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
it's bad enough to see the sunlight through your seams the thread of you and hem of me it's bad enough in between
For once, the Drench is cooler than the Plates during Kivan, and it’s at least a small amount of respite as Sunjata gains the courage to actually try and leave Kotoll. He’s managed to use the arrival of the strange Toad in the Drench to get his father to allow him a bit more freedom to depart, leaving a secret little note for Savera in a code only she would know, something that would roughly translate to heading to Garanenz.
Which of course, meant trying to escape the lockdown because perhaps he is soft. Soft enough that he wants to avoid everything that Kotoll has to offer him, wants to go and find his mother, and pretend that nothing in the past few months had happened. So he’d managed to sneak out, a little bag of clothes and everything else he’d needed before when he’d gotten stuck in the Drench on a whim, this time purposefully attempting to make his escape, and he manages to evade attention all the way to the Drowning Trails.
He still doesn’t quite know how he’s done it, nor does he trust it. But if it does work, then certainly the Saints are looking out for him.
He hopes that they’re there now to watch over him as he steps over the branch that leads to the entrance of the Drowning Trails, a place that he already dislikes from his youth when he’d nearly drowned, where he’d gotten the multitude of little scars from the terrible diving scorpions. Exhaustion weighs heavily on his shoulders, dragging his posture down to nothing close to what a Plater would want, but he tries not to care even as his back aches in protest. He hoists the bag, slips down a path that the Platers weren’t too fond of, in fear of getting caught out, and he makes it most of the way through the first half before his anxiety starts to eat at him again. He slows, readjusting the pale shirt and hat that he sweats beneath, shifting the bag on his shoulder, taking a break in the shade of one of the trees as he glances at his watch and the little compass given to Enforcers to make sure he was heading the right way.
you thought I kissed you just to borrow some lipstick? go be a stranger at a party reading lips across a room of empty space
Kivan is Nate's least favourite season. For a lot of reasons, if he's being honest. The humidity and heat wraps around him, a dogs jaws clenching around a rare treat, only opening again when the meat and juices have been consumed. People grow more irate, less willing to put up with his shit. Even the few things he looks forward too seem to grow more rare, driven away by the heat. If there is one shining silver lining though, it's the things the relentless sun does to a certain kind of weed common to the scapes.
It's the only reason he's ventured out today, seeking to resupply his own personal stash with something good. The particular path eh heads toward is a well kept secret, not even shared with Adam (there's certain things you don't tell a man who's literal job is local gossip) and the sun high above them keeps any other potential seekers hidden away, this kind of foraging usually reserved for the dark of night.
The second, duller silver lining of Kivan is the way it dries everything in the world to a raspy alarm system. A sound that isn't the wind pushing the reeds and dust whispers through the dried arteries and hidden paths of the Drowning Fields. It's close. Close enough that Nate freezes where he sits on the ground, focused in towards whatever comes closer, slowing as it does. Stories of a spurred toad spring to mind, igniting a coil of panic that has him reaching for a blade.
Rustling falls silent, and Nate draws in a breath, making the first move. There's no sound that leaves his lips, just a sharp exhale and the dull thud of two bodies hitting the dust. The body under him is very clearly not a toad, but that doesn't settle the adrenaline fueled panic, a hand driving the strangers face into the dirt while he has the upper hand, his blade pressed to the side of their neck.
it's bad enough to see the sunlight through your seams the thread of you and hem of me it's bad enough in between
The break isn’t particularly a good idea, as it turns out. The heat of everything swelters in, radiating in such a way that dehydration is quick to bloom in the young Bratena’s face, hidden however it is by the hat. But he’s stubborn enough to not bring out the little jug of water he’s brought, aiming to keep it as long as he can so he doesn’t drink all of it before he’s out of the outskirts of the city.
It makes him sluggish, makes him more anxious, makes him a perfect target for someone out here to grab him and drag him back up the Plates where he’d likely be locked away forever for this event. It’s why he puts so much faith in the Saints to look after him in a place he very nearly could have died a decade ago. Indeed, the rushing water only spurs to make him jumpier.
Not on edge enough to hear the different shift of the dry grasses amongst the trunks of trees, to not be prepared when his tired, already sore body is immediately taken down into the dirt. His hands splay, a failed attempt to protect his face from hitting the dusty ground immediately. He hits the ground with a grunt, feeling the blade at his neck and his hands open from the fists they had been as he stills suddenly.
He'd lie if he didn’t at least somewhat recognize the voice, and it’s with both relief and tremendous panic that Sunjata utters out a shaky “Sunjata” in the hopes that Nate lets him go.
you thought I kissed you just to borrow some lipstick? go be a stranger at a party reading lips across a room of empty space
A long moment passes, trapped in a bubble of unbearable stillness. Nate’s blade still kisses Sunjata’s throat, his heartbeat rushing in his ears and trying to scrub away the answer that echoes in his head. Finally, in a jerky, mechanical movement Nate draws back, rolling onto his hip off the other and flipping the knife in his hand so he can slide it closed again.
One single slow breath blows out between his lips, Nate squinting past Sunjata towards the border, imagining guards in the distance. “What the fuck are you doing out here puppy? You got some kind of death wish?”
The wind carries a blanket of dust and drops it on them, combining with the dampness on Nate’s front and making him look down in surprise and concern. Water. His brows furrow, gaze lifting to look at Sunjata and notice the matching mud patch growing on his backpack. The remains of a water jug, it’s insides forced it out by the weight of Nate’s body.
it's bad enough to see the sunlight through your seams the thread of you and hem of me it's bad enough in between
There’s a too long pause for comfort with the blade still at his throat, pressed in enough to leave a red line but not draw blood, and Sunjata doesn’t find himself breathing until Nate withdraws. Of course, with it there’s the hint of relief, Sunjata pushing himself up slightly with the hands he manages to get under him, enough to cast a dust covered look over toward the doctor. “I’m leaving.” He says with some deeper resignation, almost a you won’t be able to talk me out of it kind of challenge to his tone.
Until he can feel the cool breeze at his back and there’s a twist in his stomach as he looks over Nate a bit more fully, noticing the patch of water mixed with the dirt and dust from their collision. Anxiety eats away at him further, while he moves much faster than he otherwise would from the heat and the dehydration, practically throwing himself onto his ass and tugging the backpack over into his lap to open it up, only to find the jug of water popped and ruined, spreading amongst the rest of his things.
The panic of the water can come later, a sudden “Saint’s-fucking-damnit!” Cursing out of him as he pulls out the three journals of varying sizes, dropping them onto the dirt in the hopes that the water hadn’t managed to soak through them entirely. And when he realizes it’s done a good job at ruining everything he’s done, he drops the backpack into his lap, hands rising to cover his face as the last little anxiety straw breaks and his arms start to tremble.
you thought I kissed you just to borrow some lipstick? go be a stranger at a party reading lips across a room of empty space
“So yes.” Nate all but rolls his eyes, not sure why the latest in a string of frankly terrible ideas from the Bratena heir surprises him. There’s no time to harp on it though, not even if he’d wanted to, the burst water bottle far more of an issue than he’d imagined.
Wide eyes and calming hands rise up, Nate reaching out to grab Sunjata’s shoulders gently. “Hey, hey it’s okay. I got some more water with the rest of my shit, okay? C’mere.” Without waiting for an answer, Nate scoops up the books in one arm and tugs at Sunjata with the other, leading him through the dry reeds to the makeshift day camp he’d had set up.
The wet books are set in the blaring sun to dry out some, and as soon as his hands are free a bottle of water is immediately shoved at Sunjata’s chest. Just to make sure his intention is clear, Nate reaches out to uncap it, concern clear in the pinch of his brows.
it's bad enough to see the sunlight through your seams the thread of you and hem of me it's bad enough in between
Panic settles immediately in his gut, spurred on by the sudden nausea paired with the dehydration that he gives absolutely zero attention to in the light of the running ink he can see bleeding through the edges of the pages of the books between the fingers that cover his face. He rocks slightly, as if caught in between fight or flight.
So much so that as Nate tries to help, the hands on his shoulders cause him to flinch, muscles tensing as he sucks in a sharp breath. He only goes with because Nate’s got those books in his hands, and like a dog being led by a bone, Sunjata clenches his jaw tightly, squinting at Nate in the sun as the bottled water is shoved at his chest.
One that he takes and shoves back. “I don’t care about the fucking water.” He grits out, arms folding across his chest in a half hug, half closing himself off as he turns to focus on the drenched journals, still tense and between grabbing them and bolting, or simply attempting to tackle Nate to bring him to the ground.
you thought I kissed you just to borrow some lipstick? go be a stranger at a party reading lips across a room of empty space
The panic that rises in Sunjata has something similar burbling in Nate, tempered only by the fact that he knows there’s no reason. Or at least, that Sunjata’s panicking for the wrong reason. The fact that he’s here means there’s a whole teetering tower of bullshit waiting to fall.
“You can’t run away without fucking water.” Nate hisses, trying to keep frustration from his voice. “Whatever your books are, it doesn’t matter if you’re a fuckin’ husk twenty clicks short of the border, right?” Without thinking about it, Nate leans in, trying to force the other man to focus.
Drawing on his doctor voice, on that detached calm, Nate continues, injecting every ounce of command into his tone. “Now look at me. And drink your fuckin’ water puppy. You’re getting hysterical.” Nate finally leans back then, sparing his own glance towards the books.
“They’ll dry out, okay?”
it's bad enough to see the sunlight through your seams the thread of you and hem of me it's bad enough in between
Oh he hears the hiss, hears the words that leave Nate in frustration. And yet, he’s still focusing on the wrong thing. He glances toward the books, arms crossing tighter around him, before he shakes his head and his attention is brought back to the doctor as he invades his space.
His nose wrinkles and he grits his teeth, fingertips digging into his biceps. “Hysterical?!” He asks with a scoff, shaking his head. “Sure, they might dry out but what about the shit in them, huh?” He presses forward then, pushing past the little space between them to shove into Nate, arms unfolding from his chest as he tries to grab the other man.
“Half the fucking things in there I can’t lose, Nate.” His voice breaks and he tries to cover it, but he starts to tremble in the process.
you thought I kissed you just to borrow some lipstick? go be a stranger at a party reading lips across a room of empty space
“Fucking hysterical.” The doctor repeats sharply, getting louder. Maybe it’s not his best moment, but if Sunjata hadn’t been sneaking around in the hottest part of the day none of this would have happened.
Hands twist in Sunjata’s front, Nate forcing the enforcer to the ground and pinning him there, using his body weight to keep the other man down. “They’re not gonna be fully wrecked. And there’s fuckin’ people for that.” Dryers, though Nate had never lost anything important enough to bother paying them.
“Tale a deep breath, okay? Listen to me.” Nate presses his forehead to the other man’s, pinning him down a little more firmly. “Its gonna be okay.”
