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
hey mr. trailblazer, spare you a joint paper it's strange how the days layer, and weigh on you years later
The Dust Fields seem as good a place as any to try and drive out the heat – nestled in the shadow of the Plates but open enough that he can feel a breeze that it’s almost enough for him to scream with delight. He won’t be here alone for long, but Uldren certainly attempts to soak it up in the early morning hours, when the day is close enough at its coolest to keep the sweat at bay. He lounges, some broken chairs found by a makeshift circle for what he assumes was a spot for bonfires made from wreckage from the last flood season, Uldren leans back in them to soak it up.
When Locke arrives, he’ll find Uldren almost half asleep, finally able to get some rest where he isn’t tossing and turning in the sauna of his apartment. His bag is carefully tucked and tightly held even in his dozed off state to keep it from being stolen. And he waits, wearing little more than a thin shirt only halfway buttoned up, a dark pair of pants with a hole in the knee, and his usual trademark boots.
They were all in love with dyin' they were drinking from a fountain
Locke was probably dropped on his head as a baby. He loves the heat and sweating and the sun and basically all of it. Something about the way it forces him to feel alive or whatever. He takes a swig of his "water" before sneaking the flask back into the back of his white jeans.
He sees a familiar figure laying on a dilapidated chair. He's got a bit of a soft spot for the kid honestly. It doesn't stop him from trying to kick the leg out from under the chair though. He grins down at Uldren, leaning forward so his business partner can see him better. "Good morning sunshine~" It's practically purred as he reaches down to grab the bag Uldren is clutching.
That was pourin' like an avalanche comin' down the mountain
hey mr. trailblazer, spare you a joint paper it's strange how the days layer, and weigh on you years later
He should know better. He really, really should. And yet here he is, dozed off on an already half broken plastic chair when Locke arrives. And as he always does, it’s a whirlwind. Quiet at first until he makes his presence known, this time by the means of Uldren waking immediately as the leg is kicked out and he nearly loses his balance, careening hard to keep himself straight up. “Agghfuck!” Comes his panicked immediate response, green eyes lifting to see who’s found him.
It’s the only reason he lets Locke take the bag, and with it the kid goes tumbling down. The leg snaps and he hits the ground with a loud oof. “Saint’s sake, Locke, didn’t think alarm clock was part’ve the deal?” It sounds hurt, but as Uldren picks himself up to brush himself off, there’s little actual pain in his tone. At least, not yet. He’ll complain when the bruise forms on his hip. “Glad to see y’got my note, asshole.”
And without much more than that, given Locke’s billions of siblings, he aims to collide with the other man in a playful tackle in return for the rude wake up call.
They were all in love with dyin' they were drinking from a fountain
Locke grins even as he examines the bag of goodies. He holds it up, looking over at Uldren for a moment before looking back. "It's a free service I offer for returning patrons." It's sang to the tune of one yet another annoyingly upbeat ad that plays on the radios. He ignores the insult, not that he really takes it as one, and is about to open the bag when he's promptly tackled.
And frankly, he should know better. He is tackled often for a variety of reasons, the least of which being kicking someone's chair out. The older man shoves the younger off of him as he sits up, annoyed to be even more dirty than he was before. "Are you twelve or some shit?" He grabs the bag again, having somewhat yeeted it, but remains on the ground.
"Getting shit lately sucks. None of the platers wanna come down and we can't go up."
That was pourin' like an avalanche comin' down the mountain
hey mr. trailblazer, spare you a joint paper it's strange how the days layer, and weigh on you years later
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Uldren waves him off, rolling his eyes quite exaggeratedly as Locke starts to open the bag and the younger man takes aim for the tackle. It works, however, taking them both down until Locke’s shoving him off and Uldren’s on his back gazing up at the sky with a huff of a laugh. “If I was twelve I wouldn’t be givin’ ya a cut of anything.” He proclaims, somewhat proudly, before he rolls over onto his side, propping his head up on a fist and reaches over with his leg to hook the yeeted bag onto it to roll it over toward Locke.
The fist propping his head up opens to clutch at his hair, a small shrug shot Locke’s way. “It’s cause that Arbiter kid’s fucked some shit up. You heard about it?” He asks, puffing out his cheeks with a whistle of a sigh. “I got some new designs though. If you need it I’ll give ya some of the cut from the Drenchers too. Runnin’ out of material these days though.” He pushes himself up with a small shrug, bent over his legs as he starts to try and wipe away the dirt and dust off his dark jeans with no luck.
