[OPEN] observe the month of spring

[tehilim127_1]

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!

Comments

[notinflictthem]

"Ah, what a tease- I'd kill to be able to hear some future music. Is that one of those cases where we relics of antiquity just can't stand anything new?"

But, more importantly to ask,

"Does polka still exist?"

Please inform this man about Weird Al.

[tehilim127_1]

"Little bit yeah," she says. "I'm old enough to be a relic of antiquity myself, but -- well, my dad always listened to the latest music when I was growing up, and really liked some of it, and I guess it seemed like a good idea, so I've been doing the same."

A pause, as she considers the next question. "Well ... it's not generally popular music anymore, but it's still around. They have it at specialty festivals and that sort of thing. And there's this one comedy musician who does covers of other people's songs rewritten as polkas, but I don't know if that counts."

[notinflictthem]

"No no, I'm a relic, you're an antique with a fine patina."

Which is the closest Hawk's strayed to any actual flirtation thus far.

"Ah well, so long as it's still around somewhere. What's popular in your day then? Describe it, even if you can't play me any."

[tehilim127_1]

That gets a laugh. "A fine patina. Best way I've seen yet of describing this," and she flicks her fingers through her silvering hair.

"Describe it, huh. Okay ... I never studied music theory, but I'll do my best." She takes a drink, considering the question, and eventually adds "The real trouble is I'm not familiar enough with 40s and 50s music. I don't know how to compare it."

[notinflictthem]

"Hey, I mean it- I think greys make you look dignified, and I'm not just saying that to stroke my own ego," he flicks his fingers through his own hair, black shot through with grey. Premature greying doesn't so much run in the family as much as it sprints.

"Let's see..." he rubs at his adam's apple in thought, "I mean we had a lot of big bands back home. Y'know- Artie Shaw, Bennie Goodman, Glen Miller- until he died that is- all of them had their own orchestras. Ah... Other than that... I mean, jazz is its own thing, but I don't know how to describe a lot of what was on the radio. It was just kind of... songs, eh? Bing Crosby had some hits, Peggy Lee, the Andrews Sisters- oh and this kid, think his name is Sinatra? Frank? I hear him on the radio occasionally, but I don't really go in for that bobby-soxer stuff."

[tehilim127_1]

Her mouth quirks at the mention of Sinatra, the corners tucking in as though to suppress laughter.

"Oh," she says, full of rueful hilarity, "you're going to hate the Beatles. At least at first."

[notinflictthem]

"Oh yeah? Are they going to bug me?"

Boooooo. And unfortunate foreshadowing.

[tehilim127_1]

Quit reading ahead!

"Their fans probably will. I dunno though, you might come around eventually."

A pause. "Was it the Andrews Sisters who did that one about the boogie-woogie bugle boy?"

[notinflictthem]

"If the music's good I might eventually. I dunno, I just don't go in for being a grown man at a concert of teenage girls."

He takes a sip and then beams, swallowing before he answers-

"That's the one. A doo, a doo, adoo-di-di-lah-dah doo- yeah that's going to be in my head for the rest of the week. Stupidly catchy. Our company clerk back home was technically on bugle duty but nobody actually asked him if he could play when they put him up to it, used to drive one of the other surgeons apoplectic that he didn't get to wake up to the sound of reveille."

[tehilim127_1]

"That one I know, and 'Bei Mir Bist Du Shein'. My mom and aunt used to sing that sometimes."

She snorts at his mention of the finicky surgeon. "Really? Didn't feel like he was getting the full military experience, or what?"

[notinflictthem]

"Oh gee thanks, I think you're swell too," he jokes.

In order for Zivia to get the full Frank Burns experience, he straightens his posture, furrows his brow.

"According to army regulations, reveille must be played eeevery morning at 6:30 on the dot when the flag is raised. We must show these communist heathens what real patriotism looks like."

A sort of limp gesture as he slumps again, "it was fantastic, like bunking with Uncle Sam in the flesh."

[tehilim127_1]

"Oh boy," she says in fully appreciative disgust, "one of those. My condolences. Wish I could tell you that kind's died out in sixty years, but mostly they've just changed their vocabulary a little."

[notinflictthem]

"That kind is as ancient as the dinosaurs. In Aristotle's day he probably had some Frank Burns going off his head for not saluting the Parthenon."

Hawk rubs the back of his neck.

"What's life back home for you like, anyway? Uh- you actually from New York or was that just the first place you thought of?"

[tehilim127_1]

"Yep, actually from New York. It's ..." A small sigh. "I miss it like hell, honestly. I work at the big public library -- I don't know if you've ever seen pictures of it, with the two big stone lions out front? Loved those ever since I was a little kid, and some days I still don't believe I got lucky enough to work there."

[notinflictthem]

"You're kidding," he says in a way that says he doesn't think she is, "the huge one with the fancy ceilings? I haven't been back there in years, but mom took me one of the last time we were visiting that part of the family. I uh- I don't think I appreciated it much at the time, I was pretty young, but I remember asking what King we were visiting when we walked in. Cracked her up. You're a librarian?"

[tehilim127_1]

"That's the one!" She looks delighted that he knows it. "Technically not a librarian, I don't have the degree. I'm an assistant archivist, which I am reliably informed is deadly boring to hear about unless you're absolutely fascinated by document preservation. And -- I'm obligated by tradition to ask, you've got family in New York?"

[notinflictthem]

"I'll take being bored about it. Honestly, whatever you want to tell me about it, I'm all ears."

And in answer to the obligatory question-

"Mhm, my mom's folks live in the East Village. Every now and again we'd drive down from Maine to visit- I haven't been back in a while, though. For reasons aside from the war, I mean."

[tehilim127_1]

"The East Village ... any other relatives there, or just her parents? Wondering if anyone might still be there in my time."

Zivia tilts her head. "And is that 'reasons' like 'that's all we're saying about that,' or 'reasons' like 'ask me more'?"

[notinflictthem]

"I think the rest of her siblings kinda scattered to the winds. Mom left home when she was about eighteen, uh-" Hawk just kinda shrugs.

"Not really either. Life is life, y'know? You put things off, don't make time for them, and then all of a sudden, you can't. I was busy, I wasn't up for the drive, I had other commitments, and then I was halfway across the world."

And now he's halfway across somewhere else entirely.

"I mean it though- what's a day in your job actually look like? You get to read a lot?"

[tehilim127_1]

"Not nearly as much as I'd like," she says ruefully. "Mostly during my commute and on weekends. It's mostly like this ..."

And as the player does not know nearly enough about Zivia's job to go into much detail about it, but Zivia herself certainly does and will talk about it at great length, the narration will gracefully fade out here.