Open!

[mayqueen]

Who: Ivy and you!
What: Wandering, irritation, flowers? Come and bother a barefoot green woman wearing a leotard made of plants.
Where: Mostly around Mog Hill, extending into the surrounding districts (Bonetown, Saltbur, Pincod, Echomire, as far as the river to the west and south) - also the forest in Sobek Croix, around the evening.
When: Today (Coardi)
Warnings: Unlikely but will edit as needed.

She had to convince herself to take anything except her seed case. The vouchers and the money were stuffed into an empty compartment she kept for discoveries made on the road; though she had no intention of staying at the Valhalla Inn, or buying clothes for that matter, perhaps they'd have value as currency. Taking the CiD had been the hardest decision to make - she couldn't imagine a more blatantly obvious tracking device - but overall it was better to be informed than not and she'd bound it to her waist with vines for the time being.

Her encounters with the staff at the Inn had been fleeting to say the very least. Now she was outside, feet planted on the earth, and the faintly disturbing pamphlet had been accurate: this wasn't home. The plants spoke to her, mostly, sometimes in tones and languages she didn't yet understand - but they didn't recognize her, didn't love her as they did anywhere on her Earth. It prompted a sense of loneliness she wasn't familiar with; even in Arkham's most secure cells she'd always been aware of the Green just outside its walls, waiting for her to step back into its embrace.

For time time being she was wandering, taking in the lay of the land, sometimes hesitating for passing glances at the shops and business but not straying inside. More often it would be trees or wild flowers that would make her stop, her eyes closing briefly, the act of communication sometimes coaxing a little extra life from the plants she paused to speak with.

Comments

[behindfirelight]

“About everywhere, by the looks of things. Same as things that come through the city less-- psychotically, same as people.” He reflects, briefly, that he'd feel for whatever poor son of a bitch ended up in this city via the fog; if they even came through whole. (He's heard things about what you find out there - a friend of his was on the early cohort fog expedition.) “Baedal's a patchwork, made up out of what comes from outside- people, architecture, plants, animals, cultures. That'd be how we account for the varied population.”

A dozen (more) different kinds of fucking vampire. Who decided that was necessary.

[mayqueen]

So there were a number of paths into the city. Some were made safe, in some sense regulated, but others weren't. Which could indicate a number of things.

"But I assume there's no means of accounting for the process itself." That no single person or body could be held responsible.

[behindfirelight]

“Officially? No.” Unofficially-- Sol rejects the idea that there isn't an explanation or responsibility, but whatever it is...it's not available right now. There's a hell of a lot about Baedal that they're expected to simply accept or take on faith, and it's not the kind of city in which doing a whole lot of that seems safe. “Everybody's got a theory, but Burnworth's pamphlets are the party line.”

With about 80% accuracy in terms of its basic facts, condescending propaganda all over, and not a whole lot in the way of straight answers where 'why' is concerned.

“That said, as a xenian or magical citizen, if you need or want any assistance or information in dealing with Baedal, Hellsing--” he displays his badge, briefly, as he digs inside his jacket for two different cards, “--has a social services department that's mostly about ensuring people get what they need to survive without putting themselves or anybody else in legal or practical danger. Madrasati's newer, hopefully a little more extensive in what they can offer. My card and theirs.”

She doesn't have to take it, but he's inclined to offer; his own card provides his contact details and Hellsing's in general, listing him as the department head for legal ('bureaucratic jack of all trades' in his own opinion, when he isn't-- doing other things), and the Madrasati card is no one's in particular but swiped from Martel, who gets student referrals from the xenian services safe-space.

[mayqueen]

Her hand just hovers at her side for a moment, and she's tempted to just walk away, but it's been less than twenty-four hours since she tore apart a city block and was torn from her home and maybe she's burnt (demolished) enough bridges for one day.

She takes the cards.

"...thank you."

It comes out like she's not used to saying it.

[behindfirelight]

He doesn't push harder than that on the friendly-helpful thing, once she accepts; he's a pretty good judge, that way, intuitive and more emotion-driven than he tends to seem at a glance. (--and he has a knack for befriending people who'd generally rather not be befriended, but it's a gift that works best when he's not really trying.)

“No problem. Madrasati's south of here a bit in Echomire - you'll find Hellsing in Sobek Croix, nearby the forest's edge.” Dense forest that they are, in fact, surrounded by on all sides; in the village, it's easy to forget for a while that they're also surrounded by 'an actual city', and it's exactly Sol's kind of place. The non-Hellsing community tends toward Moroccan in spite of the 'aulde English village' feel of the architecture; he feels like he lives on eel tagine and taktouka. “Which is where I should be heading back to,” because Ivy seems like someone whose time shouldn't be imposed on too much, and he's inclined to respect that, “but it's good to meet you.”

[mayqueen]

It's a relief that he's moving on. She wants to be getting back to the plants, the trees, establishing a feel for the place from life that's rooted in the earth and not simply wandering the streets. Things happening this way saves her the possible offense caused by dismissing him or simply walking away.

She doesn't return the sentiment explicitly. Time will tell if it was good to meet him. But she nods, and doesn't scowl, and as a rule that's more than most people get.