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
Do you live for the love you've found? Some sad slow song to lay you down and still your weary worried heart.
That's kind of them.
Indeed, Myron might look like a bear, but Willow suspects he is very kind. She never really talked to him much, even when they were neighbors. His wife, Lillian, however was friendly, patient, and generous. She had become sort of like a mother away from home. Because Lillian was married to the Bear, she assumes that he has to be a gentle soul. Why else would Lillian have stuck with him?
"Yeah, they are good people," Willow responds. She knows all too well that not everyone in the Drench would take care of her the way they did. The girl does not think ill of the others, though. They were trying their best to get by as well. However, one thing was certain. She had been given more by the poor people of the Drench than she had ever received from the rich on the Plates. Even when they came to the Grease Trap as part of their tour of the poors, they were extraordinarily shit patrons who never tipped the staff.
Willow nods silently about the past season of floods. While she had been able to get an apartment elevated enough to avoid the majority of the damage, the first ones she experienced still haunted her. The sounds of cracking walls, the wails in the dark, and the shaking of the foundation below were also unsettling, regardless of if your homes were filled with water.
Her eyes grow distant and weary thinking about them. "I found a pretty cheap apartment that's fairly high in the Gasp. The landlord is nice enough for a leech." Willow speaks negatively of all landlords, regardless of their background. Hers was a native born Drencher who got lucky at the Terrace and used it to purchase up a block of raised apartments in the Gasp Alleys named Clarence. Now he just sits on his ass all day, collecting a paycheck from actual workers. At least it's a reasonable monthly rent, compared to a lot of the rooms above the drowners - Willow's own personal nickname for bottom floor hovels that get destroyed during flood season.
"Things can be replaced, and I've got my health. Can't complain too much," she says flatly, a tired resignation settling into her tone. She blinks, refocusing on the present moment.
"Anyway, you didn't come here to listen to me ramble. You just looked kind of lonely sitting here with only beer and some lotus rolls to keep you company," she states earnestly.
Willow
Throw light upon your darkest dark.
(This post was last modified: 10-10-2022, 01:46 AM by Willow.)
There’s a part of him that wishes that the Plates had more people like that — like it wasn’t a crime to want to help people out. But it is, certain expectations needed to be met, and if you didn’t meet them? Well, it made life up here just as lonely as he apparently had appeared to her.
Nevertheless, she answers his question of the floods this year, and he can’t help but to rumble a soft chuckle, a crookedly boyish smile crossing his face as he regards her and listens to her talk of her landlord. “Most of them are leeches aren’t they?” Sunjata hums another soft laugh at the idea of it — and while he can’t quite relate, living rent free in his childhood home still, the urge to try and take up residency in the roots sector was something he wanted more than most other things these days.
But yet, it was another pipe dream.
His trajectory so far was to become hardened, to act more like his father, to shut up and be quiet and marry Savera despite the fact they both absolutely did not want that, get a nice house on the Bratena or Bravlet sectors, and have a kid while he moves onto take over his fathers role.
All terribly boring things that he has no actual hope of completing any of it.
“Health is one of the most important things.” He agrees almost equally as flatly, before he perks up as she seems to realize she’s been rambling (a fact Sunjata prefers if he’s being honest). “Oh, don’t apologize. It’s been nice.” He bites his cheek from continuing to say ‘it’s been nice having someone to talk to’ in an effort to not come off too desperate. “I’m afraid my own rambling is quite dull in comparison.” He flashes her another crooked smile, hoping it might keep her there a bit longer.
Do you live for the love you've found? Some sad slow song to lay you down and still your weary worried heart.
A brief chuckle and smile is proffered from the stranger across the table. Willow takes it as a sign that she has eased his discomfort somewhat, which is a positive thing as far as being a waitress is concerned. Ignoring the social standing of her company, Willow's first and foremost duty at work is to make sure the guests feel welcomed.
The Grease Trap does a fairly good job of maintaining a warm, cozy atmosphere amidst the hellscape of Kotoll.
Silently, she wonders how much her present company knows about landlords and paying rent. Based on his attire alone, she cannot make grand assumptions that he's an heir to some house on POINT or anything. He could just be a bougie, for all she knows and can tell. However, his amusement seems to be coming from a remote place, an outside observer. That is fine to Willow, so long as he does not try to justify the existence of the leeches themselves.
They claim to provide housing, but in reality they only help ensure that housing becomes more scarce and difficult to attain. One more cog in the machine that tries to squeeze blood from the workers, who might as well be stones at this point for all they have left.
His somber reply about health makes Willow think that maybe his previous comment about not being allowed has some further implications that she hadn't considered. Much like the lonesome air around him prior to her sitting down at the table, there is something sorrowful about the man she cannot put her finger on.
"I find that hard to believe," she says to him in response that his rambling would be dull. "It's not every day that we see a blue bottom in here that just wants company." Her blue eyes look at him keenly, as if trying to seek out his true reason for being here. "Much less one that talks to us like we're human."
She pauses for a moment, as if to consider what to say next. Perhaps, whether she should say it at all.
"It's hard when you don't fit in."
He can deny it if he wants, but Willow knows how it feels to be different. When she discovered that she could tap into the magic realm, her siblings grew afraid of her. Neighbors looked at her with suspicion and refused to buy her family's produce. She had gotten fairly used to being an outcast before moving to the city.
She watches to gauge his reaction before giving him a sly smile. "Don't worry, though. I won't ask what your damage is."
He’s not a fan of landlords himself, not because of personal experience when it comes to dealing with the leeches – but given his interactions as an enforcer? It’s one of his least favorite parts of his job. So he can connect with her in that instance, but for the rest of it he draws silent.
And when he talks about his own rambling and she decides that it wouldn’t be dull, the smile that graces his face is one that’s genuine and gentle. “You’ll find I’m a little bit different from the rest of my kind.” He tips her a wink, though amusement gleams in the steel of his gaze, one that grows a bit softer at the mention of not fitting in.
It's almost like she’s read straight through him, seen the cracks that have been formed years before, gnawing and chafing and cracking further. “Mm, one thing the Plates and Drenchers have in common I suppose?” It comes out a bit sadder than he intends and he covers it up with finishing off his beer.
He sets it down and swallows, regarding her sly smile that reflects on an easier one on his lips. “How about a story about a son that doesn’t follow his father’s trajectory of his life?” He asks, raising a brow, settling in his seat a bit more to see if she’s interested.
Do you live for the love you've found? Some sad slow song to lay you down and still your weary worried heart.
A little bit different.
That much has been apparent for a while now. It makes Willow wonder if this person had grown up in the Drench and escalated to his current position through good fortune, or, as the idiotic bougies like to flap their tongues about, "hard work". Just the thought sets Willow's on edge, but she gives no outward sign of her wandering mind. The people she knows who work the hardest live in the Drench, with nary a Lasti to their names. But, sure, the answer is to work harder. "That much is obvious," she concurs with his assessment. Perhaps the only reason that she finds herself being sincere and genuinely nice to him is because he is different.
At her comment about him not fitting in, she sees a vulnerability that had been absent moments before. Bullseye, she thinks to herself. Part of the problem with being an empath is that you tend to pick up on things others would rather you not. Unfortunately for this blue bottom, Willow has not the tact to keep her thoughts to herself. In fact, there is a part of her that is amused? Pleased? No, delighted to see an Enforcer show a softer side.
His response is almost... sad? She is not sure if that's the emotion buried in the baritone of his voice, and he covers up whatever expression was on his face with a well-timed sip of his beer. "I guess so." She lets her eyes drift back toward the patrons in the back, to provide the man some time to gather back his composure.
The clack of tiles and friendly banter between the men hasn't stopped, so she is free to remain with the Enforcer for the moment.
He meets her sly, knowing smile with one much more gentle. An unexpected but welcome offer is presented to Willow - information. He speaks of not meeting expectations, and Willow can relate to this all too well. Her discovery of magic had separated her from the chosen path of her family. Work the farm, get married, have children, and work the farm of her husband. Willow is perfectly content to have missed out on such a boring, scripted life. However, there were days in the Drench that made her think that maybe, just maybe being a glorified brood mare wouldn't have been so bad.
Of course, those are short lived thoughts born of hunger or lack of sleep and the temporary madness that accompanies it.
"Oh, I know a thing or two about pissing off parents," she says, smiling at him warmly. "What'd you do to upset your old man? He can't have that much to complain about."
Another warm chuckle vibrates through him at her agreement – finding the conversation between them still welcoming and easy, something that was difficult to find when they knew you were an Enforcer, talking to someone within the Drench. And part of him wonders whether or not it’s solely to satisfy him, to keep him from starting trouble (it’s quite unlikely that he would but he can’t speak for the other enforcers that may frequent this place).
Regardless, the young Bratena recovers quickly from his lapse of discomfort – instead, offering a story of sorts and intending on offering quite a decent amount of information within it. It was probably stupid to do, but Sunjata wasn’t exactly known for having good decisions – more of the type to sit down, shut up, deal with the aftermath when the aftermath came.
Her warm smile is offering enough, however, and he settles into his chair a bit more comfortably, eyeing her for a moment before he glances around to ensure nobody else is listening in. (Of course, once she knows the information he can’t stop her from sharing it with whomever she chooses.) So eventually, the gears in his mind start working.
“Well, for starters, I’m too soft.” His head tilts a little, the smile somewhat amused, as if it’s been told to him as a criticism so many times that he can’t help but to think it a character flaw. “My old man’s stationed me in the Drench for lockdown patrols to try and toughen me up. Hasn’t worked yet, though.” And since she hasn’t officially recognized him yet to his knowledge, he rounds it out with the true kicker.
“Which obviously upsets him a great deal, given he’s the Arbiter and I’m supposed to follow his footsteps every step of the way.” And if there’s one thing that the Drenchers knew of the Arbiter, it was the fact that the man ruled the Enforcers with an iron fist, that he was incapable of emotion unless it was bad, and that if you were to cut him, he’d likely bleed metal. There wasn’t a single loving bone in his body but the desire to remain at the top, and everything else from there was a fault. Not of his, of course, but the environment.
"Everything else gets a bit too sad and I'm not drunk enough to delve into it yet." He flashes her a small smile and a wink, as if it might cover up the truth of what he's said.
Do you live for the love you've found? Some sad slow song to lay you down and still your weary worried heart.
Willow did not realize until now that being too soft was possible. Back home, it was something used occasionally to describe children who could not understand the role of livestock. In terms of an Enforcer being too soft, she suppose it makes sense.
He did seem too nice to be an officer.
Her mind is still turning over what being too soft entails as he continues his explanation, with a new piece of information that jars her sense of reality. Her eyes widen like a doe and her mouth sits slightly agape. She hasn't recovered fully from the man before her claiming to be the son of the Arbiter by the time he finishes smiling, a dazzling wink sealing the end of the statement.
Willow's head feels like a spinning fishbowl, with her thoughts racing as she thinks back to the newspaper articles about the Arbiter and his eldest son. What was the guy's name? Sunglasses...? Sundial...? That can't be right, she thinks to herself before realizing that her mouth has been open for a few seconds.
"Are you fucking joking?" she spits out, finding that the exclamation is the only way to close her mouth from the shock. There is something so sincere about his delivery that she doubts he is lying, and most Drenchers would probably have recognized him already. Then, she lets go of a hearty laugh. No wonder the poor boy's old man thinks that he is too soft. Anything softer than a fucking sheet of iron is probably too soft for that block of ice. The regulars in the back table turn around for a moment, confused as to why the waitress suddenly burst into laughter, before shaking their heads disapprovingly and turning back to the game.
After a few moments, Willow is able to gather her wits back about her. She looks up from the table where she had been staring since she started laughing. Her eyes come to rest on the boy's kindly face and she can't help but giggle again, taken back by how ridiculous it all sounded. Even if she told one of her friends that she met the Arbiter's son and that he was exceedingly nice and polite, who would believe her?
She takes a deep breath and blinks back tears. "Oh, shit," she says breathy and amused. "Sorry, that is just too funny." She thinks about what to say to him.
"Look, Sunny - can I call you Sunny?" she pauses to make sure it's okay before continuing on. "I am no one of great importance, you know, so I don't really understand what your situation is like. But have you ever considered that it's your life?" Her eyes are serious now, and her face seems oddly stoic following her wave of laughter.
"How much is the money and status worth to you?" Is it worth turning into a monster?
The exclamation is unexpected and Sunjata can’t help but to find at least a little bit of amusement in the reaction he gets – the agape jaw, the confusion, the loud burst of laughter that has him ducking his head a little, humming his own soft chuckle as the realization swarms over her and she can’t contain it within herself. He even glances over her shoulder toward her other table, the way they look disapprovingly in her direction, but truth be told?
It's funny to him too. At least, the fact that she hadn’t recognized him until he’d spelled it out to her. One good thing he supposes about this makeshift disguise. But regardless, as she settles he keeps that amused twist to his lips, brows lifting as the steel of his gaze settled in freckled cheeks regards her again. “You can.” He offers, so that she continues, and in the mean time while her question is aired he eats the second to last lotus roll on the table.
She isn’t wrong when she tells him that it’s his life and whether the money and status is worth it to him, all factors of which he’s thought about tenfold and ultimately coming up with the idea that he was in a perfect position to try to take over for his father, to try and play the game and get things changed, to undermine his father wherever he could.
Only… He isn’t smart enough to. He fucks up too much, isn’t good enough at the things he should be good enough at, and ultimately it ends up with him getting more of the shit end of the stick – the disappointment, the lessons hard learned, an overwhelming fear of his father just as a lot of those within the Drench had.
So he takes a deep breath, rolls a shoulder, and tries to figure out where to start. “Not worth dealing with everything that I have.” He admits, a surprising amount of honesty slipping from his lips. What was wealth and status and power if your heart and home were cold? “I want to be the one to change things, but it seems more and more unlikely the more tasks I fail.” An awkwardness overcomes Sunjata, the muscles feathering in his jaw a moment after he works it. Maybe he isn’t failing the tasks – maybe he’s automatically failing them given that they aren’t done the way his father would want them done.
In the end, though, he’s still shoved deeper and deeper into the Drench with a pack of enforcers who want nothing more than to take his place. And he’d be happy to let them. He’d never asked for this. He’d never wanted this. But he was too stubborn to just give up yet. “So I suppose I’m drawing up new plans.” His gaze lifts to her face, curiously studying her for her reaction.
Do you live for the love you've found? Some sad slow song to lay you down and still your weary worried heart.
So, he is not one of the wolves in sheep's clothing. He is just a genuinely nice guy born to the wrong family.
Surprisingly, he shares more than just his history with Willow. He offers up instead some of his hopes and dreams. The woman is somewhat flattered by his admissions, since they hardly know each other. First name basis, first impressions, and the like. However, Willow has always been one that garnered trust with relative ease. Her honest nature and kind heart stand out, even above her stubbornness and impatience.
"It's hard to win if the cards are stacked against you," she assures him. There is an unexpected amount of insecurity in his admission of failure. His dad really did a number on him, aye? she thinks herself. "I doubt anything less than a public beheading of Revolutionaries would be met with criticism from the Arbiter nowadays."
He spoke of change, and despite her past experiences with aristocrats, she finds herself believing him.
Change can mean a lot of things, she supposes. In her mind, she begins to imagine what changes he would want to make and whether those align with her own. He looks to her face, as if to see how she is handling the new information post-laughter. However, he will not find much on her face aside from a warm smile and attentive eyes. "I am keen to hear about these plans," she says, as if answering a silent question.
"But I am curious," she starts as she stands, picking up his mostly empty glass and walking forward, pausing next to him. "Why tell me?" Without waiting for an answer, she dips back behind the bar and carefully refills the glass to the brim. She watches him from the bar, as if to size him up.
It's almost too good to be true - the Arbiter's son being sympathetic to the Drenchers and talking about change.
She saunters back toward the table, setting the glass back down and sliding easily back into the chair across from him. She looks up at him expectantly for his answer. After all, she gave him a few moments to consider it.
The assurance from her is unexpected, but welcome. And while she continues, a soft snort leaves the young Bratena as agreement cascades over his face. “He’s set himself quite the high bar to reach.” He hums, some small part of the admission sad, upset that it’s become this way, and stubbornly mad at himself for not knowing a way around it, how to change it, without clear exile for conspiracy.
Though perhaps that’s the only way to get things to change. If he wasn’t up here, think of all the things he might be able to do down in the Drench?
Regardless, she’s interested in the plans and perhaps he’s also not expecting that response — so used to the dismissal, the scoffs, the barks of laughter in his face of yeah, good fucking luck with that. And perhaps that’s why he’s decided to open it up for her, to see how she takes it, surprised and surprised again to see the way this conversation moves in all the ways he doesn’t expect it to.
Even when she gets up to refill his beer precisely after asking him a question he’s just about to answer, evident in the way his jaw shuts abruptly, mulling over his thoughts before she returns. And when she does perhaps he’s just a bit more prepared with a well (better) thought out answer.
“Most Drenchers are unwilling to talk to me. When you asked where I got the book and seemed actually interested in it I thought perhaps you’d be different.” Here, he leans forward toward her, another charming smile gracing his face. “And so far, just like me, you have been.” Another wink accompanies it as he goes to sit back again, bringing the glass of beer to his lips to take a sip from the fresh glass.
“I’d first like to know what you’d want changed.” Because he doesn’t know what it’s like, not like she does. He has an idea, but that does little in trying to fix the crux of the issues if he’s only working halfway.
