EVENT | SETTLING IN

[historiadores]

SETTLING IN

Initial quarantine period is over, but the newest arrivals in Llave, known colloquially as “Los Aparecidos” (The Appeared), remain largely restricted to the shelter for two primary reasons: one, as they are currently stateless, meaning they have no rights to citizenship anywhere, what to do with them continues to be debated; and two, it has become rapidly obvious that many have zero knowledge not just of the nation they find themselves in, but of the wider world around them.

The former has been explained to them via the lawyers who have taken their collective case, and further clarified by the prime minister, Rosario Alonzo de León, when she and several members of her government return to speak again with the arrivals. A highly intelligent and capable woman in her late forties, she makes a point of sitting with each newcomer to Llave to converse about their experiences thus far and what concerns they have.

As for the lagoons in characters’ knowledge, steps are being taken to address these.

Classes are being held now, in order to prepare the arrivals for whatever happens next. Characters will be taught a variety of skills, including but not limited to communication methods such as mail, phones, television, radio and the Internet; use of appliances, including basic lessons on modern utilities; and general safety rules both inside and outside the home. Characters can request specific classes or volunteer to help teach their companions. (And for anyone learning or helping to teach how to read and write, a reminder that the Spanish alphabet consists of 27 letters: ‘ñ’ has its place after ‘n’. And ‘ll’ and ‘rr’ have their own sounds.)

The woman organizing the classes has become well-known to the arrivals: Evelyn Burgos Peña was a clinical social worker before leaving her previous work to assume the duties of First Lady when her wife was elected. Aside from spearheading the new education efforts for the arrivals, she has also been working diligently with the Bajari Bara to establish the second change in the daily routine.

Due to the generally acceptable behavior during the Day of Heroes, characters are now sometimes permitted to leave the shelter to visit Old Nona. These group excursions are not every day, and last only a few hours. One of these excursions is tied to a class to which all are invited. Rather than make learning more about Llave itself a tedious lecture, on the week of November 22nd, the museum characters arrived at has opened its doors to them for a special exhibit on the island's early history. Characters are accompanied as they were during the Day of Heroes by a guide and an escort of Bajari Bara.

Characters are reminded being permitted outside is a privilege. Until the matter of their legal status is resolved, they have few rights and fewer legal protections. Behavior and curfew are both strictly enforced, and violations will result in the loss of this privilege.

Otherwise, the routine in the shelter remains the same. Caseworkers still check in daily and will refer those who present a need or who request it to the appropriate mental health professionals. Hot meals continue to be provided three times a day along with snacks. A projector was brought in and a different movie is aired every night (General Audiences only—remember, there are children present), with the shelter staff providing snacks to make it a movie theater experience. Entertainment items—books, games, sports equipment, art supplies, etc.—are available and can also be requested (though no promises are made that characters will get exactly what they want, especially if the item can double as a weapon).

Possession of weapons remains strictly prohibited and any visible weapons will be confiscated. Any who attempts to flout this rule, starts fights in the shelter or in Nona or attempts to break out will be swiftly separated from the rest by the Bajari Bara. Further violence will result in consequences according to their actions.

---

THE MONTH'S HEADLINES

• Red chickcharney seen celebrating during the Day of Heroes.
• Tombs found disturbed in Nona's Old Cemetery.
• Santa Cecilia cattle farmers on high alert after cows, sheep found mauled.
• Unidentified flying object spotted off the coast of Bimini.

OOC PLANNING POST • NAVIGATION

Comments

IC Q&A

[historiadores]

Characters each have the opportunity to speak directly with the Prime Minister. These conversations won't be threaded out, but each character will have the opportunity to ask a question and a follow-up if need be or express a particular concern.

If the question is regarding how they got there, no one Llave has any idea; and if it's how long they'll be at the shelter, no one can be sure, either, though there is work being done on that front.

Please read over other the replies to this thread before submitting yours so as to avoid repeating questions.

[heeroism]

heero would be blunt — polite but with zero attempts to be sycophantic — and he'd ask her what she intends to gain from their treatment and any possible enfranchisement they are eventually offered. it isn't to her benefit to help them, so he's deeply suspicious given that the people he's spoken to so far seem to be fighters/from places in deep conflict and how she may intend to use that to her own benefit. right now he's seeing himself and the other appeared as a commodity that people are going to be vying to control, given the range in their knowledge and skills.

depending on her demeanour and answer, he'd be willing to warm up a bit, but he'd still be wary overall.

[quietroom]

Lan Wangji would ask about obtaining wooden training swords for self-defense lessons, if possible. His tone and general demeanor would be incredibly formal, and he wouldn't look at her directly.

He promised someone he would attempt to find a sword (and has no intention of giving a child live steel) and provide lessons. While wooden swords can act as a weapon, if they are handled only during said lessons and returned immediately after class, there should be little room for concern. It is important; the swords provide focus. (And although he wouldn't say it directly, he fears if he doesn't start those lessons for Jory soon, she might do something risky. The tiniest hint of that concern will come across in his tone.)

If (when) refused, he will bow, formally, as befitting a leader, and hold it for eight seconds, and then turn to leave.

If refused, he'll turn back to ask another question - this one about potentially commissioning a seamstress on the island for more robes. Or cloth, so he might make his own. He just needs one or two new inner robes. Whatever the answer, his request will be followed by another bow, this one less formal.

And if the sword request is granted, he will not ask about the robes.

[lordofdarkness]

This emaciated sad looking teen is going to ask about the traditions surroundings death on Llave. What sort of celebrations they have aside from the ones recently celebrated, if there's a death deity or deities, and where they reside or are said to reside. Or if she can point him in the direction of any experts on the subject.

Also he's going to ask if they have a concept of the underworld and if there are any rumors on how to get there without actually being dead.

Totally normal questions. Also he's going to be cagey but polite.

[singlelogbridge]

Wei Wuxian would like to ask her about seeking medical treatment for severe scar tissue damage. He'd explain that the treatments available in his time were minimal and that if medicine has progressed like everything else, he would like to find out if anything can be done. He'd also want to know how expensive treatment is and if there is a way he would be able to work to pay for something like that.

If asked, he'll specify that it is not for him and that the injury is at least several months old.

[wolfchild]

"Jory" (im)patiently waits her turn and, as soon as she's up, immediately points to Gendry to say he's a wonderful blacksmith, capable of making all kinds of weapons, armor, and useful things, and only a fool would turn him down. Respectfully speaking. Ask him to make anything; she guarantees no one will do better.

In true preteen fashion, she speaks without hardly drawing a breath, and finishes with an abrupt curtsy and a "madam" because she does remember her courtesies sometimes.

heero yuy | gundam wing

[heeroism]

teaching;

﹙ most of the classes are boring. he attends a few, for normalcy's sake, but the fact of the matter is they aren't telling him much he doesn't already know. the world is earth-like enough that he's got a good grasp of what's going on, and can fill in the rest via contextual clues and keen observances.

so he finds himself offering to help anyone who's spectacularly behind in the avenue of modern technology. texting, computers and the like.

if your character seems to have a noted problem in these areas, they may find heero sitting down next to them at the table, as directed by the instructor. ﹚

What are you struggling with?

﹙ he doesn't exactly sound... friendly. just brusque and matter-of-fact, evidenced by the fact he didn't even bother to introduce himself or open with any pleasantries. but he will do his best to assist, at least! ﹚

late nights;

﹙ if you're a light sleeper, you may be all too aware of the fact that someone in the ward has set up with one of the offered computers and is typing away at 0300 hours. the screen being dimmed is about the only consideration he's taken at the moment — look, the internet has important information he wants to know about.

ask him what the hell he's doing? throw a pillow at him? dealer's choice. ﹚

museum exhibits;

﹙ he'd only agreed to go because it was a way to spend time outside of the quarantine facilities. he's not exactly interested in escaping at the moment — he doesn't have reason enough to bother. but he does want to talk to the locals, see the sights. the lay of the land is strategically important for any offensive.

thus far he's presented himself as someone who is quiet and studious and he hasn't bothered to mention being a soldier of any sort. it's no one's business, but that means he has to pretend a certain veneer of normalcy that he doesn't come by naturally. so, to keep that up, should anyone wander over to whichever part of the exhibit he's looking at: ﹚

What do you think of the tour?

﹙ ooc: or pm! happy to set something up starter wise if these are too general for you. or you can wildcard me! totally open to all cr, come @ me y'all. /fingerguns ﹚

teaching;

[heterochrocatic]

[ Catra is staring at an electronic form on the computer. She's used to computers and keyboards and so forth. It's really the stuff she's supposed to do with it. ]

There's so much paperwork just to live here. What the hell?

Teaching

[lordofdarkness]

Everything! This is stupid, I don't see the point. [He gestures at the practice cell phone in his hand like it's trying to bite him.]

Why do I even need one, it's not like there's anyone to call. [Despite the bluster, it's frustration that bleeds into his voice rather than genuine anger and he sets the phone down and crosses his arms over his chest like the sulky 90 year old teenager he is.]

[wolfchild]

( link to the plotting comment! if you'd like a personalized starter, hmu there or through pm. feel free to wildcard something, the world is your oyster <3 )

nico.

[wolfchild]

[ the boy looks like one of the bodies in the temple.

there was always one or two come morning. men and women, young and old, healthy, sick, weak, hale. all of them, they drank from the black pool and curled up before one of the alcoves. sometimes before the weeping woman, another before the lion of the night, the merging king. once, she came upon a man before the stranger, a rare find. he was rarely prayed to in the seven kingdoms; across the sea, where the seven were rarely kept, it was rarer still.

the girl peers down at him. he is so pale and thin she thinks he might be becoming a skeleton before her eyes. but when she lays her hand over his cheek, his skin is warm.

she glances behind her. they are near one of the unused rooms and hardly anyone comes this way. it’s why she prefers these halls. she can do her practices without gendry making fun of her.

bending, she grabs his arms and shifts his weight over her back. he’s heavy, but not so much that she cannot half-carry, half-drag him a short distance. and he’s still alive. the flopping arms are annoying, but better than a body gone rigid in death.

with some difficulty, she drags and pushes him atop the nearest cot. she feels his face again. no fever. dark circles under his eyes. might be he’s not fainted; he’s just sleeping finally. he is too skinny, though the shoulder she briefly holds onto feels muscled. his right palm too is callused. she brushes the pads of her fingers over the raised thickness of his skin that indicate a swordsman.

she peers back into his face. he might be of an age with gendry, but gendry looks a man-grown with his thick shoulders and arms and half his face covered in a thick black beard. standing on tiptoes, she brushes the boy’s hair back the better to see his features.

this is. totally normal behavior. ]

elizabeth.

[wolfchild]

[ during one of their days out, jory sees spots of red on a nearby tree. at first, she thinks them fruit. a closer look reveals them to be flowers with big, rounded, red petals and a red pistil, crowned with pollen like gold. noting her interest, one of the bajari bara walks her close and tells her its name—the maga—and even picks one of the flowers and hands it to her with a wink and a jape not to tell anyone.

clutching her flower, jory returns to the group. spotting elizabeth, she looks at her flower, then back at the woman. elizabeth has been kind to her. she sleeps in the cot next to hers (and gendry on the other side) and stayed up one night telling them stories of pirates and marvelous treasure and days upon the sea.

weaving among the others, jory catches up to elizabeth, and tugs on her hand to get her attention. the child flourishes the flower at elizabeth. ]

It's for you.

wei wuxian.

[wolfchild]

[ as night falls, she watches the people bring in a strange box with a lens on the front. she perches nearby and watches them set it up in front of a wall. chairs are brought in, and she helps set them in rows. the box is behind the chairs, higher than them, on a wheeled table.

she is given her choice of snacks and allowed to pick her seat. kicking her feet idly, she waits for the others to gather and for the 'movie', whatever that is.

to her shock, an image starts moving on the wall. it's a story. movies are stories with images and sound and colors and music. she smiles and laughs and gasps when appropriate and, so engrossed is she, that she jumps and cries out when the villain jumps at the hero.

immediately, she's shushed and she hunkers down in her seat again, embarrassed. ]

hades.

[wolfchild]

[ a quiet yip draws her to the cot.

it looks like any other cot. a little messy. blankets have been left on the floor, and the pillow balances precariously on the edge. she is about to leave it alone when she hears another sound—snuffling this time—and something moves beneath the blankets.

remembering the bacoo that kept throwing rocks at bellboy, she draw her knife into her hand as she approaches the blankets silent as a shadow. she takes a corner of the blanket between her fingers, waits a breath, then abruptly throws it off to find—

—a dog.

the dog is small and very skinny. she can count its ribs from where she stands. it flinches when it's suddenly exposed to light, whining quietly, its tail tucked between its legs. feeling bad for scaring it, she hides her knife inside her sleeve again and crouches down. ]

It's all right, [ she coaxes it quietly, holding out her fingers for the dog to smell. ] I won't hurt you.

[ it takes a little while, but she is patient and the dog seems to want petting as much as it is wary. sitting cross-legged on the floor, dog in her lap, she runs her fingers over her back, remembering when she had a pup of her own with gray fur and yellow eyes who sought her out every moment of every day.

when footsteps stop nearby, she looks at them before following the line up to a very tall, very blue man.

she blinks. the dog wags its tail.

well. ]

[quietroom]

[ Holding a sword, even a wooden one without spiritual cognition, even one that is not his, brings a familiar peace when Lan Wangji tests it out under the watchful eyes of a guard. A few parries, a few thrusts, nothing flashy or making use of his spiritual power. This is the longest he's gone without holding a sword, not counting the few weeks where he had nothing, his sword confiscated and the world collapsing around him.

Now, he can hold one again, go through his forms, teach someone. He hands the wooden sword back and sets off to find his (hopefully) future protege.

The shelter isn't large, and thus he's seen her among the crowd, although he's kept his distance. But now he has news to share, a reason to seek her out. It's late enough in the afternoon that classes are over, but not late enough that evening entertainment is on, so he isn't actually sure where she is, but he does know her cot, and thus waits by it, his posture perfect, hands tucked behind him. ]

[inkings]

( plotting comment link: the redux. as always, if you'd like a personalized starter, hmu there or through pm or wildcard away )

wei wuxian.

[inkings]

[ a dreary day in paradise.

the sky outside is a slate grey, rain falling like a silver curtain. the tropics apparently do nothing by half. when it shines, it really shines. and when it rains, it looks set to have them all swimming. ]

I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream…

[ mal sits by one of the windows, singing quietly as she watches the rain fall.

she put her jeans through a dark wash, improvised from the art supplies given to them, and wears a purple t-shirt whose sleeves she cut, reshaped, and dyed into a dragon’s wings. on her back, she wears her double dragon mark, one purple, one blue. if there were leather to pick from among the clothes given to them, she would have returned to her isle look.

there is no return to the isle, however. just as her magic refuses to grant her a return to auradon. she continues to sing, toying with her ring as she does. she misses evie terribly. she misses jay and carlos, even harry and uma. and ben… she misses ben most of all.

eyes downcast, her voice flows sweet and clear as water: ] I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam…

[heterochrocatic]

[ Catra has not taken to the classes all that well. It rankles her, prickling at her skin and fur and making her feel like she's a kid again, back in the interminable instructional sessions that made up so much of her childhood in the Horde. At least this time, there's no corporal punishment or extra laps to run if she doesn't live up to expectations?

On the other hand, she's wrist dip in newspaper, glue, and other craft supplies being encouraged to work on... something. Blue nitrile gloves keep the gunk out of her fur, but it doesn't mean she likes it. She stares at the half formed lump of clay in front of her, ears flat against her head. Looking up at the purple-haired girl (Mal?) who had been recruited to help with this particular class, she grumbles. ]

This is stupid.

art class;

[heeroism]

﹙ attending school was one of the many ways he learned to blend in with his environment. after all, when he was young it had been a reasonable cover story for odin. a young father with a school-aged child was much less suspicious than a man alone. sometimes they would engineer a story about a sadly deceased mother to better sell it. it was a way of excusing heero's somber silence — though, he didn't go by heero then. odin was russian, so sometimes he was alexei, sometimes vasily.

he attended classes intermittently in this fashion. he knew how do to advanced mathematics from a young age, languages came easily to him, and he was more aware of history and geography than most others due to the wide and broad range of assignments they'd done. teachers loved that he was quiet without being shy, and they tended to fawn over how smart he was, not realizing that his intelligence came from the necessity of his craft. you had to be able to calculate bullet drop and centrifugal force to be a sniper. you had to know history to know why you had to eliminate a target. and you had to understand complex geographic border wars to be able to grasp political nuance.

but he's never actually had anything to do with art. it serves no purpose for him. he can draw schematics, and build models of things he's seen — he had to be able to render three-dimensional figures of bases and the like in case of infiltration. but drawing or creation for its own sake?

he knows he needs to engage with the class. it's imperative — he hasn't really discussed who he is or where he's come from with anyone yet and he doesn't intend to. so after sitting in front of a blank canvas, utterly uncertain of what to put to it that isn't... a rendering of a leo or a taurus or even wing zero or epyon, something that isn't a colony, or a fight, or some picture-perfect memory, he opts for something a little like this. it's a view he's seen many times over, but he's never forgotten the first time, that downward descent in wing that nearly got him killed before his mission was even really started.

it's still done precisely. unerringly. less art and more may as well be a photograph. all technical skill, no heart.

as mal is passing by: ﹚

Do you mind passing me that bottle?

﹙ it's across the aisle from him, brush cleaner. he could easily get it himself, but it's more... teenagerly, he supposes, to talk to others. ﹚

nico.

[inkings]

Excuse him!

[ mal smiles at the pm as she wraps an arm around nico's shoulders—perhaps a little too tightly. if a gesture can transmit spoken language, she hopes her holding nico against her side is screaming at him SHUT UP SHUT UP. ]

He's fine. He's being taken care of here. Thank you! For that, by the way. You know how kids are when they fixate on a particular subject.

Come on, Nico. Let's not take up more of her time. [ she turns him around, both her hands on his shoulder blades to push him away from the prime minister. she offers the woman a wave as she shoves her brother away from the potential consequences of his own stupidity.

as soon as they're out of sight and out of earshot, mal throws her hands out in universal what the actual fuck gesture. ]

What was that?

gendry.

[inkings]

[ it's not the first time mal has spotted him near the windows.

sure, there are days when the space feels smaller than it is. she has been longing to escape outside, change form, and escape into the sky. she has nico to think of, though. nor does she know the consequences should they be found outside without permission, but she can imagine. they're not arrested now; that probably won't be the case for violating curfew. three years ago, she would not have cared. not like any here have power to match hers. now, though, now she worries about her impulsive actions will reflect on those around her.

including the kid obviously searching for something outside. ]

What are you doing?

[ with her hair pulled back into a low ponytail it has a more even indigo tone as the blue and purple strands blend together. she is back to wearing the purple maxi dress she wore during the day of heroes, the dress painted with purple, blue, and magenta slashes. on its back, she painted a double dragon, one dragon in purple, the other in blue.

mal lets herself right up to the window, glancing outside too. aside from the evening song of the coquí frogs, there is apparently nothing to be found. ]

lan wangji.

[inkings]

[ thanks to wei wuxian (and visits to northern wei), mal is unsurprised to see someone playing a guqin (and immediately identifies the instrument for what it is).

she lays out loose papers and a row of colored pencils on a neighboring table. with the music an achingly familiar backdrop, she settles into drawing, her only sound the light scratching of her pencils on paper.

ah, early friendships. ]

[singlelogbridge]

A: In class

[Whatever class you're in, Wei Wuxian is also there, taking furious notes and enraptured by the lecture. He asks questions often, eventually learning to raise his hand first but still forgetting occasionally and simply standing to do so. His questions at least are thoughtful and genuine, though sometimes impractical. (Washing shoes in a dish washer, for example, is apparently frowned upon, but hey, that's why he asked!)

Or

Wei Wuxian thought this class would be interesting, but now he's bored, so instead of taking notes on the lecture, he's drawing something on his paper. It kind of looks like Chinese calligraphy for anyone who might recognize it, but the characters are placed precisely on the paper, eventually taking on the shape of an array. He doesn't even bother looking up when he brings his thumb to his lips and bites hard, drawing blood and then quickly smearing the droplets over the meticulously placed characters.

As soon as he has, the paper shifts and flips, folding itself over and over until it has taken on the shape of a small boat. He raises his eyes then to make sure the teacher and those in front of him haven't taken notice, and then with one last drop of blood, he sends the boat off sailing, the paper boat dipping low to avoid anyone catching sight of it. Well, anyone but you apparently.]

B: Bad Night

[He doesn't sleep well, but that's nothing new. The last night he slept well that didn't involve getting black out drunk was the last night Lotus Pier stood, the last night before nearly everyone he'd ever known was slaughtered. These days his nightmares have too much fuel to choose from, and often he wakes feeling overloaded by terror, bile rising in his throat and a scream dying on his lips.

So he sleeps little and generally unwell.

It's frowned upon to wander the shelter at night when others sleep, and when he's given to understand the reasons, he accepts them. The world here is more cautious than his own. It cares more, or at the very least, it makes the effort to try. He wonders how many have been saved by that caution. So he doesn't wander, but he does sometimes find a quiet place in the dark, away from everyone sleeping and hidden behind a few stacks of chairs where no one will ask him to return to his cot. His fingers itch to play then and he pulls his flute Chenqing from his robes, fingers dancing across it without bringing it to his lips.

It's harder to run from himself at night. Harder to keep up the facade. So hard sometimes it feels he'll burst with it. Everything is wrong, his entire life is wrong. His head hurts with it. His chest. He doesn't know what to do, even here, even away from it all. He misses Wen Qing so much it guts him. Everything gone, but she'd been there, always. How many nights when sleep had eluded him has she come out to join him by the fire or nag at him to try to sleep? How many times had she foregone nagging altogether and stabbed his pressure points before he could even argue? Wen Qing and her stupid needles, he does not miss her needles. But he misses her.

She's gone now. Like everyone else. Gone because of him.

His chest hurts and he forces oxygen down and into his lungs, unaware of the dampness on his cheeks. There are half a dozen bottles of Pitorro hidden in his cot, but the task of standing up and going to them seems monumental so he remains.

If he can make it to dawn without losing his mind, all will be well. For now though, he sits in the quiet, trying not to think and failing spectacularly.]

bad nights;

[heeroism]

﹙ he sleeps for utility's sake, but rarely long and never deeply. there's a part of him he can't turn off, that's always alert, always listening for the creak of a floor, the gentle whisper of cloth, the smell of gun-oil, the slick metallic yawn of a blade being pulled from its sheath. and perhaps there's a worry too, a very human fear that if he gives himself over to unfettered rest, he'll dream.

he hears wei wuxian get up. it's not sound, exactly — the boy is quiet as a shadow beneath the dark of the moon. it's more the way there is abruptly a displacement of air, and how his body cuts through it as he pads over to some empty corner of the shelter. heero maintains the façade of sleep — eyes closed, arms folded over his chest, but internally he is consulting his knowledge of the room, approximating where wei wuxian ended up. whether or not this might be the precursor to some threat or if it's just something as simple and normal as being homesick.

whatever it is, it's gnawing at him now, and he knows he won't be able to fall back into tepid rest.

a year ago, two, ten, he wouldn't have cared. someone losing sleep for any reason wasn't his problem or his business. he may have tabulated it as a weakness, something to exploit, but that isn't who he wants to be now. it isn't how he wants to act.

so after a long moment's contemplation, he gets up. he's equally as quiet, and he steps as surely in the dark as he would have if the entire shelter was basking in a fluorescent glow as he makes his way over to roughly where he had pegged wei wuxian as being. he's gratified to find he was close to correct, with a sliver of light coming in from under the nearby door that leads to the washrooms illuminating enough he isn't relying solely on his sense of spatial awareness and hearing.

he sits down from him a short distance away, back to the wall, one knee drawn up. doesn't say anything. just sits, offering the silent solace of company without expectation. maybe he'll speak eventually, if there's a need. for now, the only thing wei wuxian gets is an acknowledging nod. ﹚

[lordofdarkness]

A: Help

[Nico is sitting in front of a computer, his expression a mix of dubious and resigned. His fingers are on the keyboard, though certainly not in anything resembling the correct typing form. He is staring hard at the monitor, as though if he stares hard enough he'll will it to do what he wants. When that apparently doesn't happen, he turns to whoever is nearest in class to ask them with a completely straight face—]

Wait, how do you turn on the google?

B: Lawn care

[During one of the excursions outdoors, Nico has slunk away to sit in a the shadow of a building by himself. He's having one of Those Days where brooding seems preferable to being a functional person and talking to people, so finding a dark place to sit it is. There are trees nearby that offer better shadows to sit more comfortably in, but he has his reasons for avoiding the trees.

His expression is far from friendly at the moment, though it's aimed at no one in particular, and as it grows gloomier still, a strange phenomenon appears to occur. That is, the patch of grass he's sitting in begins to wither and die in a perfect circle around him. If no one calls attention to it, the patch will begin to slowly grow, creeping outward from the gloomy boy the longer he sits there.

Please come rescue the lawn from Nico.]

[inkings]

Having fun?

[ sandals crunching on the dead and dying grass, mal leans against the wall next to him. her tone is casual.

too casual.

be afraid, nico. be very, very afraid. ]