multiversallogs | OPEN :: A golden bird was singing

OPEN :: A golden bird was singing

Who: Everyone!
What: St Kelley's evening
Where: The Apache and surrounding environs.
When: Veerdi evening.
Notes:
(1) The topic threads are just suggestions; if you've got somewhere else that your characters simply must be, make your own thread.
(2) All mementos will appear overnight in some part of your character's apartment.
(3) Dance!

St Kelley's is one of the more sedate occasions in Baedal, at least as holidays go. It passes more or less unnoticed by the majority of the population as many of them feel it doesn't concern them. It's not their holiday; it's for the others. Those with severed ties and broken hearts. The temple and church preach that it's a time for reflection or for glorifying the generosity of the gods. It's one of the few days on which no one looks askance at first generation Citizens mourning their missing loved ones publicly.

As night rolls around and floating lanterns are set to sea, the Apache in Mog Hill prepares to accept guests from the newer cohorts. It's something that happens every year, making it a practical tradition. The alcohol will be cheaper for first timers, and the music will be kept at a reasonable level.

Threaded | Flat

To combat the cold as well as the pain of social endeavours, drinks can be obtained at happy hour prices. Beers in pitchers, whiskey in heavy crystal glasses, shots of some concentrated liquor that burns on the way down but is not, apparently, called tequila. The sound of the jukebox is heard over noisy conversation, and people camp at bar-edge for access.

Outside is a good enough place to escape, even though it's sharply colder out here than it was in there. There's melted snow on the concrete ground, along with cigarette butts and discarded beer cans. Good enough to have a quick smoke, be alone with your thoughts, and lurk in the shadows.

There's space for guests to take their drinks and have comparatively quiet conversations. Some are talking about the people they've left at home, while others might mention new friends made in Baedal.

Slightly more sociable than back alleys, this outside option is lit with paper lamps in the shape of boats and hearts, surrounded by the ubiquitous fairy lights. The ground is damp concrete and some outsider furniture scatters around the space, barred off from the rest of the neighbourhood with rustic rough plank fencing. People stand, smoke, chatter in loose mingling in the chilly air.

It takes her a long time to send the boat out into the water. For at least ten minutes, she stays crouched with the paper boat cupped carefully in her hands as the water laps at her boots. The whole thing is probably just a superstition, and she knows not to get her hopes up and actually expect anything, but there's still a little message written on the boat. I'm safe, I miss you, I love you. Stephanie. She's not sure exactly who she has in mind, but her mom, Cass, Kara and the Babs from her world are people she misses desperately. She hopes they aren't worrying about her, even though she knows they will be.

She doesn't believe in God, not the kind she had back home, and she isn't inclined to believe in the ones here, just because someone told her to. She knows she should investigate properly, but there hasn't been the time. It's an excuse for this now, anyway; she can send the boat out, and if she receives something from home, maybe she'll start putting more faith in the Twelve Point Divinity.

Eventually she stands and walks in a little deeper into the water, not minding that the hems of her jeans are getting wet, it's good enough that her boots are waterproof. "Please." She whispers to the boat, or maybe to the gods, before setting it in the water.

She stays there for longer still, arms wrapped around herself against the chill, watching her boat until she can't pick it out from the others.

Threaded | Flat

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