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
You said I could fly so go on then, fill my eyes with fire, I set my sails with desire
Her father got hold of her before she could escape the apartment in the morning, giving her an offer to come with up to the Plates for the day. Having some things to do on POSE and coming with the suggestion that they could have some talks on more neutral ground other than home beforehand. Knowing how their so called talks usually go, Ira reluctantly agrees to it, if only to give her father one chance to start solving their issues she blames him for entirely.
As they walk along one of the streets after getting off the tram, the tensed silence is broken from time to time by some attempts at small talk from her father. Some comments about this or that in the different shopping windows they walked by. Comments that are met with a shrug or a hum from her and then back to silence. Eventually she even pulls the hood of her shirt over her head and zipping its high collar up over her face to shut herself in and to make a bitter, silent statement that no conversation will be had if small talk is all he's going to give her.
After a painful half hour of this, her father gives up and decides to move on to whatever his business is and she is left to entertain herself. As usual. Leaving her standing with her back to a wall and waiting until he is well out of sight before she heads in a random direction down a street. Doing her best to shake the feeling of every other person she walks by for sure is staring at her as if she doesn't belong there. Which she really doesn't either.
She makes her way through the streets aimlessly until she finds herself on a path going along the canal. With the northern area of the Loop on her side and the Core rising up on the other side of the water. She stops there, tilting her head back to look at the tall glass buildings currently covered in a heavy wet fog. Even after the sudden rain, she can still see a grimy film of sand covering most things around her from the recent dust storm and despite this, everything still manages to seem disturbingly clean.
She feels very out of place and exposed, standing out in the open in this unfamiliar place with no dark alleys to slip away into. It all feeling less safe than being in the heart of the Chokes.
IRA
(This post was last modified: 04-01-2023, 09:58 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.
In the space between thought and wonder
Memory cannot pull you under
The savant needs some errands run, which, of course, falls to Isanti. He doesn't mind: it is, after all, part of their deal. The finer details are left unsaid, left to the balance sheets in the savant's mind. Isanti just knows that his tuition is free, and the weeks where he has done more work than studies he sometimes gets some extra lasti. Pocket change, but welcome all the same. Every little bit helps, and saves him from the soul-crushing graveyard shifts he picks up cleaning establishments and whatever else he can do with a cheetah in tow. Sleep? Yeah, maybe he did that last century or something.
Sometimes he is bitter and tired and morose, but.. when he is at the savant's place, sitting in seminars, helping him out, preparing, cleaning, learning, attending workshops that would cost his liver if he weren't there as an aide... He enjoys it. There's something fulfilling about it.
The errands take him out on P0SE, and he knows it's no rush. It never is. Sometimes, he suspects the savant knows Morrocaw might need to get out and stretch her legs, or that Isanti himself just needs a break from having his head full of things. Regardless, he is grateful, very, very much so.
They're walking down along one of the canals. The gritty, grimy sand covering everything is refusing to be washed entirely clean. As a consequence, their small apartment is super sandy, and Morrocaw has had more baths than she wants in the past few days. Much as he complained about the heat, he's not sure how he feels about these torrential downpours - and they keep telling him it'll last for.. a while.
Who thought it was a good idea to live here?
At first, he doesn't notice her, because he's not expecting to see her up here. But Morrocaw recognizes her, of course, knowing she gives good chin scratches. He reacts because she reacts, turning his head to see whoever it is. Frowning, before it clicks. Taking a second to make sure he's somewhat presentable - long hair in a thick, messy braid, his thin, loose overcoat not too rumpled or stained with whatever they had been working with - he approaches her, letting Morrocaw lead. The cat doesn't bound, exactly, but she very purposefully walks up to Ira and chirps at her.
"I wasn't expecting to find you up here," he says, then curses himself. Just because someone is out digging in the Scapes they might not necessarily live in the Drench. Where are they going to dig around these parts? The lawns? Not many old, forgotten secrets there. "Morrocaw says she'd like more of those cheek scratches, please and thank you."
In the moment between breath and dying
You’re free, fearless, you’re flying
Tavi’s boots splashed through the puddles that speckled the large swathes of concrete that made up much of POSE. He pulled the leather jacket about him, feeling a little cool and perhaps he wasn’t used to it. Sweltering heat from in the Drench was like being baked in a slow oven. Then came the dust, a fine mist of particulates that smothered the city and clogged its inhabitant’s airways. Finally, the rain, washing the heat and dust all away. But the manner of it was not a soothing replenishment to a change of season, but a violent one which brought about thunder, lightning and a torrent of rain.
The aftermath of it though was clouded in fine mist and just…quiet. As he walked along the canals, it gave him a moment to consider his time in the Drench - a sobering experience, to say the least. Passing the checkpoint, he had taken a short detour and shaved, cleaned and preened to appear Plater-safe to sell his wares and not gain the attention of anyone else. Particularly Enforcers.
In the distance, he made out figures in the fog, two standing and another…crawling? As he approached closer, the details began to etch in their forms and he noticed that it was in fact a large cat of some kind. It had a lithe form that Tavi felt gave it a certain elegance and such was reinforced by the glint on its collar and the owner whose fine hair seemed shades lighter than the mist itself. The other had contrasting colours: raven hair and, like the feline, lithe in stature, who moved like willow branches in the breeze.
Tavi seemed to have a faint thought in some deep recess of his mind that the cheetah, who seemed focused on receiving a good scratch under the muzzle, would perhaps not expect a stranger like he from approaching from behind.
You said I could fly so go on then, fill my eyes with fire, I set my sails with desire
Despite feeling like a huge target where she's standing, she remains there and just watches the fog swirl in the wind around the tall buildings. Soon she only pays attention to said fog, finding it way prettier than the grimy glass. It reminds her of the moonstones Uldren had shown her and she has just gotten a bit of a dreamy, far-away look in her eyes when the chirp snaps her out of it.
Frowning, she tilts her head back even more, causing her hood to fall back down onto her shoulders. It didn't sound like any bird she had ever heard and in the next second, she hears a somewhat familiar voice coming from her side. At first she looks confused, then a small smile appears on her face as she recognises Isanti, and definitely Morrocaw. "Well, didn't expect it either. Dad lured me up here and then dumped me, it seems." She says with a small huff of a laugh and does her best to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
Then he tells her that Morrocaw demands scratches and she is happy to oblige. Smiling even wider, she crouches down and cups the cheetah's cheeks in her hands and starts rubbing her fingers into the fur. "You are getting all the scratches you want." One could almost think that Isanti just skipped the dog and went for pick-up-tactic in the exotic style. If he wasn't so fancy noble like and had looked like he thought she was going to murder him when they first met, and if she hadn't already been stolen by another, it might almost have worked. Almost. But very unlikely.
Now, the big cat is just way more interesting than the handler, even if she didn't actually find Isanti too boring.
While giving chin scratches and doing her best to not just excitedly squeeze up the whole face of Morrocaw, Ira notices the dark haired man approaching in the distance. She might not have cared much if it is just someone walking by, but the man seemed to have his eyes on them already and seems to be approaching on purpose.
"Friend of yours?" She asks quietly, throwing a quick glance up at Isanti and she can feel herself tensing slightly. Strangers on the Plates approaching triggering her defenses quickly.
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.
In the space between thought and wonder
Memory cannot pull you under
Is it the fog, or just that she's lost in thought? Isanti isn't always the keenest at reading faces and body language - his sheltered childhood has left him somewhat self-centered and isolated. It took him moving to Kotoll to start to become uncomfortably aware of that.
Regardless, he has a brief moment of feeling nervous, unwelcome, like an interloper, because she just doesn't seem to react much at all to them being there, or knowing them. He would definitely have been able to mistake someone like this, but Morrocaw? She doesn't use her eyes, she uses her nose, and that's a lot more accurate.
But then everything seems to fall into place. The somewhat confused look is replaced with a smile, and Isanti feels the building anxiety ease away again. "Oh," is the first word that leaves him. Just as he's becoming aware of being self-centered, he's becoming aware that he's a shit conversationalist. Oh and yeah are his most-said words, and he wonders (nervously) if it makes him seem aloof or stupid. "That wasn't very nice of him." While his tone is fairly conversational, internally he is both sad and proud: sad, because it reminds him of how his parents more or less abandoned him here after the lockdown, and proud, because he doesn't say that. He's trying to not always make everything about himself, but it's a hard habit to kick.
Morrocaw, meanwhile, has been staring intently at Ira, as if wondering what's taking her so damn long. But after what seems an eternity to the cuddle-hungry cat she finally gets what she wants, happily sticking her head into Ira's hands, a loud, rumbling purr beginning to vibrate through her entire body.
He is happy to just stand there and watch them, but Ira points something out and Isanti frowns. Looks over his shoulder. Someone is, indeed, approaching them: a tall, dark figure wreathed in the fog. Masculine build, purposeful movement. He looks .. imposing. Somewhat frightening, even. "I don't know him," he responds quietly to Ira, turning around to better face the man. Closer now, he looks a bit.. hard? Not rugged, for he is freshly groomed in the face, but hard, as if he's seen things, done things, experienced things. Boots, practical pants, leather jacket - it just adds to the general feeling of a practical, competent, and not very sentimental person.
Isanti swallows, his rabbity heart picking up its pace. The man is definitely heading for them, and the savant hadn't mentioned Isanti going to meet anyone.
In the moment between breath and dying
You’re free, fearless, you’re flying
Tavi continued to skirt the edge of the canal, patting his hand along a concrete barrier that served both for safety and contained the fluctuations of the water level within. All the while, his eyes remained fixed on this odd coupling and the large cat, the details about them getting clearer with every step. He did not recognize either of them. But while the guy was most definitely a Plater, something about the girl made him sense she was from the Drench. The cat - well he had no idea where that could have come from.
When the girl with raven hair glanced up at him, Tavi realized he had come a few too many steps too close. Shit. Her gaze was soon followed by the young man whose white hair slid across as he turned to look at him. Tavi pursed his lips as he saw his eyes. Fear?
‘Don’t mean to disturb you both,’ he said earnestly, raising his hand. He played mainly to her court, letting his Drench accent flow unrestricted: thick and rusty. ‘It’s the fog you see, thought I recognized many above and below POSE, but, well, it turns out I don’t. I suppose I would have recognized your large cat if I had seen it before.’ He cocked his head, looking at the feline as if it were a scientific anomaly.
You said I could fly so go on then, fill my eyes with fire, I set my sails with desire
The dark haired one comes closer still and Ira studies his features as they become more apparent through the fog. It is no one she recognise. No one of the regulars from either of her jobs, which makes up most of her exposure to other people and interacting with them. Her hands move from Morrocaw's face, one coming to rest on the cheetah's shoulder and the other calmly rubbing against the furry chest. Isanti's nervous reaction doesn't pass her by either and she quietly wonders if that is just his default reaction to all strangers.
The man's Drench accent makes her drop her tensed defenses, only for them to be replaced by more hidden ones. It might seem like she's relaxing, but she knows that all Drenchers can't be trusted either. She just knows more what to expect from them than from Platers. And with Isanti not knowing who it is either, she has no idea yet what his intentions might be.
"You're not disturbing much." She replies as she stands back up after giving Morrocaw a last chin scratch, and shoves her hands casually into her pockets while taking a couple of steps forward as if to greet the stranger. A subtle move to place herself a bit more between him and Isanti without making it seem like it was done much on purpose.
She studies the look he gives the cheetah and listens to what more he has to say. "Yeah, she's quite iconic I guess. Though I thought you'd have all sorts of exotic animals up here too." Pointing out the way he looks at Morrocaw without saying it straight out and making it seem like she is half assuming he is from the Plates. He might be. He had a Drench accent, but he could be a flat top as well and that's more or less the same to her.
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.
In the space between thought and wonder
Memory cannot pull you under
Stupid. What had he been expecting? An agent from the secret anti-cheetah police? You'd think after all this time he'd be less anxious about losing her, but it's one of those things that just refuses to go away. Sure, some people have given him grief over her, but.. it's never been organized, or from any sort of official person. Just shopkeepers and drunks and the like. Plus, the man genuinely seems sort of apologetic about butting in.
"It's alright," he says, voice mild, echoing Ira's sentiment. Even from those two words it's quite obvious he's not a local. His Undunli accent has been washed out a fair bit, but it's still very noticeable.
One slender hand extends to rest against the top of Morrocaw's head. She's turned around, attention on Ira, having spared Tavi just the briefest of glances. He's not a known scratcher, so he's not very interesting to her at the moment.
He can't help but feel like there's a conversation somewhat about him, without him, and yet there's not really anything he can say. Butt in to introduce his cheetah? Seems a bit childish, or rude. Butt in and discuss which exotic animals he's seen up here? The question wasn't addressed to him. Thoughtfully he strokes Morrocaw's head and ears, expression going a bit distant as his eyes idly roam over Tavi. He looks like a man of many pockets.
In the moment between breath and dying
You’re free, fearless, you’re flying
Tavi lowered his hand and the seams of his leather jacket squeaked with the movement. He had mirrored the same reaction of his fellow Drencher, whose body went from stilted to pliable in a matter of moments. As she approached, Tavi’s eye danced about her, reading lots but not gleaning much at all. An enigma then, he concluded.
Tavi pursed his lips in a sense of relief after hearing that he wasn’t disturbing them. Though he didn’t buy that, of course. The reality was that he walked directly into two people (and a big cat), was surrounded by fog (spooky), in a city mired with severe class imbalances (dystopic much?)…so yes, Tavi reasoned, a sense of being disturbed was probably going to result in this situation.
That aside, hearing the one with white hair speak, the Undunli accent made Tavi’s ears prick up, for the sound was as unmistakable as clattering coins. Tavi continued to observe the Plater but the last thing on his mind was to do any selling, lest he wanted to kill the conversation before it had started.
He regarded the rather sly questioning of the raven hair girl with care. He leaned back against the barrier that edged the canal, feeling the cool reinforced concrete seep through his clothing, making him colder. He shrugged. ‘I see a lot of things, up here and down there. Strange and exotic. Animals and objects. What gets me going is seeing something new. I’m a scavenger, you see, curiosity is what gets me in trouble.’ He chuckled, watched the feline move about as he spoke. He shook his head suddenly. ‘But I ain’t no flat top though, uh uh, just work up here, how about you?’ He turned also to the Undunli and felt almost intimidated by his graceful appearance. Tavi raised his brows just the slightest amount as if to ask, what brings an Undunli to Unk’Kotoll and acquaints you with this here Drencher?
You said I could fly so go on then, fill my eyes with fire, I set my sails with desire
She continues to keep her eyes on the stranger. Where his eyes go, whatever little movement he might be doing and she's not even trying to be subtle about it. It isn't her intention to make the interaction tense or hostile in any way and she's usually quite easy going with meeting people outside of work, something just keeps her a little bit on edge. Perhaps it was simply for the fact they are up on the Plates and she is already on edge from that alone. It just seeps into everything else.
Tavi leans on the barrier and she shifts back a step to end up more parallel with Isanti and leans some of her weight on one leg while listening to what they are being told. The comment about not being a Flat Top has her raise a brow a bit, as if him deciding to point it out is enough for her to doubt his words about it. Though she knows working on the Plates can have its uses sometimes and she tries to push any quick judgements away.
"Think most things around here and below can get you in trouble." She starts with a shrug of her shoulders, having no experience with trouble on the Plates but she knew what there can be in the Drench. Even if she had managed to avoid it a lot so far, somehow. He had called himself a scavenger and she cocks her head a bit to the side as she thinks it over.
"Not that I've ever called myself a scavenger, I suppose that's what it is I do sometimes too. Finding other people's abandoned things to dig through on a boring day when I miraculously have free time." She shakes her head with a soft huff of a laugh. Doing all that is more of an odd hobby of hers and nothing she does for a job. She'd be insane if she tries to fit a third one into her already too busy schedule while already trying to get rid of one.
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.
