northclifflogs | Event: August 1312

WHO: Everyone
WHAT: further inconvenience
WHEN: mid-August
WHERE: townwide
NOTES: get your wellies on

It's not that there was a rainstorm. There was, but they happen every so often without any real incident: this one is just happening A Lot, and for a very long time.
It started on Saturday and has not let up since then, with rainfall varying from a smattering to torrential but never abating entirely. The roads are muck, travel and market hours are miserable, and any who have to spend any considerable time out in it (the local Watch, for instance) have the look of drowned rats even with the aid of oilskin cloaks and the occasional break under an awning.

Sands Creek has swelled considerably even in the span of a day or so, and as many of the local old-timers might have predicted, the mudslide follows. Because more mud is exactly what everyone needed.
No one is injured outright, but several of the buildings near the mountain-facing edge of town experience cave-ins: namely, the stable and a few of the houses on Hill Street.

Dealing with it will not be pretty, especially with it being so impossible to stay dry. But it's happened before, and almost certainly will again, some other year from now.

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Rock the Stablah

About a half-hour after the mud has stopped its progress, Detlef is standing in the stables looking up at the decimated roof, muck-filled stalls, and destroyed feed. It's a disaster. The horses are now tied up out in the paddock, at least. There are also a few towel-bundled cats practically stacked up by his hearth, fully on display through the open door since it's his roof that's shot too. This is the disadvantage of living where you work.

"Good," he says, sounding and looking exhausted. "This is exactly what I wanted today." There's a few shovels near him, a stack of towels awaiting muddy cats under the part of the hayloft that's survived, and more work than he knows how to start.

Rock the Barbah

He's soaked, huddled over a hot toddy and a bowl of hot stew, dripping at the counter and staring into nothingness. Maybe he can't really afford to be eating out right now, but he doesn't have the brain to pull anything together right now. Everything about him says he's exhausted and out of it, so clearly it's the perfect time to pester him.

The unending storm means that Arlene's one guaranteed method of social interaction has, ironically, dried up. People still stop by, but not often, driven by desperate necessity instead of idle curiosity.

She's not often in the tavern, because there's only so much social interaction Arlene is comfortable with. But towards the end of the week, she finds out what stir-crazy actually feels like, and that's what brings her down. There shouldn't be many people, right? Not with all this rain.

As it turns out, there's only one other customer there, and it's someone Arlene likes. She thanks the tavernkeeper and takes the chair next to Detlef, giving him a rare smile -- or at least, smiling in his general direction.

"I was told," she says, "that you could do with some cheering up. Is that right?"

He gives her a faint smile back. She can't see it, but she can at least probably hear it behind the tiredness in his voice.

"I could." He sighs and straightens up. "I don't know what you've heard, but the stables are damaged. Badly. It's going to take a lot of work to get them straightened out and..." He exhales again. "And I'm tired. And wet. Dripping wet, even. I'm going to have to mop before I leave tonight. How are you faring, in this weather?"

"Are the horses alright?" Arlene asks immediately. She's always had a soft spot for animals, even when those animals don't return the sentiment -- but even disregarding that, Northcliff Pass losing all of its horses would be a disaster.

... This is not, she realises belatedly, something cheerful to say that would cheer someone up.

"I'm -- sure you'll have help," she says. "No one would leave you to fix it all up on your own." At his question about how she's faring, she smiles again, and admits: "Not very well. I've gotten... turned around. More than once. But I'm sure others have it worse."

When Fíadh heard about the mudslide, she was already concerned for the people of the town. But when she heard that the stables had also been affected? Well, suffice to say many townsfolk see a hulking blur of fear disguised as fury making its way to Detlef's.

She bounds into the building and rounds the corner none-too-gracefully, putting too much trust in a rickety beam for support, before taking in the overly exasperated Detlef staring forlornly at the destruction. Well, this probably won't improve his mood.

"Where is Gregor? Is he all right? If anything has happened to him ..."

Captain Lance is also present, and steps quickly out of the way to avoid being barreled into by the usually taciturn blacksmith. Eyes wide, he looks from her to Detlef and then to the partially-collapsed stable; he knows all the animals made it (he's been here for a little bit, checking in on everyone who's dealing with structural damage since the mudslide happened last night), but her ferocity makes him less confident.
Fortunately, Detlef usually has enough confidence for both of them.

Edited 2019-08-27 23:40 (UTC)

He's exhausted, but her passion for one of his animals helps push a little bit of that back. She's loud because she cares. That's a good reason. But maybe not a good reason to half-threaten him, really.

"He's fine," Detlef says quickly, glancing at the nearest wall and wondering if it was stable (ha ha) enough to support him. It might not be, so he's left standing in place kinda sagging. "All of the animals are all right. Some are a little more shaken than others, but everyone made it out. Everything, not so much. ...Do blacksmiths know anything about repairing buildings?"

She huffs and puffs a bit from the internal passion of fear brewing through her. Well, that and the running; she ran all the way here. But Detlef's words slowly bring her down, and she begins to realize that it's not just the two of them here in the stables. She stiffens as she notices Lance, remembering the last time she saw him was also in ... a less-than-composed manner. She clears her throat before responding.

"... Captain."

She looks back to Detlef and furrows her brows. She really does think for a moment on how she can actually help, now that she knows Gregor is all right.

"I can move large debris and know how to swing a hammer. I'll help where I can."

Lance nods faintly in return to the greeting, clearly, in the way of most mammals, more frightened of Fíadh than she is of him.

"Let's clear the roof, and the mud," he politely suggests to Detlef, "...then we can see how bad the rest is."

Event: August 1312

OTA - Detlef

Rock the Barbah

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STABLAH BLAH BLAH

jumps in B)

LATE I AM SORRY

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