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
Everything had been fine. Despite Kivan making most things unbearable this time of year, life had been good. Better than usual even. Then one thing after the other had started feeling just a little bit off and some days ago she went complete radio silence towards everything and everyone. Cancelling every shift she had scheduled at both of her jobs and anyone trying to reach her on her phone had been met with silence. She can't remember when last she had spent that amount of time inside her own room.
This is the first time she is outside the apartment. Day going towards afternoon and even if she feels way overdressed for the temperature in the loose black cargo pants and the oversized t-shirt hanging loosely over her shoulders, she simultaneously feels too exposed.
She stands on a footbridge, leaning with her arms over the railing and watching people walking by in and out of some shops along the street below. One hand is twirling a cigarette between her fingers. She had taken it out earlier on autopilot, but it remained unlit and she is now just using it to restlessly pour her anxious energy into. Fighting against the urge to light it and finish the whole thing in one long drag. Her other hand is holding her phone and she is slowly typing in a message to Uldren for the first time in several days. Asking if he can meet up and telling him where he can find her if so. Her thumb hovers over the send button for a minute before she finally presses it and and clenches her hand around the phone.
Part of her wants to deal with everything on her own, somehow, and pretend like nothing later. A larger part of her feels it would be like going behind his back in a way if she kept silent. She's still having no idea what to say. How to say it. She isn't even sure if meeting out here instead of at either of their places is the best idea. The part of her that just wants to go into ignore mode tries to assure her it's for the best. Kept the chance of escaping the situation open.
But she can't walk away now. The message had been sent, she had already been in hiding long enough. Just leaving again wouldn't make her a better person. She already feels bad about it as it is, but she had panicked. Slipped into moments of disbelief and denial. All she can do now is to remain in place and suffer through the wait.
(This post was last modified: 06-01-2023, 05:59 PM by Ira.)
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.
roll me up and smoke me, love, and we can fly into the night you take drugs, to let go, and figure it all out on your own
The last thing he expects is the radio silence. Everything had been going well, so he thought. They’d met up when they could – mainly when her schedule allowed it – and when he had sent her a text to see if they could meet soon, it had been met with silence. So he’d waited hours and hours before sending another text, this one a joke to try and get her to respond. And then when he didn’t hear from her again, panic started to settle into his gut and it had come down to little messages of are you okay? wondering what had happened that made it seem like she couldn’t talk to him.
Unless something else happened. His imagination had run wild with the silence, his stomach an uncomfortable grip of nausea and worry – he even couldn’t focus on working on any new designs or putting the pieces together to get his previous designs done. He’d sat there at his apartment, stomach eating at itself enough that even his sister had started to question if something had happened. Which, of course, he doesn’t want to say whether anything has or hasn’t. Mostly because he doesn’t even know himself.
His phone buzzes, though, and its an immediate reach for it to read the message, relief and concern plaguing him in warring paths as Uldren dresses up in whatever he can reach that won’t overheat him, and he books it to the meet up spot. It’s over a bridge and by the time Uldren’s there, he’s panting, trying to catch his breath, a glisten of sweat at his temples that he tries to brush away. It doesn’t work, nor does it really matter, because he moves up along the footbridge, his gaze slipping over toward her as he takes a spot beside her. “Is everything okay?” He asks breathlessly, casting a sidelong glance toward her.
She slips her phone into a pocket and keeps fidgeting anxiously while she waits, forcing her feet to stay glued to the ground as the urge to walk away grows with each minute. She is not even sure how long she waits, but it ends up feeling both like an eternity and like Uldren is arriving way too soon. When she hears the running footsteps she looks up and gives him a wide-eyed look when he arrives, panting as if he had been sprinting the whole way over.
For the first second she feels confused, then she just realizes even more that of course she had probably worried him. She had seen the messages, but not been able to make herself reply. Stuck in her state of not wanting to have anything to do with reality. When he comes up beside her, she looks a bit like a cornered animal and quickly finds a spot on the street below to stare at. Fingers still restlessly twirling the cigarette around. She should just throw it away at this point.
She is about to answer the question with a 'Fine', but stops herself. That stupid word that is always used as a response to that question, no matter if it is true or not. But she can't make herself say that and then drop the rest. She isn't fine. Instead, she shakes her head slowly and exhales a breath she didn't know she was holding. "No... Not exactly..." Her voice comes out weaker than she intends to and her mind is racing to figure out what to even say next. Part of it continues to tell her that there is still time for escape. Just come up with an excuse and leave. "There's a... Bit of a problem."
(This post was last modified: 02-12-2023, 11:26 PM by Ira.)
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.
roll me up and smoke me, love, and we can fly into the night you take drugs, to let go, and figure it all out on your own
It isn’t a bright and easy greeting – not like he wanted, not like he thought that it might have been. But after so long without hearing from her, he can’t think of what could cause it. He scans her as he stands beside her, trying to determine if she’s injured, if something had happened, and when nothing pops up it does relieve some of his fears and worries – but only partially, because she answers his question with a no and his heartbeat thunders in his ears and hard against his neck.
So, in favor of making it easier for her to speak, he looks away from her – finding anything else to look at in case she found it difficult to speak with his green gaze boring into her. “What kind of problem?” He asks softly – trying to figure it out again. Problems with work? Her schedule? Her being with him? The iron fist starts to tighten again around his chest and he works his jaw as he stares away from her, trying his best to be patient to hear her answer.
The question hangs in the air and the will to escape increases. She tenses, her shoulders pulling up slightly and she crosses her arms on the railing in a way to sort of hug them against herself while staying leaning. How blunt should she be? How much cotton should she wrap it up in? Her mouth opens and closes a few times between short breaths, as if she is about to say something but keeps failing to find the words. Her pulse hammering away in her chest as well and her stomach feeling like it wanted to twist itself. Perhaps it was best to just rip the band-aid off without thinking too much about it.
"It's... I... I'm..." She does not manage to get the word out. Saying it out loud would force her to finally admit it to herself for real. To face that reality and she isn't ready for it. Not that she is sure if she ever will be. She takes a few more shorter breaths, but that one word still gets stuck every time and the panic slowly starts to rise again. Her jaws and throat visibly tense up and she swallows hard, eyes closing as she takes a very slow breath. "M'sorry." Is all she manages to get out in a whisper, barely keeping her voice from breaking. How could one word be so incredibly difficult to say. She feels so guilty. Whether it is unreasonable or not, she could not help feeling like it was all her fault. Her body the one being so unfair.
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.
roll me up and smoke me, love, and we can fly into the night you take drugs, to let go, and figure it all out on your own
It hangs in the air between them like a weighted balloon, growing bigger and bigger as the seconds tick on without any answers. He’s patient, though, as if the crafting of the jewelry he makes have taught him that sometimes it’s worth waiting it out, listening for the answers before trying to force anything out.
She stutters though and Uldren’s brows pinch, his gaze sliding back over toward her but only toward her hands, refraining from trying to pressure her into saying anything until she’s ready. But he can tell from this distance that she’s panicking, that something has upset her terribly and he wonders yet again if she’d gotten hurt somehow.
But as she apologizes, he steps closer to her, fighting with himself over the confusion of whether he should give her space or tuck her in, and instead ends up lifting an arm around her shoulder in an attempt to bring her into his chest if she felt like it might make it easier to speak. “Don’t be sorry.” He offers to her softly. “It’s okay.” There’s no judgement in his tone, just an open blank canvas that weighs the options of what it could be at both ends.
He's got more patience with her than she has with herself and she can feel how she is starting to get upset with her inability to speak clearly. Dragging it out like this isn't going to make it any easier and she would not have blamed him had he started to put pressure on her to say what is going on.
When she feels the arm around her shoulders her first impulse is to instantly withdraw from it, but she finds herself burying her face against his chest instead. The cigarette falls from her fingers and she hugs her arms tightly around herself as well. Eyes closing hard against the tears that start to burn in them. Her mind feels like an emotional mess that can't decide if being close felt safer or more dangerous. He tells her to not be sorry, that it is okay, but she shakes her head slowly. It doesn't feel like anything is okay and she wants to apologize for everything.
"I'm pregnant. It is a weak whisper. As soon as the word is out she inhales sharply and holds her breath, as if she just punched herself in the guts by just saying it. Her body tensing up to the point where she even starts to tremble slightly as she braces for whatever reaction might come her way. The reality of the situation slowly starting to sink in for real and with it a feeling of fear that tightens in her chest like cold claws.
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.
roll me up and smoke me, love, and we can fly into the night you take drugs, to let go, and figure it all out on your own
There’s a big part of him that anticipates her moving away from him, slipping away from under his arm to gain more space. But she tucks in, presses her face against his chest and his arms wrap around her more intensely, keeping her against him as he tries to continue to figure out where everything had gone wrong. It doesn’t take long, however, for the answer to come.
A mix of confusion crosses his face and he’s thankful for the fact her face is buried into his chest if only to keep her from seeing it. He doesn’t tense, he simply just lifts his hand to rub against her shoulders gently. “Oh.” He says unhelpfully, internally fighting with himself to try and decide what he should say, but he had to say something if only to keep the silence from prolonging out. At least it's better than an it's mine? because that feels ridiculously stupid and accusatory and that's the last thing he wants to be right now.
“I… Do you have a plan?” He asks instead. Am I a part of that plan? is his other silent question.
His hands on her shoulders do little to relax her and she continues to hold her breath until she hears the little 'Oh'. She has no idea how to read that reaction. Part of her almost wishes his reaction had been a more upset one. To just match how upset she was about it, if anything, not that she actually wants him upset. But in her current state of mind, it feels more reasonable. Though she isn't sure her state of mind is even reasonable either. Everything is just a mess.
She sniffs quietly and shakes her head again. "No, I... I don't know. I have no idea what to do." She still struggles to keep her voice steady, more so now than before, and her fear is noticeable in it. She had been in denial most of the time and had not managed to figure anything out. It isn't until now she is properly confronted with it and she is at a loss. Part of her still doesn't want to have to think of it at all, but it isn't a problem she can ignore away. "I am so sorry..." She mumbles quietly as the guilt stabs at her again and she seems to shrink a bit in his hold, still unable to look up and meet his gaze.
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.
roll me up and smoke me, love, and we can fly into the night you take drugs, to let go, and figure it all out on your own
He has no idea what to do either, and he chews at the inside of his cheek as if it might help him find an answer. It doesn’t, of course, but Uldren keeps his arms around her tightly. Her voice shakes and he keeps her tucked in, silent once again as he tries to run through their options. It’s limited, unfortunately, but as she apologizes, Uldren immediately shakes his head.
“Don’t be.” He tries to soothe. “I should be the one saying sorry.” And to him, that’s the correct course of action, that it wasn’t her fault but his. “I’m sorry Ira.” He offers quietly after, once he’s realized that his statement wasn’t an apology. But he keeps her tucked in, arms around her, hands rubbing mindless circles into her shoulders and back. “We’ll figure it out.” Because he wasn’t going to just leave her on her own to do it.