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

[shepherddain]

It lands, alright. It sprays a spectacular shower of snow down Dain's front, and it makes him laugh, and scoop up some more snow from the ground.

This is not how he expected his day to go, either -- but it's a very, very welcome bit of joy.

The children, emboldened by all these recent successes, very quickly turn on Dain and each other, in the time-honoured tradition of every man for himself. It's not long before they're moving off, pushing each other into snow drifts, happily seeking some other bit of fun elsewhere, and Dain is left with snow all over his shoulders and hair, freezing cold and beaming warmth.

"Thank you," he says breathlessly. "I needed that. I hope we didn't take too much of your time?"

[ellrigaeta]

By the time the snowball fight devolves into a free-for-all and the children scamper off, Lorne is pretty well covered in snow, too. Obvious patches of it where snowballs landed cling to his cloak, warmed some by the exertion. His breath comes in quick puffs, fogging up in the cold air, and he's smiling more with his eyes than his mouth. Force of habit. The bemusement about the Shepherd hasn't gone away, either, but Lorne thinks he wouldn't be smiling like that if there were problems to come.

"Not at all. I'm not on a schedule," Lorne replies with a shake of his head, brushing snowflakes off of his clothing. There are definitely small trails of melted snow running down his neck. He should invest in a hat. Several questions are on the tip of his tongue, but he's still a bit uncertain about where the ground lays with this Shepherd. What is or is not appropriate has gone out the proverbial window. He trudges across the few feet of snow between them and holds out a gloved hand. "Lorne Ward. And... you're welcome, I suppose."

Beat. "I'm surprised that you..." Lorne trails off, gestures instead to the disturbed snow all around them to indicate the antics.

II.

[keenly]

As the night wears on, some people start dancing to the music. By some people, naturally, we mean a lot of women. Who are then upset that none of the men want to dance, because they need partners. It wasn't the mens' idea for everyone to get up and dance, but there you have it. The women start pulling men in against their will--lovers, brothers, fathers, friends, whoever is pliable enough. Colin is none of these, but he is also recognized as one of the most pliable men in town, so he gets pulled in. After the first dance, though, he glances about and peels away, walking up to Lorne.

"Come on," he says. "If I have to, so do you."

[infinitewatch]

Lance shakes his head. "The ghosts stood by the grave. I believe they wanted to be put to rest." It's insane.

"Father Normand remained behind and did so. We haven't seen any since."

[infinitewatch]

Lance just looks at him with unspeakable weariness.

Always.

[pestler]

Finian follows her gesture with his gaze, then looks back with a bewildered smile.

"Souls' Day?" he asks, tilting his head. "Or, I mean... well it's not Souls' Day anymore, but they wouldn't like it if we forgot about them entirely."

[pestler]

"Oh. Mushrooms," Finian says, and, as if on cue, plucks one out of the ground. It's looking a little sadder than it did before it was buried in snow, but it's here nonetheless.
"I saw them before all the snow fell and wanted to see if I could salvage any."

[keenly]

Otherwise known as a bun-of-the-mill.

"Yes." Spoken as another who is a better listener than speaker.

[ellrigaeta]

When the dancing gets underway, Lorne is initially too far off to the side to be easily pulled in. It probably helps that his default expression does not inspire one to confidence that he will agree to move anywhere, much less be persuaded to dancing. When Colin approaches him, however-- first he takes a moment to absorb the new look. Did he have the beard and mustache last time Lorne was here? He feels like he'd remember that, given how well it suits his foster sibling.

In any case, Lorne would have a hard time saying no to him for anything in the realm of reasonable. Muddling through dancing is hardly a serious trial.

"Must I?" This is light, amused, and Lorne is already getting on his feet. "That's hardly unassailable logic."

[shepherddain]

Dain's lost his hat, or at least the scarf he's been using as a hat, somewhere in the scuffle. No doubt it's buried in snow. He'll find it later.

"Johannes Dain," he replies in kind, shaking Lorne's hand. "I go by Dain, most days. It's a pleasure to meet you." He sounds like he means it, too, rather than simply following an introduction script; it's always a pleasure to meet someone who doesn't take themselves too seriously. Gods know he gets more than enough of that in Fairport.

"... that I what?" For a moment Dain looks utterly confused, following Lorne's gesture to the disturbed snow all around them. "That I lost my scarf? That's quite -- oh." Right. Of course. Maireglenne, Path of Light, penance, witchcraft. Several minutes of carefree fun in the snow had gone quite a ways in erasing Dain's memory. Back to the real world now; he straightens, loses the smile a little.

"Life is difficult enough without teaching children they're never allowed to enjoy themselves," he explains. "We usually try not to let our hair down, as it were, but... I admit, sometimes I can't pass up the opportunity."

[shepherddain]

Ah. Ghosts of the travelers, the victims; not the highwaymen. Insofar as the appearance of ghosts makes any sense whatsoever, at least it seems they're not truly a threat, and certainly not anymore.

Carefully, Dain asks: "What killed the highwaymen?"

[bonecraft]

"It's easy to do," she soothes, as if Pippa is the startled animal and not the filly. Roesia smiles back at her, tucking her basket away; no need for it to get caught on any branches while they walk.

Roesia steps a bit like a deer, testing the snow with one booted foot, picking out a path around brambles and stones. She seems to know where she's going, at least, though every once in a while she pauses and seems to listen to- something.

"I'm Roesia," she tells Pippa, in response to her own introduction. Her smile is warm, despite her strange appearance, and she keeps turning her head to make sure Pippa and the filly are still with her. "It's nice to meet you."

[ferruginous]

"Yes." Her gaze lingers on the patrons celebrating. "I ... it was never observed in my home, and I've never really been curious before."

[strumpeting]

She lets him leave, but not without calling out one last time with a wave.

"A pleasure, Ben the Carver!"

She hugs her arms around her midsection giddily as she watches him go, happy with the prospect of a new muse. So much inspiration to be had in this town! More and more she's glad that she's stayed.

Now, back to business. Specifically, the prospect of throwing snowballs at the door of the constabulary sounds particularly appealing right now.

[keenly]

"It's nothing to do with logic," Colin says with some amusement. "It's to do with the hope that sharing humiliation might cut it in half."

Some of the more complex emotions and auras still elude Colin a bit, but whatever it is he's sensing from Lorne, he feels oddly flattered by it. At the very least, Lorne is glad to see him, and he is glad to see Lorne. Before they move to join the dancers, Colin gets out of the way what's necessary--a big hug.

"Welcome home."

[infinitewatch]

Lance is quiet for a long while, to the point where it almost seems he hasn't heard the question.

Then, he simply gives a little shake of his head. "I dare not speak of it."

[pestler]

"Oh."
His eyes go vacant for a moment as he thinks about how best to describe it.

"With all the trees and plants going dormant for the winter, it's, um, it's an opportunity to think about. Our own lives. And how they won't be forever." He takes a pensive sip.
"And we honor the people we've lost, because they're always around, and... well you've seen what happens when their feelings are hurt."

[engravitas]

"We could just close it," Ben says with a quirk of his eyebrow, "it's not like he can do what we do. People can wait for their stupid chairs."

[engravitas]

"Mm."
A little nod which becomes hidden behind his cup as he takes another drink. Yep, Kit's sure doing that.

[engravitas]

"All right," comes the disinterested reply, and Ben continues sanding. "Kit will come by to take measurements when he's back." They haven't discussed this, of course, but it's safe to say Ben is generally not the one who makes the house calls.

[beane]

"Not enough to worry about," he assures, and digs around in the chaos to find something to wrap the candles in. "If you'd said you were looking to light an entire cathedral, well. Then we'd have an issue."

Four candles are neatly wrapped and handed over with a nod. "That'll be...sixpence."

It's usually a shilling, of course, but she did help move that heavy heckin' cauldron.

[beane]

Beane says some appropriate religious euphemism that bears the same feeling as "aw, fiddlesticks" and seeks comfort in the warm food and drink.

[beane]

Beane nods, the pause stretching long enough to seem like he's at a loss for how to continue the conversation, but then a question comes to being.

"How...frequently is the town overrun by specters and the like? Are odd things common?"

[beane]

"Any idea when that will be? Just...so I can know when to expect them?"

[ellrigaeta]

"Here's hoping for half instead of double. I haven't had to dance in a long while," he says, laughter in his tone. Lorne returns the hug without reservation, clapping him warmly on the back. "It's good to be home, ridiculously early snow aside."

He releases Colin and makes only a cursory step or two towards the open space used for dancing. "You're looking well. Older," Lorne tells him, chafing a hand against his jaw to indicate Colin's beard. "Good choice. How's the bakery?"