(lol this kind of a filler to describe scene tbh)

Casey rapped lightly on a wooden pole. No answer. "Ah, excuse me, sir?" he asked the grizzled old man.

It was nearing dark, and Casey had been wandering around the docks when he spotted this old man, his small sailboat tied to the dock and back turned. The man was fiddling with his sail, folds on canvas draped over his legs.

Still no answer though.

"Sir?" the healer asked a little louder. The man jumped a little, turning his weary eyes to the stranger. "Ah m' sorry young man, my hearing ain't so good anymore. What is it that cha' needed?"

"Well I just happened to notice that your sail appears to be torn."

"Yea' she is-- but there don't seem ta' be a single seamstress in this town and m' useless with a needle." the man chuckled.

"I can help you, I'll sew up your sail if you take me up the coast a bit."

"Thats ah mighty fine offer young man, say, what'chr name?"

"Casey."

"Cassi? Thats a bit of a strange one for a boy--. Well climb on in then, take ah looksie at this sail." Out of politeness, Casey didn't bother to correct the man, instead stepping into the boat, careful not to rock it too much. He accepted the sail from the man, gave it a look over, and then rummaged around in his messenger bag. He pulled out a large spool of canvas thread, a needle, and a small crystal that radiated light when he shook it, and got to work.

(are we starting out in our world and then meeting up?)

(i think so, lala)
Nicote was, once again, hiding from the world. In the basement of the house his uncle had moved to after that stupid war that really shouldn't have happened.Man, that war had been messed up. How he wasn't dead or evaporated into mist or something, no one knew. Certianly not him.

He was also pretyt sure that he'd never get over the fact Newt, who was supposed to be his nephew, was older then him. Now that was messed up. It'd even gotten to the point where they'd decdided to ignore all technicalities and just say they were cousins.
But that was besides the point.
Nicote set his book back on the shelf and reached for another. He had so much to catch up on, even aft 5 whole years. He'd forfeited most of his schooling in the past, and now he was paying for it. . Technology. Basic knowledge. Bildernian. Famous folk. He needed to fit in, he couldn't stick out. if the rest of hte population knew.....He didn't want to think about that. He hated fame. He hated being coped up. He hated being gawked at (as if he didn't get enough of hof that as it was, with his odd appearance and heavy accent.
He glanced over at Lish, sprawled on a nearby couch staring at a pad of paper and drawing something via his Gift. How Lish could be so calm and collected, Nic didn't know. But there he was, a half-written essay in his hands, a pad of paper on the opposite side of the couch. That guy could multitask all right.


(To be clear: Bildernian is what Terrarians call English)

(Okay)

(oh dear i've accidently made it canon that Lish likes drawing and can multitask, whoops, well then. That was most definitely not part of any of my plans but he's done it thrice now so :P)

Astra was uncomfortably standing in the corner of the room her hands fiddling with a piece of metal. Around now, she decided, it was just a cruel joke that the council sent her to these stupid peace meetings. Ever since she had gotten back from her travels they decided, why not send the hybrid over to the peace meetings, then we can just blame the war on her. Those scheming aristocrats, they were devious and cruel. She zoned in and out of the conversation. blah blah blah something about how the elves and the spirits belonged to the canopians. As far as it mattered for her, she couldnt care which way the war went, there would always be small ways she could help out and small problems. No need trying to fix a war for a planet who werent fond of her at all.

Alastor was in an uncomfortable state of half phasing between ghost and human. He could almost swear that the canopians had chosen this place for their meetings. They probably just wanted to see him suffer. Why wouldnt they? Somehow word had spread of his unfortunate ability. Now instead of being the one person who couldnt change into a ghost at will, now everyone believed he was some evil spirit who controls death and life. No matter, they would just die anyways, then when they were dead he could wack some sense into them.
...
As he waited he heard glimpses of the stories from the dead, something about a healer and a storyteller. Interesting, he thought to himself, but a healer what was the point. They were just going to die at one point or another, why keep them alive any longer, and a storyteller, he sure hoped his story never got written. With his luck it would go something like there once was an untalented boy who turned into a chaotic evil spirit that sucked life from people.