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
i have no place for broken hearts i tend to leave them where they fall they're way too hard to carry
It’s like the rain never stops. Going from such bone dry conditions into the never ending season of wet, one would think Rexanna would be used to this by now. But she isn’t — she’s a girl made for the heat and the sun, and she knows it’s going to take some time before the sun returns. She also knows it’s going to be a while before she doesn’t have to keep wearing these waterproof boots.
Mostly because the reservoirs have overflowed as well, leaving much of the Plates covered in some amount of standing water. The water looks bad too, and after listening to her parents talk about the strangeness of it, she doesn’t want to get coated in it in the slightest. So wrapped up head to toe, an umbrella in hand, is how Rex chose to travel to work these days.
Today, however, she’s done with her shift. A shorter one because of the weather, but it gives her time to wander the shops, to get in from being out in the rain and watching the clouds roll in from the comfortable inside of the glass buildings she found herself in.
In fact, she isn’t doing much right now by means of window shopping, settled by a nook inside one of the buildings, a warm coffee in hand, umbrella folded up and at her side, she simply leans against the railing by the window, watching the world around her as she sips from her drink.
Samuel would be loathe to admit it, given how much he had worked for the coveted spot up there, but sometimes life in the Plates could be dull. It was a different kind of boredom than the one that set in in the Drench - there one was always, at the very least, in fear for ones life (if not actively, in the anxious hum of the neon signs on the alley or the rumble of the heater). It was clear from the amount of Nobles that filled their days with shopping and eating to excess that such fear was not prevelant on the Plates.
So when he had done all the training and exercises he'd had for the day, finished any paperwork on his desk, Sam often found himself lost for what to do. There was a limit to the amount of physical activity his leg could take in a day and he had no friends, no one he would consider to be more than a work associate. Normally, such indulgences as a warm drink at a cafe would almost be offensively inappropriate for his days, but the rain had caught him unexpectedly, soaking his clothes through and making him cold enough to seek comfort out.
It seemed plenty of other people had had similar ideas - the place was packed, full of the kind of Plater he despised (though always treated with reverance, as he ought to). Once he'd gotten his drink - a black tea with nothing else - he scanned the area for a seat, knowing his leg would not manage being stood for too much longer. Seeing one of the only available opposite a young lady by the window, he took a breath and walked over, carefully watching the teacup to make sure the drink didn't spill out during his lopsided cane-assisted steps.
"May I sit here, my Lady?" He asked, nodding to the chair opposite Rexanna. Hopefully, the sight of his cane and clearly sodden clothes would lead her to realise it was a request of necessity and not a social call.
This planet's overrun There's nothing left for you or for me
i have no place for broken hearts i tend to leave them where they fall they're way too hard to carry
The café is packed but she doesn’t mind, not that she’s picked her own little spot away from more of the chatty patrons. Of course, it doesn’t last long, however, as a voice reaches out to her calling her a lady, and if that doesn’t butter her up, she doesn’t know what will. Her sapphire gaze drifts over toward the man who speaks, noting the cane and the drenched clothes, and flashes a completely nonjudgemental smile as she nods. “Of course, feel free to.” She chimes, chipper despite the rain outside.
And unfortunately for Sam, she turns away from the window to give him her full attention – brazen as she can be as she studies his face and cups the coffee in between her hands to stay warm. She recognizes him from something, but she can’t quite put her finger on what it is yet.
So she opts to keep him talking, as if she might figure it out the more this interaction goes on. “What did you get?” She asks, noting the tea in his hand as she takes a sip from her own.
At first the interaction seemed to have gone ideally, Rexanna welcoming him to sit with a few words. For some blessed seconds, Sam thought he might be left alone to drink his tea, that the two of them could exist in two separate worlds on either side of the table. His eyes had begun to stray towards the window as Rexanna's left it and would only come back when she spoke.
Of course, it wouldn't do to make a bad impression of the Bravlets nor the Plate's enforcement. Forcing a slight smile onto his neutral face, he tilted the cup just a little so she might see what was within. "Just black tea. I am not an indulgent man." He'd seen that behind the counter they had all sorts of nightmarish concoctions full of sugar and milk and had turned up his nose. "One cannot afford to be when there may be call to action at any moment."
Did he actually expect there to be some kind of emergency requiring his attention? No, especially as he didn't handle the physical side of maintaining the law anymore. But hopefully Rexanna might take from it that he was a busy man, one who might need to jump up and run to save the day - this way, if the conversation got too mind-numbing, he had an excuse.
"I do not know your name, my Lady." It was always good on the Plates to know who one was talking to. He took a sip of tea.
This planet's overrun There's nothing left for you or for me
i have no place for broken hearts i tend to leave them where they fall they're way too hard to carry
She lets her gaze drop to the cup as he tilts it a small amount toward her, sparking a bright smile along her face as she informs him that he’s not an indulgent man. She’s almost ready to quip back to that as he continues on and she pins him with a look of curiosity. She does recognize him, and that just pinpointed exactly who she’s heard about through the grapevine.
After all, the Plates were great at spreading gossip like your average wildfire.
“You’re Mr. Tsinbrog, aren’t you?” She asks, flashing Samuel a dazzling smile, before she sets her cup down and rests her elbows on the table to lean forward toward him a bit in her curiosity, chin resting on her clasped hands. “Sorry for being so… Forward with it, I’ve heard of you!” She offers the apology in the hopes she doesn’t frighten him off or get on his bad side.
As for her own name? That dazzling smile remains and she extends a hand to him to shake. “Rexanna Revanti. My family owns the gallery off of fifth street in Core.” She explains just in case he’s heard his last name before.
Surprised to hear his own name on her lips before he'd told it, Sam stiffened for a moment, the pause obvious, then tried to smoothly recover. It had never occurred to that teenager in the Drench that fighting his way to power in the Plates would mean politics; in order to have power one had to have a name up here. He'd still never quite fit into that side of the upper life. "You...have. Good things, I hope?" He asked, aware that was something people said.
He put his hand out to hers, the scars on his pale knuckles seemingly suddenly very ugly next to her neat fingers. "Oh, I have heard of your family." Not one of the most popular characters in the never-ending gossip drama, but Samuel was sure he'd heard at least one tittering about who Rexanna might marry. "I ah...have not been to the gallery. Art isn't something I understand."
Taking a sip of his tea once both his hands were back, a little embarrased by the admission, he asked: "Are you intending to take over the gallery?"
This planet's overrun There's nothing left for you or for me
i have no place for broken hearts i tend to leave them where they fall they're way too hard to carry
Her smile lifts the corners of her lips as she nods her head, dark hair bouncing over her shoulders with the movement. “Of course. You’re a wonderful strategist.” She’s only ever heard praise when it came to the Bravlet advisor. She pays no minds to the scars on his hands, the way his hands feel rough and calloused compared to the smooth skin of her own as they shake hands. She withdraws her hand to her own side now, picking back up her cup as she takes a sip and he recalls her family and it practically makes her preen.
Until he says he doesn’t understand art and her head cocks as Rexanna focuses on him curiously. “It doesn’t have to be something you understand. If you enjoy how things look, it works about the same.” She offers, hoping it might help him feel a bit more at ease when it came to the idea of paintings and sculptures, designs and colors.
As for her taking over the gallery, she shrugs a shoulder slightly. “Potentially. I would love to, but I suppose it depends on how everything else for me goes.” He might understand that better than most – how some things could alter the course of one’s path. For her, it would depend on marriage prospects and her efficiency with her magic. If the stars aligned, however, then she’d be more than content to stay right there at the gallery.
“I don’t want to pry, but… What’s it like being the advisor for such a notable Family?” There’s the hint of excitement in her gaze, her curiosity knowing no bounds.
"Ah. Thank you." Sam couldn't help the slight surprise in his voice; somehow, despite all his achievements, he still expected Platers to find a way to sneak in an insult about his Drench heritage. Maybe they had, maybe Rexanna was just being kind. Still, the smile that touched his lips was genuine.
It seemed his comment on art had caught her attention; he took in a breath, unsure of how to express that he had no idea what it was he did like to look at. His own tastes were a mystery, years of focus on only training and utility making aesthetic entirely unimportant. "Well. Don't many artists try to put a deeper meaning in their work? Still, I've yet to find anything that affects me the way people say." At events he'd guarded he'd seen Platers clasp their hands on their chest, cry and laugh at artworks in a way he had been baffled by.
He politely took a sip of his tea and did not ask about her marriage prospects, which he was sure she referred to by everything else.
The question caught Sam off-guard: he could not recall anyone else having asked it before. "Uhm..." He hesitated, a rare filler word slipping in as he tried to consider it. There were a million things he could say, so he settled on the professional and proper answer: "It is a great honour. I am proud that Bravlet house chose to lift me from the Drench to serve."
This planet's overrun There's nothing left for you or for me
i have no place for broken hearts i tend to leave them where they fall they're way too hard to carry
She hears his surprise, though she can’t pinpoint why he’s surprised. Her family wasn’t like most of the nobles here on the Plates – given that they weren’t originally from here anyway. But they mostly found themselves refraining from the gossip tree unless absolutely forced into it. Instead, her family mostly focused on prospering where they could and while some of that was in relation to the drama that came around from what everyone had to say about everyone else, for the most part the Revanti’s stuck to good things. Compliments flowed easily from them and overall, generally meaning it helped, too.
He captures her full attention, though, as he continues to speak on the subject of art and a fond smile overcomes her face, brightening it up. “Usually they do, yes. But that doesn’t mean that you have to see it.” She offers in a way that she hopes helps. For every few people that visited and understood the meaning the artist put into it, there were a dozen other people that simply looked upon it and thought that’s a nice color without going much deeper – and to her, that was still appreciation of a sort, regardless of the full understanding.
But she asks him a question and sips from her coffee, spying the hesitation and finding it relatively unusual and a part of her wonders whether he simply has worked so hard to get up to this point that the people he generally talked to didn’t seem to want to know or care about much. Especially with that generic answer.
It creates a slant to her smile, a tilt of her head that sends her short dark hair sweeping over a shoulder as she regards him. “Of course. You’ve made great strides.” She compliments before she continues. “But I suppose what I meant was… Do you enjoy it? Is it everything you had hoped?” And as if thinking to herself for a moment how it might seem, given the majority of the Platers up here, she leans in across the table a small amount toward him to whisper, “you don’t have to worry, nothing’s going to leave here. I’m just curious about how you feel about it.”
"I...suppose not. Maybe I will visit." Mostly a platitude - Samuel very rarely allowed himself downtime and when he did have it it was spent like this had meant to be, quiet and alone. Going to an Art Gallery would usually not even occur to him as an option. Still, something about Rexanna's earnest smile made him not want to entirely discount the possibility.
Unfortunately for him, it seemed his boilerplate responses were not good enough for Rexanna, who was able to see right through the cold exterior everyone else simply accepted. In all his time on the Plates, Sam could not recall a time when someone had asked him if he had enjoyed something. If he had thought something went well, or if a mission was a success, but not if he personally had enjoyed it. Clearly taken aback, he stared down at his tea as he tried to think of a more truthful answer.
(Not too truthful, though. Rexanna might have sworn it would not leave the table, but he knew what the Platers were like with their gossip.)
"I believe I do good and useful work. I never hoped for anything more than a secure bed and enough Lasti to live, so I have surpassed my expectations." He wasn't drowning in Lasti, but he was doing well enough to be able to afford a few luxuries, if he wanted them (he did not). "...I suppose..." The temptation to let a complaint out, one of the negative thoughts he kept burning in the back of his mind, itched. "..I sometimes find it hard to acclimate to Plates culture."
This planet's overrun There's nothing left for you or for me
