Zivia "Cecilia" Birnbaum (
tehilim127_1) wrote in
ph_logs2024-04-08 01:32 pm
[OPEN] observe the month of spring
Who: Zivia (
tehilim127_1) & all comers (with prompt for Degas)
What: Settling in, and scrambling to prepare
When: April, prior to the event (backtagging welcome!)
Where: At home, at work (Town Hall), at the docks, at the Oak & Iron, at wits' end
Warning(s): To be added as relevant
At home
There's a lot of work that goes into making a house one's home, even when one receives it fully furnished. Zivia's resigned herself to doing it in stages, and moreover to those stages happening out of the order she would prefer, since according to the best-approximation calendar she's discussed with Lev-Lyubov and Anzu, Pesach is coming. Which means getting ready for that first.
She's put up a request on the community bulletin board; if it pans out, they'll be able to bake matzah, at least. Cleaning out the house she's been allotted is taking up a good chunk of the rest of her free time, though she might be willing to take a break to talk with a visitor.
At work (Town Hall)
The filing system isn't too hard to learn, it turns out. She takes notes during her brief training, writes up a couple of cheat sheets, and keeps one at her desk and one on her person. The chair and desk aren't particularly ergonomic, but they're sturdy and functional and won't completely ruin her wrists or spine, so she'll call it good.
It's been a while since Zivia's done any purely paper filing, but it's funny how it all comes back to you. Anyone else working there or visiting may overhear her humming to herself as she works.
At the docks (for Degas)
She hasn't forgotten the preacher's offer of help, so he's the one she calls on when she first comes across a task that needs an extra pair of hands. And, she's hoping, a cart or wheelbarrow or something to that effect, to help haul a bunch of items from her house down to the water's edge and back.
At the Oak & Iron
This city isn't the one she's always thought of as hers, but it's hers now, at least for now. She has to remember that. Has to learn that, internalize it until it feels like the truth. And that means, first and foremost, coming to know its people.
So even if she's a little tired most evenings now, Zivia makes a point of coming down to the pub after work at least twice a week, to meet her neighbors. Find her in the common room with a hot tea or a cold beer, looking for familiar faces or new ones.
At wits' end
Wildcard!
What: Settling in, and scrambling to prepare
When: April, prior to the event (backtagging welcome!)
Where: At home, at work (Town Hall), at the docks, at the Oak & Iron, at wits' end
Warning(s): To be added as relevant
At home
There's a lot of work that goes into making a house one's home, even when one receives it fully furnished. Zivia's resigned herself to doing it in stages, and moreover to those stages happening out of the order she would prefer, since according to the best-approximation calendar she's discussed with Lev-Lyubov and Anzu, Pesach is coming. Which means getting ready for that first.
She's put up a request on the community bulletin board; if it pans out, they'll be able to bake matzah, at least. Cleaning out the house she's been allotted is taking up a good chunk of the rest of her free time, though she might be willing to take a break to talk with a visitor.
At work (Town Hall)
The filing system isn't too hard to learn, it turns out. She takes notes during her brief training, writes up a couple of cheat sheets, and keeps one at her desk and one on her person. The chair and desk aren't particularly ergonomic, but they're sturdy and functional and won't completely ruin her wrists or spine, so she'll call it good.
It's been a while since Zivia's done any purely paper filing, but it's funny how it all comes back to you. Anyone else working there or visiting may overhear her humming to herself as she works.
At the docks (for Degas)
She hasn't forgotten the preacher's offer of help, so he's the one she calls on when she first comes across a task that needs an extra pair of hands. And, she's hoping, a cart or wheelbarrow or something to that effect, to help haul a bunch of items from her house down to the water's edge and back.
At the Oak & Iron
This city isn't the one she's always thought of as hers, but it's hers now, at least for now. She has to remember that. Has to learn that, internalize it until it feels like the truth. And that means, first and foremost, coming to know its people.
So even if she's a little tired most evenings now, Zivia makes a point of coming down to the pub after work at least twice a week, to meet her neighbors. Find her in the common room with a hot tea or a cold beer, looking for familiar faces or new ones.
At wits' end
Wildcard!

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(The other part of his statement that interests her is in the army, but it's also the part she feels less inclined to pry into.)
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"Mhm, thoracic surgeon, which means chest-cutter in regular person talk. But I have a clinic Downtown that I do general practice at, the last couple of years I've had to branch out for anything anyone might need. My heart's in surgery, though, and usually so are other people's when I'm doing it."
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"Last couple of years. You've been here that long? -- Sorry, I've been assuming you're not local."
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He takes a sip of his gin, then continues.
"Like I said, I was an army doctor- I got drafted, mind you, I'd rather be stretched over a rack than 'serving', but I'm also not a fan of firing squads or court-martialling either. So I did surgery there, but we also handled everything- dietary issues, vaccinating kids, delivering calves on a few occasions. That was my couple of years. Here, I've only been here a couple of months. Not a local, I'm from this nutty place called Earth, maybe you've heard of it."
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"It's like I'm back there. Apple pie, Betty Grable, and all. You know it?"
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It's the mention of having been drafted that catches her attention there.
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"1951 or thereabouts. And you're about to tell me that I'm old enough to be your grandfather."
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He takes a sip of his gin, "that's my diagnosis anyway."
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"You know you would've gotten me with that?-" he starts, and then leans in just a hair, either providing some way to check something or providing Zivia with a second opportunity to fuck with him.
"Did we actually get to the moon in the future?"
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Shakes his head.
"So sixty whole years, huh? More than half a century. What s it like?"
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"Don't suppose you can tell me they threw the concept of war out entirely with the draft?"
He's not hopeful.
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A small sigh.
"Small progress though. They also told me about- I think they were 'cell phones'? You got those?"
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A pause. "One of the other biggest things. Damn, if I had internet access on me, I could just look these things up."
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Anyway-
"So it's like an encyclopedia?"
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"Probably not a compliment, but context is everything. Okay, it's --" A pause. "Think of it like you've got a piece of paper, and that piece of paper can be any page in any book in an enormous library, if you can just tell it where to look. So you can use it to look at an encyclopedia, or today's newspaper, or an adventure novel, or, uh -- oh, or this notebook where someone wrote you a letter this morning. And you can write back to them, and they'll see it right away because they've got a magic paper of their own. With me so far?"
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"That's incredible. So- so I could write a letter to someone halfway around the world and have it get there instantly, because they have this internet paper? That's- and you can look up any page?"
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A beat. "Then it gets even more interesting, because people can share pictures, and music, and videos -- that's like, little movies. Or full-length movies, even. And," lifting a finger, "you remember that notebook where someone wrote you a letter and you wrote back? Think like that, but public, like a bulletin board where you can tack up your replies to other people's notes and they can do the same. Or a graffiti'd wall where people have whole conversations in writing, without ever seeing each other."
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"So what Tarantulas called me was the equivalent of the sort of guy who writes rude graffiti in bathrooms?"
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