February Event - Garden of Woe [Merrymeet]

[pumpkinhollow]

**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!

<img src="YOUR URL HERE" alt="Merrymeet" style="width:400px;">

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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 |

Comments

2.

[abhorrently]

"Because you don't, or you've never had the chance?"

She's a stranger, and a stranger is exactly who Fever needs at this moment. Dancing is a way to free the mind, to keep in motion and away from thoughts that want to cling, to try and stay in the festive, joyous spirits that are everywhere. At least on the outside, she suits - still wearing the flowers on her brow, still dressed to match the theme, still smiling and warm.

"If you're worried, all you have to do is follow my lead."

Sure, she's at least half a foot shorter than Ripley, but she has no reason to feel like she can't lead.

[2onostromo]

"Both, I suppose. Though probably skewed toward the former."

The stranger who coaxes Ripley to dance is, in every essence of the word, striking. Flowers frame her high brow and scarlet eyes— two jewels set into a pale face— and she gets a sense this woman hails from a world she couldn't possibly begin to comprehend.

"You make it sound easy."

Curiosity forgoes heavily-leaded feet. She abandons her drink, and although she's positive she'll regret it Ripley obliges the woman and follows her out into the lush, open plaza. Bodies sway to the little Oratorio's noise, some she recognizes, most she doesn't. Together they weasel their way into the noisy fray.

"So, what first?"

[abhorrently]

"First, take my hands."

It's easier when it's a tune with less formality, when there's no real wrong way to dance. This isn't her trying to show off or prove some point - this is just dancing for joy's sake, for the music, because they can. She wants this stranger to have some fun, and to not doubt that she can dance if she wants to.

"And then, you just pick a moment, and off we go."

The downbeat's easy enough to catch, and she tugs the woman along with her. Not too fast, not yet, but they can still get into the rhythm. All it takes is movement - stepping to the music, swaying, not trying to do too much. See? Anyone can do it. And even if Ripley feels awkward, if she feels mistimed, there's no hint of judgement in her partner's bearing. She'll just adjust to match.

[2onostromo]

She takes her hands, as instructed. Palm crossed over palm, arms raised and ready.

It's just dancing.

Ripley's muscles tense, anticipating the go with no knowledge of how they'll spring into action; a ship with thrusters ready and roaring, but whose set-destination escapes its navigational port. Lapses in knowledge like this leave her groping blindly for clues elsewhere. A glance at the others around her. A careful listening to the tune, picking out its rhythm pattern to supplement her own.

You don't need to think about it.

And yet here she is, thinking.

Until they actually begin to move.

When a ship begins to move, when it lifts its legs and parts from whatever land it'd crouched on, it's important to always be a step ahead. To ingest the readings and dials both as they come and anticipating what's next without knowing. If your knowledge and experience serves you well, you'll act in tandem; ship and man and computer working as one unit, one body, one succinct motion.

Bodies and minds themselves, however, so rarely cooperate.

The body makes mistakes. Missteps. Fumbles. The brain tries its damndest to keep up and finds itself flung elsewhere.

Fortunately for Ripley, she's found herself an excellent teacher. They fall into a rhythm of steps and easy shifts of gravity. Step, step, sway. Right, forward, back. Ripley's attention swings from her feet to the woman's face, lip pinched between teeth, focus sharpened almost comically so.

"You make it look easy, too."

[abhorrently]

What greets her is Fever looking back. Her own expression is more at ease, unhurried - this pace suits as well as any other, and it's fun for her. That matters more to her than technical excellence, more than trying to show off - she's enjoying this, and perhaps by the end of this, her chosen partner will as well.

"If it sounds easy, looks easy...what's to say it isn't easy in the first place?"

Her smile grows a little more.

"I'm Fever."

[2onostromo]

Overzealous focus is, upon upward-glance, met by the stranger's ease. A nonchalant quirk of lips and casual air that begins to rub off on Ripley. She inhales, lungs taking in this equable air and transmuting it until trapezius muscles go loose and willing. She squeezes the hands clasped in her own.

"I haven't tripped yet, so you must be onto something."

Careful. Don't speak too soon.

A worried glance down at her feet. She meets the woman's eyes, struck again by second-hand calm.

Another breath.

"Nice to meet you, Fever."

Step, step. The tune flutters.

"I'm Ellen." She nods toward the twist of flowers that sit pretty above her brow. "You were nominated. You must be popular around here."

[abhorrently]

That's enough to get her to chuckle, shaking her head a little.

"One of my friends decided she'd nominate me, even though I'm decidedly not suited for nobility. I retaliated by asking those I knew to vote for other people. I'm glad they listened."

At least, enough so that she didn't even place at all.

"You're new though - I know I'd remember your face, otherwise. How long has it been?"

[2onostromo]

"You could have fooled me," She ribs.

After all, what better form is there for nobility to take? Fever's carmine eyes, elven features and hair strung from white gold say otherwise. Perhaps a bit short for royalty, but who's to say?

"A little over a month. I work odd hours in Crane's Ridge, so I don't make it out much. But this place, it's..."

She scans the scene; folks dancing, children palming for food and crawling beneath tables, little enchantments serving tea. People she knows, people she doesn't. The atmosphere speaks to an era long before her own, but one she inexplicably finds herself standing at the center of.

"Strange. Nothing like what I'm used to."

[abhorrently]

A mental note, like scribbling into her journal, that for such a compliment she's duty bound to make Ellen blush somehow. But before she can take the opportunity to press further, the woman's attention is divided, and the original idea is tossed aside.

"I hope it comes as a good sort of strange to you."

Despite having just met, there's a simple sincerity in that. Often enough, this town plays refuge, diversion, port in a storm. Anything else, that needs the barrier down. But...it's strange to think that spring is almost upon them.

"What are you used to, if I can ask?"

[2onostromo]

Good isn't exactly the word she'd use to describe the Hollow thus far. Nightmares all too real for her liking exacerbate homesickness, and she can't shake the feeling that she's encroaching here. Still, it's a vast improvement from the extraterrestrial-induced cataclysm she'd escaped from. A silver-lining, if you squint.

Ripley offers a dulled smile. "I hope so too."

And it's moments like these, basking in the kindnesses others so willingly show her, that stokes the auspicious little flame in her chest. Not all bad here.

"Let's see... You wouldn't catch me at a party like this, that's for sure. Where I'm from, people aren't planetside for very long. We've moved on from Earth— ah, our home planet, if you've never heard of it— into space to create colonies, find resources, start over. I'm— I was trained as a flight officer. After I finished school, I never stopped flying. Space is... complicated. The business is complicated. People only care about certain things."

Having neglected her focus by speaking, Ripley stumbles a little. Catches herself with a hand on Fever's shoulder, gnaws hard on her bottom lip.

"Apparently, my not knowing about magic comes as quite a shock to people here. We didn't have that, either."

[abhorrently]

She's found herself an attentive listener, at least, and Fever's fascinated, constructing a mental image that while completely wrong, still intrigues her about the idea of flying through space. Beyond the sphere, into the stars.

"Oh. You're from one of those worlds."

But the way she says it, it's more fascinated than anything else. Not disdainful.

"I've always thought they were incredible - and you're saying somehow you went across the stars without any magic, that this is commonplace. That's remarkable."

The concept is so far beyond her that she can only admire it.

[2onostromo]

'One of those worlds.'

The way she says it makes Ripley laugh; ridiculous to think someone from a place touched by magic would find her world fascinating. An interstellar cacophony made up of lifeless receptacles for people to cram themselves inside. Her spacefaring race feels soft-bellied in comparison. Technology rules them.

But Fever's intrigue endears her. She indulges the woman a little, quirking her lip.

"Very commonplace. No different than taking a cab, really. It's rare you meet a person who's never gone up before. People travel ten, twenty, thirty light years like it's nothing." And it is nothing. "We climb into pods that put us into stasis and keep us alive for long stretches of time. A pilot dreams more than they fly, but that's part of the gig."

Ripley's turn;

"What's yours like? I couldn't tell you the first thing about magic. The idea still feels... childish, really. No offense."

[abhorrently]

"None taken."

It really would seem impossible, wouldn't it - that a world was there where she could draw power to her fingertips, that items and herbs and the right places were infused with a new rule of being. But it's equally as impossible for her to think of living without it.

"I can tell you a little about it, but you'll have to forgive the considerable holes in my telling. I have amnesia. To a degree." A tiny pause, as her expression begins to shift into someone realizing they have backed themself into an awkward corner with no good way out. "Everything's fine though, really."

[2onostromo]

Ripley's smile is instant and reassuring, carrying the same easygoing energy Fever had afforded her at their taking off. New questions come to the surface, namely how and why this poor woman's found herself with a lapse in memory, but she saves them. Compartmentalizes them for later, perhaps.

Everything's fine though.

She wonders if that's really true.

Ripley squeezes the hands held in her own.

"Whatever you remember. I'm not picky."

[abhorrently]

"I was traveling before I got caught up in all of this, so I do remember some. There are things in this town that are far beyond what we have - no one's been able to conjure up something like the telephones, for instance, and you'll see far more candlelight. But others are more familiar. Magic, for instance - it exists in mine as something fundamental. There are those who live in the heart of the wilderness, and those who'd cling to man-made settlements."

The next song's at a steadier pace, so she doesn't see a reason to stop at the moment.

"It's the sort of place where to fly isn't exactly commonplace, even with spells. We walk the roads, or ride, or sail where one can. It might take a long while, and you've got to be awake most of the time. I ended up passing through a variety of landscapes as I was trying to reach the city I was aiming for."

A shorter distance than Ellen's spaceships, but something that felt longer, with the limitations at hand.

[2onostromo]

"Do you live in the heart of the wilderness?" Ripley asks, feeling somewhat silly. Like a child asking to see a parlor trick. But it's the most obvious question, isn't it?

Ellen takes in her every-word as one might a lecturer's. Brows knit, eyes fix squarely onto face and lips; no morsel of info is lost. If she had a pad and pen in hand, she might have paused their dancing to take notes.

A hand rests on Fever's shoulder. No harm in changing things up, no?

"Sounds tedious." Inefficient, she means to say, but that's not quite as kind. "We've mostly left sailing behind. Not that there aren't massive bodies of water to sail in, just that flying's always been the quickest. Less dangerous, if you can believe it."

Another question; she's full of them.

Ripley's curiosity never once ebbs.

"What kind of city?"

[abhorrently]

"A merchant city. Baldur's Gate, one of the largest on the coast. A true metropolis, from all I heard. I'd been looking forward to seeing it for myself - and it didn't hurt that I'd found others headed the same way to travel with."

She's editing heavily, she knows, but the whole situation isn't one for a dancefloor, or for an event bedecked in flowers, or a handsome woman she's just met. She has a little tact when it comes down to it.

"What kind of a place can master flying so it's even safer that boats?"

[2onostromo]

A true metropolis. She's dubious, having spent so many years as the unhopeful audience to a dozen space cooperations' boastings; this station will exceed all others in size, functionality and pleasure, and you may find yourself forgetting you've stepped foot on it at all. It is a true metropolis. A home away from home; only to be met by routine technological failures, poor maintenance and greed.

"Never hurts to travel in groups."

Step, step, sway. Perhaps her world is different. A city teeming with magic sounds infinitely more appealing than whatever metal husk she can imagine.

An obvious question glares ever-so-obviously. You never did see it, did you? Ellen keeps this to herself. Not the time.

"We sort of forced ourselves into it, really. I'm not sure how industrious your home is, but ours... It'd suffered for a long time, thanks to us. The atmosphere broke down, temperatures skyrocketed, food sources went scarce. Space travel isn't new— years and years ago, only a small number of people were permitted to fly, and rarely did this include civilians— but things went from bad to worse and we'd needed to keep up."

Ripley has no problem telling the macabre tale. Earth's fate feels so far away to her that she recites it like textbook.

Then, smiling in the manner of a person sharing a secret, she says; "Actually, Earth isn't really my home. I was born on our moon."

i never hit send on this oh my god

[abhorrently]

What a terrible fate. Magic or no magic, people still could bring cataclysm. But the way Ellen speaks of it, it may have happened long ago, long enough where it was only a fact. Long enough to be able to talk about it in such a place.

But she takes the offered pathway into something else, a lighter subject where happier memories may reside as opposed to a world's gloomy past. Plenty of time for that in the future, when more dour moods might have the opportunity to strike. At least, if those hours at Crane's Ridge ever allow.

"I shouldn't be surprised when you say that, but I still am. The actual moon! That's remarkable."

Her vision of what a moon childhood might be like is entirely incorrect, but no one will be able to tell her differently.

"This place really couldn't be more entirely opposite to where you come from, could it?"

Silly goose!

[2onostromo]

"I'm surprised with all that magic you haven't figured out how to get there," Ripley teases lightly. Her knowledge of magic is rudimentary at best and storybook at worst. She can't conjure a single image of what the practice might look like beyond potions and strange books, wands and rabbits in hats. "You'd fit nicely up in the stars."

She sighs. "Oh, yeah. It's been a real adjustment. You won't believe how long it took me to figure out what my sending stone was actually for. I thought it was decoration. Why anyone would use a rock for decoration is beyond me, but... I'm learning new things every day."

[abhorrently]

Flatterer. For a second time! Careful, or she might start thinking Ellen's doing it on purpose

"You know, if any of those new things feel wildly out of your sphere, I wouldn't mind seeing if I could give some insight. Or at least agreeing that something's bizarre."

She's been here nearly a year, after all, and most of the questions she had when she arrived have been replaced with new ones.

"Regardless, I'd leap at the chance to talk to you again."

[2onostromo]

Leap, huh? Who's the flatterer now?

Ripley's skewed grin continues to endear. "You've taught me a thing or two about dancing just now, that's a start. But yeah, I'll take you up on that. I'm not used to feeling so..." She catches her bottom lip, searching for the right word. "Behind. It's frustrating."

All the more reason to accept guidance from her handsome dance partner.

"And if I had a question, where might I find you?"

[abhorrently]

"Aside from reaching out on your standard issue decorative rock?" Her smile's playful as she says it. "I work at Town Hall. All you have to do is ask for me, if I'm not at the front desk. Or if you see me, out and about - I tend to find myself a lot of different places."

She restrains herself for now from a comment about how her typical trips to Crane's Ridge are in pursuit of the hot springs. But the weather's going to get better, and it'll be easier to tempt people out there as opposed to them scared they'll freeze in the process.

[2onostromo]

Ripley nods, files the information away for later; whenever the next magical peculiarity presents itself— an almost daily guarantee. Maybe this time her furniture will turn into small woodland creatures. It wouldn't be the worst thing...

"I guess I'll keep my eye out."

Then, purely coincidental;

"I'm stuck on Crane's Ridge most days. Or, well... In Crane's Ridge. I work the mines. It isn't so bad. The guys down there are assholes, but they're manageable assholes."

Any man can be a manageable asshole, if you've got the resolve for it.

[abhorrently]

"And the unmanageable ones, you drop them into the deepest mineshafts, right?"

Joking, joking, but she'd do it if she could get away with it.