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
Breathe silently, make the ghostly voice surrender.
When Mallorie accepted a job to locate a missing family member, she’d had some suspicion she wasn’t being given all the facts. She hadn’t suspected that the aforementioned family member was a much loved pet kroko that escaped when a window was left open in the kivan heat.
Now, with drenak taking hold and storms on the way, she’d been tasked with locating the creature before it could be washed away more permanently. She politely didn’t point out that a kroko would probably be fine with flooded streets - if it didn’t prefer them outright - in favour of potential payment, or at least some goodwill for future word of mouth.
All of which amounted to her current situation: picking through the streets, asking strangers if they’d seen an unaccompanied kroko, and looking behind bins in case the creature was gorging itself on mouldy leftovers (a rare treat for such a spoiled wee beast). The former mostly elicited funny looks and vague reports of possible sightings. The latter, mostly bad smells.
Her investigative methods were largely honed on snobby Plate dwellers so, perhaps predictably, she was finding herself at a bit of a loss. She wiped hair back from her face and stood away from the bin she’d been looking in (where she’d found little more than beer cans and cigarette stubs of…dubious legality), only to knock it with her elbow, sending it clanging into the next bin over.
The rubbish inside spilled out over her shoes, and the noise of the bin clattering down rang out like a roll of thunder. Or at the very least, a drunk having a Bad Time navigating Drench alleys.
You said I could fly so go on then, fill my eyes with fire, I set my sails with desire
She's in a very rare position where she finds herself with way too much free time on her hands. Her day job, the diner, is currently closed completely due to the amount of water that got in. Her night job, the bar, is sort of open but got some water damage on its own as well. Problem there is that the boss of the place refuses to let Ira be around because "it might be bad for your health." Which had blown up in a very rare argument between the two where he claimed he's just caring about her and she thinking he is being stupid paranoid about it.
Slamming the front door to the bar shut behind her after her boss had (lovingly) told her to get out, Ira stops out on the street and tips her head back with a frustrated groan. "Bad for my fucking health... The whole damn Drench is bad for my health right now, you piece of..." She mutters under her breath for herself. A cloud that could compete with those of the recent storm is hovering over her and she works her jaws angrily, only to be interrupted by a sudden cough the next second.
She huddles up with her face hidden in her arm and prepares herself for it to go on until she runs out of oxygen, but it doesn't go that far this time. Just a couple of coughs that are not stabbing her chest too painfully, but it is enough to sour her mood even more.
Just as she straightens up again and is about to pick a random direction to go in, the echoing sound of bins clattering steals her attention, and she looks around to locate where the sound comes from. Some curiosity tugs at her and she goes to investigate, rounding a nearby corner from where the sound came.
Spotting the woman standing among the fallen bins, Ira pulls her brow together in a small frown and approaches slowly, clearing her throat before speaking. "Hey... You alright there?" She asks softly and looks from the bins to the woman, scanning her for any signs of... Anything.
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.
Breathe silently, make the ghostly voice surrender.
Mallorie was a little too lost in thought to notice anyone approaching - perhaps not the best thing for the Neon Alley streets this late. Instead she was staring at the wreckage she’d caused, and was considering giving up for the night. The fallen bins taunted her; she’d have to clear up the mess, if only for her own conscience.
She was about to bend down to start tidying when the voice floated across the alley. Startled, Mallorie snapped upright and looked towards the source.
The young woman before her was a lot less immediately threatening than the surprise of her appearance suggested. Mallorie relaxed a little, though still gave her a quick glance over to affirm she wasn’t a threat (or at least actively hostile). Not frail, exactly, but Mallorie got the impression she didn’t want to burden the stranger with cleaning up her mess.
“It's fine -” slipped out before anything else.
Mallorie folded her arms and tried to appear a little less…concern inducing.
“Just a mishap. Sorry, I'll get it clear now,” she added, before reaching out to still one still-wobbling bin.
You said I could fly so go on then, fill my eyes with fire, I set my sails with desire
The moment Ira notices the startled reaction she stops and briefly holds up her hands as if to show she means no harm. Not that she looks very threatening at the moment anyway. Even with her current bad mood, she keeps most of it inside and only has a slightly concerned frown on her face while looking the other woman over.
The 'It's fine' response sounded a bit like those you give just because and she tilts her head to the side, looking over the bins again. "No need to apologize to me. I think the bins are more offended." She says with a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth and she walks a bit closer, hands going into her pockets in a more relaxed manner.
Her gaze move over the other one again; the woman appears sober and might not have drunkenly stumbled into the bins then. Ira could just have nodded at the first response and then been on her way, but something made her stay to check on things. Perhaps her years of working with serving other people and be all helpful stopped her from just dismissing the other right away, even if minding your own business is often a clever thing to do in the Drench.
"What happened? Someone tried to jump you or anything?" She comes to a stop again and throws a quick look around the alley, in case someone is lurking in a dark corner somewhere. Just knocking over all the bins like that seemed a bit odd to have happened if one had just walked by them.
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.
Breathe silently, make the ghostly voice surrender.
The other woman’s motions to calm Mallorie were effective…and made Mallorie feel a little embarrassed at her own jumpiness. Still though, she had more important things to do than linger in self-consciousness. She let out an amused huff at the comment about offence, and scratched her cheek thoughtfully.
“Good to know, last thhing I need’s to piss someone off over…bin…incidents…”
Mallorie did her best to appear more upright and stable than she imagined she currently did, and silently affirmed her assessment of the other woman: not a threat, and, in fact, probably actually concerned. Her line of questioning confirmed that, if nothing else.
“Oh, no, nothing like that-” Mallorie began, then paused as she took in the extent of her clumsiness, an imagined the scene it must present to an onlooker. “Though…I can see why you might think that.”
She sighed, then dragged the nearest bin upright, its contents shifting noisily in the process. A slightly pathetic punctuation to her previous statement. Still no sign of her actual target, either. It was late now, and the weather as miserable as her own mood, so she nodded towards her unexpected companion.
“It’s been one of those days. Though down here, what days aren’t...”
Shooting a glance up at the gathering clouds, and then back down to give an awkward smile, Mallorie suspected any chance she might have of appearing remotely dignified were well and truly dashed. She might as well ask the young woman about the current bane of her life.
Instead of asking, she drummed her nails against the bin under her hand, and said, “Name’s Mallorie, by the way.”
She did not add, and this is the poor man’s pantomime that is my life.
You said I could fly so go on then, fill my eyes with fire, I set my sails with desire
Ira wouldn't actually be surprised if someone was to stick their head out a window and start shouting about their bins being knocked over, but so far the alley remains silent. Or, as silent as it can be in this part of the Drench at this time of day. No extra screaming noises added, at least.
Her head remains cocked to the side as the woman tells her she wasn't jumped, but it still doesn't answer what happened. However, Ira decides to not prod for an answer. It doesn't really matter and she has no wish to try and make this stranger admit to having just stumbled or whatever happened. She hadn't been attacked by anyone and doesn't seem to be injured, and that is enough.
"Ah, those days. Yeah, I know about those." She mutters, but her annoyance is by no means directed towards the other woman, just that she might be having one of those days right now. She's then given a name and a small smile finally forms on her lips. "I'm Ira. I work at one of the bars around the corner and heard the noise just as I came out."
She looks over her shoulder, her gaze glaring in the direction of said bar, but is back to more natural once she looks back to Mallorie. "Though right now my boss won't actually let me be there working, so maybe this is just an unlucky day for everyone." She decides to add, as if wanting to explain why she is in "civilian clothes", patched cargo pants and an almost too big hoodie, and not in anything that resembles an uniform for anyone serving drinks.
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.
Breathe silently, make the ghostly voice surrender.
Mallorie supposes she’s lucky no one else had been drawn or disturbed by the noise she caused. At the very least she hopes she’s not woken anyone up. Ira seems trustworthy enough, and unoffended, which helps. Her commiseration re: Those Days has Mallorie half-heartedly wondering if she’s found a similarly put-upon soul in the dark of night, and she feels momentary kinship.
She allows herself to wilt a little, fatigue and frustration more evident in the slump of her shoulders now. It makes sense that there’s bars nearby, and it’s notable that one is apparently turning away its own staff. That Ira seems bothered by it is enough to suggest that that’s a subject perhaps best not pried into.
“Must be interesting work, when you get to actually…work.” Mallorie ponders aloud. “I imagine you have to keep your wits about you?”
Not too different from her own line of work, she suspects. Similar number of difficult customers. Fewer loose reptiles.
At her explanation, Mallorie winced. She wasn’t, by nature, one to draw attention to herself, so this was new, slightly embarrassing ground. To pull an apparently well-intentioned younger person into her mess, especially so late, and when the weather could turn any moment…
She shifted her own, practical coat around herself self-consciously, and sighed.
“Are these your bar’s? That’d be about right for the day I’m having.”
If nothing else, she could reward Ira’s concern with her own predicament - perhaps make her feel a little better about being sent home.
“I’m trying to find a kroko. A specific one, that is. The little bastard’s been giving me the slip all day, and then…well. This.”
Mallorie gestured weakly at the bins, and grimaced.
You said I could fly so go on then, fill my eyes with fire, I set my sails with desire
Keeping her hands in her pockets, she shifts her weight more onto one leg and sort of hangs a bit back on herself for a short moment before Mallorie asks about the bar. It has Ira straighten up a bit again, nodding. "It is very interesting work... When I get to work." She adds the last with a small chuckle and shakes her head before continuing.
"And yeah, you do. Some people don't mix well with alcohol, so you gotta keep an eye on a lot of things. Some people tend to forget what boundaries are after a few shots." Could also be all from seeing when a fight was about to break out to knowing when you should start convincing a customer it's time for them to go home. Or who should be made to ordering in more drinks for one reason or another.
And sometimes the bar did have to deal with their own kind of loose reptiles. Slimy Platers coming down and thinking they could still have it their way...
She frowns a bit at the next question, but then pieces together in the next second that Mallorie probably means the bins. "Oh, no. But if they were, I'd almost be tempted to let them lie on the ground... Though, I suppose I shouldn't be too spiteful at my boss. We've got some small patch of water damage with some weird looking mold and eh... My lungs tend to be shit with that sort of thing, so I suppose he just means well." Didn't stop her for being unhappy about it, though. Hopefully it will be cleaned up in a couple of days and at least she isn't sent home because of something she's done.
Like sneaking in after closing to have free drinks with a friend.
The information about the kroko has her face go through an expression of confusion until it settles on mild curiosity instead. "You're... Looking for a kroko? Like, your pet or something?"
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.
Breathe silently, make the ghostly voice surrender.
Mallorie didn’t have much to do with handling drunks and bar crawlers in her old life - despite her occupation. She had a faint idea of how rowdy it could be, though, and gave Ira a lookover. She must be stronger than she looks, if she described such work so casually. Mallorie’s respect for this woman crept up further.
“Must have good people skills.” She mused. It was a skill she herself was lacking in, or so she’d been told.
She righted a couple more bins, peering around and down as she did.
Still no sign of the damned thing.
The mention of mould caught Mallorie’s attention and she cocked her head curiously.
“How weird, exactly?” She asked.
Not that she was a mould expert, but her interest was piqued. If this was a seasonal issue or general hazard of Drench infrastructure it would probably be useful to know. That, and if Ira had problems with her lungs…well, Mallorie could respect a bar owner taking that much care of their employees. It was certainly novel to her, given her previous employers.
For a moment she envied this person she barely knew, but squashed that feeling down in favour of folding her arms.
The kroko question. Of course.
“It’s a pet, just not mine.”
Frankly she was a little baffled by why the wee beasts were so popular, though that was possibly biased by her current situation and frustration.
She explained, hand curled under her chin thoughtfully.
“I find things and someone hired me to find their lost kroko.”
That was about it, which honestly wasn’t helping her find the creature. Except -
“It has a ribbon. Apparently.” She looked at Ira hopefully. “You haven’t seen anything like that in the bar, I imagine?
You said I could fly so go on then, fill my eyes with fire, I set my sails with desire
She gives a small shrug at the comment about good people skills in a bit of a "I guess so"-way. "Guess I can keep my cool and still sternly show them the door when it's needed." Excluding some specific situations or conditions, she is good at keeping calm if she has to, even if someone was to be angrily shouting in her face. Up to a point, of course. She does have a limit where she too will start to bite back. And when it comes to actually throwing people out, some went (sort of) kindly when snapped at enough. Others she had sometimes been able to lead out with a painful grip they couldn't struggle out of easily even with strength on their side, or she always had other people to do the job for her.
"Weird as in... Just looks unusual. Sort of red hue to it. Might not even be mold, but it's the closest guess we had. Seen it about here and there after the last rain." She still isn't sure what it really is, but she for sure knows she wants nothing to do with it. Apart from still wanting to ignore that it could be a real problem for the sake of being able to be at work! She's putting all her hopes on being able to be let back properly again as soon as whatever it is has been cleaned away and for now, she's pushing her problems out of the way to pay attention to Mallorie's.
Her brow pulls together in thought and she throws a quick glance over her shoulder before looking back. "Didn't see any during the time I was there now and you'd think people would make noise if a kroko suddenly came running over their table." The mental image of a kroko knocking glasses over and, Saints forbid, getting its face in the spilled drinks is both amusing and horrifying at the same time.
Though the small, currently bitter part of her leans towards amusement over the idea of her boss having to deal with a drunk kroko rampaging through his bar...
"Do you want any help looking around the alleys some? I'm supposed to be busy for a while longer anyway and don't need to be in a hurry home." She offers after chasing the distracting images out of her mind. "Does it answer to a name or something?" Honestly, she has no idea how well the domesticated reptiles can be trained.
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.
