The full seasonal event can be read here! Below are the main seasonal items for quick reference:
1. A thread reacting to the season's weather in some ways.
2. A thread in the part of the city your character doesn't live in!
3. A thread relating to your vocation.
Of The Season
Quote
"Tell Dr. Nate that Gale sent you, and he still owes me for the mushrooms. Except that it takes you a while to reach the clinic, and by the time you do your fever is spiking, and so instead of the requisite message you instead tell the poor soul who greets you that 'A gale'a m'shrooms sent me cus'a my hands.'" - Zephyr in Oh help me, please doctor, I'm damaged
That sums up everything that's been going on recently. Is she a supporter of Shaju's lockdown? Of course! Those miserable ruffians need to be taught a lesson until they hand the vandals over. She doesn't care one iota if the Drenchers starve (well, she cares half a iota, but that's for her workers, who she will of course feed).
But then there was that stupid masquerade...
Oh! Anyone could've foreseen it'd go that way. They're such animals: good for work and disgusting, unsophisticated behavior.
Trina is a known storm around these parts: she's got a face like a thundercloud and she's not afraid to let anyone know, at least not when it's about something reasonable, like those riots. She storms through the Kusund gardens, headed for one in particular, a well-known edge to her stride. It translates into 'don't talk to Trina unless you want to have your face verbally ripped off'.
She finally reaches that one, particular garden, a small table already set with a steaming teapot and two cups and the best lady in the entire city there. Something in Trina softens, as it always does, but the thunderstorm in her face and her body and her legs doesn't go away (it never does). "Oh, Nora, darling," she calls out when appropriately close, sweeping in like a bird of prey to press their cheeks together in greeting before (angrily-ANGRILY! be careful with the delicate tea set) pouring herself a cup of tea. Still too agitated to sit, the teacup will become an instrument in wild gesturing. "Oh that riot, I knew it would happen, you can't trust those wet animals, but oh no they had to go ahead with that demeaning masquerade."
— ( no matter what you do I'll never break ) —
(This post was last modified: 12-29-2022, 10:20 AM by Trina.)
It is a a lovely Tanul day. Far more lovely than Nora's mood. It is not as stormy as the thundercloud that will soon make an appearance, but more like a heavy overcast. The necessary evil that is the lockdown is one of the things souring her mood. Of course she wants the attackers to be stopped from leaving, but it was becoming a struggle to do any kind of work. Supplies running low, customers worrying about too many life issues to be buying luxury items (apart from those stress shopping) and to top it off; her husband would just not stop complaining about transport lines standing still and whatever else it was. She often listened with half an ear. Yes, she complained as well, but at least she could understand the use the lockdown had. The vile Drenchers responsible could not be allowed to escape.
Said vile Drenchers had the nerve to ruin the festival as well.
Nora sits with a newspaper. Dressed in a simple (for her) maroon coloured dress. Its pleaded skirt reaching to her ankles and showing off high-heel black boots. The bodice is cut in a small u-shape, just deep enough to show the top of her collar bones and its sleeves go down to her elbows. A narrow sash in purple is tied around her waist, with the ends hanging down the front. Her hair is tied up in a simple, yet elegant, bun and decorated with a golden hairpin in the shape of a flower with a small emerald in its center.
She looks up from the newspaper when she hears the steps coming towards her and a polite smile forms on her lips. It is not a big smile, but it is showing in her eyes as well without taking away her displeased expression completely. After the greeting, she calmly folds the newspaper up while keeping a watchful eye on her tea set as Trina pours herself a cup.
"They should never have invited the Drenchers. I just cannot understand why Tsili thought it would go well" She perhaps sounds calmer than Trina, but the tone of her voice clearly tells how much she dislikes the whole vent.
With a small huff, she pours herself a cup and leans back in the chair. One leg across the other. "Did you hear the talk? They say young Sunjata never came home last night. Apparently no one has seen him the whole morning."
(This post was last modified: 12-29-2022, 07:03 PM by Eleonora.)
"She probably got pressured into it by those loathsome wethead sympathizers," Trina declares with a mixture of raging frustration and exasperation. Nora is her drug, her release, her anchor: Trina becomes the hurricane, while Nora remains a breeze, and yet she cuts to the core. It's always been strangely calming, bringing her down to a more sensible level. "For 'goodwill', or whatever else. Bah." She snorts disdainfully, before taking a sip of her tea, swallowing it with a noise of utter (and borderline inappropriate) appreciation. "Oh, this is just exquisite, as always, darling."
And with that, Trina flops (dramatically and somewhat gracefully) into the chair set aside for her—a stark, feral counterpoint to Nora's stylish and composed self. Oh, there had been times where she had been so envious of that poise..! And other times, where she had been insanely frustrated, had wanted to shake Nora to rattle some more explosive reaction out of her.
"Ugh, I know," but the frustration is not aimed at Nora. "I can't believe.. The state of the enforcers! It's insulting, really. Is this what they have come to? A pack of fearful dogs? There's reports of several Platers being pushed onto the trams along with the wetheads just because they couldn't keep a crowd in check. A disgrace. Oh, I'd just love to hear how Tsili will justify this." The last is a mutter into her teacup as she takes another sip of the fine fluids.
Eleonora's anger is indeed not as explosive as Trina's. It is cold, sharp. She is the one that can look at you with such deep disappointment that you just want to beg at her feet for her to yell at you instead. But she almost never lashes her anger out. Her emotions are elegant, just like most things about her.
So she tilts her head ever so slightly to the side and observes her friend like a teacher would observe you above the rim of their glasses. Is she judging Trina's behaviour, though? No, of course not. She had full understanding that some needed to act out their rage. She will, however, have something to say about it should her tea set go flying. With slightly pursed lips, she picks up her own cup when Trina finally sits down. Holding the saucer in one hand and the cup in the other, she takes a small sip.
"Shaju seems very proud over them and I admit, they could be effective if unleashed on the Drenchers. However, what happened at the festival is unacceptable." She puts the cup down with a quiet exhale and regards her friend for a moment. "Have you heard if they will send down enforcers to take home the Platers? It would be the least they could do to repair this mess." If the plan was to leave the Platers to fend for themselves down in the Drench until the trams opened up again... It is almost unthinkable.
How many of Nora's tea sets Trina may have broken something from remains a closely guarded secret. Is it none? A couple? Many? Ssh, ssh. Sekrit. Or maybe she's the one who brought kintsugi to Kotoll
The downside to sitting down is that it is, by its nature, relaxing. Calming. It's easier to remain inflamed and heated and upset when you're standing, when you can gesticulate wildly, when you feel the solidity of the plate underneath your feet and its power surging up through you, giving you such solid, steadfast purchase that you feel indomitable. Unstoppable.
Sitting down is like having the passion drain out of you. Sure, she gets to enjoy her tea, even though she's always careful not to spill or drop whatever delicate and exotic porcelain she's waving around, but the invigorating tirades just sort of dry up.
She sighs. Deeeeeply.
"It'd seem they've lost their touch," she counters, darkly. "Grown soft and scaredy." Maybe she should give Shaju a piece of her mind, then again—she's not suicidal. Disturbing him right now, with Sunjata missing, might not be the best idea. She sighs, again. Sips some tea.
"I haven't heard much at all," she admits after a few seconds. See the above reason: she hadn't wanted to storm into the Bratena grounds and demand answers when it likely would've hurt her public image to be hauled away, or something. "But given their performance last night I think they'd be too scared. Fucking pussies." The last bit is another dark mutter into her teacup.
But also.. there's other important young men to think about. It's not like Trina intentionally forgets about Byran, it's just- Sunjata is .. juicier. "Was Byran out last night?"
Nora, for one, is quite happy Trina finally seems to calm down a bit. Even if she did admire the passion her friend holds, it was often easier to have a normal conversation about it when emotions are more contained.
She sips quietly some more on the tea, keeping an eye on Trina over the edge of her cup while the other woman voices her opinions. If she knew Trina was half in mind to storm over to Shaju, she would have tried to talk her out of it. What had happened should not be repeated next time, but with the current tension, being anything less than proper diplomatic might set off more social bombs.
'Fucking pussies.' Her tea cup lowers and she gives Trina a look that more or less says 'Language, dear', but does not make any vocal comment about it other than a soft huff. When the question about her own son comes, she sets the cup aside on the table and takes a moment to pick some dust from her skirt.
"He was, but he managed to stay away from any of the brutality. Thank the Saints." Had her son been one of the Platers stuck in the Drench, she would probably have been a smidge less calmer than she is today.
"He is not sure what set everything off. He said the Drenchers started getting rowdy, then as if given a silent command, the Enforcers sprung into actions. Batons swinging and and forcefully pushing everyone in their way out of the area and into the trams."
Language! No! No language! Just passion. Trina is the interloper, the usurper, never as graceful and mild and perfect-mannered as Eleonora, and the look she returns over the rim of her perfect and one-of-a-kind tea cup is both warm (it's a comforting ritual; Trina's fervor and Nora's disapproving glances) and somewhat challenging: I dare you to disagree with me. They both know it, but saying it falls to Trina.
"Oh, that's such a relief." Again, it's not that she doesn't care about Byran, he's just.. he's never been a huge part of their relationship. Always there, of course, but they've never been like those mothers who talk about nothing else but their children. She cares about him, by proxy of caring about Eleonora. And for that reason, she doesn't like the idea of him being caught up in such a sticky situation, or hurt by accident in the melee, or any such misfortune.
His account though... Trina purses her lips and thoughtfully lets her cup come to rest against her thigh. "I wonder..." But it seemed too careless, too sloppy. "If one were one to consider such fancies, it almost sounds .. planned. But, given the messy execution, and even Sunjata himself getting lost in it, I suppose it far more likely their blood just ran too hot and things got out of control." She sighs, again, dexterous fingers wrapped around the priceless china. "Otherwise, it would've been an admirable play."
She will not accept the challenge. Not that she does not dare. Oh, she could voice her opinions quite well if she wanted to. No, she just will not take any bait for that kind of discussion. She will settle for silent disapproval and let Trina speak the way she wants to. Perhaps if they had been inside Nora's house.
Eleonora does not mind Trina's cooled interest in her son. It suited her quite well and she has no need for her friend to have any major interest in the rest of her family. It was of no importance for their friendship, so having the interest being on this polite level is enough.
"One could wonder... If the Drenchers caused it all just for the purpose of being able to drag Sunjata with them down. Kidnapping the Arbiter's son for some nefarious plot of theirs." She continues musing on the speculations and gossip surrounding last night's event. A small sip is taken of the tea. "Perhaps he was never given the chance to let the Enforcers know who he was. Everyone was in costume, so it makes sense if they could not see who was who in the crowd."
Whether it was true or not, it did not really matter. Any speculation that could feed the ideas of finally flushing out the Drench deserved to be aired.
