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've got the wrong stretch of sunset they've got the wrong idea ingrained in your mind if only you could let it out
It certainly helps that she, herself, is still considered an outsider to an extent. Her family having moved here relatively recently. She might hold the status of a noble, but she was nowhere close to anyone to be considered part of the Aristocracy, and the others that shared her social status were too stuck up trying to find eligible people within those ranks that they’d do anything to bring everyone else around them down.
She finds it exhausting, personally, which is why Samuel is such a breath of fresh air for her. He walks the line closer than she does, and it’s evident in the way they both make their missteps, turning them into their little secrets with each and every one. And she has no intention of ruining that. True friendship is a rare gift, one that Rexanna has few of and she imagines Samuel may have fewer still. And there’s a large growing part of her that wants to be that for him.
“Your thoughts are.” She assures him, giving his arm a gentle squeeze as they move to the brighter, pale painting of wings. And she nods to his agreement, but a part of her seems almost kept up in it – so much that when he asks her own opinion and his eyes find her, she can’t pull hers away from the painting, eyes tracing each bend of the vanes of the feathers. “Between you and me?” She asks quietly, almost as if a warning should he not wish to hear it, or something that might bring them closer together. Another little secret. “This one’s my favorite. It makes me feel… Free. Free of burdens and society circumstances. It’s like if I stare at it long enough I can pretend those wings are mine. I can pretend that I’m weightless, that I can go anywhere and do anything without worry or fear.” She pauses as if realizing herself and looks over to him, ducking her head slightly with an embarrassed smile. “It makes sense, though, I suppose. It’s called Salenti’s Approach.”
Salenti, being the patron Saint of the Plates – the one credited with rising them from the darkness of the Drench, the one that provided good luck, strength, and the warmth of favor. And, perhaps, a relatable Saint for the man that stands beside her.
The kind of secrets Sam had been privy to until now in the Plates had always been the military sort; dark little admissions of death and blood, plans to overtake and undermine. With Rexanna, it seemed he would start to collect a new kind, the kind that brought people closer together instead of hurting them, harmless little moments and admissions that didn't need to be strategically held or hidden. It was refreshing. It was a little strange.
So when she asked for another secret between them, he nodded. Sam did wonder which circumstances, which expectations Rexanna spoke of, what particular cage she wished to escape, but he couldn't think of a way to ask that didn't seem overly prying.
As soon as she mentioned Salenti, he was distracted anyhow. Indeed, she had once been a source of some inspiration for him. Sam had never been particularly pious, but when he had been a teenager dreaming of the Plates, he had often looked up at a cheap paper poster hung on his bedframe and hoped. "When I was a teenager, I imagined life in the Plates would be free of any troubles at all. Of course, that isn't the case. It is...vastly superior to the Drench, though." He was sure she would know how he'd come to these thoughts, looking at the wings on the canvas.
This planet's overrun There's nothing left for you or for me
you've got the wrong stretch of sunset they've got the wrong idea ingrained in your mind if only you could let it out
Much to the opposite of Samuel’s, Rexanna’s secrets had often been gossip shared between her social class – who’s interested in who, which noble family would start to hand out engagements and marriages, which family had this unfavored member that they’re trying desperately to get out, etc. It’s been a frustrating round of events, and often why she keeps her lips sealed about what she does in her free time to most people she deals with.
But Samuel isn’t one of those people – though she can’t say each time they meet there hasn’t been someone noticing. Her parents have even heard about it, asking her why she was spending so much time with the Bravlet Advisor. Though often, the question isn’t malicious or against anything, simple curiosity likely to ensure that Rexanna isn’t harboring state secrets. Though, she doesn’t know where she’d find the time for that assumption.
So all she can do to assure them of nothing is to tell them that their friends and that she enjoys his company, and it’s always a good enough answer for her parents and she hopes anyone else she talks with will take that for what it is, too. But for now, standing here in front of Salenti’s Approach, offering her quiet personal secrets, she turns her head to look at him – the reflection of the pale colors of the wings from the lights to illuminate them reflect on her pale face. And when the comment reaches her, she can’t help but to squeeze his arm in solidarity. “I imagined that too when I started growing up. My parents did a good job at shielding me from a lot of the politics.” She shrugs a shoulder lightly and offers him a softer smile. “Of course, it doesn’t last, but… Can you believe I’ve never actually been to the Drench? I think that's why when we first met, I was so curious about your thoughts on it since you came from there.” And now she starts to overtalk, blabber, quietly aware of it as she tries to shut herself up.
Rexanna
(This post was last modified: 07-27-2023, 02:37 AM by Rexanna.)
Thankfully, Sam was unaware of anyone in particular noticing them together. Had he known it had been spoken of, it was likely he would never see Rexanna again, ducking into alleys and running away when she came close; he was determined to never be the subject of the rumours that swirled around the Plates. He was successful on the battlefield, good with swords and blood...not so much with conversation and social puzzles.
The light cast on her face from the painting highlighted her features and made her hair appear like a backlit halo, just for a moment; he blinked, dazzled, at first barely taking in what she said - again, something he was deeply unfamiliar with rose up in his chest and he swallowed it down.
"You haven't?" He asked, not noticing or minding if she was 'babbling'. "It's..." Sam wanted to dismiss the entirely place, as he had many times before, but the honest nature of this conversation drew out the subtle sides of his opinions. "...There are pockets of good things, good people. However, overall...I cannot say it is a pleasant experience. Especially not for someone used to the Plates. Everything is..."
He thought of the walls in the Drench, how it would be odd for one not to be covered to knee level in mildew; the scrapes of cigarette ash and graffiti that graced every building. "...dirtier."
This planet's overrun There's nothing left for you or for me
you've got the wrong stretch of sunset they've got the wrong idea ingrained in your mind if only you could let it out
Selfishly, Rexanna hopes it’s something that nobody announces to him – solely for the sheer fact that she very much enjoys his company. Talking to him more and more gives her a surprisingly comfortable feeling, one that she rarely gets too often on the Plates with the rest of everyone she knows. And that’s likely why; because he wasn’t born and bred to deal in the chatter and gossip that the rest of the Platers had been, and it makes it feel like everything he says is far more genuine.
Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind that she can’t stop running her mouth – and when he picks up the thread she leaves out, she shuts her mouth with absolute interest in his question to her, offering him a softer smile with a shake of her head to say no, I haven’t. And because he’s beginning to open up to her, to talk about the Drench in a way that she can picture it in her mind, she hangs onto every word he says.
A few nods here and there act as encouragement, still illuminated by the hues of Salenti’s Approach, and her smile falters slightly as he mentions it’s dirtier. “Is it just because of the Plates blocking much of the sunlight? Or is it just… because that's how it is down there?” She asks quietly, with little judgement over the Drenchers for the way things are down there – having a bit of a bleeding heart for the place but certainly not allowing it to be something she tells him until she knows him better.
Rexanna
(This post was last modified: 07-29-2023, 01:04 AM by Rexanna.)
Why the Drench was the way it was was a question that would require a long and complex answer. Sam was quiet for a while, frowning and taking a breath in as he looked over the painting again. "The darkness certainly doesn't help, but..." He circled a hand in the air as he tried to find the words to encompass years of poverty and desperation, the gutter that so many ended up in. "...Here in the Plates, there are people who clean up the streets every day. They are paid for by the Houses and keep things clean. In the Drench, what money is held by the Kings or even the parts the Plates keeps aside...it has to go to things far more urgent than cleaning."
Who had time to wash the streets when there were children going hungry or buildings about to collapse? "Many are corrupt and only interested in their own success, whether that means being powerful in the Drench or making their way up to the Plates. There are people too who..." He sighed - this was an uncomfortably empathetic view for an ex-Enforcer. "Who have had so much heartache that they do not care about where they live anymore." He'd seen it, in his own life and in the attitudes of those around him when he was growing up.
"It's much easier to care and have the power to do something about things like cleanliness, up here." He summarised, then realised just how long and rambling his answer had been. "Ah- sorry- you did not expect such an explanation, I am sure."
This planet's overrun There's nothing left for you or for me
you've got the wrong stretch of sunset they've got the wrong idea ingrained in your mind if only you could let it out
She wonders if perhaps she’s overstepped — but he starts to speak and she stops holding her breath, allowing herself to watch him curiously as he starts to explain. She doesn’t mind his rambling, but she knows she has to stop herself before she utters a ‘that’s a shame’, because Drench sympathy wasn’t something that she needed to delve down with a man that came from the Drench, let alone the potential overstepping if he himself didn’t think it was as big of a deal.
She does, however, step a little closer to him with her brows pinched. “I don’t mind. Truly.” And the honest expression that leaves her should hopefully quell any worries he might have. “It sounds difficult. I can imagine why you worked so hard to get here.” And still works hard despite it, if only to prevent himself from having to go back.
She reaches out to rest her hand on his arm in an attempt at being comforting. “And it must feel amazing to overcome all that you have to get to this.” Perhaps he did know the true feeling and meaning behind Salenti’s Approach, after all.
A little disturbed by the sentiments leaving his own mouth, he was glad Rexanna didn't ask for any more information or particularly comment on what he said. Her sympathy was still something he was unsure how to deal with, though; he'd never received much of it before. "I didn't see another option. Since my youth, I knew I did not belong there." Did anyone really belong in the Drench? It was the home of outcasts and also-ands, a place you ended up if you had nowhere else to go, at least in Sam's opinion.
The hand on his arm was a surprise and for just a second he glanced down, nervous again that someone might see them and make assumptions, but it was still just the two of them in the gallery, so he relaxed and let a soft smile take over his face, a quiet sigh joining it.
"It was simply what I had to do. Honestly, I probably don't enjoy the Plates as much as I should. I have so much work." Even more so since he'd given up active duty - no real danger anymore, but mountains of paperwork and meetings. "It's been a long time since I've been anywhere like this. Perhaps I should try to enjoy the fruits of my labour more."
This planet's overrun There's nothing left for you or for me
you've got the wrong stretch of sunset they've got the wrong idea ingrained in your mind if only you could let it out
She didn’t want to pry if he didn’t want to talk about it – but the second that he did feel comfortable enough with her to tell her, she’d be all ears. So when he mentions that he saw no other option other than getting out, she nods her understanding – sapphire eyes watching him as if she could see the reasons why he couldn’t stay down there. Regardless, to her, the Plates looked good on him. And the more she watches him, the more she realizes that she can’t really imagine what Drench Samuel looked like.
Either way, she lets her hand rest on his arm, oblivious to anything around or anyone that might walk in to see anything – to which, there isn’t anyone. It’s just them, and she soaks in the soft smile he shoots toward her, flashing him a bright one of her own. “Well, maybe it’s time to change that Mr. Tsinbrog.” She hums softly, thoughtfully, before she nods in agreement even more. “I am more than available to take you around the Plates, if you’re interested in that?” Of course, people would probably say something, but it were easy enough rumors to squash (at least aside from what lies in Rexanna’s future of dealing with Kaylus and the fallout of gossip from that).
She keeps her hand on his arm, though, and guides him over toward the next section where pottery and clay are displayed with varying designs throughout their tan and cream hues. "These came from Undunli. They've been here a while, unfortunately." With lockdown, it was impossible to ship them back.
Once her hand had settled on his arm he noticed it less, conscious of the touch (it had been so long since anyone had touched him with any intentions other than violence) but glad of it. Rexanna's offer came as a surprise, Samuel still a little convinced this had been a charity, a one-time visit she was bestowing upon the uptight Drencher as a favour; she wanted to do it again?
Alarms were ringing in his head. He knew how the social game worked. He knew there could be trouble here, and yet...
"Well. If you are not too bored by my ignorance of the arts, I suppose I can hardly refuse such a generous offer." He responded, rambling a little. "Thank you. I will look at my schedule - there are so many patrols nowadays to organise. It will have to be some time I am not needed in office."
Thankfully, there was something else to shift his attention to before he talked himself into a hole. Pottery and clay did even less for him than paintings, but determined to be open minded for Rexanna's sake, he cast his eyes over them for more than the half a second he would have usually granted. "Were they...given willingly?" He asked.
This planet's overrun There's nothing left for you or for me
