mama said don't give up [open]

[necrocabbage]

Characters: Trahearne and you!
Date: Throughout September
Location: In town and at the Dreaming Bridge
Situation: Various open logs, involving a typical work day, bad art, and cute goth plushies. He's doing his best to keep busy.
Warnings/Rating: Nothing yet


A. At Work, Shopping District
Anovel's Antiques is a small store wedged between a bakery and the office for a construction company. The exterior has been recently painted, but on the inside the antique store is crowded and slightly musty, with a single large window that has a range of items lined up on the sill. The place really does sell a little of everything - there's paintings and clocks on the walls, an entire shelf lined with small statues, a number of kedan spirit houses, and even some plushies and examples of needlework. Everything there was at least a couple of decades old, if not older, and if a customer was looking for something they didn't have, chances were the owner would have some idea of where to find it.

There's never a large amount of customers, but at least a couple wander in every hour. Trahearne is usually behind the counter when he's not showing someone one of the pieces they have for sale. When it's quieter, he's either helping with keeping up the store's records or sneaking in a little light reading.


B.Arts 2, the Dreaming Bridge
There's strange graffiti on the side of one of the Dreaming Bridge's unoccupied buildings. By now, Trahearne knows what the Night Fisher is, but that's not the part of the artwork that bothers him. He knows that the Dreaming has a habit of making translations appear - he's certainly had trouble writing in New Krytan and having it remain that way - so what's special about the graffiti? What's preventing it from being touched by the Dreaming?

Trahearne wants to find out. To that end, he's sitting in the grass facing the wall, notebook in hand as he attempts to write down the message. 'Attempt' is certainly the right word. The longer he looks at the letters, the more it aches, until he's developed such a headache that it feels like a migraine. He's finally forced to take a break, groaning and clutching his head in both hands, as though that could contain it somehow.


C. Commerce 3, Street Market
Trahearne had just been browsing through one of the street markets when he had the plushie shoved in his face, and though the memory of the horrible graffiti gave him pause, the seller was just pushy enough that he couldn't bring himself to say no. Besides, it was cute. This variety was at least true to the urban legend in silhouette, with long legs and arms, though there was a face stitched on with white thread, X marks for eyes and a wide smiling mouth. He had little use for toys, but it was still strangely appealing.

He wasn't done with his browsing yet, and he had nowhere else to put it... except as an odd fashion accessory. Trahearne wound the plushie's long arms around a segment of the thick leaves that covered his torso, tying it in place. Now he had a sort-of cute, ominous Night Fisher hanging off of his side. He doubted that it would bring him any luck, but it made for a pleasant shopping buddy.

Comments

A!

[acicular]

The shop has a peculiar-looking visitor today--though perhaps not as peculiar-looking as Trahearne himself, in comparison. Antarcticite steps inside the shop quite carefully, mindful of their structure and how even the most casual brush against something too solid might result in a crack or fracture. (Thus far the Dreaming has kept them safe from such accidents, but all of this experience is new to Antarcticite.)

They move with a curious, rather naive curiosity through one of the aisles, blue eyes shifting from one strange object to the next. It is ultimately one of the little kedan spirit houses that catches and holds their attention, and they pause beside, inquisitive. For a moment it looks like they might try to pick the little thing up, but they don't, perhaps cautious of breaking it. (Or themselves.)

[necrocabbage]

The bell set over the doorway rings with the arrival of a new customer, but it's a couple of minutes before Trahearne emerges from a door behind the front counter, where he sets a bundle that's been so well-wrapped with cloth that's it hard to tell what the item's original shape is. "I apologize for the wait. Welcome to Anovel's Antiques."

Once he does look up from the counter, Trahearne does a double-take. The way their hair gleamed in the light... well, the similarity to what he'd seen in other Dreamfolk was unmistakable. Circling around the counter, he stepped down the aisle to join them, still looking a bit surprised. "Excuse me, but you're a Gem, aren't you?"

[acicular]

"I apologize for the wait. Welcome to Anovel's Antiques. ...Excuse me, but you're a Gem, aren't you?"

At Trahearne's approach, Antarcticite looks up from considering the kedan spirit house, and looks the apparent shopkeeper over in curiosity. They've seen many living things in their time here, but Trahearne might be the most unique they've seen yet; a speaking plant, and one who has evidently encountered other gems in his time here.

"Ah, yes," they say, recalling their manners, and straighten their narrow shoulders. They dip their head in a quick greeting. "I am Antarcticite. You've met Rutile, or Padparadscha?"

(Their interest in the spirit houses has been diverted only temporarily, however, judging how their gaze continuously drifts back towards it.)

[necrocabbage]

"Antarcticite," he murmured, reciting it in an effort to make sure he was pronouncing it the right way. "I've spoken to Padparadscha on numerous occasions, yes. They always have something interesting to say. My name is Trahearne, and I've been one of the Dreamfolk here for... a while now."

He offered them a small smile before gesturing to the spirit house, "Did that catch your eye? Let me say first that I don't intend to push you to buy anything if you're new to the city. However, I've been well informed about the things we sell, if you'd like to know more about it."

[acicular]

They look back to the spirit house when Trahearne gestures towards it, their attention seized again. "Please," they say earnestly and step towards it, then look to Trahearne again with interest. "We don't have anything like this in our world--or, if we did, it was lost centuries ago before the gems were born."

[necrocabbage]

"Lost? It sounds as though there's a story behind that," Trahearne said, offering them a small smile before looking to the spirit house.

"Are you familiar with the kedan yet? You may have met some without realizing it. They're a race of shapeshifters, and it's from them that these spirit houses originate. Many of them believe that our luck is influenced by small spirits that can turn the tables towards good or ill. The idea is that you're more likely to attract positive attention from the spirits if you give them a place to stay."

Trahearne reached out to lightly touch the roof of the spirit house as he went on, "This one is about fifty years old, made by the artisan Nevuni. She's been making spirit houses nearly her entire life, and it shows in the details."

B!

[rutility]

Rutile has a habit of popping up in strange and unoccupied places across Aifaran, and it's convenient that one of them is right beside their lodgings. They're passing by on their way out, a book under their arm, when they spy Trahearne sitting near the strange art with a notebook in his lap and his head in his hands, looking so forlorn and worse for the wear that they have to hold back a chuckle.

They stop a few feet away from him. They've never met Trahearne properly, but they have seen him around, and their polite greeting is tainted with a bit of joviality. "You seem quite the academic," they say. "I must say, I've found myself in a similar position on many late nights at work. Is everything alright?"

[necrocabbage]

Trahearne looks up as he's spoken to, blinking a few times when the glint of the sun off their hair threatens to make the pounding in his head a little worse. "Ah, hello there. I wish I could blame this headache on a logical problem, but I haven't even gotten that far in yet."

Was there something wrong with the words? He's tempted to warn them, but Trahearne doesn't know how to explain the effect the graffiti had on him. Perhaps he was reading a little too much into it. Just because he was plant-based didn't mean some kind of foreign pollen wasn't playing havoc with his sinuses. "Forgive me for not knowing your name. I'm afraid that I don't get out to mingle very often."

[rutility]

Rutile nods their head in a little bow. "I am Rutile," they introduce themselves. "It's no trouble. There are so many people here; it's a wonder we can become acquainted with anyone at all. Do you mind if I join you...?"

They gesture to a spot near Trahearne and take a step toward him, though they hang back, waiting for affirmation from the other Dreamfolk. Far be it from Rutile to intrude on someone's privacy.

"This is a pleasant spot," they say a bit later. "What do you blame your headache on, all else being lovely?"

There is no judgment in their voice, just concern and curiosity.

[necrocabbage]

"My name is Trahearne, and you're welcome to join me. I would have had to take a break regardless." After all, he was worried that if he stared at the graffiti any longer, sap might start leaking out of his ears. Looking away from it for a while helped. "The Bridge used to be a bit more crowded when I first arrived here. Now we're all a little more scattered around the city."

The question causes him to take another glance over at the ominous artwork, one that Trahearne almost immediately regrets. He gestures vaguely in that direction, "I have only been here fifteen minutes or less, and it didn't start until I tried to record the writing there. It's odd that it's not translating. The magic that brought us here has always done that for us in the past."