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
Note to self: a lake is not the ocean, and a lakeside will never fit your definition of 'beach'.
Nonetheless here you are, in grey cargo trunks and a salmon-colored long-sleeved linen shirt that's two sizes too big, looking determined as you survey the murky water that is probably full of friendly critters who wish only to nibble on your tasty flesh. Sure, you've heard the warnings about koroks and scorpions and eels and skin-melting bacteria and Saints-knows-what-else, but damn if it isn't just too hot to care.
This little pocket of mud and sand can hardly be called a beach, but it was walking distance from your aunt's house and offers direct access to the water. And once one looks past the cigarette butts and broken bottles it has a certain amount of charm, really. The lake is smooth and sparkles in the sun, and the reeds and grass rustle around it, promising some merciful level of breeze. And maybe you're not quite ready to take off your boots and risk slicing your feet open on the razor-sharp rocks, but you are ready to find a nice smooth rock and see how far you can skip it.
And what havoc disturbing the placid inlet might cause.
So that's what you're doing: humming along, collecting stones, a trail of muddy footprints behind you, the evening sun causing sweat to gleam along your neck.
(This post was last modified: 03-01-2023, 04:39 PM by Zephyr.)
For this kind of weather she might be over-dressed. At least in her long black cargo pants. The large pale green tank-top hanging over her shoulders is more fitting, even if it is constantly sticking to her damp skin. Her hair is tied up in a very messy bun to be kept out of her face, but it causes the sun to burn at her neck now when she is out from the shadows under the Plates.
Her day had been filled with work, but for once she had no shift at the bar for the evening and the plan is to do something different for the evening before the curfew rang. Something she had not had the time to do in a while; go exploring away from the streets. See if luck is on her side and she can find something interesting left out here since the last flood.
Her feet take her towards the water and she walks along the edge, lighting up a cigarette and just holds it loosely between her lips. She then pauses when she suddenly comes upon fresh footprints in the mud. Scanning the area ahead, she spots the owner of said prints. Collecting stones, by the look of it. Curious, she adjusts her grip on the backpack hanging over her shoulder and picks up the pace a bit.
"Didn't expect to find anyone else out here at this time." She calls out as she takes the cigarette away from her lips to be able to speak properly. It is true. She did not even expect herself to freely be out in the sun in this season. At least the air is less pressing than it is between all the buildings.
The reader of this text has standing permission for responsible powerplay and to use physical/magical force against this character. Instant killing and permanently maiming not included.
You're utterly lost to the rest of the world: looking for treasures, letting the sound of water and birds and bugs and distant traffic wash over you, picking your way from moment to moment with the singular focus of someone who wants very much to be living a different life.
So when the voice of another person cuts through your reverie it is like a bubble has been popped. The sheen of an imagined, alternate reality dissipates in an instant; you are left startled and lost, in a muddy and foreign world without your wits about you.
You'd been crouched down; now as you simultaneously stand and turn, things go quite awry. "Wha-?" you manage to get out before your left foot slips and your eyes go wide and the world tilts over and then suddenly, unexpectedly, you are on your ass in the mud. Dazed, you manage a petulant "Ow," but very little else. There is mud on your hands, mud on your legs, mud on your face - it's impressive, really, what a mess you've made with absolutely no intentional effort. Finally you gather enough of your wits to look up at the interloper, who is nearly invisible in the bright sun. "Uh. Hello."
She takes a drag of the cigarette while waiting to see if he even hears her. And he does, but she had not meant for him to take a fall for it. One of her hands reaches out in reflex, as if she somehow can catch him from the far distance she is at. "Shi-..." She mutters to herself and quickly puts the cigarette out against the ground, then while starting to jog she fishes out the package from her bag and puts away the rest of the cig in it and closes up the bag again. Once all that is settled, she breaks out into a proper run until she reaches him.
She slides a bit in the mud herself as she comes to a halt in front of him, but at least she manages to keep her balance. "Sorry! Didn't mean to startle you or anything." She isn't sure if that is why he had fallen, or if he had just slipped anyway.
Regardless, she reaches out with a hand to offer him help up, before she has the chance to get a proper look at him and realizes she is like a stick in comparison. Still, she keeps her hand extended as a polite offer anyway. "You alright? Didn't end up in the water, at least." She offers him a small, friendly smile.
The reader of this text has standing permission for responsible powerplay and to use physical/magical force against this character. Instant killing and permanently maiming not included.
