Arriving at a hole in a tree he found particularly convenient several times in his weeks of wandering, he caught the edge of his cloak on the opening. This was not the first time; he caught it on things several times on the way over, and to be honest, the effect just wasn’t the same since his wings stopped it from billowing sufficiently. It’s not like he got cold here, so if he didn’t even get the dramatic flair, what was the point?

It was just a hassle, so he wound up shredding it and using it as part of a different set of armor instead. Packing for a gambeson in particular; it was apparent that he needed better protection.

In the end, he settled on what he knew was akin to a combination of modern body armor, using plates inside of material pouches, in the pattern of a much slimmer and form-fit dendra panoply with a substantially shorter collar, made rigid with stone plates. This was with an old school gambison of course, entirely made of cloth and packed with a cotton-like material. He tried to use leather instead but just couldn’t figure out how to simulate flesh.

A hood came up over the back of his head, small octangular coins of stone suspended throughout the material, to prevent any surprise attack. Beyond that, he kept his niqab look, with armored plates in much smaller pockets lining his cheeks, jawbone, and pretty much anywhere that didn’t require a lot of mobility.

Turns out his cultural and historical studies came in handy after all. It was of course a pale shadow of the real things, since he had only fairly weak stone and couldn’t use too much cotton or he’d overheat, but damn if it wasn’t a sight better than none. He thought of how it felt getting his shoulders, chest, and thigh torn open in one clean shot by the bird. This stuff wouldn’t stand up to too much punishment, but when he got used to it, he’d be better off with it than without.

It did turn out to be fairly heavy despite his efforts, but he supposed he had to get his strength up somehow. It certainly wasn’t going to be arm exercises; his arms would likely never really exert a force great enough they’d be worth using over his telekinesis. He’d work them when they were involved in core exercise, but likely not otherwise. It was just… different than on Earth. There was little purpose to arm exercises here and he didn't have time for such pointless luxuries, and frankly, he knew very little about leg exercises outside of what he did as a young kid. None of those were the high-impact exercises he'd hoped for, since he could now heal himself in ways protein shakes could only dream.

As he contemplated just how to do these exercises exactly, he came upon a realization. He just produced a suit of armor. And clothes. He’d previously produced tools and weapons and conveniences. Why not build a home, too? Like his armor, he couldn’t build anything that would withstand a ton of punishment, but he could be way more thorough in design with that than armor. On such a small scale, he could even get pretty creative with it. No need to account for shear forces or torsion or tons of weight in a house built for such a small person.

He was certainly no architect and had a pretty limited understanding of the actual workings of the different home styles even if he knew their names, but he could experiment.

He went through several iterations, but the fae reputation of timelessness became understood to him in this period. He was focused on the house and not being eaten. Days and nights passed, four of them he’d recall later, but his focus didn’t waver. The way the nights were lit up by the red glow of the gas giant in the sky and the numerous moons, along with the luminous fog, made it rather easy to continue working.

This was fun, and that made it easy to focus on. As mad as he was at losing his business, he had to admit… there was a certain pleasure to making something for him, to his standards, with no one else’s opinions. Just… creating. For functionality, sure, but outside of simply functioning he could do… whatever he wanted.

It’d been a while since he felt much pleasure through the act of creation itself.

What he wound up with was essentially a very strange birdhouse of sorts. It was roughly three-by-five feet, tucked into the nook of a large tree branch. It had a few additional supports of material and stone connecting to other nearby branches, but he overall dressed it up like the local beehives; it was expanded in erratic ways outside of the three-by-five space with multicolored fabric reflecting the tree and surrounding leaves, camouflaging it in the rainbow of its environment.

It had a secretive little entrance that you had to cut the cloth to open, which wasn’t a problem since he could just mend it with a snap. There was a stone chimney just big enough for him to lift himself through with telekinesis since he couldn’t flap his wings, with holes throughout at different angles to get a feel for what was happening outside and ending in a trap door he had to manipulate open with Ki. He could use it as an emergency escape if needed, he even made a little ladder in it just in case, but it wasn’t his first choice.

In the end, he wound up creating a bunch of furniture on an upper level with a comfortable carpet. It was a simple place, built kind of like his room at home minus the mini-fridge and computer. There was a bed initially, but he found the material he made unsuitable for such a thing so he made a hammock instead, a desk and chair, a simple wardrobe space, as well as some shelves and several boxes and cubbies. Places to keep knickknacks if he so pleased.

A little part of him quietly wondered why he’d want knickknacks. He’d never been interested before. Shortly after putting the finishing touches on the room, Tedrick nearly jumped out of his skin as a notification popped up.

Shit. That was good, but it also startled the crap out of him. Well, he figured he should probably see what this was all about.

Well, that was convenient. Just because he remembered everything doesn’t mean that what he needs will automatically spring to mind; he still needed to take the time to recall information. The more information that he was shuffling through, the longer it would take to convey and remember information. While that meant it was inevitable that he would get it, it was good it came so early.

What was less good was how… odd it felt. When he was trying to extrapolate new information off of a memory, it was almost like diving into water. The “dive” was swift, but to go any further than that was substantially slower. It wasn’t such a strange thing the first time, but whenever he went back and forth from recalling to ruminating, the whiplash was confusing. It wasn’t something he couldn’t get used to, but it was certainly an unpleasant thing, to begin with.

He had made a hole in the floor leading down to a much more austere level, entirely undecorated but instead filled with equipment, tools that could be made using simple materials that he could produce but were too complex to want to create repeatedly. Things like a table clamp, work desk with functioning drawers, exercise equipment, a fire pit with a hood leading through a wall into the chimney, a rough smithy in case he ever figured out metal creation, and a fair-sized empty space with targets of varying shapes.

It was clear he’d need to practice unsavory behaviors in this world.

He had no interest in violence, but it seemed to follow him like a specter.

Forming a long thorn in hand, he thrust it forward with his telekinesis, striking it in the hip of a humanoid-shaped target. He’d aimed for the gut.

He did little to help this problem he had with always picking fights. His insults were too biting to be responded to with snarky sass since he always went for the throat, and seldom had the self-control to not lash back whenever condescended to or treated as lesser - at least if he didn’t have a damn good reason not to. The man at the store was only one of many such experiences. He could never just call someone a dumbass or something.

He learned from his father how to observe and truly see that which is around you. It was a skill that was… would have been invaluable in the boardroom. A wrinkled suit and tired eyes could imply a long night, and their patience wasn’t to be tested. Or, depending on the context, it could mean they were vulnerable to being tempted into making a fool of themselves. With the key details, like wedding ring tan lines, the right circumstances could be made so your prey destroyed themselves.

He undoubtedly came out of the fight with the drunk shopper worse for wear, before he was grabbed by that anomalous monster that brought him here, but he wasn’t the one who was having another mark on their police record. Nor the one having videos of beating up a “cripple” put up all over the internet. All with none of his brutal attacks against the man’s psyche that incited the whole thing recorded.

Committing that kind of public assault had a way of changing your reputation.

Tedrick had won. Tedrick always won.

But that was then. The reaper flashed to mind, his words meant well, “I’ll check in on you later.”

Would he keep that same razor’s edge against fae? They were legendary for the same skillset he took pride in.

Even if he did, it wouldn’t be enough. If he was getting home before his parents died of age, he’d need to act himself. You couldn’t talk your way out of everything.

A hard shudder ran through him as he remembered the hot, moist air of the inside of the snake. Its breath stank like death. The venom in its mouth burned his lungs on inhalation.

You’re fine. Just don’t let it happen again.

Eyes closed, he repeated this until it stuck.

He was fine.

It would not happen again.

When that reaper looked in on him, he would not see a chance to try again.