nowSERENITY
Distrustful Guardian
Lurk
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100.0% | [ 30 ] |
| Total Votes: | [ 30 ] | ||
nowSERENITY
nowSERENITY
Distrustful Guardian
nowSERENITY
Distrustful Guardian
nowSERENITY
Distrustful Guardian
nowSERENITY
Distrustful Guardian
nowSERENITY
Distrustful Guardian
nowSERENITY
Distrustful Guardian
nowSERENITY
Distrustful Guardian
The deep, resonating tone of the Town Hall bell echoed in the dark, pervading the valley in measured peals that every local understood. It meant something had gone wrong in their little pocket of the universe; the day's pre-dawn chores would have to wait. It meant ushering everyone out of bed and getting to the communal shelter with its heavy cob walls and wooden beams-- the tradition of coming together in the face of the unknown. They came on bikes and in dusty pickups, sometimes pausing to boost walking neighbors up into a truck bed or sidecar. Farms on the fringes where the sound of the bell dipped to frustrating subtlety were bombarded with texts and calls from others higher on the phone tree. Are you up? Get going. Bring coffee.
Pieter Barker waved them on by the dozen between frantic texts of his own, using the light of his phone like a traffic signal, occasionally calling out reminders to those operating on anxiety more than brains. The lanky twenty-something didn't cut a particularly authoritative figure, but he was a familiar one, standing at the mouth of the alley between the Little Dog diner and the sturdy Town Hall. The way behind him was too narrow to allow for traffic, a holdover from a time before cars were even a thing, preserved by Caraway's council to maintain the village's unique charm and to be an absolute pain in the a**. Hence Pieter blocking the shadowy crook between the buildings, standing in the way to keep any braintrust from getting their vehicle stuck. "Park n' take th'lane! Doan block th'way, n'w! Let th'littluns through firs'!"
Overhead was the skyglow: a swath of aurora that had no right to exist this far south, beautiful to some and terrifying to others. A shining undulation of blues and greens danced above the Wardens, an unmistakable signal that in the deep of the woods things were changing. The wind kicked up through the trees, exhilarating in its glory, a sudden thrill of leaves through the cobbled streets, and for a moment people paused to stare into that light.
"Rubberneckin'll be a fine~" Pietr called, gesturing oncomers toward the Town Hall entrance with the bright screen of his phone like an air traffic controller. The blonde's usual good humor seemed strained, even his attempt at levity falling flat. Always so charming when he manned his family's diner counter, it was probably worrying to see the eldest Barker brother anxious about anything. "'vrybody goan grab an edge'a bench! Best t'get tucked in an' close up th'doors."
It had been a church once (and still was sometimes when a preacher was handy) though the Hall hadn't seen a proper crucifix or stained glass in over a century. What the building did have were sturdy limed cob walls reinforced internally with narrow iron bars. The heavy double doors bolted closed from the inside, as did the shutters for the windows. Generations had weathered storms both literal and metaphorical under its roof, and already people were lining up the backless benches, pulling them to the center of the room for children and the elderly. At the head of the room, two women sat at a long table, one blonde and unkempt from sleep-- Susan Barker, Pieter's mother. The other was Daisy Rene Sunnydew, as coifed and poised in her linen suit as she'd been the first day she took office, her hands resting calmly one atop the other. There should have been a third among them, the last leg of their tiny village council, but Tomas Ong was conspicuously missing.
More wandered in and room was made, people scooting in side by side, benches scuffing across the floors as they were pulled from their places against the walls. Low murmurs grew as relatives and friends looked for one another and breathed relief. On scattered backless benches sat children with bare feet and old men in their yard boots. Mothers, grandmothers, husbands, and sons. In the past, the Hall might have struggled to hold them all, but nowadays Caraway was home to just over a hundred souls. As the stream of citizens slowed to a trickle, other absences were all too easy to notice. The town's doctor wasn't inside, nor her husband. Mikhail's towering height hadn't come through the doors. One of the Marden daughters was missing, too, her father moving down the rows to ask the same question in a loop. Seen Bailey? You seen my little girl?
Tsukiyohei
- David "Davey" Clement
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
WHERE: Caraway Village Town Hall
WITH: Townsfolk
- - -
STR: 3 - - - - - HEALTH: 3
AGI: 3 - - - - - ENERGY: 3
INT: 1 - - - - - BUFF: N/A
CHA: 3 - - - -- DEBUFF: N/A
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The day of a baker started bright and early: often before the sun had even thought to grace the sky. Davey was already up and baking at 3:00AM to get ready for the morning rush. The larger treats like breads and buns were prepped in special tins while the cookies and muffins were in trays and the specialized pastries like croissants were set for their own specific ovens. The Clement Family Bakery was a whirlwind of activity in the early morn with Davey and his grandmother Agatha moving between mixing ingredients to setting them in the hot ovens and placing them onto the displays. The air was full of flour and sugar and spices and heat—just the way Davey liked it. (Though thankfully, he and his gramma always wore top tier ventilator masks while baking: no bakers’ lung for these two!)
But, like every morning, Davey found a private moment away from his grandmother to take a selfie of himself with his most favorite, special treats of the morning:
A donut bar slathered with maple icing and a generous helping of crispy bacon bits, a bear claw drizzled with warm honey and almonds, and a coffee with no sugar and enough cream to make it basically milk. In the shot, Davey was beaming with pride and giving the camera an incredibly enthusiastic thumbs up next to the treats. He opened up his text thread to his other favorite person in town and the daily recipient of this gourmet dessert breakfast: Mikhail Nicolaev.
DAVEY
3:15AM: Hey good morning!! Got your favorites here all set for ya!
3:15AM: My gramma bought some Kona coffee the other day and I snuck some for you!
3:16AM: Don’t tell her or she’ll kill me lol
3:16AM: Looking forward to seeing you today! Got a surprise for you later!
3:16AM: How’s your morning going, sleepyhead? : )
Still beaming with the flutter in his chest he got just from texting the other man, Davey nervously set his phone down so he wouldn’t stare at it until 7AM when Mikhail would actually be on his way to pick up his food.
The rest of the baking went without a hitch until the ominous tone of the Town Hall bell rung. Agatha let out an exasperated sigh and slapped her gloves onto the counter.
[********] she said.
”Hey, since it’s a town meeting, why don’t we bring all this stuff to them? The folks’re probably gonna be hungry and we can save them the morning trip here,” Davey responded brightly.
Agatha’s eyes narrowed in thought before she threw her head back and let loose a cackle like a witch in a 1980’s Halloween movie. ”And I do love me a captive customer base!! Let’s go, sweetie, you get the coffee and I’ll start packin’ this s**t up.”
”You got it, Gramma!”
DAVEY
3:32AM: Hey, I just heard the bell and wanna check in! You doing okay? Did you see something on patrol?
3:32AM: Please let me know if you need any help, I’d be more than happy to swing by!
3:41AM: Okay, you must be busy, so no worries! Gramma and I are headed to town hall with a bunch of donuts and stuff, so see you soon! : )
---
Agatha and Davey arrived fashionably late to the meeting but with the best excuse possible: it took a while to load up the carts to get all this stuff goin’! They came in through the doors and once the smell of freshly baked goods filled the town hall, you could practically feel the rumbling of tired tummies eager for some breakfast.
”Coffee and donuts and croissants and stuff here!” Davey announced, pulling a couple benches together to serve as a staging area for the food.
”I’ll be takin’ payments over here! s**t ain’t free, y’know!”
Davey excitedly pulled out his little bags of special goodies and the Kona coffee. He scanned the crowd but didn’t see hide nor hair of Mikhail. It seemed like Mr. Marden was looking for Bailey, too, which was weird. And Gramma was smiling and cursing instead of scowling and cursing, which meant that Tomas Ong wasn’t anywhere nearby, either. Either way, it didn't seem to worry Agatha too much as she gently chided people into paying up for the food. An orderly line formed and it seemed like people really appreciated the gesture of kindness. Still, something nagged at the corner of Davey's mind, so he whipped out his phone and began typing furiously:
DAVEY
3:49AM: Hey, are you safe and ok? I don’t see you at the meeting!
3:50AM: Did you find something on patrol? Do you need help?
3:54AM: Is Tomas up to some shady s**t? I don’t see him here either
4:01AM: Hello?
Clutching the paper bags and still-steaming coffee close to his chest, Davey sheepishly made his way to Daisy Rene Sunnydew and cleared his throat.
”H-hello, Ms. Sunnydew. I was just—uh—y’know, wondering about Mikhail, ‘cause I don’t see him anywhere. Is he, uh, is he still out on patrol? Did he radio back something?”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I'm not deep
Don't wanna know what death is all about
But I need
To know that if I die that you'll be proud of me (of me)
And everything you hoped that I would be
I'd be
But I'm weak
Criticism knocks me to the ground
When I speak
I don't like hearing words that's coming out
But God please
How come you didn't tell me this before?
I'm confident that I'm insecure
(Wo-oh)
I'm confident that I'm insecure
(Wo-oh)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
nowSERENITY
Distrustful Guardian
"Pietrhoney, come on inside! I think that's about everybody!" Daisy Rene called at last, all calm finality. In a room of the harried and hurried, the councilwoman spoke with decisive self assurance. The sweep of her hair was an artful wave even at this early hour, and Daisy's entire presence was curated to telegraph the message that everything is fine. Behind the round wire frames of her glasses the councilor's eyes crinkled at the corners-- age, rather than amusement. Creeping closer to sixty every day, she was still hale and hardy. And sharp, most of all. Beside her, Pieter's mother flashed the senior councilwoman a look as her son started to persuade one of the huge doors to move on its massive hinges. Susan always hated it when Daisy Rene ordered her eldest around. Hated it worse that he listened, probably.
If it had been something as simple as discussing hedge heights or a vote on paving someone's drive, it would have gone on the board outside the general store. A flyer would get tacked up in the Little Dog. She'd have had Wendell and Pieter remind people that community meetings were their civic duty even if they weren't mandatory, and the same trickle of involved parties would have come to talk about lapses in cell service or how they heard Fennelton had a sushi place. Why couldn't Caraway have a sushi place, Daisy? The rest would go about their business the same as ever, content to let the village council handle things, and to let Daisy Rene handle the village council. Granted, it had been a long, long time since anyone had enough authority to let Daisy do anything. She did as she pleased, and the result was balance. Structure.
The bell was a different thing altogether. When the bell rang, it was to announce that danger was back at the door, an as-yet nameless something that they would learn about together in an anxious huddle. It was a warning that a corruption was invading their sleepy valley. They'd weathered storms and oddities in this building for generations, dispersed the news of deaths and disappearances, given careful instruction for how best to keep families safe. That was the thread that tied them all together no matter what ring someone wore: The desire to keep things peaceful.
".. Do you know where he is?" Susan murmured beside her, talking out the corner of her mouth as if that would keep people from noticing if they came too close. The councilwoman didn't favor her sleep bedraggled colleague with a response, earning a frustrated sigh from the blonde. Pieter's mother was intractable, but Daisy had found that she simply wasn't smart enough to cause real trouble. It was fine to irritate her a little, especially when Susan asked stupid questions. Of course she knew where Tomas was. She was the one who sent him there.
There were kids on the crowded benches young enough to have never seen a skyglow before. There were even people who'd grown complacent enough in the past fifteen years to forget that the last one marked a break in the fence and heralded disappearances that had never been solved. But they had the good sense to show up on time and take their places without too much fanfare, at least until the Clements turned the state of emergency into a business opportunity. The citizens of Caraway knew how to queue, but it was still galling enough that it left the councilor pursing her lips in disapproval-- an expression that remained as Davey approached her. He seemed properly nervous about setting up his grandmama's business in the middle of of Town Hall on the worst possible occasion, and it was the only thing that earned him the magnanimity of her smile.
"I'm sure that he'll be grateful for the concern, David. Don't you worry, now. Our First is safe as it gets." She assured, gently tapping the edge of the table with just her middle and ring finger, signaling the other Fál to step in a little closer so she could drop her voice further, confiding, "But I need everybody good and settled before we can tackle what's happened. Will you help Piet with those doors for me, just in case?"
Just in case something bad is coming, said the lift of dark brows over the rims of her glasses. The look Daisy gave him was significant, and one that he would have to understand, if he hoped to live up to all that praise Mikhail kept giving him.
Tsukiyohei
U n d r a w n