![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The weird-ass Mansion calendar might still say that there's a week of fall left, but Magnus can tell that winter is going to descend with a vengeance. It's properly cold out — cold enough that he needs a hoodie and shoes to feel comfortable; his t-shirt is no longer cutting it. And it's definitely going to get worse.
Since Magnus is a mama now, he's trying to think pragmatically about what his infant griffin needs. A few days after his birthday, he goes back to his room, all on his own and without telling anyone, to grab some things.
It's — weird. Someone is still taking care of his plants, he notes with a small smile, and he runs his hands over them. He'll have to bring them outside once spring hits again, but maybe, in the interim perhaps he can visit them every once in a while? Because... this room feels fine now. It just doesn't feel like his anymore. Maybe it would be different if he tried to sleep here, but gone is the threat of a panic attack. This is just some dusty old bedroom with some lively plants in the window and a few of his things still tucked away here and there.
He retrieves the box he came for, piles a sleeping bag on top of it, and makes his way back out of the Mansion.
Outside, his camp has gone through some winterization changes. He's been a busy boy! He started the day he and Galahad were both recovering, independently, from their birthday party, and he's been keeping on with it, pausing only during his dinner delivery from Laertes and sometimes Sagramore. (When Galahad comes early for lunch and stays as long as he can handle the chill to take a shift with Dro, Magnus mostly just puts him to work helping him. There are some jobs that require two sets of hands.)
Even with his occasional spurts of summer, he knows he needs to let his plentiful little moss garden go dormant for the winter so that it survives; he's dragged his increasing pile of belongings to the edge of the clearing. There are a few tarps laid out on the ground to chase away the wet, and he's rigged up a makeshift shelter with some saplings that he's been growing into shape, more tarps, and a thick canvas cover. Not a proper tent, but something that can close off from the wind and snow, or open to the woods around it based on whether or not he ties the walls up. He's gathered even more lawnchair cushions and created a nest in the middle of the tarp. Blankets aren't really a thing he requires — he certainly didn't have them when he was homeless! — but he's hooked a few over a handy branch for visitors who might want them, and he tucks his new sleeping bag now on top of that pile for when he does want to feel particularly cozy.
(There is a part of him — a tiny, persistently hopeful part — that hopes that Alex might somehow come back. Alex gets colder than Magnus does, but Alex, like Magnus, also likes being outside. There's space, everywhere, for a second person, whether that second person might want to sleep separately from Magnus or in the same pile of pillows as Magnus. Just in case.)
Magnus has moved his fireplace to a safe distance in front of his little shelter, close enough that people can benefit from it and so that he can reach it for cooking purposes when he's sitting on the cooler, which now rests at the edge of his tarps where he can use it to hold down a wall if it gets particularly windy out. He's dragged out a second cooler, too, for the other side — one mostly hold books, clothes, and belongings that he definitely doesn't want to get wet, the other holds food that he doesn't want animals (such as a particularly investigatory and hungry baby griffin) to reach.
The latest additions around camp are Drosera's beds. He's found a bunch of dog beds and a bunch of bird perches in one of the sub-basements, and so he's put them up in little pairs here and there. One right next to his own pillow-nest, one close to the fire. Another set will go inside of the enormous box he's brought from his room and placed next to the bench he's been trying to fit together so that visitors have somewhere to sit besides his bed-pile, so it's protected from the wind. And as for the last:
His trampoline now takes center stage in the clearing. Since he's pretty sure it can hold off the worst of the snow, he's put one of Drosera's bed-and-perch combos underneath it. It's an extra step to drag that free when he wants to bounce, but not that much of an extra step.
He sits back on his heels once he's dumped the contents of the box onto his ground-tarp. While he can sense snow hanging heavy in the air, just waiting to fall, he's not sure how much will land, but he's pretty sure he's done all he can to prepare short of moving back inside. Drosera ambles over to investigate the pile of creature comforts that fall out of it.
food? she asks.
"No," Magnus laughs, going to sort the stuff into his coolers. "Socks for me, toys for both of us. This one is for you," and he tosses her a thickly-braided length of rope that he's pretty sure is meant for dogs.
She sniffs at it, and then looks at him, unimpressed. food??? baby hungry!!
"Baby is always hungry," Magnus says, and pulls Mothwing's latest fish out of his backpack. "Come here, Hungry Baby." And as she half-runs, half-trips over her own front talons to get some of the fish, he takes another look around camp. "I think we're just about done here, don't you, Dro?"
Drosera, of course, doesn't answer. She has more important things to focus on.
Since Magnus is a mama now, he's trying to think pragmatically about what his infant griffin needs. A few days after his birthday, he goes back to his room, all on his own and without telling anyone, to grab some things.
It's — weird. Someone is still taking care of his plants, he notes with a small smile, and he runs his hands over them. He'll have to bring them outside once spring hits again, but maybe, in the interim perhaps he can visit them every once in a while? Because... this room feels fine now. It just doesn't feel like his anymore. Maybe it would be different if he tried to sleep here, but gone is the threat of a panic attack. This is just some dusty old bedroom with some lively plants in the window and a few of his things still tucked away here and there.
He retrieves the box he came for, piles a sleeping bag on top of it, and makes his way back out of the Mansion.
Outside, his camp has gone through some winterization changes. He's been a busy boy! He started the day he and Galahad were both recovering, independently, from their birthday party, and he's been keeping on with it, pausing only during his dinner delivery from Laertes and sometimes Sagramore. (When Galahad comes early for lunch and stays as long as he can handle the chill to take a shift with Dro, Magnus mostly just puts him to work helping him. There are some jobs that require two sets of hands.)
Even with his occasional spurts of summer, he knows he needs to let his plentiful little moss garden go dormant for the winter so that it survives; he's dragged his increasing pile of belongings to the edge of the clearing. There are a few tarps laid out on the ground to chase away the wet, and he's rigged up a makeshift shelter with some saplings that he's been growing into shape, more tarps, and a thick canvas cover. Not a proper tent, but something that can close off from the wind and snow, or open to the woods around it based on whether or not he ties the walls up. He's gathered even more lawnchair cushions and created a nest in the middle of the tarp. Blankets aren't really a thing he requires — he certainly didn't have them when he was homeless! — but he's hooked a few over a handy branch for visitors who might want them, and he tucks his new sleeping bag now on top of that pile for when he does want to feel particularly cozy.
(There is a part of him — a tiny, persistently hopeful part — that hopes that Alex might somehow come back. Alex gets colder than Magnus does, but Alex, like Magnus, also likes being outside. There's space, everywhere, for a second person, whether that second person might want to sleep separately from Magnus or in the same pile of pillows as Magnus. Just in case.)
Magnus has moved his fireplace to a safe distance in front of his little shelter, close enough that people can benefit from it and so that he can reach it for cooking purposes when he's sitting on the cooler, which now rests at the edge of his tarps where he can use it to hold down a wall if it gets particularly windy out. He's dragged out a second cooler, too, for the other side — one mostly hold books, clothes, and belongings that he definitely doesn't want to get wet, the other holds food that he doesn't want animals (such as a particularly investigatory and hungry baby griffin) to reach.
The latest additions around camp are Drosera's beds. He's found a bunch of dog beds and a bunch of bird perches in one of the sub-basements, and so he's put them up in little pairs here and there. One right next to his own pillow-nest, one close to the fire. Another set will go inside of the enormous box he's brought from his room and placed next to the bench he's been trying to fit together so that visitors have somewhere to sit besides his bed-pile, so it's protected from the wind. And as for the last:
His trampoline now takes center stage in the clearing. Since he's pretty sure it can hold off the worst of the snow, he's put one of Drosera's bed-and-perch combos underneath it. It's an extra step to drag that free when he wants to bounce, but not that much of an extra step.
He sits back on his heels once he's dumped the contents of the box onto his ground-tarp. While he can sense snow hanging heavy in the air, just waiting to fall, he's not sure how much will land, but he's pretty sure he's done all he can to prepare short of moving back inside. Drosera ambles over to investigate the pile of creature comforts that fall out of it.
food? she asks.
"No," Magnus laughs, going to sort the stuff into his coolers. "Socks for me, toys for both of us. This one is for you," and he tosses her a thickly-braided length of rope that he's pretty sure is meant for dogs.
She sniffs at it, and then looks at him, unimpressed. food??? baby hungry!!
"Baby is always hungry," Magnus says, and pulls Mothwing's latest fish out of his backpack. "Come here, Hungry Baby." And as she half-runs, half-trips over her own front talons to get some of the fish, he takes another look around camp. "I think we're just about done here, don't you, Dro?"
Drosera, of course, doesn't answer. She has more important things to focus on.
Tags: