[OPEN] a beautiful day, don't let it get away

[tehilim127_1]

Who: Zivia (tehilim127_1) & all comers (with prompts for Lev, Anzu, Ava, Dahlia, Tayrey, Degas)
What: Things resume after the flood
When: Late May and early June
Where: At work (Town Hall), at the beach, at the grocery, at an impasse
Warning(s): To be added as relevant

1. you love this town

Somehow -- magically? miraculously? Zivia feels like either of those could apply, and like neither is safe to use carelessly -- somehow the island and the town have been barely damaged by the floodwaters. Neither the plants nor the animals nor the works of human hands are any worse for wear than they might be after a heavy rain.

This does mean more work at Town Hall, as Zivia and Fever empty all the file drawers to make sure there's no water damage anywhere, and then have to put everything back. And simultaneously have to be available to answer any questions anyone has, though they agree to take turns being on call while all of that's going on. Maybe you'll show up with a question while it's Zivia's turn to address it? Or maybe, sometime during this month, you'll encounter Fever at Town Hall's booth at the job fair, and decide to follow up by inquiring within.

2. reach me, i know i'm not a hopeless case

One nice thing about living here, Zivia will readily admit, is being within walking distance of a beach.

She's out for a walk on the shoreline, some days after the end of the flood, feet bare in the sand and shoes tucked into a bag slung over her shoulder. As a wave recedes, a glint of silver catches her eye, and she breaks into a brief jog to get closer before the water comes in again.

Anyone who happens to be nearby at the time will see her drop into an unsteady crouch to pick it up, then press one hand over her mouth as though to keep from crying out in shock -- or maybe just to keep from crying.

3. see the bird with a leaf in her mouth

It is so good, after even that brief time spent scrounging things on board ship, to be able to walk into a shop and purchase things again. Whole wheat flour, honey, salt, oil, a form of yeast she isn't familiar with but is nonetheless confident she can figure out; dried spices, fresh herbs, a basket full of vegetables and fruit in season; a beautiful fillet of salmon, which she hurries home to stow in the icebox directly next to the ice. Milk, eggs, butter. A few bottles of wine, after some conversation with the shopkeeper not too dissimilar from the one she had with Dahlia on board the cursed ship.

She considers, briefly, giving Dahlia a bottle of wine in return, and discards that idea. Instead, Dahlia -- and a few other people around town who've been especially helpful in the last month or so, including Ava Starr, Arilanna Tayrey, Wilson Higgsbury, and Degas Clayton -- will receive a small loaf of home-baked braided bread by way of appreciation and thanks.

(Feel free to run into Zivia doing her grocery shopping, or to meet her delivering challah, whether to you or to someone else!)

4. after the flood all the colors came out (for Lev/Lyubov and Anzu)

One thing she can't buy anywhere here, she already knows, is kosher meat. Which leads to her picking up the sending stone to contact Anzu and Rov Morgenshtern, and asking if either of them knows how to perform shechita; the soaking and salting part she can do, she assures them, but she's never done that part.

And the thing is, she explains, she'd really like to be able to serve chicken if they would like to join her for Shabbos dinner, this or next Friday night.

5. it was a beautiful day

Wildcard!

Comments

[preacher_in_reticence]

"Well, come in. We can try all of those in combination and pick favorites." He gestures her inside, where...

...there's something stagnant about the home. Not literal dust (though there's a decent amount of that too), but the decor suggests a woman's touch, as if Degas hasn't changed a single thing about his home since Melly died. Embroidery samplers on display, floral pillows on a loveseat in the living room. There are no covers on the mirrors, but this house still feels like one where shiva is being sat.

[tehilim127_1]

With one crucial difference: it's empty, but for him.

Zivia doesn't comment on that, because what could she possibly say? Instead she says, possibly a little too brightly: "I don't know what's polite here. Do I sit down and wait for you to bring things out, or do I go with you to the kitchen to fetch things?"

[preacher_in_reticence]

It's not a question he was expecting. He sort of blinks a couple times, uncertain.

"Kitchen? Kitchen. We could just do eating there, perhaps. I don't know. I...don't entertain guests often. You're the third in about three years."

[tehilim127_1]

"That's fine, whatever you'd like."

It doesn't surprise her, somehow, to hear that he doesn't have guests often.

(Three years. How long did he say it was, since the barrier went up? Longer than that. And longer still, since the loss of his wife. It doesn't feel quite right to ask if there's any significance to three years, or if it was just random.)

"I like hosting guests, myself, but everyone's got different preferences on that. I've got one friend, I think he'd be perfectly happy if he never talked to anyone except over the internet."

[preacher_in_reticence]

"Internet?" Look, there's a lot of words the newcomers use that he doesn't know. He's unashamed of having to ask for definitions.

He leads her into the kitchen, which has the same impression as the foyer. The kettle has a floral motif. There's a vase sitting on the counter as if waiting for flowers to be put in it. He pulls out the butter and jam, setting them on the kitchen table, along with plates and butter knives.

[tehilim127_1]

"Internet, right ... okay, that's gonna be a complicated answer. Think something like the speaking stones, except you can also send text messages instead of just voice, and you'll have a big part of it."

A pause, and a touch softer: "That's a pretty kettle."

[preacher_in_reticence]

"Daffodils. Melly liked how they were one of the first flowers to spring up in the thaw."

It all comes back to her. He doesn't know how to move on. Stuck, that's what it is. He's been stuck.

[tehilim127_1]

"Mm, yes. And crocuses, if you have those."

Another pause. She could pivot this toward or away from talking about his late wife, and she doesn't know which would be better to do.

[preacher_in_reticence]

He doesn't seem to know either. There's a silence that lingers and grows and festers and rots, as he does the busywork of finding the toppings for bread and a couple of plates (also floral, bright, friendly, not suited to him at all) and some bread knives. Takes his time setting everything up.

[tehilim127_1]

He seemed so much more willing to talk, when they were in the Oak and Iron and not in his home. She doesn't know what to make of that.

"Could I use your sink for a moment?" she asks, as he sets down the last things. "We have a custom to wash the hands and say a blessing, before eating bread."

[preacher_in_reticence]

“Of course. A very sensible custom, honestly.” He gestures for her to have at the sink, smiling faintly. Heck, he might do the hand washing part when she’s done.

[tehilim127_1]

She snags a drinking cup, fills it with water at the sink, pours the water out over her hands in an odd pattern -- three times over one hand, then three times over the other -- and murmurs something under her breath as she dries her hands. It has the look of long habit, of something done so often that one can now do it without really paying attention.

There's a second murmured phrase as she sits down, and breaks off a corner of the loaf to take a bite.

[preacher_in_reticence]

He watches respectfully, doesn't interrupt her. And once she's done, he tears a small piece of the bread off as well, tasting it.

"You're a skilled baker. This is delicious. Is there a meaning to the braiding?"

[tehilim127_1]

"Thank you," she beams. "The braiding's just to make it fancy; this kind of bread's traditional for Sabbaths and holidays. Uh, do I need to explain Sabbath? I don't know if you have anything like that here."

[preacher_in_reticence]

"I'll take then explanation if you don't mind giving it. The word doesn't hold meaning to me, and I'm curious about how things work for you."

He's beginning to relax again, getting to show his curiosity.

[tehilim127_1]

"As a general rule, time and circumstances permitting, I'm always happy to give explanations." She grins at him, and picks up a bread knife to start cutting slices as she speaks.

"So in our holy book, we have a story about how our God made the world. There's thousands of years of argument about how literally that story is meant, but the simplest form of it is: in six days he made the world, and on the seventh day he rested. And much later, he gave us a commandment to do the same thing -- to keep the seventh day holy for rest, and to not do any labor."

Glancing up toward him: with me so far?

[preacher_in_reticence]

He nods his understanding, leaning casually against the counter and giving her a look that isn't quite heart-eyes, but is very sincerely interested and admiring.

[tehilim127_1]

"Right, so it's kind of like a weekly mini-holiday. And it's traditional to do what you can to make it special: wear your nicest clothing, sing songs in honor of the day, serve your best food. Which, ideally, should include two whole breads. So it became a further tradition to make the bread fancier: use a richer dough, shape it in some interesting way, maybe top it with seeds or something else nice -- I use sesame seeds sometimes, but I didn't see any in the shops."

[preacher_in_reticence]

"I don't think I know what sesame seeds even are. But that sounds like a good tradition. To make your time of rest something scheduled and something special. I...in theory, I'm resting, too. The goddesses have told me that with Angel studying to become priest, I get to rest."

He's not very good at it!

[tehilim127_1]

She picks up the butter knife, and starts buttering a slice of bread.

"Like, starting now, or when Angel fully takes on becoming a priest?"

[preacher_in_reticence]

"Maybe easing into it now?" He thinks a moment. "You know, I don't really have a feel for how long training Angel's going to take. I'm not a priest--there's things I'm sure he'll need that I can't teach him."

It's a matter he's not _actively_ panicking about.

[tehilim127_1]

"Oh." She considers that. "Is there anyone here who would know those things? Or anywhere they might be written?"

[preacher_in_reticence]

"Not that I know of. In an ideal world, Merrick would be around to train his successor, and if not him, a priest from elsewhere in the Isles. I mean, the goddesses know what they need from a priest, and they've been able to talk directly with you newcomers more easily than those of us who live here. So I'm not worried."

But it does leave him in a weird position.

[tehilim127_1]

She's quiet a moment, as though concentrating on buttering the slice of bread right out to the edges.

"They can talk to us more easily than you who live here?" Frowning faintly. "Do you know why that is?"

[preacher_in_reticence]

"Sort of. The way it's been explained to me is that you have connections--bonds--to places outside this world. Like threads that stretch out beyond the barrier and beyond this planet entirely. And it's those threads that allow for easier communication, for the goddesses."

He gestures the idea of strings stretching out, up and beyond.

"They still hear the rest of us, and love us, but it's harder for them to reach back."