pumpkinhollow: (Default)
pumpkinhollow ([personal profile] pumpkinhollow) wrote in [community profile] ph_logs2025-02-15 09:27 pm

February Event - Garden of Woe [Merrymeet]

**Plain text version here.
GARDEN OF WOE
To Meet is Merry...
It’s a beautiful day. Normally Merrymeet is held a tad later in the month, but thanks to some predictions from Phil, the festival planning committee managed to snag a date right in the middle of a patch of lovely warm days. A false spring --- there would be another snow by the following week. But it’s the first hint of a true spring waiting in the wings. The sun is shining, the grass on the festival green is slowly waking up, snowdrop flowers wobble in the breeze, and the weather is approaching something akin to balmy. It's as if Celestine herself carried in her opposite-most sister on a warm breeze, just for today.

Partygoers trickle in from all sides, gathering at the Festival Green. Each and every soul is dressed in their spring finest. And when Juniper Sweetwater once again ascends the steps to the gazebo, the crowd falls silent. The procession is about to begin.

Dress to Impress Generally speaking, the dress code for Merrymeet is garden party formalwear. Appropriate outfits can fall anywhere in the Classic or Lavish categories. Characters here less than 2 months are able to get free rentals if they’d like, but can buy their outfit if they wish. Everyone else is asked to please purchase their outfit (from 300-500B, depending upon complexity).

Short on Brass? Drop by Gourd en Glace before the event and grab yourself a sundae and bring it up to Venka Meridell, the proprietor who also happens to be the local tailor’s daughter. She’ll slip you a coupon for a half-price Merrymeet outfit if you’re willing to taste test one of her unorthodox new ice cream flavors. Her mother, Saraya, will begrudgingly accept these coupons. [Mod Note: Please only take this option if you have 500B or less in your ledger, we are trying to get some of these rich-ass characters to spend their damn money!]

Once you’re all dressed to the nines, please feel free to use the code below to show off your drip in the Fashion Show thread!

Crowning of the Flower Queen Once Mayor Poe gives the signal, a band begins to play, signalling the entrance of the Floral Court. A hush falls over the crowd as they watch the nominees enter, one at a time and escorted by their chosen companion. Many beloved community figured were nominated this time, and competition was stiff--- the crowd is eager to see who is named their Flower Queen.

Then, the procession begins in earnest as each member of the Floral Court (Valdis, Ylva, Margaret, Lyubov, CT, Alice, Fever, Magne, Olivia, Anya, and Helena) is escorted through the festival green and up to the gazebo. Standing at the top of the short flight of gazebo stairs is Juniper Sweetwater, a poised and delicate Wood Elf with pale brown hair. Gracing each pair with a greeting of “hail and merry meet”, she places a small ring of flowers upon the brow of each member of the court, and hands each one a matching boutonniere or corsage to bestow upon her plus-one. Juniper lets each pair file into the gazebo to take their seats.

Then some of the other leading ladies arrive and do much the same--- first, Drelasa, who won third place, and then Elsie and Sally, who tied for second. Behind them is Sally’s toddler Gwen, who is “escorted” (carried) by her older brother Yellow, both of whom are invited to join as special guests. Juniper takes a moment to bestow each of the women with a slightly larger crown, and a bouquet decorated with a ribbon indicating their place and a brass or silver charm as a token of their achievement.

Finally, the last to enter is the Flower Queen herself. The music swells as this year’s Queen, Dahlia Leeds, is escorted by her Courtier, Radar O’Reilly. A murmur sweeps over the onlooking crowd of surprise and excitement as Dahlia proceeds through the parted crowd. Once one of the most beloved people in town, Dahlia has barely been seen outside her home since her fall from grace at her birthday gala. And when she has, she’s looked sallow and miserable, a husk of herself. And yet here, today, she looks utterly radiant--- aside from the fact that she is very obviously weeping, utterly overcome with emotion at the fact that so many of her neighbors and friends still accept her. Tears of surprise, joy, relief, and gratitude pour down her face in thick streams that she cannot contain as she makes her way down the aisle with Radar, both of them dressed ornately in delicate blue.

The pair are showered with flower petals as they follow the winding trail, applauded quietly by festival goers before they reach Juniper. Fluidly, she swaps places with Dahlia so that the new Flower Queen is the one stood at the top of the stairs and the prior is on the ground.

“Hail and merry meet.” Juniper curtsies. “Today, just as I was two years ago, you have been chosen by the people of our town to be the Flower Queen. It is my honor to present you with gifts befitting a queen.”

Another townsperson passes her a basket, which Juniper presents to Dahlia. It contains a number of spring-themed treats--- honey harvested from last spring’s flowers, a bottle of specially crafted sweet festival wine to be consumed on the summer solstice, a candle embedded with dried flowers, a blend of lavender and bergamot tea, a charming floral soap, and a necklace with a pressed forget-me-not inside a clear pendant. There is also a medal hanging around the wine bottle shaped like an orchid bloom, engraved on the back with text. “Flower Queen 16:55 - Pumpkin Hollow - Dahlia Anastasia Leeds”. Juniper then passes the somewhat heavy basket off to Radar to carry--- after all, it’s the Courtier’s job to attend to the Queen!

Then, Juniper pins a boutonniere to Radar’s lapel, and beneath it, a medal of his own. “Floral Courtier - 16:55 - Radar O’Reilly”.

“With this sprig of Serannai’s glory, I bestow upon you the honored duty of Courtier to the Flower Queen. Assist her as she needs and ensure that she spends this day as free and joyful as a spring breeze.”

Lastly, Juniper turns back to Dahlia and takes up a crown of flowers, larger and more elaborate than the others, holding it aloft for a moment before resting it upon Dahlia’ss head.

“With this crown, I pass my title on to you. May it bring you felicity and fortune, so that you may share it with the earth as you put seed to soil.”

Before letting them go, Juniper leans in, beaming and grasping Dahlia’s hand tightly with the warmth of someone who has known her their whole life, and whispers, “Congratulations!” Then, she takes a step back, hurrying delightedly off into the crowd, leaving Dahlia to stand and look over the crowd of her friends, her neighbors, her loved ones, so many of whom have still chosen to embrace her. For a moment, all she can do is stand in awe.

Applause rings out over the crowd, music swells once more, and Merrymeet officially begins. Congratulations to Dahlia, and all the members of the Floral Court!

Eat, Drink, Be Merry! It doesn’t take long for lunch to be brought out, courtesy of some helpful volunteers and the Oak & Iron’s diligent cooking staff. Salads full of spring greens, fresh bread with herbs baked in, puff pastries with fresh cheese and asparagus, egg tarts, chicken sandwiches, and crispy little hashbrowns formed into cups to look like bird nests, each with a devilled egg sitting inside. There are also dozens of little desserts made with flowers and spring berries, like cakes and custards, and even heart-shaped macarons.

And while there is wine being passed around the table, there is also tea. But this isn’t just any tea, and these aren’t just any tea pots. The pots are clear glass, surrounded by ornate silver fixtures, so that you can see the color of the tea and the leaves steeping within. Some are regular tea leaves rolling around in ball strainers while others are blooming floral teas perched in the center of the pots. And best of all, these teapots are enchanted courtesy of Dr. West, looking like chubby little tea puppies walking around on four short metal legs. They meander around between dishes on the tables, bumbling up to partygoers to offer their contents and tipping forward with surprising grace to pour tea into cups. They are helpfully labeled with tags tied to their handles, explaining what they contain.

While a few contain typical tea blends, others are marked as containing enchanted teas, provided by Aeryn Sallek. The enchanted blends are as follows:

Party Enhancer - An energizing and sweet lemon hibiscus tea that makes the drinker able to dance longer, sing louder, eat more, and worry less. Turn down your inhibition and turn up the fun! This is a great tea for people who want a little party boost without getting drunk.

Liquid Courage - Feeling too shy to dance? Nervous about asking that beautiful person to spend the day with you? Want to go for that first kiss but struggling to work up the nerve? This smooth lavender black tea will help!

Romance Reagent - For those looking to be a little more flirty or emotionally open, this rose milk tea has a higher concentration of the “emotional acuity” potion to help you be open with your true feelings and get your cuddle on. And this denser dose of potion will even have the added effect of making you a little more suave, as well.

Sultry Spice - For those looking to find someone nice and invite them somewhere more private. This warming apple spice tea literally just has a mild aphrodisiac in it.

Enjoy any of these with your meal to turn up the mood! While these teas are clearly labeled, it's up to you whether or not you actually read them. Accidents can happen!

Eating isn’t all there is to do, of course. The other primary activity is dancing!

Local musicians will be playing throughout the day for group and couple’s dances, including a local partner dance called the Sunrise Waltz and a classic maypole dance. Feel free to dance the afternoon away with partners, friends, new acquaintances, and more!

There’s also areas to catch your breath and chat with friends, a chocolate dipping station, flower sprouts in tiny pots as party favors, flower garland braiding areas, and plenty of wine! Additionally, there are a few flower-filled tents on the festival green with private seating areas for couples to catch a few moments alone. You’re not supposed to, but if you’re quiet and don’t mind a bit of risk, it wouldn’t be hard to sneak a little naughty fun into your day in these little tents.

And of course, there is the planting ceremony later in the day, so feel free to join Dahlia and Juniper at the edge of the green for this short tradition! With an apron thrown over her dress and a short spade, Dahlia takes a moment out of the festivities to plant a tulip bulb in a half-empty row near the gazebo, right next to the one Mary Dahl planted the year prior, and Juniper herself the year before that.

...But Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow
Ballad of the Damned Would any event on a cursed island truly be complete without some sort of unscrupulous paranormal activity? Truly, nothing is sacred (except maybe the Dance of Celestine, once), as yet another of Dahlia’s infernal relatives arrives bearing “gifts” to put a damper on her special day.

As night begins to fall, the afternoon band is finally given time to rest and retire to the party themselves, intended to be replaced by a Council-approved evening band. However, said musical group is waylaid on their way to the stage, and replaced with an act far stranger.

On the left part of the stage, a man with pipes embedded in his chest begins to sing a low note, accompanied by a deep, rich harmony as though his chest were a pipe organ. Perhaps it is. On the right side, an older man who almost looks human, save for the exposed “ribcage” full of harpstrings. And at the front, a pale woman dressed all in white with a veil covering all but her mouth, who sings like an angel over the music of her companions. The man in charge and his large sitar are conspicuously absent.

When Sonata begins to sing, two things begin to happen. The first is that black, thorny vines emerge from the slumbering ground, encasing the performers in thick foliage with gaps only big enough for the sound of their music to escape, and thorns big enough to ward off any interruptions. The second is that anyone who can hear the music will find that the sound floods their mind with memories of grief, pain, loss, and loneliness. So intense are these memories and emotions that even the most strong-willed can barely keep from weeping, with only a few exceptions.

Those with protection from demons will find their suffering great, but not debilitating, and Father Mulcahy’s boon from Mortanne and personal experience combined are enough to offset the more soul-crushing effects of the somber music. However, these things alone will not be enough. With the infernal band protected, the Domain of Sorrow’s Song will continue leeching anguish from the party-goers for their master for as long as they can. The only way to combat them is to cut off their source of power through self-imposed joy--- a challenging task, given the situation.

Luckily, a friend from outside the barrier interested in helping his daughter has sent some friends to help you get started.



March of the Bizzyboys Five Drainfolk in red uniforms find themselves in a forest. Little teal-furred monkey-folk with long hair and longer tails stand amid pink trees and a gaggle of little fuschia butterflies. Their names are Vibiano, Grujaja, Bananathaniel, Alexei, and Patty--- mysteries, until recently, revealed a few letters at a time. The wind sings like bamboo wind chimes through the pastel branches.

The butterflies swarm together, forming the shape of a person, and from the flock emerges a strange man. With chitinous hands and a face covered in dark pink wings, he steps free of the fluttering mass and onto a stump, wearing long fur robes, and he smiles a toothy smile.

“Hello there, Bizzyboys! I am King Olwylder, Archfae of the Court of Red Butterflies,” he says with a sweeping bow. Then, he leaps down from his makeshift stage, his own enormous wings splayed out behind him. He lands crouching, diminishing his impressive height to get onto their level. “I have a very important favor to ask you.”

“You see, some old friends of yours, as well as my beloved daughter Elsie, have been caught up in a bit of trouble. I need you to go to a little town called Pumpkin Hollow for the evening and help them out. Afterwards, you can stay there a while, or not, if you prefer. But during the flower festival they have going on, I need you five little darlings to do me a very, very important favor, and do what you do best. I need you to solve a mystery. Can you help me?”

Once all five Bizzyboys have agreed, Olwylder shakes each of their fuzzy hands and thanks them profusely, covering their red uniforms in pink flowers before sending them on their very merry way. They ride to Pumpkin Hollow on the back of a black horse, driven by a man with no head, and fan out in search of their old bosses as well as Olwylder’s daughter.

The five original Bizzyboys, played as guest NPCs, arrive at Merrymeet just before the band begins to play, and are immune to all of its effects due to the blessing of King Olwylder and sheer adorable whimsy. Threading with one of them can help you acquire the self-made fun you need to break the spell yourself, which you can then spread to others! These delightful shenanigans have been graciously provided by five helpful players, so please thank Liz, Sid, Mira, Maniette, and Kai for their assistance in making the magic happen! Once the event ends, it will be up to each player whether their Bizzyboy remains in PH or heads back home.
| CONTENT WARNINGS: altered states of consciousness, mildly dubious consent, grief, depression, mood control |
not_the_last: (Default)

Cassandra de Rolo | Critical Role | OTA

[personal profile] not_the_last 2025-02-18 03:53 am (UTC)(link)
a. the spring clad all in gladness

Cassandra is here with Okie, enjoying the chance to dress up and celebrate -- but alert for the political undercurrents of the day. When Dahlia is announced the Flower Queen and applauded by the crowd, her own smile and applause are genuine, but also concealing some more complicated feelings, primarily relief; she's been aware all morning of how badly this could go, and for the town to turn out so thoroughly in favor of Dahlia after everything is a better outcome than she feared.

She'll give herself over to the celebration after that, partaking of the feast, the flower braiding, the dancing. And she'll make sure to take a moment to congratulate Dahlia in person.

b. doth laugh at winter sadness

With the first somber notes of the music come the feelings she's been trying, mostly successfully, to bury.

It must be nice, it whispers. Can you imagine the people of Whitestone learning what you've done and still embracing you as their lady? The very idea. It would be comical if it weren't so sad. And underneath, insinuating, mocking: Oh, did you cherish some fond hope that you might get some public acclaim you weren't born to? You know better. That's for others, never for you.

Stop it, she tries to tell herself. This is foolish. You're not a child, to sit here feeling sorry for yourself. Stop it, now. Stop.

Guilt, desolation, humiliating envy; shame at feeling any of those, that builds on all of them in a corrosive spiral, and feeds them in turn. She wants to sink down and vanish into the froth of her abruptly ridiculous-feeling skirts, curl up under a table and never be seen again.

Vanishing entirely isn't an option, much as she might wish it. Anyone could find her here.

c. wildcard

Hit me!
theydrewfirstblood: (smile{ gentle)

Doth Laugh At Winter Sadness

[personal profile] theydrewfirstblood 2025-02-20 11:39 pm (UTC)(link)
Once John escaped the melody, he plucked a flower off the hat of the little monkey that came to his aid and tucked it behind his ear on impulse—a little extra absurdity to stave off that remembered pain. When he gets the idea, figures out the nature of the fix?

Well, like any good Bizzyboy, J gets to work.

Recognizing Cassandra from the night the cultists killed them, when he spots her he rushes to her side and kneels down.

“Hey—your shoe’s untied.”

And if the absurdity of the non-sequitor gets her attention, John will gently press the tip of her nose with his index finger, complete with sound effects.

Honk-honk.
not_the_last: (Default)

[personal profile] not_the_last 2025-02-21 07:20 pm (UTC)(link)
Cassandra blinks up at him, through the straggles of hair falling in her face.

"I -- what?"

The absurdity does get her attention; it's almost completely outside her experience, except that it's like something Crichton might do.
theydrewfirstblood: (quiet{ o rly?)

[personal profile] theydrewfirstblood 2025-02-21 07:30 pm (UTC)(link)
"Watt? You ain't no lightbulb."

Yes, that was a pun. No, he isn't sorry. With a smile, he reaches out to gently brush the tendrils of hair away from her face, leans in close...

...and crosses his eyes while flaring his nostrils and making a fish face at her, right in her personal space.
not_the_last: (Default)

[personal profile] not_the_last 2025-02-24 10:11 pm (UTC)(link)
It might be a pun, but it's one she has no way of understanding, as her world has yet to invent electric lighting.

"What are you --" The face she's making, caught between misery and annoyance and bewildered laughter, is almost as strange as his right now. "Stop that."
theydrewfirstblood: (quiet{ o rly?)

[personal profile] theydrewfirstblood 2025-02-24 10:31 pm (UTC)(link)
"Not your thing, huh? Here, try this."

John moves with the liquid grace of a cat to shift and stretch out on the grass, plopping his head into the pool of her skirts--whether he manages to land in her lap is anyone's guess, but bonus points if his stupid joke is muffled by his face being smothered by fabric.

"A man walks into a bar and says, 'Ow! Damn it, my head! Why didn't anyone tell me to duck?'..."

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abhorrently: (forward.)

a.

[personal profile] abhorrently 2025-02-22 11:50 am (UTC)(link)
There's a familiar face helping with the flower braiding, weaving stems into something bigger with a determined focus. It's only when another slips away and is replaced by Cassandra that Fever looks up, offering her a quick smile by way of greeting while her hands tie twine around a tricky part.

"Come to make your own, or just looking for an excuse to take a break? I warn you, there are no idle hands here."
not_the_last: (Default)

[personal profile] not_the_last 2025-02-24 10:12 pm (UTC)(link)
"Come to see how it's done," she smiles back, "and maybe take a turn at it. Could you use an extra hand?"
abhorrently: (camp.)

[personal profile] abhorrently 2025-02-25 08:17 am (UTC)(link)
"Now you've done it," she laughs, indicating the seat next to her, before the three others she's helping each look up to Cass with big, sad eyes that say they shall utterly perish without assistance.

"Take a seat and pick up some blooms, it's easy once you get into the hang of it."
not_the_last: (Default)

[personal profile] not_the_last 2025-02-26 06:53 pm (UTC)(link)
Cassandra gives the three others a sympathetic smile as she sits down, arranging her layered skirts with absent-minded care.

"I think I can see how to go on," she says, gathering a few long-stemmed flowers, "but not how to start."
abhorrently: (repeat.)

[personal profile] abhorrently 2025-02-27 11:52 am (UTC)(link)
"It's easier if someone helps you. Here, let me."

The right knot with a hidden bit of twine, before she can show Cassandra how to weave the stems, where to put the next flower to make sure it would be ongoing as long as she doesn't pull too hard. It's simple to get down, but by the time Fever looks back up from helping, the three others at the table...have vanished.

"...You know, I wouldn't have minded if they just said."

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yourscooly: (to DIE for)

doth laugh at winter sadness

[personal profile] yourscooly 2025-02-22 07:09 pm (UTC)(link)

Vibiano apprehends Cassandra by one of the refreshment tables. After helping Kitty and conferring with the other Bizzyboys, he's decided on a clever plan. People love to talk about themselves! Nothing cheers people up like getting to brag!

He appropriated a clipboard and pencil from somewhere, and now marches up to Cassandar.

"Madame," he says, in what he thinks is an appropriately aristocratic tone for a fashion correspondent. "I'm doin' a survey for the uh," and here he pauses, realising he doesn't know what the local newspaper is called. Drat. "I'm da local fashion correspondent, see? I'm interviewin' the best-dressed at this here sorry excuse for a soiree, and you're a fantastic candidate!"

Edited 2025-02-22 19:10 (UTC)
not_the_last: (Default)

[personal profile] not_the_last 2025-02-24 10:21 pm (UTC)(link)
"I --" She swipes a trembling hand under her eyes, quickly, as though hoping the tears will be overlooked. "I beg your pardon?"

It isn't just to struggle with her composure; in her misery, she honestly didn't catch what he said.
yourscooly: (vogue?)

[personal profile] yourscooly 2025-03-06 09:24 pm (UTC)(link)

Oh. Oh no. This lady's got the sads bad. If Vibiano wasn't the coolest of cool cucumbers, he'd be panicking. But he's totally not panicking. The tail twitching is just a nervous tic when he's thinking. Honest.

"I'm doin' a feature," he says, with a haughty sniff. "For the ..." damn it, what's this place called, again— "the Marrow edition of Voigl magazine. And you're clearly one of the best-dressed here besides ... besides moi! And I'm just askin', you got a tailor or is this all," he gestures at Cassandra's ensemble, "in-house work?"

not_the_last: (Default)

[personal profile] not_the_last 2025-03-07 09:08 pm (UTC)(link)
"I --" The incongruity of the question, if not enough to completely distract her from her endless circle of grief and guilt and self-castigation, is at least enough to jostle her mind in its tracks.

"It's ... I purchased the pieces and did some tailoring ... I'm sorry, what's a magazine?"
yourscooly: (Default)

[personal profile] yourscooly 2025-03-08 08:41 pm (UTC)(link)

Now it's Vibiano's turn to be lost. What kind of poor provincial wretch hasn't heard of a magazine? Scratch that, even poor provincial wretches hanging onto Cobigail's wilted skirts have heard of magazines. Drain, even he and the Bizzyboys (and Bizzygoil) had heard of magazines, down in ... well, down in Drain.

"It's a colourful kinda pamphlet or a book what's badly glued together," he says, eventually. "Full of advice and sophisticated opinions. And juicy gossip, if the editor's not too snobby to amid they like gossip."

"How come you've never hoid of a magazine?" he adds, cautiously.

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daemoniumexmachina: (efrain)

Winter Sadness

[personal profile] daemoniumexmachina 2025-02-27 03:26 am (UTC)(link)
“It can be arranged, you know.” Towering above Cassandra, a massive figure all in gossamer burial shrouds that billow in the false-spring breeze, making for an imposing silhouette, impossible to tell where the body inside all that flowing fabric could be found. If it even exists at all. The only flesh visible is the flaky grey flesh around his mouth, cracked and peeling like old paint, and the similar substance of his arms, of which there are four. The voice, however, is nothing so ragged. Instead, it is silky smooth. Melodious, even. Like a spoken song.

A hand is offered.

“There is no need for you to stay here and suffer. You wish to disappear, to never be seen. Allow me to make it so.”
not_the_last: (Default)

[personal profile] not_the_last 2025-02-28 03:25 am (UTC)(link)
Cassandra, crumpled on the grass in her own billows of gossamer fabric, blinks up at the looming figure through a stinging blur.

She doesn't reach for the offered hand yet, but one of her own lifts, the smallest bit.

"Wh-what do you mean?"
daemoniumexmachina: (efrain)

[personal profile] daemoniumexmachina 2025-03-30 03:50 am (UTC)(link)
"Precisely what it sounds like I mean, my dear," Efrain says with a laugh. "I can grant you the power to vanish whenever you wish it. I just need something from you in return. An unfortunate aspect of my nature, you see, but I cannot gift such powers for free."
not_the_last: (Default)

[personal profile] not_the_last 2025-03-30 05:46 am (UTC)(link)
"What ..." She draws in on herself further, with a shiver. "What would you need? From me?"
liesdontfindyou: (pb; full body neutral)

a

[personal profile] liesdontfindyou 2025-03-08 12:58 am (UTC)(link)

It's around the edges of the dancing, not quite in the fray but not so far away as to be avoiding the space altogether, that she runs into Cassandra. Recently split off from her date for the day, she's only just starting to really mingle after starting out the day at the head table.

"Hey, Cassandra."

not_the_last: (Default)

[personal profile] not_the_last 2025-03-09 03:17 am (UTC)(link)
She smiles. "Hello, CT. Hail and merry meet, I think is the holiday greeting?"
liesdontfindyou: (pb; thoughtful talking)

[personal profile] liesdontfindyou 2025-03-11 02:42 am (UTC)(link)

CT breathes a faint laugh. "Sounds about right. You know, if someone had told me even a few months ago that I'd be actually taking part in a festival like this I probably would've laughed it off."

Not just attending, but involved. It still feels a little strange.

not_the_last: (Default)

[personal profile] not_the_last 2025-03-13 03:39 am (UTC)(link)
"Truly? -- You look lovely, by the way."

It's a wholly sincere compliment, but it also means that if CT would rather not go further into talking about why she wouldn't have expected to take part in a festival, she can talk about her dress instead.
liesdontfindyou: (pb; errr)

[personal profile] liesdontfindyou 2025-03-13 05:02 pm (UTC)(link)

CT smiles, sincerely, and plucks the fabric of her dress lightly. "Thank you—you do too, that's a gorgeous outfit. No, ah, I usually only bother coming to these things as a work thing—keep an eye on things, you know. And honestly I doubt anyone would even have nominated me if Ripley hadn't."

She doesn't seem put out by the idea. She knows she hasn't made herself a particularly visible, friendly face in town—she works, tries to do what she can to solve the town's mystery and free it, but she's a private sort of person. Not a sociable, well-loved figure of note.

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