since the dawn of man is not that long

Caledon is rushing by while we stand in place. Some days that's how it feels. Each advance and we get bigger and we already count the size of Caledon as a whole in the millions of meters.

Tonight, Fawkes and I decided to see if I could walk to work. From our door in Caledon Penzance, to the door of Der Hut des Jaegers in Winterfell Absinthe.



(Reaching the first objective--Caledon Penzance to Caledon Morgaine. Which rezzed too slowly for this picture.)

Penzance to Morgaine was simple, really--walk to the Penzance Studios, take a left. That was pretty much it. The Studios aren't that far from us, either, so Morgaine? Ridiculously near us. But still, we achieved it, and we were off and walking.



(Walking through the pass into Caledon Brigadoon.)

We decided to follow the trolley tracks, just past the Morgaine border, considering first, the trolleys aren't running yet, and second, they aren't finished. But it was a good guideline to take us sim to sim.

It was getting colder out.



(A meeting with Miss Martini Discovolante, chief architect of Caledon Brigadoon.)

We stopped in Brigadoon, marveling at what had already gone up, and met with Miss Discolovante, designer of the sim. Looking around at her homes, her architexture, and her land layout, we knew Des had made the correct choice for Brigadoon's build. Her textures are lovely and photobased, for most of the homes; her lead-glass/amethystine-chunk paving stones are hand-created. She does lovely work.



(Nearing Cape Wrath.)

We made our goodbyes to Miss Discovolante, after a conversation on building, gender confusion--Fawkes switched from Zorro to CiCi during the trip through Brigadoon--and steampunk fashions, and walked slowly up the hill, heading for Cape Wrath. On the distance we could see glittering Winterfell, buried under ice.



(A meeting with the Guvnah.)

Just over the crest of the hill, heading down into Cape Wrath, still very nearly raw, we ran into the Guvnah, actively building. We meant to edge by and leave him to his work, but he paused for a few moments and we discussed topics of the day, the future of Caledon, and bright spangled things. We made our goodbyes when he accidentally raised the three of us above the level of the established pavement, and left him busily lowering the land again.

And then we were at the shore of Cape Wrath, facing Winterfell Absinthe across the quay. We saw a boat with the Caledon flag strapped to the main strut as aa sail, and Fawkes got in, piloting the boat over. But it was a single masted, no room for a passenger. I thought for a moment, then came up with my solution.



(Swimming to Absinthe.)

Again, a hybrid form, this one odder than usual--half kitten (the upper half) and half fish (mer for the lower half). I hit the water and the chill of it took my breath away. I floated out of the waves, water freezing to my fur, and nearly crawled into the first fire I saw. There has to be a better way to do this!

We turned to the northwest, angling for where I remembered the pub was, and immediately ran into someone's killer death security! We fairly flew across the snow, trying to outrun the guards, and thus, very nearly accidentally, rolled down the hill into the back garden of der Hut des Jaegers.

But finally we were there! We had made it! Long for a stroll, but with the ferry, eminently doable on those days ports won't work!

...Now what?



(Fawkes' answer: Now we dance! Hope those joints hold up in this cold...)

There are now little chairs by the fire, and tables, and I still adore the neighborhood. There's a dance shield for the back garden, though I somewhat fear for the strain on Frau Lowey's sanity, with the dances I saw, and a brain in a jar on one of the shelves inside.

How apropos.

Now all we need is Mr. Writer's confirmation that he does, in fact, have the wines for us, and we can open, I think. That and finalize my tip jar. I am also reliably informed--by Miss Discovolante--that Mr. Gray--1wuz, the tiny otter--has at least one bottle of a reliable vintage he might be willing to loan to us.

Slowly, slowly, the pub transforms from real estate to Third Place--or, as Miss Discovolante said, that place you go that is not work, nor home, but as comfortable and odd as either.

I like it. der Hut des Jaegers, where all the Jaegers know your name? Don't know about that, but we'll always welcome you with a smile. Mayhap even an invite to a friendly chair-throwing contest. :)