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[IC] Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment
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Fading Memory The Final Flame of a Fiery Bird
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3 hrs ago
A breeze rustles across a grassy slope, causing an illusion of waves cascading down the hill towards the bank of a still lake. The moon is reflected in its surface, shining through a gap in the clouds and casting an otherworldly glow upon the small village of New Hope.
Sidney relaxes, stretches her fingers, and puts stylus to screen as the breeze reaches the lakeside. Ripples echo outward, slower and more somber than their counterparts in the grass, and the girl's unevenly hewn hair falls over an eye. She halts her drawing to brush the hair from her face- and, as if drawn by a sharp sound, looks towards the camera directly where her green eyes flash in the moonlight.
The flash of green transitions to a forested scene; the breeze sweeping through the branches overhead, dappling the shaded and gnarled path underneath in a cascading and brief twinkling of light that reminisces of the night sky. Rowan strides with deliberate, conscientious steps on the rough trail. Despite her smile and relaxed nature, a weight is clear upon her brow and in the slump of her shoulders. She pauses, glances down at the camera, and reaches towards it with a curious expression. As she bends down the spectral image of an elder woman appears with its hand upon her shoulder. She hesitates for a moment, then completes the motion; she reaches for the camera, and her hand engulfs the view...
The shadows deepen. A pair of eyes appear in the darkness; brown in the black- then light spreads, definition fills, and the face of Elias becomes framed in an austere and drastic cutting darkness. Light from within a room, a huddled, older, figure murmuring in the candlelight. A map of New Hope is visible on the wall. Elias' expression twists into a familiar and comfortable one of benign resignation, and he turns away from the camera and slinks deeper into the shadows of his home. Footsteps recede, and suddenly the darkness evaporates in the glow of moonlight as he suddenly throws open a door. His silhouette burns in the center of the screen, then the light spreads to blind the audience.
The sun, high over Lake Chartreuse. The camera pans down to show the lake surface- which suddenly erupts as the towering figure of Ambrose surges out of the water. His muscular frame sparkles in the spray as the golden sun basks down upon him. The fractals of his reflection in the water droplets reveal different aspects of his life; Lead batter in a village baseball game, agonizing over his hair in a mirror, carrying a large pack of supplies up the stairs to the Old Shrine where the waving figures of the Fontaines smile down at him. He swims powerfully to the shore- only to suddenly find himself in the shade of his sole rival in size in New Hope; Weasel. The swarm of younger Bilica children holler and yell as they swarm around Ambrose and into the waters; Weasel's expression shifts into one of smug superiority. He smirks, and throws the first punch.
Papers explode into the air; books fall to the ground; a pair of glasses clatter onto the grass. Toby falls to her knees, reaching forth for the glasses- but another hand reaches them first. Freyja Hoar lifts them up, twirls them deftly in her fingers, then offers Toby her free hand as the sunlight glints across her own glasses. As Toby rises to her feet she looks around, as if realizing only now that several of the other students have stopped to help her pick her things up. Freyja places Toby's glasses back in her hands, then turns a stern expression towards the retreating back of Weasel; implying the bully had knocked Toby's books out of her hands. The camera swivels.
Audrey places her hands on her hips. Brazen boldness flares in her almond eyes. The group of kids helps Toby pick up her things in the background, but in the foreground Audrey unleashes a silent torrent of words whose sharpness are tangible even in the silence of the scene. Weasel's eyes flicker with surprise, then settle into annoyance. He reaches out to push Audrey out of his way- but the girl launches a vicious kick and launches herself at the larger boy in a hurricane of rage. They tumble out of scene as the gaggle of lesser Bilica children fall over each other to follow. The camera rotates with their fall, and in the blur of motion the scene transitions; Audrey and Weasel sitting, apart, glowering at one another outside the Nurse's office, each one wearing a series of bandages, as their fathers mutually berate them. The hatred between them flickers as their parents' tirades go unheard.
The torrent of shouting dies down into a pleasant chatter. Warmth fills the air- and excitement. As the arguing parents fade out of screen, the image is replaced by an oven; it opens, and a wondrous panoply of baked goods emerges on a tray. A kind gentleman with a wrinkled, laugh-lined, expression removes the tray and sets it on a granite countertop to cool. William runs through the room, laughing at something one of the other kids in the bakery had said, and reaches for a muffin carelessly; he picks it up, and burns his hand. He juggles the confection comically for a few moments, before his grandfather places a napkin in his hand and William can finally hold his scalding snack. William waves in a friendly manner of farewell, then runs back across the room to his friends; each step he takes, the background rapidly shifts. His first step is in the bakery, his next shows him on a mountain trail going up Mount Bilica, the next sprinting along the dock on Lake Chartreuse, the next leaping from a stump in the Weeping Sam, and the last shows him on the road out of town.
William's sprinting figure fades into a spectral image. It becomes replaced by that of Nathaniel, who is rooted in place rather than running headlong out of New Hope. Rather than the impatient excitement of William, Nathaniel's expression is a pensive one of someone who dares to dream. The camera pans around him, showing him in a myriad of environments; The road out of New Hope swirls around him, then becomes a bustling city street, then the balcony of a high rise apartment, then suddenly the window of his own room back on the Westmoreland Farm. He lifts the window open- only to recoil from the pig stench outside and slam it shut once again. As he does so, he's suddenly in a classroom. He turns his head back and sees his brother socializing with Ambrose Hightower and Audrey Springer. Nathaniel shakes his head, and reaches for a thick textbook on his desk.
The book opens, a breeze billowing over its pages. The contents change from thick historical analyses to the ledger math of the accountant. Old pages, dog-eared and worn, flutter listlessly in a dingy room. Damon's eyes are looking upon the pages, but unseeing; the unheard words of a father flowing over and through him, but the meaning being lost somewhere within. The silhouette of the imposing, monolithic, Ashton Howard circles around Damon in an almost predatory manner- until Damon suddenly slams the book shut. Dust fills the air; the silhouette is lost in the chaos; Damon leaps onto the desk and pirouettes on a foot. He lithely moves, his body dancing to an unheard rhythm. His eyes close, and the dim world around him becomes replaced by that of the stage; the theatre; the ballroom; the elegant halls of the gala. The shuttering light of the cameras flickers across his features as he dances and composes- but a shadowy hand grabs him by the back of his collar and drags him back down. His eyes open, and he is merely laying on a grassy hill outside New Hope, gazing up at the twinkling light of the stars as the breeze carries across Lake Chartreuse and tousles through his hair.
David runs a hand through his hair, dust filling the room around him. He sneezes, exacerbating the issue by dislodging another cloud of dust from the opened tower of a library desktop. The dust settles on him as he leans back in the chair and stares up at the ceiling in a moment of contemplation. He slides back in the chair and rises to his feet suddenly, striding with swift, deliberate, steps to the nearby window and throwing it open. He shields his eyes against the direct sunlight for a moment, then leans out the window to get fresh air. As he breathes in deeply, he closes his eyes and the world around him shifts in a rhythmic manner implying a calmness and peacefulness to his thought process; the library around him fades into the small computer lab of the school, where he shows a frustrated Freyja Hoar how to handle a minor software issue; the dock of Lake Chartreuse, where the student council had gathered to plan some school function and his help had been requested with handling a projector and sound system; the dinner table, where his father was attentive and curious about his day despite the tired eyes and fatigued demeanor; the computer store, where Nicolas and Sarah were eager to show him a new technological marvel... But then he opens his eyes and breathes out, and is once again alone in the Library. He closes the window to the sound of his peers having fun outside.
The porthole window of Brown's room thuds with the light impact of a stone, rousing Brown from a book-wrought mid-day doze. He untangles his limbs and glances out to see the young Odaya Bilica, waving from the dock nearby at his window. Her expression is still crowlike- but is decidedly more tame than others typically experienced. Brown begins to move, rising from his desk chair as he stretches his arms and back to shake off the sleep. The scene shifts, Brown reaching up to the highest shelf of a library aisle and retrieving a book for a slight farm-wife. Nearby, his mother and Hickory discuss something in quiet voices. He turns his back on them and gives them their privacy, beginning to walk away. His footsteps carry him seemingly unseen through school halls, festival stalls, and even through the city streets- until the large hand of Weasel Bilica grabs his shoulder suddenly and pulls him around face-to-face. Weasel gestures towards Gavriel, Simeon, Raphael, and Isaias Bilica; the quartet bashfully hold up schoolbooks in an embarrassed entreaty of help. Brown smiles and nods, and turns towards the local café.
The camera pans upwards and way, then to the village entrance, where it focuses on the simple post greeting all who enter; "New Hope, where all your dreams come true".
Sidney relaxes, stretches her fingers, and puts stylus to screen as the breeze reaches the lakeside. Ripples echo outward, slower and more somber than their counterparts in the grass, and the girl's unevenly hewn hair falls over an eye. She halts her drawing to brush the hair from her face- and, as if drawn by a sharp sound, looks towards the camera directly where her green eyes flash in the moonlight.
The flash of green transitions to a forested scene; the breeze sweeping through the branches overhead, dappling the shaded and gnarled path underneath in a cascading and brief twinkling of light that reminisces of the night sky. Rowan strides with deliberate, conscientious steps on the rough trail. Despite her smile and relaxed nature, a weight is clear upon her brow and in the slump of her shoulders. She pauses, glances down at the camera, and reaches towards it with a curious expression. As she bends down the spectral image of an elder woman appears with its hand upon her shoulder. She hesitates for a moment, then completes the motion; she reaches for the camera, and her hand engulfs the view...
The shadows deepen. A pair of eyes appear in the darkness; brown in the black- then light spreads, definition fills, and the face of Elias becomes framed in an austere and drastic cutting darkness. Light from within a room, a huddled, older, figure murmuring in the candlelight. A map of New Hope is visible on the wall. Elias' expression twists into a familiar and comfortable one of benign resignation, and he turns away from the camera and slinks deeper into the shadows of his home. Footsteps recede, and suddenly the darkness evaporates in the glow of moonlight as he suddenly throws open a door. His silhouette burns in the center of the screen, then the light spreads to blind the audience.
The sun, high over Lake Chartreuse. The camera pans down to show the lake surface- which suddenly erupts as the towering figure of Ambrose surges out of the water. His muscular frame sparkles in the spray as the golden sun basks down upon him. The fractals of his reflection in the water droplets reveal different aspects of his life; Lead batter in a village baseball game, agonizing over his hair in a mirror, carrying a large pack of supplies up the stairs to the Old Shrine where the waving figures of the Fontaines smile down at him. He swims powerfully to the shore- only to suddenly find himself in the shade of his sole rival in size in New Hope; Weasel. The swarm of younger Bilica children holler and yell as they swarm around Ambrose and into the waters; Weasel's expression shifts into one of smug superiority. He smirks, and throws the first punch.
Papers explode into the air; books fall to the ground; a pair of glasses clatter onto the grass. Toby falls to her knees, reaching forth for the glasses- but another hand reaches them first. Freyja Hoar lifts them up, twirls them deftly in her fingers, then offers Toby her free hand as the sunlight glints across her own glasses. As Toby rises to her feet she looks around, as if realizing only now that several of the other students have stopped to help her pick her things up. Freyja places Toby's glasses back in her hands, then turns a stern expression towards the retreating back of Weasel; implying the bully had knocked Toby's books out of her hands. The camera swivels.
Audrey places her hands on her hips. Brazen boldness flares in her almond eyes. The group of kids helps Toby pick up her things in the background, but in the foreground Audrey unleashes a silent torrent of words whose sharpness are tangible even in the silence of the scene. Weasel's eyes flicker with surprise, then settle into annoyance. He reaches out to push Audrey out of his way- but the girl launches a vicious kick and launches herself at the larger boy in a hurricane of rage. They tumble out of scene as the gaggle of lesser Bilica children fall over each other to follow. The camera rotates with their fall, and in the blur of motion the scene transitions; Audrey and Weasel sitting, apart, glowering at one another outside the Nurse's office, each one wearing a series of bandages, as their fathers mutually berate them. The hatred between them flickers as their parents' tirades go unheard.
The torrent of shouting dies down into a pleasant chatter. Warmth fills the air- and excitement. As the arguing parents fade out of screen, the image is replaced by an oven; it opens, and a wondrous panoply of baked goods emerges on a tray. A kind gentleman with a wrinkled, laugh-lined, expression removes the tray and sets it on a granite countertop to cool. William runs through the room, laughing at something one of the other kids in the bakery had said, and reaches for a muffin carelessly; he picks it up, and burns his hand. He juggles the confection comically for a few moments, before his grandfather places a napkin in his hand and William can finally hold his scalding snack. William waves in a friendly manner of farewell, then runs back across the room to his friends; each step he takes, the background rapidly shifts. His first step is in the bakery, his next shows him on a mountain trail going up Mount Bilica, the next sprinting along the dock on Lake Chartreuse, the next leaping from a stump in the Weeping Sam, and the last shows him on the road out of town.
William's sprinting figure fades into a spectral image. It becomes replaced by that of Nathaniel, who is rooted in place rather than running headlong out of New Hope. Rather than the impatient excitement of William, Nathaniel's expression is a pensive one of someone who dares to dream. The camera pans around him, showing him in a myriad of environments; The road out of New Hope swirls around him, then becomes a bustling city street, then the balcony of a high rise apartment, then suddenly the window of his own room back on the Westmoreland Farm. He lifts the window open- only to recoil from the pig stench outside and slam it shut once again. As he does so, he's suddenly in a classroom. He turns his head back and sees his brother socializing with Ambrose Hightower and Audrey Springer. Nathaniel shakes his head, and reaches for a thick textbook on his desk.
The book opens, a breeze billowing over its pages. The contents change from thick historical analyses to the ledger math of the accountant. Old pages, dog-eared and worn, flutter listlessly in a dingy room. Damon's eyes are looking upon the pages, but unseeing; the unheard words of a father flowing over and through him, but the meaning being lost somewhere within. The silhouette of the imposing, monolithic, Ashton Howard circles around Damon in an almost predatory manner- until Damon suddenly slams the book shut. Dust fills the air; the silhouette is lost in the chaos; Damon leaps onto the desk and pirouettes on a foot. He lithely moves, his body dancing to an unheard rhythm. His eyes close, and the dim world around him becomes replaced by that of the stage; the theatre; the ballroom; the elegant halls of the gala. The shuttering light of the cameras flickers across his features as he dances and composes- but a shadowy hand grabs him by the back of his collar and drags him back down. His eyes open, and he is merely laying on a grassy hill outside New Hope, gazing up at the twinkling light of the stars as the breeze carries across Lake Chartreuse and tousles through his hair.
David runs a hand through his hair, dust filling the room around him. He sneezes, exacerbating the issue by dislodging another cloud of dust from the opened tower of a library desktop. The dust settles on him as he leans back in the chair and stares up at the ceiling in a moment of contemplation. He slides back in the chair and rises to his feet suddenly, striding with swift, deliberate, steps to the nearby window and throwing it open. He shields his eyes against the direct sunlight for a moment, then leans out the window to get fresh air. As he breathes in deeply, he closes his eyes and the world around him shifts in a rhythmic manner implying a calmness and peacefulness to his thought process; the library around him fades into the small computer lab of the school, where he shows a frustrated Freyja Hoar how to handle a minor software issue; the dock of Lake Chartreuse, where the student council had gathered to plan some school function and his help had been requested with handling a projector and sound system; the dinner table, where his father was attentive and curious about his day despite the tired eyes and fatigued demeanor; the computer store, where Nicolas and Sarah were eager to show him a new technological marvel... But then he opens his eyes and breathes out, and is once again alone in the Library. He closes the window to the sound of his peers having fun outside.
The porthole window of Brown's room thuds with the light impact of a stone, rousing Brown from a book-wrought mid-day doze. He untangles his limbs and glances out to see the young Odaya Bilica, waving from the dock nearby at his window. Her expression is still crowlike- but is decidedly more tame than others typically experienced. Brown begins to move, rising from his desk chair as he stretches his arms and back to shake off the sleep. The scene shifts, Brown reaching up to the highest shelf of a library aisle and retrieving a book for a slight farm-wife. Nearby, his mother and Hickory discuss something in quiet voices. He turns his back on them and gives them their privacy, beginning to walk away. His footsteps carry him seemingly unseen through school halls, festival stalls, and even through the city streets- until the large hand of Weasel Bilica grabs his shoulder suddenly and pulls him around face-to-face. Weasel gestures towards Gavriel, Simeon, Raphael, and Isaias Bilica; the quartet bashfully hold up schoolbooks in an embarrassed entreaty of help. Brown smiles and nods, and turns towards the local café.
The camera pans upwards and way, then to the village entrance, where it focuses on the simple post greeting all who enter; "New Hope, where all your dreams come true".
Summer. The most cherished of days for those who must attend New Hope's squat school experience. The school season is simple, but to some stifling, and the opportunity to stretch one's legs in the summer is yearned for by even the most academically inclined as the period of Final Exams waxes to a close. Free time, family obligations, social headaches...
Summer is the time. In New Hope, this particular summer has felt as if it never wants to end. Days are long, weeks are longer, and the excitement bubbling about this year's Summer Festival has caused the event to feel as if it would never arrive. Now it looms over the horizon like some predator waiting to pounce. The bakery is full force, the grocer's shelves are practically empty as supplies have been bought up, the lakeside is busy with those who are preparing decorations and supplies...
But there's time. The hustle and bustle of energy permeates the atmosphere of New Hope, casting even a positive light over the gloom of the Weeping Sam and making Mount Hoar look a little less intimidating with its craggy peak. The days are idyllic. The village is alive and thriving. The dock of Lake Chartreuse has a particular bubble of excitement; Freyja Hoar, being the outgoing sort that she is, was helping the elders prepare a ceremonial raft for the festival- but is now swept up in doting upon young Stig. Even the more austere of the farming folk can't help but take a break to play with the toddler as Freyja walks with him along the dock and holds him over the waters, causing the quiet boy to smile and wave his hands at the surface as if he wants to be thrown in.
this is not a required scene to interact with; you are free to create your own scenes and interact with your characters as you see fit within the area surrounding New Hope.
4x Like
ElegyHydrangea The Wanderer
Member
Seen
19 days ago
The marketplace was bustling with the voices of dozens of people, all chattering amongst each other in tones that seemed to meld and warp into a mixed-up bowl of personalities, hopes, and dreams - all of which were, for the moment, irrelevant to Toby's mission. She was currently out shopping on her mother's instruction, with the latter requiring fresh oysters and fish for dinner. Toby was glad to be given an opportunity to show her worth and ability to be responsible - though she couldn't help feeling all too nervous about the whole ordeal, being all alone in seemingly never-ending crowds.
Internally, she wished that someone - anyone - could've been by her side at that moment.
Internally, she wished that someone - anyone - could've been by her side at that moment.
GM
Fading Memory The Final Flame of a Fiery Bird
Member
Seen
3 hrs ago
The cobbled street colloquially called 'Market Lane' begins at a corner, where it splits off the main road up the hill to the Communal Meeting Hall. The prominent structure at this juncture is none other than the Hoar Grocer, with its centuries-old and intricately carved wooden frame. The roof is said to have been the hull of the original wagons brought by the Hoar family in the pioneer days, and over the generations the family has maintained and brought its structure into aesthetic and cultural heritage with carving and painting the heritage of the town upon it.
Other stalls and vendors, in preparation for the Festival, have been erected along this cobbled street in front of homes and the local café. At the far end of the street lies one of the town's two restaurants.
Sometimes when one wishes upon fate, fate conspires to answer.
Toby finds herself in, perhaps, the busiest place in the town on this given day. Despite the Hoar Grocer itself being cleaned out, the festival permits the villagers to set up their stalls and barter openly; this means that nearly one third of the village was currently walking this street and being an obstacle to her mission. On top of that all, as the throng of familiar faces maneuvered around she soon found herself in the sights of a vicious little crow indeed. If Toby isn't too overwhelmed then perhaps she may notice in time to flee, but indeed it is the young Odaya Bilica, youngest sibling to the tormentor Weasel at eight years of age, whose deep red eyes find Toby in her moment of desperation.
Manifesting as if from some foul nightmare, the raven-haired girl weaves through the crowd to suddenly be at Toby's side. Staring up at her with a sharp and tangible alertness.
"...Whatcha doin'?" She asks in a drawling tone, jabbing at Toby's side with a finger. "You're always so boring... Are you doing anything fun? It'd better be something fun. Because... I'm bored. I want to play."
Where Odaya was, her brothers were often not far.
Other stalls and vendors, in preparation for the Festival, have been erected along this cobbled street in front of homes and the local café. At the far end of the street lies one of the town's two restaurants.
Sometimes when one wishes upon fate, fate conspires to answer.
Toby finds herself in, perhaps, the busiest place in the town on this given day. Despite the Hoar Grocer itself being cleaned out, the festival permits the villagers to set up their stalls and barter openly; this means that nearly one third of the village was currently walking this street and being an obstacle to her mission. On top of that all, as the throng of familiar faces maneuvered around she soon found herself in the sights of a vicious little crow indeed. If Toby isn't too overwhelmed then perhaps she may notice in time to flee, but indeed it is the young Odaya Bilica, youngest sibling to the tormentor Weasel at eight years of age, whose deep red eyes find Toby in her moment of desperation.
Manifesting as if from some foul nightmare, the raven-haired girl weaves through the crowd to suddenly be at Toby's side. Staring up at her with a sharp and tangible alertness.
"...Whatcha doin'?" She asks in a drawling tone, jabbing at Toby's side with a finger. "You're always so boring... Are you doing anything fun? It'd better be something fun. Because... I'm bored. I want to play."
Where Odaya was, her brothers were often not far.
1x Like
William pedaled on his bicycle as fast as he could, Granpa was right! the bakery did indeed need all the help they could get at this time of the year, only Christmas and San Valentin got this kind of demand that he even asked William to go deliver things at people's stalls. Thankfully this was the last, going through town was a workout and even with all the usual energy he almost didn´t make it to his final target.
Almost.
"Delivery! Some empanadas, enamorados and a pierna"
After accepting the greetings, money, well wishes for his grandpa, and goodbyes he drove his bike to the nearest bench and slumped on it to regain his breath.
"Welp, time to go back for mor- Hey isn't that Toby?" Man, she looked a little lost, no time to dwindle then, better help a friend.
With a smile on his face, he started the little trek to the girl-
-only for it to be almost wiped from his face at the voice of the younger Bilica.
Ughh from all the people it had to be her, William considered himself pretty easy to get along with but Odaya Bilica was just so mean all the time he just chose to avoid her -and her siblings- as much as possible, but leaving Toby alone with her was a big no no, the girl didn't have a mean bone in her body to fight back and if Odaya was here then her brothers couldn´t be more than a few streets away.
Better to get involved then.
He ran towards the with as much enthusiasm as he could manage (a lot since he actually liked interacting with Toby) and called as loudly as he could "Hey Toby! there you are! come on you promised to help with my deliveries" Saying so he tried to motion to the girl to follow him back to his bike, his eyes shifting momentarily to Odaya to make it clear why he was lying like this.
Almost.
"Delivery! Some empanadas, enamorados and a pierna"
After accepting the greetings, money, well wishes for his grandpa, and goodbyes he drove his bike to the nearest bench and slumped on it to regain his breath.
"Welp, time to go back for mor- Hey isn't that Toby?" Man, she looked a little lost, no time to dwindle then, better help a friend.
With a smile on his face, he started the little trek to the girl-
The cobbled street colloquially called 'Market Lane' begins at a corner, where it splits off the main road up the hill to the Communal Meeting Hall. The prominent structure at this juncture is none other than the Hoar Grocer, with its centuries-old and intricately carved wooden frame. The roof is said to have been the hull of the original wagons brought by the Hoar family in the pioneer days, and over the generations the family has maintained and brought its structure into aesthetic and cultural heritage with carving and painting the heritage of the town upon it.
Other stalls and vendors, in preparation for the Festival, have been erected along this cobbled street in front of homes and the local café. At the far end of the street lies one of the town's two restaurants.
Sometimes when one wishes upon fate, fate conspires to answer.
Toby finds herself in, perhaps, the busiest place in the town on this given day. Despite the Hoar Grocer itself being cleaned out, the festival permits the villagers to set up their stalls and barter openly; this means that nearly one third of the village was currently walking this street and being an obstacle to her mission. On top of that all, as the throng of familiar faces maneuvered around she soon found herself in the sights of a vicious little crow indeed. If Toby isn't too overwhelmed then perhaps she may notice in time to flee, but indeed it is the young Odaya Bilica, youngest sibling to the tormentor Weasel at eight years of age, whose deep red eyes find Toby in her moment of desperation.
Manifesting as if from some foul nightmare, the raven-haired girl weaves through the crowd to suddenly be at Toby's side. Staring up at her with a sharp and tangible alertness.
"...Whatcha doin'?" She asks in a drawling tone, jabbing at Toby's side with a finger. "You're always so boring... Are you doing anything fun? It'd better be something fun. Because... I'm bored. I want to play."
Where Odaya was, her brothers were often not far.
-only for it to be almost wiped from his face at the voice of the younger Bilica.
Ughh from all the people it had to be her, William considered himself pretty easy to get along with but Odaya Bilica was just so mean all the time he just chose to avoid her -and her siblings- as much as possible, but leaving Toby alone with her was a big no no, the girl didn't have a mean bone in her body to fight back and if Odaya was here then her brothers couldn´t be more than a few streets away.
Better to get involved then.
He ran towards the with as much enthusiasm as he could manage (a lot since he actually liked interacting with Toby) and called as loudly as he could "Hey Toby! there you are! come on you promised to help with my deliveries" Saying so he tried to motion to the girl to follow him back to his bike, his eyes shifting momentarily to Odaya to make it clear why he was lying like this.
2x Like
ElegyHydrangea The Wanderer
Member
Seen
19 days ago
Toby knew she was weak- though, perhaps that wasn't quite the right word for it. Weakness implied a sickness, a defect within her that diminished whatever higher potential there could ever have been. It was a word of capitulation, of admitting one's bankruptcy of strength. The issue, however, was that Toby knew that wasn't the case. There was a sense of will, an impulse within her that drove her forward, that pushed her past her cowardice and allowed her to attain something of value. The reality was not that she lacked any strength at all - it was simply that, for whatever reason, she didn't want to be strong. There was a part of her - she knew - that accepted her passivity, that crowed and longed for it, even. Was it cowardice? No- it was something else entirely.
"... Because... I'm bored. I want to play."
It's fine, Toby internally mused, as her body merely froze in place upon the sight of Odaya. Don't reject it. Don't try to run away. What point is there in that? Isn't this just fair? Don't you deserve this? You shouldn't pretend like-
Her train of thought was shattered by a familiar, warm voice.
"Hey Toby! there you are! come on you promised to help with my deliveries."
William. It was so... like him to interfere in something like this.
In the end, despite the poison that lurked and snapped inside her mind, Toby knew that his presence was a lifeline for her- an opportunity to ignore that malicious taint for a higher, brighter aim. There was no contest, no ofuscation at that point. Paper beat rock, her friend's subtle plea beat her own pathetic complex of self-flagelation.
"Coming." she simply replied, turning to William's direction with a flat expression on her face.
"... Because... I'm bored. I want to play."
It's fine, Toby internally mused, as her body merely froze in place upon the sight of Odaya. Don't reject it. Don't try to run away. What point is there in that? Isn't this just fair? Don't you deserve this? You shouldn't pretend like-
Her train of thought was shattered by a familiar, warm voice.
"Hey Toby! there you are! come on you promised to help with my deliveries."
William. It was so... like him to interfere in something like this.
In the end, despite the poison that lurked and snapped inside her mind, Toby knew that his presence was a lifeline for her- an opportunity to ignore that malicious taint for a higher, brighter aim. There was no contest, no ofuscation at that point. Paper beat rock, her friend's subtle plea beat her own pathetic complex of self-flagelation.
"Coming." she simply replied, turning to William's direction with a flat expression on her face.
GM
Fading Memory The Final Flame of a Fiery Bird
Member
Seen
3 hrs ago
The little crow’s sanguine expression swiveled to follow Toby towards her newfound path of least resistance. In brisk, bouncing, steps the young girl skipped at Toby’s side.
“Ooo! He can play too. Hey, Bread Boy, I want to play a game!” She shouts towards William. “Or are you boring?”
She seems to mentally register the reason for this diversion as they approach William and she lowers her voice to a more conversational level rather than yelling over the crowd.
“Aw, wait. Chores? Boring. Boring boring boring. Just like Big Z-“ The Bilica nickname for Weasel; they would never call him that themselves. “- and Gav; chores.” She makes a sour expression and sticks her tongue out as if tasting something nasty. She promptly begins to ignore the two despite having tailed them briefly, and swivels on her heels to look around the crowded streets.
She almost looked deflated enough to warrant pity. Almost.
“Ooo! He can play too. Hey, Bread Boy, I want to play a game!” She shouts towards William. “Or are you boring?”
She seems to mentally register the reason for this diversion as they approach William and she lowers her voice to a more conversational level rather than yelling over the crowd.
“Aw, wait. Chores? Boring. Boring boring boring. Just like Big Z-“ The Bilica nickname for Weasel; they would never call him that themselves. “- and Gav; chores.” She makes a sour expression and sticks her tongue out as if tasting something nasty. She promptly begins to ignore the two despite having tailed them briefly, and swivels on her heels to look around the crowded streets.
She almost looked deflated enough to warrant pity. Almost.
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Rowan Moore
The chances of Rowan showing up at Lake Chartreuse today were slim at best. She uncharacteristically looked forward to the festival despite her introverted nature. But she didn't want to go near it while it was still being prepared. The surprise of seeing it all suddenly in bloom gave the festival a magical quality in her mind. This was also one of the few town events that her mother didn't expect Rowan to have a hand in; the break was much appreciated.
Even the wildlife around the lake wasn't as appealing this time of year. If the noise hadn't scared off a lot of the animals already, just about half the town running about the lake would do the trick. Anything left would undoubtedly be keeping a keen ear out for danger. Rowan loved observing nature when it was undisturbed by outside influences, even by herself. So the lake was off the table and she was in need of a more isolated spot to roam. Thus, Rowan found herself wandering the Weeping Sam.
The Weeping Sam held many gifts for those who knew how to find them, mostly untouched due to superstition or general fear of the woods. Rowan trailed through its midst in sleek black hiking boots, careful to ensure nothing of import was trampled underneath. The underbrush of a forest can contain a vast ecology of insects and small plants, not to mention budding saplings yet to grow into more significant members of the wider forest community.
Rowan forwent her usual coat due to the summer heat. Instead, she opted for a white dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a pair of brown jeans. She held her notebook in one hand and the other free for shifting stray branches. Finally, her camera hung down from the strap around her neck. All and all it was light carrying for the girl, she would typically prefer a bite to eat and another book or so. But the coat was impractical and she didn't like backpacks very much.
Coming into a brief respite from the thicket, Rowan stood before the first thing that caught her attention thus far in the journey. A rotted elm lay fallen in a small clearing. This area was familiar to Rowan, so a landmark like this surprising her could only mean it happened recently. It was an unmissable chance to study.
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Fading Memory The Final Flame of a Fiery Bird
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@Jumbus The Weeping Sam
The Elm tree was eighty feet tall, by swift estimation. Its rotted state is revealed by the break in the tree's core; the once great deciduous plant had swayed and splintered at a point roughly eight feet off the ground. This meant that a significant portion of the tree had fallen and snapped through the canopy of its nearby brethren, cascading the destruction of its own fall into an avalanche of broken branches and fallen leaves. Such is the way of nature.
The standing portion of its stump is coated in a rising colony of broad-capped mushrooms, climbing atop one another along the north side of the dead tree and forming the facsimile of a staircase up its surface. Considering her familiarity with the region and the timeline of these things, she can ascertain that the rot must have been set in for quite some time and that the mushroom colony had already begun forming before the inevitable collapse.
In this spot of the Weeping Sam, Rowan experiences a strange sensation in the wake of the fallen tree; the canopy, shattered as it is and broken apart by the death of the forest giant, is opened and allows a much greater amount of sunlight through than is typical of the dour forest. Rather than the dappling of visibility through a canvass of leaves, Rowan witnesses the forest floor in plain, unhindered, sunlight. The tumbled Elm further has broken open the earth, and already has begun to reconstitute itself into the forest ecology with the assistance of the mushrooms- as well as other forest entities.
When she first enters the clearing, she seems unnoticed by a female deer who is making great progress in stripping the upper boughs of their moss and lichen. If Rowan had to guess at a cause of the tree's death, it was the seemingly suffocating layer of ivy that had amassed in its upper branches- ivy that was now feeding the herbivores of the forest floor.
The Elm tree was eighty feet tall, by swift estimation. Its rotted state is revealed by the break in the tree's core; the once great deciduous plant had swayed and splintered at a point roughly eight feet off the ground. This meant that a significant portion of the tree had fallen and snapped through the canopy of its nearby brethren, cascading the destruction of its own fall into an avalanche of broken branches and fallen leaves. Such is the way of nature.
The standing portion of its stump is coated in a rising colony of broad-capped mushrooms, climbing atop one another along the north side of the dead tree and forming the facsimile of a staircase up its surface. Considering her familiarity with the region and the timeline of these things, she can ascertain that the rot must have been set in for quite some time and that the mushroom colony had already begun forming before the inevitable collapse.
In this spot of the Weeping Sam, Rowan experiences a strange sensation in the wake of the fallen tree; the canopy, shattered as it is and broken apart by the death of the forest giant, is opened and allows a much greater amount of sunlight through than is typical of the dour forest. Rather than the dappling of visibility through a canvass of leaves, Rowan witnesses the forest floor in plain, unhindered, sunlight. The tumbled Elm further has broken open the earth, and already has begun to reconstitute itself into the forest ecology with the assistance of the mushrooms- as well as other forest entities.
When she first enters the clearing, she seems unnoticed by a female deer who is making great progress in stripping the upper boughs of their moss and lichen. If Rowan had to guess at a cause of the tree's death, it was the seemingly suffocating layer of ivy that had amassed in its upper branches- ivy that was now feeding the herbivores of the forest floor.
Once he was sure they were out of earshot from the little girl he let himself release a sigh, truth be told he felt a little bad for so blatantly escaping from the younger girl's attention with Toby in tow but he knew the girl wouldn't let them go until she saw them squirm, even worse if any of her siblings got involved.
Turning around once they reached his bike he directed his attention to the girl at his side, he hadn't seen Toby since Grandpa started getting an uptick in orders a few days ago but that wasn't a reason to not catch up, for all he knew she could have gone in an adventure all by herself!
"Hey, Toby! how ya doin'? I was delivering a few things around here for the bakery and saw you so I decided to say hi - Hi by the way!- and ask what you been doing lately"
@myrkwise
Turning around once they reached his bike he directed his attention to the girl at his side, he hadn't seen Toby since Grandpa started getting an uptick in orders a few days ago but that wasn't a reason to not catch up, for all he knew she could have gone in an adventure all by herself!
"Hey, Toby! how ya doin'? I was delivering a few things around here for the bakery and saw you so I decided to say hi - Hi by the way!- and ask what you been doing lately"
@myrkwise
ElegyHydrangea The Wanderer
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19 days ago
"I..." Toby began, though she quickly scrambled and hesitated over what to actually say. What could she tell him - that she'd spent the past week in a fugue of self pity over her own failure to perform well in the exams? That would just be self-gratifying.
"Things are fine, I guess," she shrugged. "You?"
"Things are fine, I guess," she shrugged. "You?"
psych0pomp DOUBT EVERYTHING / except me... i'm cool
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9 mos ago
Light oozed in through the cracks of the curtains of the bedroom. That wasn’t what woke Ambrose up. It was instead his mother pounding on his door. “Ambrose Win Hightower the Second,” she barked out. He knew that his entire name meant trouble. So, he rolled over and glanced at his fancy, digital clock. The time was displayed in a lemonade yellow against a cloudy background. Shit. It was late. His head felt like an anchor was tied to his brow. It tried to keep him attached to his pillow, but he pried himself out of the cool comfort of his sheets. “I’m up!” he responded.
“As you should be. It’s summer, and I will not tolerate a layabout son.” There was a clink of ice cubes against a glass as her heels tapped away from the door.
Ambrose stood, stretched, and caught his reflection in the large mirror in the corner. He flexed, pursed his lips, and gave himself a wink. The sleep wasn’t shaken off that easily, but it was enough to propel him to the shower, then in front of yet another mirror, and into a change of clothing. Clothing that might have seemed like a bit much for the middle of summer, but being wealthy meant that the temperature outside didn’t affect common style. He looked like he was ready to hop aboard a yacht, any yacht, and so decided to head to the docks. If he made his rounds in New Hope, his mother couldn’t find fault in him. The docks first, then maybe further in town for lunch—errr dinner—and then back in enough time to catch up on his shows. He had to stop binging things until the wee hours, or his sleeping patterns would never get fixed.
He pulled up next to the lake to see everyone milling about like ants excited about a Cheeto having landed on their hill. Right. Duh. Preparations for the Summer Festival abounded. Right. Ambrose cracked a wide smile. This was all part of his plan. It wasn’t instantaneously made up on the spot to appease the masses and make him look like a good Samaritan. He parked his silver Volvo and strolled up, hands in his pockets.
“Alright! Who needs a big strong man to help them move things?” He laughed. “I’m kidding. I’m not big at all, nearly single-digit body fat.” The joke was only funny to him. It was a humble brag if anyone ever heard it. This is probably the reason why there was a certain citizen of New Hope that disliked him. And as far as Ambrose was concerned—it was just Weasel. Everyone else loved him.
“As you should be. It’s summer, and I will not tolerate a layabout son.” There was a clink of ice cubes against a glass as her heels tapped away from the door.
Ambrose stood, stretched, and caught his reflection in the large mirror in the corner. He flexed, pursed his lips, and gave himself a wink. The sleep wasn’t shaken off that easily, but it was enough to propel him to the shower, then in front of yet another mirror, and into a change of clothing. Clothing that might have seemed like a bit much for the middle of summer, but being wealthy meant that the temperature outside didn’t affect common style. He looked like he was ready to hop aboard a yacht, any yacht, and so decided to head to the docks. If he made his rounds in New Hope, his mother couldn’t find fault in him. The docks first, then maybe further in town for lunch—errr dinner—and then back in enough time to catch up on his shows. He had to stop binging things until the wee hours, or his sleeping patterns would never get fixed.
He pulled up next to the lake to see everyone milling about like ants excited about a Cheeto having landed on their hill. Right. Duh. Preparations for the Summer Festival abounded. Right. Ambrose cracked a wide smile. This was all part of his plan. It wasn’t instantaneously made up on the spot to appease the masses and make him look like a good Samaritan. He parked his silver Volvo and strolled up, hands in his pockets.
“Alright! Who needs a big strong man to help them move things?” He laughed. “I’m kidding. I’m not big at all, nearly single-digit body fat.” The joke was only funny to him. It was a humble brag if anyone ever heard it. This is probably the reason why there was a certain citizen of New Hope that disliked him. And as far as Ambrose was concerned—it was just Weasel. Everyone else loved him.
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Rowan Moore
Coming into the clearing, Rowan held her hand above her eyes and peered up into the hole in the canopy. The light shone through powerfully forcing the girl to squint for a second and avert her gaze. The sun was indeed bright. That was a simple fact but one all too easily forgotten under the gloom of Weeping Sam. Rowan didn't mind however, the diverse scenery is the exact thing she hoped to find.
In the absence of shade, the fallen tree lay exposed to the sunlight it once protected the forest floor from. The undergrowth was quickly responding to the large, rotted meal that fell in it's lap. Insects patrolled the ground around the plentiful harvest and picked at what they could grab. All the while, recent vegetation sprouted from the giant's trunk to fight over who basks at the top.
The fungi at the elm's stump seemed to have already been eating at the tree for quite some time. But they weren't a parasitic kind of mushroom; meaning the culprit had yet to be found in Rowan's amateur autopsy. Her eyes followed the tree's mighty form from the base up toward the top...
Holy shit...
Rowan had just taken notice of the deer. To be this close to one without it noticing was nothing short of a miracle given her obliviousness. It could only be chalked up to the blessing of a soft footstep.
Rowan's heartbeat rose notably and a smile began to take her face. She was only 10 or so meters away, closer than she had ever been to a wild deer before, and by complete accident too! But she made quick work of suppressing the excitement that was currently flooding her mind. This was no time for celebration yet, it could spook the deer off.
Breath in.
Breath out.
A renewed calm brought Rowan's body to a standstill. She slowly reached for her camera and carefully adjusted the flash to be off. Examining the forest floor, a patch was easy enough to find without too many dried branches and leaves. Rowan took a knee there to get a steady position. Raised her camera to eye level and, with some hesitation, pressed the button.
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Fading Memory The Final Flame of a Fiery Bird
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3 hrs ago
Lake Chartreuse
The paved asphalt road ends at the crest of the last small hill of the village before it reaches the lake itself; Ambrose parks there and has to walk down a cobblestone lane to reach the dock area itself. The path branches and a handful of other buildings stand along the lake's edge in relation to the dock- such as the fishery itself- but for the most part the lakeside is an unimpeded sightline and source of beauty for the entirety of the village.
As he approaches, he sees many of the village's adults joyously- or, at least, enthusiastically- at work. Lanterns of various sizes and shapes are being made, some in a traditional fashion and others just bouts of random inspiration or creativity. The significance of these papercraft lanterns, and the origins of the festival itself, have been thoroughly lost in time to the myriad myths and stories of the modern day; the most commonly shared myth on the subject is one that claims that the stars in the sky would twinkle out and die if the lanterns were not lit on the night of the Festival.
At the dock, he witnesses the hustle and bustle of Freyja Hoar's benign antics. The ceremonial raft was almost completely decorated by now, and it seems that a short break was in order.
His words and appearance draw attention but, in a standard fashion for the bespectacled girl, it is Freyja Hoar who takes charge of any offered grunt labor. She whirls upon the dock and hoists the young Stig to her shoulders. The toddler plays with her hair in his ever-quiet manner, and she doesn't seem to mind him pulling her braids loose one bit; her white hair tumbles into a lightly tangled wave over her shoulders as her brother does this.
She places two fingers to her lips and whistles at Ambrose, lifting her other hand to wave at him to get his attention. A two-pronged attack on his senses to ensure she successfully grabbed his attention.
"Alright, mister Single-Digits," She teases good-naturedly, calling out to him from the dock. "Since you're so strong, come give us a hand with the raft."
She was an athletically inclined girl herself, no slouch when it came to physical things, and was particularly renowned for the speed with which she ran- and while her stamina was the limitlessness of youth, it was clear to Ambrose when he looks in this direction that the elders she was working with were all tired and more or less trying to save face by keeping up with Freyja's work speed.
"All you've got to do is lift the central beam into place and hold it steady; I'll secure it into position. Then we can begin decorating the mast and we'll finally be done. Think you can handle that?"
The Weeping Sam
@Jumbus
She raises the camera. Her caution is rewarded; the deer does not immediately notice her still.
She snaps the photo-
The instant her finger presses down upon the activator, the deer's head snaps up. It stares at her, framed in the foliage of the leaves and broken boughs. In the instant of darkness of the camera-blink, Rowan experiences an odd sensation. The breeze kicks up and tickles the back of her head with its movement. Within that impossible instant of blackness of the camera readout or shutter click, a strange image burns itself into her mind.
The deer, but not as she saw it. It was larger, the doe's body longer and more broad, the dappled coat on its body deeper and thick- almost in the manner of a boar- but with deep glowing veins visible along the ridge of its spine. Its fore shoulders were far more broad and the glowing veins seemed to coalesce about them like spider's webbing, framing the broad neck and thin head in an almost eerie glow. A strange, wide, orifice rested into the dimples of those broad shoulders, almost like recessed hunches with leather-like lids that moved with some extra-muscular implication. Perhaps, most unsettling of all, was the deep blackness of the eyes.
But in the same eye-blink instant the image burned into her mind, it faded. For a moment, their eyes meet and nothing happens. The deer merely stares at her. Then, as if answering some unheard signal, the doe bolts; she leaps over a nearby shrub and in a blur disappears into the gloom outside the clearing.
The paved asphalt road ends at the crest of the last small hill of the village before it reaches the lake itself; Ambrose parks there and has to walk down a cobblestone lane to reach the dock area itself. The path branches and a handful of other buildings stand along the lake's edge in relation to the dock- such as the fishery itself- but for the most part the lakeside is an unimpeded sightline and source of beauty for the entirety of the village.
As he approaches, he sees many of the village's adults joyously- or, at least, enthusiastically- at work. Lanterns of various sizes and shapes are being made, some in a traditional fashion and others just bouts of random inspiration or creativity. The significance of these papercraft lanterns, and the origins of the festival itself, have been thoroughly lost in time to the myriad myths and stories of the modern day; the most commonly shared myth on the subject is one that claims that the stars in the sky would twinkle out and die if the lanterns were not lit on the night of the Festival.
At the dock, he witnesses the hustle and bustle of Freyja Hoar's benign antics. The ceremonial raft was almost completely decorated by now, and it seems that a short break was in order.
“Alright! Who needs a big strong man to help them move things?” He laughed. “I’m kidding. I’m not big at all, nearly single-digit body fat.” The joke was only funny to him. It was a humble brag if anyone ever heard it. This is probably the reason why there was a certain citizen of New Hope that disliked him. And as far as Ambrose was concerned—it was just Weasel. Everyone else loved him.
His words and appearance draw attention but, in a standard fashion for the bespectacled girl, it is Freyja Hoar who takes charge of any offered grunt labor. She whirls upon the dock and hoists the young Stig to her shoulders. The toddler plays with her hair in his ever-quiet manner, and she doesn't seem to mind him pulling her braids loose one bit; her white hair tumbles into a lightly tangled wave over her shoulders as her brother does this.
She places two fingers to her lips and whistles at Ambrose, lifting her other hand to wave at him to get his attention. A two-pronged attack on his senses to ensure she successfully grabbed his attention.
"Alright, mister Single-Digits," She teases good-naturedly, calling out to him from the dock. "Since you're so strong, come give us a hand with the raft."
She was an athletically inclined girl herself, no slouch when it came to physical things, and was particularly renowned for the speed with which she ran- and while her stamina was the limitlessness of youth, it was clear to Ambrose when he looks in this direction that the elders she was working with were all tired and more or less trying to save face by keeping up with Freyja's work speed.
"All you've got to do is lift the central beam into place and hold it steady; I'll secure it into position. Then we can begin decorating the mast and we'll finally be done. Think you can handle that?"
The Weeping Sam
@Jumbus
She raises the camera. Her caution is rewarded; the deer does not immediately notice her still.
She snaps the photo-
The instant her finger presses down upon the activator, the deer's head snaps up. It stares at her, framed in the foliage of the leaves and broken boughs. In the instant of darkness of the camera-blink, Rowan experiences an odd sensation. The breeze kicks up and tickles the back of her head with its movement. Within that impossible instant of blackness of the camera readout or shutter click, a strange image burns itself into her mind.
The deer, but not as she saw it. It was larger, the doe's body longer and more broad, the dappled coat on its body deeper and thick- almost in the manner of a boar- but with deep glowing veins visible along the ridge of its spine. Its fore shoulders were far more broad and the glowing veins seemed to coalesce about them like spider's webbing, framing the broad neck and thin head in an almost eerie glow. A strange, wide, orifice rested into the dimples of those broad shoulders, almost like recessed hunches with leather-like lids that moved with some extra-muscular implication. Perhaps, most unsettling of all, was the deep blackness of the eyes.
But in the same eye-blink instant the image burned into her mind, it faded. For a moment, their eyes meet and nothing happens. The deer merely stares at her. Then, as if answering some unheard signal, the doe bolts; she leaps over a nearby shrub and in a blur disappears into the gloom outside the clearing.
Oh, Toby is doing fine, that's good, she seemed pretty sad when the teacher gave the results for the exams last week even though she scored pretty high (I got a C and pas pretty pumped about it), maybe talking will get her to relax a bit more.
"These last few days have been brutal! I have been around the whole town like four or five times making deliveries for Grandpa, people love the traditional bread that he makes for these festivities and they never seem to get fed up with it, not that I am complaining tho, more business for the bakery is always good and doing so many deliveries means Grandpa gives me some extra allowance"
Not that everything was good
"Not that everything is good, I haven't had the time to hang out with Syd in ages, and the few times I have been free she is always busy with other things... welp what can you do? So Toby, I just finished my last run and I got a bike and a desire to spend time with a friend, so what do you say, wanna hang out for a bit?"
@myrkwise
"These last few days have been brutal! I have been around the whole town like four or five times making deliveries for Grandpa, people love the traditional bread that he makes for these festivities and they never seem to get fed up with it, not that I am complaining tho, more business for the bakery is always good and doing so many deliveries means Grandpa gives me some extra allowance"
Not that everything was good
"Not that everything is good, I haven't had the time to hang out with Syd in ages, and the few times I have been free she is always busy with other things... welp what can you do? So Toby, I just finished my last run and I got a bike and a desire to spend time with a friend, so what do you say, wanna hang out for a bit?"
@myrkwise
Audrey left the house quietly while her parents still slept. They had both had a late night; her mother from serving drinks at the bar, and her father from drinking half of them. She hopped on her father's Mustang. It was her father's in name only, as Audrey was the primary driver ever since his DUI last year. Instead of starting the engine, she disengaged the parking brake, and let it roll down their long, sloped driveway, swerving around her mother's Corolla with practiced grace, and backing neatly into the street. Here she did finally start the car, a reasonable distance from the house so that she hoped it wouldn't alert her parents to her departure. She didn't want to get entangled with either of them, and ruin her summer freedom.
As she pulled down their side street toward one of the town’s main roads, she put her flip phone on speaker and dialed.
"Hey Aud," a tinny, crackling voice came through.
"Hick, got any work for me? Even just one?"
"Sorry, sweetheart, but I usually just extend everyone's loans around the festival. People get forgetful, you know? Just trying to give them one fewer thing to think about."
Audrey, who had been hoping that same forgetfulness would translate into pocket money for her, grimaced but kept her tone light. Hickory Earhart was a very nice man, and she wanted to stay on that side of him. "Alright, I understand. But if anything comes up, I dunno, like you need shelves moved or something...?"
Hickory was perfectly capable of moving any shelves he needed moved. More so than Audrey, truth be told, but he didn't say so. "You'll be the first I call."
"Right, thanks Hick, you're good people."
"You too, enjoy the festivities, should be a good one this year."
As she ended the call, she wondered what festivities she was meant to enjoy without any money. Her mother always gave her gas money out of her tips from the bar, but Audrey would never ask for more. She knew an allowance just wasn't in the budget.
~~~
She turned the car away from festivities(many of which were, in fact, quite free) and instead toward the edge of town. One of the roads that led to the nearby highway had a small paved parking pad on the side of it. Just three parking spaces, in faded white lines, and a sign marking a trail into The Shaded Grove. The trail was generally disused, including today, when Audrey walked right off it and into the woods, heading for the heart of the Weeping Sam.
Audrey wasn't dressed the best for the adventure. Her boots, at least, were functional, if well scuffed Doc Martens, but she wore constricting skinny jeans. On top, she had what had once been a plain black T-shirt, but she had bleached a spooky face onto the front, and cut and tied it at the sides until it was a raggedy sort of tank top.
She walked with her hands in her pockets, not sure where she was going, nor exactly why she had come here. Presently, she came to a certain fallen, rotting tree and, not yet noticing that she wasn't alone, she lifted her foot up and kicked in some of the soft, spongy wood.
@Jumbus
As she pulled down their side street toward one of the town’s main roads, she put her flip phone on speaker and dialed.
"Hey Aud," a tinny, crackling voice came through.
"Hick, got any work for me? Even just one?"
"Sorry, sweetheart, but I usually just extend everyone's loans around the festival. People get forgetful, you know? Just trying to give them one fewer thing to think about."
Audrey, who had been hoping that same forgetfulness would translate into pocket money for her, grimaced but kept her tone light. Hickory Earhart was a very nice man, and she wanted to stay on that side of him. "Alright, I understand. But if anything comes up, I dunno, like you need shelves moved or something...?"
Hickory was perfectly capable of moving any shelves he needed moved. More so than Audrey, truth be told, but he didn't say so. "You'll be the first I call."
"Right, thanks Hick, you're good people."
"You too, enjoy the festivities, should be a good one this year."
As she ended the call, she wondered what festivities she was meant to enjoy without any money. Her mother always gave her gas money out of her tips from the bar, but Audrey would never ask for more. She knew an allowance just wasn't in the budget.
~~~
She turned the car away from festivities(many of which were, in fact, quite free) and instead toward the edge of town. One of the roads that led to the nearby highway had a small paved parking pad on the side of it. Just three parking spaces, in faded white lines, and a sign marking a trail into The Shaded Grove. The trail was generally disused, including today, when Audrey walked right off it and into the woods, heading for the heart of the Weeping Sam.
Audrey wasn't dressed the best for the adventure. Her boots, at least, were functional, if well scuffed Doc Martens, but she wore constricting skinny jeans. On top, she had what had once been a plain black T-shirt, but she had bleached a spooky face onto the front, and cut and tied it at the sides until it was a raggedy sort of tank top.
She walked with her hands in her pockets, not sure where she was going, nor exactly why she had come here. Presently, she came to a certain fallen, rotting tree and, not yet noticing that she wasn't alone, she lifted her foot up and kicked in some of the soft, spongy wood.
@Jumbus
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Conscripts An Atom Trying to Understand Itself
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5 hrs ago
David Liang
David's morning was rather boring. He was no person to laze around inside for too long, but rather he was lazing around in the Armstrong Computer Shop. Now that the final exam period had ended, he could spend time more consistently to help out the Armstrongs with their day-to-day woes with machinery. But unlike the constant demand of food or drinks, computing service was not always so. Sometimes, things just work, and for David, that meant less work to do. He yearned to be out and about, hanging out and catching up with those in class, but he had one client he would need to take care of. Enrique Mencia from the bakery. He reportedly had a non-functional laptop, but he had a lot of work to do for the festival preparation, so he postponed it until now, so David couldn't really go anywhere until this one was finished. Luckily, it was almost time.
"Mr. Nicolas." David called out to the person inside a storage room, his supervisor of sort. Nick was more friendly and casual than that, but considering the boy who didn't know his way around the language that well, he was fine with being a little formal. He poked his head out of the door to hear what David had to say. "Is there the toolbox in there?"
"Oh, yes." He disappeared back in for a brief second before coming back out with the box he required, knowing why he was asking for it. "Enrique right?" Nick asked, to which David nodded. "Awesome! Tell him I said hi."
"I will, don't worry." David gave a smile. "Oh, and if you don't mind. Can I take my day off after this one?"
Nick looked up and leaned his head slightly before nodding. "No problem, I think we can handle the workload for the rest of today. Go and have fun ok?"
"Thank you. You too, the festival's starting soon." David bowed, and looked to his father who was immersed in his own work in his own corner. "See you dad." He said before heading off with the kit and a little piece of paper as he headed off to the Mencia Bakery.
The village was bustling with exciting activities. Everyone was busy but many had a smile to spare as David strolled along the street with his stuff. They knew he was part of the Computer Shop, some of them he had helped before, so he was no strangers. He would love to join them to help out or just to hang out, but he continued onto his destination nonetheless.
"Hi. Mr Enrique?" The door to the bakery opened slowly, as the boy poked his head in. "It's David."
@Teyao
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ElegyHydrangea The Wanderer
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19 days ago
Toby shuffled awkwardly in place, hesitant on what she should say. Glancing up at the sun, she knew she still had time to spare… And it had been a while since she’d hanged out with Will…
“I… Sure,” she replied. “Do you want to see if Audrey might be around?”
@Teyao
“I… Sure,” she replied. “Do you want to see if Audrey might be around?”
@Teyao
Rowan Moore
Not again... Rowan thought to herself as a rare yet familiar sensation washed over her. The breeze brushing past her neck is a short-lived omen as the deer's distorted image flashes in her mind. Its broader form resembles the body of a dog or wolf more than anything with hooves, while its eyes and antlers resemble a plant or insect if anything natural at all. Such a distorted form hit an unsettling uncanny valley in Rowan's mind. Though it lasted a moment, it would be committed to her memory for the rest of the day.
Rowan considered seeing a psychologist about such a thing. It always caught her by surprise when this kind of thing happened, however rare it was. And she would have almost gone through with that idea if such mental phenomena weren't localized to areas such as the Weeping Sam. Perhaps it was a mix of low light, gloomy atmosphere, and general superstition of this place that had her mind played up from time to time. That made enough sense to her at least.
Lightly shaking her head, Rowan closed her eye and softly pinched the bridge of her nose to get make sure her head and eyes were on straight. Looking back, out of the daze, she could only see the fleeting form of the deer disappear into the woods. "Well, see you too I guess." The girl mumbled under her breath.
There was still plenty to explore around here anyway. Rowan imagined she had about a good half hour's worth of wildlife to study in this place alone. Maybe she could practice making a few sketches and take a sample back in a small mason jar she had tucked in her pocket.
About fifteen minutes in Rowan finds herself kneeling in the process of sketching a broad-capped mushroom by the stump. A reasonably amateur but methodical drawing session is suddenly interrupted by the sound of cracking wood. Rowan was not alone in this clearing.
Turning her head, the girl's confused and anxious frown turns into a humble smile that welcomed a friend. Despite being taller, a mix of kneeling and Audrey's elevated position had Rowan craning her neck upward to get a good look at her company. Only a brief moment passed before she decided to fold up her book and stand up to greet Audrey, brushing off some loose dirt on her pants.
"You're a bit off the beaten track, no?" Rowan joked. "Are you sure you know how to get back alright?"
@Gisk
Audrey Springer
Audrey jumped violently, landing back on her feet almost a yard away from the log, facing Rowan. She had to glance down to understand what had just happened, and when she did, she rubbed a hand over her cheek, relieved if embarrassed.
"Jesus fuck, Row," she said, "I about shat my pants. And what about you? Just as far out as me, aren't you? What're you, collecting ingredients for potions? Giving up on science and becoming a witch? I'm telling you, it's the way to go."
Rowan Moore
Rowan stood patiently watching Audrey jump back in shock. She even managed a muted chuckle upon seeing her friend finally gather her bearings on the situation.
"That was quite a few questions..." She trailed off.
"Well, science is just witchcraft that actually works. So you could say I'm doing a bit of both." She replied then reached for something in her back pocket. "As for getting lost, I'm not at much risk of that. But I do keep this for good luck." Rowan pulls out a small compass and shakes it around a bit to show it still works.
@Gisk
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