Warren Worthington III

In Glacia, it was cold.

This generally went without saying, what with it being a place with a name that sounded suspiciously like 'glacier' or 'glacial' or even just the French word for 'really fricking cold,' but it was that sort of cold now that indicated that they were just starting to push past Winsol-and-Christmas and into January, and Warren was doing that thing he did where, so help him, it had been storming out for the past three days and he needed to do something to help get his mind off the fact that he hadn't been able to fly in at least as long.

So he was setting up a swing set.

Indoors, yes.

For a little girl that still wasn't quite a year old yet.

But it had a nice wooden frame, and one of the little kind-of diaper-shaped seats that could be swapped out for a proper swing seat later, and he was more or less caught up with his paperwork for the day.

So, a swing set. Kayla would appreciate it, he was sure, and it would help to get his mind off of the whole claustrophobic feeling of being stuck indoors. That one that had him half-tempted to book a portal to the island to just enjoy a few days of summer, Consort duties be damned. Now, if only he could get Karla's pet out of the way while he was working. The little guy kept zipping around the room, perching on his shoulder, on the toolbox, making a game of seeing what he could get away with.

"Nemit, I will give you extra crickets if you stop trying to steal these screws." Beat. "And stop rubbing it in."

[OOC: Just realized I haven't touched this boy in a while. Open for calls, or people who might happen to be in Glacia, or texts or whatever!]

Warren was going to have to have words with the Estate's gardener.

... Well, okay, granted, it was his own fault for flubbing the landing. He'd picked a tree branch that was perhaps not sturdy enough to hold the weight of a grown man, even if his bones were hollow, and it had snapped underfoot, sending him toppling through several more branches and into a patch of weeds below. There really wasn't much any gardener could have done about the tree branch, considering the height it had been at. The weeds, they were going to have to have words about.

Especially once the oils on the leaves started to actually sink in to his skin. Warren knew witchblood when he saw it- it was impossible to mistake it for anything else, and he avoided it like the plague in the wake of Glacia's war. It was a pity nobody had educated him about poison ivy. Even with a healing factor, that was going to be a horrible mess pretty soon.

Until then, though, he was trudging back into the estate with some slowly healing cuts and bruises, a few sticks and the occasional leaf sticking almost comically from his feathers. Let's see how long before somebody notices, shall we?

[OOC: For anyone in Glacia! Or phone calls, or texts, or whatever!]

So, Warren had been sitting on it now for a little while. It had only been a day, according to Fandom, since Karla had formed her Court, but in Kaeleer, it had been two. A very busy two. They were in Haven, now, making the last of their plans before the procession into Sidra and everything that that would entail. And, the entire time, there was something that Warren had been itching to scream from the rooftops, and finally, he'd found a moment edgewise in order to do it.

First, he'd left a message for Bobby. Before anyone else, Bobby.

But, after that, it was fair game. He pulled out his phone, tapped out a quick text, and sent it to everyone on his phone's contact list:

We're engaged!

Apologies to those in Kaeleer, who were getting that text at an obscene hour of the night. Warren had been a little too anxious to share it to bother weeding through his contacts. Plus he hadn't had much sleep lately. Eh, he'd apologize to anybody that had been inconvenienced by that text in the morning.

[OOC: NFB for distance, obviously! If you think you got Warren's text, you totally did! Open for return texts, phone calls, other people who have a reason to be in bed with him in Haven...]

Training. Studying in Kaeleeran Court protocols, poring over any information that he could get his hands on regarding sanitary setups for new settlements in untamed territories, digging around for maps that could help Warren get a better idea as to where they were, and where they were trying to get... It was fairly safe to say that, when Warren wasn't busy running himself ragged in Kaeleer, trying to get budgets to balance and to work out supply options that weren't going to explode in his face, he was spending practically every waking hour training.

His teeth ground together as a stick whipped around, smacking him in the ribs with an audible crack.

Some types of training were easier than others, especially when he was running himself to the ground. He was tired, and it was starting to show. That wouldn't be so bad, if the person that was seeing it at the moment wasn't a sadistic Eyrien with a stick.

With a wince and a ruffle of feathers as he gasped to get his breath back, Warren straightened up and raised his stick again.

[For them what are in Kaeleer!]

Warren had staked out a corner of the grounds all to himself while Karla was inside getting cleaned up and looked after. Now, now that everything was said and done and the daze that he'd been in and out of seemed to be finally slowing down some, seemed as good a time as any to find a place to sit down, hold his head between his hands, and stare at the ground.

There were dozens of other Warrens in dozens of other realities who could get through something like that, get up, and keep going without feeling too much recoil, he was sure.

( He... was not one of them. )

[NFB and NFI for distance, preplayed with the lovely glacial_witch and longislandiceme, yaaaaay! And now I fall overs.]