OPEN | this winter brings all the cold to the yard

[northcliffpass]

𝕒 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕪 𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕒𝕝

surprise!

I. Snow!

A mere week after the grisly discovery in the Deep Forest and the subsequent dispersal of the eerie spectral visitors, all Northcliff Pass residents wake one exceptionally frigid morning to find themselves buried under several feet of snow. It is of the light and fluffy variety--at least for now--which provides no shortage of entertainment for the village children, and means one is less likely to throw one's back out while trying to shovel it clear of doorways and the streets.

That is your first order of business, as it happens: free yourselves from your wintry entrapment. Or don't, if you've got enough food and drink squirrelled away in your tiny peasant house that you don't need to venture out into the elements. The world is your cold, shitty, socially stratified oyster; ditch your responsibilities, sleep in.

II. Fete! at ye olde tavern

All Souls' Day came and went, and nobody can really be blamed for forgetting about it what with the ghosts and the gloomy business of seeing to the bodies. All that aside the Hammer and Spoke seems especially welcoming that first wintry night, once all the snow shovelling is finished and the streets are clear enough for foot traffic again; lit lanterns glow warmly outside the door, and from within come the sounds of joyful music. Fiddles, whistles, a drum, and plenty of laughter; it seems the snow has stranded a troupe of minstrels in the village, which means at least two or three nights of great fun for village residents.

In truth it will take more than a few nights of drunk mischief to lift the pall cast across the village after the previous month's discoveries, but maybe that's why so many people gravitate to the light and levity and warmth of a party. After such a close call with so much death, it's good to remind oneself that there's joy in the world, too.

III. Cramped Quarters

The nights might be filled with good company, food, and drink, but during the day the village has to contend with another frustration: the roads in and out of Northcliff Pass are closed until the snow melts.

This is a common experience--in late December, January, and February. Not so much in November, when farmers are preparing to take their surplus harvest and livestock down the mountain to Cliffside, or when caravans with schedules to keep to are preparing to head east towards Woodsedge. (The only road clear in that direction is guaranteed to take them past Turn--something no one wants to risk.) Even a few late-season pilgrims have found themselves stuck between Gods' Reach at the summit of the mountain, and the creature comforts of Cliffside below.

There's nothing to be done for it, of course, except to endure the unusually crowded streets, the lack of vacancies at the tavern, and the occasional herd of sheep or goats picketed in very odd places.

Comments

[keenly]

"It-it's not my harvest," Colin corrects him quickly. "I bought them." For today's tarts. Which were going to be so beautiful, and still might be if he can gather enough of the berries that scattered. A number of them just didn't survive the fall. "It's fine, it really is."

[beane]

Luckily for Colin, Beane doesn't actually want to talk, especially not while they're exerting themselves thusly. Low-investment pleasantries will be the extent of their social intercourse if he has his way.

He nods once in acknowledgment of this plan, and the work commences.

Once they do indeed meet in the middle, Beane surveys the cleared path, nods again, and extends his hand in proper introduction to the baker.

"A job well-done. Kendrick Beane, by the way. A pleasure."

[shepherddain]

It's fine once is polite. It's fine twice is I don't want your help, stay away. So Dain does, rising smoothly to his feet and putting two steps' distance between them, a clear acknowledgement of that unspoken request. Perhaps he can save more berries from getting stepped on instead.

Dain looks down at the sizeable bag the winter berries were in before it spilled out onto the snow. "You bought them?" he asks, bemused. "For cooking, or are the berries especially good up here in the winter?"

[keenly]

"Um, I'm the baker here," Colin explains in an apologetic tone. "Sorry about your clothes, I can..." He doesn't actually know what he can do about them. "I can give them a good scrub, or something, if you want to bring them by later."

[keenly]

"Very good business," he admits happily. "Even better now I'm encouraging people to gamble. And if people weren't so bored, I'm sure the church might...care, or something." Not that Adhemar really seems to pay attention, and Vervain can't see the sign, so. Best town in Maireglenne.

[keenly]

"Colin Keane." Colin shakes the offered hand and gestures toward the bakery with his other. "If you want to come inside, I'll let you pick something out for free."

[shepherddain]

Dain makes a dismissive gesture. "Don't worry about my clothes, they'll be fine. Food is much more difficult to salvage. The bakery -- that's yours?" He sounds delighted, in an almost childish way. "There were some wonderful smells out there yesterday. Do you still have enough berries there, or did you lose too many?"

[keenly]

"It's not an exact science," Colin says, checking how many berries are in the bag now. He sighs. "Worst-case scenario, I can make berry cakes instead of tarts. I just...haven't set any cake batter to prove yet, so it'll take a bit longer."

[beane]

"Oh! Ah," Surprise, delight, trepidation, regret, all these things pass over his face in quick succession. It's clearly the face of someone who would like to accept, but thinks he ought not to. But he is a bit peckish... but he doesn't want to be a bother... but—

"Thank—that is, that's very kind but I should..." He should have been to the church more than an hour past. He is not making it to morning prayers. What's the harm? He chuckles nervously.

"I should apologize for being so out of practice when it comes to conversing."

[keenly]

"Um, I'm the last person to judge there." He gestures for Beane to follow him inside. "I get most of my practice in with the chickens," he adds. "You can borrow them for that purpose if you want."

Inside, the pastries are cooling. Thanks to the oven, it's more temperate inside the building than outside, but not as warm as it would be if there was a fire in a fireplace, which there is not. The door on the front of the clay oven is shut tightly as more loaves bake in it.

"Pick whatever you'd like," he says with a gesture at the tables full of baked goods. The vast majority is loaves of bread, but there are also various cakes, pastries, and buns.

[shepherddain]

Dain nods, like he has any idea what 'set cake batter to prove' means. He's not a baker. Just an avid follower of the results.

He'd planned on offering to replace what was lost, but on second thought, that may not be a good idea. The baker is skittish enough as it is, and Dain certainly doesn't want to make anyone feel like they're obligated to accept an offer of help. If it's not an exact science, that's even less reason to leave the offer hanging. And berry cakes sound delicious.

"In that case, I'll be sure to stop by later today," he promises. "I can't say I've tried a berry cake before. I hope you have a lovely day, Mr..." He pauses, and smiles wryly. "... as a wild guess, Baker?"

[keenly]

“Keane,” Colin corrects nonchalantly. “Or just Colin. I’ll...see you then, your...holiness?”

[shepherddain]

Keane. As in a keen baker. Dain smiles to himself; he'll remember that.

Then he laughs, quite abruptly, which is really an answer all on its own. "Goodness, no. I appreciate the consideration, but -- just Dain is fine."

[engravitas]

A long, dragging sigh says what Ben wants to: this sucks and I'm mad, but the hand in his hair convinces him to at least behave himself for the moment.
"Someday we'll go to the beach," he decides, "...not... not around Fairport, maybe. But we'll go to the seaside, in the summertime."

II

[engravitas]

Kit has gone off to socialize, as Kits do, which means Ben is left alone in his little corner. He bears the distinctive look of someone who Does Not Want To Be Accosted, so upon spotting Fiadh, he carefully picks up his drink and shuffles over to sit in the corner near her.
He doesn't say anything, he knows what this is. He trusts her not to either. Their relationship is intuitive like that.

III

[engravitas]

One such supplier is about as friendly as ever, which is to say, not at all.
A grunt greets Beane as he enters the carpentry shop, and Ben is sitting alone in the workspace, sanding the legs of a chair in progress. He doesn't even look up, but the sound seems to be a prompt for the customer to state his business.

[infinitewatch]

Does he have advice? Lance's gaze goes far away as he thinks about it.
"Well we," he murmurs after a moment, "we discovered-- what they were about, in the end." He nods to himself, and does not elaborate, because that would make this conversation too easy.

II

[infinitewatch]

Lance's shoulder has to be patted on Beane's way into the tavern, because as a rule he doesn't attend these things: whether that's because he's working or because of his crippling social anxiety remains to be determined, but it's probably safe to assume a combination of both.

He looks surprised at the contact as Beane passes, but then gives a little nod of acknowledgment, pleased at least to have solved one (1) bullshit mystery in this place.

[pestler]

"Yeah, it's like that sometimes," Finian says with a lopsided grin, crouching again to continue digging for the mushrooms. "At least you brought your own home. I always feel terrible when people get stranded and have to share rooms at the inn."

[pestler]

"I'll go with your instinct," Finny decides, and drops a coin into the Boy jar. "We just got a baby girl in town, after all. Maybe they'll alternate."

[pestler]

Being the son of the Watch captain, Finian looks very fondly on anyone who helps them-- or Lance, in particular-- and Fiadh has been on his radar for a while.
"Well," he says, noting her reticence, "happy late Saints' Day." He flashes a grin, lifts his mug, and turns to go back the way he came.

If there's one thing he knows, it's how to navigate interactions with a shy and deeply awkward individual.

[ferruginous]

If someone were to look closely in clear light they might notice the small spark of a smile crinkle at the corner of her eyes as Ben approaches. Or it could be some dust kicked up from all the comings-and-goings of the tavern.

Look maybe, maybe, she's making a ... amicable acquaintance.

She sits in their usual silence for a bit before she remembers she does actually have something to talk to him about.

"I met your friend. The other carver."

[strumpeting]

This time it's Elena looming over Ben as he struggles in the snow and she lets out a small, sweet giggle. Almost like chasing and serenading a man against his will is a fun little game. Well, it is, but ...

She moves to offer her hand in help but he's already making his way to his feet. Okay, she has to accept it, he's shy. And that's fine.

"All right, all right I'll work on it. But trust me, Ben Carver, everyone in town will have the worm of your song wriggling in their heads before the snow melts!"

She says it like a virtuous promise and less like the threat it probably is.

[strumpeting]

"Oh-ho! One of my favorites, although the last variation I played involved quite a lot of loosed clothing but I suppose this isn't the ideal place for it.

Well, not without a few more drinks. I'm Elena by-the-by, and you are ...?"

III.

[ferruginous]

If there's one thing Fíadh has in plenty of abundance it's fire, you know, being the smith and all. However it took until about three days ago for her to run out her small supply of candles. She had tried to get by rigging up a platter of glowing coals carried around her home by a pair of tongs, but after nearly burning the building down twice she finally admitted she might have to just, you know, get new candles.

Luckily for her word has been spreading of a chandler trapped by the sudden snowfall and willing to take up his trade here. So Fíadh finds herself walking into his sparse shop with a sharp knock on the doorframe.

"Hello?"