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
Rexanna flashes him a bright smile as he agrees – even if he is simply just placating her at this point. “I’ll be there if you ever do!” She chimes with a beaming grin, as if it was the answer in and of itself that she was looking for. Now whether or not he did show up wasn’t what she was looking for, but simply just the agreement that anyone could enjoy art however they wanted to.
She does expect her follow up question to be one that’s taken a little bit differently – unsure if he’d assume she was some kind of spy, hellbent on proving that the Bravlet strategist didn’t enjoy the work he did despite how hard he worked to get there – but he doesn’t. She also isn’t any of those things. And she’s glad to know that she doesn’t give off the appearance that she would be doing something like that.
Her sapphire gaze remains on him when he finally finds the words, humming a soft sound of agreement under her breath, letting her smile soften a bit in her own wonder at his answer. Though he isn’t alone in it, not entirely. “I can agree with that.” She begins, namely for the surpassing expectations. She, too, had surpassed them in her own way.
For the rest of it, though, she leans back in her seat, letting the plush faux fur covered back of the booth press into her shoulderblades. “Believe it or not, I can certainly imagine that one.” She starts, still cradling her cup as she lifts her gaze back to him. “I can’t… Relate entirely, but, my family isn’t from around here. They’ve brought me up under different expectations than the rest of those I know and went to class with.” And since they’re in the spirit of being honest with somewhat dark secrets, she flashes him yet another friendly smile as her voice drops a fraction in its loudness. “Between you and me, I find the majority of everyone up here to be a little stuck up and petty.” A shoulder shrugs, as if she was commenting on whether the rain would pass sooner rather than later.
Sam wasn't used to such chipper excitement at the idea of his appearance anywhere; he gave a tight smile and though Rexanna wouldn't know it, she was awarded a rare honour: He actually considered maybe going to the gallery sometime.
She leaned back in her seat but Sam stayed bolt upright in his, fingertips going a little white at the ends as he clutched the nearly-empty teacup. Rexanna seemed to blend in here with such grace he would not have known she was not Plates-born (it had probably come up in gossip around him before, but he paid little attention).
"What expectations did they raise you with?" He asked, carefully leaving the second comment with nothing more than a very slight huff of amusement and a nod that would be almost imperceptible. Of course, he shared the same opinion, anyone who had come from the Drench did, but he could still feel the breath of his superiors on his neck.
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
If he spends more time with her, he’d soon find out that she can be quite chipper about mostly everything that she found interesting. Which, these days, were often a lot of things. Especially at the moment when she sits across from the Bravlet strategic advisor – one who seemed so much at odds compared to what she was used to when it came to upper ranks in the noble houses. Though she doesn’t have much to go on, her sentiment is the same.
His question of what they raised her with has Rexanna offering him a gentler smile than her chipper one, her head tilting slightly and letting her dark hair spread across her shoulder. “Mostly to leave gossip at the door. Sure, you can listen to it, but it’s up to you to determine what you think about someone. It does little to have a jaded thought of someone when they could be the complete opposite to you that they are to others.” Her shoulder shrugs lightly and she sips from her drink, giving him her full attention again and a gentle smile.
“I went to school with many people who would hear something about someone and ostracize them for it. It didn’t seem fair.” Perhaps he may relax with that knowledge, knowing that the world seemed to know he was from the Drench and their reactions to such a status upgrade despite how hard Samuel had worked for it, would still give him moments of prejudice.
If what Rexanna was saying was true, her family certainly was unique in the Plates; here rumours were currency, gossip the way people dealt and knew each other and hearsay might as well have been the gospel truth. It had been something Sam had become accustomed to, even if he didn't participate himself (less out of a moral objection and more due to a awareness of his shaky position as a Drench charity case). He'd never had the vocal slight of hand to do it effectively anyway, say the little yet a lot that Lords and Ladies managed to fit into their sentences when playing the game.
"I don't think most people are concerned with fair." Not that he was either - as an Enforcer, the deck was stacked in his deck any time he went down to the Drench. "Your position must put you at odds with other Nobles." The most mild comment he could make on the situation, feeling like he had to say something while still not wanting to rock the boat too much. Perhaps Rexanna really did have good intentions, but what about the person sat behind her? The waitress? Someone passing by? Anyone could hear and use what he said against him later.
He put the cup down with a self-calming breath, reminding himself who he was. "Still, I am sure their company would be more suitable for you than I. My skills lay in war, not conversation."
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
Despite the topic they’re on, Rexanna still sounds relatively chipper when she flashes Samuel a small smile. “They aren’t.” She agrees in terms of most people’s world view of fair. “But I care about what’s fair or not.” It had put her at odds with so many growing up, but at the end of the day she’d learned how to play both sides of the coin. She could pretend to fit into places she didn’t belong, while still being true to herself and helping those found burned by the way Kotoll worked. So to answer his second comment, there’s a small half smile that seems more tender as it graces her face. “It has. I’ve learned ways around it.” She admits, lifting the cup to drown out her voice lest she say something she really doesn’t mean to.
She does almost choke on the sip though when he continues, self deprecating in all the ways that give Rexanna concern. “It’s hard to broaden one’s horizons when they’re full of the same things day after day.” She offers softly. “I just as much want to be in a conversation with you as I would anyone else.” She wanted to be the best she could be, know as much as she could, and she couldn’t get that if all she did was spread pointless gossip around the Plates.
“So tell me about how you got here? Your story is one I’ve heard, but only from the mouths of others. Which, again, I only take at face value.” She flashes him a wink before sipping from her drink once more.
Sam had thought nothing of his self deprecation - Rexanna was proving herself to be quite unique among the Nobles, but years of experience on the Plates had conditioned him to expect an agreement. "...Very well, then."
He had, admittedly, been trying to get away, but her pleasantness left him with no escape. Talking with Rexanna was, all in all, a pleasant time entirely, but something about speaking with someone casually like this was activating feelings in Sam he didn't know he still had - an odd kind of anxious and conscious hum in his chest, a worry he'd say the wrong thing or that he was being watched, judged on how well he could carry on the conversation.
With no drink to hold in his hands, he rubbed a finger over the same spot of the chair over and over again as Rexanna asked how he'd come to be here. "Well, it's a rather typical story for Drench children who come here, I suppose. I knew I wanted something more than what can be achieved below so I trained until I was good enough to enter the contest." A single sentence to encapsulate so many years of work and heartache, but it was impossible to do justice to, no matter how many words he could use.
"I was lucky to be chosen. There were others who performed as well as I did. I believe it was my attitude that took me further." The way he'd had no qualms about throwing his Drench comrades away if he had to, the way he'd sworn the oath with a eager relish. The commanders had liked that. "...Of course, I did not have a very long career as an Enforcer."
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
His concession is one that she doesn’t feel is entirely true to him deep down, but she also isn’t in the business of getting in the middle of it. Perhaps one day she’ll prove it to him that he can talk to her about all the complaints and things he feels deep down about the position he’s got. Deep down for her, however, she understands. It’s a public space, and even if she wasn’t going to tell anyone, who’s to say anyone walking by wouldn’t?
It's the Plate’s currency, after all.
Her gaze trains on him coolly, nodding in her understanding. “That makes sense. I’ve heard you’re often calmer and more collected than some of the others that had tried to come up.” Often the others had been too quick to tasteless decision making. And when it came to the Plates, there was a delicate balance to ride between being firm and too much. Too much and it causes an outbreak of rebellion. Too little and the rest of the Platers would fight in their own way. It was a delicate balance and yet Sam seemed to have figured it out by not picking favorites. A uniquely unbiased opinion, as far as the nobles were concerned.
So she nods for him to continue at the mention of him not having a long career at being an enforcer, though not without adding a quiet, “did you like being an Enforcer?” She’s always gotten mixed signals. There were those that loved the job, others that were shit at it but forced into it, like the Arbiter’s son.
"...You have? I see." Of all the things Rexanna could have heard about him, he supposed it was not the worst, though he was sure those from his home would have a different spin on it. His cold and detatched attitude, the very thing that had made him perfect for work in the Plates, had made him an undesirable in the Drench.
He'd always been like that, he thought. Sam couldn't remember ever being out of control of his feelings - he was always quiet, considered, contained. It was the correct way to be.
So when asked if he had liked being an Enforcer, the temptation was to give the stock answer, but he'd already been honest with Rexanna so far. Sam took a breath, frowned slightly as he thought it over. "..Yes. I was very good at it. My officers respected me and I brought crime down in the Drench by a large margin." Maybe, in doing that, he had alienated the last of those that still wanted to know him, but it had been what he'd had to do.
"Until my...injury-" Selfishly, Sam didn't elaborate; he knew that rumours existed saying his leg had been wounded in a heroic struggle and preferred that to the truth. "-I was passionate about it. I am glad I can still participate, but I miss the field work."
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
For Rexanna, she certainly hears a lot. Little tidbits from the varying people that drift by the gallery, others where she simply listens in passing. She takes it all in due to pure curiosity, before letting it linger in the back of her mind the second she speaks to whomever in question, puts them up against the exaggeration given by the commentary, then decides for herself.
Samuel, however, seems exactly as that story had described. Calm, collected, almost painfully obedient to the Plates, though she can’t blame him. Not after he’d done so much to get here. So the most she can do is offer him some kindness in return.
So she flashes him an easy smile, one that looks relaxed and attentive as she listens to him, nodding her understanding (again, matching it up with everything she’s heard). “That’s understandable.” She murmurs, before she huffs a soft laugh. “I’m sure plenty of Enforcers would strive to be in your position.” She wonders what they’d do to try and get into Sam’s position, whether they’d be doing it for the greater good as the man across from her has suggested or if they thought the work was easy and they could get away with little to nothing for better pay.
Rexanna's comment, probably in ways she didn't know, made Sam pause; would most want to be where he was? A lot of Enforcers were brutish young people with too much anger and not enough smarts for anything else, as much as it chargrined him to admit. They would not be suited for a life of office work.
"Perhaps. Though I suspect all of our jobs are going to change soon. There's..." What was he doing? This was intel, nothing he was meant to share with anyone outside of his superiors. But then...they all knew it. Everyone in Kotoll could feel it: "...Rumours that there is more anti-Plates sentiment now than ever before. That it might spiral into a rebellion."
It was clear from the disdain in his voice what side he'd be on, if it wasn't already obvious.
This planet's overrun There's nothing left for you or for me
