own cake and lights the candles surrounding it with a wave of his hands. He crosses his arms over his chest, hands resting on his shoulders, and mutters briefly to himself. Anyone close to him as he does so will hear a string of sentences, almost like a prayer:

“I remember she who came first. I mourn those who no longer are. I am grateful to be able to enjoy this day as I once did. Time to eat.”

From there, he cuts a slice from his own cake and starts to make more for the guests gathered. No one ever made such a grand cake just to eat it alone. The guests are welcome to take a slice of cake at their discretion, as Mantis will be handing one to Francour and then making a small plate of whipped cream for Yaga. The trio will sit at one of the tables and feast as they may on the birthday cake.

 It had taken no small amount of maneuvering and general moving, but it finally happened. A real house was something he rarely had a chance to enjoy, but the times he had and the things he’d seen across Nexus had sold him to the idea of proper home ownership. It wasn’t even the biggest home. He’s fairly certain that the Antheans curated the largest of all the homes, so a cabin style house closer to the Wilds hardly seemed like a bad idea. No one ever could accuse him of living within the realms of sanity and common sense.

Those who know Mantis for his domestic skills will know the many pies on the kitchen counter, labeled as meat and fruit respectively, were baked by hand in the very oven they pass by. Mantis found himself more than a fair bit of fruits and cheeses arranged on tasteful little boards with crackers on the side for those who wanted to be fancy about it. There were a variety of fruit juices, an abundance of water, and more than a bit of alcohol to start off the people who were truly daring. Just as if all that weren’t enough, there was a beastly quantity of cookies in a variety of flavors scattered through the spaces not taken up by other kinds of food.

There was a lot of soil. It smelled vaguely of death, but he had hauled enough ass though the Nexus to afford no small number of large planters, small planters, planters that had been mercilessly duct taped together so that they fit together to hold more soil… The largest were obviously going to be on the roof. He had a tarp laid out to catch excess soil as he went about tearing open bag and tipping them out. Step one was always preparing the space, then getting the dirt settled, then water, then seeds… It was brutally hot, but it had to get done.

There was a lot of time to think in the Nexus. He’s still wound up by the Doctor and what he had said. So he had read minds without permission. So what? He stopped people who were murderers and worse. It was a gift deep in his blood and impossible to get rid of and yet the old man acted like it was something that could have been taken away with the right tools. He couldn’t even fully control it, even now. If he took his mask off, every damn whisper came in, so it wasn’t even his most useful power at times. He had moved machines larger and heavier than some of the largest animals without even trying. Still could.

Then when did that go wrong? Was it Skull Face? The KGB? FBI? Somewhere he started to slip and get bitter and angry and he stopped caring like he used to. He sighed and leaned on a shovel he had brought up with him. People died because of him in the past. Good people. Bad people. People who were in a wrong crowd. He got okay with that, sought it out, and lived it as his whole world. Liquid wanted that of him and he fed into that relationship like it was nothing.

So what went wrong? Was he that depressed and bitter about it? Absolutely, but it felt like more than that. Mantis looked around at the planters and the unopened potting soil and sighed. He flicked one hand vaguely and a CD player started blasting music from the rooftop of his apartment building. He bobbed his head a little and laid down right by the edge, getting a good look at the ground from where his head and an arm dangled over a little. The shovel hung lazily in mid-air and did an awkward dance as he flicked his fingers and hand around.

“At what point does violently lashing out stop being trauma and start becoming a personality?”