Fíadh isn’t one to care about the elements, if you asked her on any given day what the weather was like five minutes ago she’d either shrug in apathy or tell you to leave her alone unless you want to buy something. But blocking out the misery of others is much harder for her to do, and it doesn’t take more than half a day for the groaning and moaning of the sopping locals to reach her notice. It’s probably the fifth or sixth person that passes by cursing the rain that she finally storms out of her smithy, grabs that person by the shoulders and roughly steers them to the warmth of her forge before going back to her work. It doesn’t take long for the shop to accumulate a bit of a gathering, people chatting idly by the forge and damp clothes dripping off makeshift lines. Fíadh still keeps to herself, only shushing them every now and then if they get too loud for her liking, but if a few become brave enough to talk to her then that’s their risk to take now isn’t it?
II. WE HATH BUILT THIS CITY ON LUTE AND DRUM
At first it was just the misery of the rain, but all that quickly escalated with the mudslide. Now people are not only soaking but also out of house and home. The second Fíadh hears the news she gathers all the useful tools she can find within her shop and makes her way out into town (not before giving those still warming by her hearth a piercing glare and the warning “don’t touch anything”). Going from broken home to broken home, she’s helping however she can. Clearing debris, getting people to higher ground, boarding up quick fixes where it’s possible. However someone might find her, she’s doing some sort of work and if they want to they can certainly give her a hand.
III. LEAN UPON ME WHEN THOU ART DEVOID OF STRENGTH
It’s a couple days after the mudslide and the ground has settled about as well as it’s going to. Fíadh is wandering back and forth along the trajectory of the disaster down to the riverbed with a burlap sack in hand. She’s obviously searching, what for isn’t so obvious. Not until she spies a disruption in the smooth mud, a bit of painted wood poking up from the ground. She kneels down and begins to scoop away the mud until the object comes out in a soft sucking squelch. It’s some sort of toy on wheels, it looks like maybe a dog or a cat although the mud covering it is obscuring most of its form. What it is doesn’t really matter, Fíadh knows that. What it means is everything. Someone will be missing this. She opens up her sack and gently places the toy in before getting back to her feet and resuming her search.
OPEN TO ALL
Fíadh isn’t one to care about the elements, if you asked her on any given day what the weather was like five minutes ago she’d either shrug in apathy or tell you to leave her alone unless you want to buy something. But blocking out the misery of others is much harder for her to do, and it doesn’t take more than half a day for the groaning and moaning of the sopping locals to reach her notice.
It’s probably the fifth or sixth person that passes by cursing the rain that she finally storms out of her smithy, grabs that person by the shoulders and roughly steers them to the warmth of her forge before going back to her work. It doesn’t take long for the shop to accumulate a bit of a gathering, people chatting idly by the forge and damp clothes dripping off makeshift lines. Fíadh still keeps to herself, only shushing them every now and then if they get too loud for her liking, but if a few become brave enough to talk to her then that’s their risk to take now isn’t it?
II. WE HATH BUILT THIS CITY ON LUTE AND DRUM
At first it was just the misery of the rain, but all that quickly escalated with the mudslide. Now people are not only soaking but also out of house and home. The second Fíadh hears the news she gathers all the useful tools she can find within her shop and makes her way out into town (not before giving those still warming by her hearth a piercing glare and the warning “don’t touch anything”). Going from broken home to broken home, she’s helping however she can. Clearing debris, getting people to higher ground, boarding up quick fixes where it’s possible. However someone might find her, she’s doing some sort of work and if they want to they can certainly give her a hand.
III. LEAN UPON ME WHEN THOU ART DEVOID OF STRENGTH
It’s a couple days after the mudslide and the ground has settled about as well as it’s going to. Fíadh is wandering back and forth along the trajectory of the disaster down to the riverbed with a burlap sack in hand. She’s obviously searching, what for isn’t so obvious. Not until she spies a disruption in the smooth mud, a bit of painted wood poking up from the ground. She kneels down and begins to scoop away the mud until the object comes out in a soft sucking squelch.
It’s some sort of toy on wheels, it looks like maybe a dog or a cat although the mud covering it is obscuring most of its form. What it is doesn’t really matter, Fíadh knows that. What it means is everything. Someone will be missing this. She opens up her sack and gently places the toy in before getting back to her feet and resuming her search.