Bluejay Writer

Here is the fish room. Someone online had this idea of using the blue flooring to make it look like it's a pond inside, and I really loved it! Also, please ignore my slime hatching stations. :P

Here is the library. I still don't know how to arrange bookcases well in SV.

Here is the lounge/piano bar! Krobus statue has a new job as bartender.

He wears the uniform of a soldier, but he takes no great joy in death, and his fighting style is clumsy, frenetic, improvisatory. 

This man has neither the intelligence, nor the disposition, nor the fitness, nor the moral aptitude of a warrior. What business has he then, playing the role of protector in Man’s World?

But Diana loves him, loves his impatient sighs, loves his boyish bravado, loves the way he guards—poorly—his wonder at all of the Amazons’ creations, inventions, abilities. 

We Americans have barely just learned how to fly, and your people have already conquered space—and on goddamn flying kangaroos no less. Even if I’d brought a camera with me, nobody back home would ever believe it.

He takes great pains not to woo her, the angel that rescued him from the sea. Even when they are alone, poring over maps and scrolls together in the library, or exploring the tide pools that line the choppy waters along the southern banks of the island, or tending to the gardens and stables—he keeps his distance, guarding his body language and his words, and it is only in those rare moments when he is watching Diana explain some intricacy of their island life, the balance of growing and culling the herds, the rotation of crops to ensure the richness of the soil, the precise meter of Sappho’s poetry—it is only in moments like this where his eyes to betray his true feelings, the fact that he is fond of her, perhaps overly fond of her.

Hippolyta does not trust him, but she thinks him too stupid to betray her, to betray them on purpose.

He is utterly human, and barely a man. Look at him. He would be ten times happier to return to his father’s ranch, herding cows and singing songs and wearing a hat. The only reason he is with the soldiers is because their world is crumbling.

Antiope had returned from a stealth mission once with such a hat. It was barely 50 years earlier than Steve Trevor’s ominous introduction to their lives, and she had worn it daily until it was riddled with holes. Hippolyta had begged Menalippe to throw the ridiculous thing into the fire, but the Priestess had only smiled a serene smile that did not yet hide the laughter in her heart.

It makes her happy, sister, and all the more happy since you loathe it. Besides, it is a dashing look on her, and we have fond memories of this mission, and the people we saw there… you should have heard the men singing, Lyta. A rough and coarse people, but hardworking and heartfelt, with a great love for earth and for the beasts in their charge. There is cruelty in mankind, still, but there is contentment, also. 

A contentment built upon lies and the bloodshed of a thousand thousand innocents, Hippolyta had retorted, but she had acquiesced, and Antiope had kept the hat, and when it was worn beyond repair, Hippolyta brought a length of beaver felt to Pallas, and ordered her to fashion another.

It is a pity that Antiope and Steve Trevor never truly met one another. They have similarity in spirit, in boldness, in the art of stealth. And even as Diana leads the man with child-like excitement in zig-zags across their island, Hippolyta sees the grief in her daughter’s face, the way she laughs in delight whenever he says something sarcastic, and glances around to see if her aunt had been there to hear it too; the way she stumbles over her explanations to the boy, looking nervously about as if her aunt is standing nearby, ready to pounce, eager to correct. They lie together beneath the stars, and he speaks in a halting voice of his late father, betraying more vulnerability than Hippolyta would’ve given him credit for, and when Diana weeps, he looks guilty, and moves to hold her only when she flings a gauntleted arm about his shoulders.

Perhaps this one is earnest. His function within their army is that of a liar, but his heart is honest.