(open) and these thoughts are in my head

[abhorrently]

Who: Fever & open
What: Settling into the town in varied ways.
When: Second half of March/early part of April.
Where: Varied locations - see prompts.
Warning(s): Likely intrusive murder thoughts, others to be added should they arise.


work - town hall.
The newest clerk at Town Hall is a woman with a scar on her face and an eagerness to learn the system. Soon enough, she's figured things out, as if she'd been working there for months instead of the short time it really has been. Things flow easily, aided by both the strange item she'd retrieved from that one shop and what seems to be an innate understanding. But then again, if one can negotiate tactics midbattle, a job with paperwork and filing is practically nothing. So, if you need something, she's likely the one to dispense the forms or take them, working through the level of administration that all the new arrivals warranted.

Of course, it's not always business, and at the right time, someone might catch her at break, a novel from the library at hand and a dictionary close by as she needs to look up words. Some concepts and items are as of yet unknown to her, but she believes firmly with a bit of study, it can all be sorted.

training - "fight club."

When she joins the ranks of those sparring, talking her way into a day when the militia and the Enforcers are doing their training, it's really to satisfy her own desires for combat no matter what she tells them. Sure, she can go out in search of monsters, but that requires a companion and planning. This is more freeform, and fighting against someone else here lets her look at their capabilities. No magic to start with - best to be fair to all involved - and instead, Fever relies on a sturdier branch. Peter's not done with the staff yet, so this is the closest she can get. She fights with a clear joy in her movements, happy to test herself against anyone until either her opponent yields or someone outside calls the match.

That said, there are moments of downtime, where one has to catch their breath and drink water, where she's just leaning against the side observing or lightly applauding at the end of one spar. Catching a fighter's eye, they're offered an amused but restrained smile, and win, lose, or neither, it's clear something impressed her.

They're still never getting her to sign up with the Enforcers, though.

festival green - picnic.

Though she shies from the doll making, Fever can't deny the appeal of being able to picnic on the green, and waits until the event is over and dealt with before she takes her inspiration and heads outdoors. It's not perhaps the most ideal weather for it - clouds, the wind - but it's not so bad as to keep her from it. So here she is, with a simple lunch that's been ferried over and a blanket to sit on, trying to think about if she's ever done this before. Had reason to, really. But a passerby will interrupt her thoughts, and she'll raise her hand to get their attention.

"Does it seem like rain to you?"

Of course, there's enough room on the blanket for two, if you're feeling particularly sociable or are eyeing a free snack. Or, it can start to do as much as lightly rain, and she's not budging from where she is, considering it still fine weather.

wildcard.

Different idea? Throw it at me, I'm wide open for other scenarios. Will match the format of any tag-ins. Opt out post.

Comments

[pineapplesalmon]

"I'm fine continuing. It just looked like I had given you a particularly large chunk of brain bread to chew on." César makes a face, huffing a laugh. "... okay, that came out wrong."

[abhorrently]

"Brain bread..."

And now, she starts laughing, breaking the tension with honest amusement, looking at him and shaking her head a little.

"Now I'm just picturing small breads shaped like brains."

[pineapplesalmon]

César giggles a little. "Brain shaped cakes would mold better. Brain cupcakes. A good glaze would not only make it wet-looking but fill the crevices in a way to make it look absolutely vile. Maybe you can even make little cake pops and put them on sticks."

What the fuck is this conversation, suddenly.

[abhorrently]

"The answer to 'what's on your mind' becomes 'a very thin icing' if one isn't specific."

Sometimes you simply take a left turn into very strange talks.

"That makes more sense than my idea of tiny meat pies."

[pineapplesalmon]

César starts giggling harder. "... you could always inject them with a meat filling afterwards? or carve out the middle and put the tops back on after?"

[abhorrently]

"Oh, that'd be such an odd surprise for anyone bold enough to take a bite. The textures alone..."

And yet, the novelty for one day would be fun.

[pineapplesalmon]

"They actually make filled bread in general. Magne's probably got some recipes. ... I wonder if a bread would hold a mold. I—wait! Concha!" César laughs. "A sweet bread from home. It would work. But I lack a mold for the top."

[abhorrently]

"How much do you think the blacksmith would charge if I walked into her forge and asked her to make a little brain bread mold?"

It'd be worth it to look at the perplexed look on her face.

[pineapplesalmon]

César laughs at the idea. "No idea, but I'd love to see River's face. Maybe a deep cookie cutter, too, because that's what's needed to cut the shell."

[abhorrently]

"We should ask her anyway. If nothing else, she'll laugh, and best case scenario is that she can make it." A pause. "Though when it comes to the cooking in this whole imaginary plan, I have to warn you, the best I can do is what I'm told. Recipes and actual skill, that's all you."

[pineapplesalmon]

"Or wonder why she puts up with us. A win either way." César smiles warmly. "Don't worry, I know how it works. Including what they don't tell you on recipes."

[abhorrently]

"Hang on, I've been doing my best to follow a recipe, and now you're telling me there's secrets they aren't disclosing?"

At this point, she's just going to eat the ingredients as is next dinner.

[pineapplesalmon]

"Things like 'debone the chicken' are missing all the steps to do that, aren't they? Or telling you to bloom the yeast but not how. Or kneading the dough" César shrugs in amusement. "Recipes assume you know how to do certain things already."

[abhorrently]

"Which you don't always know. But they can't tell you how to do it in every recipe, or it'd be too long and unwieldy to handle."

But still. Things like that, where she doesn't know what to do, it's often that she'll look for something simpler. Whatever her past self did or didn't do, culinary genius wasn't in the list of deeds.

"Are you just used to cooking?"

[pineapplesalmon]

"Exactly."

César smiles softly. "Yes. I learned when I was sixteen and my mother was pregnant with my baby brother. We split house chores between the three of us, although they made me put school first."

[abhorrently]

There's a look of interest, but also a tiny bit of wonder.

"I didn't know you had a sibling."

She's pretty sure even without remembering that she didn't have one - not in the traditional sense, at the least.

[pineapplesalmon]

"It's partially his fault that I ended up kinder. You have to have patience with little kids. And then you start to learn to give patience to other people. Which is good, because his name is partially my fault."

[abhorrently]

"Did they let you name him, and you came out with something utterly ridiculous?"

She's not serious, though, pulling up one of her knees to hug it.

"You'll have to be truly absurd to shock me, though - I mean, the standard begins at my own name."

[pineapplesalmon]

"No, but a family friend made a joke suggestion that became his name. Non sum Rex, sed Caesar. I am Rex, but Caesar. Rex both being a surname and also meaning King. He was a brilliant tactician and statesman. ... he also became a dictator and was stabbed 23 times by a group of conspirators on suspicion he wanted to later crown himself king."

César shrugs, then grins. "... César also means 'head of hair'."

[abhorrently]

She laughs aloud at that, delighted by the pun.

"A bit more auspicious a name!"

One would have to wonder what aspects their parents wanted their son to emulate, if it was Caesar. But king? That's good enough.

(It pricks at her, just a little, the common question she gets asked - where her own name came from. She hopes that somehow, it was born from something that would make sense if she could but remember it.)

"You must miss him terribly."

[pineapplesalmon]

"Honestly, Julius Caesar is still famous a couple thousand years later, so I think our names are pretty even." César looks amused. "The name just sounds great in español."

(Aw, Fever.)

For a moment, there's a depth of pain to César's expression before it softens. "... I do, but I believe I'll see him again. And I won't have to give up this place, so long as I can leave with something like my sending stone."

[abhorrently]

"What do you mean? Even with the stone, leaving is...well. Leaving."

He could still talk to everyone, though.

[pineapplesalmon]

César grins widely, almost evilly. "I know how to create portals between worlds and dimensions. Just need something I can use to trace back to here and upgrading a device of mine to have a remote to activate it from anywhere in the multiverse. I haven't built that yet, but I know how."

[abhorrently]

"You what?"

She just stares at him for a moment in time. Of all the things she's encountered - fighting a divine avatar among them - she wouldn't have expected those words out of his mouth.

"What...what kind of mage are you actually?"

Because it's sure not a fucking druid.

[pineapplesalmon]

César laughs helplessly. "I'm not a mage! It's actually all technology. Like the phones or electricity, just far more advanced. One of the reasons I picked up druidic magic is because I suspect natural magic feels different between worlds. It'll be one more possible way to chart a return trip! I've tracked down a specific alternate version of my world before with much less to go on before."