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

[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…

[singlelogbridge]

[It's the melody that draws him, haunting and beautiful, and he finds himself only half surprised to find Mal on the other end of it. Her posture is downcast, her voice filled with sweet mournful notes, and his heart aches for his friend as he takes a seat beneath her on the floor without greeting. His heart aches for a lot of things actually, but it's safer not to think about most of them.

Mal has a beautiful voice just as everything else about her is beautiful, and later he'll deliver that exact line to her. Not now though. Now he pulls out Chenqing and raises it to his lips.

He listens for a moment longer, studying the tune before offering a few tentative accompanying notes, careful to adjust as needed. He plays without offering Chenqing any power, only giving it melody and emotion, but somehow it still feels otherworldly. It hurts, but it's a good kind of hurt. Cathartic. Wei Wuxian doesn't speak of his secrets, but they fall from his fingers and lips now, the pain and sorrow that haunts his every moment finally given voice. His chest aches but Mal's voice soothes the pain. It's a mournful sort of companionship, but he's grateful for it all the same. It is far better than being alone.]

[inkings]

[ mal starts a little in surprise when she hears a flute join in. she glances over to find wei wuxian beside her, fingers as fine as threads weaving her words company, and she smiles. ]

And I know it's true that visions are seldom what they seem…

[ she holds her hand out flat, palm up. wisps of green fairy fire rise, their glow strange and soft. as she continues to sing— ] But if I know you, I know what you'll do— [ they take shape. a man and a woman, he in regalia, she in a long gown, both of them crowned. they dance smoothly, turning, holding hands, enraptured in one another as she croons, ] —you'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream.

[ humming along to the tune, mal waves her hand, leaving them to dance in the air, fed by tendrils of fairy fire. they turn into an embrace, her back against his chest, two faces turned to one another. but when they come out of the turn, their hands let go and he slowly fades, one hand still held out to his companion. she continues reaching for him long after he is gone. as she lowers her head and her hand, mal brings her close again. ]

But if I know you, I know what you'll do, you'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream.…

[singlelogbridge]

[The words are foreign to him, not the language they've been gifted and different from anything he's ever heard. He can almost catch snatches of Spanish in it, but then the words slip and flitter away into something entirely different. Regardless, the longing is clear, and it reminds him of a song he heard once, though he doesn't know where, full of yearning and sorrow. And that's without the figures dancing in her open palm. The sight of them captivates Wei Wuxian and he keeps his eyes on her hand even after they've faded and her hand has retreated.

The melody dwindles eventually and he follows suit, Chenqing growing quiet after one last longing note. When the song has ceased, he holds his breath for a moment longer, not yet wanting to break the shared stillness between them. Another moment passes and he breathes out, smiling softly in a way that doesn't entirely reach his eyes.

He stands then, brushing off his robes and tucking Chenqing away.]

That was a beautiful song, Mal. [What might have been flirtatious another day comes out only sincere now with just a hint of lingering melancholy.]

[inkings]

[ her smile is rueful. ]

I heard it a long time ago. [ a princess singing of a different prince. an apparently chance meeting. and a terrible curse, waiting. she shakes herhead as if to dispel the memory. ]

And you— [ her voice is brighter, a touch artificially perhaps, as she playfully pushes his shoulder. ] You never told me you're a musician.

[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.

[inkings]

Try the wall.

[ for a moment, it sounds like an actual suggestion. rather than work with clay, mal sketches. she blows on her paper to get the excess graphite out of the way and looks up.

the mischief in her green eyes indicates the comment as anything but. her finish seals that impression. ]

I hear watching paint dry is thrilling.

[heterochrocatic]

[ Catra rolls her eyes, then leans forward and squashes whatever shape she'd been roughly building into nothingness again. That feels better--and easier--than trying to make something. ]

Yeah. You're hilarious.

[inkings]

I am, aren't I? [ and so humble to boot.

laying down her pencil, mal cups her chin on her hand. ]

So, what'd the clay do to you?

[heterochrocatic]

[ Gross. Catra wrinkles her nose and stares over at Mal with a glare that could shatter glass. ]

I'm not a kid. Why am I stuck doing this crap?

[ Not that she ever had art classes as a kid, either... ]

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. ﹚

[inkings]

Sure.

[ snagging the bottle, mal tosses it his way without breaking her stride. his art goes uncommented on. people will create what they want; she saves her opinions for when they're asked for.

reaching her table, she begins to test out colors before settling on the ones she needs. rather than canvas, she works on the wall itself. she sought permission before starting (a first for her), and carefully begins filling in the sketch she had completed earlier: nona during the day of heroes, the dancers, the musicians, the food vendors, the artisans, the cobblestone streets, the glitter of the bay, even that sweet, noble dog. it's frenetic, and vibrant, and alive even without yet seeing a drop of color. ]

[heeroism]

﹙ he's at least polite enough — or pretending normalcy enough — that he says thanks as she breezes past.

he cleans up his station without incident, efficient and quick. and then, with no other ideas, nothing else to do and time enough to while away in the classroom, he finds his attention being drawn back to her.

there are people who dress to blend in, to be patently unremarkable. he's done it often, and well. no sense standing out unless you need to. she seems to hold the opposite to be true.

it reminds him of duo in a way. the priest collar, the excessively long hair that's more trouble than it's worth. it's a statement — duo's is a dare to invite comment. heero thinks he's probably looking for a fight, though the other boy would never admit as much.

he's not going to guess at what hers is beyond an appreciation of the color purple, but if the point is to get noticed it does its job. he watches as she blocks out the sketched images, filling in the lines and whorls. there's certainly an artistry to it that escapes him — the grace to the dancers, the way the brushstrokes suggest the movement of their swaying skirts. as she works, something almost starkly apparent emerges there: it's art for its own sake.

there's a clear difference between an image done for utility and art as done for love of creating beauty. little things that enhance rather than detract.

hmn. even the dog, that he'd spent so many hours beside. he can almost imagine its salt-encrusted fur beneath his hand.

he takes his canvas down off its easel and goes to set it to one side of the classroom so the paint can finish setting, and then he comes to stand behind her, leaning against a nearby desk, arms folded. a normal teenager would try to strike up a normal conversation. idly: ﹚

Had you ever been to a festival like that?

﹙ it seems appropriate. he hadn't. no point, no interest. the closest was the dance he went to with relena — and even that was more about her. but there'd been something somber in talking to the dead, in the silent vigil spent next to the ocean. maybe it should have unsettled him more than it did. ﹚

[inkings]

Not exactly like that, but yeah. The dead were a nice touch. Sweet to see them included.

[ as she has. subtly, she has woven the dead she came across into her painting. from the cook's wife looking lovingly upon her husband as he serves the casabe, to an older man clapping his gnarled hands to the music, to a child flitting joyfully through the crowd as her grandmother follows her.

her mother had no consideration for the living or dead, and hades proudly declared that he stole souls. in this, mal finds herself a kindred spirit to nico. like her brother, she has a special fondness for the dead. too easily forgotten, neglected, abandoned.

mal takes a little step back on the box she is standing to take in her work up until this point. she passes the back of her hand across her brow. hours have been put into this mural and hours still remain to finish.

she pulled her hair up into a messy bun on top of her head. purple and blue strands have escaped, framing her face and curling gently against her neck. sweaty and tired she might be, but surprisingly she has kept remarkably clean. there is not a speckle of paint on her clothes aside from what she deliberately out upon them. her jewelry is untouched. the purple diamond on her left ring finger twinkles gently. ]

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?

[lordofdarkness]

[He is reminded suddenly so fiercely of Bianca that he does as Mal tells him (or rather, screams at him with her eyes), allowing her to end the conversation and guide him outside before she turns on him with an angry whirl.]

What? It was just a question! [He doesn't know exactly what she's upset about but he crosses his arms, defensive. Sure, he might come off as, well. A little crazy, but it's not like that was going to hurt anyone, right? He doesn't see what the big deal is.]

[inkings]

[ mal

buries her face in her hands. ] Nico…

[ this is how she dies. stress. thanks to her half-brother.

pulling her hands away from her head, mal grips them in front of her before she can start trying to peel her own skin off. or attempting to strangle him. ]

You can't just ask anyone who is not us how to get to the realm of the dead. To them, it doesn't sound like you're asking about a fun day trip. It kind of sounds like something else. Especially when you look like you have a foot in the grave yourself.

[lordofdarkness]

What do you mean something else, what else could that possibly—[He stops mid sentence, remembering the way she'd asked him how he was feeling and how soft her expression had gotten.

Oh.

His cheeks warm with embarrassment and he huffs in indignation, shaking his head.]

I was being so specific! Who would think I meant it that way?

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. ]

[bullshead]

[ ever since they cased the wolf off he has been keeping an eye out; in case the dumb beast gets too close, in case someone else stumbles upon it, just in case. not that he'd try to chase it off again the same way he did the first time if he hurt the wolf arya is sure to kill him, but he figures that maybe it isn't as dumb as he thinks it is, that maybe he could tell it to go away because it's putting arya in danger. thankfully it a theory he hasn't yet had to put to the test, but still, he keeps an eye out.

naturally, this means ignoring the curfew put in place and sneaking out.

he doesn't exactly hear her approach, ears straining for the sounds of a wolf's howl, so when she speaks his entire body tenses up, head whipping around as his jaw clenches. anger comes first, only to immediately replaced by confusion. and he thought ayra was the loudest girl he had ever met, who would have thought there'd be around that could be loud without even opening her mouth. ]

Nothing. [ gendry hisses. ] What are you doing out here?

[inkings]

[ mal lifts her eyebrows in answer. ]

Curious about what you’re doing.

[ she makes a point of looking at him before looking around them: out of bounds, past curfew, asking for a good scolding if caught. her green eyes return to gendry. ]

For doing nothing, you are being very suspicious. One might think you’re actually doing something.

[bullshead]

[ gendry scowls, sparing only a brief glance at the surroundings before focusing back on the girl. it's as though she expects him to care about the restrictions placed upon them, which he doesn't, but follows only to keep himself out of their attention. it's an easy thing to do, make people overlook you as long as you continue to do what they want of you, he's been doing it all his damn life. ]

I wouldn't be acting so suspicious if I didn't have a girl dressed like some colorful bird sneaking up behind me in the middle of the night.

[ he spares another glance around. ]

You're going to be the reason I get caught.

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. ]

[quietroom]

[ He doesn't stop playing, or allow his fingers to miss a note when he notices someone joining him if sitting at a neighboring table can be counted as providing company.

But his attention does flicker to her, then the papers and pencils, and he dips his head slightly.

He'll play until she finishes. ]