Mingle - Emergency Potluck

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WELCOME POTLUCK

Greetings, residents! Those more observant sorts among you may have noticed a large influx of very crowded ferries. In order to welcome our new residents en masse, Town Hall is holding a potluck in Town Square. Please bring a dish if you are able and make a new friend!

All of our newest arrivals need only bring themselves. We look forward to welcoming you all into our community, and may your lanterns always be lit.

This event is open to all! In light of our new influx of prospective players following the Great Sail Migration, we've decided to offer a small public event to tide everyone over until the TDM this weekend.

Comments

[theydrewfirstblood]

That spark of fury makes him hurt all over again--rakes across his heart and soul, claws of feeling and want that are so fucking dangerous. Wanting is the problem, wanting isn't something he can do anymore...

Not when it hurts so much. Not when it gets people killed. Not when it causes so much pain he can prevent just by letting go.

...so why is he putting a hand on the kid's shoulder? Why is he still talking?

"You feel that? That spark? Hold onto that. Hold onto it, but don't get caught up in it. If you can still get mad, you still care--and if you still care, you can do more than survive. You can build something for yourself, you can do more than just live, you can have a life of your own. Home, hobbies, family--anything you want. So you hold onto that...you feel it, you hold onto it, but don't get stuck in it. Like starting a fire--light the spark, control it, but don't let it burn down the whole damn forest. You copy?"

[apocryphalarchivist]

For a moment, Jon isn't sure he's seeing things right.

That wasn't quite right. He knew what he was seeing, who he was seeing, and that he wasn't just catching a face that was ever-so-slightly familiar. The knowledge makes the mind reel back to process, lay the facts out on the table.

Gerry was here, so it only made sense that other people he'd known, no matter to what lengths, might appear. The Unknowing had put their consciousnesses into a blender, turned them into nothing, everything, an amalgamation of confusion and disappointment and grief and terror. It was the last thing he'd known, before the White-Haired Woman pulled him into her office. He still couldn't remember Tim Stoker's face, no matter how much he tried.

Daisy, however, he remembered quite clearly.

A tense relationship, which was saying something, compared to all his other ones in life. She'd tried to kill him, and he wasn't ever sure if she'd take a shot at finishing the job. The scar on his neck aches in recollection.

She'd also picked him up from the airport once, and, in-between mannequin-slaying and his gauntlet of travels and research, he can almost recall a joke or two shared, an obscured sight of an almost-snicker on her face. Some episode of a radio drama played once on a car radio, and the shock of someone so vicious, so brutal being so thoroughly hooked by it. A monster, but a monster just the same as he. Possibly the only person here who understood the tenuous grounds he stood on with being a person.

Perhaps the grounds feel tenuous currently because his legs weren't feeling terribly stable. Dangerous, yet familiar. A sharp rock jutting out of the sea near the docks.

Jon rises from his seat sharply, and he calls out, almost desperate in his attempts to cut his voice over the bustle of the crowd. He's hurrying over, but he's still apprehensive - don't close any distance too quickly or firmly with a Hunter. He's not looking to crash.

"Daisy? Daisy!"

[astrogator]

That's unexpected enough to take the heat out of her insistence entirely.

'If what you're asking is for me to show goodwill in my contracts with the locals, I will. Friendly face of the Tradelines. I can be tactful about it. No tough negotiations, they don't carry well.' She shrugs. 'I'm still not accepting gifts without reciprocity.' The mutually beneficial contract is the fundamental building block of society. She won't let that go.

A small smile, then, because she won't say it, but Erin's faith in her counts for a lot. 'And if I end up running my own Company here I'll be sure to appoint capable Directors who can step into the breach at need. Local people. Something sustainable and lasting. But that's a long way off, and the work I'm contracted for has first priority.'

[abhorrently]

It's in the breath, when she focuses. The absence of that jumping pulse at the living's neck. And yet, she has no mind reading, so the specifics are lost on her.

"You're not the first undead I've come across, Lord Osborne. I've no quarrel with you or your existence."

Does he feel like he needs to get that particular roadblock out of the way? It's not as though any newcomer has a leg to stand on regarding the living or dead status of their hosts.

[hadnoright]

It's only the fact that Gerard already pointed him out that stops Daisy from being caught more off-guard than she is. Approaching first had— it hadn't seemed wise, for his sake (or maybe she's just more scared of facing him again after what she heard on the tapes than she thought; that's probably the most honest answer).

But he spots her first. Honestly, she should've seen it coming; seeing is kind of his whole thing, after all. He spots her first, and so Daisy pulls herself upright where she'd been slumping and prepares to face down this conversation.

She really does look much the same as she did the last he saw her, other than the obvious change of clothes. Her haircut is the same, and she never did form new scars in the first place. The malnourishment that stripped her to skin and bones in the months after the Buried is long gone, leaving her looking as well-fed and strong as she ever did before it. Even the marks the months in the Choke left aren't physical enough to notice.

But when she greets him, it's: "Jon!" that comes out, not Sims. "I, uh— hey. Figures you'd end up in this— spooky Victorian town. Always did talk like the tortured main character of a classic novel."

...okay maybe she shouldn't go right to friendly roasting, but it's out of her mouth now.

[theydrewfirstblood]

It's a little unusual, but John adjusts his grip to meet her handshake. He listens to her introduction, her observation--and boy, if that ain't a kick in the head.

It's cool, though. It's really goddamn cool, and it makes him smile a little.

"Yeah--Bowie, Arizona." he replies. "So you're--what, an astronaut? Or we talkin' full on Star Trek space travel? Warp drives and shit?"

...yes, someone is a closet nerd, and no, he is not sorry.

[hate_gettin_older]

He wants to respond well before the man's done talking -- of course he can still get mad, of course he still cares -- but something keeps him quiet. Listening.

In general, Edgar isn't given to introspection or insight, trying to figure out his own or anyone else's inner workings. But this one comes to him unbidden: John's telling him all this because he's really trying to tell himself.

For a moment he doesn't know what to do with that, as though someone's handed him a piece of furniture or part of a complicated machine and said here, hold this. But okay, all right; he can hold on to it until John needs it back, and maybe that'll be enough.

"Copy," he says, and nods.

[yournewsidekick]

It starts slowly at first: the tip of Nimona's tail twitches to one side. Then the other. Then a bigger arc, sweeping the dirt (and a few wayward pieces of salami) off the cobblestones as the wagging picks up in earnest.

"Whoa," she breathes, reverent. "Metal. That's the kind of villainy that'd wreck the Kingdom so bad..."

She trails off there, lost in a happy (and probably very bloody) daydream.

Wrap! <3

[yournewsidekick]

"Heh. Hell yeah. Back in a sec," says Nimona, and sneaks a quick lick on Erin's cheek before bounding toward the tables.

Hope nobody minds if half a turkey and a whole bowl of potato salad go missing.

[thethirteenthchild]

The question gives Dahlia pause, and she goes quiet for a long moment.

"...I don't know," she admits softly.

[yournewsidekick]

NEW FRIEND YAY

It's so much easier to interact with a dog right now -- even a goddess-dog -- than it'd ever be with a human. It feels like the in-between moments when she's left one form but hasn't quite created another to replace it. No thoughts, no pain; just emotion, free and unencumbered by any expectations the world wants to place on her.

In this case, the emotion is I want to play-tackle my new friend to the ground.

Nimona pounces, ready to wrestle!

[crushed_pearls]

|The library is a good place to -| Erin stops, realizing something, and she lapses into English rather than Emeran - |There's nonfiction here. Isn't there?|

[yournewsidekick]

"Thanks!" says the squirrel, beaming up at Elsie. She's already got a mushroom between her front paws, ready to devour it. "I love yours. Natural?"

She unhinges her jaw to swallow the entire mushroom in one bite.

[crushed_pearls]

"I'll make it a problem if I have to," Erin murmurs. "The thing is, I'm a monster myself. And so are the people I love most. Job or no job, they're mine to protect."

[yournewsidekick]

"Oh, riiiiight, he's just a frieeeeennnd," says Nimona, proving exactly why everyone made the right choice in concealing Edgar's love life from her. "My bad."

Any second now she's gonna burst out with Ed and Maa-aaax sittin' in a tree --

[thethirteenthchild]

"I suppose we'll just have to see how it all shakes out. Maybe it just depends on the kind of monster. I certainly wish you the best."

[astrogator]

'We usually say spacer, but sure, astronaut fits well enough,' she answers. 'Or Tradeliner, if you mean just our organisation and not anyone making an interstellar journey for any reason.'

She tilts her head slightly in concern. 'I don't know what a Warp drive is. We have Matsukata drives for L-space travel - I guess the simplest way to explain that would be hyperspace - and conventional engines for between L-space flights, and maneuvering in-system.' Then Tayrey gives him a proud smile. 'As an astrogator I'm... I guess Earthers might call it pilot and navigator in one, but also? A Tradeline officer has to be versatile, so I can do repairs or trade contracts or whatever's needed really.' This isn't boastful; the young lieutenant just seems very confident in her abilities.

(She's trying her best. If she can make him believe she's competent, it won't be so bad when he inevitably finds out the rest. She won't be seen as nothing but a victim.)

'Your people have done some travel around your local system, right? To your moon?' she asks.

[crushed_pearls]

"I appreciate it." Erin inclines her head, and shrugs, faintly. "...And for what it's worth, I'm sorry for the trouble. You're meeting a lot of people who've been struggling for a long, long time. For our liberty. For acceptance. For dignity. We're raw, and we're hurt. But I promise you...these are good people. They just need a chance."

[thethirteenthchild]

"Good." Dahlia heads toward the woods. "You and I are cut from the same cloth, I gather. And I'm guessing we have similar dietary needs. How about you and I play a little hide and seek? Scratch both our itches. Maybe even make it fun."

[lovethyneighb_or]

“I can imagine. I hope he won’t mind that I refrain from participating, but I’d love to know their beliefs all the same.”

He casts a brief glance around the potluck before asking, “Could you describe him for me, in case I run into him someplace before I get out to the temple? Ah—is it called a ‘temple’ here?”

[graveling]

"The Temple of Sacred Roots. Which isn't the only sacred place on the island, but it's the one in town that everyone knows about. And Degas is...older than you, and greyer. He has a beard and a weight on his shoulders that crushes him a little more every day. He speaks quietly and talks with his hands and misses his wife. He's beautiful."

May we all someday be described so lovingly.

[lovethyneighb_or]

He’s more aware of it now more than usual, with all the people he’s had to introduce himself to; still, it’s easy to ignore the way the number jumps to his throat first. It never makes it into his tongue.

“Father Francis John Patrick Mulcahy,” he hums, grinning. “I’ve got my own mouthful, but you can just call me Mulcahy. Ah—‘Father’ is the honorific for a priest in my faith. It’s meant to be descriptive of our caretaker role in our community.”

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar snorts at her, grinning. "Yeah, he's a friend I go to bed with sometimes, and you are a little maniac, c'mere."

LOOK OUT NIMONA YOU'RE ABOUT TO GET HUGGED ON

[astrogator]

Tayrey takes that firm tone again. 'You don't have to go anywhere right now. Or make any decisions. Not until you've had a decent meal and a good night's sleep and you can consider it all properly.' Not that she takes her own advice; Ari barely slept in that tavern, and has been spending all her time looking for a job and then working at it. She knows, however, that her way isn't the healthiest way, so she gives Ava an encouraging smile. 'Wait right here, I'll get us something.'

She heads back over to the tables, and puts small quantities of all the foods she's tried on a plate for Ava. That means it's all vegetarian, but on the upside, there's no waste. Anything Ava doesn't want, Ari can have.

'Here-' she hands the plate over, sitting down on the grass across from the other woman. 'Try to eat at least a little. It'll help - and it's all really fresh!'

[hadnoright]

There it is. Daisy doesn't say 'I knew it', but her expression probably says enough. An amused, dangerous smirk graces her features, with just a flash of teeth. "Similar. Probably. If hide and seek's what you think of."

One day her surety in her own ability to survive even if something turns out to be a trap may actually come back to bite her, but for now... "Yeah. Alright. Stakes?"