Fragmentary bits of today's dreams: roimata's turn

The dream started out in swoopy third person. This is sort of like camera-eye third except that the camera is attached to a crow with hyperactive tendencies and a short attention span. The gist of the stuff covered in the prologue was an area of fairly peaceable native/settler interactions, largely in a wooded area, complete with a large number of undercurrents of power struggle.

The settlers were arguably attempting to convert the natives to their religious beliefs; in actuality, they were setting up a bunch of bad jokes based on the notion that the natives didn't know how to read their language, and thus wouldn't know how silly it all was. The natives, on the other hand, were credulously accepting of all the dippy things that the settlers were "teaching" them, so long as they were within range of the settlers; outside that area, they just ignored them. Things like a brief scene of a yes-man young teenager enquiring whether he's expected to learn the big magic of building gigantic stone buildings, and being told maybe, but there are a lot of magics before that to worry about. He nodded eagerly and scurried off, and the camera on the crow wandered off looking for me and my water-garden obsession.

I'm sitting in front of a large fish tank, containing nothing but a fairly lonely-looking danio. (Or maybe a fancy guppy, male.) Well, and a lot of greenish water. Elsewhere I have a fitted pond liner, and a large pile of indeterminate greenery that I've apparently ordered from somewhere. (And something that looks like a bonsai tree that claims to be a species of sage which was apparently a Bonus Gift With Your Order.) Around a table a little ways away from this large stack of soggy greenery are a bunch of the natives, led by their shaman, played by roimata.

I do mean played; we had a broken language problem in-character which was resolved when I fished out a double handful of white paving rocks from a bag I was using to weight down the dirt on top of the lily-pad pots, put them in my shirt, and carried them over, because I could communicate with the shaman with some sort of language conveyed in the shape and positioning of stones and I had a lot of handy rocks, and got the comment, "My character Awhina doesn't bother with the language from this point on, because we have rocks." "Well, my character keeps talking anyway." "That's all right."

I forget what we were negotiating, though.

. . . okay, that's a funny song to realise was playing as I finished that.

Onwards, Miscellaneous Soldiers, Marching As To War!

From roimata: Hmmmmm. His nap-fu is strong!

I went through the recipe book from which I got the thing I made for my father and brooksmoses's brother for their respective birthdays, intending to make notes on some of the recipes involving said thing. There was one recipe. It required two of the other things in the book. I harrumph a great deal.

However, I'm in the middle of making something for brooksmoses, too, and my kitchen smells like a curry. (Mind, teinedreugan was frightened by a curry when he was young, so this may or may not be a good thing.)

For my next trick, I may start up a batch of natron using the evaporative process. Perhaps by the time I feel I've sufficient clue to make ritual use of it, it'll be done. And this way I don't risk scorching.

There's stuff frustrating me, too, but I don't feel like writing about it. Mneah.