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

Ben

[engravitas]

I. Go out there? Are you crazy? That's what Kit is for.

II. Dragged along to the party by his well-meaning "business partner", Ben contents himself with a mug of mulled wine as he watches the festivities from a little table in the corner. For all that he is perpetually sour, he does at least seem a little calmer than usual, listening raptly to the musicians and enjoying the protection of Kit being right there to field any incoming attempts at socializing.
This could be worse.

III. (closed to Kit) "It's too early," he already complained when the snow first started to fall, and now he sits by the window in grumpy resignation, watching as the town is covered in a white shroud from which he knows full well they won't emerge for half a year.
Back in Fairport winters were sensible. Even in Cliffside they didn't really start until December. This place is like a wintry prison that opens its gates for about three months to let the inmates see some sunlight, then closes them again.
Forehead pressed against the glass, he resembles a child wishing they could go out and play.

[ragweed]

"It's too early."

"Yeah, mornings are like that."

To make up for being a glib smart-ass, Kit comes to stand next to Ben at the window and presses a mug of warm coffee into his hand. He leans against the window frame and looks outside at the miserable weather, absently rubbing the back of Ben's neck with his free hand. "At least the ghosts are gone."

[engravitas]

"No," Ben grumpily retorts, but doesn't continue, allowing himself to be stilled by the coffee. He takes a sip, frowning out the window, but slowly leans into Kit's touch.

"Why did you have to live up here," he mumbles, "we could've gone to Woodsedge."

[ragweed]

The hand migrates up into Ben's hair, affectionately twining the loose strands between his fingers. "That's part of the problem with Woodsedge," Kit tells him quietly. "Lots of people like it." The unstated point being that wherever lots of people happen to be, so too is the heightened risk that one or both of them will be recognized.

He looks out the window again, watching one of the many stranded traders trying to forge her way through a snow bank. She looks utterly miserable.

"No one comes here if they don't have to."

[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."

[ragweed]

"Yeah?" It's asked with a lopsided little smirk that's more heard than seen. "That sounds nice. Just lay around by the water, let someone else run the shop 'til we get back. Maybe Finian." The poor kid could use a break from enduring the village physician's vitriol.

[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."