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
the inmate loves the prison guard the one who feeds him through the bars
It’s no real secret that Nate is not fond of the Plates. Like any Drencher worth their salt, it’s simply a fact about him, an unshakeable facet of his personality. It’s even worse right now, a ticket propped up by lies sitting hot in his pocket and the weight of a meeting he hadn’t wanted to keep resting on his shoulders.
He could be home right now. Working. Instead of looking over his shoulder every time it’s casual enough to do so.
An unlit cigarette hangs from his lips, the end of it damp from sitting where it has for so long, but the derisive sneers from the people who this place was made for keep Nate from actually lighting it. Have kept him from lighting it since he arrived here, dark glasses pressed tightly onto his face. There's only a handful of trams that go up and down, especially right now, so he's been doing rounds, returning to the station every so often just to check.
Maybe he'll get lucky.
Nate sighs, rubbing at his face under the sunglasses, and pulls the collar of his jacket up more. He can't afford to waste the lasti on any half assed street food they make up here, so he settles on a bench neat one such cart and sits, basking in the smell and letting his guard down for the first time in hours.
no day or night, no one can tell so he paints the ceiling full of stars
It truly isn’t what he expects to see, taking another trip to the Edge. It’s the closest he can comfortably get in his regular clothes, close enough to get a taste without his father finding out. Or… Doing anything about it, really. But to make it really stand out as what is unexpected? The familiar figure on the bench beside the food cart he’s reaching in his pocket to get the lasti for.
The money clinks as he pulls it out, makes a few decisions — too much food for just himself, but that isn’t the intention. Wren has his guard somewhat down and Sunjata wonders if he’s recognizable in plain clothes as he collects the bags and steps over to the bench, dropping the one beside the doctor on the bench while he remains standing. So what if it’s an overtly nice gesture given their last encounter? Something about the high road, right?
There’s no body armor, no helmet, just the smooth streamlined grey jacket over a black shirt with navy accents and the glint of silver from an earring that hangs in his ear and the silver glint of the chain that wraps around his waist to cover his black pants, and the steel gaze surrounded by freckles that peers down at Nate. “Need a light?”
the inmate loves the prison guard the one who feeds him through the bars
His head doesn't shift at all as blue eyes slip to the side, taking in the bag first. "I'm not fuckin' begging." He sneers, anger reddening his cheeks before he finishes looking up. It doesn't get any better as he meet's steel, as recognition sends that flush rushing down along his neck. A part of Nate considers spitting his smoke at the other mans feet, but he resists the urge. Too low to waste it on the principle.
"Don't need anything from you. 'Cept maybe space." A hand lifts to transfer the smoke from his lips to behind his ear, flattening a curl over it to hide it. Eyes narrow on the enforcer as Nate takes in the casual dress, his nose twitching just a little before he speaks again. "So you're off the leash today, huh puppy?" It isn't as if it makes much difference one way or the other, but at least the Brat will waste some time.
The smell of hot grease and salt wafts up to him from the paper bag, making his stomach rumble quietly. "So you spending your day off what, feeding the trash that blows up?"
no day or night, no one can tell so he paints the ceiling full of stars
“I know.” Sunjata replied coolly, almost bored-like as he focuses on the doctor. But Nate continues and Sunjata can only offer the raise of his brow, steel gaze drifting from Nate to peruse the shops nearby still open, before a hand rises to open his bag of food, pulling out something like a fry, before he pops it into his mouth.
He waits for the tirade to finish, before he speaks. “You’re sensitive today.” He grumbles, before moving to take a seat alongside the bench. “And believe it or not, I do get days off too.” He shrugs, lifting another small bite to his lips.
Once he swallows it, he glances back over at Nate. “Actually I was looking at the shops and stumbled across you. What’re you doing up here anyway?”
the inmate loves the prison guard the one who feeds him through the bars
"We're not friends. You want me to be nice to you?" An angry huff leaves Nate, the corners of his mouth sharpening into a blade. "You wouldn't know what to do with yourself puppy." He rubs his nose, and meets Sunjata's eyes, gesturing at his casual outfit. "So do the people 'round here know you like this?"
Immediately Nate shuts down, his mouth clamping shut and his jaw working as he looks away, shrugging aggressively. "I got my fuckin' ticket and shit. Just came up to meet someone." In some poorly thought out effort to fill his mouth, Nate reaches an angry hand into the bag and pulls a handful of undercooked fries, shoving them in his mouth and chewing messily. His nose wrinkles, the spices all wrong, but it's enough to keep him occupied.
no day or night, no one can tell so he paints the ceiling full of stars
An equally annoyed huff leaves Sunjata, his gaze focusing on Nate before a speck on the food cart. “I’m asking for tolerance.” He shrugs a shoulder before he focuses on Nate again. “And maybe we can start on a new foot. Starting with you not wasting that lasti.” His chin juts toward the bag of food before he leans back on the bench, one leg tucking up underneath the other.
“For the most part. I don’t give my name often.” He shrugs, but there’s some part of him that’s pleased when Nate reaches into the bag to take a bite of the food, even if it looks like he has to choke it down. “I’m not fucking interrogating you. Relax.” He shakes his head, looking out over the shops and fully away from Nate this time, revealing the gavel shaved into the side of his head. “I don’t often see familiar faces here.”
And so, here he is, drawn to the doctor even if their last conversation had been less than savory.
the inmate loves the prison guard the one who feeds him through the bars
It takes more effort than he's willing to show to really swallow everything, a gasp choking out of him as he does. "Can't imagine it's worth much more here than it is deeper." Nate imagines out loud, greasy fingers rising up before them. "Imagine if all these people knew who you were. All things considered, I think I'm real nice to you, Brat."
Unable to bite down this impulse, Nate reaches out and pokes the shaved part of Sunjata's head, hard. He draws back again quick, used to the Drench style of quick retaliation, a raised brow aimed at the other man to keep a keen eye on the reaction.
All that careful watching doesn't stop Nate from reaching out again, shoving his hand in the bag to draw out something else, wrapped in wax paper and still warm, even if it's mostly foreign to Nate. "What did you even buy?" There is something more appealing about the smell of this than there had been about the fries, but not by a huge amount.
no day or night, no one can tell so he paints the ceiling full of stars
(This post was last modified: 10-08-2022, 01:09 AM by Nate.)
A hum leaves him of consideration, a roll of his shoulders. “Probably not, but usually marked up given the uniform.” That is something he’s experienced a few times now and it keeps him fueling up before going down to the Drench these days. But with the nickname of Brat, a flush creeps up his neck, lips parting to make some smart ass comment before he’s poked in the head, whirling but not retaliating, just so that the steel of his gaze remains on Nate.
“Hey!” He protests, staring at Nate with as hard of a gaze as he can (it isn’t very, more confused than anything). “I, uh, just asked for the most popular things.” He stumbles over his words a bit, leaning over toward Nate and invading his space to inspect the sweet smelling thing in the bag, glancing up at the doctor when he finds himself, withdrawing slightly.
Then, after a second of awkwardness asks; “Why’d you poke me?”
the inmate loves the prison guard the one who feeds him through the bars
The fingers return to Sunjata's head, Nate letting one trace down along his neck curiously, following the blush of red that drowns freckled skin. "Shitty idea. No one up this high has any sense of taste." The hand draws back to open the wax paper, revealing something fried and dusted with powder sugar, though a few distinct notes stick out. The sharp tang of bitter lotus, the bite of sour, unripe candied berries. The doctors stomach growls again, interested despite Nate's best attempts, and he rips into the soft dough, steam releasing into the air from the piece he shoves into his mouth, sugar dusted fingers following it between his lips. "S'all weird." He mumbles through the mouthful of food.
The question has Nate leaning in, another torn off piece of dough shoved in Sunjata's mouth to keep him from protesting, his fingers still wet from his own mouth. "Cause I could." He retorts with a snap, letting his hand linger by Sunjata's mouth for entirely too long.
"Y'see what I mean?" He asks, finally drawing back, though only far enough to shove more in his mouth. "All of this is Plate shit, dressed up like like Drench food."
no day or night, no one can tell so he paints the ceiling full of stars
He should pull away with the fingers that trace along his neck from the edge of the soft fuzz of hair. “Fair enough.” He admits through teeth he keeps from clenching tight, the red flushing further. Luckily, Nate tears into the wax paper, drawing his attention and keeping his heartbeat from thundering in his ears, focusing hard on what’s exactly in the pastry.
It’s the smell that hits him first, some understanding of what’s in it before Nate’s shoving a bite torn off of it, wet with his own spit into his mouth. Truthfully, Sunjata’s stunned, cheeks and ears flushing red as he effectively blue screens and only chews on autopilot.
The question brings him back, though, a nod of understanding. “Ah, uh, yeah. That’s kind of the thing.” He murmurs, trying to get his brain back on track. “It’s easier for Platers to swallow if it looks like Drench food but tastes like food up here.” He tries to be casual about it but can’t, instead focusing hard on the way Nate chews another bite, before he tears his attention back away.
