[b]The Mencia Bakery[/b]
[@Conscripts]
[i]The bakery was alive with a panoply of scents. It was a wonderful exclamation point in the dry smells of the summer air; the warmth and softness of the bread smell rushed out the door as David opened it. The inside of the bakery was lit by hanging lantern lights (electric, not hand-lit) that were holdovers from past renovations of the building. The foyer had a comfortable atmosphere to it, with its wide windows and display shelves- though seating was limited, a gentleman's agreement to keep the nearby cafe as a dedicated gathering spot with the bakery merely being a stop on the way for the locals.[/i]

"Come in." The gentle voice of Enrique Mencia wafted out on a breeze of dough-goodness.  His voice was coming from the back kitchen, but in just a few moments the wizened figure appeared at the front counter. He pulled gloves off, dusted his hands on his apron, and fixed a gentle smile laden with a subtle anticipation upon David. "Ah, just the young man I was hoping to see today. How are you, David? You should be out relaxing with all the other kids, not holed up indoors laboring for little old me."

It was clear that he genuinely meant what he said, but also was deeply appreciative of David's efforts as well.

[hr]

[b]Lake Chartreuse[/b]
[@psych0pomp]

Ambrose's initial dialogue warrants a raised eyebrow from Freyja, who shifts her weight to the side and places her hand on her hip as she appraises him and his words.

"Mmm. Genuine hydration enthusiast, Ambrose, to my rescue." She laughs a strong laugh, then lifts Stig up off her shoulders and sets him on the ground. She glanced aside to a nearby elder and seemed satisfied that the toddler was being watched, before rising back to her full heigh and idly combing a hand through her hair as she turned to lead Ambrose along the dock. "Well, a raft is certainly nothing so grandoise as a yacht. I'll admit that. But... I bet none of your yachts or party boats were key to keeping the demonic realms sealed away." She wiggled her fingers at him to emphasize just how dang [i]spooky[/i] the idea was.

At the end of the dock was the Ceremonial Raft of the Summer Festival. It was large, for a raft, but still probably utterly unimpressive to Ambrose's high standards. What this raft lacked in size and innate grandeur, it made up for in decorative and cultural iconography. The raft was essentially a floating platform/stage, the edge of the raft accented with a decorative crenellation of papier mache. This castle-styled wall decor obfuscated a step up onto the central platform, where two elaborate and old arches were being temporarily supported by ropes. They were lacking the central beam to unify the separate pieces and complete the moon-shaped architecture on the platform. Vines, flowers, and hand-woven wreathes have been interwoven on the arches' wooden beams. Freyja gestured to the dock, where a large support beam laid. A local fisherman moved, anticipating helping Ambrose- but whether Ambrose tried to show off and heft the beam by himself or accepted help, he wouldn't get a rise out of Freyja. The girl was focused on her task, and with his help she would soon have the base of the support beam lashed to the raft and soon be in the process of lining the arches up with it.

"Well, it may not look [i]too[/i] impressive at the moment, but once we finish up today and we hang the tapestry up, you won't even be able to see this beam anymore, and when it floats out over the lake--" She pauses at that, and looks up at Ambrose with a lopsided smile. "Well, this year they asked me to do the ceremony, so when it floats out over the lake I'll be out there with the old bell and the silly shrine costume and have to do the dance to appease the demons of Lake Chartreuse."

"It's not silly." One of the nearby fisherwives chortled, sifting through rolls of fabric in a basket. Freyja laughs comfortably, but the woman shakes her head. "It's important. Can't have the lake waking up, no ma'am. You'd better do your best for all our sakes."