( open ) liberate your sons and daughters the bush is high but in the hole there's water

[synergismus]

Who: Everyone!
What: Events around the city, any time.
Where: Everywhere in Baedal.
When: Whenever you’d like.
Notes:

• Behold, your all-purpose open game log. There are a couple pre-written starters to help you generate new and open CR, and you may also use this post to start your own group activities or planned threads. GO WILD!
  
• No one is late to this post. You may use it forever.
  
• The companion thread for this post is right here!
  
• DON'T THINK TOO HARD ABOUT IT JUST RP.
  
• Helpful links: Neighbourhoods, City Map.
  
• Lucky Pastry Advice for the Month of Velldaren: A truly rich life contains love and art in abundance.
  

Warnings: Zombie horrors in the appropriately titled ZOMBIES! thread, otherwise TBA. Please put warnings in subject lines of your comments if content warrants one.

Comments

drinks, food and loitering (gallmarch)

[synergismus]

>Gallmarch is the westernmost point of the city, stretching as far out as land will let it into the sea. It’s picturesque with boardwalks, beaches, and inland trail-like roads that wind through cobblestone that’s always just a little sandy. A laid back, lazy canton, it’s always got a few bars and a few diners open, not to me1ntion food vendors along the beach, and markets and cafes besides.

No Fish Today is the local headquarters for old school music and drinks that aren’t watered down. Looking more like a gutted cafe than a proper bar, it’s been the same for decades and no one’s in any hurry to change the aesthetic. It serves its purpose, and it serves mostly alcohol, though you might be able to grab some peanuts, too.

Less loud music and more ambiance, Shrove’s Wing is a teahouse nestled in an old building masked by trees and overgrown vines. It’s the city’s oldest source for veritea, but there’s plenty of mundane (and delicious) options on the menu as well. The courtyard is a popular place to bring lunch and grab a cup.

@ shrove's wing

[inkdamage]

Severus is not a social man by any stretch. Generally when he goes out, it's with the confidence (or hope) that he won't run into anyone he actually knows - going out means simply that, leaving the damn house, and he tends to want to be just as unbothered out in the world as in his home.

Such is the case this evening, sitting at an out of the way outdoor table in the cool weather, accompanied by a teapot, ash tray, and empty plate of something finished earlier. He'd been reading but it's too dim for that now, and is instead finishing a cigarette (or working on a pack, who knows) while observing a luminous star moth flit around on the pavement; it's the size of an adult's hand, flicking back and forth and leaving glowing stardust, enchanting the other patrons.

(They'd probably be upset if he nicked it for a potion. Life is hard.)

house ecumenal fundraiser (chimer)

[synergismus]

The House Ecumenal, Baedal’s conglomerate religion for those following the One God of their various worlds, is not a powerful nor significant presence in the city - not especially well-liked but tolerated peacefully on most days, their reputation has sunk to shameful depths in the wake of the Candlelighter conspiracy. Many have distanced themselves from the House, choosing to practice their own specific beliefs in private rather than partake in fellowship or community. It’s hard to blame them.

Not everyone has abandoned the church, however, and those that remain - clergy of sorts, mostly - are steadfast in their desire to carry on and prove that the Candlelighters were a nasty fringe group, not at all resembling the core of the House. To this end, the Cathedral of the Holy Cross, a grand structure of worship in Chimer, is open to the public many days throughout the week. Tea and snacks are offered to all those who wish to come and view the architecture, and while donations are appreciated, they are not solicited. The House has taken a hard line of late to avoid proselytizing.

Instead, there is a sign posted outside that asks for volunteers putting together baskets for the needy. Those that volunteer are taken to the Cathedral’s courtyard where modestly-dressed men and women of the church are putting bread, soup tins, cold cuts, cookies, and some bottles of milk and candy-water in baskets to be sent out. There are cards for each one, but they hold only a message of good will, and no indication of what organization sent them. It’s a good place to do some good work for an hour or two, and have quiet conversation with kind people who, perhaps surprisingly, don’t mind if you chat about risque subjects (political or otherwise). This is a house free of judgment, after all.

[eventheskylooksdifferent]

There's only so much cooped-up-at-the-inn a girl can take.

It's hard, being so new. No steady job (yet) means no spending money; not knowing much about the city yet means not being sure if any of the places clearly meant for hanging out and meeting people would even let her in the door (is there a drinking age here? what is it?; but not wanting to go crazy means needing to get out for a while.

She'd seen a notice tacked to one of the boards at the inn about this cathedral. It looks beautiful, and spending an afternoon exploring it would pass the time without a large outlay of funds or worry over too much trouble (she hopes). People should at least be nice there, too, right?

But once she's there, tea, cookies, and a brief guide by one of the kind clergy around the main sanctuary leave her wanting a reason to linger. It's quiet here, peaceful; she's reluctant to go back to the inn this afternoon until she must.

She leaves a few coins in the collection box, grateful enough to want to repay the kindness shown to her, superstitious enough to believe that maybe parting with some of her money shows faith that it will return, that that energy put out there might come back to her when it's needed. And then she sees the sign asking for volunteers, and she asks to help.

That's how Lena finds herself working quietly down at the end of a long table, giving each basket a quick once-over to make sure bottles won't tumble and break when they're delivered, and tucking the card with the kind words into each one before lining them up to be taken away. Between being industrious and being sort of naturally reticent, she hasn't quite gotten much to talking, but it's clear from the darting glances and polite if awkward smiles she offers the others that it's nerves and not poor manners.

She lifts a basket experimentally, and a can of soup bails out one side, rolling down the table noisily.

ZOMBIES! (bonetown)

[synergismus]

The dead don't, as a rule of thumb, walk in Bonetown. The process of reanimation or unlife generally involves magic of some sort, so they might be able to walk in but they then might also have to be carried out. If they're really dead.

If, for instance, they're infected with something... but these technicalities aren't quite as pressing to the Bonetown residents dealing with a nightmarish contagion pattern that causes unthinking aggression and cannibalism among those infected. Where it came from and who's responsible will have to be sorted out later, though the fact that the spread of the infection begins in Bonetown is quite possibly too convenient -- there are thus some limiting factors to the destruction infected victims can cause -- can't be ignored.

'Convenient' is not the term of the moment, however, not when 'horde' and 'riot' are so close at hand. Full infection takes anywhere from five to twenty minutes, though the symptoms are almost instantaneous. Prelude Street is the worst off: a main road lined with shops, there are people with burst blood vessels in their face and eyes, people being noisily sick, and among a high percentage of those not weak or sick, people losing capacity for coherent thought and speech. It escalates quickly, but in patches. Those farthest gone tend to stay until everything and everyone in their vicinity is thoroughly destroyed.

[martyrdomoption]

Episodes like these --whether contained to a canton or citywide-- provide plenty of opportunities for the various criminal classes, although it requires a certain level of finesse and smart thinking.

The gentleman being hauled from the back of a cart, in one of the less monitored entrances to Bonetown, has been found lacking. Mitchell tells the other day-walking cruorovores to keep a look out while he drags him along the street himself, certain he's not about to catch anything, any time soon. "I don't think you'll be trying to pull a fast one after this," he says to the bound and gagged man. "It's a shame you had to find out the hard way."

He's dumped in a quiet area, and a bag of blood --one of many that he'd tried to sell-- is poured over him. Mitchell even goes so far as to remove the gag, pinch his nose, and let the last trickle run down the captured man's throat.

"And if that doesn't do the trick, I'm sure someone will be along in a minute." The gag is put back in place and Mitchell slaps the man's cheek with a broad, unfriendly smile. He leaves him to his muzzled pleading, heading back in the direction he came from.

[requirethree]

Antonin, unerringly, had put two and two together and made "no one in power will hassle me for killing things if they're zombies." He can't be in Severus' house all the time, and he is really very good at killing things. The way he looks at it, this is almost like community service.

(The analogy would probably work better if he were more careful about making sure the people he killed were actual zombies and not just covered in blood because they were running away. You can't make an omelet without killing a few innocent bystanders.)

And if he sees someone who is clearly alive, he might even help them. For the novelty value.

starlight, starbright (flyside)

[synergismus]

Astronomical events have a haphazard clockwork to their frequency, and those that gather at the Stardome in Flyside are both new arrivals come to witness such an event for the first time, or older residents who have come out before. It's night, and the coolness of evening creeps into the big crystal dome under which people gather. The Stardome sits like a giant glass jewel in the middle of the park, completely transparent and spotless.

Inside, it's only fractionally warmer, and the ground beneath is the packed earth of the parklands. There are stalls set up to offer free hot chocolate in disposable mugs (just crumble them onto the grass when you're done!), and some stand, some settle on picnic blankets. For those that are interested, there are a few guest lecturers around - a couple of science-oriented astronomers, and one storyteller who freely expounds on the myths and legends behind the stars.

When the meteor shower begins, the Stardome is attuned to capture the best visual. It's expanded, magnified, brilliant lights against the black sky that dance along the domed glass ceiling. Bigger and brighter than if you remained outside, although some do capture it from there, with their own eyes or with a few telescopes set up around the place.

[egodefence]

Gaius Baltar is not actually an astronomer, it should be noted. Granted, his society makes a point of it becoming more general knowledge than cultures that are more grounded, and it should be said that working as a high level consultant for a fleet of spaceships with no landing in sight for the longest time does familiarise one with the basics. Still, it isn't really a scientific compulsion that sees the man stood here.

And he probably won't be the only one who might look at the skies with regard to his place in the world.

He's dressed down and comfortably for the occasion, having accepted a hot drink. Now and then, he looks around with the manner of someone waiting for someone else, but can otherwise be found drifting, or finding a place to sit, or talking with one of the volunteer speakers.

[payglorytoashes]

Rodolphus stands shunted off to the side, away from no one group of people in particular, just... away. Out of the way, he would say if asked, but if asked, he would be very surprised indeed. He's holding a mug of hot chocolate but only for the warmth, though he does have a jacket on — something dark, of course, and tailored to his somewhat old-fashioned taste. He stares up at the dome almost as soon as he arrives and picks his place, unmoved and uninterested by the conversations and people around him. If he didn't like being in the middle of it, though, he wouldn't have come. Sobek Croix is comparatively isolated from city lights and he could easily have used magic to provide an enlarged view just for himself, if he'd been so inclined.

[rhinemaid]

This is the sort of gathering that Ilde is in the mood for; as many people don't talk to anyone at all as those who do, and it offers a comfortable opportunity to be surrounded by people without being bothered by many of them unless she wishes to be. They're interested in the meteor shower more than socializing, and- it's beautiful.

Even if she's no social butterfly, lately, she ends up spending most of her time in the orbit of the storyteller; a few times she feels as if she should be taking notes so she can remember what's said later. So she can tell someone else.

It feels a little like being part of a community, which is-

-unsettling, actually. She frowns, hands in her coat pockets, and starts moving away from the storyteller.

god rain (brock marsh, dryside, etc)

[synergismus]

It's a strange day. It starts as insane lightning storms in the cool of dawn, still dark, past the hills of Chnum and out into the farmlands. Unseen by most save for those that are always watching, a man stands as lightning strikes him repeatedly -- or from him. He disappears, after a while, riding the lightning up into the foggy grey sky above him.

A dreary day continues charming, before the first rumbles of real weather begin to brew above the city proper. Thunder cracks, felt like a shiver through the air, clouds thick and ugly grey, throwing Brock Marsh into shade, and some surrounding areas. The heavens open to torrential rain so suddenly that people might suddenly be running for dry cover, water striking silver off of the backs of horses, rooftops, collecting deep puddles at any suggestion of an incline on the roads. At least it's just water.

Except it isn't. Under the influence of the rain, which moves through the city vaguely north beneath driving winds, those caught in its wet experience something strange. When they had no powers before, they suddenly have something new -- everything they touch changes colours, for example, or perhaps they can fly when they hum a tune, or they can turn shoes into marshmallow and snails. Other examples might be super strength, turning invisible, telekinesis, but many of them range for the truly odd. In other cases, those with powers already may find them replaced or added to with the above, or their power has been manipulated in some way, or perhaps they are rendered without any power at all. It lasts for anywhere from an hour to a day, before things revert to normal.

The storm itself lasts for a few hours before finally letting up in Dryside. A rainbow shines in the high afternoon sky, before it too disappears.

(brock marsh)

[berserkergang]

The frequency with which Thor Odinson falls out the sky is probably concerning. For anyone involved.

By the grace of gods no one is hurt when he lands hard enough that it seems like he was forcibly ejected from above, the sky already cloudy, thunder rumbling. Pavement flies as debris as he tears a trench through the road before stilling, apparently unconscious, but before anyone nearby can be overly concerned, there's the whistling of something else flying through. A blockish object hits the ground roughly beside him, pinwheeling at a bounce away again as it skips down the road like a rock tossed over a lake, before finally landing, embedded; the hammer rests with its handle erect, half-buried in shattered cobblestone.

All is quiet, for a moment, but just as Thor begins to think about opening his eyes, tension pulling expression in his face, the sky opens and rain comes crashing down, thick and fast.

[canker wedge]

[selfmadman]

“It's been doing this.”

The lobby's a shove on your way, drab. Two rain-spattered windows, only one looking out on the street but both offering the same view: gray spilling down.

“You think this is bad, you should see the place when the lights aren't flickering.” Don glances up from his watch. “Jesus,” he says, respect leaking into his voice. He'd been talking, pitching, when it started, a clap of thunder like the sky clearing its throat. Rain drumming the building, the room's mood altered, all of them audience to the cascading water. He's been trying for impatience ever since; it's been out of reach.

Metal shrieks as the door's wrenched open. It flaps in the wind, admitting a couple thousand raindrops and a man still bowed by the weather. He coughs and stamps his feet. His hands are jammed deep in his pockets. Someone snaps at him to shut the door and as he backs away, shrugging helplessly, another sorry piece of human debris blows in. “Shut the door!”

Body caught in a flinch the man frees one hand, shows his palm to the lobby while he fumbles for the door handle. “D-don't--” They spray hissing from his fingers. Blue, pink, washed-out green. Filaments of color leaping for the ceiling, tangling in themselves on the way down. “Please,” he says. It's all over him, webbed and knotted. “Please. I'm sorry. It's harmless?”

Don shoulders past—shakes off the man's grip—and plunges into the rain. The cold's a restorative shock. He's soaked through almost instantly, drenched in the sound of the downpour. He moves hurriedly but with purpose, hat clutched to his head, until he finds an awning and a bench. He sits slumped, head tipped back. It's a minute before he plucks the strand of orange—wild as a scribble, and not the last of them—from his arm.

[boomvox]

Jae paints approximately the saddest picture in the world in the rain. His hair is too elaborate and his clothes are too expensive - you'd think, having lived so long in London, he'd be used to it, but he wasn't expecting rain today and was utterly unprepared. He's just glad that no one he knew was around when it first started, so there are no relevant witnesses to his initial panicked shriek and horrified bolt into a nearby store.

Now he has an umbrella, which is is glumly clutching as he makes his way through Brock Marsh to the train. Of course Martel made him come by on Freak Weather Day.

a haunted house (syriac well) - warning for potential horrors

[obscuredvision]

[author's note: there is no Ava here, there is only zuul this prompt, enjoy.]

Twilight in Syriac Well is usually an enchanting affair. The dimming of the day's light on lushly tree-lined streets, the gentle echo of hansom cab wheels on pavement, the lights slowly coming on in houses, dotting the gaps between tree branches, the young men in various states of distress and death on the lawn of a well-appointed townhouse...

--Usually.

But not this evening, not in front of this place. It's a beautiful townhouse, four levels plus an attic, apparently lovingly cared for. Unlike other houses along this street, no lights glow from beyond the windows or door, all of which are open. Every. Last. One, revealing only darkness beyond. White, gauzy curtains caught by the evening's breeze billow out from time to time.

Three men in their early twenties are outside the front of the house. The first stands at the curb, bellowing HELP US, SOMEONE HELP, FOR THE LOVE OF THE GODS, SOMEONE, PLEASE with such volume and force he's red in the face and weak in the knees.

The second sits on the lawn, knees drawn up to his chest with his arms around them, rocking back and forth and back and forth and back and forth, eyes wide and yet unseeing.

And the third? He's over there, on the pavement, horribly twisted in death. It seems he dove out the attic window.

HELP US, PLEASE HELP US, HELP...

[blooddrinker]

It's a little later in the evening that Dren walks in on the scene. He's still exploring the city, trying to get his bearings before he decides to commit to anything--or, at least, that's the reason he'd give. Maybe he's just exploring for fun.

He's of two minds on Syriac Well. On the one hand, everything does look very nice. On the other, it also all looks very much the same. He could see himself getting bored of the place rather easily. Then he becomes aware of a horrific noise. Someone seems very upset about something.

He follows the sound, neither hurried nor dawdling. When he finally comes upon the scene in question, he frowns at it, taking in all the details.

Something about that house bothers him. It might be the ominous blackness inside, or maybe the fact that all the house's portals of entry have been thrown open. It's probably mostly because of the distressed figures in front of the place though.

Dren cautiously approaches the bellowing young man and prods him experimentally in the ribs with his cane. "What exactly do you want help with?"

a karaoke night and bar crawl spanning several neighborhoods, avec captain kirk

[captaincocksure]

[below, there will be several vague starter comments, have at. o7]

the start of the night; drinking and amateur acts at Royal Jewels

[captaincocksure]

[Here is where you may find your erstwhile leader to begin the night's festivities. Drinks, amateur acts of all kinds, meeting and greeting.]

Later: moar drinking and karaoke at Asteroid X

[captaincocksure]

[Now that you have a few drinks in you, time to sing! Or something thereabouts, depending on your particular talents.]

after that: a bar somewhere in Griss Twist

[captaincocksure]

[Drinking break! Enjoy the raucous establishment.]

and then: noraebang at a... place where that happens, idk

[captaincocksure]

[There's no singing here, only shouting along with the music, but that's okay, no one's sober enough to care.]

the end: a nightcap in Aspic or, as needed, faceplanting chez Kirk

[captaincocksure]

[What it says on the tin.]

a night stroll (Echomire)

[blooddrinker]

Dren had decided to take a walk around the city once the sun set. He was curious about what sort of place he'd ended up in.

He hadn't had any particular destination in mind, though he had heard that the Bazaar in Aspic might be worth visiting. He was mostly just wandering, investigating various objects of interest, when he happened on Monster Garden.

He had now been exploring the garden for over an hour, examining the odd statues.

[eventheskylooksdifferent]

Lena doesn't know if she's supposed to be lurking around these gardens after dark. She's still not real clear on the rules in the city, and she guesses she should look into that sometime.

But the inn still creeps her out, and she's happy to spend as much time away from it as she can. Echomire isn't terribly far from Mog Hill. Mostly-abandoned areas don't bother her; in fact, the area and these gardens in particular remind her of Ravenwood, the family estate back in South Carolina. There's that sense of old history, of inexplicable connections to the past, and the kind of melancholy a place has when it's seen too much, let too much time soak into its grounds.

Lena feels right at home here.

She's so caught up in wandering the spooky grounds, weaving in and out of statues, that she doesn't realize there's someone else in the gardens until she pops out of a row of shrubs nearly in front of him. "Oh!" she exclaims, throwing up a startled hand. Maybe it's to ward him off, maybe the hand comes up out of some habit, some power she was on the verge of bringing to bear. It's hard to say if it's a defensive or offensive gesture.

She lowers her hand, sheepish, watching for any sign of trouble or any hint that this is something other than running into another night-time wanderer. "Excuse me," she offers, "I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone else was here."

( hasi's house/amaryllis. for bruce; closed. )

[norea]

Hasibe's house tends to have a lot of foot traffic, but today, there has been none. It's quiet around Amaryllis, except when the up-and-coming actress who lives there comes out to sit in the autumnal sun and shiver against the breeze, two things that tend to go together this time of year. No matter how bright the sky looks, the actual temperature reminds her that things are changing all around her. If she looks closely, she can feel it, the dying and recharging of their bodies by their individual cells; had she not been blessed with a re-binding of her power, that sensation would come to her unbidden.

Anyway, it's not as though she really feels the cold.

But she pretends.

She takes her sunglasses and her dog and goes back inside the house, slipping off her shoes, barefoot in a long white tank dress that is opaque until the hips, and then becomes gradually more sheer. The hem is some sort of magical silk that is downright opalescent, like a glimmer of water and transparency by her lower calves and ankles.

No one would think that she is waiting for something, or someone. But she is, and she's been feeling a little bit strangely toward his circumstances today.

(They all lead dangerous lives, and she would never try to change it.)

[caballero]

Between Hasi being Hasi and the reaction of her dog whenever Bruce is in range, he doesn't need to knock - he does anyway, because it feels like a novelty whenever he does. Because he knocked when he first went to find her, when he showed up in Baedal. He realizes as he knocks that he still thinks of her - when he does think of her - as living in that first apartment all this time.

He doesn't really have a reason for showing up. It's been a while since he's showed up on her doorstep purposeless and casual, and for a moment it feels like it's been years, like the last time was in a bar in another world. He drops his hand back to his side and tries to wonder if it's just the fog contamination that's making him feel strange, lately. But he knows it's not.