#loz.

@obraveyouth asked:

does honey mind if the hero keeps fairies in bottles? and/or do the fairies under her care ever seem to mind or does it depend on which great fairy they serve ( such as the fairies in ww looking sad to be kept in such a way )

Heh... well, as we've glimpsed (in a botw/totk setting at the very least), Honey certainly does feel strongly about the practice, which aligns with much of her core character sentiments—freedom, in both the physical and metaphorical senses, being a concept she values above all else. being somewhat bound to her fountain/shrine in any given LoZ iteration is already more of a tether than she prefers, goddesses forbid the idea of being sealed inside a pocketable prison only just big enough to hold oneself in the first place.

Rest assured, if she witnessed a fairy being snatched up, she'd certainly have something to say about it... or most likely she would, anyway.

I think there's room for variance in the fact that not all of the sprightly, little fairies which occupy the realm appear to have the same level of... sentience? agency?

We see fairies which speak and move freely, who have clearly established personalities—like Navi, Tatl, and the Kokiri companions in general—and obviously, as you highlight (and as I often think about): the WW fairies are visibly emotive/expressive, and they do not seem to appreciate being bottled... but then, on the other side of the coin, there are the fountain fairies. Moving in idle patterns but never leaving, seemingly only fulfilling their purpose or any meaningful role when someone appears in need of healing.

This, I think, is where the main differentiation occurs, and where her opinion flexes. As I see it, fairies can either be born directly from natural forces, possessed of a will and mind of their own, or they can be a physical manifestation or extension of a great fairy's power and spirit—think, perhaps, of the stray fairies in MM, which were literal portions of a "shattered" great fairy. In the case of the earlier, Honey would, indeed, mind; but the latter? situationally.

She doesn't take kindly to the hero just snatching the poor things clear out of the air without warning, but, if the being's sole purpose is to mend a weary warrior's wounds in their time of need, it does seem more prudent to have them on stand-by rather than hoping their broken body magically appears at a fountain in time... so, he might as well take them along.

If it's one of her fairies, she'd maybe make a little fuss at, again, how small the bottle is—"could you at least put a little bit of water from the fountain in there? maybe a shiny shell, something to make them feel at home—and don't keep them in there too long! come switch them out for a different one if you HAVE to,"—but, ultimately, acquiesce with little real resistance.

Cloud flicks a few stray grains of badlands salt stuck to the weave of his shirt. The sudden buzz in his pocket goes unaddressed for the moment as he looks out over the horizon.

A short pit stop under the cover of an asymmetrical spire of pale stone grants some reprieve from the misty rain that carries the musty scent of petrichor with it as the skies darken and promises more inclement weather than a light shower.

Without looking away from the storm gaining momentum overhead, Cloud slips his hand into his pocket to retrieve his PHS. A brow arches up as he reads the preview message from his notifications.

Yeah. Okay.

A random, creepy text from an unknown number leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Some kid who got their hands on his PHS number from the local yellow pages or from one of the classifieds Tifa helped him post. Someone with too much time on their hands. Must be. Cloud drums his fingers along Fenrir's hood, considers the message displayed on his screen with a squint for a few more seconds, then pockets his phone without responding.

pre-plotted starter for @senseofjustice

It was almost difficult to imagine a time when the land of the golden goddesses sang with life abundant: when cuckoos ran through the great green fields and children played at the edge of the forest; when couriers carried letters from village-to-village, and Zora peeked up from the river as it ran to lake Hylia, watching passers-by and keeping peace in their way. Her mother had sung stories of that bright, blessed time— of a world they three might have enjoyed, together.

Honey hadn't been lucky enough to know that world, or to remember it like some others did; what she knew was the decline. Fields overrun with beasts, monsters hewn from the dark; followers of a man, a being determined to claim the goddess' bounty for his own, using power pilfered from the heavens, themselves.

The lucky and the wise fled, though many wouldn't escape the borders; the rest went into hiding, taking shelter in caverns, ruins, and whatever other hovel they could try to defend in a dying land. And still, amidst the chaos, the fairies remained. Some went into slumbers of their own, others' fountains were buried in the changing landscape, shrines lost in ruin, but nevertheless, they could not abandon Hyrule— they were as much a part of the land as the waters which ran through it, and the roots which wove through the earth.

...a nature one little fairy was none-too-happy to bear.

Honey thought over and over again that she should have left, by now. That, surely, her mother wouldn't have wished this on her, and would have wanted her daughter to find some land to thrive in, to live... but she couldn't bring herself to go. Not just because of that nagging sense of devotion which niggled at her heart, deep down; but far moreso because she was just as afraid as anyone else who still dwelt in the downtrodden kingdom. A great fairy she might be (in time), but never a fighter, never a warrior; and it would take no less than that to make it through the realm of Hyrule, today.

All she could do was find a quiet cavern with a little pore of its own; to shelter in its depths, in whatever small facsimile of her own fountain she could build.

A silly endeavor, perhaps. Not that she'd had anything better to do with her time, but, come now— fountains were meant to be respites for travelers, for adventurers; but who would be so foolish as to be traveling this place?

...well, for every question: an answer.

All she could do was stare at him, to start. a moment's fear, longer shock, finding the solitude of the magic-lit cavern disturbed for the first time in who knows how long— by a boyish brunette in green clothing, clutching a sword in one hand and shield in the other. Fresh from the fight, with dirt on his edges and a weight in his carriage which told the story of a long day before now.

❝ I— ❞ had no idea what to say, as it turns out; too overwhelmed just to see someone else, ❝ good goddesses, I can't believe it. You're, like... real? really?— what in the world are you doing here? ❞

questions only sentence starters | from here

❝ Hmm? Mmm! ❞ Curious sounds muffled, slightly, by the small, wooden disc momentarily held between her lips, as both hands were briefly dedicated to undoing a tangle in the strings which hung through its grooves; before she reaches up and pulls the Kumihimo plate aside.

❝ Why, one of the very lucky recipients of my blessing, of course! It was his payment—he came in with his armor looking much the worse for wear, looking for some mending along with the typical fortifications me and my aunties dole out...but even magic can't put something special back together quite right if we don't understand how it was made in the first place. He had all these pretty silk braids which'd been frayed or cut altogether— ❞ Her gaze is equal parts fond and nostalgic as she skims her fingers along the threads she was working this day, by contrast to those first she saw,

❝ —so I made him teach me what he knew, and leave the disc for good measure. It took a few days to get the hang of it, but in the end it meant he got his original back spick-and-span, and I got a new bit of kit to work with in the future.❞ She brightens, a hint of self satisfaction in the sway of her head as she giggles.

and