I used to love the rain.

Do you live for the love you've found?
Some sad slow song to lay you down and still your weary worried heart.

I guess it should come as no surprise that Drenchers aren't exactly lining up to talk to the son of the Arbiter.  Still, she cannot really believe that he's unapproachable or untrustworthy.  He is too straightforward and easy to read to be a liar, unless Willow has reached new peaks of gullability.  Mentioning his father brings back the sad, lonely illusion of a puppy left behind in the rain.  Poor thing just wants everything to be sunshine and rainbows and a hug.

Willow's not sure if she's just yet willing to give the man a hug, but she can listen to him and see what his plans are - how he envisions this great change.

When she returns, however, he does not share his master plan.  Instead, he reflects back at her that she is also different, but more about her genuine interest in his book.  She smiles.  "Well, yeah, my parents named me after a type of tree," she says with humor in her voice.  "Of course, I had no choice but to be different."

He winks, and then he asks her what she would like changed.  This takes Willow aback, mostly because she was expecting to sit back, relax, and listen to a blue bottom explain how to better her lot.  The surprise is not unpleasant, but she takes a few moments to gather her thoughts.

"Well, for starters-" she begins, looking at him with a soft expression, but one that is not without weight due to the seriousness of the topic at hand, "-the Plates themselves are an issue.  Not only are they physically and metaphorically divisive, they are making existing issues worse.  Down in the Drench, it's impossible to grow anything, and without the soil being covered, it erodes away, which causes worse and worse flooding."  Her stance is well informed, having seen the same thing out in fields that were poorly taken care of by her neighbors.  They would try to grow just one type of crop or not properly dig irrigation channels, and the first heavy rain would wash away all their hard work.

"Which brings up the next point.  No one down below can afford to buy fucking anything because we're having to move every year at least," she pauses for a moment.  "I came here to study magic, but I can't well afford that having to replace my home, my clothes, and worry about rent and food.  So, the illusion of being able to improve your lot is just that - an illusion."

"Also, we all know the curfew isn't because of the bombing of the Plate support.  Hell, most people down below think that the bombs were planted by Enforcers to justify the lockdown," she looks at him, without a question in her eyes.  "Your dad just wanted an excuse to arrest anyone who had the connections and ability to rally support against him."

"Which, don't get me wrong, is fucking smart," she admits, respecting the pure evil that had to exist in a man's heart to think of such a plan.  "Most Drenchers are too tired from working all the time to put up a fight, but if someone were to show them the way out of that rut?  Your kind would lose their throne quickly."

"After all, there's about twenty Drenchers for every Topsider, if not more."

The fact that Willow had kept herself company with books in her childhood was beginning to show, more so than her interest in Sunny's book previously.  She realizes that she has been talking overlong, and slightly embarrassed, her cheeks turn a rosy pink color and she looks down at her hands.  Shyly, she glances back up at her newfound compatriot across from her.

Willow

Throw light upon your darkest dark.

but the darker the weather, the better the man

you can take all you want but not who i am

He hums a soft laugh at the mention of the name, the tree a familiar type in his mind, one of the ones that decorated Bratena Manor. Of course, the ones that dotted around his family home were of the weeping kind, perhaps one that was a good reflection to the life those within there were living.

But regardless, he listens, attentive to everything she has to say. “With the structure of the Plates, do you think it would be easier to demolish them or raise the Drench?” Either way it would take a lot of construction, adjustments made, the Drench needing to be lifted either way to help alleviate the flooding.

But she continues and he waits until she finishes completely, making mental notes.

“My ideal would be to coexist. This whole… separation between us Aristocrats and Bourgeoisies on the Plates believing we’re more deserving of a better life than the Proletariats and the Immigrants is stupid.” He pauses, trying to make sure that he’s getting his point across. “A country is only as strong as its people, right? So why do we not try to do that?” He has ideas, of course.

But he pauses to squint at her, head tilting slightly before he begins to reach into his jacket, pulling out a small notebook. “Do you mind if I write some of this down?” So that he has a starting point.

SUNJATA

Do you live for the love you've found?
Some sad slow song to lay you down and still your weary worried heart.

He only seems overwhelmed, not annoyed, at the unexpected rant that Willow unleashed upon him from a simple question.

There is a quiet focus in his face, as though he had tried valiantly to absorb the information that Willow threw at him.  His words give away that he still is not understanding the situation.  Sunny the idealist.  Poetic, if nothing else.  The suggestion of coexistence is not something that Willow is willing to place her bets on, having been on the receiving end of aristocratic prejudice.

He's not wrong, though.  The notion that people deserve more based on their birth is stupid, but it is currently the status quo.  She nods when he pauses, showing that she understands.  Willow knows that he means well.  If all the topsiders were as noble, this predicament would not even exist.

Willow is not here to lecture the poor boy about naivety; that would be the pot calling the kettle black.  When she had first arrived in Kotoll, that starry-eyed idealist view had lost her a home, her money, and nearly her life.  She's not about to turn this moment into the school of hard knocks.  After all, she had sat down because Sunny looked depressed; why make it worse?

At least, that's what she tells herself.

Do you mind if I write some of this down? he asks, and Willow shakes her head from side-to-side.  "No, write away," she says, almost absently.  "I know I probably shared more than you were expecting."

From the back of the cafe, the Bear leans out from the kitchen.  "Willow," he almost barks at her.  "You don't get paid to sit around and chat."  Willow smiles up at him from the table.  "Sal and Greg have their beers and no one else is here.  I can stand next to the table if you want?  Pretend to have something to do?"  Lazily, like a cat swatting a fly, the Bear waves his hand at her and disappears back into the kitchen.

"What are you going to do to change the mind of the Topsiders?" she turns back toward the blue bottom, as if the exchange with her manager didn't happen.

Willow

Throw light upon your darkest dark.

but the darker the weather, the better the man

you can take all you want but not who i am

It’s unfortunate to be the one that’s a dreamer among the wolves – but he’s done is best to navigate it (failed many a time) but learned each time how to hide and perfect his little hidden attempts at researching and figuring things out. Luckily, she doesn’t shoot him down, and instead listens to the comments that he makes, but it is a lot, and he hums a soft laugh and a small shrug, the tilt of his head with one eye squinting lightly as he says “a little bit. That’s okay, though. I want to hear it.” And he does.

He's not like one of those Aristocrats that pretends to know better when they know nothing of what it means to truly suffer. After all, the ones on the Plates are the ones with the sunlight beating down on them, irrigation built in with drainage systems so long in place that it’s unlikely they’d even come close to the type of flooding the Drench endures year after year.

She okays his notes, though, and he opens his little notebook to a fresh page, scratching down the ideas she’d listed off in small bullet points, leaving space underneath them to be expanded upon. Some things end up double underlined, mainly the Plates being an issue with the Drench’s own stability, then the wealth gap between those underneath having to repeat buy and fix their homes and livelihoods in order to survive.

And lastly, the question of the bombing of the new construction site, wondering if he might be able to get more information on that.

While this is all going on, the man behind the bar comes out to snap at Willow and he pauses in his note taking to glance up at her and see if he really was wasting her time, a small wince crossing his face when she asks her question. “There’s a large part of me that wants to give them a taste of their own medicine, but at the end of the day it simply creates the issue again. Perhaps I’ll have to channel some of my old man.” The thought makes him cringe, though, evident in the tight pull of the muscles in his face before he laughs it off. “I haven’t exactly gotten that far yet, though.” He hasn’t really needed to think about it past the more immediate issues at hand.

“Would it be easier to talk about this when you’re not working?” Perhaps for the help on how to change things, he could get her a book from the Core libraries. An exchange.

SUNJATA

Do you live for the love you've found?
Some sad slow song to lay you down and still your weary worried heart.

She believes him, for good or ill.

Time will tell whether or not it was foolish.  There was just something so genuine in his curiosity, his attention, his words.  Willow finds that his company is comfortable, something she never thought would describe time spent with the blue bottoms.  Against her better judgment, she might even consider building a friendship with Sunny.

She really has to pick up a newspaper on her way home and figure out what his full name is before they can really be friends.

Sunray?
Whatever, it doesn't matter at this moment.

The wince tells Willow that he hasn't got a solid plan for setting things straight.  It is unsurprising.  For all that she could list was wrong, she did not exactly have solutions.  He jokes about 'channeling' his dad, and laughs rather uncomfortably.  Willow reaches out hand and touches his arm gently.  "We need people who are different from him," her voice full of reassurance.  She withdraws her hand and sits back in her chair again.

Would it be easier to talk about this when you're not working?

She blinks, having completely forgotten the interaction with the Bear taking place.  "Well, yeah," she says matter-of-factually.  "But I won't get off today until an hour before curfew.  Can't risk getting thrown into jail after being seen talking to you, now can I?"  Her laugh distracts from the very real possibility of that happening.  She thinks, considering what her schedule looked like in the next few days.

"Dunno where I'd meet up with you though otherwise, though," almost thinking out loud.  "After all, you're not allowed on my side of the city except for work, right?"

Willow

Throw light upon your darkest dark.

but the darker the weather, the better the man

you can take all you want but not who i am

She touches his arm and his gaze remains on her, accepting the soft touch for reassurance as it’s intended. A soft smile replaces the wince and he simply nods, humming another breathy and soft laugh. “I suppose you’re right.” One of his biggest fears was becoming like his father, which made it difficult when his father did everything in his power to try and make that come true. It’s why it hasn’t worked, it’s why he’s become such a failure and a disappointment.

But that’s beside the point. He’s here now, trying to change things.

He cocks his head as he regards her, working his jaw thoughtfully. “Right… Though I may be able to get you an invite into POINT where we can talk. There’s a bar similar to this one there and perhaps we could swing it like a… research point. Maybe they’d be delighted to pretend it’s inspiring.” He pauses, effectively running his mouth as the ideas come out. “And they wouldn’t be able to say no if I accompanied you.” But he wouldn’t put in for anything unless she gave her go ahead.

“But yes, I’m not allowed to go unless I’m on duty. A shame, really.” He hums, reaching for the beer and takes another sip of it.

SUNJATA

Do you live for the love you've found?
Some sad slow song to lay you down and still your weary worried heart.

An invite to POINT?

Willow looks at him skeptically - not because she doesn't think it is within his power, but because she's not sure it's within hers.  The idea that she would be within an arms reach of the oligarchs makes her uncomfortable, especially going there under false pretenses.  Maybe it has not been obvious, but Willow's not a very good liar.  She is honest, sometimes to a fault, outside of the occasional sarcasm and joke.

Still, it is again a situation where who would believe her even if she told the truth.  While Sunny is an outcast, no self-respecting blue bottom would believe he's willing to trade in his silver spoon for equality.

He reassures that unless he's on duty, there will be no adventures into the Drench.  The current problem would simply be reversed if that were the case.  Sunny would be expected to keep busy at work, and it would likely draw suspicion.  Willow groans to herself, before letting out a resigned huff.

She couldn't pass up the opportunity.

"I'm not dressing up," she says with finality.  Oligarchs or no oligarchs, she is not wearing flashy colors, a skirt, or heels.  They can get bent.

Willow

Throw light upon your darkest dark.

but the darker the weather, the better the man

you can take all you want but not who i am

He imagines it has to come off with some skepticism, given that he’s one of the top tier’s kids and he’s just waving it in front of her like it’s done with ease when if she were to try on her own it would be a constant battle and require constant proof. Though, sometimes being one of those in a high enough tier to actually pull strings had its benefits – this one just a collaboration for… Treason, in a way. But that’s beside the point.

He sips from his beer as the offer’s laid out, watching her reaction to see what she decides – and at first it appears like some kind of inner war, debating whether or not she should and whether or not she could. Eventually, though, her huff and the groan to herself has a small smile tugging on his face when she finally gives her answer.

“You don’t have to, don’t worry.” Perhaps it would play into the story they make to get her to come? “What are your days off?” He asks, setting the beer down finally and flipping to a new page in the tiny notebook he has so he can try and keep some sort of a calendar of events.

SUNJATA

Do you live for the love you've found?
Some sad slow song to lay you down and still your weary worried heart.

The smile she gets as a response is small but genuine.  Planning to commit treason does tend to bring a smile to your face.

Willow returns the expression in kind after being reassured that she will be under no obligation to play dress up.  "Good."  He asks about her days off, and the girl stops to think, a hand pressing against her forehead for a moment and she tries to remember what day it even is today.  As she said earlier, the days begin to blend together.

"Uh, I'm off for a couple of days next week," she squints, as if peering through a thick fog toward some dim lights in the distance.  "The 17th and 18th I think."  She nods, as if to confirm that her estimate was correct.  "Either of those work for you?  If not I can talk to Myron about swapping a shift with Ellie."

Willow

Throw light upon your darkest dark.

but the darker the weather, the better the man

you can take all you want but not who i am

With that accommodation taken care of, Sunjata waits to hear what days she has off, mentally cataloguing it in his mind alongside his own. “I have the 18th off, we can shoot for then?” He asks, flipping to a new page in the book that’s blank and toward the back, the edges of the notebook marked with different dates (as if he keeps reminders and information pertaining to his person at all times within it), which he does to an extent but he never lets the book out of his sight.

“I just need your last name and I’ll put in the request. I imagine they’d be fine with it, going through all the “proper channels” and all of that.” Sunjata shrugs, fingertips lifting to make the air quotes but far less noticeable, flashing her that same soft smile – some budding hope and optimism in his chest over the idea that they might actually get something to work on for the future of Ok'Kotoll at the very least.

SUNJATA