[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

oak and iron

[notinflictthem]

Hawk's sat up at the bar with a drink and a book when Zivia sits the next stool over- when it's busy, it reminds him of the formerly officers-only club back at camp. Terrible place to read, but nice to soak in the ambiance of being around people when he's a little rattled. Like tonight, for instance.

At Zivia's arrival, he glances over the top of his book, dog-ears the page and asks-

"You ever see the shade of purple a barkeep's face turns when you order fifty mojitos during rush hour?"

work.

[abhorrently]

"Are you free? I need an extra set of hands for this one."

Her coworker pops herself over to Zivia's desk, looking a bit perplexed and mostly just thoughtful with the new case to resolve that had landed in her desk.

"I need to go into the older records to solve a financial dispute over property. Or birds, as it happens. The birds are the property."

[tehilim127_1]

She glances up at the sound of someone addressing her, and her eyebrows go up in both surprise and amusement.

"Can't say I have, why?"

[notinflictthem]

"Would you like to?"

[tehilim127_1]

"Sure, one moment --" Zivia puts down the list she's working on, pushes back her chair, and gets to her feet.

"The birds are the property?"

[tehilim127_1]

She snorts laughter. "Do you want to be able to come back here?"

[abhorrently]

"They were, is the problem."

She leads the way towards where they keep the older records, the ones they don't need on a regular basis.

"One man kept doves, years back, and a rift developed between him and his neighbor when, as the story goes, his neighbor started enticing the doves onto his land and his dovecotes. Meanwhile, the neighbor claims that's all lies, and the birds left on their own, that the man's loss of money was his own problem. Move forward a few generations, and the descendants want to bury the hatchet, but can't simply agree to move on. So, they want us to check if there were dovecotes actually kept, because if so then one family is eligible for financial damages, and if not then it's a debt that has to be given up to nothing."

Her face should say how she feels about this.

"A twenty year friendship ruined over birds."

[notinflictthem]

"I shouldn't need to with fifty mojitos, I'll be set for life, especially if I drink all of them at once," Hawk grins widely. But no, he does not actually want to get banned for life or murdered by the broad with the blindfold, so he doesn't order them. Making her laugh was enough.

"Hawkeye," he offers a hand, "I like you already, won a lot of bonus points for laughing at my material."

[tehilim127_1]

Her mouth twitches. "And did they find a bird within fifty cubits of the dovecote? -- Never mind, I'll help look. What year are we looking for?"

Thankfully, someone in this world has invented the clipboard, so she hasn't had to kludge one together to have something portable to take notes on.

[tehilim127_1]

She takes the offered hand with a brisk, businesslike shake, and lets go to pick up her drink again. "I'm Zivia. And apparently I'll be your straight man this evening."

[notinflictthem]

"Oh good, I left mine in my other pants," then he snaps his fingers.

"Town hall Zivia, right? Unless there's another one walking around. I'm friends with Fever- platinum blonde with the freckles and the ears, she's mentioned you a couple of times. Small island."

[abhorrently]

She names the year - thank goodness the ancient grudge hadn't let that slide - and stops in front of the records.

"The reason I need help is because I can't figure out if that would precisely be under matters of property since they were on his land, or building to reference constructing them. Or both, since all that's needed is the evidence they existed."

[tehilim127_1]

"Yes, that's me. Guardian of files, slayer of paperwork." She lifts her glass in a mock toast.

[tehilim127_1]

"Aha," she says, and runs an eye over the filing drawers. "You want to start with one, I'll start with the other, and we'll meet in the middle? Or is there any way to narrow it down?"

Docks

[preacher_in_reticence]

He's done her one better, with a cart pulled by a pony. The pony is as grey as Degas, but much more lively, seeming excited to have Real! Work! to do.

"So explain this to me like a child: why the sea? Seems to me the salt water will just need to be washed off before you use them again."

[notinflictthem]

"And dealer with petty complaints and requests, from what Fever's told me," he raises his glass to clink against hers.

"To endless bureaucracy, and the three inescapable facts of life; death, taxes, and paperwork."

[tehilim127_1]

The cart is full of boxes and bags, and the boxes and bags are full of ... something that clinks, like metal and/or glass, as they move. Zivia's also got a deep wicker basket over one arm, that seems to be empty but for a few dishtowels.

"Oh, it will. But it's not about physical cleanness. In fact they've got to be completely clean before you dunk them. It's a ritual purification. You could think of it as spiritual or symbolic, or both."

[tehilim127_1]

"Well, this place seems to have some footnotes on death," she says. "And I'm not sure yet what the full tax situation is, but believe me, the paperwork I can vouch for."

[notinflictthem]

"I was a doctor in the army for a couple of years back home, we had to fill out so much paperwork that these days I dream in triplicate. One morning earlier this week before I had my coffee I found myself writing up a form to eat breakfast. In triplicate."

[tehilim127_1]

She winces appreciatively. "I hope you at least got three breakfasts out of it ... So you're a doctor?"

(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.)

[notinflictthem]

"I would've if I was any good at filling out forms. I just ended up with ten gallons of orange juice instead," he jokes back.

"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."

[tehilim127_1]

She grins at his joke, and listens.

"Last couple of years. You've been here that long? -- Sorry, I've been assuming you're not local."

[notinflictthem]

"Mm? Oh- no, uh- let me back up."

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."

[tehilim127_1]

"Oh, would this be the Earth with the United States of America in it?" She grins again. "New York City? Hollywood? Superman comics, World Series, Coca-Cola?"

[notinflictthem]

Hawkeye sighs wistfully,

"It's like I'm back there. Apple pie, Betty Grable, and all. You know it?"